#aevi (cross)

[aeviann]

Don't worry about the future It's alright My Xeboblade X Cross Aevi for @andoryuanzuru 's amazing Cross collaboration as a standalone piece~ (also my XCX 9th anniversay drawing hehe~) I am still in disbelief about the definitive edition, and I so can't wait to see everyone again on Mira~

[aeviarth-the-dragoness]

Aeviarth b chillin.

[jazz-kity]

YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

[vegeta-bananabluish]

Ten days to full bloom (Secret Santa fic)

Title: Ten Days to Full bloom Author: Bananabluish Gift for: The lovely Aevy WC: ~2200 Summary: Under the cherry blossom trees, painting the land in powdery pinks and whites, Goku discovers what it means to be in love with his newly-wed wife, Chi-Chi. AO3 Link: Here

Ten days to full bloom

Goku and ChiChi stood hand in hand, gazing out at the breathtaking view from their new home on Mount Paozu. The cherry blossom trees surrounding their land painted the landscape in hues of powdery pinks and whites, casting an atmosphere that looked so dreamily serene, that it verged on magical. Chichi's lavender cheongsam beautifully blended into the colors of the landscape, in contrast to Goku's appearance. Looking down at his signature orange gi, adorned with hooks and tears here and there, made him feel like he stood out like a sore thumb. He was brought back into reality when Chichi absentmindedly plucked a small twig from his hair—remnants of his sparring session with Krillin earlier in the morning, and Goku felt an unwelcome surge of heat in his neck.

Turning slightly to hide his blush, his gaze naturally fell upon their new home, built next to the flank of a tall mountain. A spring breeze persisting for days, had blown an abundance of flower petals into their yard, blanketing the grass in a fluffy layer of pink. According to Chichi, the cherry blossoms would paint the view from their kitchen every year from now on, as the month of March turned into April. Having shared the same roof for just a few days, Goku found himself already captivated by the depth of Chichi's knowledge on things that had never even crossed his mind before.  Goku slightly turned to her, trying to catch the murmurs slipping from her lips over the rustling leaves. He gathered she was saying something about how this view was the perfect setting for the beginning of their new life together. Goku understood the words but didn't quite grasp what Chichi was actually saying. In fact, the whole concept of 'marriage' still left him bewildered, despite his participation in the wedding. He glanced down at their intertwined hands with a puzzled expression, uncertain why she had insisted on this gesture. Did this also come with 'marriage'? He now knew that 'husband' and 'wife' were supposed to have physical contact in the bedroom, but did this also extend throughout the day?

Suddenly, the voracious growl of a beast rumbled from his stomach, ruthlessly shattering the tranquility that had embraced the moment. Goku's cheeks reddened again as he apologetically rubbed the back of his head. “Oops, guess I'm getting hungry again, Chichi.”

Chichi frowned—she was still full from their heavy lunch, and the dishes weren't even dry yet. Goku seemed like a bottomless pit when it came to food, which burdened her with a lot of extra work, but she could never suppress a smile whenever Goku showed unease around his infinite hunger. “It's time to start dinner then.” Chichi seemed to relish the quiet stroll back home in the shared silence between them. Goku felt the need to say or do something, but had no idea what husbands were supposed to express to their wives in such moments as these. A little later, Goku effortlessly stacked a few sizable wooden crates on each other, his muscles flexing with the ease of a man who dedicated all his time to his training. Chichi observing from the doorway while the pots simmered behind her, couldn't help but worry, despite her inability to take her eyes off his bare muscular arms. She shook her head to dispel the indecent thoughts clouding her mind. "Goku, be careful! Those boxes are heavy, and I don't want you breaking my mother’s china," she admonished.

With a nonchalant grin, Goku assured her, "Don't worry, Chichi. I've lifted much heavier things during training." He was well aware that Chichi was likely just as capable of carrying everything into the house, but she had emphasized that it was more fitting for it to be a 'husband's job. Goku, in his typical fashion, gladly seized every opportunity with both hands to break a sweat.  Wondering if Goku even knew what 'china' was, Chichi turned around with a huff, carrying a heap of towels inside. She could no longer tolerate looking at his careless conduct. Nevertheless, she was pleased her new husband was able to bring everything inside quickly. They had spent the past few days with the absolute bare minimum— getting by with just a bed and some kitchenware, because the remote location of their home had been challenging for the moving truck to reach. It didn’t take long before they had brought most of the belongings inside as Goku didn’t possess anything other than the shirt on his back and the boots on his feet. There was only some kitchen furniture left standing in the grass. While carrying their new dining chairs inside, Chichi gracefully managed two chairs stacked upon each other, and Goku haphazardly handled the rest. Peering around the mountain of furniture, he stole a glance at his new wife. He couldn’t ignore the warmth growing inside of him whenever he looked at her. The sensation resembled ki-generation whenever he powered up for battle, but it seemed more concentrated in his chest. The first time he experienced this feeling was an hour before what everybody had called ‘the ceremony’. In the white wedding dress, her radiance was akin to the silver twinkle on a stream’s surface... or a flock of white doves catching flight... or like the sweetest whipped cream he ever tasted. Seeing her like that tickled his insides in all sorts of funny ways and ever since he had tried to pinpoint exactly what it was about. He noticed it especially when she looked directly at him, and her large brown eyes radiated a warmth that reminded him of afternoon sun on freshly upturned soil. In the following days, as they settled into their new home, Goku carried this puzzle with him, determined to keep trying to figure it out. It was during one particular quiet evening that Goku was hit hard by this new and unfamiliar feeling. In the soft glow of the sun drooping into the horizon, Goku and Chichi found themselves sitting on their porch, surrounded by the delicate fragrance of cherry blossoms. It surprised Goku that although he wasn’t particularly fond of flora, he now paid attention to how the orange light tinted the blossom petals. Goku's eyes lingered on Chichi's profile as she spoke about her day, explaining where she had found the herbs she had incorporated into their last meal, detailing her explorations of the surroundings.

Even though Goku had exceptionally enjoyed her culinary skills—he had inhaled everything set out on the table in a matter of seconds, her words completely faded away in the presence of her beauty. That peculiar feeling suddenly hit him again, striking him like a bolt of lightning this time, and he blinked in surprise.

"Chichi, I... I think I'm feeling something strange," Goku admitted, his tone of voice just as confused as his expression.

Chichi turned to him. "What do you mean, Goku?"

"I don't know. It's like my heart is doing something funny when I'm around you.” Goku scratched his head, trying to make sense of these newfound emotions again. “Is that normal?"

Chichi chuckled, her laughter striking him right in the chest. "Goku, that sounds a lot like love. It's what married couples feel for one another, if all is well.

“Love?” Goku pondered the word, letting it roll off his tongue. He didn't know much about the love between a man and a woman, except for what he’d seen on Master Roshi’s television, but judging by the impractical clothing the ladies wore, that source of information didn't seem so reliable either. So far, the whole concept had been far outside of his world. That is, until recently. Could he have fallen into it without even realizing it? His eyes slid inquisitively over her features, willing her to elaborate. But she kept her mouth shut. Why did she often talk when he didn't care for it, but when he wanted her to speak, she remained tight-lipped? There was a certain gleam in her eyes that he wasn't used to seeing from her though. When getting into bed that evening, they engaged in that one thing they had done almost every night since their wedding. Whenever they shed their clothes and lay down on the mattress, it was almost as if Goku’s instincts seamlessly took over. His gaze, as though he was on the battlefield, focused on her with intensity. But instead of defeating her in martial arts, all he wanted was to feel her, kiss her, taste her, everywhere. To feel and be inside her. In the last few days, he had begun to grasp what he needed to do to bring out more of the delicious sounds she would make whenever he solely focused on her. With each added night of such intimate entanglements, he found himself drawn to her in more ways he didn't quite comprehend. He began noticing the subtle details—the way her hair fell whenever she turned her head, the softness of her touch whenever she plucked a fluff off his back, and the warmth of her smile whenever he joined her in the same room. She didn't laugh so often, but when she did, his day inexplicably brightened. Exactly ten days after their wedding, Chichihad convinced him to join her again in the orchard. She had told him that the Japanese cherry blossom tree bloomed for only two weeks, and she wanted to seize every opportunity to enjoy it. Despite Goku’s initial resistance—he was reluctant to interrupt his training, he harbored some curiosity about what she had in store for him.

They walked along a low-hanging tree, and Chichi reached out to pluck a small branch with flowers. She tucked it into her hair, behind her ears, and Goku found it strange that while he still didn’t particularly care for flowers, he found that this specific bloom complemented her beauty so well. He came to the realization that he wouldn't want to change anything about her. 

