#Made worse by the fact she's the head child minder

[kaiyonohime]

Tiny tot probably has hand foot and mouth disease, my coworker let another girl with it attend for two days earlier this week, so that's made for a fun weekend. High fever and sleepy and fussy, and we can't get an official diagnosis until tomorrow at the earliest.

On the plus side the new stroller arrived, and the seat can recline fully down so he can sleep in it. Which is amazing.

[ciggylungz]

Rivals

Summary: Y/n and Harry are both CEO’s of their parent’s companies since they inherited the businesses from them, they’ve been rivals since they were kids- now that they’re professional adults how will their rivalry affect them?   2.2k

 -

It’s no secret that growing up with a workaholic parent is hard for a kid, but for Y/n it was amplified due to the fact both her parents owned one of the most famous fashion companies in the world. This meant during most of her childhood she relied on nannies, private drivers, maids and child minders to care for her in absence of her busy working parents.

Of course having absent parents gave her some perks during her teen years, the ability to throw ragers in the absurdly large mansion they’d bought for the three of them –(well, they were hardly in it so mainly just their daughter)- not having to worry about getting caught when she decided to bring people over to get a quick shag in and the plus of having no one to bother her during her angsty middle school years. Those things were nice, yet you really can’t replace the role of your parents with teenage hookups and parties.

If there’s one thing that she absolutely hated about her parents work, it would be their former business partners cunt of a son. Harry Styles. Y/n had been forced to be in the twats life since they were 10 and his father joined stocks in her parents company before investing fully and becoming business partners. For Y/n that meant being forced to be around their son whenever their parents were too busy crushing numbers or out on boozy business trips clogging their noses with high end coke and buying out their competitors.

Harry was always a good-looking boy, and that only made things worse because he was a total prick. He was arrogant, annoying and always got away with being the biggest pain in the ass y/n has ever experienced in her life. He was insanely competitive, cocky and always found a way to weasel into Y/n’s business just to push her buttons. One’s he knew how to push perfectly to make her want to pound his head off a blacktop.

It was almost as if when it came to Y/n he never matured past being a 12-year-old boy, and now he’s a 23 year old powerful business man who still can’t manage to leave her alone.

Y/n had inherited her parents’ company when they decided to retire, two years before the retirement her parents and Harrys father had severed their ties and he’d gone back to his independent company. And just y/n’s luck, the man passed his roll as CEO down to his son, making the two young adults’ owners of two of the most famous fashion and beauty companies to ever exist.

Make no mistake, Y/n was a strong, independent and ruthless business woman so Harry’s subsequent inheritance didn’t threaten her in a business sense it more so made her worried for her blood pressure since the man couldn’t help but come bother her every chance he got. It didn’t help his dad had a single remaining stock left in the shoe portion of their clothing company giving Harry the perfect excuse to come barging into Y/n’s office to get on her nerves. To Y/n Harrys like a cold sore that won’t go away, just keeps coming back every time you think you’ve gotten rid of it.

___

Today was a busy day for Y/n, she had a meeting with her team that worked closely with her managing profit, stock, inventory, sales and all that stuff. Her team was large, with a company with over two thousand distributors worldwide and thirty-five exclusive stores scattered around the globe that’s to be expected. All in all, Y/n was responsible for making sure all one hundred and fifty thousand employees were running a smooth ship and every participating party was doing what they needed to do. It was a stressful job no doubt, but she never backed down from the challenge.

The meetings were always her least favorite part of her job. All the paper work that had to be read, numbers calculated, sales charted and any complaints or incident reports all had to be verbalized and talked about in detail with documentation of all the important things said as well as much more. Today the meeting took a grueling four and a half hours and the day was far from over.

Once she got out of her meeting it was nearing noon, she had to push her lunch off to phone the companies attorneys because one worker was trying to do a fake insurance claim. The man faked a work accident failing to remember every warehouse and factory was littered with security cameras that caught him in the act, so she had to inform them of the situation so they could sort it out. After that she got sucked into looking at new designs her design team had come up with for the next season, explaining that Chanel and Gucci both wanted to work with them to carry a few exclusive items only for that season.

Finally, at half passed two she made it back to her office, sitting down in her desk chair while taking her hair out of the headache inducing ponytail it had been in since she got there at five that morning. She opened her laptop, planning to send off some emails while she put in her order for lunch to her assistant, getting as much done as she could in the little bit of private time she was able to snag.

A knock sounded at the door, she knew it was Morgan coming in with the food she ordered so she didn’t bother to look up from what she was doing very drawn in to the email she was currently formatting. Only her attention was quickly severed when his voice rang out instead of the one she expected.

“I believe you ordered the chop salad, diet coke and fruit for lunch misses Yln.”

That annoying, cocky voice. You can hear his shit eating grin and teasing eyes simply in his tone, you don’t even have to look up at the jerk.

A prolonged sigh blew out of her lips, a grunt of annoyance following as she looked up at him. He looked nice, as always, she added bitterly in her own mind. She hated the fact someone so goddamn irritating was so undeniably attractive. He wore a dark blue suit, white button up with a black tie and yellow accent pocket square. Yet his fashion and handsomeness seemed a bit overshadowed by his personality that had the same affect on the woman as nails on a chalkboard.

“Harry, to what do I owe the displeasure?” Y/n reached her arm across the desk to snatch the paper bag from his ring clad hands, a sarcastic disapproving finger was pointed at her yet she didn’t take his bait opting to give him the death stare instead.

“Sassy today are we?” The man rested himself on the small leather loveseat that was in her office, propping his head on a throw pillow and putting his feet on the armrest. “You act like you’re not happy to see me, I know yeh missed me.” Y/n rolled her eyes, digging her fork into the salad aggressively. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been happy to see you, and I’m certain no one has ever missed your presence either.”

Harry chuckled slightly, loving how easily he could annoy the girl. Over the past thirteen years he’s learned just how to get under her skin, and he enjoyed doing so.

“Bit feisty today aren’t yeh Y/n? playing hard to get I see.” The man folded his hands on top of his chest, completely relaxing into the comfortable furniture, making himself comfortable for the undetermined amount of time he’d be spending there irritating his childhood ‘friend’.

The difference between Harry and Y/n’s perspectives on their rather odd ‘relationship’, if you could really call it that is Harry never hated Y/n. In fact he was always quite fond of her, he enjoys her company even when he’s forcing it on her and using the shared time to annoy the ever loving shit out of her. He and the woman have always been competitive growing up. In sports, card games, classes, and now business and Y/n took things a lot more seriously then he did. she was always wound a bit tight, she gets it from her mother.

Harry and Y/n had an interesting past. They have a love-hate relationship, seeing as even through the perpetual animosity they’ve carried since they were kids they did have their good moments too. And though Y/n would never admit it, there’s a part of her that does actually care about him even if she loathes that part of her deeply. In their teens they were at each other throats a lot, but in between that they would occasionally have their good days where they would refrain from getting into screaming matches and instead would be able to tolerate being together. Y/n chooses to describe it as tolerating him since she’d never admit she sometimes enjoys his company.

Through their formative years whenever Y/n was throwing a party, she wouldn’t protest when her friends would invite Harry as well. Pretending like she didn’t know he was coming and didn’t want him there when she saw him in the crowd, yet he always had a feeling she was anticipating and secretly wanted him to make an appearance. When he’d plan some sort of adventure with their friends he’d do the same, always slightly relieved when she’d show up but he’d put on the irritating act as soon as he got the chance which ruined her mood, every time. and well, it would be a lie to say the two never found themselves hate fucking each other after one of their parties, drunk and pissed at each other only to pretend like it had never happened.

To Harry, the animosity mixed with a hidden sense of fondness and maybe even a hint of attraction.

The woman ignored his comment, chewing her food before taking a swig of the soda looking back at him with a rather unamused expression. “What do you want Harry? And who the hell even let you in here?” she continued eating and wrapping up her email while he formed his reply. “Told Morgan I’d bring it up to yeh, she’s got a bit of a crush on me so she handed it over without much convincing.” Yet another eyeroll from Y/n was delivered. “She’s like 19, don’t manipulate her into worming into my office just because she can’t see that you’re a much bigger prick then the one in your pants will ever be.”

“First of all, 19 is legal so if she wants to eye fuck me I’ll allow it. Second, don’t be rude. This is a professional setting, do you think it’s appropriate to talk about my genitals in the work place? Might have to report you.”

Y/n couldn’t help the small snort she let out at his antics. As much as he annoyed her, sometimes she did find him a bit humorous. “and for the record, I’m very happy with my package and I don’t appreciate that comment.” He pointed a finger at her, a fake angry look on his face. “Just as much as I don’t appreciate you intruding on what was supposed to be my down time to eat, we’re even shrimp dick.”

Harry gasped at the insult, squinting at her slightly. While Harry was skilled in pressing her buttons, she could do it the same. Making comments on his dick size, sex skills, business deals or things of that nature always got him riled up. That 12-year-old boy mentality rearing it’s ugly head any time she makes a comment about his dick being small. Childish he was, absolutely childish.

“Don’t get smart with me, I’ll whip it out right here to prove my point.” His eyebrow raised and she could see him chewing on his cheek in annoyance. She truly found it funny how peeved she could make a grown man by making fun of his penis. He was ridiculous.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t, I didn’t bring my mental scrub brush to work with me today.” When she had finished speaking the woman tossed her now empty salad box into the trash, taking another sip of her drink and finally sending off the painfully long email.

