#gold and blue is unreasonably fun to work with

[purpleleafsyt]

🪼🪼

[just-jae]

About Vivsiepop's Beelzabub

Lots of drama over Bee's design. My Thoughts:

Beelzabub's design isn't forein. She's a canine character, like the Hellhounds she rules over. She wears knicked tanktop and shorts- Just like Loona and Tex's everyday clothes. She even talks like Loona, which is the best way I can describe at the moment is City-youth culture.

About her colors-- the pink and blue aren't her true colors, those are for the "Cotton Candy" song she sings-- she's wearing cotton candy colors. When bathed in yellow. and when transformed, her clothes turn red and black, her glowy hair turns completely gold. Even her little tuft turns gold.

This Matches with the general colorscheme of the other hellhounds except for the Yellow/gold.

So her design matches other characters.

As for Bee's bug theme:

She's got six, thin, long limbs. Fly wings you can hear flapping around, antenae lashes and ears, and stripes. Which is all a call to the bug theme of Biblical Beelzabub, who may not have been specifically seen as a bee, but at least was a flying bug. Even so, there's no rule saying you HAVE adhere to previous depictions of an entity in a fictional work. You don't, and shouldn't have to know anything about the bible to track who a given character is. Biblical lore can help predict what a character's about, but the show's own writing is what makes and defines the character in that show (Something I get to later).

When it comes to character design basics, Bee's still pretty in-lane, being introduced with an easy-to-recognize silhouette.

When it comes to animation practicality, Bee's base design (clothes, patterns) doesn't seem much harder to animate than these guys.

Even then, Bee's animation is very high quality in this episode, like the animation in the "Truth Seekers" episode or some parts of "The Harvest Moon Festival". They were adding extra details to the animation for fun, not because her design required it. The Honey was globbier than it needed to be, her body movements more fluid and detailed than they needed to be. It was for fun.

They could have definitely animated Bee's honeymane simpler than this, if it were that much of a strain on the animators, and still retained the same design. Plus, there are shortcuts to pulling this off, like animating the basic outline first and having another layer behind it that doesn't follow the outline, but instead is cropped by it. They do this with Stolas' sparkly cape in "Ozzie's".

(Obv, Bee's honey was more hands on, but you can see a similar method used if you watch how the globules move.) They can also animate the lava effect by itself and drag that animation to stay inside the outline, which they seem to do for the lava belly.

Even then. The whole point of this episode was to celebrate the show's success and progress. They did all this out of joy and to have fun. The only thing I'd say could have been concretely "better" only really applies if you approach this as a serious, plot-significant episode (Which it isn't), and that's the writing of the Bee's introduction scene (which was a song that was more to celebrate the show and Spotlight Kesha than providing important context on the characters/setting/themes.)

Other than that, most of the criticism about Bee's design is preference (subjective), expectation (subjective), or an overreaction to furries (Ironically plenty of fans of this show apparently find furries disgusting or lame and saw Bee's design and went "A canine Sin? The Furries are taking over!") (Subjective).

Acting like this is Viv being lazy, uninspired, or unreasonable, is just-- unfair, and unwarranted negativity. People are really acting like this is their work, and not Viv's. Viv didn't do anything technically wrong with Bee's design. It's one thing to not dig it (I personally still haven't warmed up to Ozzy's, and prolly never will, but I warmed up to Bee's a lot faster- especially after seeing her personality) it's another to try to shit on the creator or act like their designs are "wrong" because of expectations or personal taste, ESPECIALLY for an episode that isn't plot relevant and was made to celebrate real-world things like Viv's success in producing her own show and being able to work with Kesha.

Chill the fuck out, and kudo's to the team.

End thoughts.

[numerousbees1106]

Ecesis

Ecesis - The process of establishing and growing base/pioneer species during ecological primary succession

Read on Ao3:

The twilight sky above shone a velvety cobalt-violet, textured by wispy clouds so high up in the atmosphere that they still shone hypnotic shades of pale blue and silver, gleaming in an elusive sunlight that no longer graced the small cafe Piett currently sat at. All around him, the bustling yet quiet din of conversation murmured like a stream, a burbling brook of words he, admittedly, would eagerly eavesdrop on had he not been in such a foul mood.

Indeed, Piett grumbled to himself, he was positively gloomy that evening. 

By all accounts, he should have been enjoying himself - he was in a fancy cafe-bar-hybrid decorated with one of his favored aesthetics. The moderately sized area was bedecked with elegantly carved wooden tables and chairs near the front, and gorgeous bookshelves stocked with real books all along the sides, books that he was free to simply pick up and read to his heart’s content. Live plants tucked in every nook and cranny gave the impression of the area being full, but not crowded, a splash of unassuming, subtle wilderness that Piett found oddly comforting. Lights hung on rose-gold wires, twisting around vintage wood beams running along the ceiling that Piett suspected were more for decoration than for structural support, casting the room in a warm glow that added to the cozy atmosphere. Near the back, where he was, a bar with fern-like ivy tenderly cascading down from above served simple yet deluxe drinks, one of which he was currently nursing.

Despite being in the midst of a bustling city, the cafe honestly felt more like a garden, an oasis of life reserved for those of higher class - which, Rilla had pointed out with a grin as she had shoved him out the door earlier that night, pressing a card with the directions to the cafe into his hand, he now counted as. 

He scowled as he recalled the subject of his ire and the reason for his current bad mood. 

‘Go out and have fun,’ she said. ‘You can’t just sulk around the house until your boyfriend gets back,’ she said. 

Piett scoffed to himself.

Well, now I’m just sulking around here instead!

Begrudgingly, he would admit that the soothing atmosphere did make him feel slightly better, but true to the infamous Piett stubbornness, he would literally rather get shot than tell her that. 

A wave of concern that wasn’t his washed over him. 

Love-shot-hurt? The faint impression came across their bond. This far away from each other, it was all his lover could manage, but it still had Piett startling slightly where he sat slumped over the countertop, a stray leaf tickling his arm as he did so.

Clearing his throat awkwardly as the person behind the counter gave him an odd look, he straightened in his seat and allowed his lover to feel the sense of security and safety and calm that his surroundings inspired in him. After a moment or two, during which Piett gently batted the plant away absent-mindedly, his lover completed whatever inspection he had set his mind to, and purred out a soft noise of satisfaction. 

Love-dramatic-stubborn, he noted with amusement, and Piett sent back a wave of embarrassment and what he hoped translated to a mental apology. Although, really, Piett thought, that was rather rich coming from him. Another purr-like sensation, along with a sense of mock-offense came from his lover to show that he had overheard that last thought, and Piett was alone once more.

For about five seconds. 

Once again Piett found himself startling in his seat as his peripheral vision was suddenly overwhelmed by the visage of all six-foot three-inches worth of army general. 

“Ah, Prince Consort Piett! A pleasure as always, Your Grace,” Veers exclaimed as he sat down unreasonably close to him. 

“Stop calling me that,” Piett said, glaring at the man who, in Piett’s experience, was like most of the army-folk in that he lacked any and all sense of personal space. 

“You’re right, you’re right,” Veers clucked, raising his hand to catch the attention of the bartender. “It really should be Your Majesty, shouldn’t it?” 

Piett simply gave a long-suffering sigh, ignoring Veers as he chuckled to himself as he ordered his drink. 

“Did Rilla put you up to this?” Piett asked as soon as Veers was finished. 

The man shot him an over-the-top injured look, putting on his best wounded expression. 

“Is a man not allowed to simply visit his best friend?” Veers asked, voice full of faux hurt. “You wound me, Firmus, truly.”

Piett simply stared at his friend for a few long moments in silence.

“…But yes, your sister did send me,” Veers relented. 

“Hm. Thought so,” Piett said, raising the drink he’d ordered what felt like hours earlier to his lips to take a pointed sip. 

Veers huffed, taking a sip of his own drink, before rolling his eyes fondly. 

“Firmus, you’ve been moping for, like, a week now! Of course she’s gonna call me to come make you stop sulking!”

“I have not been sulking,” Piett huffed with a scowl. “And it’s been two days, Max. Hardly a week.”

“And besides!” Max continued, ignoring Piett completely. “You have a week to plan your guys’ celebration! You should be taking this opportunity and running with it, not- not slugging about your sister’s apartment!”

“Slugging about-” Piett spluttered in mock outrage, before the rest of that sentence registered. “Wait. Celebration?”

Veers looked at him with wide eyes. 

“Firmus,” he said, aghast. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Piett squawked, desperately running through all the important dates he had memorized. 

Veers gaped at him, his joking demeanor replaced by one of horror.

“Firmus. Fir. Your anniversary.” 

Piett blinked at him once, twice. 

“…Shit.”

Veers barked out a laugh at his expense, though tension lingered in his shoulders before the man shook himself, seemingly deciding on something as he did so. 

“Yeah, I’d say so, buddy,” the man said with a grin. “Not to worry, though - you’ve got me to help!”

“Joy,” Piett muttered joylessly, then shook his head. “Has it really been a year? Already?”

“It has! In fact, I think today marks the day of the Bridge Incident!”

Piett shot Veers a glare. 

“Veers, I swear to fuck, if you bring up the Bridge Incident one more time-”

“You’ll what?” Veers interrupted. “Smack your head against the counter, throw up, and proclaim your undying love for Darth Vader?” 

Blushing a scarlet red and acutely aware of the way the bartender froze and nearly dropped the glass they were holding upon hearing his lover’s name, Piett hastily slapped down what he sincerely hoped were enough credits, grabbed Max’s arm in an iron grip, and stormed out of the cafe. 

“Ack! Firmus, my drink- Firmus!”

Ignoring Veers’ protests, Piett continued down the street towards the city’s market center. 

“What should I get him?” He asked Veers, who was still loudly complaining.

“What- how should I know? You’re the one dating him!” Max retorted, which, yes, Piett would admit, that was fair. 

“You’ve had anniversaries before! What did you do then?” Piett questioned as he released his grip on Veers.

“Uh, mostly just got them a heartfelt gift, took them on a special date, and followed that up with some mind blowing sex?” Veers replied, rubbing his arm tenderly. “Kriff, Firmus, how are you so strong? You’re like, half my size!”

The rest of Veers’ complaints faded away as Piett’s brain stuttered and shut down at the idea of him and his lover doing… that.

“-Uh, you alright there, Fir?” 

Piett attempted to answer but instead of words, all he managed was a very undignified squeak. 

“Firmus, are you seriously blushing bright red at the mere mention of sex? You are two grown men who are also dating, no one is surprised that you two do that! It’s nothing to get all bent up over,” Veers huffed.

Piett shook his head, his cheeks feeling as though they were on fire.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just- uh, I- I hadn’treallythoughtofhimlikethatbefore…?”

Veers stopped walking and blinked at him.

“You… haven’t thought of him like that before,” Veers repeated slowly, narrowing his eyes in contemplation at Piett. “Are you… oh, what’s the term… er, ace-sexual?” 

“Um, not as far as I’m aware,” Piett squeaked, still blushing, trying his best not to fidget where he stood. “I mean, my exes and I were… active. It’s just that… I don’t know! It’s just different, with him, but as soon as you said it, the thought entered my mind, and…”

“And now you want it?” Veers finished for him, managing to sound only mildly disgusted.

Piett shrugged.

“I’ve been happy just, doing my own thing, you know? I guess I just figured that he’d show interest when he’s ready.”

“Well, I mean, he might be waiting for you to come onto him,” Veers suggested. “With the power imbalance between you two, it might just be that he didn’t want to pressure you.” 

“Maybe,” Piett mused, mulling it over in his head. It certainly seemed like something his conundrum of a lover would do, being as oddly sweet and considerate as he was.

“Well, if I’m right, then I think you know your anniversary gift already,” Max said with a sly, mischievous grin. 

“Oh, stop it,” Piett grumbled, smacking the other man’s arm, then paused.

“I still want to get another gift. Just in case, you know?”

Veers nodded. 

“Makes sense. What were you thinking?”

“That’s the issue,” Piett said with a sigh, continuing his trek towards the markets, the noctilucent clouds fading as the last vestiges of sunlight fled from even the upper atmosphere. “He loves speeders and ships, but…” 

“But that’s kinda a huge gift, even for an anniversary?” Veers supplied, nodding in understanding.

“Exactly. Plus, it’s a bit out of my budget.” 

Veers winced in sympathy, then elbowed him playfully.

“What, being third in line for the throne doesn’t pay well?” The menace of a man teased.

Piett simply shot him a caustic glare, earning a self-satisfied chuckle before the general shook himself.

“Well, what else does he enjoy? Mechanics, right?” He inquired, to which Piett nodded, mentally mulling over any potential mechanical gifts he could give.

“The issue with that is that he has essentially everything he could ever want, what with his position, and all,” he eventually sighed. 

“I agree, but also, I think it would be less of what the gift is and more the idea that it’s a gift from you,” Veers replied, tilting his head slightly as he spoke. 

“Do you really think so?” Piett questioned with a frown, a warm and pleasant feeling fizzing in his chest at the thought. 

“Firmus, I practically know so,” Veers crowed.

“I suppose I could get him some new tools,” he decided after a moment’s contemplation, brightening. Veers, however, didn’t seem to be listening.

“I wonder…” the man murmured quietly, his demeanor suddenly somber. “Do- Do you think I should get Zev something? I know he’s older now, but…”

Piett winced. Veers and his son had been getting into more and more spats in the recent years, and though Piett tried his best to help, it was honestly all out of his experience. 

“I’m sure he’d like that,” Piett said softly, hoping desperately that that was true - he’d be devastated if he accidentally made the riff between his best friend and the boy he practically considered a nephew deeper. “What’s he into, these days?”

“Literature, mostly,” Veers replied. “Especially this series about talking dragons - Fiery Wings, I think?”

Piett frowned, tilting his head before he realized what Max was talking about.

“Ah, I think you mean Winged Fire,” Piett corrected, recalling briefly delving into the series during one of his late-night searches for something to read in his youth. “That series is still going?” 

Veers shrugged. 

“No idea. Zevulon absolutely adores it, though. I wonder if the stores will have anything…?”

Now it was Piett’s turn to shrug. 

“Perhaps one of the arts & crafts stalls will have something, or maybe even be willing to custom-make something for you,” he suggested.

Veers froze mid-step, face scrunching up in confusion.

“Stalls?” He questioned, sounding bewildered. 

“Well, yes?” Piett gave him an odd look. “Max, we’re on Axilla. While we can certainly go to a store, you’ll likely find better wares in the marketplaces. Plus, in the market you can barter.” 

He paused. 

“Well, I can barter,” he amended. 

Veers gave him a glare of mock-offense, but his shoulders slumped in relief at the words. 

“Right,” the general said with a sniff. “Lead on, then.”

“It’s quite literally right around this corner,” Piett told him, amusement only increasing at the incredulous look his best friend gave him. “Can’t you smell the food?”

“Is that what that is?” Veers asked, seeming both curious and cautious.

“For me, it is,” Piett replied, taking the last few steps needed to round the corner. “For you, I think it’d probably give you some serious food poisoning, at least until you’ve built up a tolerance.”

“I’m 90% sure that is not how food poisoning works,” Veers said, doubtfully. 

“Are you willing to risk that?” Piett questioned, pointedly raising a brow. 

“No,” Veers said, then blinked as they passed by an admittedly delicious smelling pastry stall. “Maybe.”

Piett simply snorted, tucking his belongings closer to his person and motioning for Veers to do the same. This was the nicer part of Axilla, sure, but it was still Axilla. 

The two walked in comfortable silence for a while, quietly browsing the stalls as they went and basking in each other’s company - it had been far too long since the two of them had simply hung out. In fact, Piett mused, he’d reckon the last time had to have been during the Imperial introduction ceremony of Jelucan, back when Piett had been a junior officer under Grand Moff Tarkin and Veers had been a lieutenant. 

They’d been in close contact since, of course, either keeping up a long-distance friendship or, in more recent years, serving side-by-side with each other aboard the Lady. 

Piett was snapped out of his quiet contemplations as he realized Veers had wandered a bit farther away, the man speaking to a younger artist who seemed quite enthused. As Piett subtly moved closer to the two, not trusting his friend to see past the youthful, innocent face of the artist to any potential scams, he listened as a rather confused-sounding Veers was trying to describe something. 

“Er, and then I think he said the- what did you call it? A Bug Dragon?” 