As they strolled through their yard, and into the treeline, Goku absorbed the serene beauty of his wife and of the landscape, noting that even though by far most flowers had opened, there were still a few buds waiting to burst into full bloom. It suddenly struck him—just like these blossoms, his heart was in the process of opening up to Chichi, revealing layers he hadn't known were even there.

Goku abruptly halted mid-step. Sensing his absence next to her, Chichi pivoted, expecting her husband had dart off, perhaps in pursuit of another bird like last week. She spotted him standing still behind her, a different expression on his face than his usual sunny demeanor. As Goku approached her, a sudden breeze caused the cherry blossoms to rain down around them like confetti and Goku couldn't contain his feelings any longer. "Chichi, I think I've figured it out. I... I love you," Goku confessed. His eyes, for once, did not reflect his usual childlike enthusiasm but instead pooled with sincerity.

Chichi’s eyes widened before she broke out in that specific radiant smile he craved to coax out of her. "Goku, I love you too." She lifted her arms to cradle his head in her hands, flattening a few black strands with her fingertips, and gazed deep into his eyes for a moment. The moment froze in time and without the need for words, they both sensed that everything was just right. After blowing a falling pink petal from his brow, Chichi kissed her husband. As he felt her lips on his, the warm ball in his chest sprang to life again, this time expanding into a warm mixture of warmth and nervousness throughout his entire torso. Goku wrapped his arms around her waist, feeling the lean muscle beneath his fingertips through her dress. Being more confident that Chichi was experiencing the same kind of strange sensations he felt for her, he deepened the kiss, pulling her tighter against him. His body spontaneously came alive with her proximity up to the point that his heart tried to break through his ribs.

Before the wedding, he had thought marriage was a new type of exotic dish—or maybe something gross Bulma had cooked up in her lab. But it wasn't until ten days after their wedding day that he truly understood what it was all about: Chichi vowed to always be there for him, and he realized how incredibly lucky he was that someone wanted to spend a lifetime with him. This woman was even prepared to feed his perpetually hungry stomach to the point of satisfaction, no matter how difficult a task that proved to be. However, as their lives had further intertwined, Goku realized it was not about satisfying his stomach but his heart. 

As the last few gold-orange streaks in the sky dissipated into the night, they embraced onto a tapestry of fallen petals, making Goku feel like he was part of something secret and special, a new chapter of his life beginning. As if guided by an unseen force, their embrace effortlessly moved into something more. When they made love under the canopy of pastel pink that night, the moon cast its spell over the orchard, their shadows dancing with the blossoms, creating a ballet of love that was almost surreal.

[dubiousduskwight]

Day 14: Telling

The hunting party as a group stopped in their tracks not half a bell after they’d crossed the Gates of Judgment. The game here was less dangerous thanks to the increased military presence, and if somebody was badly hurt or lost in a snowstorm then Camp Dragonhead and Whitebrim were both close enough that aid could be sought and a rescue party summoned. Matthieu had planned to insist on this when his parish’s shooting club had invited him along, but to his relief he needn’t have concerned himself, as this was part of their usual route.

The club was a small one, the product of a few citizens in the parish coming into money thanks to Ishgard’s increased trade volume and deciding to put that coin to use acquiring some of Skysteel’s newest products. None of them were able to afford the aetherotransformer unit that turned the average rifle into a multi-faceted man-portable weapon of mass destruction, but having access to rifle and shot still made them feel like they were part of the new Coerthas and afforded them the chance to go out on hunts without years of training in spear or bow.

They’d insisted on Matthieu coming along at least once, and while he was generally well-liked by most of his constituents, he had to admit that he was most popular with the kind of people who got along with his aunt: older ladies who enjoyed their tea and gossip, found his willingness to help around the store to be charming, and lightly teased him about his relationship with Edda. That was enough of the parish to have gotten him elected, but he had to admit that getting others to like him more would help in the next election. In this case, that meant agreeing to attend one of the Crozier 4th’s Official Club of Jolly Fellows once-a-moon hunts.

The title was not of his choosing.

And so he’d agreed, gotten some assistance from his fellows in the Commons in selecting an easy-to-use carbine and how to load, point, and fire it without embarrassing himself, allowing for the knowledge that this was his first time out, and met up with a dozen of the Fellows at the Gates. The plan had been to traipse about the snows between the Gates and Whitebrim, take a few cloudkin or a wild karakul if the opportunity presented itself, then head back to help themselves to some beet stew and sort out who was the best and worst shot while their catches were prepared.

It was a cloudy morning, and while the cloudwatchers had suggested a mild chance of snow, visibility was still clear. The group had a clear view of the Nail interrupting the highlands in one large series of jagged peaks, and of what had stopped them: a single dragon, perched on one of the larger outcroppings, observing the comings and goings of the wildlife on the ground below.

“Fury, would you look at that.” Alort, the parish cobbler, made a quick sign of prayer to Halone, his tone of voice breathless. It wasn’t clear to Matthieu if he spoke in awe or fear.

“Never thought I’d see one of those without taking to my heels,” said Gaspardieux, the carpenter. “Still feels like I ought to.”

“That makes sense.” Matthieu kept his composure while he replied, simply raising a hand to the dragon in greeting. Events surrounding his election had given him more benign exposure to the Dravanian Horde than the average commoner, and he kept abreast of efforts to repatriate those who had turned into aevis and wished to return to the city. “I’m sure it’s just as wary.”

If the dragon had even seen Matthieu’s raised hand, it didn’t show it, simply lowering its head to rest it on its forelegs. “Mayhaps if we were knights or dragoons it’d be wary,” said Gaspardieux. “But I left my chainmail at home and haven’t perched on any high places of late.” The other Fellows chuckled, the tension easing.

“It’s a lovely color, isn’t it?” said Ophoix, the local gemcutter. “Like sapphires, but a little deeper.” He stepped forward, shielding his eyes from the clouds to get a better look. “I’d love to see it up close.”

“I don’t think you’ll be turning that into a stone fit for a brooch anytime soon, Ophie,” said Gaspardieux.

“I wouldn’t!” Ophoix stepped back, holding up his other hand in protest. “But surely, just a scale. Mayhaps we could ask.”

“No.” The statement was short, sharp, and firm, and came from Aubineaux, the parish tailor. The others took notice; while the Fellows had no official leader, it was Aubineaux who took the hunts most seriously, did most of the organizing, and led the other members in drills to improve their marksmanship. “Let it come to us if it likes, but otherwise we keep our distance.”

There was some grumbling from the Fellows, but Aubineaux stood firm, turning to face them from the head of the group. “No.” Grim-faced, with heavy eyebrows and a stocky build for an elezen, the tailor didn’t match up to the “Jolly” part of the club’s name. Matthieu suspected the title wasn’t of his choosing, either.

“Well, what’s it doing here, anyway?” The question came from Constant, one of the local tutors. Matthieu frowned; to his recollection, Constant had been one of the more reactionary voices in the community in Ishgard’s recent upheavals. Some had thought he was one of the True Brethren, in their brief existence, but he’d denied this ever since their disbandment. “It’s quite far from Dravania.” “I’m sure the knights are aware of it,” Matthieu replied. “If we’re going to be at peace, we have to have some free movement, and simply live with a little suspicion. Perhaps it’s simply enjoying time where it wouldn’t be otherwise.”

“I don’t know,” said Alort. “You wouldn’t catch me going past Falcon’s Nest, let alone Tailfeather, and certainly not out in their own lands simply because I could. It doesn’t mean I ought.”

“We don’t even catch you leaving even the parish, Alort,” said Gaspardieux. The cobbler puffed out his cheeks in annoyance.

“And we already have their dragonets in the Firmament,” said Matthieu. “And the returning aevis and so forth. I simply mean there’s a good reason for it, no doubt.”

“Good or ill, we’re wasting time.” Aubineaux gestured down the trail towards the Whitebrim Front. “And losing good bells when we could be catching karakul with no snow to cover their tracks.”

“What a catch it would be though, eh?” Constant mused on this, watching the dragon with a speculative expression. “In worse times, of course.” “Of course,” said Matthieu. “But only in worse times. Remember what happened to Flaurienne Mollet?”

The Fellows all collectively winced. Mollet, who had stood for another parish in the Crozier, was scandalized to have been involved in the poaching of dragon leather after the conclusion of the Dragonsong War, and had been forced to resign in disgrace.

