#emerie is a star though

[vikingmagic33]

Chapter 7 is up just in time for the weekend. We have a pirate race, ladies and gents! Hope you enjoy. Looks like this will be about 10 chapters all said and done so we are getting close. 

Read on AO3

@booknerd87 @beaumaismortel @trashforazriel @mmiscbutterflies @sv0430 @sunshinebingo @shadowsxgwynriel @headcanonheadcase @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @foreverinelysian @buttoncup @srabergara @shadowriel @awkwardscience @propagandaprincess @hlizr50 @mystical-blaise @hellogoodbye14

[of-pens-and-swords]

my only wish for upcoming sjm books is for significant mor x emerie content

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. V

sorry for the wait, I'm trying to do a mix of longer and shorter chaps depending on how much time I have. Love yall 🩷

tags- @beebeechaos @hueanhdang @emery-aka-emmy @r-3dlips @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew

cw- blood, death

"I'll find her." Cregan promised the she-dragon, not stopping to wonder if it understood his common tongue.

He sat upon Red's saddle, looking out into the dim forest. He prayed of the old Gods that she was only lost.

🗡

Daenys had yet to find her mysterious calling. It wasn't a voice or a message, but a persistent tug in the forefront of her unconscious mind. The snow seemed to fall harder the deeper she continued into the forest. She was unsure which way she had come from, but knew it didn't matter now.

White fortresses of snow grew all around her, trapping her from going any other direction. Squinting, she could barely make out a few feet in front of her face. This must be some cruel game the gods were playing, toying with the Princess before leading her to her doom. Perhaps a frozen lake would be fitting. She wouldn't even know that she was standing in the middle of one until she was frozen in the icy depths.

Or mayhaps a cliff so monstrous that the jagged edges left nothing of her mortal body left behind. Whatever it was, Daenys just wished she would reach it already. Now that she was wide-awake, the cold was getting to her, mentally and physically. Even the well-suited fur dress was not enough to keep her alive forever. She needed fire, warmth.

And what of her most recent vision? Tame in nature, but harrowing to her poor heart nonetheless. Daenys had never seen Rhaenyra so undignified before, flying on Syrax in a dirty, worn dress and covered in soot and sand. Her hair was in a loose braid, clearly one meant for sleep and not council duties. She was searching for something that no one else could find. A dragon, perhaps? Maybe Seasmoke had become active again after his depressive state from Laenor's passing. The grey dragon had always liked Rhaenyra. The married couple often rode their dragons together to spend time away from King's Landing. Daenys was sure it would obey her still.

But that look on her face. The same one she wore after returning from her birthing room, without baby Visenya in her arms. Puffy face, red eyes, downtrodded posture unbefitting of the new Queen. It was all the same in her dream, maybe even worse. Daenys was glad that her mother was with Syrax, for the she dragon would keep her safe no matter what.

She smiled slightly at the remembrance of Syrax, the princess dragoness. Though Morningstar was not born from Syrax's clutch, the two had bonded as if they were truly kin. Daenys had even commissioned an iron star-shaped chain to be the dragonsaddle's chestpiece. Rhaenyra had given Syrax a similar heart-shaped chestpiece in her youth and was happy to see the white dragon doning a matching article.

Daenys suddenly felt a pang in her heart, clutching the star necklace hanging at her neck. Guilty ate at her for leaving her loyal dragon behind. She missed her warmth.

She missed Cregan's, too.

She longed for either's protective embrace in this desolate wood.

"Find me," she whispered to the nothingness. The air seemed to still, freezing Daenys in place. She listened for something, anything. She no longer felt the incessant tug. Her mind cleared.

A crunch of snow was her answer.

But Daenys hadn't moved an inch.

"Cregan?" She asked, louder. "Are you here?"

No answer but the one in the wind, like a solemn wolf's howl.

Another crunch. Another step. Cregan would've answered her by now, surely. He was not one for callous pranks or jests. Daenys wasn't alone anymore. Was this the destination? Her mind's call? Would it be a wise seer, or a vessel sent by the gods to deliver a message? Swallowing, she hoped that the entity was merciful.

A low growl answered her desperate wishes.

A wolf.

Not Dusk.

Shit.

Daenys stilled her breaths, bracing her legs into the snow. What does a weaponless person do in the face of a predator? She'd never been taught such survival methods. The Red Keep's wildlife consisted of garden rabbits and squirrels, and Dragonstone had naught but sea creatures and crabs at its disposal.

Her eyes caught the slow movement of the creatures paw, striking dread straight into her heart. The form was smaller than Dusk, by a lot. Direwolves had a size no natural animal compared to. But this one seemed smaller than an average wolf, too. Perhaps a wolf in its teen years, just recently leaving its pack to stake his place in the world.

It was a slim thing, thick coat not enough to hide its ribs. Poor thing. It was starving, clearly. Daenys would have the heart to help it if only she wasn't the current prey he had in mind.

It was survival of the fittest in this world, after all. A dragon and a wolf. Any person with common sense would declare the dragon the victor before the fight could even start. But what was the blood of the dragon without the dragon? Daenys began to wonder if there was anything special about the Targaryens besides their dragons. They gained no special traits. No endurance, strength, speed. Without Morningstar, was Daenys worthy of her namesake? Lightbringer, the realm lovingly called the beast. Fearsome and powerful, a shame that the dragon will never be given glory like other dragons of history.

The dragon wouldn't be winning wars, protecting Westeros, or even stationed at a House to guard. All because of the rider she was bestowed.

A wolf does not care for blood.

They stared at each other, neither blinking nor moving.

Run or fight.

Run or fight?

Her only two options, and both would lead to her death. It wasn't nearly as merciful and quick as a frozen lake or a jagged cliff would be. No, she would be torn apart kicking and screaming.

If she charged it, would it run or have the courage to meet her head on? No, it would not back down. A starving dog hunts best. A starving wolf cannot risk failure.

What would Rhaenyra do? What would Daemon do?

Rhaenyra might stand her ground, ever the Dragon Queen she was. Mighty and proud, though she wielded no sword or plated armor.

Daemon wouldn't hesitate, drawing Dark Sister from its sheathe, beheading the wolf with a triumphant laugh.

Daenys was neither her mother nor her step-father, though she wished futility to be an image of them.

Cregan? Perhaps he would tame yet another wolf, seeing as he clearly had an affinity.

What would a northerner like Cregan Stark do in the face of a wild wolf? Unarmed, unshielded. Pray? Take the death as the will of the Gods? Maybe.

Daenys Velayron was far from a northerner. Fire and blood hot through her veins, not ice or faith. The way of the dragon was to be unchained, forever standing tall above the realm.

Though, wild animals have no reason to care for heritage or blood. The meat on her bones was all it could see.

A wolf does not care for blood.

Daenys exhaled, long and slow. Run or fight. Fighting a starved wolf meant death, instantly. Running gave her a chance at finding a tree or rock to climb–anything to get her a vantage point.

The choice was clear.

She just needed to act.

To turn your back on a predator was to sign your own life away.

Daenys, ever so slow, unbuckled her fur coat from her shoulders. The grey wolf eyed it, snarling. Its yellow eyes grew brighter, like two harvest moons shining against the fallen snow.

Daenys mustered up all the courage she could manage, heart pounding, throwing the fur coat across the distance to the wolf. Immediately, it took it in its maw and ripped its head back and forth wildly. If it were a hot-blooded prey, the coat would be dead with blood spattered all over the snow.

Daenys ran, wasting no time watching the display.

She hoped to blind it temporarily, but it catching the furs was a better outcome than missing entirely.

She panted, adrenaline coursing through her to give warmth and strength to her limbs. They burned with the sudden exertion. Daenys could hear the wolf throwing the fur away, not being able to gather any sustenance from the useless garb.

It barked frustratedly at her disappearance from his sight, quickly giving chase to the girl.

Daenys could only hear her heart beat out of her chest and the sounds of the snarling chasing her, closer every second. Her eyes flew around wildly, hoping to spot a low-hanging but sturdy branch. Kind of difficult when running at full speed. Screeching at a bite nipping at her heels, she jumped to the nearest branch she could reach, not having any time left to search. Daenys managed to pull half of her body over it before the wolf's teeth were on her skirts, tugging violently.

She cried out as she hit the cold floor, winded from the wall. The wolf planted itself over her, leaving no room for escape, nipping at her face. Her arm instinctively flew to protect her throat and face, resulting in the wolf's jaw clamping right down on her forearm. She screamed in agony, flames of pain running through her arm. She kicked at its flank while it snarled deep and heavily, salivating through her arm. The blood and saliva from her arm dripped down hot streaks to her face, blinding her.

When the wolf let go of her arm, bracing to go for more vital parts of her to end her squirming, Daenys accepted her fate. The kicks had done nothing. It hadn't moved an inch nor showed signs of pain. At least her death wouldn't be completely useless. The wolf would be fed, for perhaps a few weeks until it could find another easy prey.

Above her, the yellow eyes were lit with hungry and drive.

Daenys closed her eyes tight, hoping for the end to be swift.

But, she did not feel the jaws of death.

She felt the hot sting of blood being poored onto her exposed skin. She shot up, feeling the head of the wolf fall onto her chest. In a horrific pool of blood and bone, the wolf's head went to her lap as she sat up. Daenys froze, chest heaving with panicked breaths. She wanted to toss the head off of her, throw up, and cry all at once. But she was frozen with shock.

"Is that you, Princess?"

That was not Cregan.

Daenys lifted her gaze from the head to the voice. A man, tall and sharply built, dressed in all black. Perhaps close to Daemon's age, with a salt-and-peppered black beard and hair.

She could only stare at him, eyes wide with terror and adrenaline leaving her body. The pain in her arm was flaring, only growing as it bled onto the snow. It could hardlt be called snow anymore, the radious around Daenys was pure blood red, including herself. Her hair was dyed red, too, sullying into her usually perfect white. She was sure she would never feel clean again, that the hot blood would remain on her forever.

"My lady, focus on me." His words were stern as he knelt to meet the Princess, a hand on her face.

She listened, looking into his crystaline blue eyes. A northerner, he must be, born and raised. "...Ser?" She whispered, hoarse.

He nodded, focusing her face to his and not letting her gaze drift. "Where are you, Princess?"

The question startled her from despondency, confused. "Where am I? The North?" She asked.

He chuckled at her bemusement. "Aye, lass. Very good. What's your name?"

She felt annoyed suddenly, this man was asking very stupid and obvious questions. He called her Princess, he must know the answer. "Daenys Velayron. Who are you?"

"The man who saved your life. You're very welcome, by the way." He smirked crookedly, chortling when she only narrowed her eyes.

"Seamus Knott, at your service, My Lady. I am sworn to the Wall, though, so I am no Ser." He bowed dramatically, though his bitter smile showed his discontent with his position. Perhaps he was sent to the wall in a way he deemed unjustified. Whatever the reason was, Daenys did not want to be alone with him for long. The Night's Watch was loyal to the crown in respect only. She was content to visit, but only because Cregan would be there to look after her. Theives and rapers were a majority of the Watch, Daenys did not want to take any chances with them.