“A Hive Dragon!” The teen chirped excitedly.

“Yes, that,” Veers said with a nod. “He said his favorite scene was when the Hive Dragon first met the butterfly guy, the one who was being chased, or something.”

Ah. Veers was seeking a commission for his son.

“He said he really loved how she had gone against all she had known to help a stranger in need? I’m not quite sure, he was rambling at that point.” The general shrugged, his demeanor almost awkward in the face of the young artist who was so excited they were practically vibrating with energy. 

“That’s an excellent scene!” They exclaimed, grinning widely, eyes shining.

Piett tuned them out as the teen began explaining the intricacies of the scene to a bemused Veers, rolling his eyes with amusement at his friend’s predicament. There was nothing but genuine artistic passion in the teen’s demeanor - he felt secure leaving Veers to his own devices.

Turning away, Piett began browsing the stalls once more, humming softly to himself as a street musician played a familiar tune a few stalls down, making a note to give whoever it was a tip when he passed them - they were quite talented. 

“Lookin’ for something special?” A raspy voice called. 

Head snapping up, Piett met the gaze of an old woman, her gray hair appearing almost tawny in the warm lighting of the market, her pale eyes staring intently into his own. In her hands, clasped between fingers gnarled by age and palms calloused by a life of labor, was a block of wood she was slowly but surely chipping away at, a carving knife held with a smooth sort of steadiness that belied great skill and experience. Piett hummed in agreement as he watched tiny slivers of bark - she was carving from raw wood, interesting - fall to the ground, the woman calmly crafting to a blueprint only she could see.

“Well, young man? See anything that catches your eye?” She asked with a wink. 

Piett blinked at her, confused, before her meaning caught up to him and he flushed a deep red and shook his head.

“Oh! Oh, no, I do apologize-”  he began, but she only cackled, her eyes glinting with mischief as she grinned at him. 

“Relax, young man. I tease, I tease,” she reassured him, before motioning to her wares with a sweeping gesture. “Please, have a look around!”

Wetting his lips, embarrassment still heating his cheeks - and really, what would his mother say, if she caught him staring like that? - he turned to gaze at little rows of beautiful wooden figures. 

Some appeared to have been sanded, while others still had bark on strategic places to act as texture or shading, such as a bantha with bark highlighting its horns and hooves. Some had some sort of finish applied, but most were raw, natural wood, occasionally bedecked with other materials as well. A small flower-shaped wooden plate had streaks of paint for color, and along the bottom waxy leaves had been attached to give the impression of it blooming. A little humanoid figure had clothes made out of wool of some sort covering it, and a gorgeous band could be worn as an adjustable bracelet by tying small loops of twine around one’s wrist. 

But what really grabbed his attention was a smaller figure near the back, hidden by the larger, flashier, more complex pieces it was surrounded by. Indeed, if it hadn’t been for the light reflecting off the tiny little gemstone embedded in the figure to act as an eye, he likely wouldn’t have seen it at all. 

Reaching out to tenderly pick it up, he was surprised by the heft of it, as well as the rough sturdiness of the wood. It was a little bird, obviously painstakingly crafted to achieve all the intricate little details that decorated it. Thick, deep lines clearly defined the head, the wings, and the rectrices, while shallower lines carved out the bird’s markings and beak. Looking closer, Piett could see lines so small and thin they were almost invisible in the dim lighting outline all the other little details, from feathers to nostrils to - he noted with delight - tiny little feet on the underside of the figure.

Its eyes were small jewels that Piett didn’t recognize - one was a brilliant sky blue, and one was a bright amber-yellow. 

“Topaz and cobalt,” the woman rasped. 

Piett’s head snapped up to look at her, having forgotten she was there. 

“The eyes,” she said, noting his confused expression. “The left one’s processed cobalt and the other’s honey topaz.” 

“Ah,” Piett murmured, turning the small figure over in his hands. “It’s beautiful.”

“Mmm. Indeed,” the woman replied, though with a distinctly pleased air about her. “That little thing took months to make.”

Piett blinked at her in shock.

“Yes, yes, it’s true! Genuine japor wood, that one. Real pain in the ass to carve. Very sturdy, though!” The woman chuckled. “Step on it, run it over, hell, blow it up! It’ll probably be fine.”

She paused.

“Within reason, of course.”

“Of course,” Piett agreed with a small grin and a shake of his head. “How much for it?” 

“Is it a gift for yourself or someone else?” The woman asked instead of answering.

“Oh, it’s an anniversary gift,” Piett replied. He didn’t know when, exactly, he had decided he would give it to his lover, but it felt right.

“Oh, how exciting!” She crooned as she gently took the bird from his hands and began wrapping it in a little bundle. “How long?”

“One year,” Piett told her, unable and unwilling to hide the smile that rose to his lips. “Since we started dating, that is.”

Technically, they had begun dating a few months after their agreed upon anniversary date, but they had both decided that the whole incident with the rebels counted as a first date.

“Ah, I take it you both like birds?” The woman tied the bundle with a little ribbon. 

Piett flushed. 

“Er, I do, yes,” he explained. “But on our first date, he discovered a new bird species, and it’s become our symbol, in a way.”

“Oh, to be young and spry, birdwatching as a first date,” she sighed dreamily, ringing up his total. 

Piett snorted out a soft laugh at the idea of his lover sitting in a park with a pair of binoculars. 

“Alright, dearie, here you are,” the woman said with a smile, and Piett blinked down at the total in surprise - it was far less than he had expected a piece of this quality to be.

“Ah, who am I to get in the way of young love?” She asked with a shrug and a smile. “Consider your heartwarming tale of romance as part of the payment. Just tell me something.”

Piett nodded, she leaned forwards. 

“What did he name the bird?”

“Oh, ah, he- he named it after me,” Piett admitted sheepishly.

The elderly woman let out a barking laugh, eyes shining with delight, and Piett found himself laughing along too. 

“Yeah, it is rather corny,” Piett said, smiling.

“He’s a keeper!” The woodcarver insisted, nodding in thanks as he passed over the credits, plus a few extra. 

“A tip,” he explained as he gently tucked the bundle against his chest as if it were fragile, despite having been reassured that it could survive a small explosion.

The elderly woman nodded sagely, smiling at him one last time, and with a respectful nod Piett turned and scanned the crowd. 

Max was still talking to the young artist, it seemed, though it rather appeared that the poor man was being talked to, judging by the rather haggard expression he was wearing. 

With a snort of laughter at his best friend’s expense, Piett sauntered over to him with a cheery grin.

“-And that’s why the paint is so important, because it symbolizes how they both wish to be someone they’re not, but by the end of the arc they both grow but also realize that in a sense, they were already who they wanted to be!” The youngster was explaining, pausing only to take a breath. 

Max looked up and, upon catching sight of Piett, practically slumped in relief. 

“Ah, Firmus!” He called, and Piett was tempted to pretend not to know him, if only to get back at him for mentioning the Bridge Incident earlier. Alas, Piett was too good a man for his own good, and he took pity on the poor sod that was the esteemed General Veers confronted with an overeager teenager.

“Max,” he greeted, coming to stand by Veers’ side. “Any luck?”

“Ah, yes!” The teen squeaked, turning back to their stall to quickly fish out a form of some sort - who still uses physical forms, Piett wondered.

“If you could just fill this out, I’ll complete the piece within a few days depending on the size and detail and send it to wherever you want!”

Looking immensely relieved, Veers took the offered form and stylus and began to fill it out. 

“For the piece description, just put ‘Cobalt and Beetle meeting scene’; I’ll know what that means,” the teen chirped. 

“Should I send this directly to Zev, do you think?” Veers turned to ask him. “Or should I just give it to him?”

Piett frowned. 

“Is he on planet?” He asked.

Veers gave him an odd look.

“Did your sister not tell you? He’s staying with her to help babysit Sarkli for the week, for some extra credits. Not much!” Veers was quick to add. “Just enough to get himself a book and some snacks at the end of it.”

Piett sighed. 

“I’m beginning to think she doesn’t tell me anything at all,” he grumbled, then nodded. “Give it to him in person - I think it’d mean a lot to him.”

With a nod, Veers finished filling out the form and returned it to the still-eager teen, who quickly stored the flimsi safely in a folder of what Piett assumed were similar commission forms. 

“Pleasure doing business with you!” The kid squeaked, grinning at them as Veers handed over his credit chip. “Half upfront, half once it’s delivered! Have a great night!”

With a smile and a nod, Veers turned so fast that Piett briefly worried for the man’s neck before power walking away. Piett tried not to laugh at his six-foot-three hardened army general of a friend blatantly running away from a scrappy, lanky 15-or-so-year-old.

“Did you get what you wanted?” Veers asked once they were some distance away. 

“I haven’t gotten any tools, no,” Piett replied. “I’d probably be better off getting those from an actual distributor. But,” he held up the bundle, “I did get something I think he’ll like.”

“Speaking of something I think he’ll like,” Veers said with a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows, nodding his head to where the stalls became farther and farther apart, eventually marking the end of the market altogether, with-

With a sex shop squarely at the end of the street.

“Absolutely not!” Piett squeaked, flushing. 

“Firmus, we literally share a mindlink,” Veers huffed. “And besides, you once had me pick up your lingerie for you that one time!” 

“That was different!” Piett squawked, his face feeling as though it were on fire. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll stay outside if it bothers you so much! But, Firmus,” Veers continued, suddenly serious. “I’m your best friend, your wingman, remember? I’m trying to get you laid, and I don’t know how that might work with your, er, partner of choice.”

“Since when have you been my wingman?” Piett demanded to know, still-burning brow scrunching up in confusion.

Veers rubbed his hand down his face.

“You,” he accused, pointing at Piett in a manner that was oddly similar to what Piett’s lover frequently did, “-are missing the point.”

Piett sighed. “You’re right,” he begrudgingly admitted. “I’ll probably need some specialty bacta lube, or something.” 

Veers made a face at that, but really, it was on him for insisting he be Piett’s wingman. 

Setting his face, expression as blank and stoic as if he were on shift aboard the Executor before he and his lover met, Piett handed Veers the little bundle and strode into the shop. 

A cheery little ding! rang out as he entered, eyes subtly darting around as he stiffly returned the nod the tired-looking togruta working the counter gave him. 

Ducking into the closest aisle, his gaze quickly scanned over the shelves lined with what appeared to be boxes containing strap-ons for virtually any species Piett could think of. There were a couple different human, twi'lek, and togruta models of various lengths, girths, and styles, but surprisingly there were also models for wookies, besalisks, and even one for chiss. 

Piett tilted his head. He had never really considered it, but it suddenly occurred to Piett that his lover may be lacking the, er… equipment usually possessed by biological human males, which Piett presumed his lover to be. Although, now that he thought about it, he realized he didn’t actually know his lover’s species and birth-sex for absolute certainty. 

Deciding that it didn’t much matter, and that Piett would deal with that issue if and when it arose, he quickly strode past the various displays, still keeping that stone-faced expression he had long-since mastered. 

Turning into the next aisle, he saw rows upon rows of various dildos, vibrators, and stimulators, along with a myriad of fleshlights and cockrings and other such toys. Very quickly deciding that he didn’t need anything of the sort, Piett skipped the aisle entirely, and the one after that too.

Who still buys porn? Piett thought as he moved onto the final aisle which, thankfully, seemed much more promising. That shit’s been available on the holonet for literal centuries now. 

Breathing out a little huff of relief, Piett eyed the various tubes and bottles of lube available for sale. Most of it was the typical type one would find in pretty much any couple’s bedside drawer, though there were quite a few that were admittedly of greater quality than that commonly sold in convenience stores and pharmacies. 

Ah, here we are, Piett inwardly sighed with relief.

“Medicated Lube” the package read. “Bacta-infused lubrication for human and human-adjacent use.” 

Piett scanned the back of the box.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

10% bacta lubrication for any and all penetrative purposes. Perfect for those with sensitivities, autoimmune disorders, bacta-treatable STDs, and for post-birth intercourse or masterbation.*

*The Health Overview and Treatment Committee Of Collective Knowledge (HOTCOCK) recommends abstaining from any sort of sexual activity for at least 1 to 3 months post-birth. Please consult with a doctor or healthcare official before use if you or your partner have recently given birth. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Perfect,” Piett muttered, tucking the small box under his arm and wincing only a little at the price. 

Avoiding the cashier’s eyes and instead focusing on fishing out his credit chip, Piett placed the box on the counter and tried to ignore the slight awkwardness that clung to him like strangler vines. 

With an impassive nod, the bored-looking cashier handed him back the credit chip and went back to scrolling the holonet, Piett quickly scuttling out of the store with his - thankfully, very discreetly packaged - purchase in hand. 

Veers looked up as he approached, an odd, almost bittersweet smile on the man’s face.

“Your sister just sent me a photo,” he said, seeming almost sorrowful.

Piett realized why his friend sounded so morose as soon as Veers showed him the image - it was a slightly-blurry, very candid photo of Zevulon sitting at the table, Sarkli in his high chair next to him, the two of them finger painting. Sarkli’s picture was a mess of random colors and shapes, nonsensical streaks and smears decorating both the paper and seemingly everything else, too, up to and including Sarkli himself. Zev had one hand on his own painting, which seemed to be of a coppery red dragon with blue eyes, and the other hand gently grasping Sarkli’s tiny, furled fist as the baby tried to shove his own paint-covered fingers into his mouth. Zev wore an exasperated yet amused expression, grinning even as he tried to look annoyed. 

“How did he grow up so fast?” Max asked, sighing softly, startling Piett out of his examination of the image. 

“He’s thirteen, Max, not thirty,” Piett reminded his friend playfully, smiling as his friend gave him an faux-annoyed expression shockingly similar to the one Zev wore in the image.

“I should probably get back to the hotel,” Veers sighed as he tucked his com away. 

“Hotel?” Piett questioned with a frown.

“Yeah, the Empire partners with it to house army officials during leave for a reduced price,” Veers explained with a shrug. 

“Max, you’re on my home world, literally just a shuttle ride away from my sister’s house. Why not stay with us? Hells, Zev already is!” Piett playfully berated, crossing his arms. 

“That defeats the whole purpose of having Zev babysit, if I’m hovering around him all the time!” Veers protested. 

“Don’t hover, then! Just hang out, relax, spend some quality time with your son when he’s not busy,” Piett huffed. “And you could help out with the finer parts of babysitting. Show him how to parent, and all that.” 

Max’s eyes went wide.

“Wouldn't that be, I don’t know, stepping on Rilla’s toes? I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he said. 

Core-Worlders, Piett internally scoffed. Always so prickly about the oddest things.

“Veers, she’s known you for the better half of a decade now. She helped with Zev, for stars’ sake! I can assure you, you would not be intruding,” Piett assured him, then smirked teasingly at his best friend. “Besides, you’re practically an uncle to Sarkli, and unlike Sarkli’s other uncle, you actually know how to deal with babies.” 

“I sure hope I do, considering I work with them all day,” Veers deflected, though his eyes were wide and misty with wonder, appearing for all the world to be deeply touched even as he joked around.

“I’m telling You-Know-Who you said that about him,” Piett teased, watching in delight as Veers’ eyes widened with horror and mild panic before turning and beginning to walk.

“Oh, don’t you dare!” Veers squawked, stumbling into motion until they were side-by-side once more. “I’ve only just now convinced myself he won’t kill me! Don’t you dare tempt him!” 

Snorting, Piett let his shoulders shake with silent laughter, a laughter which only deepened as Veers’ composure began to break, the man’s face splitting with a wide smile as he chuckled along. 

“Here’s your gift back, by the way,” he said as he handed Piett the small bundle containing the figurine, to which Piett nodded in thanks.

“Home, then?” Piett questioned lightly, tilting his head slightly in silent question. 

Veers only gave him another smile, this one far softer and brimming with genuine happiness. 

“Home,” he agreed. 

And with that, they began walking towards the shuttle station to take them back to Rilla’s house, a small bundle in Piett’s hands and a large bundle of contentment in their hearts.

It would seem, much to his visceral dread, that his Master’s morbid intrigue in Vader’s newfound abilities was not, in fact, a passing interest. To be fair, he never truly believed that it was. 

He knew better than to do anything but what his Master demanded. Resistance was pointless, and persuasion was fruitless. Sidious would do what Sidious wished, and Vader could only play along to minimize the damage. 