Before any further debate could be had, Gaspardieux pointed upwards at the dragon. Following his arm, the group saw a pair of smaller figures flitting about the dragon. “Have a look, it’s just brought its children on a little outing, you see? Nothing wrong with that.” There was a long silence among the group as they watched the wyrmlings flit about the outcropping. The dragon briefly snapped its maw in the air, as if to chide them, and then settled down again. After a minute, Matthieu found he misliked it.

“We certainly shouldn’t get close if that’s the case. Aubineaux, could you lead us to some tracks, if you please?”

“Yes.” Despite his refusal, at this point even Aubineaux was watching the dragon. “Come along now.”

[honnojis]

[CRASHES THROUGH YOUR DOOR AGAIN]

Heyo me again and another interceptor question (Woah shocker coming from Aevia's #1 fan) But what game is each interceptors favourite game?

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh i'd imagine it'd be something like this

Aevis: The Legend of Zelda, just the series as a whole.

Aevia: Animal Crossing. Probably New Leaf as her favourite?

Axel: Mario Kart 8/Mario Party/Smash. Basically any mario game that can possibly ruin friendships bc he's obnoxiously good at them

Ariana: Splatoon -- she loves the fashion in the games the most, but thinks the game as a whole is fun -- or Professor Layton. I'd imagine she actually likes puzzle games as well!

Aero: Metal Gear Solid, or any game that requires both thinking and skill. Maybe XCom as well.

Alain: Hades or anything else along the lines of roguelike games. Probably Warriors-type games too. I think they'd probably enjoy games that let them release pent-up anger LOL

[desfraisespartout]

Last line

Rules: Post the last nine lines, written or drawn, of any WIP or content. Fanfic, meta, sketch.

Thank you @riinoaheartilly for the tag! 💖

I've finally started translating in English my FFXVI fanfic for the Bastards live AU I posted recently in French on AO3.

Scenda, if you see this, thank you for reading my fic. I'm translating it for you 💖

"You have got to be kidding!" shouts Aevis on the other side. "The old trails are gone. It'll be hell finding our way out. "It's that bad? I mean, so long as it slows down the Ironblood…"  Biast finally gets out of passageway and heaves a sigh of relief. "Are you two done yapping?" Tiamat had started crossing. "Focus on finding the Dominant." Biast looks around and understands what Aevis meant. The landscape was in a sad state, worse than earlier. The group was most likely approaching the epicenter of the battle, which was a good thing. The only issue though, there was no clear path ahead with all the giant icicles and rock projectiles littering the place. The ground was fractured at numerous places, and Biast could hear the ice cracking menacingly under the desert's scorching sun. It would only get more dangerous as they go. And all those corpses, Dhalmekian and Ironblood alike, that were either splattered, crushed or pierced… The bloody mess was terrifying.

[constanciandrea]

alternative continuation to @shugarezaissugar’s 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙚

hi! i would just like to remind you that the angsty prompt and the original story doesn’t belong to me, but to the wonderful @shugarezaissugar! my rp partner and i actually decided to rp the continuation, privately, I hope it was okay! as per the original piece’s writer’s wishes, I’m going to post what my rp parntner and I had written so far. 

my partner wrote Shouto, and i wrote as an oc (I apologize if I went ahead and did it. fingers crossed that you like her even just a bit! x.x I just don’t know how to write this all in second POV since I’m quite new to writing in general! please bear with me, thank you! :)

this is my very first tumblr post, so please bear with the format! 

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Shouto’s part: Written by my rp partner

It hadn't been that long since Shoto had stopped calling Aevi and leaving messages on her phone, knowing that she would never get them, that he was just talking to air. A voice that no longer led to the girl he had fallen in love with. He hadn't really moved on, but Shoto was getting better, his heart slowly healing. Meeting Anna had changed everything for him. She had been the person he needed to breathe life back into his soul, to reform his body from the shattered mess he was. She put back the pieces of his heart bit by bit until he was finally able to send one last voicemail telling Aevi goodbye, and that he loved her. He always would, but it was time for him to go now. Shoto had spent too much time pining for what he could no longer have, and his friends were right; it hadn't been healthy.

  It had been a couple months now since he finally let go and his relationship with Anna had flourished. Some of it, he knew, was because she resembled Aevi so much that it was, at times, easy to forget that she wasn't...and sometimes he felt guilty, thinking that his loss was the only reason he was interested in her to begin with. But, he also knew that this wasn't true. He fell for her in a way that was new and exciting, something totally unpredictable but not unwanted. And when he looked at Anna, his heart sang with that love, helping him heal a little more all the time. 

Today they were at a festival.  Some of their friends had invited the couple and honestly, Shoto was already considering going. It wasn't often that UA students got to get out of the school and go to a public event, especially 1-A with all the trouble they have gotten into over the years pretty much from day one. The weather was warm and everyone was laughing. There was food to be eaten and laughs to be had... Everything had been perfect for one tiny sliver of a day. But then it all just...twisted. Contorted into the nightmare that he was looking at now. Betrayal clear on his face as he looked into the eyes of the girl he had thought was dead for the past several months. Throwing out some trash from her food...Present Mic and Aizawa-sensi hot on her heels...until they laid eyes on him. 

"Someone want to tell me what the hell is going on...Aevi, is that really you?" His voice was deathly calm,  the type of tone that you tried to use when you knew you were about to break. The tone his own father used when he was in trouble as a child. Or when he was apprehending criminals. Aevi’s part: Written by Anri (me) With a skip in her step and a smile on her lips, a girl with dark hair's mellow brown eyes lit up with joy. Her eyes sparkled with mischievous glee and her hair swirled around in wild waves. As she skipped down the busy street of Shinjuku, her laughter rang out like music.

For Aevi, it was simply the perfect day. The best day in her life, so far. After all, it's her first time leaving the "orphanage" to go to visit the city, the festival at that, despite having lived in Shinjuku for eight months already. She simply wasn't allowed to go out because it was dangerous. Especially for her. No, not Aevi.

It wasn't as if her teachers don't understand her desire to go out and see the world for herself again, she had no memories of anything, after all. But they were genuinely worried about the potential chaos that her quirk would cause. Try as she might to convince them otherwise that she would definitely behave, Aevi knew deep down that their concerns were valid. 

Her teachers would watch as the poor girl glumly stared out at the window, dreaming with *such* want, desire in her eyes to be able to use her wings to fly freely in the outside world. That's why when Aevi spent literally months trying to win over her teachers, giving them little handmade gifts - sweet little trinkets that showed them how much she appreciated their effort and support.. their resolve were slowly crumbling down.

At first, she felt like it didn't do anything at all, so she had to resort to doing volunteer works for the orphanage, eagerly doing chores everyone hated and using her infamous puppy eyes no one was able to ignore. Once she noticed it was time for the final blow, she negotiated and reassured her teachers that even though she may pose a problem, she would do her absolute best to keep everyone safe. Hence, she had to spend months upon months of quirk training and self defense. Her hard work paid off even though she was just barely able to protect herself, as her teachers said. So to take precautionary measures, she had to go with at least a couple adults around.

"Aevi, I told you to stop running through the crowd—-" Hizashi Yamada scolded the girl as his eyes widened at the scene that was unfolding in front of him. As Aevi was throwing away her trash in the trash can, she seem to have ran into a group of people.

The girl tilted her head in confusion as strangers she had never seen before seem to have mentioned her name. Were they talking to her? "I'm sorry, do I happen to know you?" She smiled at the group warmly as she asked in a polite manner. Aevi suddenly felt a jolt as her teachers grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

a/n: original author, please let me know if i should put it down! thank you! 

[roshield]

lost

GLIMPSES OF THE PAST

send LOST for a scene from my muse's past in which they felt lost, literally or figuratively

"Chin up, lad. You're going to be a soldier."

Clive Rosfield dies in the flames of Phoenix Gate.

Ultimately, there is no reason to live - Joshua is dead, died by the hands of a monster that ripped him to shreds, taken from the world so soon. Ultimately, there's no reason for him to live mentally or emotionally, but physically he pushes himself to live. He pushes himself to live so that he may one day find Joshua's killer and finally gain his revenge.

For his brother. For the life he had lost.

In the burnt remains of the boy he once was, Wyvern takes his place - not by choice, of course. Something has to replace the bright eyed boy with a future ahead of him, and it's a bitter taste of the sweetness that was once there. It's a foul taste in his own mouth, but he presses on.

For his brother. For the life that Joshua lost.