"Why are you so far from the wall, Seamus?" Daenys asked him, still sitting lamely in her spot.

He raised a brow, "why are you so far from your protector?"

She bristled, curling in on herself protectively. Had he been following them? For how long?

Seeing her demeanor shift, Seamus raised his hands in a show of surrender. "Not like that, your highness. I was simply speculating. A princess so far in the North hasnt happened in a century. You are news to us all. At Castle Black, we were informed that you would be arriving with Lord Stark soon."

It did make sense. Though, only three days had passed since they left–

"Step away from the Princess." A voice growled behind the Knott man. Daenys perked up at the sound, the familiar tone putting her heart and mind finally at ease. Ice was held straight to the back of his neck, a perfect extension of the Lord's arm.

Cregan stood tall and firm with his expression almost unreadable. Would he be angry with her for her recklessness, send her back to Dragonstone? Or perhaps he was more angry with the Night's Watch for spilling private information to all the residents.

"Cregan!" She gasped, trying to stand to her feet but was stopped by a wave of vertigo. Her feet were like water, unable to hold up any weight. She held her head with her uninjured hand, cradling the pain.

Cregan glanced at her briefly, brow furrowing at the state of her, before he stepped closer to Seamus. The tip was a mere inch away from the man's stubbled neck, though the older man paid it no mind. Grinning, "I saved the poor maiden, she'd be dead by now if I 'aden't. Where were you, Stark?"

Cregan's jaw ticked, "How did you find her? We're too far from any houses for this to be considered a mere coincidence." Clearly, he was ignoring the man's words. Probably because he was right. The blood had long cooled in on top of her, leaving the liquid to intensify her shivering.

Seamus looked down at him over his narrow nose, arrogantly sizing the lord up. His blood-covered steel sword was still at his side, clenched around a gloved fist. "I have been summoned weeks ago to head the beckoning of Lord Tully. I received a raven from Castle Black's Commander only a few days ago, informing me of the Warden escorting the Princess to the Wall. I merely wished to ensure our Princess' safety."

Cregan was unmoved. "I can handle that perfectly well. She is under my protection, my watch."

"Your watch hasn't even begun, Stark. You have no idea what it means to serve the wall. Sitting pretty in Winterfell while we work thanklessly for our keep." Seamus sneered, nasty expression twisting his uncomely features.

"Who's fault is that, Knott?" Cregan bit back. Daenys was left confused at their familiarity. Did they know each other?

Seamus' grip on his sword tightened, the leathery squeeze ringing in Daenys' ears unpleasantly. Her ears rang harshly, blood rushing to her head and drowning other sounds out. About to vomit her rabbit up or faint, she did not know. Dusk, who had been loyally by Cregan's legs, now moved to Daenys' side at the flick of his owner's wrist. She placed an unsteady hand on his brown shoulder, allowing him to take her weight as she leaned into his warmth. He wasn't quite as comforting as Cregan had been, but the relief was nice.

Dusk huffed into her ear, though he still stared up at Seamus the whole time. When Daenys fell asleep, the sound of steel sheathing filled her muffled ears.

🗡

She awoke to a weight over her body, bundled like a blanket. The strong scent of iron and wood filled her nose and surrounded her entirely. She opened her eyes to see Cregan at her side, under the cover of a tent. Looking around, she spotted none of her belongings. His tent. He crouched on his knee, tenderly wiping at her wound with a wet cloth. While he was deep in concentration, his brows knit together tightly, a frown dragging his handsome face down.

"Cregan?" He lifted his head to face her, turning his attention from her arm.

He smiled tightly at her, clearly still bothered by something. "My Lady, I'm glad to see you awake." Cregan told her earnestly.

Daenys sat up with his help, allowing his arm to linger at her back. "What happened to Seamus?"

Clenching his teeth, Cregan fought the urge to roll his eyes childishly. "Outside. Dusk is watching over him. I had to tend to you before I deal with him."

She kissed her teeth when she felt the sting of her arm come back. The wound was clean, though deep and raised. It would scar her for the rest of her life, a painful reminder of her dreadful night.

Cregan, noticing her downturned face, lifted her chin to look up at him instead. "It is a warrior's scar, Princess. We have that in common." He smiled more genuinely now as he lifted his sleeve to reveal his bicep, raised slightly with an old white scar, one that mirrored hers.

"Dusk bit you?" She gasped, brushing her fingertips over the scar. Gingerly, as if she thought it would still hurt him.

He chuckled fondly, watching her eyes rack over the scar. "When we first met. I was six and ten when I first became Lord of Winterfell. I was forced to imprison my uncle and his sons that day to take my place. I left for a solo hunt to be alone for a while.

He found me first. The size of a normal young wolf. We were hunting the same dear when I shot it down first. Dusk didn't take to kindly to that," He gestured to the teeth marks. "But I won that fight, gave him a scar to match. He's stayed by my side ever since." Cregan left out the part where he discovered his soul bonded to Dusk's, due to him being able to warg.

Daenys smiled, moving her hand away from his arm. "I'm glad I didn't have to fight Morningstar to get her to obey me." She laughed. Cregan laughed along, white teeth glinting in the light.

Cregan survived a direwolf attack all on his own when he was but a young man. Daenys would have died without assistance against her attacker when she was a woman grown. Clenching her jaw, she started, "I'm sorry for leaving last night. I...wish I could tell you my reasoning, but I don't know myself."

He took her face in his hand, inspecting it long and hard. Her violet eyes were half-lidded, a sign of her exhaustion. They still shined brightly in the day's light like they always did. Two perfect amethysts looking straight at him.

"You did nothing wrong, sweet girl." Cregan's thumb brushed the apple of her cheek, rubbing at the clear skin. She now noticed the feeling of the sticky blood was gone almost entirely, except from her dress. He had washed it all off of her in her unconsciousness. "You couldn't stop it, could you?"

Like he knew everything, Cregan seemed to hold all the wisdom in the world. Perhaps that was the result of being a Lord at six and ten. "I stopped walking when the wolf came." Daenys nodded.

He kept his hand in its place while he took a moment to think. "I should've been there, It's my duty to keep you safe, and I failed. Seamus is right, the creatin he is. If he hadn't come first, you wouldn't have come home to the Queen."

She smiled crookedly, telling him she was not upset. "From now on, I must insist." He focused entirely on her, making her face feel hot from the intensity. "You be with me at all times. In my tent, hunting with me, Hells, even on horseback with me if that's what it takes to keep you safe."

"I do not wish to be your burden, My Lord."

"I wish it," He shook his head, a secret pang in his heart that she hadn't called him by his name again.

"Even while you hunt? I am not quite as stealthy as you, I would just scare everything away."

"I will teach you." Cregan said firmly, leaving no further room for arguments. "We will stay in larger clearings from now on, even if it means walking greater distances. I want Morningstar to be with us as we sleep. I do not trust Knott."

"Speaking of," she started, tentatively. "How do you know him?"

He sighed deeply, reaching into his satchel bag to grab a roll of bandage. While he worked on wrapping her arm, he spoke. "My father and him grew up together. His brother, the Knott heir, warded with my father for some time to learn his Lordly duties. Seamus just tagged along because his father wished to be rid of him. He was a jealous, spiteful person even as a boy. When their father passed, he left everything to his rightful heir Kent.

Seamus killed him when he had not even been Lord for a year. He was sent to the Night's Watch by my father, a worse punishment than death for a man who only cares for titles and power. In the Watch, all brothers are equal."

"I do not want to kill him because he saved your life. I also do not want him anywhere near you." Cregan grit his teeth, frustrated at his torn opinions. He owed the man what he asked of, which was simply to accompany Cregan and Daenys to the Wall. Cregan cursed himself for his own honor, the Lord of Winterfell always kept his word.

"I promise, if he does anything, anything, to make you uncomfortable, I will take care of him." Cregan told her, earning a short nod from the Princess.

He stood, bandage firmly in place, helping her up with a sturdy hand. "Change your dress and wash up, then I will bring you hunting." It was too early to allow her to sleep, he wanted her to sleep tonight so that they may only travel during the day. They had completely lost this day thanks for the circumstances, and he wanted to spend the remaining time doing something useful. Also, he wanted to keep his mind of maiming Seamus where he stood.

While Daenys changed, she grimaced at the sight of blood that had made it way further down her dress. The garment was not fixable without a miracle, so she left it outside of the tent for Dusk to use as a temporary bed. Less weight for Mylo to carry, she supposed. Daenys scrubbed the dried blood from her neck and chest, not yet able to clean out her hair. That would take running water, not a damp cloth.

Stepping outside, she doned a new white dress, lined with grey fur. The sight of grey reminded her of the young wolf, filling her heart with guilt. She hoped he hadn't felt fear or pain in his quick end. She was met with Seamus, standing a few yards away from her tent. He wore a wild and proud grin, baring his teeth to her.

"Princess! You're awake, how delightful." She nodded her greeting stiffly. "I have a gift for you to take home, a proper warrior's trophy for the Queen." He presented the wolf's head from a bag attached to his belt, its yellow eyes still wide open, but holding none of its previous hunger. Daenys gasped in horror, bringing a hand to her neck. Cregan, who'd been waiting near the edge of camp for her, strided forward.

"Is this a cruel joke on your Princess, Knott?" He began, hand hovering over Ice. Before Seamus or Cregan could begin to argue again, Daenys rushed forward to take the pup's head in her hands. Both men stared at her in surprise.

Without saying a word, though she had many specific words for the brute, she gently held the wolf's severed head as she brought it to Morningstar, who had been laying in the edge of the clearing. She looked grumpy already, perhaps because of the direwolve's irritating presence, but purred when she saw Daenys finally coming to her. Daenys sat the head gently in front of the dragon's head, "Daor havor."

"Dracarys." Daenys commanded the mighty dragon, stepping back many paces. The three people, and the curious direwolf, watched on as the dragon scorched the head until it was naught but ash. The snow around the head had melted to reveal black burnt ground. Silence filled the campground. Daenys bowed her head, whispering to herself. "Kostagon aōha iemny sagon forever lēda sir"

She turned to look up at Seamus, who had a strange look on his face. "That was a cruel thing to do, ser. Not to me, but to the poor animal who lost it's life to starvation."

Seamus clenched his jaw at the scorning, never having been told off by a girl, much less a younger one. "Aye, Princess." Was all he said, trodding off to sulk in his own small tent.

Daenys looked to Cregan, who smiled softly at her. "That was kind of you, my Lady."

She thanked him, "could we find a river before our hunt? I wish to rid my hair of this blood before it becomes permanently red."

He laughed jovially, agreeing. "I do not think red hair would fit you. White is your color." He gestured towards her dress, then to her dragon, making her grin warmly.

🗡

Cregan led her to the nearest water source he could find, merely a small stream, but it would work just fine. Politely, Cregan turned away, although she wasn't taking any garments off. She snickered to herself at his chivalrous attitude, refusing to watch a lady wash her own hair. It took a lot of scrubbing and numb fingers before she was finally content, seeing no more red wash out.