The droids buzzed around him like blowflies to a carcass, removing his sepulchral armor with harsh efficiency and liquid-smooth cruelty. The foul stench of blood, both fresh and stale, mixed with that of skin that was either rotted or rotting, the sickly-sweet odor of infection strong enough that even he could smell it with his fire-damaged, limited olfactory capabilities. Lights, so uncomfortably bright they made his head pulse with dull agony, shone down upon him, almost making the pale, discolored flesh that now lay exposed to the cold, sterile, stinging air seem to glow. Trilling machines and beeping droids buzzed around him, a cacophony of noise in the enclosed room, thrumming in time with his rising panic. 

One of the droids injected him with something that made his veins burn, and Vader felt himself begin to retreat back into the Mindscape - no. He could not, not with his Master so close - the man would surely discover it if he did so, and Vader’s only safespace, the only place he felt like himself, felt comfortable, would no longer be so. 

And, Vader thought with a sickening lurch, who knew what his Master would do if he found Piett, Veers, and the little Jedi Padawan lurking within his manifested realm? 

And maybe it was odd, that Vader had grown a strange sense of- of- of something he didn’t quite know the word for, for the young rebel. But he could not help it. Perhaps it was because the child had infiltrated his psyche, loitering around the vestiges of Vader’s mind, slowly becoming a part of it. Maybe it was that, despite being his enemy, the rebel had shown him nothing but amicable respect, and to the other two something Vader could almost call friendliness. And Vader saw the way Piett and Bridger interacted - less like soldiers on opposite sides of a war and more like a mentor advising and looking after an apprentice, Piett imposing life lessons and morals onto the young Jedi any chance he got. Veers, too, had taken to teaching the Padawan various combat moves and styles, which Vader had initially opposed, but… But, he supposed he, too, had developed a soft spot for the teen. 

Vader’s musings were cut short by the screen next to the operating table he was strapped to blinking to life, Sidious’ sharp yellow gaze suddenly on him. It made his skin crawl, the way those putrid, sulfurous eyes raked over him like a butcher assessing a peculiar cut of meat, vivisecting him where he lay, giving no mind to Vader’s still-racing heart.

“Ah, Lord Vader,” the Sith Master began, voice deceptively friendly.

It was for him, he could almost convince himself. He still cares.

“I hear your abilities have only gotten stronger, though your control still seems to be an issue, if this latest… incident is indicative of anything.”

Vader flinched, slightly. He knew exactly which ‘incident’ his Master was referring to - memories that weren’t his, experiences that he had stolen, still flashed through his head.

And yet, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to feel remorse. They had been rebels, enemies of the Empire, enemies of his Master, and as such Vader had been ordered to destroy them. And when Vader had come across them, a small battalion eating at their temporary camp in the woods, a hunger and a jealousy so intense and mind-consuming he had no name for it took him over. 

He didn’t remember reaching out in the Force, didn’t remember how he did what he did. All he remembered was the way a hundred thousand forgotten sensations had flooded through him the moment he connected with the first mind, the agonizing yet addicting influx of tastes and smells and textures and sights that he had been starved of for so long, stirring something deep within him, an awakening, a revolution, an internal apocalypse-

He didn’t remember how it had happened. Only that, at the end of it all, every single rebel and a couple of his own men lay unresponsive, their minds completely robbed of every memory, thought, and idea, everything, anything they had ever had. All of it was his, now, and for the first time, the very first time in all the time he could remember, he felt alive. 

The rebels were not dead, but they were hardly alive, either. Not only had Vader scraped out every aspect of what made them, them - but even as they lay there, he was still leeching off of them, parasitizing every new sensation and thought as they formed, and he knew that even if he left, he had done far too much damage.

The men would lie there until they died. Until they starved, or were overcome by the elements, or were dragged off by wildlife. 

He had killed them without thought, on impulse and instinct that felt far too ancient and impossible and ethereal to be his own, all without conscious decision on his part, and he could not bring himself to regret it.

Even as the rest of his troops doubled over, some with searing pain as they were caught in the fringes of his feeding frenzy, and others with horror and shock at the sight of a hundred men all silently and suddenly doubling over at the exact same moment, without any warning, laying catatonic where they fell, never to move again - even as he regained his senses, he had felt nothing but that still-raging emptiness deep within him. In mere moments he had lived a hundred lives that weren’t his own, loving and hating strangers with all his heart, singing, laughing, crying, cursing, fighting, dancing, grieving, breathing, being, and all the tyrannies and treasures of being alive-

But it had not been his. A hundred lifetimes in a hundred heartbeats. None of it was his. He had been alive only as long as they had been. 

He had never truly realized how hollow he was until he had gotten a taste of what they had. 

He wanted more.

No. He needed more.

He needed it with every fiber of his being, every cell in his body screaming out for it, every neuron and molecule and atom all crying out in unison, demanding to have that addictive sensation back, even if just for a moment-

His Master pulled back in the Force, and Vader recognized that the Sith Lord had been watching, peering through Vader’s eyes as the memory unfolded, observing.

“Fascinating,” the Sith Master breathed, eyes alight with interest and gleaming with that horrid look Vader had learned to associate with the painful, torturous experiments his Master was fond of. 

If Sidious saw the way his apprentice shrank in on himself, he didn’t comment, and instead the Emperor turned to the droids hovering around the room.

“Status report?” He prompted.

“Patient is functional,” the lead droid beeped. “Multiple skin lesions have become infected, but are responding well to antibiotics. No injuries were obtained during the latest mission.” The droid’s processors blinked for a moment.

“Debridement is necessary,” it said, sending Vader’s heart plummeting to his stomach as it skipped a beat, then began racing. His blood turned to ice in his veins as, unbidden, a whimper of fear escaped him. 

“Very well,” his Master said with a wave of his hand. “Perform the procedure.”

Then turning to Vader, Sidious tilted his head slightly, that ominous gleam still in his eyes.

“I will call you again once I have need of you,” he said, before the call cut out, leaving Vader alone with the droids as they began to prep the area for the procedure.

Breath coming in fast, shallow pants, his rapidly beating heart hammering in his chest, Vader began to struggle against the restraints. It was futile, he knew - he had struggled against these same binds countless times before. They partially cut off his access to the Force, and even if he could destroy the droids like his instincts screamed at him to do, he knew his Master would punish him and then supervise the procedure himself. 

He knew the old, fetid, putrid, necrose skin had to be removed - already, it had caused several infections, and every movement tugged at the sloughing skin which, while it itself could no longer feel pain, it tore at the still-living skin and flesh underneath. And yet, the way the droids did it was agonizing, and it always left him feeling tender and sore for days after. 

So, as the whirring of vibroscalpels reached its crescendo, Vader began to retreat. He called upon that Lonely Ghost, reaching deep within his psyche, and silently slipped into the Mindscape, ignoring the tortured screams that were no longer his own. 

Blinking open his draconic eyes, he was immediately greeted by the sight of a mop of grayish fur sprawled across the tip of his snout. 

With a low rumble of greeting, Vader eyed the disheveled feline figure, noting the ash and soot that coated the poor teen. Carefully reaching out with the Force, a surprisingly difficult feat in the Mindscape that he was gradually getting better at, he gently combed through the matted fur, removing all the soot and dust from every hair and inch of skin until the small form was back to the fluffy, pristine white it was supposed to be. 

“Thanks,” Bridger muttered sleepily, yawning as he blinked up at the slowly-rotating cloud of ash above his head, the ash that Vader had removed from his fur and now softly spun with the Force, a miniature nebulae that the tooka gazed up at in wonder, as of he really were staring at the birthplace of stars and not merely the debris Vader had removed from him.

“What have you done to get so filthy?” He chided, dispersing the cloud with a flick of his tail-tip, turning his attention back to the tooka still perched precariously on his snout, who seemed almost disappointed at the cloud’s absence, though the expression didn't linger for long.

“It’s not my fault!” Bridger protested as he rose to his feet, stretching in the way that cats did. “This is literally a volcanic hellscape, it’s impossible not to get dirty!” 

Vader exhaled through his nose, rousing puffs of cinders and soot that hovered in the air before finally settling once more.

Bridger turned to stare at the cloud of particles, then turned back to him as if to say see?

Perhaps the young rebel had a point, Vader could concede.

“Why are you on my nose?” He asked instead.

Ducking his head in a manner that Vader could only describe as embarrassment, the cat sniffed and began scratching at his ear. 

“Felt like it,” he muttered crossly. “It’s the least dusty area here.” 

The lie rang out like a bell, but Vader decided not to mention it. Ultimately, Bridger’s eccentricities mattered not, and Vader had more important things to do.

Like find Piett.

“Where-”

“Is Firmus? Dunno,” the tooka said with a yawn.

Vader narrowed his eyes at him.

“Since when are you on a first-name basis with Piett?” He growled. 

“Why do you call your boyfriend by his last name?” The cat retorted, avoiding the question. 

“It is the name he prefers,” Vader retorted. “Therefore, it is the name I call him. It is the same with Veers, though he does not mind his first name nearly as much as Piett.”

“You never asked me which name I prefer,” Bridger said sullenly, hunched over in unhappiness.

Vader paused, ears flicking up in thought. 

“No, I suppose I haven’t,” he said slowly, contemplating and resisting the urge to tilt his head as he did so, lest he dislodge the sulking rebel who had chosen Vader’s snout as a bed.

He ignored the small flash of something that the notion inspired in him. He refused to show affection for a rebel, least of all a Jedi padawan rebel. 

“And what would your preferred name be?” He asked, merely out of curiosity, and nothing else. 

Absolutely nothing else.

The cat’s eyes brightened as their ears perked up, gazing at him with a surprised, yet pleased expression, and Vader once more resolutely ignored how he had to resist the urge to chitter encouragingly at the sight. 

“It’s Ezra,” the rebel, Ezra, said. “I prefer Ezra.”

“Very well,” Vader acquiesced, promising himself that it was a one-time thing, and that it was only because the rebel made Piett happy, and for no other reason did he agree. And, even if there were, hypothetically, another reason, it was most certainly not because the unhappy slump of the tooka’s shoulders twisted a part of Vader’s soul in a way he hadn’t thought possible. 

Absolutely not.

Vader let out a long sigh, closing his eyes, ignoring Ezra as he purred happily, turning in a tight circle before plopping back down on Vader’s snout with a contented mrrp!

He didn’t know how long the two of them simply lay there, listening to the sound of the wind blow through the rocky canyons and hills, and to the waves crash like thunder off in the distance. He wasn’t quite sure why the inky black ocean was there - there certainly weren’t any oceans on Mustafar, as far as he was aware - but the sound of the hissing, spitting tides as they raged against the stony shore was soothing nonetheless. 

The sound of pebbles skittering across rock had him peeling open his eyes to see Piett approaching, the ground-mouse exuding an air of joy and excitement. As if the eager anticipation were infectious, Vader found himself lifting his head and sitting up slightly, ears pricked, tucking his forelegs closer to his body. 

“Firmus!” Ezra meowed happily, raising his tail in greeting as he scrambled up Vader’s head, across his neck, down his shoulders, and then leaping off of his back onto the ground, another cloud of soot rising and enveloping the rebel. 

Vader huffed in annoyance as he saw that the tooka was, once again, more gray than white.

“Ezra,” Piett greeted, though he sounded less formal than usual - he seemed, in fact, to be in quite the good mood, as he even stopped to playfully bat at the tooka, to which Ezra excitedly began to play back. The two of them roughhoused in the ash, and Vader sighed once more as Ezra’s fur became dirtier and more tangled as they tussled. Not that he would do anything to stop them - they were having far too much fun for him to do that.

Eventually, the two broke off from each other, both of their pelts ruffled and coated in soot, but an air of exuberance around them.

“Piett,” Vader rumbled fondly, laying his head down to get closer to the small ground-mouse. As his powers grew, it seemed that his dragon form grew, too. Already, he was a good bit larger than he had been a year ago - where Piett had been the size of his eye, now he was the size of his nostril, and Vader was growing larger still.

“Love,” Piett greeted warmly, pressing himself against the soft scales of Vader’s snout. 

They basked in the contact for a long moment, Ezra wandering off to give them some privacy. 

“Where are you, right now?” Piett eventually asked. 

Frowning, Vader sunk into the Force, reaching back into the real world hesitantly. The Lonely Ghost was no longer screaming, but was that due to exhaustion, he wondered, or had the debridement finished?

Reaching farther, the sensation of warm bacta encompassed him - the procedure had finished, then, and he had been placed in his bacta tank to soak. 

“I am in my chambers, soaking,” he told his lover as he retreated back into the Mindscape, the phantom sensation of stinging pain lingering. “Death Squadron is on its way back to Axilla as we speak.”

Piett perked up at that. 

“You'll be here soon?” He breathed, his earlier excitement returning. 

“Within a few days,” Vader replied. “And, barring any sudden emergencies, I have reason to believe we shall have some downtime for the days after.”

The excitement Piett was radiating suddenly crescendoed, along with something that Vader couldn't quite place, but felt similar to exuberance nonetheless. 

“You seem rather excited about something,” Vader noted when his lover didn't respond.

“Ah, yes!” Piett squeaked, snapping out of whatever daze or daydream he had been in. “Love, it has come to my attention that a very important date is approaching.”

Vader froze, his mind racing as he frantically tried to figure out what Piett was talking about. 

Empire Day? No, that was in a few months. 

Piett’s birthday? No, that had been half a year ago.

Veers’ birthday? He didn’t even know when that was, so maybe-

Piett slumped, and Vader nearly flinched as guilt flooded him, but Piett only sighed in relief.

“Oh, thank the stars, I wasn't the only one who had forgotten,” Piett breathed out a laugh, and Vader relaxed at the realization that Piett was relieved rather than enraged.

“I'm afraid you will have to remind me,” Vader rumbled, wanting nothing more than to hear his lover’s voice.

“Our one-year anniversary,” Piett told him, his voice breathless with awe. 

His eyes widened.

“Has it truly been a year already?” Vader remarked, surprise coloring his tone.

“That's what I said, too, when Veers reminded me,” Piett chortled, wiping at his face with his paws. “And, I have something very special for you.”

A sudden jolt of panic electrified his veins with adrenaline and his head shot up, eyes widening.

“A gift- I did not get you anything,” he worried, tail beginning to lash, leaving deep scores in the blanket of ash where it dragged across the ground. 

“That's alright, love, truly - just being able to spend time with you is gift enough,” Piett tried to reassure, but Vader shook his head. 

“Unacceptable,” he growled. “You have deemed me worthy of a gift of some sort - therefore, I shall give you one as well. It is only fair.”

Piett seemed to sigh, though only an exasperated sort of fondness emanated from his presence. 

“I suppose you'll be busy with that, for a bit,” Piett said mildly, and Vader blinked down at him apologetically.

“We will see each other again soon,” he replies but it was a cold comfort - even as his mind raced with gift ideas, his heart ached at having to separate once more. But this was important. This was their anniversary, and while Vader couldn't quite remember all the nuance as to why that was important, he could recall that it was.

“I would gift you any star in the sky, should you ask,” Vader breathed, suddenly overcome by a rush of love for the figure gazing up at him with that same sense of longing and affection, an oasis of good in the desert of pain that was Vader’s life. 

Piett’s eyes widened comically and he let out a squeak. 

“Oh, please don't!” He cried. “Organizing my visit to my sister’s has been difficult enough, I can't imagine trying to manage an entire solar system!”

His sister's, Vader thought with a hum. That was yet another factor of a relationship that they had been robbed of - meeting each other’s families. Vader, unable to meet Piett’s side, because of who Vader was, and Piett, unable to meet Vader’s, due to his inability to remember who they were in the first place.

Oh, he knew they existed to some extent - on good days, when he felt more like himself, like a person, he could recall distant memories and sensations, words so faint they were unintelligible, garbled fragments of nonsensical conversations with people he did not know but who still haunted him. He'd catch glimpses, sometimes, out of the corner of his eye, glimpses of figures blurred so heavily that he could not make them out, but who carried with them a lingering sense of familiarity that, ironically, made them seem all the stranger.

He had known those people. They had known him. And yet they were no longer with him. Where were they, he wondered? What had happened to them? What had happened to him to make him forget? Were they ever real at all, or were they just fragments of his imagination taking liberties in filling in blanks with gibberish and nonsense? 