Wyvern is nothing like Clive; the man is quiet, to the point where the other Bastards had thought the newly wedded queen had cut his tongue out of his mouth. It's something they ultimately wave their hand at ( 'if the lad doesn't want to talk, that's his business', tiamat spits out ), because at the end of the day all that matters is if he can pick up a sword and fight.

And he can, because it's always been the only thing he's good at. It's what he had trained for, before everything fell apart around him.

For his brother.

-- Wyvern is nothing like Clive; he's ruthless and uncaring. He kills without a second thought, without even a flinch of his body. The unit he's placed in has fought for years, but even in their early years the act of killing has always been something they have to swallow whole, a bitter taste on their tongues and rough to even finish.

But not Wyvern. He kills with no complaints - with no words spoken.

"Greagor's tits, do you think there's anything behind those eyes of his?" Aevis muses to the other two, arms crossed as he watches the younger man whip his sword, the still fresh blood splatting on the ground.

Biast snorts in response. "Bastard's been like that ever since the Empress dropped him into our ranks. Barely says a word."

"It doesn't matter," Tiamat reminds them again, sheathing his own blade. "What matters is he can kill - and that's all we need."

They talk as though he can't hear them. He barely reacts when Aevis pats him on the shoulder, as the three other men walk past him and leave him to follow.

It's nothing new for him. It's not that he enjoys it. It's not that Clive Wyvern wants to kill. He hates it as much as the next person does, but it's all he can do. The more he kills, the more he can find Joshua's killer. It's what he tells himself, it's what he convinces himself.

For his brother.

No matter how many bodies lay at his feet, no matter how much blood he spills, it's for the brother he lost.

( joshua would be ashamed of him, he thinks. ashamed of the person he's become, ashamed of the person he has to be. the boy he once was is a stranger to him now, nothing but a passing memory he can't recognize.

he doesn't like looking at himself in the mirror anymore. )

[bxstardaevis]

Aevis had so many wishes that could never be. Chief among them, that all four of the Bastards could've reunited here, in a place where they could finally be more than expendable weapons doing the most dangerous and bloody work. He wished he could have seen the other two soften, seen Biast laugh and share a pint with the Cursebreakers, seen Tiamat tend to the plants between training sessions. He wished they could have retaken their old names, or chosen new ones. He wished he could have confessed at last, on equal grounds. And if wishes were dragons, they'd all be blessed.

Yet, as he'd said himself, he and Clive were here now. That counted for something - quite a lot of something, really. Aevis' hands slid down from shoulders to elbows, as he gave a small nod and a gently relieved smile. "Thank you, Clive."

Only after a long beat of silence did his hands then reluctantly drop away, and already he felt a subtle tingle beneath his skin in the absence of friendly contact. "Greagor's mercy, I must look a mess," Aevis managed a sheepish chuckle, too raw and vulnerable to make his tone sound as light as intended. "And I still have this to mend." He crossed to pick up the blanket he'd thrown aside earlier. "Don't force yourself to stay awake on my account. I'll be..." Aevis couldn't truthfully say 'fine', even with as much as Clive had helped, "...better, now."

That subtle lean and deep breath from Clive in their embrace did leave Aevis more reluctant to pull back, but he did nonetheless. With any luck, this wouldn't be the only time he'd be allowed this close to a man who - even with all the struggles and difficulties - Aevis considered family.

He noticed a strain in Clive's expression, though, like the younger man couldn't quite hold a smile. Unsurprising really, given what all had poured out between them just tonight. Doubly so with Clive's quiet insistence.

"...Then we can both be grateful for each other. Because what I don't have is a reason not to trust you." Another slight, gentle squeeze to Clive's upper arms. "Whatever our pains, whatever we'd wish to change, we are here now. Even when it hurt to look at me, you gave me a chance. You let me come here, and do more than just survive. I'm... starting to see this Hideaway as home, because of you."

[aeviarth-the-dragoness]

This is Onyx He is a Nightwing/Night Fury hybrid.

[aeviann]

I managed to finish it before the day ended! :D

Happy 7th (!!!) anniversary Xenoblade X, I love you so much <3

[13th-dragon-prince]

Musesofawolf--[Prior]

Scales cracked, shattered, barely slowing impending doom. Muscle rended, shredded, flattening the aether and turning it even deadlier. And with a spray of ichor, red and blue, the aether ball shot from the far side of the dragon's skull, the light behind those angry eyes already out. The dragonette dropped from limp jaws, the large beast swaying, still upright, and then slumping, head tilting down into its breast, neck limp as it folded in on itself, and front wings fell loosely at its sides. All motion ceased, leaving the dragon sitting upright, as if it was just sleeping, not dead as the slow drip of red blood seeped from the twin holes in its head. Bryn rose slowly, walking forward, his rifle held at the ready by his side, the soft buzz of energy around the wooden death stick marking it was slowly charging again, as he went to confirm his kill, the would-be-snack dragonette taking to the skies after a moment and circling the dead beast, a triumphant screech rising from it and their brood mates.

It was not the sound that caused his muscles to seize, and neither was it the blast of gore that puddled outward from that now vacant skull, it was the density of the aether that turned his teeth on edge - a flashbang of energy to his senses. His core thrummed, hammering so loud, he could feel the rise and fall of his lungs in time with the rapid dripping of the viscous ichor of the body that fell thickly to the ruins they stood atop. How it stilled as if a statue, carved in the image of something lost. Whillow’s eyes locked to the flesh that pebbled under the weight of the dead, listening to the screeching cacophony of tiny voices. A language so close to his own but alien all the same. It was as they left to mend their hurts, cawing noises of thanks, that Whillow took notice of the steps that reverberated in the hollow. There was a second where the beast inside did not listen to the calming understanding of safety, but it was gone soon enough - tempered by the core as he let out a slow exhale. Crawling forward with a slow approach to the unmoving (but potentially still active) body, Whillow dug his claws into the flesh in order to climb the larger creature, scaling it as if it were little more than the ground to walk as he soon stood from his crouch to stand on both feet; talons anchoring him easily - till he was leaning and peering at the strange throughline that had pierced the game. Even going as far as to stick a few of his fingers into it.

Brows furrowed and a shiver drifted across his spine down to the flicking end of his tail as he turned to the approaching hunter with what could only be described as a pout, lips a thin line with his soft cheeks puffed a little as that little predator peered across the laxed head of the Aevis. What fun was there in idle nothings? No clawing, no biting, no thrill of the chase! Dark almonds narrowed as he stared at the gun, walking over the body with his hands on his hips, trying to keep that feeling of ‘irate’ on his face but slightly failing as the tell-tail wiggling of his tail and slight curve of the corner of his lip. It wasn’t often that anyone beat him in a game of teeth. “Bryn has the bite.” It’s a compliment and even as the tone was still that pouting puff of a chest, his arms crossed as he hopped down to meet his friend on even ground, the honest fun of the trial was still had even just a little. “Now, a meal?” Head cocked to the side he motioned to the body behind him, as if to insinuate the whole of the kill was Brynhorn’s to have. Though he didn’t actually know what he would do with it. It wasn’t the place of whoever lost to pick and choose. “Dull teeth, Dull claw-“ He waved a hand between them as if to wave away a notion, but as his posture returned to rest at his hip, his gaze facing away in no particular direction, he added with a tone of quiet praise, “-Sharp eyes, Clean blows. Better hunter wins the treat.” It’s not spoken as any slight against him, if anything it’s more commentary brought by the social notion of caste hierarchy. One who was thought to be better was proven to lose, thus the standing had changed. Respectful if anything, or embarrassed if the flicking tail was any indication.

[baevi]

Aevi for a cross compilation hosted on twitter~ God I love her so much imdying

[annisthree]

Chapter IV: Evasive manoeuvres

previous chapter // masterlist // next chapter

Pairing: Cassian Andor x Original Female Character

Word Count: ~4.5k

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Explicit language, canon typical violence, blood and injury

Chapter summary: The crew runs into some problems on their way back from Ontasou. Back on Yavin IV, Cassian receives a new assignment - and tries to distract himself by reprogramming the stolen droid.

A/N: Cross-posted on AO3 (same username).

'You might wanna hold onto something,' Marla shouted, keeping her focus on the viewport ahead - and on avoiding those anti-spacecraft missiles.

It didn't take long for the Empire to start shooting at them with everything they had. To be precise, it took them exactly the same amount of time that it took Marla to sprint from the cargo bay to the cockpit, throw Aevie out of the pilot seat and bark at her to take over the co-pilot controls.