"How does this look?" She asked the man behind her, who turned to inspect her. Wet hair still dripping onto her furs, she looked as lovely and youthful as ever. Her hair seemed longer, curls not yet bunching it up. "Beautiful, my Lady." He offered her a hand. Daenys hoped that her cheeks were not visibly red at the simple compliment as she was lifted by Cregan.

He smiled that secretive grin once again, walking ahead of her. "We will set a snare up first. Then, I'll teach you how to make a kill."

Daenys swallowed harshly. The last thing she wanted to do was kill another animal. She knew it was necessary, though. The Gods would not be spiteful for Daenys filling her stomach.

She followed Cregan into the denser part of the woods, carefully stepping in every place he did. After a while of her silence, he glanced behind himself with a concerned look, only to stifle a laugh at her delicate tiptoeing. He shook his head good-naturedly, grateful that she was trying.

Daenys watched him carefully set up a snare with the coil of metal wire in his pocket. They both crouched over it, leaving it in by a rabbithole before moving on to set another. This time, Cregan gently instructed her to do her own. It took a while, almost thrice the time he took, but he never got impaitient with her. Finally, she set the wire to the sticks coming out of the snow, triumphantly looking to Cregan for approval. "You're a natural born hunter, Princess." He declared, watching her smile with pride.

The two sat far from their many snares for hours, sitting against a sturdy pine. No words were needed as they kept a comfortable silence between them, Daenys finding herself struggling to stay awake with the peaceful atmosphere. Cregan glanced to her from her side, placing a hand over hers. He traced symbols, cracked joints, and tapped their fingers together rhymically to a pattern she followed by doing the same back to him. The focus kept her awake, her mind on the new task.

As the sun was near setting, Cregan led her to his snares first, picking up two rabbits and his wires. He whispered Northern words of respect for the animal before swiftly stabbing it in the heart. They inspected Daenys' next, finding one rabbit struggling in it. She hesitated to step forward, only urged on by Cregan. "Here," he handed her his dagger, a fine piece of steel that had a direwolf's head placed on the pommel. She kneeled next to the rabbit, thanking it quietly for its sacrifice. She took a deep breath it, releasing it as she stabbed into the white chest. Daenys paused a moment, grimacing. Blood stained her leather gloves, another reminder of the wolf. He would haunt her forever, it seemed. She clutched the rabbit gently in her arms, holding it like she held baby Aegon and Viserys. Cregan fondly smiled at her. "You did well, Princess." They collected the wire, walking back to the campsite. After wiping the dagger off with a kerchief, she handed it back to him.

Cregan gently pushed it to her chest, shaking his head. "Keep that one on you. So I know you're safe, even if we're apart."

Daenys, awestruck, nodding slowly. This was her first gift from a person that wasn't her kin and not a new dress or piece of jewelry. "I will keep it safe." She grinned up at him, earning a hearty chuckle.

They burned one of the rabbits over the fire, sharing it amongst themselves. It seemed like Dusk had gone on his own hunt, gnawing on the leftover bones of his dinner. While Daenys and Cregan settled into his tent for bed, she felt too tired to be nervous. His comforting scent surrounded her like a blanket, his warmth radiating throughout the tent. He slept without the furs of his cloak, a wonder that Daenys was curious about. Did he run so hot that the chill of night didn't bother him, only needing one fur blanket?

Shaking the thoughts from her mind, Daenys snuggled into the furs he had given her for her own tent, almost grumbling at their lack of distinct scent. The two fell asleep side by side, the purrs of Morningstar soothing them to sleep.

Daor havor - not food

a wolf does not care for blood

Kostagon aōha iemny sagon forever lēda sir - may your stomach be forever full now

beheadings have become a trend in westeros, i see. i just remembered robb's direwolf and how he was grey.

did you catch that double meaning lol

also rip grey wolf, you would have loved being housed and fed in Winterfell by Cregan

I'm thinking that Morningstar is the child of Silverwing and Vermithor since they're a mated pair. We don't know if they produce asexually or not, so idk. Definitely Silverwing's baby though, since she's the only white dragon alive, but when I imagine Morningstar I see a white smaller version of Vermithor, I adore his horn and face design.

Who knows, the dragons seemed to be random colors. Arrax is white and Vermax is green, even though Syrax is yellow and theres no male whites or greens

[svearehnn]

in his head | azriel x reader

summary: azriel has lost sight of reality, but reader helps him find his way back to the light.

a/n: sorry, but i don't know what this is. i was trying to write my novel, and then i abandoned it, and then this happened. i didn't edit it. enjoy|

tw: bad words and mental health

Azriel would never pull you under–but he thought he would. He watched as a smile lit up your face, Nyx giggling as you hid behind your hands. No, he knew his darkness would devour your light. He was not worthy of you.

So as he always did, he loved you from afar. Just as he did with Mor and with Elain, he hid behind his shadows, he observed and rarely spoke. He felt himself drift further and further from reality as he watched his family fall in love one after another and he was left with nothing. The only gifts he was given were curses driven by cruelty and violence.

No wonder The Cauldron didn’t make Elain my mate. He felt so vile. His hands had killed many, his own soul tortured by even more. Every day his body ached and every night his mind drove him to insanity. He would pull you under with him if he tried to love you. He wouldn’t do that to you. He couldn’t.

“Azriel? Are you alright?” Your voice echoed through the shadows that clouded him. Suddenly, there was light and you were standing in the middle of it as if you were the one bringing the sun to him. There was a look of concern on your face, one that Azriel wanted to smooth away with his hands. They twitched as he moved them behind his back, the leather of his gloves shifting slightly. He caught your eyes as they flickered down and back–you had noticed the movement.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He stated quietly, though there was a slight waver in his voice that you had both grasped hold of. Azriel swiftly looked away, trying to hide in the shadows but they were hiding themselves.

“Want to go watch the stars?” You asked, a gentle smile on your lips. Azriel nodded without a second thought, eyes still scanning the room for his dark wispy friends, yet they were nowhere to be found. You clasped his hand in yours and then he met your eyes, and they melted him.

Your eyes were heavenly, filled with intrigue and a sense of compassion that he noticed in you on the first day the two of you met. That day was filled with so much sorrow, yet you somehow found the light within it all. Even after being dumped into The Cauldron yourself, your first thought was to crawl to Azriel, to place a firm hand on the wound in his side that was bleeding out. You had smiled at him then, too.

With a gentle tug from you, he started to follow. He needed to get out of his head, but for some reason, Nyx’s birthday party had him falling apart. Watching Mor with Emerie and Elain with Lucien still seemed like too much to bear. And even then, it was hard to watch as Rhys and Feyre became their dreams and how Nesta and Cassian conquered theirs. It was impossible to be surrounded by love when he felt as though he had been denied it. 

The breeze hit him and he tried to focus, to figure out how he was already outside, but then you came into view again as you led him to the edge of the balcony. You let go of his hand and held onto the railing as you leaned back against it and tilted your head up to the skies. Azriel copied your motions and damn, the stars were dazzling, more so than usual in the Velaris sky. It seemed as if he were to extend his arm and reach out his hand, he would be able to grab one and give it to you.

“Want to talk about what’s going on?” You asked out of the blue. He turned his gaze to you, but you were still watching the stars. Your throat swelled as you swallowed. He looked back up at the sky.

“There’s nothing–” before he could finish, you laughed softly, chin tilting down. You turned fully to him, arm holding you steady against the railing.

“Of course there’s something, Azriel. I’ve been worried about you. You’ve been distant.” That smile never seemed to leave your face. It was like a lullaby, and this one was willing him to speak, to open up to you and say it, I love you. But he couldn’t.

“I just…” His hands twitched at his sides. Azriel crossed his arms over his torso, hiding himself the best way he knew how. “I haven’t been sleeping.” You nodded, urging him to go on, but he kept his mouth shut. He felt the words clawing up his throat, ready to spill out on a slip of the tongue.

You took his hands in yours delicately, testing the waters. He didn’t pull away, in fact, he wanted to pull you closer. But he wouldn’t allow himself to.

“Az, you can trust me. I’m here for you and I want to help. Let me be a shoulder for you to cry on. Please.” He wanted to look into your eyes, and so he did. That was when everything seemed to just click into place. The stars above the two of you bloomed as he stared at that thick, golden thread between you. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He couldn’t believe you.

“Is this real?” Azriel whispered, afraid that his own voice could shatter the moment. At the sound of your choked sob, he let the sight of the thread linger in the back of his mind as he searched for you, you, you. And there you were, a hand held over your heart, a smile stretching wide across your face. Tears were streaming down your cheeks like raindrops and he wanted to kiss them away. 

You laughed. “Please do.” Then he knew. This was real, you were real–all of it. He was not denied love, but rather tested, and now you, the embodiment of the golden petals of forsythia and the dazzling rays of the sun, were his. You were the opposite of all the darkness that he was. Yet you were his.

He obliged your request and stepped forward, releasing the one hand of yours that he still held in return to cup your face. His lips were feathers on your skin, and your tears a salty sea on his lips. Azriel kissed those tears away and then he kissed you like it was the last breath he would ever take.

His mind was clear for the first time since Amarantha. He could finally see, and what he could see was you. The love that pulsed through the bond kept him grounded, even as his head threatened to leave for the clouds. It was you, it had always been you, and he was too blind to see it. A smile flickered on his lips, full of longing and admiration that finally came to the surface.

“I love you,” he choked out, his own tears crowding his waterline. You leaned your forehead against his, breaths mingling as you spoke the words again, and again, and then one last time for good measure, so it would really sink in.

“I love you, Azriel, to the stars and through the shadows, I love you.”

Under the night sky of Velaris, where the stars were held in your eyes, Azriel kissed you. And it was then that he knew: he would not pull you under, but rather, you would reach out your hand and drag him out and into the light.

[redbean-nom]

yeah, based on how it was attached it seems like he can rotate it a bit (with the scomp end) but it doesn't actually work for hand purposes - when he was in the hallway it looked like he was resting the fake hand on top of his blaster to keep it in place, which is probably why he never got a new hand before

Did no one else notice that Echo’s hand didn’t really work? I love that they gave him a hand and all hahaha but I watched it all through the season finale and it didn’t move.

It just didn’t.

[prythianpages]

Shine Bright, Shine Far | Cassian

cassian x love witch reader | summary: Cassian meets you for the first time. The exact person he needed, not knowing that you are also the exact person he's been dreaming of.

warnings: none? this is fluff, I guess?

word count: 2,012

a/n: this can be read as a stand alone fic!

As the Night Court's general, Cassian had faced countless battles, proving himself a formidable Illyrian warrior. He held the titles of Carynthian and Lord of Bloodshed. Winning was in his nature, a skill he had mastered. Or so he thought.

Because in matters of the heart, defeat was all he had come to know.

He tried not to let it bother him. Winter Solstice, his favorite holiday, was fast approaching. He looked forward to decorating the River House with Feyre, even though Azriel would begrudgingly fix it. Rhysand never cared much for such trivial things. It had become a tradition since the first year Feyre joined them, much like the annual snowball fight, another event he eagerly anticipated—after drinking the night away, of course.