“I apologize, love,” Piett murmured softly, sorrowful, snapping Vader out of his ruminations. “I should not have mentioned my family. I know it upsets you.”

Vader shook his head. 

“It matters not,” he said, forcing all thoughts of the phantoms that haunted him out of his mind, focusing on the only thing that truly mattered to him. “The droids shall pull me from the bacta soon. I will heed your advice and attempt to rest.”

“I appreciate that,” Piett told him. “It means a lot to me.” 

Vader let out a low rumble of affection, lowering his head to delicately press his snout against Piett’s small body. 

“I… love you,” he said, warmth blooming in his chest as he felt Piett press against him to the best of his ability.

“I love you, too,” Piett breathed back. 

Reluctantly, Vader pulled away. 

“I shall go now. But, rest assured, next time I see you, I will have the greatest gift to give you,” Vader promised, and already he had an idea in mind - it wasn't the most grandiose, and indeed it was quite humble, but he knew that that was exactly how Piett preferred his things. Vader admired that in him - it was a trait they both shared.

“I know it will be,” Piett said with a smile. “If only because it is you giving me the gift.”

Vader crooned, touched, and with one last loving look at his partner, he pulled out of the Mindlink, already ruminating on the details of his planned gift even as he drifted into unconsciousness.

The days passed by both agonizingly slowly and far too quickly, as the time period Vader had to prepare his gift became ever shorter, yet despite his stress he still found himself wishing the time would pass faster if only so he could see Piett all the sooner. 

Eventually, however, the day arrived when Piett, Veers, and the rest of the personnel aboard the Lady returned from their leave. Vader was already waiting for them there in the hangar when the first shuttle landed and the people on board began to disembark. Most startled when they saw him, rapidly snapping into salutes or scuttling off if they thought he hadn’t noticed them, but he paid them no mind - he was here for one person, and one person only.

Finally, that one person emerged from the shuttle, uniform as pristine as always, posture straight but not rigid, expression stoic and professional. 

Vader tilted his head ever-so-slightly down at the man as he approached, but took care to not react in the way he truly wanted to - they had a façade to uphold, after all, and his Master’s spies were all over the ship. Already, he was risking quite a bit by coming to meet Piett, but it could be dismissed as Vader having an important matter to talk to his assistant about.

Upon seeing him, Piett’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly, and a faint grin tugged at the corners of his mouth - it was so subtle that Vader doubted anyone who didn’t know the man well would be able to see it. 

“My Lord,” he said politely as he stopped a safe distance away from him, head bowing in greeting - all proper etiquette for a favored officer to greet their superior with, but it still tormented him greatly. He wanted nothing more than to pull Piett into his arms right there and kill everyone who saw.

Alas, not only would such a thing undoubtedly alert his Master that perhaps something was amiss, but it would also likely upset Piett, and Vader despised causing his lover distress.

Vader turned and began walking, not a word uttered through the Mindlink as he moved towards the hangar exit, Piett dutifully falling in step just behind and to the left of him. 

Professional. Distant.

Safe.

He hated it.

The walk to his quarters was painfully slow, made even more so by the fact that he was forced to slow his pace so that Piett could keep up. Finally, after an eternity and a half, they made it, slipping inside with practiced ease, the door closing behind them.

Immediately, Piett relaxed, a wide, warm smile gracing his features, his eyes softening with affection. 

“Love,” he breathed. “I missed you.”

He reached out, a silent request to touch, and Vader moved forwards, allowing the man to lean against his chest. That was something they had been working on - learning that not all touch was meant to hurt him. 

“Is this alright?” Piett asked, his breath fogging up the armor of Vader’s chest. That was another thing they had been working on - consent, and more specifically, Vader learning he could refuse. 

Vader sent a wave of love and adoration over the Mindlink in response, leaning into the touch and radiating contentment in the Force. 

“How was your break?” Vader questioned, to which Piett hummed, eyes half-lidded.

“It was good,” he said. “I stayed with my sister and her nephew, and also spent some time with Veers and his son. Mostly, though, I just relaxed and read.” 

He smiled.

“Finally finished that story I’ve been telling you about,” he added.

Vader cocked his head.

“Whale Heart?” He guessed after a moment’s thought, and was rewarded when Piett’s smile widened as he nodded.

“Yes, it’s an excellent read,” Piett gushed. “The non-traditional layout of the story really made it stand out, and there were some parts that felt more like poetry than a chapter in a book, but that worked really well for it. It made me tear up a few times, too - it’s a very touching story.”

Vader nodded along, listening intently as Piett continued on, describing his favorite parts and aspects of the book, gesturing as he described the scenes he loved the most and his eyes lighting up when Vader asked a question regarding the characters or the plot. 

“-And the transformation is literal, in the story, but of course it’s an allegory for real-world diseases, more specifically cancer,” Piett finished, breathless. “I could go on for hours about this book. Em’ily H. Abeck is truly one of the greatest authors of our time.”

“Perhaps I should look into obtaining a signed copy, for you,” Vader offered. “A late anniversary gift, if you will.”

Piett’s eyes widened, then grew misty.

“You’d do that for me?” He whispered in a choked voice, sounding deeply touched.

“Of course,” Vader rumbled, raising his fist in promise. “I promised you the stars and planets. If you want the book, nothing shall get in my way.” 

He lowered his fist, leaning down slightly to press his forehead against Piett’s.

 “Anything for you,” he promised. 

Piett gave a wet-sounding chuckle, wiping away the tears of gratitude that glistened his eyes. 

“Just please try not to give my favorite author a heart attack,” he said. “I quite like her works and it’d be a shame if you sent her to an early grave.”

Vader nodded, and they simply held each other for a long moment.

“Oh!” Piett said suddenly. “I almost forgot! I have something for you, too.”

He pulled out a small bundle from his pocket, tenderly pressing it into Vader’s large hands. It was wrapped in a cloth bundle, tied with a small ribbon that Vader’s sensors told him was blue. 

With the Force, he gingerly untied the ribbon, undoing the bundle to reveal a small wooden bird figurine with glinting gems for eyes. It was beautiful, and heartfelt, and perfect in every way - Vader would treasure it eternally, if only because Piett deemed him worthy of a gift. He would have felt the same had Piett given him a literal blank scrap of flimsy, but it was obvious that a lot of thought had been put into the gift. 

“It’s japor wood,” Piett explained, shuffling almost nervously, and Vader realized he had simply been staring at the small figure in his hands. “I was told that it should survive a small explosion. I figured that it seemed like something you- you would like.”

Vader exhaled softly, running his thumb across its head and down its back reverently, awe and gratitude swelling within his chest and pricking his eyes with unshed tears.

“It is perfect,” Vader told him, pushing every emotion he felt through the Mindlink along with the words. “Especially because it seems we were of the same thought.”

Without looking away from Piett, Vader used the Force to open one of the drawers of his desk, floating the small metal statue he had crafted in the days prior over to Piett’s hands. 

Letting out a wet laugh, Piett cradled the second, larger bird figurine close to his chest, rubbing his hands across the metal body and wire frame. It had taken Vader many failed attempts to get it right, especially considering his hands no longer had the fine motor control necessary to actually craft the gift, and as such he had relied on the Force. Still, seeing Piett beam at the gift made all the time and effort worth it, as did the careful yet joyous hug Piett gave him after. 

“It’s- It’s wonderful,” Piett breathed, eyes shining. 

“I am… pleased you think so,” was all Vader could think to say. 

Piett remained quiet for a moment, smiling softly down at the gift before he seemed to remember something, his gaze snapping to Vader’s as a wave of something Vader couldn’t quite name flooded the Force.

“Oh, there’s one more thing,” he said, gingerly setting the metal bird on Vader’s desk, giving it one last gentle pat on the head before turning towards Vader’s meditation pod. Placing his own gifted bird figurine right next to the other, Vader followed, and blinked in surprise as he saw that the usual seat he used while in the chamber had been replaced with an odd sort of table, though it didn’t resemble any sort of table Vader was familiar with. It appeared cushioned, for one, and it had a dip in the center as well as a dip in the middle of the head cushion. 

“I had Medic Kix help me set this up,” Piett began to explain, shuffling nervously as Vader approached the table. “It’s just temporary - your seat will be put back after we’re done.”

Vader turned to Piett, tilting his head in silent question. Piett only coughed, seeming embarrassed. 

“There’s a special mixture of oxygen in the air right now,” he continued. “Enough so that you can breath with only a supplemental mask, but not too much so that it’d make me sick. We can- We can spend time here, together. With you not in the suit.”

Vader’s heart did an odd flip at the thought, and he found that he liked that idea very much.

“So…” Piett continued, grinning slyly, though Vader could still sense the faint embarrassment his lover was trying to mask. “Would you like a massage?”

He gestured to a large container labeled ‘bacta lotion’, still grinning. 

A nervous sort of anticipation thrummed through Vader’s veins. He had never done such a thing before, at least, not that he could remember. He wasn’t too certain as to what a massage entailed, but he trusted Piett, and he could sense how much Piett wanted to do it. And so, he smiled back, ignoring both the painful tug it caused at the corners of his mouth and the fact that Piett could not see it through the mask. 

“I would love nothing more,” he said.

[anderstrevelyan]

What is one of your favorite snippets that you've written recently?

Thank you for the qualifier of "recently" or I would have absolutely blue-screened!

I’m really into the chapter I’m working on now—we’re heading to the Blackmarsh to find Kristoff and getting stuck in the Fade, as you do, but I’m taking creative liberties in how that plays out.

We’re stuck in surreal dreams:

When Anders opens his eyes, he’s in the Circle. High-set windows, cold stone ceiling, an incredibly uncomfortable bed beneath his back. 

And then his heart starts to race, and his breath goes shallow, and he’s crushed under the realization that everything—Amaranthine, the Wardens, Amell stepping in front of him and declaring no templar could have him—had been a dream. A fantasy his mind had clung to while he’s been here, languishing.

He darts to his feet.

Things look off. Shifting colours in the light, an Andraste statue missing her head, the shelves strangely devoid of books. 

Has he had too much lyrium? He can’t feel the taste on his tongue, can’t remember if he’d even been in the clinic, let alone handling an emergency that would have him guzzling an unreasonable number of potions.

He hears footsteps, and pivots to the hall. Karl? It can’t be Karl. But it is, oh Maker it is, and he rushes after him and reaches for his hand. 

What are you doing here, when did you get back? he’s about to ask with breathless relief—but Karl doesn’t react. Anders’ hand passes right through. That’s when he realizes Karl’s robes are the wrong colour, and he reaches for his own right ear—no piece of gold, no pierced hole for it to slide through—this is the past. 

This is the Fade.

We’re struggling to convince everyone that’s what’s going on:

“Look, Oghren. You know who I am, yes?” He wiggles his fingers as the dwarf looks at him skeptically.

“Sure, sparklefingers.” 

“When did we meet?”

“The night…the night the darkspawn talked.”

“Right, which was after this. I can’t be here.”

His brows draw closer together. “But you…you knew him before. From the magic tower or whatever.”

“Yes, but before he was a Warden. And you weren’t there, unless you’ve been hiding something from me.” Palm to his chest, he gasps in feigned disbelief. “Could you…possibly be…a mage?” 

“Sod off!” But he pauses, considering. “So you’re saying…”

“You’re in the Fade,” he offers again. He hopes he’ll accept it this time. He’s lowered the axe, at least.

And the fic is officially earning its E rating with some spice along the way. 👀 (Though not between Anders and Garrett yet, as much as Anders wishes that were the case.) It’s been a lot of fun figuring out where each character would end up.

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[rhymingtree]

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS DAAAAAARKE

I've been sick all week so I couldn't sit down and read. Now that I'm slightly better I can FINALLY dig in.

I got my coffee. I got tissues (just in case). Time to unwrap my last Christmas preseeeeent

BUCKYYYY

He's gonna see her again, for the first time in months.

This is gonna be great for my tear ducts.

Yay man bun

Nor could they afford to lose her again. If the gas didn’t work and she disappeared again, who knew what would happen? Whoever she was working for could hide her away and they might never find her again.

He couldn’t let that happen. 

He had to get her back. 

The odds are rarely ever in your favor though

Silly Natasha, you think torrents of rain is going to stop Ghostie? Death tried in all kinds of weather and she still got out alive - much to her dismay

“I was promised sun and fun, Romanoff,” Stark called from above them, “Not rain and depression.”

Me during summer

“Anybody else have a bad feeling about this?”

I mean my body tried to delay me for a while with food poisoning and then the flu, and then Christmas rolled around. Obviously I knew something without knowing.

Am I even gonna like this Christmas present....

If it makes me cry im not speaking to anyone for the rest of the year

He was wearing what looked like dark blue velvet crushed into wandering filigree. The dark was offset by a jacket that looked as though it was weaved out of gold. 

Ooh, fancy. Could've worn it at the wedding.

Oh that's right Bucky wasn't invited

He didn't even know Duke was getting married

He barely fucking knows Duke all things considered

Still, missed the chance to see Ghost in a fuckin' awesome suit. And officiate a wedding (without a license too)

If it doesn’t work out, we’ll give her to—”

“Me.” Walsh’s voice came from behind them as he ducked through the front door, drenched from the storm outside, “Trust me. I know how to handle her.”

hahahahaha funny joke ollie

no absolutely not

im scared

why is he here we shouldve gotten rid of him eons ago

“Like you handled her the day you came to the Tower?” Clint asked, raising an unimpressed brow, “She saw you coming from a mile away. What’s to say you don’t scare her off again?”

Yeah Clint you tell him

“Wraith.” 

WELL GUESS WHAT YA LITTLE SONSABITCHES

HE

IS STANDING

RIGHT

FUCKING

THERE

I am so frustrated with these buffoons honestly... if they weren't so stressed out and exhausted I'd have hit them upside the head one by one by now

Walsh glanced up, his eyes narrowing slightly, “What about him?”

BROS AND SISTERS PERK UP YOUR FUCKIN EARS LOOK AT HIM

I am so close to banging my head on the desk with how slow these guys are

to be fair i didn't figure it out that quickly either but come on

Oh hi Vision

Vision's here too... so is Peter

OH MY GOD PETER

IS HE STILL IN THAT CRAMPED UP VENT

OH FOR FUCKITY FUCK'S SAKE

I am so stressed i cannot even

It was almost as though it was whispering for him to stop. 

Bucky my dear boy, maybe it's time to listen to the creepy haunting whispers...

Cause if you don't you'll have to listen to me yelling through the fourth wall

PETER OH MY GOD IT'S PETER

PETER NO GO BACK HOME

He’d been cramped in the space for nearly six hours and he felt like a brittle piece of paper trying to unfold.

Peeeeteeeer

why are you this reckless. why.

If there was one good thing about hiding out in the Quinjet for that long, it was that he’d gotten all of his homework done and he’d gotten a nap in. 

How could you even focus bro... what

He really had to do this more often. He would be way more productive. 

The secret to success is lock yourself into a tight cramped space for an unreasonable amount of time with nothing but your homework. Noted.

Medellín wasn’t quite what he expected.

Motto of the day: Expect the unexpected. Especially when dealing with mysterious backstabbing super soldiers and snailbrained Avengers. Seriously, they're taking forever to put the damn pieces together.

He needed to find (F/N). Preferably before they did. 

And how (I say this with love) are you gonna fuckin' do that alone? Where'd you get your confidence, because I need some of that

A trap? Oh…oh no. If it was a trap, they were going to need backup. Someone to keep an eye on things from another angle. 

And he was perfect for the job. 

PETER NO

well things just took a turn for the worse... we haven't even fucking started yet

BSU!Pietro is a national treasure. I love him

Wouldn't it be fun to make edits of this chapter and the Prague one

if only i could upload all the footage in my brain into my phone. I could sit down and make one

Ooooh, who's the green eyed guy with a cane...

every time green eyes are mentioned I perk up a bit but I don't trust my insticts that much

nope wait I think I know now

I shoulda read the last chapter before I jumped into this one because I remember nothing from their plan. All I know is... Ari's supposed to be here, and everyone else kinda fucked off for a bit

Cameras actin' funny... ain't that a great sign

Cameras went down! How terrific for you guys, huh. 🙂🙂

“She’s coming,” Bucky said lowly, “Get ready.” 

Way to give our girl an entrance, Bucky you drama queen

If Steve didn’t know better, he’d assume that was one of Boonie’s friends. 