Harry decided it was time for him to head back to his own office, which was right across the street much to Y/n’s displeasure but of course he couldn’t leave without a final childish jab at the woman.

“Just remember, I’ve had you bouncing on my dick more than once. Don’t hold yourself so high and mighty dear, because we both know I’ll have you like that again.”

And with that a Harry with a cheeky smirk on his face left the office, leaving a slightly stunned Y/n in his wake.

 (eek pt.1 lets see how this one goes.)

[detroitbydark]

Chp 10

Characters: Commander Fox/Mouse (reader), Palpatine, Captain Rex, Anakin Skywalker, Mace Windu.

Word count:4500

Warnings: Sith typical mind fuckery, canon typical violence. Use of the force to injure.

A/N: well here we are ladies and lads, Fox lovers all. The day is upon us. I’m pretty stoked the way this one came out and I hope y’all don’t hate me too much after the fact. As always let me know what you think, ask questions, yell at me. Whatever floats your boat.

Today hadn’t started well and you were already so far past caring it was insane.

You didn’t care you’d woken up on your couch in your clothes from the day before, rumpled and wrinkled beyond salvage, your mascara a messy mask under your eyes.

You didn’t care that you spent the better part of your first hour at the office staring out the transparisteel window into the skylane that ran not far from where you sat, watching transports and speeders for by in a soothing blur.

You didn’t care about the tartness in your voice when the 501st Captain had comm’d stating it was important that he speak with Commander Fox immediately. You’d told him, in no uncertain terms, that what the Commander had on the schedule for today was of the utmost importance and that you would make sure he got the message when he got in.

Maybe you’d been a bitch, latent embarrassment from the peep show you’d unintentionally given the day before still simmering but, really, he hadn’t even offered an apology and the muffled yelling behind closed doors hadn’t done much to place him in your good graces either.

You try not to replay the night before. You’d done that plenty on the ride home. All the same, you let it play through again in your head. Now, you're looking at it in the light of day and with more clarity. The way the anxiety had been almost palpable when you’d first entered the room hadn’t seemed so obvious at the time-

“Ma’am?”

A portly woman is standing a few feet away politely smiling. Your face flushes.

“I’m sorry. Daydreaming.” You explain with a forced smile and a lie “what can I do for you?” A movement behind the woman catches your attention. A tiny green hand clings to the women's slacks as equally green eyes peek around her thick leg.

“I’m Sukin Maly with level 504 children’s home. I was told this was Commander Fox’s office?” She’s pleasant looking as she glances back at the child clinging to her before focusing on you. Lines pull at the corner of her eyes letting you know she was a woman who enjoyed smiling a lot and often.

The child slowly rounds the woman’s thigh and you watch with delight as you recognize the twi’lek girl from the pictures Fox had shown you. Pushing away from your desk you move closer, crouching down and offering your hand. Wide eyes look from your hand to the attendant who gives a small nod. The girl hesitantly takes it and you give it a gentle shake before looking back up to her minder.

“I’m afraid the Commander is out of the office today.” The woman gives an understanding smile as you turn back to the little girl.

“I think I know who you are.” You offer conspiratorially, “are you Me’kar? You made quite the impression on Commander Fox.”

Her little lekku wriggle happily at the sound of her name.

The children’s attendant says something in Ryl you don’t understand. Me’kar’s tiny hands go to the top of each lek and she makes little ears with her fingers.

“Fox” she says clear as day in basic.

You can’t help but laugh and her smile brightens as she repeats the word over and over.

“She’s picking it up quickly”, Sukin explains “but that seems to be her favorite word.

“It’s ok, sweetheart. It’s mine too” you say softly as she bounces in front of the older woman.

”it’s nice to meet you both.” You offer them your given name before addressing the child again, “but you can call me Mouse if you’d like. Everyone around here does.”

This brings a peel of laughter bubbling up in the child as the attendant translates. She holds her hands in front of her like tiny paws and wiggles her little green button of a nose before making a squeaking noise. “Mouse,” she giggles.

You laugh as she pulls a stuffed tooka out of the bag draped across her shoulders.

“Cat. Meow.” She says proudly, holding the raggedy stuffy up. “Fox kiss better.”

You look up to the attendant with a furrowed brow. “She was quite taken that the Commander gave her kitten kisses when it was scared.”

You fight back a laugh at the image. “I wish he was here to see you. He’s going to be disappointed he missed such an important visitor.” The girl's smile fades as Sukin translates but only for a moment before she’s digging back in her bag for a folded piece of flimsy.

“Fox” she says proudly as she unfolds the flimsy, finally holding up an image she’d obviously been very proud of. It’s rough but you can very clearly make out little Me’kar and Fox drawn as brightly colored stick figures. Fox’s helmet is so large that the weight of it looks like it will break his little stick body in half at any moment, maybe it’s the small green hand intertwined with his red one that stops it from happening.

Your ovaries nearly implode. It is the single most adorable thing you’ve ever seen and you willingly take it as she turns to her minder and speaks in rapid Ryl.

“She’d like you to give it to the Commander.”

“Please?”

Saying no was never going to be an option so you nod, thrown off when she attaches herself to your waist and gives you a big hug. You pay the top of her head, “how about this. I give him this” you wriggle the picture, “and we set something up so you and your friends can come a different day when I know the Commander and his friends will be here? You could eat lunch in the big cafeteria and maybe they could give you a tour?”

Me’kar can barely contain herself as the older woman translates. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

She spins and bounces with excitement and Sulin hurries to calm her as you hide a smile behind your hand. You trade comms with the woman and promise to be in touch after you’ve spoken with the Commander and set something up. Me’kar waves manically, turning and pulling every few steps when It’s time to leave.

“Bye Mouse! Bye!”

It’s the first bright spot in your day and you cling to the swelling feeling in your heart as you return to sorting out the mess that was the day to day operations of the Coruscant Guard.

——-

The aide arrives early afternoon. You’d only just finished lunch and are busy packing your bag when you see them coming down the hall. The upturned nose and refined, high-end clothing scream politician from 20 klicks away. They’re feet away from your desk before their eyes even move to you.

“I’m sorry, Commander Fox-“ you begin your usual explanation and are quickly cut off.

“Your presence is requested this afternoon in the office of the Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine.”

The request strikes you as odd immediately both in its formality and, if by the way the aide is staring at you, its presumed immediacy.

You were not an individual that ever had any right being in the same room as someone as powerful as the Supreme Chancellor, not because you were unworthy or less than, but simply because you had nothing to offer in any way you could find necessary.

You inform the aide gently that he is likely in the wrong place, has the wrong person.

He huffs impatiently before speaking your name, “that is your name correct?”.

You nod mutely.

“Than, miss, I believe I am in the right place and the Chancellor is well aware of who you are.”

Something sours in your stomach. You wish Fox or one of the boys were around because something just seems off. “We could do this a different time?” You question hopefully, retrieving your datapad and flipping open the calendar, “I really shouldn’t be leaving halfway through my day.”

“The Commander is with the Chancellor awaiting your arrival.”

Well, you knew that, didn’t you? You were the one who’d been answering comms for Fox all day. So why did it make your stomach flip and lurch? Maybe because you’d expect Fox to contact you with a heads up or, knowing him, send one of the kits to collect you.

“So, like now?” You clarify.

The aide's foot begins an impatient rhythm, toes tapping irritably against the floor, “like, now.” He clarifies pointedly.

You try to ignore his demeanor, he probably wasn’t used to playing go-for and certainly not used to anyone doing anything less than jumping at a chance to meet the Chancellor. Still, you don’t move with any great urgency. Maybe had he been a little nicer or the request not been so abnormal to begin with. You make a point of locking down the datapads and grabbing your coat and bags, ignoring his sigh while he glances at his chrono.

He never introduces himself. Not as you follow a step behind down the halls, not as you climb into the sleek black speeder on the landing platform. Hound And Rule are parking a pair of speeder bikes. You give them a shrug and a nervous smile as their helmets both cock in question. Hound looks like his namesake be it with a more viscous paint job. You’d laugh if you weren’t so kriffing nervous. It’s stupid. So this wasn’t exactly normal, but aside from a rude, nameless aide this was nothing worse than heading to an inter-office meeting.

Than why couldn’t you shake the feeling that you were about to get in trouble, like a child being called to the principals office? Your fingers fumble as you buckle the restraint across your chest. You barely have a chance to wave to the two Guardsmen still looking your way before the speeder is diving into the skylane and heading toward the Senate Executive building.

The ride is quiet. Any attempt to make small talk is met with a simple yes or no, a few things are even ignored completely. If this guy was intending on going into politics he’d need to take a class or two on how to fake interest in his constituents.

The speeder comes to a stop at the Supreme Chancellor’s private platform and you’re ushered off without fanfare.

“Don’t we need to check in with security?” You ask as your collector opens the door to what you can only assume is the Chancellor’s suite, a rich expanse of room and excess that doesn’t allow your eyes a moment to relax or focus on one point.

“That won’t be necessary, unless you feel like you need to be scanned and patted down?” His raises brow makes you blush.