Winter Solstice had always been a time of joy and happiness. Cassian loved his family and friends. But things are different now. Not a bad different, just different. Rhysand had his little family with Feyre and Nyx. Azriel and Gwyn were slowly but surely becoming a thing. Mor had taken to spending more time with Emerie. Amren remained obsessed with her Summer Prince. Elain and Lucien now lived in the Day Court, but they had come to the Night Court to celebrate among family. And Nesta? Last he heard, she was in Autumn.

It was a bittersweet feeling. He was happy to be among his loved ones, yet there was no denying the shadow that had settled over his usually fiery spirit. A sense of loneliness crept in as he watched his closest friends and family find love.

He tried his best to mask his feelings, believing he had succeeded. But of course Feyre had seen through it. Cassian had been making his way into the kitchen of the River house for a night snack when he ran into Feyre, Mor and Emerie.

“Get dressed! We’re going to Rita’s!” Mor had exclaimed and Feyre was quick to encourage him. The look in their eyes made it clear that they wouldn't take no for an answer. It was either go willingly or be dragged there by force. Cassian chose the former.

That’s how Cassian found himself at Rita’s with Mor and Emerie surrounded by pulsating music and vibrant lights. Mor had ordered them drinks and after an hour of drinking, an attempt at an awkward conversation over Cassian's love life was made. However, Cassian was able to defer it, quickly changing the topic into something lighter.

The drinks kept coming and another hour later, Mor and Emerie were twirling away on the dance floor, leaving Cassian alone in the private booth. Just as he intended. He wondered whether he should order another drink.

As he glanced toward the bar, his eyes were drawn to a pretty female in shimmering pink. She immediately caught his attention as there was a certain glow about her, but he noticed her gaze was fixated on a silver-haired male across from her.

With a sigh, Cassian worked to chug the last of his drink and decided it was time to leave.

˗ˏˋ ★ ★ ˏˋ˗ 

You let out a deep sigh as the thoughts you had tried to dance away finally caught up with you. The silver stars dangling from above seemed to mock you, twinkling along to the blaring music. It had been a week since your magic had failed you during the ritual, and although the stars had shown you they had not forsaken you, each day since then had brought a new struggle.

Your magic was waning and it worried you.

It’s why you found yourself at Rita’s. You had easily made friends with a group of blue-skinned fae, but you couldn’t keep up with them on the dance floor in your platform pink heels. Your body ached for a break, so you went to the bar and decided to people-watch—a favorite pastime of yours.

You gaze wistfully at your drink, swirling the purple liquid with a straw in one hand while propping up your chin with the other. Maybe it's time to call it a night and go wallow in your self-pity in the comfort of your home…

Shine bright, shine far, don't be shy, be a star, your mother’s voice echoes through your mind.

It was from a song she had made up for you. She sang it to you often as a babe, and when you were older, she reserved the song for days when you were feeling a little down. A reminder that you were meant to shine, no matter how difficult the journey.

If she were alive, she’d definitely be singing the song to you at this moment. But now, it’s her memory that sings it for you, always resurfacing when you need it the most.

She'll sparkle and glitter, and shimmer to the end...

And like always, mother is right. You would overcome this mountain. Climb it and reach the top and shine bright like the three stars over Ramiel do.

As you sit there, you feel a familiar, subtle tug within. Your magic, though weakened, responds to the environment around you. It picks up on the emotions, feeding off the joy and excitement in the air. Following that faint pull, your curious eyes find a fae male with silver hair that gleams like moonlight. His cat-like eyes are fixed on another male, who sits far from him and surrounded by his friends.

There's a look in those feline eyes that you know well. He tears his gaze away from the dark-haired male, whose neck glimmers with green scales. When you notice the dark-haired male stealing glances back at the silver-haired fae, your magic stirs like a whisper in the wind, your heart fluttering in response.

 Shifting in your seat with a sudden eagerness, you lift your head and signal at one of the bartenders. She's a pretty fae with delicate wings aglow behind her, a familiar face you've often seen but never learned her name. As she approaches, you lean in and quietly share your plan. Her brow furrows skeptically at first, and when she briefly scans the room, you fear rejection. 

Yet, when her eyes meet yours again, they widen with understanding and gives a nod.

Your heart continues to flutter, pink stardust dancing at your fingertips in anticipation. You watch as she delivers a drink to each of the males, a replacement for their previous ones. You had instructed her to make them believe the other had sent it. As the two males exchange glances, your magic begins to hum through your veins, pulsing louder with each passing moment. The air around you crackles with an electric charge, ready to burst forth.

When the two fae finally bridge the distance between them, blushing and smiling, your magic surges through you like lightning, sending a delightful shiver down your spine. A small, satisfied smile curves your lips.

Even with your magic faltering, you still had your touch.

Retrieving your heart-shaped compact mirror from your purse, you check your makeup and apply a fresh coat of lip gloss, mesmerized as your heart-shaped pupils pulse back at you. Still buzzing with the energy of your magic, you feel another tug. This time, it pulls you toward the dance floor.

Following the tug once more, you make your way through the crowded pleasure hall, purple drink still in hand. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of two fae dancing. There’s an awkward distance between them, as if hesitant to take that one step closer, and you wonder if that had been the source of the tug. 

The pink stardust dancing around your fingertips flutters through the dance floor and toward them. You wince when it gives a harsh push, sending the smaller fae crashing into her partner’s chest. Relief soothes your worry when it heeds the same results you had been hoping for. The taller fae catches her in his arms and the two share a look before continuing in their dance. This time, much closer and with gazes full of answered hope. 

Oh, how you love, love...

The thrill of your magic begins to wane, the once vibrant energy now fading into an indistinct hum. You decide that’s enough fun for the night. Yes, you still had that touch but you worried exhausting it as your magic was harder to control now. Just as you neared the exit, karma came for you as someone crashed into you much like your magic had done to that fae on the dance floor and sent you sprawling into something hard.

˗ˏˋ ★ ★ ˏˋ˗ 

No, not something. 

Someone.

The sudden force sent your drink splashing, the cup falling to the floor with a resonant thud. Stars above, you cursed, hands flying to your mouth as you realized your drink had splattered across a pristine white shirt. Flustered, you avoid eye contact and immediately began apologizing, offering to fix it.

“It’s okay…Are you okay?”

The voice–a male’s– was surprisingly calm and deep. Very deep.

Acting on instinct, you’re murmuring the words to a small cleaning spell before you could stop yourself.  Pink magic slips from your fingertips but instead of vanishing, the stain deepens, the purple remnants of your drink taking on a darker hue against the canvas of white. Your eyes widen at the aftermath of your faulty magic.

“No,” you squeak out, finally answering your victim’s question. 

“I’ll send you a new shirt. Two, if you wish...” Your voice trails off nervously as you finally look up at your victim, realizing how tall he is. So tall his form towers over you easily, large membranous wings casting shadows over you. Your throat tightens and one heel lifts, ready to take a small step back

“Or three! One can never have too many white shirts as you clearly have seen…”

As your gaze travels upwards, you freeze, completely star-struck by the sight of the most handsome male you’d ever seen. Your heel meets the ground, body rooted to your spot.

Tall, strong, and muscular, he stands bathed in the vibrant, colorful lights of Rita’s. An ethereal glow dances along his dark hair and the scar that runs through one of his brows. Despite his rugged features, there is something strangely soft about him that draws you in.

And he seems oddly familiar, like you’ve seen him before, though you can’t place why.

“But how will you find me?” He asks, more amused than upset.

You should be relieved but you’re not even sure you’re breathing when his eyes meet yours. In the dim light, you can discern the hazel color of his eyes, so warm and inviting, and it takes you a moment to register that he had spoken to you.

“What?” You blink at him, still wide-eyed.

His lips quirk upwards. “How will you send me the shirts?”

“Well, the same way I just found you now,” you reply, your voice now steady despite your racing heart. “Magic.”

“Magic,” he muses, a glint beaming in his eyes.

“Mmm, I’ll throw in a free love reading too! As an extra apology…” you say, reaching for your small purse and pulling out one of your business cards. You practically shove it into his hands, forcing a bright smile to your face though it wavers nervously as he looks at it. “Oh, and don’t worry! A love reading requires minimum magic, no mishaps there. So don’t be shy!”

˗ˏˋ ★ ★ ˏˋ˗ 

“But this is how to find you…how will you find me?” Cassian can’t help the question, picking up on a fault in your words.

 But as he looks up from your business card, you’re already walking away.

He lets out an amused exhale, a tentative smile playing on his lips, the stain on his shirt long forgotten. He watches as you slip out of Rita’s like a shooting star. Swift and dazzling before vanishing into the night, leaving a sense of wonder in its wake.

A very bright and very pink shooting star.

And as he glances back down at the card in his hands, he finally takes a good look, the white stars on the card blinking back up at him, as if alive with celestial energy.

Stardust Soulmates. Find your path among the stars. He turns the card around, finding your information on the other side, your name glowing softly at him. Y/n D’Amore. Love witch.

“Love witch,” Cassian murmurs to himself, thumb brushing across the shimmering letters.

And in that moment, he realizes you are more than just a chance encounter. You are exactly who he needed. A gentle spark ignites from deep within...

The stars had, in fact, listened to him that night...

And perhaps this was a sign that his dreams were on the brink of coming true.

a/n: The song Love Witch's mother sings to her is actually the song from the Life Size movie, Be A Star. which might come back in the future. I made a poll for this part and it was a close call as to how Cas and you would meet. This approach was more of a flustered/shy/completely embarrassed one but worry not, the next time Cassian sees you, it will be at your shop and you'll be more self-assured and witty. I'm debating on whether Cas should drag Az with him too or go alone. Might make a poll of that too lol.

The second option was you failing in your match making skills and Cassian, who was seated next to you at the bar, calling you out on it. Either way, you were left flustered and giving him your business card.

[series masterlist]

series taglist: @mrsjna , @shadowsingercassia, @acourtofbatboydreams, @rcarbo1, @mvidaaaa ,

@stuff-i-found-while-crying , @lipstickmarks, @yamisuke , @mp-littlebit , @thecraziestcrayon

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human

[ae-neon]

RhystaWeekend2025

Day 1 - Rivals

Click image for better quality

@rhystaappreciationweekend

Rhys glanced around. The usual staff were about but only half of the three dozen people who'd dragged themselves out of the aftermath of Rus Week were now left.

The sun had gone down and the soft glow of the overhead library lights were clashing with the bright spots of lamplight in the corner of his vision - threatening to resurrect the headache he'd arrived with hours earlier.

He stretched then slid his gaze across the table to peer at Nesta. The blue glow of her laptop screen made her grey eyes look alive with silver light, but it also drew attention to the dark skin under her eyes and the slight strain at the tips of her down-turned mouth.

She was dressed down again. A navy cardigan and black jeans, her hair up in one of the various styles she used to keep her hair from her face. A thin, black headband adding another layer of assurance. Of control and restraint. So unlike the night before, in that dangerously loose, silver halter top, hair falling around her face...the memory blanked.

"You're ignoring me." He said quietly, finally putting down his pen. It wasn't an entirely fair accusation, he'd barely said a word to her in the five hours they'd sat working. Not even to confirm her lunch order, he knew it well enough.