He paused, if he was one of hers then maybe that was his contact. Maybe that was who he needed to get close to. 

Nodding to himself, he pushed away from the wall and toward the man. 

But, maybe he wasn’t. 

I am so confused who the heck is this guy 😭

You know what im just gonna turn off my brain for a sec, and just let the flow of chaos take me.

OH NO WHY DIDN'T I SEE THIS COMING

— A blonde in a champagne-colored dress adorned with crystals that shimmered in the afternoon light. Green eyes darted over him as she took a step toward him and a sly smile played lazily on her lips. —

NO NOT THE FLASHBACKS

“I’m gonna be the one to say it—” Sam started, pushing away from Bucky even as the man glared at him. 

“Please, don’t—”

“Something doesn’t feel right.” 

Sam, you are precious and I love you.

OH

OH MY GOD

FUCKIN'

IS IT REALLY

BOONE

WAITRESS BOONE HSIOGSOA

AHHHH SECRET RENDEZVOUS PLACE

😏😏😏😏 im sorry my brain is going different places

HEHEHEHEHEH IM EXCITED

But also scared

what is going on what is this coffee doing to me

wait ghost

what issues did you run into

what were the issues girl

oh wait she's dealing with the issues... okay. she's beating up her issues. like a boss. we love that for her

why am i so worried for peter when i should have seen this coming from a mile away

i've seen every movie he's been in. I know he's like this. This is how every one of his movies start. He literally never learned to leave things alone.

He'll be fine, he'll go through worse.

Or…or! A spider’s eye view. 

He laughed at his own pun. I love this dweeb.

Peter bouncing off the door was the funniest image to ever be conjured by my brain.

It's like his mind is mine. We are both slow. But like... not slow slow. Like he's still smart but he can also be unbelievably dumb.

why did he try the door

this is what six hours in a cramped space does to your strategy skills, Pete.

oh hi boone

well, that could've ended very differently had she just.... glanced up for a second

oh hi ned

NED

THIS IS THE FIRST TIME WE MEET HIM ON HERE

NEEEED MY BELOVED MAGICAL BOY

“Dude!” Ned groaned, more than obviously exasperated, “I’ve hardly seen you in the past month!”

le gasp. How dare you ignore Ned for that long, Peter Parker.

LOOK WHAT YOU DID PETER YOU MADE HIM OVERTHINK AND DOUBT HIMSELF

atrocious. this is why j jonah jameson doesn't like you, spidey. you are bad for emotional health

I will never forgive him for that. Poor Ned. ☹

I'm not even paying attention anymore I'm just thinking about Ned. And how MJ is so going to notice his absence.

At this point she'd have already figured him out, because Michelle Jones is smarter than the fricking Avengers.

If she were here, she'd have Ollie on his ass three seconds after he walked in. She knows a bad vibe when she sees it.

No now im thinking about MJ she isn't even here

OH MY GOD SHE'S HERE

OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT IT'S STARTING IT'S FUCKING STARTING

SHE'S HERE

Oh i love her outfit oh wow

she really went in ready to kick ass, take names and look good doing it

this is Boone's handiwork isn't it

i love her for it

here we go time for me to shut up

 “What are you doing?”

“Bringing you home,”

✨Orpheus and Eurydice ✨ but this time it won't be Orpheus turning around.

Oh i just made this worse for myself

I am not even halfway through I can't cry now

“If he hurts her, I’ll kill him.”

You have no idea how much he already has, Bucky.

As much as I despise Ollie, I'd have to admire his perseverance. And his cunning; he ran circles around Alpha One with none of them the wiser, and he's running circles around the fricking Avengers now. He's dedicated to his bullshit and his only real motivation for all of it is HYDRA gaining control through organized chaos. What happens after isn't his problem, his only problem is how to get to his and HYDRA's goal.

It's nonsense and it's evil. He could have spent all that time with Alpha One doing literally anything else but he stuck to it. Gotta love him for it.

OKay back to hating the shit out of him.

oh fuck he's got Vibranium knuckles

someone tell Namor

Hey wait a minute isn't he like... really close by though. How much would it take to call Sea-Chicken-Man

I think I know why I find Peter so annoying when he makes decisions

It's because I would do literally the same thing. Beat for beat. I also have to internally tell myself to focus and distract myself by repeatedly doing that.

... That isn't a good thing.

One of his fellow waiters oh my god

What's that meme with Macaulay Culkin with the skateboard...

But they were more of a welcoming committee than an actual force that could stop you. 

Sounds like she enjoys dealing with her issues. Good for her.

oh yay i was right about green eyed guy with the cane

PLease dear god tell me Ari gets out of this safely and Jesse isn't going to end up with another dead loved one

PLEASE

I'm terrified

oh fUcK JACK

I am now even more terrified

god please take me back to the wedding when everything was sorta somewhat happy and i was crying happy tears

You didn’t need two significant others mad at you. 

Three if you want to count a very emotionally confused and exhausted Bucky. Four if anything happens to Boone and Steve gets pissed (and vice versa). Five if anything happens to Clint and Laura has to deal with that.... you know, just to consider everyone's feelings in this situation...

Six if Tony somehow gets hurt and Pepper has to deal with that... I can keep going if need be.

“We got confirmation there’s someone else in the building. We don’t got an ID yet.”

Peter. You foolish little arachnid. If only you slept a little while longer in that vent.

“We run away together.” —

— “That would never work,” 

God damn you Darke.

Even if he’d grown a few more inches and he’d gotten noticeably stronger, he was still the kid you’d known. 

And that is why I can't help but admire him for it.

Also I don't know if I ever mentioned this but when I read the flashback chapters, Ollie and Ghost's voices are very similar in my head, only Ghost's voice is a lot more lax and confident, more flexible (more open as well when she's around Boone, Duke, or Bucky). Ollie sounded more high pitched and unsure in my head.

And he still has a very similar voice as Ghost in my head, even more so now that he's shown his true colors and he's parading around as Ghost.

It was almost as if they were the same person in my head. Not to the point of confusing each other's voices but

Hey wait a minute, did I know before I knew

WAIT A SECOND WHAT

I FORESHADOWED OLLIE BEING WRAITH AND OLLIE BEING FAKE GHOST IN MY OWN HEAD

AND I STILL DIDNT FIGURE IT OUT

I take back what I said about the avengers being slow because oh my god what the fuck is wrong with me

I laid out my own clues and in the midst of my crying over bullshit just decided to forget about the clues.

Wait the plot's still happening I gotta focus

I love it when Ghost bullies the bad guys and reads them to filth. And I love it when they get so mad about it.

How did Ollie grow ten inches? 😭 I need your secrets

Is it just the serum? Come on, please tell me there's like a really special kind of milk out there I can seek out. Just a couple more inches will make me happy.

😭 I just wanna be at least 5 feet tall is that too much to frickin ask

“But now you’re not causing it, are you? Wraith was the chaos. You’re just…what? Spinning lies?”

“Nothing you wouldn’t do,”

So in some ways, he really did look up to her. Huh. Ain't that ironic.

I used to think he was ambitious for thinking he could take on all the Avengers but...

I was just kidding when I said I took it all back I'm still very much annoyed they haven't figured any of this out yet.

Take him down here,  a voice whispered with a hiss,  Take him down now. Finish it while he’s in reach. He can’t run if you clip his wings. 

I really like these weird creepy whispers in their heads. They're very blunt.

I love how calling him Rookie was once a more brotherly term of endearment that she's now using to mock and belittle him.

— “I love you,” he whispered, “I love you so much.” —

— “Don’t talk like that.” You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes, “Stop it. Just, stay with me.” —

haha how fuckin dare you

hey look at that im crying now

double taps. center mass. well well fuck me well let's add that to the long list of things that can just make me break down into tears at random moments of the day

it's like these two are playing table tennis with control over the conversation and they keep hitting the ball too hard and end up hitting me (minding their business and enjoying the show in the background) square on the nose

“You don’t have time to think, (F/N),” he said, drawing your attention back to him.

“Well then,” you growled, pushing your chair back slightly, “It’s a good thing I rarely do.” 

Taken out of context, this is exactly something I would say after doing something unbelievably dumb in a stressful situation.

“He’s gone rogue, yet again.” 

Oh Clint you have no idea....

Oh now everyone's on their feet okay

i don't have the same energy they do at this hour

i need more caffeine...

wait how big is his room... if she sent him flying across the room then that would have been a ridiculous amount of distance....

hehe that's a funny visual

WHY IS EVERYONE BULLYING SAM HE DIDN'T CHOOSE THAT JACKET LEAVE HIM ALONE

ooh big action fighty fight scene

I'd like to title it "the Avengers try and take down one (1) woman and fail spectacularly"

DID BUCKY

HE LEAPT OVER OLLIE TO GET TO HER

That is both so epic and so funny at the same time

all this excitement almost made me forget about Peter where the fuck is he

Pietro you lil speedster I love you. I should be thanking Darke every day for keeping you alive after AOU.

OH MY GOD SHE LEFT ARI UNATTENDED

HELLO

HELP

ARI IS FUCKING ALONE

HAHAHAHA AM I GONNA CRY

IM PANICKING 😁

oh thank fuck Wanda and Steve oh my god merry fuckin christmas

maybe i shouldnt go for more caffeine i thought i was gonna go into cardiac arrest

WHITE WIDOW

YELENA

SHE'S HERE TOO?!?

Did she really just stick her tongue out- oh my lord

DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH WOMAN

oh no things just got better

oh how the turn tables

You paused as everything in the room seemed to slow and you caught the striking gaze of Bucky. 

His jaw had dropped slightly, his eyes solely on the Vibranium that was on your hands. 

The Vibranium that had almost blown his arm clean off. 

Haha. Ow.

Oof now I know why the BSU can't actually be put to screen; I don't think the mental image of (F/N) receding and letting Ghost take full control in the midst of chaos will ever be properly done by anyone. That lives in our brains now. No actor can do that the way I imagined it.

Though... it would be fun to see how people interpret how she responds to that little scary voice in her head, Depending on the person (and the performance itself) she could easily be seen as going fucking insane. Like. Really insane. Like put her ass in a mental hospital and give her meds in a tiny paper cup insane.

But is that voice even still Ghost or is there a much more sinister side of her she's only now discovering and embracing

oh fuck

peter. wunderbar.

impeccably timed entrance, parker.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

His glare darkened as he raised his fists in front of him, “Using everything you taught me.”

Pete, no. This is too early in your arc for you to be this viciously angry.

jesus christ he's terrifyingly good at this oh no

is that why the Avengers couldn't corner her... she never tutored them...

Does that mean

The only person who can really beat her is herself?

Ooooh that's fun. I like that idea. Maybe I shouldn't like it so much, it's scary.

“I looked up to you!”

Look I always knew this particular moment would hurt but I didn't expect it to hurt this bad...

I can actually hear him, Darke. Jesus...

I hate how gentle and patient Bucky is being, it's only making it hurt worse...

huh... i always wondered how someone who doesn't need the antidote would react to it...

Um... did it... backfire

This would've been really fuckin' fun to watch completely from Bucky's perspective huh? The hope, maybe relief... and then

woooOOOOOOOH FUCKIN ENTRANCE

JACKABOOOOOY

I'm so excited I completely forgot I was supposed to be live reacting

It would be so funny to tell me from a year ago how now I'm happy to see Wraith.

Another great mental image: Vision bodyslamming into Iron-Man. Thank you Wanda

Oof, there's really no moving on from the first betrayal huh...

Funny, just a year before all this, she saved Clint's life...

DID HE JUST

HOLY SHIT

OLLIE SHOT HER

WHAT THE FUCK

“I’ve been worse. Remember when you tried to kill me?”

“Which time?”

Well if that ain't the most romantic fucking thing

"What's your favorite part of your relationship with your partner?" "Oh the fact that we can and have tried to murder each other. Multiple times. These stab wounds are hallmarks of a perfectly normal healthy relationship."

They're so cute, it's so distracting

like seriously the panic didn't set in for a while

LIKE GIRL

JACK

GOING ONE ON ONE

WITH OLLIE

I SHOULD BE SCREAMING

IS JACK WINNING PLEASE TELL ME JACK IS WINNING

WHY IS IT SO INTENSE OH MY GOD

motherfuckingshitimsonervousmyheartisliterallyjumpingoutofmyribcage

— “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Duke sighed, collapsing down on the bed and looking up at you, “I don’t want him to turn into something like you.” —

Oh OH THAT'S WHY I SHOULD BE PANICKING

OKAYSWITCHING OBJECTIVES

ok ok ok forehead touch how very sweet

WHAT WIAT

HE GOT SHOT IN THE WHAT

oh no okay wait he's okay he's okay

i forgot he was... you know...l

jesus fuckin christ im literally out of breath

reason number two as to why this can't be a TV show: it will literally kill me. it is so stressful. why the fuck am i still reading this. the sun is going to be up by the time i close my eyes.

Poor Peter's going to be in so much trouble after this whole mess

And he'd still be angry.

And he'd have to apologize to Ned.

oh... ned.

FOCUS RHYMIE YOU GOTTA BEAT THE FUCKING SUN

Why hadn’t she thrown a real grenade? It would have been the perfect opportunity to get them off her back. She could have used the carnage and mayhem as a distraction to get away. 

Clint Barton this is another use-your-frickin-brain moment. That is a puzzle piece. Figure out the puzzle. PUT PIECE. IN PUZZLE. SOLVE PUZZLE. BAM YOU FIGURED IT OUT.

— “He shot me.” —

PUZZLES AREN'T ALL THAT HARD BRO.

CLINT. BARTON. SHE IS SPOON FEEDING IT TO YOU.

I'm gonna cry I've been yelling at this poor man all year. He's never gonna get it.

She knew something that he didn’t. 

I swear to god when the truth comes out the only thing that'll shock him is how it all flew over his head all this time

I love Clint. A lot. But I want to slap him right now.

Oh my god what is happening why are they pointing guns at each other AGAIN

poor Bucky...

I love how Ollie still has the ✨audacity✨ to be in Bucky's vicinity when he almost killed Ghost. Like right in front of him.

Does Ollie like being beaten to a pulp?.... Like, other than the soldiers she shot to death, and other than Ghost herself, it's his blood painting the plaza... hasn't he had enough

I feel like if he does like getting beaten, there are healthier places to feel that... y'know, places that involve a lot of leather and minimal clothing...

“We never should have trusted you in the first place!”

My goodness, what a startling realization. 😐

I wonder how she can still drive so well after losing that much blood, after getting shot.

How is she always just. Physically fine. Other than the obvious super soldier part. She just doesn't let anyone else drive even though she's close to death

wait WAIT THAT'S ACTUALLY POETIC

No one's ever been able to control her even when she's literally about to die.

That sounded more epic in my head but you know what I mean.

“It’s okay. Just the adrenaline wearing off. It ain’t gonna kill me.”

“The fact that you know that terrifies me.”

I think I woke up the neighbors laughing at that... oops

“Without Cavanaugh, your labs are nothing. Give it to me.” 

Oof. That must've been a bit insulting for Ollie. Which is a good thing.

Hey... I want a hot chocolate too. How come Peter gets one? I thought he was in trouble?

Oh no they're all brainstorming again

and once again, i am getting my hopes up

they are never gonna figure this out at this point

THEY HAVE SO MANY THEORIES BUT LIKE THE MOST OBVIOUS ONE IS JUST BEING COMPLETELY IGNORED.

They haven't even thought of it yet 😭😭

I love how they all think she's a handler... like did they see that forehead touch? the way they leaned on each other!? the way Wraith seemed genuinely concerned for her after she was shot, compassion that he had never ever exhibited before?

DO HANDLERS GIVE THEIR ASSETS FOREHEAD TOUCHES OR DO THEY JUST THINK WRAITH IS SPECIAL LIKE THAT

I can only imagine how Steve and Wanda are just watching them get farther and farther away from what's actually going on

Like this is stressful enough for me, god knows how much sleep these two are losing over how if she actually was that much of a threat, they'd all probably already be dead.

Like that is a disturbing thing to think about.

“Pietro’s in the bathroom.” Steve shrugged, “For as fast as that shit is, he takes forever.”

I read that wrong and thought he had taken a really quick dump and was just being petty and not leaving the bathroom.