Clearly, the Empire wasn't happy that their crew had messed with their security, stolen a droid and blown a massive hole in one of the walls. Their dissatisfaction was demonstrated by the rain of missiles firing at them continuously since takeoff, as well as the two TIE fighters that were currently sitting on their tail.

'Aevie, start calculating the hyperspace route. We're jumping as soon as we leave the atmosphere.'

Marla's hands were wet, and it was difficult to tell whether it was the remainder of the rain outside or if the rain had already been replaced by sweat. Either way, she was squeezing her hands on the throttle control so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

'Now, reroute power to the thrusters.'

'Are you sure? It looks like we could use the shields...'

'Not if I'm fast enough,' Marla grinned, but a sudden loud rumble somewhere underneath the flight console made her heart sink. 'Shit. What the hell?'

'I-- I don't know,' Aevie stuttered, flipping a series of toggles before her. 'Something is not right.'

'No, really...? Where the hell is Cassian?'

Out of the corner of her eye, Marla saw that one of the indicator lights began blinking red. Shortly after, another one followed. And another one.

There was another loud rumble, this time right behind Marla's back. Sounded like someone was hauling themselves into the cockpit.

Seconds later, Cassian was replacing Aevie in the co-pilot seat. Marla looked to her right, just for a moment - but that was enough for her to notice his left arm was tied with some sort of a rag that was already bleeding through.

What the hell? When did that happen?

Another quick glance allowed her to assess the injury. It didn't look too serious, but he was bleeding - and that stupid, dirty rag he tied his arm with would do more harm than good.

'Eyes on the skies,' she heard him hiss and immediately averted her gaze. 'Why is our life support turned off?

'Aevie?'

'I don't know! You said to reroute the power--'

'Not from life support! Cassian?'

'On it.' There was a series of loud blips, then a longer tone, and then the indicator lights turned green again.

Maker. Even with the awkwardness between them, they still worked ridiculously well together. He naturally anticipated what she needed him to do and knew exactly what controls to adjust or where to reroute the power, allowing her to focus all her attention on manoeuvring between the TIEs and the missiles. It was as if their minds merged into a singular entity every time they were behind the ship's controls.

'We should probably turn on the shields--'

'I don't need shields, Cassian; I need speed. Also, you're bleeding on my floor.'

One of the missiles flew dangerously close to their starboard, and Marla swerved abruptly to the left.

'It's not your ship,' Cassian mumbled as he began tapping the screen of the hyperdrive terminal. 'I've stopped the bleeding. And the floor is sticky with dirt anyway.'

'Oh, not my ship? You wanna take over?'

'Hey!' Zafe's cry reached them over the loud growling of the engine. 'Less bickering, more flying, perhaps?'

'It's not your ship,' Marla repeated mockingly, suddenly pulling the ship up by almost ninety degrees. The sheer force pressed her back into her seat. 'Okay, get ready to jump.'

The sky outside the viewport became darker and darker with each second - until finally, they became surrounded by the blackness of outer space.

'Now!'

They both reached for the hyperspace lever and pushed it together. The ship shuddered momentarily, and then with a sudden lurch, the stars around them turned into bright lines that soon disappeared into nothingness.

It took Marla a couple of seconds to calm her breathing and peel her eyes off the viewport as if she had to make sure they really did make the jump.

'Nice,' she panted, her eyes skimming the control panel to make sure everything was in place. Finally, she turned to her right and inspected Cassian's wound.

'What the hell, Cassian? When did this happen?'

Cassian shrugged, avoiding her eyes. 'Right before we got on the ship, it was probably one of the stormtroopers that were chasing us. It's just a graze, though. I'm fine.'

'Right,' she scoffed, giving him a stern look before turning her attention to the rest of the crew. 'Aevie, you're okay there?'

'Yeah. I'm sorry. I can't fly this stupid hunk of metal. Nothing is where it's supposed to be.'

'It's okay,' Marla sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. 'I shouldn't have asked you to do that. Just... for the future, don't mess with the life support systems. They're... they're kinda important.'

'I'm fine, too, in case anyone was wondering,' Zafe chimed in. 'A couple of new bruises, thanks to your crazy flying - but otherwise, I'm golden.'

'My crazy flying saved your sorry ass,' she smirked at him. 'Now. There's bacta spray in the med kit,' she returned her attention to Cassian, who continued to avoid her gaze. 'I highly suggest changing these dirty bandages before you get this infected.'

'I'm fine,' he repeated, a trace of annoyance flashing in his eyes.

'You know what? You're right--'

'Thank you,'

'You don't need this arm. You're a lousy shot anyway.'

'Stars, Cassian, what did you do to her?'

Cassian gave Zafe an indifferent shrug and got up from the chair, turning towards the exit of the cockpit.

Stupid, stubborn idiot.

'He's bleeding on my floor,' she offered as a way of explanation, piercing Cassian's back with an angry stare.

'It's not your ship,' he mumbled with resignation, turning his head back to throw her an annoyed look before he punched the door controls and left the cockpit without another word.

Marla let out a long frustrated sigh and tilted her head back, suddenly interested in inspecting the ceiling. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aevie getting up from the passenger seat, and moments later, she felt a gentle squeeze on her shoulder that was probably meant to be reassuring. Soon enough, Aevie followed Cassian's footsteps, leaving Marla alone with Zafe.

'You guys are cute,' Zafe pointed out once they could no longer hear Aevie's footsteps.

'Shut up,' she moaned, eyes still glued to the ceiling.

'I would have thought you two lovebirds would cut back all that bickering now that you had a chance to release the frustration--'

'Zafe, I swear, if you don't shut up now, I will make sure to add a couple more bruises to the collection.'

'Fine,' he grinned, and Marla narrowly resisted the urge to punch him in the teeth. 'But we're continuing this conversation next time we find some alcohol. And,' he hesitated, getting up and slowly walking away towards the exit, 'I would just like to point out that I was right from the very beginning.'

'Go!' she yelled.

He did go, but not before she could note the slight tremble of his shoulders and the barely stifled chuckle that reverberated in the hallway together with his footsteps.

One of these days, I will request a reassignment.

  *

'I'm fine.'

'Of course you are. Right up until it gets infected, and you end up having to have your arm amputated.'

They were now in the captain's quarters, Cassian sitting on his bed and Marla looming over him with a bottle of bacta spray in her hand and what she hoped was an intimidating stare.

The captain's quarters were the only living quarters on the top deck and the only ones intentionally built into the ship's design. When the Blackbird was acquired (or, more accurately, stolen), it was a one-person vessel - weird, considering its size. But the Rebellion couldn't exactly afford to give out separate ships for every single person, so they got creative and partitioned the front hold to create four small rooms, each of which could accommodate little more than a bed.

Which naturally meant that Cassian's cabin was the fanciest, and was also the only one with a separate refresher. Of course.

'Everyone in the Rebellion is equal', sure.

Cassian was clearly unimpressed with Marla's attempts to stare him down into obedience - so much so that he decided to lean back on his bed and start reading something on his datapad. He didn't even look at her when he talked - and Marla was sure he knew exactly how fucking annoying he was being.

'Just take the stupid bacta, and I'll leave.'

'I'm fine,' he repeated through gritted teeth, throwing her a look of annoyance before returning his attention to the datapad. Perhaps she would have believed him, was it not for the slight crease in his forehead that appeared when he shifted his weight onto the injured arm. It only lasted a split second, but for Cassian, that was a lot. Enough to have Marla's heart sink even lower. And enough to increase her frustration over his stubbornness.

Stars, why did he have to make it so damn difficult? He was hurt. They had a sizeable stash of med supplies, for once. Why was there even a discussion?

A thought flashed in her head: was it because of her? Was he so fucking desperate to show her how much he didn't need her that he was willing to get hurt over it?

After all that time, all they have been through together, all the effort it took both of them to work through the fear of letting someone in - were they really going back to square one?

Did she just lose a friend?

'I thought you knew you don't have to pretend with me,' she said after a while, quietly, unable to fully cover the bitterness that slipped into her voice.

His eyes darted to her, one eyebrow quirking up.

'What do you mean?'

What did she mean? Was she still talking about his injury?

Good job, Marla.

'I mean the--,' she blurted out, gesturing towards his wound and feeling her face become hotter and hotter with each passing second. 'You don't have to pretend it doesn't hurt.'

Cassian looked over at his arm and stared at it blankly for a moment.

'I'll make you a deal,' he said finally, his tone somewhat softer than before. 'I'll accept the bacta if you tell me what's going on with you.'

Oh, great. Let's make this more awkward.