The soft clack of her fingers on the keyboard faltered but she didn't meet his gaze, "That's nothing new."

"True...but you also haven't written a single note in the past forty-five minutes." He jerked his chin at her side of the table.

She glanced down at where her notebook and pen sat abandoned, sighed, then finally slid that icy stare his way. "I guess we're both tire-"

"Is this about what I said yesterday?" Something flitted over her features and Rhys clamped down on the twisting feeling that had been building since he'd woken up on Cassian's couch. "Because if it is: I'm sorry. I was drunk. I didn't mean it."

The muscle between her brows twitched and for a second the only sound in the room was someone two tables away, packing away their papers. "You...didn't mean it?"

"Of course not."

She blinked and the hint of irritation that had been threatening vanished into the strangest expression Rhys had ever seen cross Nesta Archeron's face. Sadness. For a moment, she looked so young, so hurt. Had he really gone that far? Far enough to chip at Nesta's usually impenetrable skin? Enough to hurt? They hadn't tried to hurt each other since the end of first year.

But then it was gone, her eyes flickered back to the screen and her typing resumed, "Okay."

Okay?

Frustration flared in his gut but he calmed himself with a sigh. He sat back in his chair and settled into his usual nonchalance, stretching his legs and crossing one foot over the other, "So is that it? Are we done acting like this? It's been messing with my head."

"Sure."

Except seconds ticked and minutes stretched. And after another unproductive hour in which the library emptied further - though a handful of night owls also trickled in - he'd only managed to write 3 sentences and Nesta wasn't even pretending to work anymore. Yet he felt trapped, frozen in the something between them.

"You didn't mean it?" She said, so softly that she might have been talking to herself.

Rhys jumped at the opportunity to reassure her, to free himself from whatever situation yesterday's him had created, "Of course not."

Her shoulders fell in a tired sigh and Nesta leaned back in her chair, looking at him with some unreadable expression. He was almost certain there were tears in her eyes.

What the fuck?

Rhys grappled with his memory, tried desperately to piece together what he'd said and done. Remembered Cassian's; Nesta arriving with Gwyn and Emerie; the whispers; Mor rolling her eyes and saying into her cup 'look who actually showed up'; Cassian's smug grin. That he'd talked Nesta into tutoring him was one thing - he was a star athlete and she was a townie, the daughter of immigrant parents who owned a bodega. Money. It had to be. But then Nesta had shown up to Cassian's party at the end of Rus Week. Rhys could count on one hand the number of Rus parties he'd seen her attend over the last 3 years.

Even now the possible implications and likely gossip irked him. What use was this rivalry if when he beat Nesta, she wasn't the recipient of the Eight Pointed Star Award or the only other student set to intern at Amren's - what if she became relegated to reference, 'oh, you mean Cassian's girl'? Mother above.

Across from him, Nesta sighed and began packing away her things, quickly getting to her feet and making for the door in the hopes of leaving him behind. But the twisting feeling in his stomach was only getting worse and he rushed to slip on his coat, following her without making too much noise.

Outside, the air had begun to chill and moths circled the twin lampposts that marked the top of the library stairs.

"Nesta," he reached for her as she wrapped her grey scarf around her neck.

She swung around, not with the venom he'd come to appreciate but resigned, defeated. The thought irked him. His grip on her wrist tightened.

"Let go."

He loosened his grip but did not let go, "I don't remember what I said, okay? I have no idea-"

She was silent for a second, her face tightening first in suspicion then in irritation, "Then it doesn't matter, does it?"

"Clearly it fucking does." He took a step towards her, searching her face for some sign. And again desperately tried to piece it all together. Nesta dancing with her friends. Rhys drinking. Nesta smiling at Cassian. Rhys drinking. He'd finally slipped off in search of the bathroom. Then...sitting on the couch in the small, cut off spare room where he'd woken up...

"Why?" She asked.

"What?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Because I just spent 4 hours doing...nothing. And it's not just me, pretend all you want but I know you didn't absorb a thing back there. I can't beat you like this," and, if she fell below her requirements, her scholarship was at risk, "This isn't us."

Nesta scoffed, "Rhysand-"

"Rhys." He corrected almost automatically, surprising himself. He'd gotten used it. The way she said his name. First said in disdain, then with cold distance, and lately said with some strange familiarity. So why...

"Rhys," she said. The word reverberated through him, rang in his skull and dropped to his stomach. Slotted into place some intangible link.

He frowned at the slight reddening of her cheeks, the way she wouldn't look at him. The memory of his fingers brushing against that skin. Of words. Of speaking. Of being so close. He took another step forward, closing the distance between them.

The action drew her attention and she finally looked at him. Grey-blue eyes shone with moisture, now and in his memory. This close it felt like déjà vu.

He lifted his fingers, relieved the moment as the haze of it was lifted. The warmth of her face, the way her eyes fluttered closed for a second before they met his once more.

"'So fucking beautiful'."

Now, as then, he closed the distance between their lips.

Fin.

For @omnipresent-wanderer because your academic rivals never really left my head.

I originally wrote something very different but I wasn't happy with it so I made the collage but that ended up inspiring this last minute short fic.

*Rus just means rest. The idea is that there's a week of fun before they start prepping for exams. There is no room for realism.

[skellymom]

"MELEE"

A Bad Batch SMOLL Fic

Word Count: 777

Background: A certain someone has his ass handed to him. Tech is rescued and Crosshair still has his hand.

Warning: Star Wars canon violence, angst.

(Credit: Cool dividers by @4ngelic-Wh1spers, @plum98 @strangergraphics-archive Pics credit: Disney)

“Careful with him!” Hunter leaned over the gurney with worry “Been through A LOT.” 

“We’ve got it, Sarge” The Rebel medical attendant reassured “Your med droid’s gonna be a big help!” 

“Hunter!  Let them do their job!!!”  Crosshair hissed. 

Wrecker picked up Hunter, carrying him away. 

“Wait...” The sergeant protested. 

Wrecker patted Hunter’s back gently. 

The attendant whisked Tech away to a bacta tank with AZI and Phee in pursuit. 

Wrecker plunked Hunter down on a bench, settling in beside him.  Omega plopped down on the other side of Hunter, leaning against him.  She hugged his arm tightly.  “They’ll take good care of him.” 

Hunter sighed heavily.  Wrecker intuitively sensed his brother’s guilt, draping an arm over his shoulders, and gave Hunter a gentle squeeze. 

Crosshair chose to stand and pace, aggressively chewing his toothpick. 

Echo entered the unit, Emerie in tow navigating his way through the crowded clinic waiting area.  The clones and children they had rescued stayed together outside. 

The unit was crowded enough as it is. 

Echo had parked their transport outside of this thrown together mobile medical unit.  Spotting Crosshair, he made a beeline for the sniper.   

Crosshair could already anticipate what Echo would say.  “Took Tech back right away.  He’s in good hands.”  Cross nodded towards Hunter. “Worried about Hunter though.” 

Echo glanced over.  Hunter slumped down, face in his hands, while Wrecker and Omega attempted to soothe their brother. 

“All that guilt is gonna kill him.”  Echo shook his head. 

He then wandered over to the caf machine, poured a cup, raising the carafe to Cross. 

“I’ll pass.” He grimaced.  “Probably cold and burnt by now.”  Flinging the used toothpick into the trash and replacing with a fresh one. 

“That’s what sugar and creamer are for.” Echo joked as he poured a huge amount of both into the cup. 

Emerie listened to the interaction quietly.  Echo poured a second cup for her “What do you take in yours?” 

“Nothing.  I drink it black.”  She answered. 

He handed her the cup, she sipped, then grimaced.  “Crosshair is correct.  Burnt...and horrid!” 

They scanned the mobile medical unit waiting area.  Men, women, children, refugees, military staff, even a lone senator sat waiting for medical attention...or the status of a loved one... 

Stress and grief hung in the air.  Forlorn faces.  Some covered in dirt, others with dried blood.  A few people crying quietly, the rest in total shellshocked silence.  So many with haunted expressions... 

There Hunter sat, face in hands...and barely registered someone approaching... 

“So, you’ve decided which side of history to be on.” 

Hunter sluggishly raised his head to stare into the eyes of Saw Gerrera. 

Whatever malaise Hunter may have had IMMEDIATELY turned to WHITE HOT ANGER! 

“YOU!” he spat. 

Gerrera’s expression changed to mild surprise. 

Hunter shot to his feet 

“YOUR SHORTSIGHTED ATTEMPT AT A MISSION IS THE REASON TECH’S HERE!!! 

Omega held tight to Hunter’s arm, trying to prevent whatever MIGHT develop. 

“Hmph...he even managed to FAIL at executing his prime objective.”  Crosshair scolded under his breath. 

Echo finished Crosshair’s thought. “Yep, BIG FAIL killing all those generals...and Hemlock...”  

Wrecker stood up menacingly, dwarfing EVERYONE. 

Gerara callously replied with a statement he’d regret for the rest of his life. 

“Sacrifices NEED to be made...” 

Hunter SUCKERPUNCHED him. 

But it didn’t end there... 

The WHOLE UNIT scurried to escape the brawl as Hunter basically swept the floor with Saw Gerrera.  Omega barely held Wrecker back from killing him. 

Echo and Crosshair stood across the medical unit...passively watching things...unfold... 

Emerie grabbed Crosshair’s arm in shock without any realization she was doing so.  He unconsciously patted her hand in reassurance. 

“My guess he’s going down in history as an IDIOT.”  Crosshair sneered. 

“’Bout time he had his ass handed to him” Echo added. 

Then he sipped his cold, burnt, sugar laden caf without complaint. 

Tech awoke a day later. 

He bobbed weightlessly within the bacta tank.  From his perspective, he may have awakened at night.  Less staff, the lights dimmed, creating a calm ambience around the overlit tanks. 

Peripheral movement caught his attention, and Tech turned to see the bacta tank next to him occupied. 

Saw Gerrera floated in the bacta fluid, nodded to Tech, and flinched. 

The severity of his injuries indicated Saw must have been in one HECK of a fight. 

Tech’s impeccable intellect deduced exactly WHO may have put Saw in that condition.  His eyes widened. 

Saw stiffly signed in standard basic: 

My sincere Apologies 

Tech nodded in understanding. 

Saw turned away in embarrassment. 

From that day onward Saw Gerrera carried a scar.  

A reminder of acting rashly with other people’s lives: His left eye was never the same since. 

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[wishcamper]

Smoke Signals chapter six

A modern Nessian AU

CW: past drug use, past physical and verbal abuse, general sibling dysfunction

i love these fools, i could never leave them alone for long. big juicy preview below the cut!

And so without pomp nor circumstance—without much thought at all—they fall together.

It’s gravitational, really. As if for so long they’ve been vaulted into the ether and can finally land where they’re meant to be.

They’re both tentative at times, like newborn fawns, skittish when they sense the other is drifting elsewhere. He tells her about the woman and the girl in the picture, the drunk driver whose final act stole their lives. She tells him about Mom, Grandmama. About the thin years when Niles was determined to be an abject failure, self-interested in every moment.