YAY RENDEZVOUS

...if someone was parading around using his name and his mask, he wanted to know who it was. 

oh boohoo

imagine how tired (F/N) is.

and we are back to clint pondering over the clues being laid out at his feet and yet not getting it

i should be screaming at him again

but it is four in the morning

i am sleepy

i have no energy

Clint Barton is a grown man. he'll figure it out. eventually. in the near or far future.

OHHHH BIG CLUE

WHERE THE FUCK ARE STEVE AND WANDA GOING CLINT BARTON

THIS IS A VERY IMPORTANT CLUE

HEY LOOK AT THAT

I AM SCREAMING

FIGURE IT OUT CLINT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

yes yesyes yes he's following them maybe finally he'll get it....

Hey! Maybe they know when he shot (F/N). 

At this point, yeah. Maybe they do.

Oh shit....

OH

COME ON

HE CANT GET KIDNAPPED NOW

HE WAS SO CLOSE

I WAS ROOTING FOR HIM

OH NOPE WAIT I CAN KEEP ROOTING FOR HIM

YELENAAAAAAA

YES

OH MY GOD

IT'S ALL FINALLY COMING TOGETHER

STEVE AND WRAITH. YES. OKAY.

MAN WITH CANE IS HERE TOO HELLO ARI HI

NO NO WAIT HE IS MISINTERPRETING THEY ARE NOT COMPORMISED

I am so stressed right now. If you took my blood pressure you'd have to drag me to the fucking hospital

BOONE

BOONE IS FUCKIN ALLIIIIIIIIIVE

THIS

IS

THE BEST

FUCKING REVEAL

EVER

IN THE HISTORY OF REVEALS

THIS IS A CINEMATIC FUCKING MOMENT

CLINT FINALLY FIGURED IT OUT

OH MY GOD IM SO PROUD OF HIM

HE GOT NONE OF HIS POSSIBLE GUESSES RIGHT AND YET HERE HE IS. FACE TO FACE WITH THE TRUTH

TEARS OF FUCKIN RELIEF

good god i am drained

i need a glass of water... possibly also an ambulance

what am i even gonna say.

you know what, i'll just tell you when i wake up. sometime tomorrow...

merry christmas darke. and thank you for the christmas present, it was the most stressful fucking thing ever. took me four fucking hours. four hours of hyperventilating and crying.

i am so tired jesus almighty how the hell did you not die writing this

CHAPTER 83 : SEEING RED

To all my live reactors,

Please, please, please, hide your reactions under a Read More cut. I don’t want any spoilers floating around. 

&

To all my Anonymous Avengers, 

If you want to react in my asks, feel free. However, I won’t be answering any of them until at least Wednesday if they contain spoilers. 

Thank you,

Darke

┍━━━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━━━┑

“I watched you die,” you whispered, your throat suddenly dry as it closed in on itself, “How the hell are you here?”

He stayed quiet for a moment, looking you over once more before allowing a dark smirk to curl to his lips. 

“It’s amazing what you can do to a person when they’re knocking on death’s door. High as a kite, blind as a bat,” he chuckled, the sound chilling you to the bone as it rolled across the table. He leaned forward, dropping his voice to a rasped whisper, “It’s amazing what you can do with a hallucinogen, blood packs, and blanks.” 

You visibly flinched, rocking back in your chair as you shook your head and Ghost’s voice slithered into your ears. Your grip on the case tightened, your nails digging into your palm. 

You had to keep in control. You couldn’t let him win. 

But, even as you told yourself that, you felt the tables shift in his favor. 

You know what you have to do. Just do it. 

Cold fury turned molten, creeping to the forefront of your mind as his sneered smile grew. 

“It’s amazing what one can do when they have all the brains,” he continued, “The power. The guts.” 

┕━━━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━━━┙

» CHAPTER 83 : SEEING RED

✪ Bᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ Sᴄᴀʀʀᴇᴅ : Aғᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛʜ

♜♠ Tʜᴇ Sᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ & Tʜᴇ Sᴘʏ

⧗ Tʜᴇ Rᴇᴅ Rᴏᴏᴍ

»Jᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋᴇ sɪᴅᴇ Tᴀɢʟɪsᴛ

@thexbookxnerdx // @autumn-em // @fadingbakeryfarmoperator // @rhymingtree // @itsmeatballworld // @kippykasey // @turtleedovee // @kamalymaly // @onewithnomightypowers // @y-napotat // @riahmcq // @thequeenofthefallen // @jesuswasnotawhiteman // @fnnshelbys // @knowyourworth-sellyoursoul // @banbananas // @beans-and-toast // @violetvictoriabarnes // @oikawasblueearbud // @itsarussian // @mrsbarnesinmyimagination // @oopsiedoopsie23 // @luhuhzy // @heyimjustlaura12 // @moonlightreader649 // @petalren // @sighmurderbot // @soldat-petala // @useless-creature-213 // @xiyouchan // @kaiblog50 // @aftermatharchives

***if you have a strike through your handle, it wouldn’t let me tag you 😞

[agent-cupcake]

As a resident Claudefucker, I know am curious to know what our fave charming schemer is doing during this Mafia!AU. He'd look lovely in a suit.

~It was quite the headline when Godfrey Riegan died. The details are a little hazy, a little convenient, but people don't talk about that sort of thing. Car accidents are common. Tragic, but not unreasonable. There’s no reason to smear a man’s perfectly respectable political career for the sake of some sensational gossip.

~In the right circles, however, there was a huge uproar, questions about who was going to take over the Riegan family when the elderly boss Oswald died. The Riegan’s had been dominating Leicester for quite some time, but a lot of people began to predict that the Gloucester family was going to move in. They had powerful friends, it seemed. Friends with money, no less.

~Claude Riegan, grandson of Oswald, appeared out of nowhere just when he was needed. Stories of the lost daughter Tiana still circulated, sure, but there were still a lot of questions about Claude’s origins when nobody except Oswald were able to vouch for him. He obviously had military leadership experience—his skill with guns and ability to lead was just too excellent for any other explanation—but he dismissed the question out of hand. There’s no documentation of him, either, leading some to wonder if even his name was false. But Oswald said he was family, and that was that.

~Claude was quick to establish himself, in any case. Despite his cavalier attitude, his efficacy in overhauling the power dynamics of Leicester were profound.  

~He decided, first and foremost, that the way to win the people over was to invigorate the local culture, which had seen a sharp decline as a result of new laws that were unfavorable to business, Adrestia’s growing market monopolies, and the bad reputation of the red light district Ailell. This included some perfectly legitimate campaigning and some under the table type schemes. 

~The result was a flourishing Derdriu Street. While it lacks the prestige of Enbarr Square in Adrestia, it welcomes entertainment that would be considered too “low brow” like comedy, trendy new restaurants, and music venues. Even better, all of it is built on the recently cleaned up river. The Riegan family is involved in all of  it, of course. 

~Casino owner Claude. This exists solely to thirst but maybe it was preexisting and he took it over due to its poor management? If there’s going to be gambling anyway, it should be done right. The extra money’s not so bad, either. But, Claude lounging in a big leather chair in a dark blue blazer with gold brocade, his white shirt unbuttoned low enough to see enough his chest. Enough to make you drool. Enough that you’d definitely get caught staring and probably called out for it because he can’t help himself. Claude with his elbows on the arm rests and fingers folded in front of him as he considers you, gold rings winking because he’s just that ostentatious and appearances are important. Claude asking you how you feel about taking risks in a way that really feels like it has nothing to do with cards, staring at you with a friendly smile that doesn’t meet those calculating eyes—eyes that you know will pick up on every tell. 

~Claude also struck a deal with the Kupala Distillery. They’d been fighting to keep hold of their historic business for years, and Claude offered to help them with that. You know, not for free, but he’s good at making deals that leave everybody happy. 

~The second biggest thing he tackled was the drug trade. For the most part, no one family had ever had a complete handle on that market. The Goneril’s had a hold over the docks for years, but the Edmunds had been moving in and working with the Gloucester family to bolster their power. Distribution was scattered and hard to keep track of as it ultimately circulated wherever there was a profit to be made. Looking at it like this, Claude decided that the only way to fix things was to take control over all of it. In his line of work, shady things like the drug trade are impossible to avoid. At the very least, if he has control over it, he can ensure the product is clean and expel far more unsavory ventures.

~Through these escapades, Claude was able to make alliances with all of the major families. A lot of them had only remained loyal to the Gloucester family out of fear so as soon as they had an alternative, they bolted. This has an unfortunate side effect of revealing how his power is perceived. Every day is a balancing act for Claude. He allows each family to function as they please as long as they’re aware they do so at his mercy. It’s better to keep friends than to control enemies, but even that requires a delicate maneuvering of power.

~However, Claude likes the conflict. He enjoys the game and he especially enjoys winning the game. There’s a certain level of his excusing amorality for the sake of his family and Leicester, but there’s an equal part of him that understands his wrongdoings and deals with it separately. He wouldn’t hold to the naïve “ends justify the means” idea to excuse himself, but he would still argue that his actions have value and are even necessary. If it weren’t him, it would be somebody a lot worse than him. That’s probably something that would linger in the back of everybody’s minds whenever they shook his hand or paid their respects, whenever they began to think of how easy it would be to take him out. Fear, too. So far, Claude’s never done anything shockingly bad, only what was necessary. But with his power and intellect, it’s always a question of what he could do.

~If someone asked him that, Claude would smile that friendly smile and tell them that he would do anything to see his vision made real. Whether or not that’s true remains to be seen. 

~Luckily, Claude’s not alone! Hilda is the stereotypical crime family princess. She joined Claude because he offered her freedom from the overbearing control of her father and brother. Her skill in manipulating everybody around her combined with her reputation as a ditzy rich girl makes her fantastic at gathering information, assuming Claude can get her to do so. But, as long as he’s not being too forceful, she’s surprisingly motivated to weave her way through social circles and charm everyone. Although she would never say it, the order he brought to Leicester, not to mention the entertainment, made everything a lot better for her and her family. Plus, she likes being useful after spending her entire life watching Holst give his heart and soul to family while she did nothing. Ultimately, the information she provides is essential and her relationship with Claude is one of the few either have that’s built on trust, respect, and loyalty. That said, sometimes even Claude gets a little shiver as he watches how easily Hilda can manipulate people.  

~Lorenz was one of Claude’s most disdainful detractors, although a part of that was jealousy. Claude just swept in and did things that Lorenz had been waiting and planning to do once he became the head of the Gloucester family. Even after being on the receiving ends of such vicious attacks, once Claude undeniably had the upper hand in Leicester, he went behind the Gloucester boss’s back to Lorenz and told him that they were going to be friends or enemies, it was Lorenz’s choice. Not threatening him, just pointing out that the fall of the Gloucester family was inevitable under his father’s leadership and that Lorenz didn’t have to suffer for his father’s sins. Probably over mimosas and brunch. Lorenz is proud and has no appreciation for Claude, but he’s not stupid. After they worked out their disagreements and more or less accepted each other, Lorenz and Claude became pretty close. Claude knows that having someone to openly and aggressively disagree with him isn’t a bad thing. Not only that, but Lorenz’s a solid ally with a better grasp on some of the things Claude has difficulty with due to not being a native. Lorenz is willing to admit that Claude is a good leader.

~Marianne is well educated in the realm of the law and political action. The reason the Edmund family saw such success despite their lesser status was because of her adopted father’s genius. which he made sure to share with Marianne. She is invaluable in aiding Claude on the perfectly legitimate side of his business, and helping him hide his tracks for the shady stuff. Raphael is the muscle. Lysithea is a computer genius. Being a sickly shut in with issues that only recently saw treatment, she’s on the Mr. Robot level of hacker mode activated. Ignatz is an architect which is useful since so much of Claude’s power is in the property and infrastructure. He also designed a lot of places to have some neat-o hidey holes. Claude loves buildings that have secrets. Leonie is manages a lot of the physical and pettier side of the work. If someone’s stirring up trouble, she’s likely to pay them a visit as a warning before Claude has to get involved. She used to be a mercenary but being on Claude’s payroll is a lot better of a gig.    

~As for the suits, one thing is very important. Claude would not, under any circumstances, wear something tight on his thighs. I actually kind of like the idea of him going for a 1980′s style modernized. In his post timeskip outfit, he’s already got a hint of that going on with how oversized his outfit looks. The 80′s (rightfully) gets a bad rep for fashion, but it’s also very iconic with those wide-collared suit jackets, matchy-matchy three piece suits, sportscoats with a fun patterned shirt underneath, open blazers, pleated pants with an oversized jacket, and—in particular—the trend of summer suits in shades of tan and cream with colored shirts underneath. Then, combine that with a pair of Ray-Ban Aviators and a topless convertible and you’ve got a distinctly recognizable mob boss who doubles as a devastating heartthrob. I’m not saying he’d do a 1:1 recreation, but you’d definitely see references to the fashion of the era in his outfits. He would wear oxfords or ankle boots. Whatever it was, they’d have to be comfortable. He also doesn’t shy away from jewelry. The earring, of course, and rings when he's feeling particularly decadent. When he’s wearing his shirts unbuttoned Claude could possibly wear a gold chain. I mean, what are you gonna say, no? That gold doesn’t look gorgeous against his skin? That it’s tacky? You’re talking to the man who wore quilted pants. Claude’s not afraid to stand out because he knows he will anyway, nor is he afraid to be seen as unfashionable because he doesn’t particularly care about trends. I also enjoy the idea of him emulating the 80′s as someone who didn’t grow up in a western culture and thus mainly saw things through the lens of movies. Whatever he wears, however, he would look very handsome.

[carewyncromwell]

Cinderelly, Cinderelly, night and day, it’s Cinderelly~... ^.^ Okay..before I jump into the next part of the Cinderella AU, here’s your usual appetizer of random historical/etc. notes!

Although carriages were developed centuries earlier, actual coaches like the kind we think of from Cinderella stories were first developed in the late 16th century in Hungary, specifically a little town called Kocs. (The word “coach” and its alternatives in other languages, such as the German Kutsche and the Spanish and Portuguese coche, are thought to have been derived from the Hungarian kocsi, meaning “of Kocs.”) They then really caught on in the rest of Europe after Queen Elizabeth I of England started using them in the 1580s. The terms “coach” and “carriage” are often used interchangeably, but if one wanted to pin-point the advancements coaches specifically made in contrast to carriages of the past, there are a few differences one can pick out in how they’re built. Coaches generally are four-wheeled enclosed vehicles with doors and/or windows (glass was added in later centuries), and often include a “boot” seat on the outside for a footman and/or luggage to sit on. Coaches also generally have a reputation for providing a smoother ride than previous modes of transport because they’re suspended between the wheels rather than directly over or beside them. After the invention of the coach, one can find carriages (royal ones, in particular) adopting some of these same attributes.

Sadly wheelchairs really weren’t a thing in the 16th century. The first self-propelled wheeled chairs were developed in the mid-17th century and refined in the 18th, with sedan chairs or litters (A.K.A. chairs you carried) generally being used by the nobility prior to that. But there’s no way in Hell I’m not going to give McNully the independence he deserves, so I used a completely anachronistic design inspired by this antique wheelchair I found online, made circa around the 1840′s. Hey, this is a fantasy world anyway, so bleh. :P The flower detailing on the wheel is supposed to evoke an emblem I see being on Florence’s green and gold coat of arms (get it? “Florence?” “Flora?”). You might also notice that McNully has little Snitch-like “wing” frills on each of his buttons! XD

Another fun thing I learned while doing research -- although cloaks were often worn for warmth during the medieval period and beyond, in England during the Elizabethan era, their use was actually actively discouraged and even prohibited, as they were associated with criminals and rebels! Therefore it was common for a lot of English noblemen and women to wear thicker clothing made of wool and accessories like muffs, gloves, and even jackets for warmth instead. I tried very, very hard to find historically accurate examples of period-worthy jackets and capes for women around the time of the Renaissance, and was very frustrated to find a lot of fantasy-esque costume pieces or historical clothing from later eras that were simply mislabeled -- but I did find one lovely recreation of a 16th century wool jacket, so that’s what I used as reference for Carewyn’s jacket in this sketch, though I personally imagine it as a dark red, so as to better blend with her burnt orange and beige servant’s uniform. Bill’s uniform is based off a real castle guard uniform from early 16th century France, though with a much simpler color palette (I see Royaume’s colors being blue and red). Like with McNully’s chair, there’s a crown on the chest of Bill’s uniform, which I see being on Royaume’s coat of arms (“royaume” is literally French for “kingdom”).