'You-- you're gonna have to be more specific,' she mumbled, suddenly intensely interested in the floor underneath her boots. Maker, it really was dirty; covered in a thick layer of grime and grease, it looked as though it hadn't been cleaned in weeks. Come to think of it, it probably hadn't.

'Zafe told me you haven't been sleeping since Scen. That you sometimes wake up screaming. He might have mentioned something about murdering you in your sleep, but I don't remember the details of that bit.'

She huffed out a nervous laugh, noticing a huskiness in her throat that made her even more uncomfortable.

'Do I have to?' Looking up from the floor was a mistake - there was a new expression on his face, and it was too caring, too heartbreaking in its gentleness. She suddenly felt the urge to run out of the room and eject herself through the airlock into the cold, deadly space.

'You don't,' he replied softly. 'But I would like you to. Just like you would like me to get bacta.'

That airlock idea sounded more and more enticing with every second. It felt like she'd have a better chance breathing in the vacuum of space than here, with those stupid brown eyes piercing her soul.

Fine.

'It's not a big deal. I just get these... nightmares. Can't really explain.'

'Try,' he said, unwrapping the bandages to gain access to the wound.

'There really isn't much more to that. It's nothing specific. There is no story, not even any people. Just bright light and the feeling of impending--' In one quick move, Cassian pulled his shirt over his head, and the connection between Marla's brain and her mouth got momentarily severed. '-- the feeling of, erm... nervous.'

Good job, brain.

In a desperate attempt to hold onto the remaining shreds of her sanity, she averted her gaze and pretended to be reading the instructions at the back of the bottle she was holding.

'Okay, ready. Do what you have to do,' he said, and it sounded a little like he was trying hard to avoid the urge to make fun of her. 'Just don't waste too much bacta, I'm really--'

'--fine. I know,' she mumbled, trying to force her legs to take those two steps that separated her from Cassian's bed.

Get a grip. It's not like you haven't seen this before.

Somehow, evoking the memories of the last time she saw him shirtless didn't help, and she almost stumbled over her own legs.

They both went quiet as she began dressing his wound. Luckily, she'd done it thousands of times before, so she was somehow able to complete the process without using her brain, which was suddenly more frozen than the white plains of Hoth.

'And it's the same each time?'

'Is-- what?'

'The dream. Is it the same each time?'

Right.

'More or less. But it's actually been better the past couple of nights,' One night, specifically, but you don't need to know that. 'Okay, done. But have this looked at once we're on Yavin.'

As soon as she was done, Marla quickly - perhaps too quickly - stood up and retreated, yer eyes returning to inspecting the walls.

'Sure, I will.'  He won't.

'Right. Good. I should probably get back to the cockpit.'

'Right,' Yes, he was definitely quietly laughing at her. Great. 'See you later, then. Get some rest.'

It wasn't until the door closed behind her that she finally found her breath again - but it took much longer than that for her brain to reactivate.

And it wasn't a good feeling; as if to make up for the period of inactivity, her mind started flooding her with guilt.

Why did they keep doing it to themselves? It was clear it wasn't going anywhere - it couldn't go anywhere, not in these circumstances. So why did they keep circling around one another like this, him with his longing stares and her with her heart in her throat?

This needed to stop. Maker, one of them needed to wise up and stop this.

  *

Before they knew it, they were back on Yavin IV, soaking in the sun rays that have been so scarce on Ontasou. As soon as they landed, Cassian marched towards the war room to provide a detailed report of their mostly successful mission.

The stealth part didn't exactly work out - but hey, they got the droid, and over those couple of hours they had spent flying back, Aevie had already managed to extract most of the data from the droid's memory banks. They had what they came for. True, they've used up a lot of explosives (and some bacta spray, he bitterly noted), but the main objective had been accomplished.

'Well,' Draven's sharp voice filled the war room. 'It could have gone worse, I suppose. I must say I'm rather impressed with the... um, creative problem-solving. All things considered.'

For someone who had just said he was impressed, Draven looked anything but. In fact, he didn't really look like anything; if you were to guess the topic of the conversation based on the look on his face, you could just as well assume he had been talking about today's dinner menu or the most effective ways to harvest Corellian rice.

'That was lieutenant Reid, General. The idea was hers.'

Draven's left eyebrow twitched ever so slightly, the bright blue light making the lines on his face that much more pronounced, 'I see. Yes, I suppose that makes sense.'

Cassian wasn't sure if he just threw Marla under the speeder or earned her praise. It looked like the latter - but he couldn't be sure.

'One more thing, Captain,' Draven spoke again after a brief pause. 'We have been recently contacted by someone who claims to have valuable intel on some suspicious Imperial activity. He said he had managed to track large shipments that were all going to the same destination. He wouldn't share what these shipments were or where they were going - but what he gave us so far agrees with our own observations. Of course, he could know that we have been watching some of these shipments,' Draven walked a couple of steps back, reaching out for a datapad that was lying on one of the tables. 'But it's still worth checking.'

'I see. Where am I meeting him?'

'Coruscant.'

Coruscant. That was... not ideal. That meant walking right into the buzzing heart of the imperial territory. There were way too many things that could go wrong.

'And you won't be going alone.'

Cassian felt a knot forming in his stomach. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like this.

'Sir?'

'Lieutenant Reid will be joining you on this mission. Coruscant is crawling with Imperials, and there's a high chance you'll be walking into a trap. You'll need backup. And, based on your report, it seems the Lieutenant can handle a firefight.'

Cassian's heart sank. He really wasn't one to question his orders, but... stars, does it have to be her?

'I don't--' Cassian paused, trying to find the best way to say what he was about to say. 'With all due respect, sir, I don't think this will be necessary. I have done missions like this before. I am positive I can handle it on my own.'

A faint twitch on Draven's face caught Cassian's attention, confirming to him that he should have stayed quiet. Briefly averting his gaze from Cassian's, Draven's mouth tightened almost imperceptibly - and that was enough to tell he was disappointed.

'Captain Andor,' Draven spoke slowly, carefully choosing his words. 'You are one of my best operatives, and so far, you have given me no reason to doubt your dedication and your skills. Which is why I'm going to pretend you didn't ask that question.'

'Of course, sir,' Cassian quickly replied - a bit too quickly, in hindsight - and squared his shoulders. 'Thank you, sir.'

Draven nodded in reply, his eyes still piercing Cassian as if looking for any other signs of defiance. 'Very well. I have transferred the details to your datapad. You are leaving tomorrow at oh five hundred.'

Marla will hate this.

'And, Captain? Don't make me reevaluate my high opinion of you. That would be it. You are dismissed.'

Cassian nodded, stepping back before turning away and heading towards the exit. Walking slowly through the door, he couldn't shake off the feeling that General Draven was still watching him.

You are a professional. Don't be ridiculous. She's part of your crew. There's no reason you couldn't work with her.

Kriff. But there was a reason, wasn't there?

And it seemed he was past the point of being able to ignore it.

  *

'Anything?' Aevie asked, peering over Cassian's shoulder.

'Not yet. It's a mess in here.'

The day was nearing an end, but the hangar bay was still beaming with life. Fragments of conversations in different languages could be heard in the background, and there was also the sound of someone's tools hitting some metal components, adding a rhythmical clatter to the symphony of sounds that accompanied everyone who decided to spend their evening around ships and various other machinery.

But there was one other sound that added to the general cacophony of noise: a series of beeps and hums coming from the area where Cassian and Aevie were working on the Imperial security droid they had stolen from Ontasou.

'Well, the code is a mess, too. There are some parts that I've seen in other models... but the rest makes little to no sense.'

They have been working on the droid for hours. They traced circuits, rerouted connections, and deleted lines of code - still, too many things were unclear for them to feel confident enough to try and power it on.

Cassian crouched over the open panel in the droid's chassis, his fingers moving deftly over the exposed circuitry. He had worked on different models of droids before, and he had always liked this kind of work - it took him back to his teenage years when he would stay up all night to work on updating B2EMO.

Bee. Cassian wondered where that lovable little mess of a droid was right now - and with it, the rest of his friends. Were they safe, or did he just postpone their inevitable capture? Did they even manage to make it off Ferrix...?

It seemed he would have to add that to the long list of things he shouldn't be thinking about.

'We need to erase the behavioural protocols,' Aevie continued after a short pause, tapping her finger on the screen. It wasn't entirely clear if she was talking to Cassian or to herself, but Cassian appreciated the callback to reality. 'But we need to make sure the base program stays intact, or the droid won't function.'