“No- of course not. Just protocol-“

“The Supreme Chancellor sets his own protocols.” He explains as you move further into the office. The large wall of transparisteel looks out over the very tops of buildings you knew to tower high about the highest heights of the Coruscanti top level. It’s breathtaking.

The decorations are ostentatious, with a very strong splash of deep red everywhere- from the carpeting to the tapestries interspersed on the walls. Bronzium statues sit atop marble stands, their twisted faces and gnarled figures seem out of place amongst all the finery before you.

“This way, please.”

You hadn’t realized you’d slowed to gawk and move to pick up the pace from where you’d fallen back. You offer a small apology that goes unacknowledged as he presses through an imposing set of doors on the other side is more transparisteel, more red.

And the Chancellor.

Sheev Palpatine sits with his hands folded on the dark wood in front of him looking as if he’d been waiting for you to arrive. He greets you as such.

“My dear girl!” He rises to greet you, moving carefully around his desk.

Your first thought is that he was not nearly as tall as you’d imagined he’d be. On the holonet he looked every bit as tall as any of the clones that served as his guards. He’s only a head taller than you, you note as he reaches for your hand and gives it a gentle shake. You smile weakly, a spark of something uncomfortable and disquieting burning inside you.

“Supreme Chancellor” you incline your head to break the uncomfortably intense eye contact, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“She is a beautiful little creature, Commander.” He intones looking past you, ignoring your greeting.

You glance over your shoulder to see Fox standing at attention next to the door you’d walked through. It was a wonder you hadn’t noticed him immediately but with all the red bleeding through the room it was no great difficulty for him to blend in. He tips his helmet toward you even though he seems stiff. Regardless, just his presence does something to calm your nerves. Any residual anxiety about the pair of you seems to dissolve as you look at him. When you turn back to the Chancellor your smile is genuine.

The chancellor’s is still questionable while he cups your elbow and leads you toward his desk. The soft clatter of plastoid armor follows behind you. You can feel Fox behind you, can almost imagine his all too familiar body heat radiating along your back. You fight the urge to let your hand sweep behind you in an attempt to capture his own.

“My dear, the good Commander speaks very highly of you.”

“I think very highly of him” you murmur fighting the urge to look behind you.

“Very good. Very good. Have a seat and we’ll begin our little meeting.”

The chair is plush and comfortable. When the Chancellor sits down across you notice that his chair is positioned slightly higher than your own, making him appear as if he was looking down at you. The desk is fairly clean, only a handful of datapads and some neatly organized flimsy. Next to everything is a gleaming blaster. It’s hard to keep your eyes from skimming over it. You’d sat through enough conversations with Hound and Ryk to not recognize a hold-out blaster when you saw one.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it? Blas-Tech, I believe.” The chancellor motions toward the blaster but you shake your head. As much as you’ve been privy to conversations about the different makes and models you’d never really become comfortable with the actual blasters themselves. “Well suit yourself” the chancellor shakes his head gently picking up the blaster and making a show of turning it in the light. It’s small, most hold-outs were. “A gift from one of the Corellian delegates” he continues “a very thoughtful gift but I personally find blasters rather uncivilized.” He makes a show of setting it down closer to you.

“I see” you fidget in your seat, “I really don’t want to waste any of your time. I’m sure you have far more important-“

“- this is of the utmost importance, I’m afraid” there’s something about the almost apologetic look he gives you or maybe it’s the slight cooling of his tone that washes away any comfort that knowing Fox was with you had provided.

“I’m afraid, I’m not sure what this conversation is about.”

A scoff crosses the length of the desk as the Chancellor looks past you to Fox. “She is very tricky isn’t she Commander? Had I known you couldn’t see past a simple deception I would never have encouraged you to pursue her.”

“My apologies, my lord” Fox’s voice is cool and emotionless, not the rich baritone you were used to. Warning klaxons sound in your head.

“Sir?”

“Oh, dear girl there’s no use hiding it any longer.”

Your heart rate is slowly creeping up, moving more close to the rate of your namesake than you were comfortable with. You attempt to rise to your feet but a pair of gauntlets come down on your shoulders and press you back into the chair that no longer feels comfortable.

The chancellor rises and moves toward the windows, his fine robes swing around him as he goes. Your eyes follow him carefully. Pressure builds at the back of your skull, a wholly inopportune moment for a headache to present itself if you’ve ever had one. You shake your head gently in an attempt to dislodge it. The chancellor laughs and it sends a cold shock down your spine.

“You’ve used your position and your wiles to lead the Commander astray” he begins “you’ve filled his head full of ideas of conspiracies and plots that don’t exist. And for what, might I ask?”

When you turn and look up at Fox he’s staring down at you through the dark lens of his visor. You will him to say something, anything. Surely this was a mistake.

“Fox, you can’t believe this?” You turn toward Palpatine, “this is a mistake. I’m not sure where this has come from-“

“-So I shouldn’t believe that you gathered the data for the Commander? That you didn’t read through it unlawfully and offer your own silly ideas as to what happened after our best investigators found that the ARC trooper acted against the Republic? That he was, indeed, intent on assassignation?” The chancellor’s voice grows louder as he speaks.

Your mouth gapes as he continues.

“Should the Commander not be made aware that you’ve used his affection to manipulate a good soldier into believing that the Grand Army, the highest level of military excellence in the galaxy, was intent on destroying not only his brothers but the entire Jedi order?”

Fox’s hands leave your shoulders and you jump to your feet, the chair pushing back behind you, forcing him to take a step back or be hit with it. His hand rests at his hip, fingers wrapped around the grip of his deece. The pressure on the back of your head intensifies, burns.

“You used me” the words are a broken snarl, an injured animal fighting back. “You made me love you so you could what? Tell me damnit!” His body is tight, coiled like a spring ready to snap.

“Fox, this isn’t right-“

Palpatine's voice rises over the pair of you. “I’ll tell you Commander. She came with the intent of finishing what the ARc trooper started. She was a conspirator.” The word conspirator is hissed out. Fox’s head jerks than shakes. The heel of his free hand presses against his visor. You want to go to him, find a way to make him understand, to soften the hard lines of his body.

Pick up the blaster.

A voice, cool and calculating echoes in your skull. Your eyes trail down to the blaster and your fingers flex into a fist, knuckles going white as you fight the urge that you shouldn’t have. You can hear your heartbeat pounding along rapidly in your head, adrenaline flooding your system.

“She’s here to kill me Commander. She is a spy and assassin. How else could she get in here without the guards knowing?”

Fox’s hand twitches over his own blaster. “It hurts” one hand presses at the side of his bucket. Is Palpatine in his head too?

Pick. Up. The. Blaster.

Your skull feels as if it will implode at any moment. Your eyes turn away from Fox and to the Chancellor. A cruel smile twists his mouth, a vicious play on a genuine one. Your brows furrow together as the clanging in your head grows louder.

“You’re doing this?!” Panic rises in your throat, bile burns it raw. “Why? Get out of my head!”

The pained squeal that slips from your mouth sounds foreign, a feral animal sound. “Get out of my head!” You sob whipping around. Fox, who seems to be struggling on his own, drops down to one knee, bucket cradled in his hands.

“Cyar’ika-“ he sounds small and you want it to stop, would do anything to protect him. His visor rises up to meet your eyes and you swear you see him clear as day as if it’s not there. He’s your Fox and he needs you.

Because you love him.

“How touching” Palpatine's voice echoes through the room, a perverse pleasure notable in his tone as he sees your realization from inside your mind.

But you love Fox and the weight of it gives you strength. You push harder against whatever magic has slithered into your head.

“Good soldiers follow orders” Palpatine reminds, voice cold and calculating “Shoot the traitor.”

“Fox, it’s me.” You beg him to see you. To look at you “he’s making you believe something that isn’t real. See me-“ a broken sob bubbles it’s way over your lips, “Fox…”

Distantly, the sound of blasters and the rising shout of voices becomes clear but you don’t have time to discern what’s going on.

“You will shoot the assassin commander. The blaster is in her hand. Do it, Commander!”

“Mouse- I- I- can’t” Fox’s voice comes out as if through gritted teeth and then something snaps and he rises back to his full height. The uncertainty that had been rolling off of him is gone.

“No, no, no…” you mumble, shaking your head as tears fill yours eyes. Your hand covers your mouth in horror as if it alone can hold your grief in. Fox raises his blaster at you. Desperately you turn to the chancellor. “Please! Please don’t make him do this! I’ll do anything. Please don’t make him!”

He laughs in your face and you finally do as the voice in you head has willed.

You grab the blaster.

It feels foreign in your grip. You scream as a bolt from Fox’s deece grazes your left shoulder but your right hand holds tight to the one in your hand.

“PUT IT DOWN! GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES!” Fox’s voice booms as you turn back toward him. There’s no way you will get a shot off on the chancellor. “Mouse- please-“ desperation bleeds through his words suddenly and it hurts almost as much as the singed flesh of your arm.

You raise the blaster to your head. You're going to die. You know it in your very soul. Now it was only a matter of how and who. It won’t be Fox. It will be the last thing you do-

“DO IT!”

Noise erupts around you. The doors of the Chancellor's office explode open, splinters of wood showering down.

Chaos ensues.