In her canon, Carewyn was born when Jacob was nine years old. Although in most of Carewyn and Jacob’s canon post-Portrait-Vault, they end up being only two years apart in age, that’s only because Jacob stopped aging while trapped in a Portrait for seven years. From Carewyn’s fifth year on, Jacob and Carewyn in canon therefore act much more like contemporaries, even though Jacob actually kind of ended up partially raising Carewyn alongside their mother Lane.

Previous part is here – whole tag is here – Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee and I hope you all enjoy! xoxo

x~x~x~x

Every day over the next week, Carewyn met Orion at the gate of the palace of Royaume, and the two would spend an hour or so together. Orion would ask her about life at the palace, Carewyn would playfully respond, and sooner or later, they’d end up getting diverted and talking about something else completely, whether the upcoming Winter Festival, the language of flowers, art, poetry, the meaning of life, music, fencing, or (after seeing a rather beautiful eagle flying overhead) what it might be like to fly. Carewyn honestly wasn’t entirely sure what Orion got out of their meetings besides entertainment, and naturally she couldn’t afford to indulge in such entertainment too long, when she had so much work to do around the castle and she still had to find out where Jacob was positioned. But she had to admit, with the King and Queen having invited Iris over to stay in one of the guest suites at the palace for the remainder of the month, Carewyn didn’t mind having an excuse to stay far away from her cousin. Lately Carewyn had actively planned her days so that she could clean the guest suites at teatime, when Iris would be in one of the foyers with the King, Queen, and Prince on the opposite side of the palace. She did not want a repeat of the other day, after all...particularly since she’d also need time to change out of the nicer, collared dresses she’d wear when spending time with Orion.

Orion, meanwhile, was of course getting a bit more than entertainment out of his and Carewyn’s meetings. Through speaking with Carewyn, he’d sussed out some very helpful information about Royaumanian culture, the dynamics within Royaume’s royal family, and both their and their country’s financial state. One day he told his closest confidantes at court, Skye and McNully, some of what he’d learned...but Skye didn’t react quite as favorably as Orion had expected.

“...I gave Lady Cromwell a copy of the sheet music for ‘No One is Alone’ last week -- you remember the song, of course? And from what I understand, Prince Henri and the castle staff have quite taken to it. Not that I’m surprised -- Carewyn has a very soothing voice. I’m sure she performed it very well. But the Prince listening to the words at all is a good sign -- I even asked Carewyn if the Prince enjoyed them, and she said she believed so. She also found their message meaningful...one of Florence’s best-loved anti-War songs, and one about looking through another’s eyes and forgiving past grievances, no less! That can only be a good sign, for Royaumanians to take heart in it. It surely must have been fate that Lady Cromwell and I collided at the market -- I had a feeling we were kindred spirits, when she came to my aid, but now I am most assured of it. I might hazard a guess that she wishes for peace just as much as I -- for the sake of her brother fighting in the field, yes, but also selflessly for the sake of others, not wishing to see any other person in pain...”

“She sounds like a perfect knight in shining armor,” said Skye, her voice oddly cutting.

Orion looked up at Skye, startled by her tone. Her arms were crossed over the chest of her faded blue linen dress.

“Anything else you want to tell us about the fair Lady Cromwell,” she said rather icily, “or are you actually ready to talk about how you plan to end this War?”

Orion blinked slowly. “...I thought that we were already discussing that.”

“Really?” scoffed Skye. “‘Cause it sounds to me like you were busy gushing over your new conquest.”

“Conquest?” Orion repeated. His confused tone then melted into something more soothing and indulgent, “Oh -- no, Skye...you misunderstand me. I have no interest in courting Carewyn -- she’s just my contact point, with the palace.”

Skye gave a very loud, disbelieving snort. “Ha! Right, of course she is -- that’s why you can’t stop gushing about ‘Carewyn this’ and ‘Lady Cromwell that.’”

“Skye has a point, Orion,” said McNully, though his voice was a lot less confrontational. If anything he sounded almost sheepish. “I mean, about 85% of your report was about Lady Cromwell. You used her name over ten times just in the span of a minute.”

Amazingly Orion’s calm, hard-to-read expression didn’t crack. His hands clasped lightly in front of him.

“Lady Cromwell plays an essential part in this strategy. I’m an outsider looking in, without her insight -- a ship sailing blindly, without the light from a lighthouse to give me direction.”

“A lighthouse for a lost ship -- oh yeah, those sound like the words of someone who’s focusing on winning a war and not swooning over a pretty face,” said Skye scathingly. “Maybe instead of always running off and playing dress-up, you could actually bother to do your duty and go help fight on the battlefield for once!”

Orion’s lips came together tightly, but it didn’t make his expression any less composed. McNully shot Skye an uncomfortable, faintly disapproving look.

“Easy, Skye,” he murmured. “You know Orion -- ”

But Skye didn’t seem to hear McNully. Instead she tore into Orion.

“Face it, Orion -- you just like being treated like a commoner again and being able to make believe that you don’t have any responsibilities or worries...well, guess what? You’re not a commoner anymore! You’re the Prince of Florence -- you reckon little Miss Knight-in-Shining-Armor would take kindly to that, when she finds out?”

Orion’s dark eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon Skye’s face.

“Carewyn’s not an unreasonable woman,” he said softly. “I’m certain she would understand the reason behind my secrecy.”

This, if anything, only seemed to make Skye madder.

“Of course she would,” she muttered sourly. “Little Lady Royaume can do no wrong in your eyes, can she?”

She turned on her heel and stormed out, leaving Orion feeling very resigned and confused. McNully gave a heavy sigh, before facing Orion with a more serious expression.

“She’s overreacting, as usual,” he said, “but she’s still 60% right. It’s risky enough for you to get this close to anyone right now, when your position as Crown Prince is threatened by the likes of Lord Malfoy. He’d frankly love to have something like that over you. But someone from Royaume? The granddaughter of one of the most powerful, wealthy, and feared noblemen in their country? Orion, that’s dangerous.”

Orion leaned his hands on the table, looking down at the map of Florence and Royaume laid out on top of it.

“McNully, I assure you...my objective has not changed,” he said very levelly. “Everything I have done is for Florence -- for peace and balance. I admit, Lady Cromwell is a fascinating woman, and certainly one to be admired...but I spend time with her to gather intelligence I can obtain nowhere else. That is all.”

McNully looked doubtful, but didn’t directly address it. Instead he said, “I understand she’s your eyes and ears inside the palace, and the intelligence you’re getting is valuable...but don’t forget, she isn’t on your team. She’s on Royaume’s. And right now, Royaume is kicking our tail out there, on the battlefield.”

Orion’s dark eyes drifted away from the table as McNully leaned his arms on the table himself.

“It’s getting bad again,” he murmured very seriously. “I know you said the palace of Royaume’s strapped for funds, but somehow or another, they’ve scrounged up enough to get more cannons, and their troops have been moving them around every couple of hours so that our men never know where they’re going to be firing from next. It’s been very effective. Whoever’s been giving Royaume’s King and Queen military strategy lately, they’re a bloody genius.”

McNully clearly was irritated about this, given the flash that shot through his narrowed eyes.

“Your father sent me a request for a counter-strategy this morning. You know it’s likely if the strategy isn’t one he can execute on his own, he may ask both you and me to join him there, on the front lines.”

Orion did not respond. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was something oddly detached and avoidant in his posture.

“I know you don’t want that, and you know I have faith in you,” said McNully, “but your strategy is a slow burn, Orion. It requires both patience and time...and we might not end up having as much of those as you think.”

Once again, Orion chose not to answer. McNully sighed again.

“You know I’ll be right behind you in a coach, if you need me,” he said tiredly. “Just...mind that you use your head as well as your heart, all right?”

Orion threw on his black traveling cloak and headed back to Royaume not long after, hoping to meet up with Carewyn for an evening stroll. There was a notable chill in the air -- if it got much colder, he thought that any rain might instead come down as sleet or maybe even snow.

When Orion arrived at the gate, however, he was met not by Carewyn, but by KC. She was dressed in a high-necked gown made of black velvet and holding a leather-bound book and a stack of parchment in her arms.

Orion tilted his head slightly to glance at the piece of parchment on the top of the stack, which had several “X’s” scattered over an oddly familiar map.

“Plans to bury some pirate treasure?” he asked pleasantly.

KC gave a lightly amused snort. “No, just military plans.”

Her lightly freckled face then grew a bit more serious. “I guess you’re here for Carewyn?”

Orion had been ready to ask more about the military plans KC was holding, but decided not to circle back to it when she changed the subject.

“Yes. Has she been detained?”

“I guess so...” said KC. Her lips twisted into a concerned frown as she looked out at the darkening sky.

Orion’s eyebrows knit together over his eyes slightly. “You seem concerned.”

KC bit her lip. “Mm...it’s just...well, you see, one of the royal carriages broke down earlier today, when the Queen was riding through the country with Lady Yaxley.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Lady Iris Yaxley, do you mean? Carewyn’s cousin?”

“Yes. No one was badly hurt, fortunately, but the Queen, Lady Iris, and the coachman and footman were forced to ride the horses back and leave the carriage behind. When they got back, they asked the royal carpenter, Charlie Weasley, to go fix it. Charlie said that he probably wouldn’t have the proper tools to fix it here at the castle, so Carewyn offered to ride out with him, so that their horses could drag the coach together to the Weasley family cottage, about forty minutes away. The problem is,” she said with a deepening frown, “they left over two hours ago, and they’re still not back yet. Bill headed out after them on his own horse not long before you got here...he’s Charlie’s brother, so he knows the route they would’ve taken...”

Orion’s dark eyes had narrowed significantly.

“Which road did Sir Weasley take after them?” he asked, his calm voice nonetheless touched with the faintest edge.

KC pointed. “Northwest -- toward the mountains.”

Orion nodded. “Thank you.”

And with this, he turned on his heel and rushed back toward where he thought he might find McNully’s coach. He needed to borrow a horse.

Setting one of the black horses free of the black coach, Orion rode off toward the mountains, his slightly-too-long dark hair flapping freely behind him. The road was well-marked, but it soon veered off into dense woods as it migrated up toward the mountains. Orion had never gone so far west into Royaume before, let alone far from Florence before. Despite himself, he had to acknowledge the beauty of the landscape. The views of the castle below were breathtaking -- it looked as tiny as a toy, and yet the infinite glass windows made it sparkle like some diamond-like beacon in the darkening sky. He wondered if his own palace in Florence looked so beautiful to others, at a distance. As much as he himself hadn’t been raised a prince, it was difficult for him to look at his own palace as anything other than a cage.

As he went further uphill and the sky darkened, it also grew colder. Orion was starting to see his own breath on the air. He thought of Carewyn alone in the cold, perhaps hurt, and had to take several deep breaths to sooth his nerves. He was never in a right state, when he let his thoughts run too wild or his fears chatter too loudly.

Finally Orion caught sight of two familiar ginger-headed men, standing by an overturned coach, covered in mud and missing one of its back wheels. One of the men was the tall, freckled castle guard from the other day who Carewyn called Bill, dressed in his high-collared blue and red patterned uniform tunic and matching white feathered, blue-velvet hat -- the other was much stockier, but no less freckled, dressed in a burgundy-colored tunic and loose brown pants and boots, and he wore his ginger hair in a ponytail not unlike Orion’s when he was at court. When Orion approached them, Bill immediately reacted with suspicion -- Orion explained what KC had told him and asked where Carewyn was, and was incredibly startled to hear her voice coming from over the edge of the cliff.

“I’m down here!”

Orion couldn’t help but feel a flash of concern. He raced over as if to look over the edge, but Charlie lashed out an arm in front of the taller man to stop him.

“Uh, I wouldn’t look over if I were you, mate,” he said, having trouble biting back his laughter despite himself.

He pointed at the broken carriage. Hanging over one of the doors was what looked like the burnt orange and beige skirt of a dress and several wool petticoats.

Orion blinked a few times in great surprise, his tanned cheeks darkening with a faint blush. Bill, however, reacted with anxiety.

“Carewyn!” he shouted over the ravine. “Are you in your underwear down there!?”

“Ugh -- well, I couldn’t very well climb down into this briar patch and wrench this wheel loose in my dress, could I?” Carewyn called back up rather haughtily. “At least my bloomers are slightly akin to the sorts of trousers you all wear.”

“You’ll catch a death of cold out here!” said Bill.

“I’m all right,” Carewyn reassured him. “Ulk -- ugh -- I have the wool jacket Andre made for me on...”

Charlie took a step forward, his eyes moved up toward the darkening sky pointedly so as not to look over the edge as he called down,

“Bill’s right, though, Carewyn -- it’s getting colder by the minute...and it’s getting dark too. Are you sure you can lift that thing up and over all by yourself?”

“Ugh...I admit, it’s a bit difficult!” she called back. “But I think I can manage.”

Recalling Carewyn’s blatant refusal of help in retrieving her horse, Orion -- still fighting back a slight blush -- called over the ravine himself.

“We do not question your capabilities, Carewyn,” he said patiently, “but would you like our help?”

“Ugh -- don’t be silly,” said Carewyn, sounding faintly haughty. “You, Charlie, and Bill would break your necks, climbing down here. And I’m still in my undergarments -- I have no interest in anyone seeing me prance around without proper clothes on, thank you.”

“It’s no use,” Charlie muttered under his breath, “I’ve tried to offer her help for the last hour, but she keeps putting me off, saying she’s fine. I don’t get why she feels like she has to do everything by herself...”

“Probably because she’s always had to, Charlie,” said Bill quietly. His voice betrayed a lot of sympathy and sadness as he exhaled through his nose.

Orion’s black eyes deepened with some compassion for Bill as he called back over the ravine to Carewyn,

“Your points are well made, my lady...but we’d still like to help you.”

“Ugh -- you can help me by leaving me my dignity and not looking over while I’m only half-dressed...ack...”

“Would you accept us doing more than that?”

“Urgh -- I am...sorry to have made you and Bill come out all this way -- but I’m all right, really.”

Bill glanced at Orion out the side of his eye, and then back at the cliff. Despite his distrust of the man, the eldest Weasley was sort of glad he wasn’t the only one who disliked how reticent Carewyn was to accept help.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said earnestly. “I was -- we were worried about you, Carewyn. You and Charlie.”

He and Orion glanced at each other. Bill wished the other man’s expression wasn’t so hard to read. The castle guard tried to twist his uncomfortable frown into a smile that Carewyn would hopefully be able to hear over the edge of the cliff.

“Come on...let’s get you and that wheel up and over so you can get back into your dress.”

There was a silence. Then Carewyn said a bit more quietly,

“...You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Wha -- oh, come off it, Carewyn!” said Charlie exasperatedly. “To hell we do! You think I was mucking about, calling you my pal and saying I needed to figure out a nickname for you? Now let us help you, or I’ll consider making that nickname an irritating one!”

There was another silence. Then Carewyn sighed very loudly and tiredly, and Orion couldn’t help but grin, because he could tell she’d finally given in.

“Oh, all right,” she said begrudgingly. “But I don’t really know how you’re going to help, when you can’t look at me.”

Orion closed his eyes.

“Describe your surroundings, Carewyn,” he said. “Paint a picture for me, with your words.”

“...Well, I’ve gotten the wheel out of the briar patch. I’m trying to roll it back up, but it’s as large as me, and the downward slope and the ice is making it difficult. Plus the wheel isn’t in great shape -- all of its spokes are broken, so there isn’t much for me to push up on, while rolling it uphill.”

“I would’ve told her to just forget it, but it’d be much easier for me to carve a new wheel if I have framework from the old one,” Charlie explained. “I’m already going to have to make the new spokes and hubcap completely out of wood instead of using any gold or metalwork, but it’s still going to take a lot of time...even more so if the old wheel framework can’t be saved...”

Orion considered the matter, visualizing the set-up down below on the inside of his eyelids. “...What’s left of the wheel...is it made of metal or wood?”

“Wood...but there seems to be some sort of metal lining around the rim, held on by nails.”

“That’d be for durability, I reckon,” said Charlie. “Wood alone would get chaffed badly on the ground, moving in a constant circle down cobblestones or over anything rocky.”