Cassian hummed in agreement, returning his attention back to the wires, circuit boards, microchips, and capacitors that were neatly arranged and interconnected to create the intricate puzzle he now had to decipher. He was able to roughly figure out which parts were responsible for what - with the exception of a couple of small components that seemed out of place.

'Okay, so we know this is where the behavioural protocols are stored - but why can't I connect to them? There must be a way, right? There needs to be an entry point in case of any bugs or if they needed--'

'What about this little thing?' Cassian interrupted her, pointing at a small piece of circuitry beside the droid's data banks. Aevie gave him a shrug. 'Well, there's one way to find out.'

Reaching between the tangled wires, Cassian felt his way to the part he had identified - and quickly pulled it out, prompting a series of unnerving sounds coming from the droid.

'That... well, I guess that is one way' Aevie murmured, eyes fixed intently on the holo-screen displaying the droid's programming code. She began scrolling down lines of binary with practised ease, her eyes skipping from left to right. 'You know what...? That might have been it. Looks like it was some sort of a failsafe mechanism to prevent unauthorised reprogramming.'

'Are you saying you can now fix him?'

'Perhaps,' she replied, tapping something on the screen. 'I guess we're about to find out. Will you do the honours?'

'Well. Here goes nothing, I guess.'

As Cassian pressed the power button, the droid's body suddenly started to come to life, and the panels on its chest and arms began to glow as its systems booted up. A low hum filled the air, growing louder and more pronounced as the droid continued to power up.

Cassian took a step back, sensing Aevie tense up beside him as well.

Meanwhile, the droid's photoreceptors flickered to life, and it looked around the hangar bay. After a moment of hesitation, it took a step forward, the heavy metal footfalls echoing through the hangar bay. Its movements were slow and somewhat uncoordinated - to the point when Cassian began wondering if they hadn't erased too much of the programming.

But then, the droid's head snapped towards Cassian, and its red eyes narrowed.

'Warning, unauthorised presence detected. Please remain still while I detain you.'

Well, shit.

Before any of them had a chance to react, the droid's hand shot out, and Cassian jumped back just in time.

'Uh, I don't think this worked, Cassian.'

The droid has now begun charging forward, its eyes locked on Cassian. Guided by instinct, he dived to the side, rolling across the hard floor as the droid's fists crashed down where he had just been standing.

'No, really...? Switch it off, for kriff's sake.'

More and more people began gathering around them, some nervously reaching for their blasters, others just hiding behind larger crates and peeking out curiously.

'Sure, take your time,' Cassian panted, narrowly avoiding another punch.

'I'm trying!'

The droid raised its massive arm to strike again, and Cassian jumped away - only to feel his back collide with the wall. He gritted his teeth, feeling a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

But then, it stopped just as abruptly as it began. The droid froze mid-movement, with its arm still raised - but the red eyes went dark again, and a series of blips confirmed the deactivation.

'That was--' Cassian panted, trying to steady his breathing, '-- that was way too close for my liking.'

'Sorry. Are you okay?'

Cassian hummed affirmatively, running his hand through his hair. He looked around; the curious crowd began thinning, and people resumed their work.

'Okay. This is fun, Cassian, but I'm exhausted. How about we try again tomorrow morning?'

'I'm off to another mission tomorrow,' he said, suddenly remembering how little he was looking forward to that. 'I think I'll stay for a while longer; I have some ideas. You go rest, though.'

'Suit yourself,' Aevie shrugged. 'Just don't stay too long.'

Soon enough, it was just him and the droid. Him, the droid, and the intrusive thoughts about what had happened over the past couple of days - and what was about to happen.

He really needed to figure out what was going on in his brain. And, ideally, what was going on in Marla's brain.

Maker, so many things to figure out and so little time.

'You have no idea what kind of a mess you are being brought into, buddy,' he solemnly informed the deactivated droid, hoping to find some answers in its empty eyes. 'You have no idea.'

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2021 #15: Thunderous

((A longer one. Violence, blood, and fire. Not safe for heretics or dragoons as we step back to last week and the aftermath of “Heady”...))

“There they are!” X’rhun exclaimed. “Thank the gods!”

Alberic only puffed a breath in agreement as they ran across and down the ravine to where Aeryn was tending to an ashen-faced Heustienne.

“The cavalry has arrived,” the injured dragoon said dryly, her damaged chainmail removed to allow Aeryn access to the wound. Not the worst Heustienne had ever taken, but more than bad enough.

“Thank Halone you’re safe,” Alberic said as X’rhun dropped to his knees next to the women to lend his own aid if needed. “We heard from Kal Myhk you’d tangled with a group of heretics—”

“They took us to Avengret,” Aeryn’s voice cut him off; quiet, too steady, too calm.

For a moment the world paused, until X’rhun’s tail lashed as he turned to look up at Alberic.

Aeryn wasn’t looking at him, her hands resting on her knees now, feet tucked under her. Heustienne’s gaze flicked between Aeryn and Alberic, her own questions barely held back.

“Let’s get Heustienne upright,” X’rhun said gently. “And then get back to—”

“Anyx Trine?” Aeryn interrupted. “Will they tell me the truth if I ask? They must know. If what she said is true.” She turned her head slightly toward Alberic without raising her face, looking at his boots. “She said I should ask you.”

“Aeryn…” His mouth was dry.

She looked up finally, lips parting to say more, but instead she drew in a sharp breath, eyes wide and shining silver, not seeing Alberic or anything else around her now.

He groaned, whether in fear or agony or relief, he wasn’t certain.

——

Alberic followed Corran Striker into the house. It was a pleasant little place, clean and airy. The edges of the walls were lined with brightly painted flower and vine designs, and small pieces of colored glass bordered the custom-framed windows to allow some of the light to also reflect rainbows into the rooms--that couldn’t have been cheap, Alberic thought.

“Please, leave your helm and lance by the door. I think my wife will forgive the boots this time.”

“I keep the lance close to hand, you understand,” Alberic replied as he at least set down his helm on the table by the door.

There was evidence of children; their house slippers by the door, a doll on a chair, a set of tin knights cluttering the low table in the sitting room. His heart ached. “What a lovely home,” he said. “Will the missus and children be joining us?”

Corran shook his head. “Emelia’s running some of her crafts all the way to Fallgourd in the Shroud, and took Zaine and Aeryn with her for the fun. They’ve been cooped up too long, she thought.” He smiled fondly. “It’s a way she deals with her homesickness, and shares that part of herself with our children; she grew up traveling part of the year selling wares as a girl in Thavnair.”

Relief, but also renewed wariness prickled along Alberic’s spine as he followed Corran to the kitchen, leaning his lance on the wall right behind his chair as he took the offered seat at the dining table. “Thavnair? That’s a ways away. Explains the colors though.”

“I got rather lucky,” Corran replied, his tone warm and genuine. “She misses it, but is somehow willing to stay with me.”

“Ever think of visiting?” Alberic asked casually as Corran went about the motions of preparing the lunch he had offered the tired dragoon when they had accidentally met in the treacherous priest’s chapel. Corran had seemed surprised to learn of Comfraire’s heresy, but had offered hospitality despite his own shaken state.

“If there wasn’t always so much work to do, perhaps someday we could,” Corran said quietly.

“I think I’d take the chance, perhaps even move permanently, were I a common man with a family. Get the children far from the war, among the wife’s people.”

“I won’t lie; the thought has occurred to me,” Corran said. “Though I’m surprised, Ser Azure; I’d think one like you would want to keep promising future soldiers for the war in Ishgard.”

Alberic shrugged. “As I said; were I a common man, with a foreign wife who misses her home and children with futures to think of.”

The chronometer in the hall ticked steadily as Corran worked. “Perhaps. Though much as she misses Thavnair, I’d miss Coerthas. I love my home, Ser Azure. There’s little I wouldn't do to see our homeland prosper.”

Alberic did not reply, not trusting his tongue to respond to the man’s gall.

As Corran came to the table with sandwiches and a decent-looking ale, Alberic smiled. “Then perhaps you can aid me in protecting our homeland,” he said. He hoped he was wrong about Corran. “I am tracking a dangerous creature I believe the false priest Comfraire was working with, coordinating an imminent attack from the Horde.”

Corran raised an eyebrow. “I’m but a simple farmer, Ser. I don’t know what help I could be.” He glanced down at his plate.

The chronometer in the hall continued to tick.

“Know you of anyone Comfraire spent time with, when not pretending to holy duties? Places the priest liked to go when not tending the church? I hear you were among those who escorted the fellow on his daily walks.”