Another blaster bolt hits you in the right flank while your attention is divided. Everything moves in slow motion. The blaster in Fox’s hand shakes as he continues to aim it in your direction. The smell of ozone assault your senses. The room spins on its own unseen axis.

The blaster falls from your fingers with a clatter as you drop to your knees. You can’t breathe, your mind screams to draw in a breath but your body refuses to comply only allowing shallow, useless gasps.

Lights flare in your periphery purple, red, blue. Voices roar to life.

Electricity tickles at your skin as your hands press down over burnt flesh. “Fox…” his name comes out as a whimper as the transparisteel at your back shatters, shards of it bite into your back, burrow deep into your flesh. The smell of blood, the coppery tang makes your stomach heave..

Chaos is everywhere, omnipotent and overwhelming. Voices shout, threaten, and yell and you struggle to focus in on any one thing.

“Don’t take another step, vod!” You see the familiar blue and white jaig eyed bucket of Captain Rex. Twin deeces are aimed at Fox but his blaster is only half pointed, his head cocks then shakes violently. “I said stop, Fox!”

“It’s not him-“ the words come out in a choked cough, not loud enough to be heard over the cacophony of wind rising up between the buildings and the clashing of Jedi lightsabers. You press up on one arm and point shakily with your injured left arm. You try again, “it’s him!”

Rex’s helmet tips toward you but his blasters remain trained on Fox as you point toward the old man held at the tip of a purple saber.

You don’t have the strength to stay upright and your arm crumples. You fall against the red carpet with a gasp. Your shoulder bears the brunt of it causing bright hot pain to shoot anew through your body. When you're able to open your eyes, your blood mixing with the red fibers, almost imperceptibly, greets you.

“Mouse- Fierfek” the gutted sound of Fox’s voice slips into your ears, “I’m sorry. I’m-“ he voice is choked off as he grabs at his throat. Another man, lip curled back in a snarl, advances on him hand raised. His robes are dark matching the poisonous look in his eyes.

“Yes, young Skywalker. Strike him down!” The chancellor's sickly voice rises up over the winds.

“Anakin!” The Jedi wielding the purple saber snarls. You see him look back at the chancellor.

“I am the senate. You will not kill me, Jedi”

“The senate is overruled”

The purple saber flashes without hesitation. You choke back a scream as Sheev Palpatine’s head leaves his body. You struggle, dragging yourself toward Fox as his hands claw against his own throat trying to dislodge his invisible assailant.

“General! Enough!” Rex’s voice rises as you grab at Fox’s leg pulling yourself in front of him.

“Skywalker” the other man intones quietly. The purple glow retracts as he places a hand over the younger Jedi’s forearm and presses down, “let him go. This wasn’t his doing.”

You miss the choked cry the younger man bites back because whatever has held Fox at bay releases him and he falls forward, body draping over you protectively.

The winds still howl, blowing up from the deep wells of Coruscant below but it sounds distant. It doesn’t chill you like it had because Fox is with you and he’ll make everything right.

You want to tell him how much you love him. You want to kiss him just once as the darkness presses in at the edges of your vision. It’s a struggle to focus on the lines of his helmet, to pretend you can see through to the cut of his jaw, his full lips -that turn up just so when he smiles- and the soothing browns of his eyes.

“You don’t get to do this” he whispers angrily between harsh breaths. His arms wrap around your body pulling you close his nose pressing against your temple. “You don’t get to die because of me”

You tell him it’s not his fault, or at least you try. You can’t make your voice work.

Fox’s lips press roughly behind your ear. A continuous loop of promises and apologies and curses spill from his mouth. Mando’a and basic slur together. You try to keep your eyes open. You want to stay with him. It doesn’t hurt anymore so everything must be ok. Fox has made it ok…

Someone yells for a medic and the darkness overtakes you.

[storyunrelated]

Lingering

Dale the Widower, wearing red as he always did, was sat reading.

He was entirely aware that he was being watched, but as the watcher was still under the impression that they were undetected Dale felt no real need to make an issue of it yet. That the person watching was a child also helped. No sense in making a child feel that their hiding skills were lacking.

Eventually though the dust must have got to the child because they sneezed, which was as good a reason to break the silence as any.

“Bless you,” said Dale, not looking up, turning a page as casual as anything.

The jig clearly being up the child emerged from around the corner they’d been crouched behind, wiping their nose on the back of their sleeve and padding over. They approached with the confidence of a child told they were intended for great things, tempered with the caution of a child approaching someone about whom they’ve heard all sorts of slightly intimidating things.

Curiosity was what drove them. Curiosity burns bright in children. This Dale knew. He’d seen it before. Many times. Many, many times.

“Everyone says you’re in mourning but if you’re in mourning why are you wearing red?” The child asked, without preamble. This was simply the first of what was to be many questions and so there wasn’t any time to waste on introductions or anything like that.

Besides, the child knew who Dale was, and Dale knew who the child was. By reputation only, of course, neither had ever spoken to the other, but they both knew who each other was.

“Red is an old colour for mourning. I’m old-fashioned. And it, ah, well yes, it’s old,” Dale said, marking his place and closing his book, knowing this was only just starting.

Red was indeed an old colour for mourning, and one with some meaning to it as well. This meaning Dale had been about to explain to the child but then he’d thought better of it. Knowing that red was associated with mourning someone lost to violence (or at least used to be associated with that) probably wasn’t something a child would benefit from knowing, or so Dale thought.

“Who are you mourning?” The child asked, by way of followup.

“The queen,” Dale said. The child frowned.

“The queen’s alive!” They protested.

Indeed she was. The child was related to them, in fact.

“The old queen, I meant, the first one. Queen Mau,” Dale said. He was rather surprised the child did not know this. Most people did. 

The child looked blank for a moment but then remembered why they knew that name. They seemingly couldn’t decide whether to be in awe or to refuse to believe this.

“But that was ages ago! Hundreds of years ago! Are you really immortal?” They asked. This was one of those things they’d heard about Dale, along with half a dozen others, and it was one of the things they were keen to have confirmed.

“I am,” Dale said.

For his sins.

The child peered at him intently, scrutinizing him top to bottom.

“You don’t look old.”

“Very kind of you to say. It goes up and down.”

The specifics of how Dale’s immortality functioned had been recorded in quite some detail for literal centuries now, and occupied a healthy selection of volumes in the Imperial library. Suffice to say, there were a few things to it.

“Huh,” said the kid, not really interested in that part, already having moved on in their head, brain fizzing with more questions. “Are you really still sad though? It was hundreds of years ago, wasn’t it?”

Children can pull off this kind of insensitivity. Adults usually have to put some effort into coming across so callous, but children aren’t even aware of it. Dale didn’t mind it. He’d heard an awful lot worse across the years, and the child hadn’t meant anything by it anyway. They were honestly just curious.

Dale chuckled.

“Not all the time, no,” he said, and this was true.

“Do you even remember Queen Mau?” The child asked.

Dale thought about this for a second, and thought about how best to try and explain it.

“Not all the time,” he repeated. “Some days I can go hours without thinking about her, and some days I worry I’ll forget what her face looked like, or how she sounded. But then I’ll see something that’ll remind me of her - a place, a thing - and it’ll be like she went away seconds ago, it’ll all come back. Sometimes.”

He shrugged, smiled.

“Huh,” the child said again, lacking the life experience to really grasp what this meant. ”So why are you still here?”

This question meant in the very literal sense of why Dale was still hanging around the Imperial palace, taking up space, interfering and all that, not in the existential sense. Not in the sense of why was it that Dale could live forever when his wife and children could - and had - not.

Dale understood this.

“I made a promise,” he said.

“To who?”

“Queen Mau. She asked me to keep her land and her people safe.”

Her last words, in fact.

“But she’s dead,” the child said, bemused.

“She is. But I’m not, and I won’t ever be. So this is what I do.”

“Huh.”

Further questions were forestalled by the appearance of the child’s minder, much frazzled, apologising profusely to Dale at the interruption and scolding the child for having skipped out on important lessons and also for having got their clothes grubby with all their hiding.

Dale hadn’t minded. These little episodes always made life more interesting.

And he had plenty of time to be on his own anyway.

[lucaniisdellamorte]

!! I’d love to hear about your a6 ocs 👀

OH BOY ARE YOU IN FOR IT BECAUSE I WANNA TALK ABOUT THEM SO BAD SO I WILL TELL YOU EVERYTHING I CAN THINK OF

Under a cut because it got long and uh spoilers I guess?