It’s nice, to feel held. To be seen. Even when it’s hard.

An argument with his family makes him angry one night. He slams his fist on the counter in a way that has her seeing stars, and it takes a few very confused minutes of crying to explain what’s going on. His devastation is immediate and unnecessary, so determined he is now to not set her off, not if he can help it.

It’s too new to want anyone else’s opinion, though he’s met her friends. Annoyingly they’re obsessed with him, giving her those looks she knows mean Don’t let this one go. Nesta only recognizes then that no one gave her the same about Tomas.

“We like him,” Emerie whispers when Cassian gets up to refresh the cheeseboard in the kitchen, top off drinks. “But if you say you’re over it, then he’s dead to us.”

“No, Nesta likes him, too, I can tell.” Gwyn giggles, her freckled cheeks flushed from prosecco.

So, it’s definitely happening.

They drive separately to the cabin for Christmas, despite both leaving from her apartment. Her to pick up Elain and him to chauffeur Azriel and his cat Shadow, who his brother is apparently very attached to despite her being, in Cassian’s words, a demon.

Amren and Varian—whose name Nesta finally knows—are in Havana. Niles is on an all-expenses-paid cruise Rhysand sent him on, and she suspects it was at Feyre’s request, though for whose sake it’s hard to say.

Nesta learns all this pressed to the back of the bedroom door where they first crashed together, greedy hands roaming under her shirt. Elain is downstairs with the stand mixer on high, the rest having gone to the store.

“Things you should know,” Cassian manages between kisses. “Don’t let Mor refill your drink, or she’ll never stop. Rhys picks fake lint off his shirt when he’s trying to distract you, don’t fall for it...” He trails off, preoccupied by the soft spot behind her ear until Nesta digs her nails into his shoulders. “Don’t mention Azriel’s weird sleep schedule. And don’t talk to him about buying something from Amazon or a targeted ad. Or say that your phone is ‘listening to you’. Or Elon Musk. Or TikTok. Or politics.”

Nesta huffs a laugh before Cassian captures her mouth again, a low groan in his throat. That last one won’t be easy, especially with Graysen, Elain’s fiance, arriving soon. He has.. opinions.

“Sounds like I should try not to talk to him at all.”

“That’s.. not a bad idea. And don’t try to pet Shadow’s belly, no matter how cute she is. It’s a trap.”

[bellakenobi]

Autumn Kaiou for @lwillowlthewicked's Chasing Emeri ~ Bachelorette Challenge

CC: Hair - Lips - Blush - Pants (everyday) - Necklace (formal)

Traits: Over Emotional - Dramatic - Virtuosa - Evil - Snob

Star sign: Virgo

LTW: Become a Creature-Robot Cross Breeder

Autumn is Ellen Kaiou's 4th child. Even though she had a natural gift for music as a child, since adolescence she's been pursuing a career as a researcher in Riverview. Despite her attitude and what everyone thought about her, she quickly reached the post of Carnivorous Plant Tender, and it seems that she was born to it (I mean, her idol is Circe Beaker...)! While she still has coming through halfway of where she wants to be, she thinks it's time to give a chance for romance, and the ad for Chasing Emeri just came in the right time! She's really confident she's not only will win her heart, but will also become a reality show celebrity because she has the right personality for it, so...

Private download (unless eliminated)

[heyclickadee]

Okay, but what about Crosshair’s sacrifice? Because he makes one, and it’s a doozy.

He’s being tortured. He takes advantage of the one lull in the pain and attention from the guards to break out. He could try to escape, whatever Emerie says, but he doesn’t. He knows he’s being held by a monster who sees him as property. He knows he’s a non-person in the empire’s eyes. He knows that they’re just going to keep hurting him until he talks, and still. He throws his one chance at getting away from all of that—maybe even his one chance at ever seeing his family again and making things right, as far as he knows at the time—to send a message and warn the batch about what’s coming.

And then, far from talking once he’s recaptured, he determines that he’s going to keep silent and protect his family, believing at the time that Hemlock is going to torture him to death if he does.

It’s a sacrifice every bit as heroic and selfless as what Tech does in Plan 99. What’s more, Crosshair maybe has an actual choice where Tech doesn’t. Tech is going to fall one way or another, his real choice is just making sure the others don’t take that risk with him; Crosshair is told the suffering will stop if he just tells Hemlock how to find Omega. And he still chooses to stay quiet because he wants to keep the people he loves safe.

But it doesn’t work.

Now, I’d argue that Tech’s sacrifice doesn’t work either, or that it’s at least not exactly an unambiguous success. He gets the others to safety, but it’s barely, and things immediately go wrong. Everyone’s badly hurt, Omega almost dies, they lose any chance they had at finding and saving Crosshair, the whole mission was pointless, Omega gets taken, and then they spend months floundering around because the guy who knew how to do the things they need to do got thrown off a train. In fact…contrary to almost every other entry in wars, none of the self sacrifices in TBB are total successes, and many make things worse—though more on that in another post.

But Crosshair’s sacrifice? Crosshair’s sacrifice is a disaster. The message he sends with the intent to warn his family only low is exactly what brings them out of their sanctuary to find him. It’s why Tech was on Eriadu to make his sacrifice in the first place. It gets a kid Crosshair loved so much even at that point that he was willing to, again, be tortured to death if it would keep her safe captured by the exact person he was trying to save her from.

He makes a choice at the end of season one that breaks his family apart a little more than it already was; he makes a choice here to protect them with the best of intentions, and no hope of escape or reward, and it just makes everything worse. It’s like he can’t outrun that first terrible mistake of choosing to stay with the empire. No wonder he hits a point where he wants to die.

And then we leave him there. Thinking that the bravest thing he ever did just compounded his first terrible mistake of choosing to stay with the empire, and broke his family forever, saying that it’s his fault and he needs to die for it—without actually unpacking that or allowing the trajectory of his arc to bring him to a point where he’s at peace with himself.

This one of the reasons why I think we’re not quite done with this story or these characters*. You can actually play with historical irony and have a character’s intentions backfire like this, but you do actually have to deal with it after the fact. You need to lean into it. Force the viewer to look how awful it is in the eye. And if you’re doing it with a character like Crosshair, with an arc like Crosshair’s, you do have to do it in a way that allows the character to come to some kind of terms with themselves. Offer self-reconciliation, or, alternatively, go full in on the other direction, and make it explicitly clear that reconciliation is impossible.

But if you are completing the arc—which, given the trajectory and given that this is still a Star Wars show for kids, I have to think they eventually are, even if they haven’t done so yet…at least let us know for sure that he’s not a suicidal, non-functioning alcoholic whose only reason for not walking into the sea is that it would make Omega sad because literally that is the most likely outcome for him given where we left him IF we don’t get more story in the intervening time period and what the hell did we do all this for if Crosshair is just going to keep suffering forever. Finish off his arc and tie up his threads at the very least.

But they don’t. In fact, they sidestep any opportunity to do so, and any closure with Crosshair besides solidifying the fact that Hunter and Omega trust him beyond words, by not giving him any lines after Tantiss, not making him part of the “Whatever we want, kid,” conversation (he and Wrecker walk in after that part—they’re talking with Echo and the other clones in a conversation we don’t get to hear), and never having him say anything about himself after declaring that he deserves to die.

Which is fine as long as there’s more story to tell; leaving certain things off as an unmitigated and unpacked disaster is actually very Empire Strikes Back. I just think that leaving Crosshair (and the audience) thinking that his sacrifice was useless is unlikely.

*Just to clarify, when I say that I think there’s more to this story, and that we hit the end of a chapter and not the final ending, I’m not saying that I think the next show is going to be TBB 2: Too Bad Two Batch or anything like that. I don’t think it will be. I think it’ll be a show following mostly Rex and Echo, maybe with a new POV protagonist as an audience touchstone (young Hera pllllssss though that’s just a wishlist item), in which the bad batch characters appear in and out (some more than others) and in which their unfinished arcs and threads from TBB fold into and serve a larger clone story that actually ties up this era. That’s what I mean when I think there’s more and that TBB was a sort of middle chapter designed to get everyone to where they needed to be for the next one.

[boinkingbattlemechs]

Longbow

Introduced in 2480, the Longbow has seen service in the armies of the Inner Sphere since the days of the Star League and is one of the most well-known fire support 'Mechs in existence.

As the Free Worlds League Military expanded into the BattleMech age, the League's high command realised that it needed to fill a variety of roles including fire support, something Lockenburg-Holly Industries of Emris IV believed it could fulfil. As with many manufacturers of the time, its chief engineer Dante Aligheri Mikonos responded by taking inspiration from the Terran Hegemony's own successful fire support 'Mech, the Archer, scaling it up by fifteen tons while moving its missile launchers to the arms for much wider firing arcs, producing the iconic Longbow barrel arms. The success of Lockenburg-Holly Industries' design, becoming one of the Free Worlds League's longest enduring 'Mechs, would secure its future and as expanded trade polices under the newly formed Star League the company would merge with a number of other League, Terran and Capellan Confederation interests to form StarCorps Industries, one of the first truly Inner Sphere-wide corporations.

Much to the League's dismay StarCorps would take advantage of its multinational status to manufacture and supply Longbows to all the Great Houses following the end of the Age of War. While not a popular 'Mech with many MechWarriors, the Longbow would see continued production of both complete chassis and spare parts throughout the Succession War era even with a number of its plants destroyed. By 3039 only two remained, with the original Emeris IV line under going decades of reconstruction following its destruction during Anton Marik's revolt in 3014.

Rebuilding its other lines during the Clan Invasion era and seeking to revitalize the fortunes of the stalwart 'Mech with recovered LosTech, StarCorps made the disastrous choice to focus on increased short-ranged firepower, compromising its signature fire support abilities. Excessive losses of the fragile and expensive LGB-7V as commanders and pilots tried to use it as a frontline fighter led the Great House to resell them to mercenaries and other private concerns and purchase other designs like the Naginata and Salamander for their fire support needs. Seeking to recover from this public relations disaster and boost lagging sales, StarCorps developed new models that distilled five centuries of combat use of the Longbow into the visually refreshed "Phoenix" versions in 3061 manufactured across the Inner Sphere by the company's plants on Crofton, Emris IV, Loburg, St. Ives, and Terra.

StarCorps' Son Hoa facility was relegated to undertaking refits of classic and "Phoenix" models, producing the upgraded but less expensive LGB-10C that proved to be immensely popular and an enduring sight throughout the Inner Sphere for decades. When Son Hoa became independent in the early thirty-second century, StarCorps moved its King Crab line to the more defensible Loburg and upgraded the Longbow refit line to produce full 'Mech to compensate, resulting in numerous new models that combine the classic Star League era appearance with advanced systems.

Solving many of the complaints about the common Star League LGB-0W model yet never achieving the same commercial success, the LGB-7Q variant is built around a Strand 255 fusion engine and features a reduced top speed of 54.0 km/h, allowing an increase to fourteen and a half tons of standard armor. Some have criticized the design for its lack of CASE - making an otherwise rugged 'Mech vulnerable to a loss by an ammunition explosion. As a fire-support 'Mech though, the Longbow is a trusted and reliable machine that can be counted on to carry out the mission it is designed for.