“A duty many of us in the community shared,” Corran replied, tone growing strident. “Do you accuse me of heresy merely for minding an old man on his daily constitutional?”

“No of course not,” Alberic answered. He pulled the correspondence he had found in Comfraire’s hidden desk drawer from his pack. “These letters however do indicate guilt.”

“Well that is another story, isn’t it?” Corran asked, leaning back in his chair. The humble farmer demeanor fell away as he crossed his arms. “Why play along?”

“I wanted to be wrong. You seemed like a decent man with a family you love.”

“I do love them,” Corran replied, voice low and cold. “You’re very unlucky you came this day.”

“She doesn’t know what you really do, does she?”

“And once we’re rid of you, she never will,” Corran said bluntly. “Our war doesn’t concern her.”

“And the children?”

Corran’s grey eyes clouded like thunderstorms, his lips drawn into a snarl. “You’ll never touch them.”

They both leapt, chairs clattering to the ground. Alberic reached for his lance while Corran moved with preternatural speed to the sideboard, pulling a hidden blade he managed to raise in time to block Alberic’s swing.

The house was torn and broken as they fought, Alberic barely able to acknowledge the damage as they threw each other against walls and through furnishings. Corran had an advantage with his shorter blade in the cramped space, but Alberic was a far more practiced fighter. If he could get hold of a sword--or better disarm Corran of his--then the heretic would soon be at his mercy.

He finally saw his moment, spinning his lance to baffle Corran’s blade before using his more heavily armored frame to knock the taller man through a door and into what had to be the master bedroom.

The sword went sliding the opposite way down the hall, and Corran laughed bitterly.

“Give it up, Striker,” Alberic said, pointing his lance. He could see Corran’s waist and legs, but the broken door obscured his head. “Tell me about the coming attack!”

Corran's laugh only continued, growing deeper and more growling. Alberic’s eyes widened as he saw Corran’s body jerk, bones cracking and skin tearing, swelling as scales overtook skin.

He swung to drive his lance down through the man as a roar shook the windows, and through the back wall an aevis tore its way inside, the colorfully bordered window panes shattering across the bedding. The dragon leapt at Alberic, and he swung up, barely blocking the creature’s jaws from clamping onto his still helm-less head as they skid down the hall from the momentum of its impact.

Alberic managed to roll out of the way as the aevis let loose a gout of flame, the fire catching on broken furniture. It came for him again but he had made it to his feet, dashing back toward the kitchen for room to move. The aevis lunged at him as Alberic braced himself, a heel against the base of the sink.

His lance caught the beast’s chest and with a roar of his own from his Inner Dragon surging forth, he used the dragon’s momentum to pierce it deeper, throwing it over his shoulder and halfway through the large window, more bright glass breaking as the thing flailed, screaming flames across the yard as it bled out around the lance through it.

Alberic had no time to retrieve his weapon as Corran came for him, tearing apart the walls to fit his new bulk through them to get to the dragoon. He was larger than most transformations Alberic had seen, a heavy red wyvern, powerful and burning, his eyes filled with the same intelligence they had held as a man.

Alberic swore and dove out of the way of claws longer than his own hands. He managed to duck and roll under and past Corran and back into the hallway, needing the smaller space to disadvantage the dragon. Assuming said dragon didn’t just shoulder the walls out of his way, his fiery head rearing back to blast Alberic.

He barely managed to dodge, the heat unbearable as the walls with their pretty flower paint warped, melted, and crisped in the heat, flames now filling the house. He couldn’t last in here much longer, but also couldn’t let this fight further endanger the rest of the village, the commotion surely drawing attention, though any other knights would be too far away while Corran likely had more allies nearby.

His feet hit more metal that clattered, and he remembered Corran’s sword. As the beast came for him again, Alberic ducked to retrieve it, rolling in low as Corran leaped at him. With another shout, Alberic swung up, sliding along the floor on his knees as Corran passed overhead, the sword slicing down the wyvern’s side.

Corran screeched, landing heavily against the door in a tangle, blood flowing freely, wings and talons unable to get purchase in the too small space.

Alberic breathed heavily as he stood and hurried into the kitchen. The aevis was still jerking through its death throes, making a pathetic, pained cry as he yanked his lance from it, more blood pumping onto the sink and floor.

Alberic returned to the hall. Corran watched him, panting himself, lifesblood pooling around him as smoke filled the air.

“Finish me,” the dragon rumbled, in something resembling Corran’s voice. “But I want a promise first.”

“A promise?” Alberic asked. “Why should I pledge aught to a heretic?”

A weary claw gestured, holding a limp, blood-covered ragdoll. Alberic went cold. “For...them. They’re innocent. But we both know...Inquisitors….”

Alberic coughed as he shivered. They wouldn’t care that the children were only children. They wouldn’t care if Mistress Striker was Thavnairian--if anything, that would make it worse for her, no matter if she truly was unaware of her husband’s sins.

“Maybe...she’ll take them home,” Corran said. “She misses it. They could have…Not this.” His eyes met Alberic’s.

They were the grey eyes of a man.

Alberic nodded. “I promise,” he answered, as he pushed his lance through the wyvern’s heart. “Your family won’t pay for your sins.”

When he opened his smoke-stung eyes again, the dragon was gone, Corran Striker’s lifeless form before him, eyes colorless glass, smiling in relief.

Alberic considered for a moment, then drug Corran’s body toward the heaviest flames devouring the house, throwing him into the fire. With luck it would be so burned as to obscure how he had truly died, if Alberic was to keep his reckless promise.

The aevis in the kitchen was dead finally. Alberic retrieved the correspondence knocked to the floor during the scuffle, and gritting his teeth, threw all but one sheet into the flame as well; there was mention of a tower. If nothing else he could salvage something from this mess.

The heat and smoke were too much now, and people outside were shouting and trying to put out the flames, a woman screaming as she glimpsed the dragon half-hanging from the kitchen.

Alberic stumbled outside, battered and bloodied, and fell unconscious at the feet of the Strikers’ neighbors.

—————

It took only a few eye blinks before Aeryn’s groan echoed Alberic’s from a moment before. X’rhun tried to call to her, but she was on her feet in the next eye blink. She whirled in Alberic’s direction, braid whipping so quickly the end came back around to strike her cheek, unnoticed. Her eyes were a storm, lightning crackling in them.

Alberic did not move. He distantly realized that there was nothing any of the three of them could do to stop her of all people.

She flung herself forward and he took the weight of her body slamming into his, her hands gripping at his coat.

That was all.

Alberic didn’t dare move as she trembled against him, head down. X’rhun and Heustienne watched, breath held. Perhaps they had realized the same thing he had.

"I'd forgotten the windows,” Aeryn said hoarsely. “They were almost new; a Starlight gift from him, for Mama."

Alberic said nothing. What could he say?

“You didn’t tell me.”

He sighed. It took a moment to make sound. “By the time I’d realized who you were, why you were so familiar...Well, we had that mess with Estinien and neither of us were in any shape for more terrible revelations. Not the easiest thing to tell a girl you’re the man that killed her father, regardless of the why. And...If the Inquisition, the Ward, if any of them had found out…”

“I’d have handled them,” she said. Neutral, a matter of fact. She wasn’t one to boast.

“Perhaps,” he said. “I thought...Your mother took you to Thavnair. You would have a life there, away from the war. I never expected you to return. To be...this.”

“You should have told me.”

“I know. And you know I’m a sentimental, craven fool.”

She laughed, a wild, bitter noise, finally looking up. Her eyes locked with his, and he thought for as much as she looked like her mother, her eyes were too much like her father’s.

“X’rhun, can you make sure Heustienne gets back to Anyx Trine?” She said, not breaking her gaze with Alberic. The storm still rumbled in her eyes, but all he could see was old smoke.

“Of course,” the Seeker answered. “Aeryn—”

“I’m going home,” she said, shoving Alberic away. He staggered, barely managing to keep his footing. She was stronger than she looked. “I need time to think and rest.”

“You mean Revenant’s Toll, yes?” X’rhun demanded, tail still lashing.

Aeryn only nodded once as she retrieved her pack from next to Heustienne.

“Call me via ‘pearl when you arrive,” X’rhun insisted.

She paused for a moment, then nodded again, shouldering her pack and walking away.

“What the seven hells am I missing?” Heustienne asked after they watched Aeryn’s red coat vanish among the hills. “What did she see? What did you do?”

“Later,” X’rhun said, helping her to her feet. “Let’s get back to something resembling civilization first; Avengret’s heretics may still be on the trail.”

Alberic said nothing, simply following along as they made their way across the wilderness.