Okay so first I’ll talk about Farren

I hc her as not the youngest child but the 9th or 10th giving her at least one younger sibling (I’m still waffling on where her place was specifically)(but that puts her more towards 23-24)

Also hc that she was sneaking out of the palace long before she met Vexx, the first time she was about 12, after being told to sit down and shut up after trying to take Nerissa’s side in an argument against their father, she left and for the first time she felt like she could really breathe

After that she started leaving at least a few times a week, sometimes daily, just to go walk around the gold district (and bringing her younger sibling(s) treats from one the bakeries)

So I imagine she was the favorite among the guards and her minders when they realized what she was doing but not knowing how she was sneaking out

Eventually her older siblings also found and given her proclivity to be a little shit, started calling her Feral behind her back since her name is only a few letters off

You know the music box? It used to be Nerissa’s but Farren loved the song so much she started stealing it just to listen to it over and over especially when she was missing her older sister. Eventually Nerissa gave her the nickname Mouse and let her keep it so that Farren would always remember that there was at least one person in the palace that loves her

Was very aloof when she learned about who she was and what happened to her family, she didn’t want to think about in the  moment but when she was alone all she could was cry

While she does objectively understand that she isn’t responsible for the deaths of her family, she still feels like she’s to blame since her actions lead to them dying

Feels deeply, deeply ashamed that Vexx was able to trick her, that she was so desperate for a friend, to fall in love, that she missed whatever warning signs were that maybe Vexx wasn’t all that he appeared to be

So every time he calls her pathetic or tells her that she made his job too easy, it hurts her deeply though she tries her hardest not to let it show

Was dating Vexx and is now dating Damon

Yeah she’s got a Type (further proven by the fact that she has a little crush on Alisa) but at least this time around she’s massively upgraded

Also hc that Nerissa (if she was still alive or somewhere in the afterlife) approves of Damon actually but never approved of Vexx

She wants to get Zovack off the throne but isn’t sure that she wants to be the one to replace him. Sure she’s the last of her father’s line (which she hates being reminded that she’s related to him) and it’s her family’s throne, she just has the self awareness to admit that she isn’t the best person for the job. Yeah she got Princess Training but since she was so far down the line of succession, she was never taught how to be a Ruler like Nerissa was

Plus she sees being royalty in general as a cage and she wants out, signing up to be Queen feels like permanently clipping her wings

Doesn’t like being told what to do! Which of course gets on Cal’s nerves but he’s got her reasoning all wrong. Farren doesn’t like being told what to do not because she was a spoiled princess, but because for most of her life she was constantly told what to do or what not to do and she’s sick of it!

She does what she’s told to do sometimes though, she would just prefer to be asked to at least give her the illusion of having a choice

Here she is (her hair is like two shades darker though)

And now Daciana!

She also isn’t the youngest kid but she’s more in the middle somewhere around 6th or 7th (so she’s about 26)

She always tried to be a Good Princess, wanting to make Nerissa proud and always followed her lead, learning from her

Of course that put her in close proximity to her parents which she loathed but she was always willing to deal with it if that meant getting to be with Nerissa

Very good listening

Sure she was never likely to take the throne herself but she always wanted to be an advisor to Nerissa

She always wants to help

Woke up on the A6 to June’s pretty grey eyes and never recovered

Was very close to the two brothers that were the same age as her, Noa and Sorenn along with Nerissa

Loves learning about all the plants that Ryona is growing even if it is a tiny bit unsettling that most of what she grows is poisonous

 Not a fighter but her words can cut just as deeply without ever having to raise her voice, a talent she (unfortunately) learned from her mother

Seriously though this poor girl is so in love with June, the most memorable thing about her first time in a strip club (literally not just the first time in her memory, she’s never been in any establishment like the Arc) was that she got to hold hands with June

So of course it was absolutely devastating when he pushed her away after finding out who she is

Which she didn’t blame him for, it made sense, but it still sucked

Was very held together and strong when she found out about who she is though she also cried and cried the moment she was alone

Was only ever friends with Vexx and sneaking out with him was the first time that she had ever done anything against her parent’s wishes before

The music box was a gift from Nerissa, Daciana always loved it and Nerissa gave it to her before a trip where she was going to be gone for at least a month to try and help her when she was missing Nerissa and she when Daciana tried to give it back on her return, Nerissa let her keep it

Also really enjoys hanging out with Bash because she never got the chance to learn about mechanics and he’s a great teacher!

Likes wearing dresses and skirts, things that make her feel pretty and give her that little extra boost of confidence

Doesn’t necessarily want to be queen (since that was always supposed to go to Nerissa) but at the same time she’s not going to leave Zovack on the throne and if the only one that can replace him is her, then she’s going to do it

This is her!

And lastly Zuri!

Actually the youngest of her family! (making her about 21)

And a kitalphan!

Naive about so much, being locked away as one of the lesser important kids will kind of do that too you

She did read a lot though so there are things she does know but she doesn’t have a lot of real world application

Is absolutely horrified by the conditions on other planets (and even being told about things in the copper district)

She may be naive but Aya thinks she’s adorable so there’s that

Seriously Aya flirts with her and sometimes you watch it go right over her pretty head

She’s catching on though, she made Aya blush once and it was GREAT

Was very emotional when she found out about her past and who she is and it got worse when she was alone

Is absolutely down to help Damon sneak a cat aboard the ship but only if he sneaks her one too

Pretty easy going most days

Loves watching the stars and planets go by as they travel and especially loves watching them go by from the cockpit

Is it because Aya is there? Yes, yes it is

Was overwhelmed going into the Arc, there were so many people and so much going on that it got to be a little too much at one point

Would have loved to be born into a deep sea kitalphan family especially before everything went to shit, she can only imagine that living that deep in the water would have been fun

Is probably the least prepared out of all three of my ocs for the things that are going on around her atm but she’s doing the best she can not only to deal with it but to help out as well

Is kind of okay with possibly becoming queen since it seems that really only she and Zorack want the throne and he sure as shit isn’t going to be sitting on it much longer. She wants to help make things better and even if she is the least prepared she is the most willing to try

Zuri always wanted a music box like Nerissa’s but with a different tune (she wanted something a little happier) but since the metal (I forgot how to spell it) is ultra now, Nerissa gave Zuri her music box for her 21st bday and Zuri has treasured it ever since

She also dated Vexx, which of course she deeply regrets!

She still cares for him though despite everything, especially once she sees that he’s in pain, she wants to get him help and get him better but she’s not going to ever trust or date him again

In fact it might years and years before she would even consider calling him a friend again

Zuri always wore this necklace that her mother gave her, all bue and silver with a pretty opal stone that looks like a full moon over the ocean but between her escape and her rescue, it got lost and she’s really depressed about that

One of the things she used to do when she and Vexx would sneak was to feed the local stray cats until eventually she had a whole little group of them hanging out in the palace gardens which of course no one but her was excited about

And here she is!

[jsyndra]

c3

It was quiet.

Awkwardly so, at this point. For a couple of hours now Irelia following behind Sirik, only stopping now and again for water. The other woman was not much for talk, Irelia noted. Not that the dancer minder too much, she took the offered silence as time to ponder.

Sirik moved with such intent that it was clear where her thoughts lay, with the witch in the floating castle. There was a point during this journey that Irelia questioned her resolve to help this woman, she wondered if she even could. A woman who lifted the entirety of Fae'lar into the air and keep it there... Certainly Irelia has faced powerful magic, but she wondered how powerful this woman actually was.

The thought did not last long, however. Irelia had faced worse odds, and she would face them again. No one offered her peace after her family was killed, the least she could do was offer such peace to this woman who sought her out. Conviction filled her heart, Irelia would stand against whatever powers lay within The Celestial Fortress.

After that thought passed, her mind drifted to her family as it often did. Irelia would find herself daydreaming, fantasizing about a life where she returned home from the Placidium and her family was there to greet her. Where she took up no blade, she grew alongside her siblings and danced across the lands for people to view and enjoy.

Irelia recalled when she danced before the violence, the look upon strangers faces as they admired the beauty in it and the gleeful words they offered her. Happiness. That is what Irelia once gave with her dance, yet now it was only fear or bloodthirst. She was taught by her O-ma that violence was never an answer, yet Irelia made it one. She had no choice, and soon it seemed she became it; a beacon for it amongst the rebels.

It spoiled her daydreams, and soon Irelia simply zoned out for the rest of the walk. She just followed behind Sirik like a little soldier, marching to her next battle. Another hour passed, yet it only felt like a few minutes.

"We're here."

The words broke the silence, and Irelia snapped back to attention. Aquamarine orbs scanned the area Sirik had led them to, a small cabin in the forest. It was small, and it seemed to have been there for quite some time now. The nearby forest had begun to grow onto the housing, foliage almost disguising it. If one were not looking for it, they may have simply passed it by without a second thought.

"Where are we?" Irelia questioned, glancing around. She really had no clue, she had lost track of any mental mapping along the way.

"The mage I spoke of-- this is his home." Sirik responded, approaching the door and beckoning Irelia forward. Sirik had been here before, and had an almost casual approach as she knocked upon the door and opened it without answer; like she was visiting an old friend.

Irelia simply followed, a touch of caution in her steps. This was, of course, still a stranger and she did not know where she was. As Irelia began to enter the cabin, the first thing she noticed was the smell. The stench was pungent, seeming to be that of earth and magic-- and everything in between. The most noticeable smell was the mold, likely from the forest beginning to form around the building. She tried not to scrunch her nose in disgust, but she found it impossible.

“You’ll get used to it.” Sirik stated as she noted Irelia’s response, closing the door behind them. In fact, she expected it; she had the same one the first time she had been here. However, over time, Sirik had become accustomed to the scent. She barely even noticed it now, instead if almost felt welcomed. She had spent many an hour in this cabin, searching for a way to make it inside The Celestial Fortress. It was no easy task, and it took quite a few visits to find a spell.