The primary weapons on the Longbow are its LRM launchers. The classic LGB-0W and 7Q Longbows both carried four launchers in all. The largest on the 7Q are a pair of Holly LRM-20s in its barrel-shaped arms which have the firepower of two torso-mounted Delta Dart LRM-5s added to them. Combined, the launchers can put a devastating barrage of up to fifty missiles at ranges of six hundred and thirty meters, with twenty-two single heat sinks ensuring it can maintain that pace. To protect itself in close combat, the Longbow has two Ceres Arms medium lasers.

[authorspirit]

Emery Ito

Child of the ocean, jealous, child of the islands, neat, romantic, family-oriented.

Athlete.

Emery Ito is the eldest child of Kiyoshi Ito and bears a striking resemblance to his father, not only in appearance but also in his life trajectory. Like his father, Emery showed promise as a young skier athlete. However, he ultimately chose not to pursue a professional athletic career, instead opting to join his father in running the family business as his father did before him with grandfather Naoki Ito. In the end, Emery is quite contempt with that choice. Known as a socialite, your party isn’t a great one if he’s not there.

Concerning his love life, he was known to have multiple flings with various women, but nothing serious. Only the ones closest to him would know he had a crush since his teenage years on the star snowboarder Keiko Nakagawa. However, after one kiss, she deemed him unworthy of her time and he rapidly gained the reputation of a playboy. So what a shock to everyone when Keiko and him officially became a couple. He did not want to lose her again and soon proposed. For the ones not in the intimate circle of their friends, questions arose: how and when did those two become an item? The most shocked one was none other than the secret baby mother of Emery: Moe Shimizu. She recently gave birth to a child, Ren Shimizu. Though it was only meant to be one passionate night, she still felt betrayed upon learning that the famous playboy decided to settle down, so she kept the pregnancy a secret, sure that she could do it on her own. However she soon realized that her child needed to know his father and that she may need the Ito’s money for him. So she went to Emery just mere days before his big day, giving him the shocking news. Upon discovering the truth, Emery felt shaken and asked Moe to keep it a secret as he was to process the news. After a lovely wedding and a honeymoon, Emery also was informed of Keiko’s pregnancy. Which he didn’t take well, creating tensions between the newlyweds. Now nearing the end of Keiko’s pregnancy, he still has not confessed his secret and is too scared of the aftermath of his lengthy decision. But sooner or later, the truth will be out.

My bf said he had the vibes of a rich dude that knows he’s rich and a bit of an a-hole. So I think he’s perfect. His character is actually sweet but he’s a mess. Actually he’s very much giving the same vibes as Arthur. 👀

[tangents-within-tangents]

The thing about the "Clone Rebellion" show

I've become a lot more critical of The Bad Batch lately and I think I realized that’s because it’s over. 

That means that 1. I can look back on the whole show retrospectively, and 2. any issues or hopes I had no longer have a chance to be addressed or resolved.

I realized I’ve been very caught up in thinking about the missed potential of the show, and a lot of my disappointment/frustration with the direction TBB took (esp in regards to the "reg" clones) is coming from the fact that a Clone Rebellion show does not exist to make up for it. For now this is all we have, and it’s hard for me to just accept TBB for what it is, because I at least have been operating under the assumption that this is all we're going to get, that this fabled spin-off show is just not going to happen. 

Because here’s the thing: We all kinda talk about it as if it's a given, a not if but when, but as far as I can tell the concept came entirely from the fans. Just speculation and wish-fulfillment. I don’t really keep up with news/interviews/behind the scenes stuff, but I’m pretty sure there have never been any mentions from official sources (y'all freaked out about one animation job listing that could be for literally anything). If there's something I’ve missed let me know, but for now at least there have been no announcements or plans or anything.

The only thing really is that the gaps left in TBB feel like intentional setup (we never got an Echo and Rex solo episode like we did with Crosshair and Cody which feels like they are saving it for something else, Echo’s fate was specifically left open-ended by not mentioning him (for better or for worse) in the epilogue, Emerie joins them at the end setting up for a female character to be in the main cast, etc) but that still doesn’t guarantee that we will ever actually get a show. That feels more like leaving the possibility open, not necessarily making plans. Especially since TBB actually puts any potential Clone Rebellion show in a really weird position:

There's a lot of important clone-relevant stuff going on during TBB (like Order 66, Kamino, the stormtrooper bill, Tantiss) but I doubt they would go back and show that again since it would either be repetitive by rehashing TBB’s timeline, or confusing by relying too much on people having watched another show. Yeah most people probably would have, but that still doesn’t work very well narratively if your important beats are just implied and happening offscreen. Like I would kill to see more of Nemec and Fireball but then they would just disappear after being killed off (for pretty much no reason) in another show! Hemlock and Tantiss base were designed specifically to be clone-centered threats, and the underground network were the ones who actually spent time searching for it, but then they weren’t there for the rescue so there would be no resolution. But if we instead pick up at the end of TBB it seems like most clones have already been phased out of the Empire by then anyway. Yes you could still make things work either way and come up with new plots and stuff but it’s still a tight spot to be in and it doesn’t really feel like the writers took that into account.

Whether we do get another show or not, I think it still had a negative impact on TBB though. Like that show already had a cameo problem, but 'setting up potential future show at the expense of the current one' is such an issue in any media (esp Star Wars and Marvel these days). Since we got pieces of both 'important stuff happening to the clones' and 'fun mercenary adventures with the Batch' rather than just committing to one or the other, or equally to both, it just causes issues for both shows. I’ve been working on a full post about the lost potential, but for now I’ll summarize as:

It hurts TBB bc we get these glimpses of a more meaningful story that our main characters, the ones the show decides to dedicate screen time to, choose not to participate in. It’s like that trope/bad writing thing where the story they mention (Budapest, or like the Cullens' backstories) sounds more interesting than the one they are actually showing us. Like it’s okay that the Batch didn’t take the same route as Echo and Rex, but the route they did take should be of equal or greater importance/intrigue, and it just really wasn’t. It was mostly directionless side quests and that made the characters seem selfish and a lot of the plots feel filler-y because there are so many important things going on elsewhere. 

It's just starting to feel unlikely that we'll get TWO post-RotS "clone-centered" shows, so why waste the one we did get avoiding the more important clone-centered storyline? Why not at the least equally divide the time you did have between the Batch and Echo and Rex? Why make an ensemble show if you're not going to try to actually balance all the characters? Why bring back a fan favorite clone just to push him to the sidelines and ignore all his potential? Why focus on the "clones" who aren't affected by/don't care about clone issues?

Believe me, I still want a show focusing on Rex and Echo's efforts to save the clones (I just wish it was the show we got in the first place)! I genuinely hope that we will get this show someday, not just because I love clones and this concept, but because I really see a need for it, there's a lot of gaps and potential to be filled there (which is also why I'm okay waiting bc frankly I don't trust the current state of Star Wars writers to properly handle that potential). But I’m treating it with a more “not until proven otherwise” approach (because we all know what happens when we get our hopes up lolll). So for now this is what we have, and unless that changes, I think we should treat it as such.

A lot of times when I see people mention the idea of a new show it's as a way to fix any issues within TBB. Like ‘this wasn’t resolved that well, maybe in the clone rebellion show…’ ‘Maybe Tech could still come back in the clone rebellion show’ ‘Maybe Crosshair’s character arc could be more complete…’ etc. But again we don’t know for sure if there ever will be another show, and even if there is, TBB should be able to stand on its own. There are some things I think another show could do (like address the plot hole of why the Empire never came back to Pabu, or actually doing something with the CX troopers) but narratively it does not work for major plot arcs or character development like that to be resolved elsewhere (like how a major Mandalorian plot point happened in the middle of TBOBF???). If we do get a Clone Rebellion show I don't think it would make much sense for the Batch to play much of a role in it. TBB ended with a clear send off for those characters, whether that was fully satisfying to you or not, that was the narrative intention. The Batch could show up as cameos, but this wouldn’t be their story anymore, and we know it couldn’t be because they were very intent on retiring and clearly never cared much about the regs or Empire so why would they suddenly change their minds?

A Tech lives plotline would have to be centered on the Batch, that’s his family, but that would just be really out of place in a separate show, especially post-finale (which confirmed that Tech did not come back in canon (at least until Omega joins the rebellion, if you want to be nitpicky ig)). There always could be ways to make it work anyway if you really wanted to, but we saw what retcon battles did to the Sequel Trilogy, and it still wouldn’t really fix any problems in TBB as a show. I’ve said it before, but if the writers were going to bring Tech back then they simply would/should have (they knew season 3 was the final season and they had plenty of time which they spent fighting space gators and whatnot instead).

I'm not saying this to spoil the fun or like dash anyone's hopes or anything. I don't actually know any more than anyone else, I have no impact on what Disney and Lucasfilm do (and clearly they don't really care about making narratively functional choices anyway, get roasted). For all I know this post could age horribly. I just had some thoughts to get off my chest, because I think it’s unproductive to judge TBB based on the idea of an unconfirmed potential other show--that does not (yet?) exist and wouldn't be about them--instead of looking at it for what it is. 

TBB is over. Canon happened, what we have is what we got. We can love it and hate it and critique it and write our au’s and fix-its, but I really think that it’s done. We have to make space for endings, that's an important part of storytelling (which is also why they need to be well-written but whatever). And we also have to make space for other stories to be told. The Batch had their show, they spent the screen time they had on what they did. Those characters got their time and they got a happy ending wrap up, and now it's (hopefully) time to let some other clones take the spotlight.

[svearehnn]

black violets and baby's breath | modern!azriel x bridesmaid!reader

summary: feyre and rhys are finally getting married! the tension between you and azriel is palpable.

a/n: part two will be coming soon! once i get my essay done lmao. i hope you enjoy! (i didn’t edit this apologies)

Cobalt blue hugged your form in a silky sheen, falling just above your white ankle heels. You let out a shuttering breath as you smoothed the fabric down, fiddling with the sparkling jewelry that adorned your ears, wrists, and neck. 

You were nervous. Feyre was getting married, your best friend. It was so thrilling to be apart of her wedding party, but you couldn’t help the racing of your heart at the thought of being escorted down the aisle by none other than Azriel, your long term crush and childhood friend. You eyed yourself in the mirror. It was obvious that you looked stunning–cobalt was your color, and a polished look seemed to compliment your angelic fae-like features.

However, you couldn’t find it within yourself to step out of the room. You chuckled sardonically to yourself, fluffing your hair, reapplying your lip gloss, doing anything to delay your inevitable exit. You weren’t even the bride, yet it felt as though you had pre-wedding jitters.

A knock sounded on the door, and you closed your eyes. One deep breath in, out through your mouth, and you opened the oak door. Mor stood on the other side, her brown eyes dazzling.

“You ready?” She squealed, excitement palpable in her buzzing form. You nodded hesitantly and took her hand. She squeezed it, a comforting gesture that helped soothe your rampant nerves.