The words brought Irelia no comfort with her entrance, if the smell was not enough than the mess that lays before her would be. Irelia far preferred things at least a touch organized, and this home was very much the opposite. Shelves upon shelves were scattered with potions, books, and what she assumed to be ingredients. The shelving was packed, and that was made clear by the scattered objects across tables and the floor. There were uncleaned stains, and even grass began to grow through the floorboards. Was it even livable?

There was a moment Irelia had begun to regret her decision, but the thought was soon interrupted by a rustling from a room near the back of the cabin. “Sirik, is that you now?” Came what seemed to be an older voice, but certainly none like Irelia had ever heard before. What emerged with those words was a hunched elderly gentleman, covered in a tattered cloak.

“Oh, Sirik! You’d been gone so long I was beginning to worry...” The man commented, and he scurried his way up to Sirik. He looked upon her with affection, and then soon cast his gaze to Irelia. “Is this her now? Oh, she is much prettier in person.” He complimented, returning his gaze upon Sirik and leaning in slightly. “And scarier.” He whispered teasingly, knowing Irelia could hear him.

“Ah, um, yes. This is her.” Sirik commented, hand behind her head awkwardly. She never did get used to the mans odd ways. “This is Irelia, the blade dancer I spoke of.” She turned to Irelia, gesturing her hand at the man. “And Irelia, this is Marvin. He is the mage I spoke of.” She explained, turning her attention back to Marvin.

Well, he may not be the cleanest man, but he was amusing nonetheless. Irelia’s lip twitched upwards slightly, feeling a bit more welcomed. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Marvin.” Irelia spoke politely, bowing her head in greeting. “I have heard much about you.” She hasn’t, but she wished to be as kind as possible with a man supposedly teleporting her several miles into the air.

“Oh yes! I have been looking forward to meeting you.” Marvin replied in his silly little tone, quite the eccentric man indeed. “Excuse the mess. I did not intend to clean before you came here, really. But excuse it nonetheless.” He cackled at his own jesting, and soon turned his back and shuffled his way to something else that caught his attention. “Now! As for teleporting you...”

Right to business it seemed, Irelia watched Marvin with furrowed brows. “Are you sure about this...?” She whispered quietly to Sirik, uncertainty clear in her tone. Why wouldn’t she be a touch skeptical? He was definitely... Odd. He was not what Irelia envisioned in a powerful mage, not at all.

“Yes, apart from the sovereign herself, I have yet to meet a mage more powerful than Marvin.” Sirik responded just as quietly, understanding of Irelia’s skepticism. But she knew better than anyone what Marvin was capable of.

That statement only made Irelia more skeptical, she wondered if Syndra was all that scary if this was someone that Sirik considered powerful. “I see.” She responded hesitantly, keeping such thoughts to herself. She was too far in now to really not do this, and... Well, Irelia would give Marvin a chance.

“Here it is, here it is!” Marvin chanted victoriously, now skittering back over to the two women with a book in hand. He also held a map out proudly, many markings upon it that made no sense to Irelia. “This is it! Now we just have to find that damned castle... Oh, dear.” He continued, more talking to himself than either Irelia or Sirik. He continued to babble something or another under his breath.

“Yes, it should being approaching shortly.” Sirik commented, glancing at the clock. “The locations it travels are... Fairly random. Yet I’ve been watching long enough that I note it goes in a particular pattern. That is why I sought you out today, I knew it would approach Marvin’s home in the late afternoon.” She then explained, turning her head to Irelia. “It works out well.”

Marvin perked then, turning his attention to Irelia. “Yes, yes, yes. It all worked out. Listen, child! There are some things you must know about this island before you go.” He stated, turning to dig through a nearby box. “The island’s gravity despite being so high, it is due to the massive amounts of power it possesses. Now! Once you are up there, I can only bring you back down if you are standing where I initially sent you.” He explained, lifting out a emerald pendant from the box and offering it to Irelia.

Irelia took it with hesitance, eying it carefully. “What is this?”

“That is what you will use to tell me when you are ready to come back down! Bah! Were you even listening?” Marvin responded, a touch of annoyance in his tone. “Now, child, you must understand-- whatever is up there is more powerful than anything I have ever encountered. I can feel its magic from here. So, that being said--” His tone became harsh. “I need you to--”

Irelia was expecting some sort of warning, and her muscles tensed.

“To gather me some of the foliage! I’m certain you will have time, just collect a few rocks or grass. Whatever you can. I wish to study it! Oh, it would be quite marvelous...” Marvin finished, a grin plastered on his features. Sirik rolled her eyes at that, but it was the only reason she had gotten him to agree to do this for her and help her with studying the entire thing.

“Um... Yes, I suppose I can do that.” Irelia responded, a bit confused but there was no real reason not to agree. Mages... Always so strange.

“Good, good. Now, let us prepare.” Marvin stated cheerfully, skittering off once more and beckoning the two women with him. “Come, we do not wish to miss our opportunity!” He continued to grin, excited to attempt the spell that he had found. No, he did not test it yet. But that was fine, it was good-- for research. It should work, anyway. If not, oh well. Sirik will just have to find another warrior.

Irelia followed behind the man, as did Sirik. They were led into the back most part of the cabin, the room barely lit if not for a few candles. Azure hues scanned the room she entered, but were quickly distracted by a impatient tug on her arm.

“Come now, no dilly dallying!” Marvin stated, pulling Irelia along and putting her in the glowing circle that lay in the center of the room. “It is almost time. Now, listen once more, child!” He added, stepping back and facing Irelia from outside the circle. “You must remain perfectly still, you and those blades of yours. If you move I may end up sending you there missing a limb or two, it is in your best interest.” He warned. “And make certain you stay exactly where you are in the center of the circle, it is for accuracy. if you are off I could be sending you flying back to the ground.”

Irelia simply nodded, a touch of worry etched upon her features. She tucked her arms to her side, and pressed her legs firmly together; even her mantle of blades tucked itself close to her back. She looked to Sirik for reassurance, and even when it was given from the other’s gaze, she did not feel much better. It simply seemed off, doing such a dangerous task for a stranger. But she had to, it was her duty... Right?

“Very good! Now, prepare yourself. It approaches.” Marvin stated rather ominously, and Irelia nodded in understanding. He soon opened the book in his hand, and his fingers began to glow. He was preparing himself, readying his magic to cast this powerful spell. “It is time!” He announced abruptly, beginning to chant words that Irelia could not even begin to understand.

Slowly, Irelia began to feel her form dissipate, and there was a sense of panic that filled her. Marvin’s words echoed in her mind- don’t move, don’t move, don’t move. She really wanted to, her instincts said to run. But knowing the consequences, Irelia did not move an inch. However, a nervous sweat did begin to appear just above her brow. Not many things did make Irelia nervous, but this... Well, how could you not be?

“Irelia.” Sirik spoke, gazing softly upon Irelia. “Good luck and... Thank you.”

Irelia did not want to move, or even speak, while the spell continued; yet the words were well received. She did not care about being the hero, but at times it was nice to just... Receive thanks for her sacrifice. It was not something she lay awake at night wishing for, but it was better than nothing. At the very least, it made her feel human, not just a weapon for people to use.

Soon Irelia felt her entire form dissipate, and she could not help but close her eyes tightly. Taking a deep breath, she soon felt connection to her form once more. Aquamarine orbs opened as she exhaled, and she soon found herself alone-- and outside. A breeze hit her, long obsidian strands blowing in the wind. Taking another breath, Irelia noted the air felt... Heavier; threatening, even.

Regaining her stream of thought, she looked around. It was completely different from where she once had been, it caused her to feel a touch of dizziness. Despite the sun still being out, the area around her felt... Dark. Unnaturally so, yet it clashed well with the dead land before her. It made her uneasy, yet she still made sure to make note of what it looked like.

Glancing down, Irelia noted the concrete platform she stood in and the tall walls before her. It seemed to be the courtyard, making her next destination an easy guess. Her blades withdrew from its crest, and she began to slowly make her way forward. The tall walls of the courtyard swallowed her, and in the middle of it all sat two large doors.

Irelia continued to move forward, noting the structural damage of the building before even entering it. Each crack in the wall, of which there were several, held an eerie purple glow to them. It was true, this woman’s magic-- it ran through every vein of this island. The thought itself was intimidating enough, even without having seen this ‘Syndra’ yet.

That would change very soon as Irelia reached the doors, her hand placed against one and pushing. Despite how massive they were, they opened with ease; it was as if they were inviting her inside. That made her shiver, and her guard rose. Someone knew she was here, and she could guess who that someone is.

Purple flames decorate the grandiose room before her, leading to the farthest wall of the room. Irelia’s eyes following them, all the way until the end and then they landed upon the centerpiece of the room. A throne. It seemed to be made of melted weapons, what seemed to be hundreds of swords sticking out of the top of the chair. Noxian weapons, she noted, she’d seen them enough times to distinguish them even from so far away.

But that was hardly the most intimidating part of it. No, what the real threat of it was the woman that sat upon it. Syndra. Before Irelia could even take in the sight of this woman, she began to speak.

“Intruder.” Syndra spoke, and her voice was nothing like anything Irelia could imagine. Every syllable coated with power, unimaginable power. Even The Grand General of Noxus did not scare Irelia with her power, but this... This was something else.

“All this effort to arrive in my home, and waste my time. If I were a kind woman, I would offer you a moment to leave before it is too late.”

Irelia stood ready at that, taking it as an immediate threat. Muscles flexed, tension high. Aquamarine focused intently on Syndra’s form... Claws, horns, and sharp teeth... What was this woman...?

“Unfortunately, I am not a kind woman.”

It was then Irelia understood Sirik’s fear, and her toes curled into the ground beneath her. This was no woman, this was the devil itself.

[lady-therion]

At Second Sight: Part 1 [Elriel]

Summary: Elain accidentally turns Azriel into a dragon.

(Post-ACOWAR)

A/N: Whoops. 

***

   Amren often kept a running list of things she didn’t like—not because she was petty, but because she was practical. At the top of this list were guests and surprises. So when she returned to her apartment with the hope of finding solitude, she was less than enthused to find a clearly distressed Elain instead.  

   A clearly distressed Elain with a small dragon coiled in her lap.

   “I can explain.”

   Amren pursed her lips.

   “Not until I’ve had my wine.”

   Then she tossed aside her coat as well as whatever expectations she had for a quiet evening.

   “I’m sorry for troubling you. I just didn’t know where else I could—”

   Amren held up a hand as she poured herself a glass of scarlet red, then poured another for the doe-eyed intruder sitting in the middle of her living room. Elain took the offered glass with about as much eagerness as a child receiving a tonic for sickness, but she took it nonetheless.

   Amren took one long gulp before assuming her place in a wingback chair, crossing her legs as she leveled her most discerning gaze. To her credit, Elain didn’t squirm. But perhaps that had more to do with the dark scaly beast, no bigger than a newborn pup, curling its tail around Elain’s wrist as if in reassurance.

   “All right, little Seer. From the beginning.”

   Elain swallowed. “It…it all started with a book.”

   “Not just any book, I imagine.”

   Elain reddened. “No. Yes. I mean…I was looking for a spellbook. At the House of Wind. Something to help me understand my Sight better.”

   Amren’s gaze softened. None of them escaped from the aftermath of Hybern’s war unscathed, but at least Elain had finally emerged from her dreamlike stupor to face her new future. She had such difficulty shedding the mantle of her old life—and no wonder. She had been happy. Or at least, she thought she was.

    “So I take it you found a spellbook,” said Amren. “And rather than consult your sisters or myself, you decided to try your hand at a bit of magick and wound up summoning a new pet instead?”  

   The beast growled at her as though it understood—and perhaps it did. Dragons could not be so easily domesticated like their wyvern cousins. This one, however small, would have only submitted to Elain because it chose to.

   “In a manner of speaking,” Elain went on, trying to calm the wretched fiend by stroking its spindly horns.

   Oddly enough, the creature seemed to…shirk at her touch, as though it was embarrassed at being coddled so. Amren blinked. Surely, the effects of her wine wouldn’t overcome her so quickly? Then again, she still had no idea what the limitations of her new body were.

   “Stop talking in circles, girl,” said Amren. “It’s late and I grow weary.”

   Elain bit her lip, as though it pained her to give voice to her folly. “I wasn’t alone when I decided to try the spell. Azriel was with me.”

   “Was he?” Amren cast a glance at the long shadows about her. “And where is our notorious spymaster now?”

   Elain bit her lip again. Then she gathered the little beast in her arms as gently as she could before proffering it to her. “This is…he’s right here.”

   The sound of Amren’s wine glass rolling across the floor was the only thing that penetrated the ensuing silence.

   Then the shadowsinger did everything in his power to scowl at her—actually scowl at her—as if to say, “Don’t you dare…”

   Amren dared anyway.

***

    It was a while before Amren stopped cackling—close to an hour, in fact. Enough time for Elain to finish her own wine and mop of the remains of Amren’s. Enough time to reflect, once again, on what an awful, awful mess she made.

   She hadn’t meant for any of it to happen. Though she supposed that her intentions didn’t matter. Good lord, it was as though she were four years old again and was caught eating all the sweets in cook’s kitchen. Except this was obviously a thousand times worse. And poor Azriel! He had always been so kind to her, so gentle, so brave.

   And how did she repay him? With her own stupidity and selfishness.

   She glanced at the other end of Amren’s couch where Azriel had perched on one of its arms. He was testing the weight of his wings, stretching the left one and then the right. It must be so disorienting—this new body of his. Her heart sank as he began to flap them both, barely able to lift himself a few inches before tumbling back down. She resisted the urge to set him aright, as it would probably only embarrass him further.

   What have I done?  

  “There’s no need for hysterics,” said Amren, eyes scanning through the spellbook that Elain had found. “The shadowsinger is whole and hale. He can brood in this body with just as much gusto as he did in his last one.”

   Azriel tittered.

  “Oh shut up.”

   Elain wrung her hands. “Can it be reversed?”

   She couldn’t bear the thought of dooming Azriel to live the rest of his life in a form he didn’t choose. Not when she knew, firsthand, how terrible a burden that could be.

   Amren huffed. “Well, fortunately this tome is child’s play compared to the Book of Breathings. Though I’m rather impressed you were able to unlock its secrets with barely any training. Tell me girl, how did you come by it?”

   A tingle raced up her spine. Azriel peered up at her worriedly.

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “I felt…it just called to me, somehow.”

   “Called to you?”

  “Yes.”

   “Hn. Like calls to like, I suppose.”

    Elain had told her the truth. Most of it anyway. Though she had begun her search for books on other Seers, what she had been hoping to find was…a way to reverse her power. Or nullify it, even. Make the visions in her head go quiet so that she could live in peace.

    The things she had Seen during Hybern’s war…where time itself seemed to split into realities as varying as branches on a tree…it was horrible.

   So yes, she found the book because it compelled her to. Because when her fingers stroked its spine, it felt as though it belonged to her. And if she closed her eyes, she could have almost sworn it sung to her…

   Then Azriel appeared.

   “What are you doing Elain?”

   She started as he emerged from the shadows. How could an Illyrian so tall be so silent? But he had looked so apologetic that she forgave him instantly. He eyed the book in her hands, then glanced at her face, which she was sure looked more guilty than guileless.

   “What are you doing Elain?” he asked again.

   She had always been such a terrible liar.

   “I imagine that you already know.”

   “Elain…”

   “Did my sisters send you? I don’t need a minder,” she said hotly, her words much sharper than usual. She didn’t know why. Azriel had been nothing but compassionate towards her. But she was angry. She was frightened. And she needed answers. “I’m not an invalid. You don’t need to look after me.”

   He almost looked almost…disappointed. As though she had belittled him in some way.

  “I know you don’t need a minder,” he said. “I came here because I thought you would be lonely. I came because I care for you as a friend.”

  A sharp sting in her chest.

  “If you care for me as a friend, then you’ll let me do this. Look, I found a spell. Some of it’s written in the Old Tongue, but the translation here could—”

  Concern flooded his hazel eyes.

  “Elain, you have no idea what kind of magick like that could cost you—and there’s always a cost.”

   “I know there might be.” Her eyes watered. “Azriel…please try to understand.”

   There was no judgment in his voice. Only softness. “Understand what?”  

   “It’s just…your world is so beautiful. Your family is so kind. There’s so much joy here. Joy as well as sadness. I can see why Feyre fought so hard for it. I just wish that…. Azriel, this isn’t the path I wanted to walk. But it’s the only path that horrible Cauldron left for me. Does your Court not honor being given a choice? Didn’t your own High Lord let my sister choose?”  

    Was she merely telling him the truth? Or was she being underhanded? Elain didn’t know, her emotions coiling within her like thorns and bramble.

    “Let me help you, Elain.”  

    Just once, she wished she was as brave as Feyre. Or as iron-willed as Nesta. But she could never be like her sisters. Elain was just Elain.

   “If you want to help me, then you have to let me choose.” She took a step forward. “Let me choose, Azriel.”

   A stalemate followed by a moment of unearthly quiet. Then the page beneath her hand began to….shift. The words alighting one by one, burning with preternatural fire. White fire. Cauldron fire.

   She gasped, backing away.

   “Wha-what…”

   “Elain!”

   Light and the smoke filled the room in a maelstrom that could surely could be seen throughout all of Velaris. And Elain was utterly helpless to stop it. Helpless again.

   And when the smoke had cleared, the damage was done.

   “You said it was this spell that caused the transformation?”

   Elain nodded as Amren scanned the yellowed page from back to front, then back to front again.

   “Interesting.”

   “Interesting how?”

    Amren flicked the tip of Elain’s nose in admonishment. “Fretting will get you nowhere, girl. I suggest you and the shadowsinger retire for the night.”

   “But the others—”

   “The others won’t return from the Court of Nightmares until tomorrow evening. That should give me plenty of time to decipher the spell’s inner-workings. I hope. Until then, here’s a basket.”

   Elain furrowed her brow. “What for?”

   Amren’s grin was positively manic. “Why, for Azriel.”

***

   “You…you don’t have to ride in the basket.”

   Elain sat on the last step of the stoop outside Amren’s apartment. Azriel sat next to her looking positively sullen. Or at least as sullen as he could be, given the circumstances. Strange, how she could still read him even though he was…not himself.

   “Can you still winnow?”