“It’ll be okay. Az is going to think you’re beautiful. I mean, he always does, but goddamn do you look like a goddess right now.” That forced a giggle from your throat, prompting a smile to form on Mor’s striking features.

“There’s that gorgeous smile! Now come on.” Your blonde friend dragged you down the stairs, causing you to stumble in your heels. Once you got to the wooden staircase, you descended hand in hand. Nerves encased your soul, bees buzzing and stinging in your stomach. 

Yet, once you rounded the curve of the stairs and your eyes locked on Azriel’s hazel ones, all the nerves seemed to fade away. His eyes widened, brows raising, lips turning upward in an imperceptible smile that only you could catch. You bowed your head, cheeks aflame as you continued your decline. 

Mor had disappeared, arms wrapped around Emerie, leaving you alone with the railing gripped between bone white fingertips. Azriel outstretched his hand and you took it gingerly, letting him guide you down the last few steps and onto the natural wooden floors of Feyre and Rhys’ River House.

The two of you stood like that for a moment, no words exchanged, just drinking each other in. Azriel wore a black tux, a cobalt tie adorning his neck, accentuating the tattoos that peeked through the black collar of his shirt. His ears held their signature silver hoops and secondary studs, his fingers adorned with bands of silver and stone. He had slicked back his dark hair and it looked nice, yet all you wanted to do was muss it up to its usual messy demeanor.

Azriel spoke first, licking his lips and smacking them before he spoke. “You look…wow. Just phenomenal, Little Star.” He hummed, appreciation coating his tone. He raised your hand, twirling you around in a slow circle, eyeing the slit that went up to your hip and the low V that showed off your collarbones. The blush that filled your features warmed your skin to a feverish glow from his compliments.

“You look wonderful yourself, Azriel.” You murmured, looking him up and down slowly, drinking in every aspect, every detail of the godly male in front of you. He smirked, biceps flexing ever so slightly beneath the fabric of his tux. He held out the crook of his arm as the music began to filter in through the hallway, signaling the start of the ceremony.

“Are you ready, my beautiful bridesmaid?” You accepted his arm gratefully, unusually quiet within this newfound adoration that he was throwing at you.

“Lead the way, my handsome groomsman.” You replied, swallowing thickly. His arm was rock hard beneath your touch, an obvious indication of his and Cassian’s daily gym ventures.

The two of you walked arm in arm to the french doors that lead to the backyard wedding that Feyre and the rest of the wedding party had set up beautifully.

Cassian and Nesta led the line, the oldest Archeron dressed in a stunning dark red dress that matched Cassian’s tie. Then came Elain and Lucian in sparkling gold akin to the setting sun. Mor and Emerie followed, adorned in midnight purple. Behind them trailed Amren and Varian in their signature North Sea blue.

At the strike of the piano, Azriel gave you a small smile and stepped forward, leading you through the glass doors. The sun was blinding, but even through your squinted eyes you could see the flower arch at the alter filled with calla lilies and black violets, baby’s breath dotted in between. You and Azriel floated on a walkway of white peony petals, eyes hardly leaving each other’s, unable to stop drinking each other in.

It was as if a tension had electrified the air between the two of you the second he had set his sights on you when you meandered down the staircase. Your heart was a doldrum in your chest, begging to break through your ribs, taut and strained. As if Azriel could sense your trepidation, he squeezed your arm in a comforting touch.

He leaned down, breath against your ear, the smell of cedar encompassing your senses. “Breathe, Little Star.” You did as told, lungs expanding, nerves unfolding into the atmosphere and disappearing on the wind. Azriel’s thumb traced patterns into the skin of your forearm, soothing you further.

Your eyes left his, landing on Rhys at the altar. His eyes were alight, a slight smirk on his lips. He glanced between you and Azriel with a raised brow. A blush rose on your cheeks. His smirk widened, shoulders peacocking as though he knew he was right. Which, he usually was, you thought. You wouldn’t dwell on it–at least, not now. It was Feyre’s day, not yours.

The song came to an end as you and Azriel reached the dais, parting to reach your respected positions with you on the left and him on the right. As you turned, he grabbed your hand, extending your arm and bringing it up to press a kiss to the soft skin. Without another word he turned, leaving you stunned. Mor had to pull you to her side, her excitement palpable.

“Oh my gods!” She exclaimed, but you hardly heard her as the music started back up and the doors opened. Feyre stepped out, her black dress sparkling in the sun. Sheer fabric covered her arms and her her chest, flowing down into an intrinsic pattern of swirls similar to that of hers and Rhys’ tattoos. It was skin tight down to her knees, the skirt billowing out below, covering her black heels. She looked exquisite. It was impossible for you to take your eyes off of her, and if you were able to look around, you would notice that it was the same for everyone else.

When she reached the altar, Rhys took her hands, helping her up the marble steps with tears lining his waterline. They lined yours, as well.

Gwyn stood behind the couple, hands clasped in front of her, a smile etched onto her face. Words flowed out of her lips, Feyre and Rhys repeating every syllable as salty water flowed freely down their cheeks until the final I do.

Rhys dipped his wife in a passionate kiss, oblivious to the ovation happening around them from their closest friends. When they rose, Feyre raised her bouquet in the air, pride hanging heavy around her, a glow emanating from her skin.

Everyone rose in unison as if in prayer.

“To the new Mrs. and Mr. Carynthian!” Mor called out next to you, her voice carrying through the garden. Voices echoed after her, singing reverants to the newlyweds. As she walked back down the aisle, hand in hand with Rhys, bouquet in hand, everyone cheered as they passed. They congregated behind them, tears flowing, applause echoing through the space as if it were an ancient cathedral. 

Feyre stopped before she entered the house. She turned towards everyone, a grin plastered on her lips, a wink highlighting her stormy eyes. She threw her bouquet high up in the air. Hands reached up toward the Mother, itching to be the one to catch the bundle of violets. 

They fell gingerly into your waiting palms as if there was some kind of divine interference. You blinked slowly, locking eyes with Feyre. They sparked with mischief before her and Rhys disappeared behind the French doors. 

Your heart pulled taut again as you fiddled with the black petals, their touch akin to a feather within your fingertips. Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the shadow towering over you until a hand landed on your chin, tilting your head so your eyes met Azriel’s. 

“How was that for a ceremony?” He asked, breathless, eyes wide, pupils dilated. You swallowed, chest fluttering.

“It was beautiful.” Your voice came out within less than a whisper. He smiled, one only reserved for you, as he tucked a strand of your hair behind an ear. His hand stayed there for a moment before pulling back, as if he were debating about running his fingers along the length of your cheek.

“You caught the bouquet, too.” You glanced down at the flowers in question, their fragrant smell filtering through your lungs every time you inhaled. 

“I did. I don’t know why the universe gave it to me though, I’m not even close to getting married.” The words fell out of your mouth haphazardly before you could stop them. Azriel chuckled, hands shoved into his pockets, tensing within the linen slacks.

“Have you ever thought about getting married?” Heat rose from your neck to your cheeks. You hadn’t, honestly. The only person you could dream of marrying was him, yet you knew that was far fetched. Even with the energy buzzing around the two of you, the idea would fade within a week. It was just the presence of a wedding, you thought. Nothing would change. Azriel’s hazel eyes were intense, gazing directly into your soul for what seemed like eternity until Mor bumped your arm.

“Come on! We have to get ready for the reception.” You smiled at him as Mor dragged you away by the arm, your eyes never leaving his even as you disappeared behind the same doors that Feyre did. As you and your blonde friend climbed the same steps you had descended only an hour ago, the thought of marrying Azriel swirled through your mind like a tornado, wreaking havoc on any other thought that was there. Maybe it was possible. Maybe Azriel was interested in you. Only time would tell, and maybe, at the reception, the tension between the two of you would lift and reveal the secrets that were hidden beneath hardened hearts.

tags: @kayjaywrites

[stars-n-spice]

You've Got To Be (Kid)ding Me

Ch. 1 // Ch. 2 // Ch. 3 // Ch. 4 // Ch. 5 // Ch. 6

Summary: Crosshair's paternal clone gene finally unlocks. Unfortunately, his husband doesn't possess the same gene.

Word Count: 2.9k

Crosshair had forgotten what the hum of a freighter’s engine sounded like and what the sky and the stars looked like when flying through hyperspace.

The last time he’d been in a ship like this, flying through hyperspace and hearing the hum of the engine was after Tantiss. After returning to that damned hell, after putting his brothers in danger, after losing his hand, after nearly losing everything, and after being reunited with Omega again. 

The bittersweet memory of that night on the walkway in the rain made him swallow and clench his fist, willing it not to tremble as he tried to focus his thoughts on anything else. With his eyes closed, he did his best to steady his breathing and to relax in his seat, quietly hating the fact that even after all these years the thought of Tantiss still haunted him. 

No matter what other people claimed, saying it was reasonable for him to still be affected from time to time, even after all these years; Crosshair couldn’t help but feel upset at the fact. He felt as if something about him was still broken and no matter what, he couldn’t be fixed. Time didn’t heal all wounds, he knew that, and he couldn’t help but feel stupid for hoping that maybe this once, it would. 

But one thing was for sure–the pain stung less. The nights weren’t as restless, his thoughts weren’t as loud, where his hand used to be didn’t ache as much, and the silence wasn’t as suffocating anymore. More than anything though, it was a lot easier to be vulnerable. To open up. To admit fault and ask for help. He didn’t have to hold it all in anymore and he didn’t have to bear the burdens and the worries of a soldier any longer. With stability, peace, a place to call home, and the full support of his family and then some, Crosshair knew that things were only going to get better from here–even if he knew he’d never completely heal.

“You’ve got a call comin’ in.” 

Echo’s voice cut through the thrum of the engine and Crosshair’s thoughts, pulling him back into the flash of hyperspace laid out in front of him. He was strapped into his seat, with Echo at the pilot’s chair and Emerie in the co-pilot chair, with Batcher sleeping at his feet–snoring softly. 

“Must be important.” 

Crosshair blinked and looked down to his comlink, where the attached holoprojector was ringing with an incoming call. The noise made him raise a brow as he reached for the device before he stood from his seat, making Echo and Emerie both look over at him and Batcher raise her head up. 

“Give me a second…” Crosshair sighed, casting a glance back at his siblings as he excused himself from the cockpit, Batcher trailing after him. 

Emerie nodded and turned back to her datapad while Echo chuckled in understanding, having a good idea of who was on the other end. 

“By all means, go ahead. We’re still about an hour or so until Pantora anyways” Echo informed as he motioned for Crosshair to carry on. 

At the heads up, Crosshair grunted in acknowledgement before he found a quiet place to answer his call. Even if nobody else was on the Remora except for him, Batcher, Emerie, and Echo, and he knew they wouldn’t really tease or bother him, Crosshair still wanted some privacy away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears. 

As the comm continued to ring, Crosshair found refuge in the cargo hold, where he set the holoprojector down onto some crates before answering the call while Batcher waited eagerly by his side. Instantly, the call came through and he was met with the all too familiar grinning face of Tay’kaa Marr.

CONTINUE ON AO3 >>