   It was how they managed to arrive at Amren’s home in the first place. Though the weary gleam in Azriel���s eyes—still hazel—told her that he was far too drained now to manage it. She supposed she could always carry him back to the townhouse. But she also couldn’t bear adding more insult to injury.

   She sighed, growing teary again. “I’m so sorry, Azriel. I should have listened to you. I was so foolish—”  

     A quiet huff from Azriel, as though he were chastising her. He was probably right. What good would her self-pity do?

    He crept close to her side, leaning against her in a way a cat would. Even now, he was trying to comfort her. In a way, it almost made her feel worse.

   “It’s a long way home. You can ride on my shoulder, if you wish.”

    Azriel stilled, as though weighing his options. She supposed she was thankful that he chose not to glare at her in the same way he glared at Amren, no matter how much she would have deserved it.

    Eventually, Azriel made a soft growl, beckoning her to lean forward until he could cling to her arm. His movements were awkward, clumsy, and not at all like the shadowsinger she had come to know. Eventually he settled onto her shoulder, tucking in his wings as he adjusted his talons—which gripped her firmly, but not sharply.

   She smiled, perhaps for the first time that night.

   “You know, you’re still very handsome. Even like this.”

    It was true. He was. His dark scales gleamed obsidian in the glow of the faelights above the cobblestone streets. And if she looked closely, there were hues of that gorgeous cobalt blue—the color of his Siphons—winding along the spines on his back. But his forelegs and talons…they still bore the leathery burn scars from his childhood. But even so, he was such a beautiful creature.

    He squirmed a bit, looking away from her. She imagined that if he could blush, he would. In fact, he often did, whenever she paid him a compliment. Though she never understood why. Surely, he must get them often from other females.

    “I’m going to fix this Azriel,” she vowed quietly. “I promise you. I will.”

    And though the shadowsinger could not speak, he bowed his head, as though he believed her. It did much to lift her spirits; Azriel had never once lied to her, not even to protect her. The fact that he had once given her Truth Teller spoke volumes about his confidence.

   She was an Archeron, after all. And an Archeron almost never broke a vow.

***

Thank you for reading, my loves.

Other chapters be found in the Masterlist in my Bio / I am Lady_Therion on AO3

[sea-and-storm]

NO PRAYER UNHEARD :  Valera

A few suns had passed since Val had almost literally limped her way back to Little Ala Mhigo, nursing both physically injuries and a reeling mind. The former was beginning to heal nicely. She'd paid a conjurer passing through to heal her ribs and though they were still bruised and tender to the touch, at least breathing and moving about no longer caused agonizing pain. Her head only spun if she rose too fast, and her knuckles sported a patchwork of bruises and scabs but that was nothing new. But the same couldn't be said about the latter.

The bottle of liquor the blonde had stolen from Pyralis' liquor cabinet had been drank dry early on. Or she assumed she had, at least, having woken up after passing out on the second day with an empty bottle in hand. Either that or someone had helped themselves to whatever remained when she'd blacked out. Regardless, it was gone, and that gave her little choice but to deal with sorting out the mess that the past few suns’ events had made of her head.

She found herself at the godstone, grateful that no others seemed intent on praying at that moment. It was awkward enough standing there alone. Painful even, if she let her memories of standing there as a child with her mother linger long enough. They were roughly pushed away as soon as they came, though. There was far too much she needed to figure out to let ghosts distract her.

Just as she had not too long ago when Steel Rose had accompanied her to the stone, she sunk down reverently onto her knees. Her hands folded neatly in her lap and her eyes turned up to stare at the carving. She pulled in a deep breath, held it for a few heartbeats, then closed her eyes as she exhaled slowly through her nose. Focus, she willed herself silently. Concentrate.

Her mind had gained so many new knots in the past few suns, all circling about the bloody business at the fighting pits. Knots that left her with difficult questions for which she desperately wanted answers. Knots so tangled and gnarled that any attempts to unfurl them would leave her fingertips raw and bleeding. But still, she had to at least try.

Valera had willingly played along with a rigged fight that would've certainly brought little glory to Rhalgr. If anything, the Destroyer was probably wroth with her, as much as she had whispered and muttered His name that day to beg for his blessing in the sham of a bout and to wish it upon others fated to die a pathetic death filled with false hope.

Worse still, she had killed a woman -- or thought she had, at least. Having known no better at the time, it made little difference on Valera’s conscience. It still weighed just as heavily on her shoulders as a ten-tonze sack of chocobo shite and made her every bit as sick to her stomach. Valera had never killed anyone before, nor ever truly even wished death upon another. Perhaps she'd made some off-color comments or jests in her life, but it had never been as real as it was (or wasn't) when she had watched the guards cover Gwyneth's stilled, bloodied bodied with the white cloth and cart her unceremoniously from the arena.

But it was all part of the greater plan;  a noble plan, even. They would unite the unfortunate and the destitute against their masters and minders, and the savage and senseless ring where many were sent to die for the sake of entertaining rich and bloodthirsty nobles with their lives would end. Or such was the understanding that she had of it, at least.

All it took was a spark of hope where there hadn't been one before. A scrawny girl with no gold or glory to her name toppling one of the pit's most revered champions to show them that they, too, could be strong. To show them that they could survive and persevere and overcome. To give them a leader figure to rally behind and give them the courage to act:  Valera "Ironfist" Swifte.

Gods help me. It was laughable for her to even think, much less say aloud. How in the seven bloody hells did I end up in the middle of this shite?

But she was, whether or not she liked it. News would likely spread quickly in the city's underbelly in the event's wake. Whispers and rumors would pass from mouth to ear like wildfire in the dry brush, especially amongst the less fortunate. Before long, many in Ul'dah would have heard the story or some aggrandized version of it, as such things tend to go.

That was why she had decided to come here when she had packed up her things and left Pyralis' apartment. As prickly and standoffish as the residents of Little Ala Mhigo were, it would take some time longer -- or so she hoped -- for the same tales to reach it. Even if they did, she was a far rarer face here than in the streets of Pearl Lane where everyone and their godsdamned mother knew freckled, smart-mouthed Valera Swifte. Most here scarcely knew who she was to begin with, much less that she had become some sort of lightning rod for a rebellion in the works. And she had needed to keep that anonymity for a while longer, while she figured out the answers to her questions and where to go from there.

If she continued down this path, it was certain to be more of the same. Ignoble deeds as the means to accomplish noble ends. But how far was she willing to take this? How honorless and underhanded was she willing to be, sacrificing her own morals and integrity, to accomplish something greater than herself? If this continued, people would die. That was simply a fact. Could she withstand the weight of knowing that people would die, following a cause that she had been pushed to lead? If the time came, could she kill someone herself?

Her brows furrowed deeply as she tried desperately to pick at the knots that seemed to only become more tangled the more she pulled at them. Could she? Couldn't she? Would she? Wouldn't she? It was a constant back-and-forth tug on her mind.

Unable to stand her own indecisiveness any longer, Val's eyes opened to stare imploringly up at the stone, practically begging for any kind of guidance. Any sort of hint or sign of what she should do. And as always, nothing answered her but the soft murmur of nearby voices bouncing off the walls.

Just as the frustration was about to set in, a sudden memory jumped unbidden to her mind. A time when she was much younger and understood even less. Petra had been kneeling in front of the godstone for almost an entire bell in silent prayer while young, teenaged Valera had propped her back against it, impatiently swaying her feet from side to side before finally letting out a loud, petulant huff of a sigh. Some things never changed.

"Why do you pray so much?" she had whined. "You pray all the time and nothing ever changes. Nothing ever gets any better. Why do you bother if no one is even listening?"

"No prayer said in devout sincerity goes unheard," Petra had answered calmly, never opening her eyes. "If the gods do not answer, it's only because we have within us the ability to find the answers and make change for ourselves. We need only the wisdom to find the path that leads us there and the strength to endure it."

Val hadn't understood then, just as she hadn't grasped a great many of her mother's lessons. Petra had always been a dedicated devotee of Rhalgr, and she had always seemed to her daughter to have possessed more wisdom in matters spiritual than most. Of course, young as she had been when her mother had tried to impart that wisdom upon her, Valera had understood little and cared less.

But now, as the memory came back to her, she understood what she had meant that day. No god would answer her prayer to intervene, choosing for her which path she needed to take. That was something she had to find for herself. She didn't need to pray to Rhalgr to tell her what to do. She needed to pray for the wisdom to find the way and the strength to endure it. The rest was up to her.

A slow, tired smile tugged at Val's lips then. Pushing herself up from her feet, she moved closer to the stone, until she lowered herself and leaned her weight back against it with her legs outstretched. Her head lolled back until it met rock and her eyes fell shut again.

It was true that she was no closer to making her decision, but still.. she felt better. She finally understood something that felt as if it should have been evident to her all along. It was a step in the right direction towards figuring out what role she would play in the days to come, as well as inadvertent progress in her training as a fledgling Fist of Rhalgr. That was enough for now.

For a time yet, the blonde lingered at the stone. However, now as the memories of all the times her mother had brought her here came back to her, she no longer recoiled from them as one flinches away from a hot stove. The godstone would no longer bring her pain, but warmth, familiarity, and a desire to one day become as strong and wise as the woman whose presence she could still feel when she sat close like this.

Tagging @rpaddictsneedapply and @rawkin-forgeheart for relevance and mentions!