Orion opened his eyes and looked over the broken coach. His gaze lingered on the thick leather straps coming off of the front that no doubt would’ve attached it to their horses. Then he abruptly got up, rushing over to undo the straps from the carriage.

“What are you doing?” said Bill, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Orion quickly knotted the long, thick leather straps together with several complex-looking and strong knots.

“Carewyn,” he called over very calmly, “I’m going to lower this down to you -- use the buckle and loop it securely around the inside rim of the wheel, so that it’s tight. Give it a light tug when it’s secure.”

He blindly tossed one end of the rope made out of leather straps over the edge of the cliff. After a minute, he felt a light tug at the end.

“Gentlemen,” Orion murmured to the Weasleys, “I’ll need you to hold this, for just a moment. Carewyn,” he added, as Charlie and Bill both grabbed the end of the makeshift rope and he let go, “I’m going to need you to step onto the wheel yourself and hold on.”

“What?” said Carewyn. “Orion, you can’t lift both me and the wheel -- it’s far too much! I’ll climb up and out myself -- ”

“Not to worry, my lady -- none of us will be doing the lifting,” said Orion serenely.

He led both his black horse and Bill’s chestnut horse over by their reins, and -- taking the makeshift rope from Bill and Charlie again -- he looped the end under the straps of both his and Bill’s saddles. He gave several tugs at all of the connections to make sure they were tight and secure before mounting his horse.

“Sir Weasley, if you would assist me.”

Catching onto Orion’s idea at last, Bill rushed forward so he could jump up onto his own horse.

“Mr. Weasley, you may want to have your hands ready to help Carewyn climb out when she gets close to the top,” said Orion over his shoulder. “Sir Weasley, together now.”

With a lot of effort and strain, the two horses were able to lift Carewyn and the broken wheel up and out of the ravine. Once Carewyn was out, all three men averted their eyes so she could put her dress back on. Once she was suitably redressed in her orange-and-beige dress, snood, and dark scarlet wool jacket, she, Bill, and Orion helped Charlie secure some makeshift posts he’d carved out of some nearby tree branches under the broken coach so that their four horses could lift it up off the ground and help support it without its second back wheel. Then the four hobbled the coach up the mountain the rest of the way to the Weasley family cottage.

The home of the Weasley family, affectionately nicknamed “the Burrow,” was built up against the side of a hill. Attached to the house was a large farm with sprawling pastures and short, rustic wooden fences. Its roof had clearly been patched up multiple times over the years with whatever kind of wood was on hand, making it resemble a patchwork quilt.

When the group arrived, Bill and Charlie’s youngest sibling and only sister Ginny immediately ran out to greet them -- she’d seen them coming up over the horizon and was beyond thrilled to see that it was her eldest brothers. Bill and Charlie’s teenage brothers Percy, Fred, George, and Ron soon followed along after. Fred and George -- who were identical twins -- were quick to crow that Charlie had brought them an early birthday present (namely, the coach), and Percy scolded them that clearly it was for work and they should let it alone. Orion and Carewyn ended up staying back at a distance, both faintly baffled by the amount of warmth and noise emanating from the seven siblings as they chattered amongst themselves, constantly stepping on each other’s feet and interrupting what everyone else was saying. Neither of them had ever encountered a family quite like this before. When Bill and Charlie’s parents, Arthur and Molly Weasley, emerged from the house, however, Molly very quickly bustled every last one of them inside, including Orion and Carewyn.

“In you go, the lot of you,” she said in a forceful, but very warm tone of voice. “You all look like you need some supper-- ”

“Oh -- no, Mrs. Weasley,” said Carewyn very quickly, “I couldn’t impose -- ”

“Nonsense, dear!” said Molly, as she took Carewyn’s hands and led her inside. “Why, you’re positively freezing! To think, you came all the way out here without a proper muff for your hands...”

“I had to help Charlie with the carriage,” Carewyn said, her eyes drawn away awkwardly rather than looking at Molly, “I couldn’t hope to have my hands free, using a muff...”

“Then both of you should come inside and get warm,” said Arthur, startling Orion with an amiable clap on the back. “Any friend of Bill and Charlie’s is a friend of our family.”

Carewyn had never been the subject of such coddling and generosity before in her life. Her mother had always taught her to treat people with respect and compassion, of course, but she had been a soft-spoken and understated person, and their family life had always been very quiet. And of course at the Cromwell estate, it had been less modest and quiet, but far less affectionate as well. Never had she ever visited such a loud, crowded, and faintly uncomfortable place that still nonetheless felt like a home, full of warmth and love.

Even Orion found himself feeling a bit unsettled by the Weasley family’s overwhelming hospitality. He’d been in plenty of unruly, crowded, and loud settings like this before -- but none of them had ever been quite this...well, jovial. It made it so that Orion yearned for peace, quiet, and returned distance, and yet also couldn’t help but marvel at the positive vibes that rippled off of this family and how much they could give, despite clearly having so little. When dinner was served, Orion had to politely decline a bowl of beef stew because he didn’t eat meat, and Molly Weasley immediately handed the bowl off to Ron so she could set about making Orion his own plate, piled high with cheesy mashed potatoes, sauteed mushrooms, and roasted cauliflower seasoned with garlic and chives.

The Weasley family and their guests sat in an uncomfortable, messy half-circle around the large brick fireplace, laughing and talking as they ate. After supper came the dessert of hot, fresh apple dumplings, and after dessert came some hot tea and scones. After all, said Molly Weasley, having guests over was a rare treat, so they were going to celebrate appropriately. Neither Carewyn nor Orion could remember ever having felt so full in all their lives.

As everyone enjoyed their scones and tea, stories and songs were swapped around the fire. At one point in the evening, twelve-year-old Ginny -- who was perfectly thrilled to have another girl around, for a change -- begged Carewyn to sing for them. Apparently Bill had told his family all about her lovely voice. So, with some encouragement from Charlie, Arthur, and Molly, Carewyn bit back a broad, amused grin, took a deep breath, and started to sing.

“Mother cannot guide you...now you’re on your own.

Only me beside you -- still, you’re not alone...”

Orion had thought to himself that Carewyn must have done the song from his youth proper justice while singing for the Prince, but hearing her sing it in person, seeing her smile at him and her eyes sparkle as she did so...it was a completely different matter. As before, Orion felt all of the tension in his shoulders ebb off of him, as easily as dirt was washed away in warm water. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, tilting his head a bit so that he could hear her better, as his breathing and heart rate slowed. Even with his eyes closed, he could hear a smile in every word Carewyn sang...even when she likely wasn’t smiling at all, he thought. How could she be smiling, when lines like “sometimes people leave you half-way through the wood” and “people make mistakes -- fathers, mothers” rang with such emotion and pain? Was that pain visible on her face? Orion thought not, given Carewyn’s sense of grace and composure...but he heard it, all the same. He felt it -- her heart, aching with a kind of deep, blazing empathy Orion had never encountered in anyone else before.

When Carewyn came to the end of the song, Orion opened his eyes at last. The Weasleys all clapped, delighted, but he barely heard them as he turned to Carewyn.

“...That was remarkable,” he murmured.

Carewyn smiled. “I’m glad you think I did it justice.”

“Mm,” said Orion. “I’ve...never heard anyone drown like that, before.”

Carewyn couldn’t bite back a laugh. “Perhaps I didn’t do it justice then, if I sounded like I was drowning...”

“You were drowning in the words’ meaning,” corrected Orion. “Enveloping and submerging yourself in them -- allowing them to pull you in and take your breath away.”

He smiled, his black eyes very soft upon Carewyn’s face.

“It was...very moving.”

Molly’s face spread into an indulgent smile as she reached forward and patted Carewyn’s hand. “It was absolutely beautiful, dear.”

“Orion’s right, Carewyn,” agreed Arthur. “Your feelings really came through. I could tell the words mean something to you.”

Carewyn offered a polite smile, even as her eyes drifted away. “...I suppose they do.”

“It sounds like a lullaby, sort of,” mused Ron. “Even if it talks about your mother not being around.”

Ginny tilted her head toward Carewyn, Ron’s words prompting concern.

“...Do you not have a mother, Carewyn?”

The rest of the family went very quiet -- some like Percy shot Ginny warning looks, while others like Molly and Ron couldn’t help but glance at Carewyn in similar concern.

Carewyn’s gaze had drifted off onto the fire. Although she was turned away and her face was stoic, however, Orion could see her eyes rippling like turbulent ocean water, before she closed them solemnly.

“...I had one,” she answered softly at last. “She died when I was twelve.”

“Was she sick?” asked Ron, very hesitantly.

Carewyn bowed her head and gave a single, silent nod. Everyone in the room knew what that meant. The Plague had swept through both Royaume and Florence several times, over the span of the War -- one of the worst years was about nine years ago now...probably the same year Carewyn had lost her mother.

Orion’s black eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon her face. Molly looked like she wanted to envelop Carewyn in the biggest hug and was only holding back the urge because of her husband’s tight, reassuring squeeze to her hand.

“Oh, you poor dear,” she murmured.

Carewyn raised her head at last, her expression once again touched by a small, resilient, pretty smile.

“It’s all right,” she said gently, her eyes only briefly grazing each of the Weasleys’ faces. “I’ll always miss my mother...but I’m getting along all right. And I still have Jacob.”

“Your brother?” asked Percy, and Carewyn nodded.

“He left for War the same day he and I moved in with our grandfather,” Carewyn explained.

“Your brother must be quite a bit older than you, then,” said Orion.

Carewyn glanced at Orion out the side of her eye, smiling slightly. “Nine years older, yes. You know...you actually remind me of him, a bit.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Carewyn was forced to stifle a giggle behind her hand. “Jacob is also the sort to do things in his own clever way. Only he’s a lot more aggressive than you -- and more talkative, and arrogant, and overprotective...”

“And uglier,” inserted Fred.

“And smellier,” added George.

“With a long crooked nose and ears like a bat’s.”

The younger Weasley siblings were all laughing now. Carewyn had to cover her mouth to stifle her giggling.

“No!” she choked. “I don’t mean it like that! He’s wonderful, really. He’s just...well, an absolute idiot about how to interact with other people. He’s completely brilliant, mind you -- he could give you whole lectures about anything from geography to mathematics to physics...but coming up with spontaneous gifts for no occasion at all, just based on someone’s interests? He’d need some prodding, to do something like that.”

She smiled at Orion, who couldn’t help but grin fully in return.

“It was truly nothing at all, Carewyn,” he said. “With your love of music, it felt like that song would be something you would appreciate.”

Arthur glanced at Orion curiously. “Where is that song from, Orion? I’ve never heard it before.”

“I learned it as a boy,” Orion answered. “I would hear it sung outside the window of the workhouse, sometimes.”

Molly looked very troubled. “Workhouse? Orion dear, you don’t mean to say you grew up in one of those terrible places?”

Orion felt Carewyn’s gaze on him. When he looked back at her, her almond-shaped blue eyes were rippling with concern as well, though much gentler and more empathetic than Molly’s. He tried to offer her a smile.

“Let’s just say the words spoke to me as well, at the time,” he said lightly. “Not just to me, either...all of the boys there, one way or another, were where they were because of other people’s ‘terrible mistakes.’”

Orion’s gaze drifted down to his own hands as he lightly clasped them in his lap.

“...The War doesn’t touch you the same way here, but...the closer you are to Florence...the more the reality of it hits you in the face, every day. Even when you’re not on the battlefield itself -- even when you’re just at the border -- you, and the ones you care for, run the risk of getting caught in the crossfire. And on the border of Florence and Royaume...in those towns where it’s hard to tell where one country starts and another begins...tensions are like gunpowder. One spark from the tiniest match can set it ablaze -- can make everything implode, and force you to start all over again.”

His face was unreadable, but his black eyes were endless, rippling with the recollection of the fire and smoke -- the red and blue colors of Royaume, on the saddles of horses -- the life leaving his mother’s eyes -- his own heavy, terrified hyperventilating...

He closed his eyes and took several very deep, measured breaths before continuing.

“In such a place...one can find people desperate enough to want to lash out at others, to avenge their pain,” said Orion solemnly. “But there was one sweet old woman who owned a flower and herb shop near the workhouse. She’d had to rebuild her establishment several times over the years, and from what I understand, she finally had to leave town not long after I did...but every time she caught wind that the army was coming to town, looking for new recruits...she’d sing the song just loudly enough that we boys could hear it through our window.”

He absently played with the crudely carved circular charm on the cord around his neck in one hand.

“And although there were those who still enlisted afterwards...many others did not.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened.

“‘While we’re seeing our side,’ ” she sang again, more softly, “‘maybe we forgot...they are not alone. No one is alone.’ ”

Orion’s lips spread into a smile as he looked at Carewyn, his black eyes rippling gently as he nodded.

“So it’s against the War, then,” murmured Charlie. He glanced at his parents, who both looked concerned.

“Did that woman with the flower shop give you that?” asked Ginny curiously, indicating the charm around Orion’s neck.

“Yes,” said Orion. “She gave it to me one night when I tried to run away, to soothe my nerves. Its effects wore off by the next morning, but I’ve never really had the heart to throw it out.”

Percy sputtered, looking very pale. “Th-then she was a witch?”

“Whoa,” said Fred and George, looking almost too eager.

“Did she turn all the army into pigs?” asked George.

“Did she lure you in and try to cook you in a soup?” said Fred.

Orion smiled indulgently. “Of course not -- ”

“Well, thank Heavens for that!” said Molly, shooting the twins a very reproachful look. “Magic isn’t something to make fun of, you two -- it’s frankly a wonder you weren’t hurt, dear...”

Orion frowned. “There was no danger, Madam Weasley, I assure you.”

“No danger! Orion,” Molly scolded him indulgently, “I applaud your courage...but nature has its own way of things, and any magic that twists it out of shape is more dangerous than it’s worth.”

To the Weasley family’s surprise, Carewyn actually spoke up.

“Mrs. Weasley, men tend fields, plant seeds, domesticate horses and dogs...treat illnesses and injuries...cut hair and wear makeup and put on heeled shoes to make ourselves appear taller. Would that not also be twisting nature’s intent?”

Molly actually faltered somewhat. “Well, yes, but...that’s very different from magic, Carewyn! Magic is...well, it’s wild. Uncontrollable.”

“It’s untamed chaos,” said Arthur more levelly than his wife. “A kind that’s done a lot more harm than good.”

“But it still can be used for good,” said Carewyn very firmly. “And if it has that potential, why must we treat it as though it and all of its users are inherently reprehensible? If magic can be used to save lives, or heal the sick, or even just calm a scared boy down after something horrible...”

She glanced at Orion out the side of her eye.

“...Then it seems to be like any other weapon or tool, or even any other person -- something that could protect or hurt.”

Orion felt like his heart was being flooded with warmth, and his entire expression melted with pride and something like affection as he stared at Carewyn.

She truly is a woman to be admired. The memory of Skye’s irritation and McNully’s warning rippled over Orion’s mind and he found himself faltering. Admire...yes. Anyone could grow to admire such a woman, couldn’t they? To respect and esteem her...to...grow an attachment, to her... Even I? Could I...?

The Weasleys exchanged uncertain looks amongst themselves.

“Come to think of it,” said Ron thoughtfully, “wasn’t there that old myth about fairy godmothers who grant you wishes?”

Fred brought an arm roughly around his younger brother’s neck and put him in a rough choke hold. “Aww, ickle Ronnie wanting a pwetty new dress?”

“‘Oh fairy godmother, I just gotta have a new dress for the Winter Festival!’” said George in a high-pitched squeal.

“Geroff!” growled Ron, as he pulled free.

“Oh, but that would be fun!” sighed Ginny. “Dancing at the Winter Festival, in the prettiest dress you’ve ever seen...you’re going to the Festival, aren’t you, Carewyn?”

“Probably not, Ginny,” said Carewyn gently, “I’ve got so much work to do...”

“Oh, but you have to!” whined Ginny. “The Festival’s tradition! Right, Orion?”

“So I’ve heard,” Orion said modestly, “but I’m afraid I’ve never attended a Winter Festival either.”

“What?!” said all of the Weasley children except Bill in thoroughly aghast unison.

“It’s the biggest celebration of the entire year -- ”

“Everybody in town will be there -- ”

“ -- well, aside from the noble tarts -- ”

“ -- but hey, who needs them?”

“Everybody makes the best mince pies and hot apple cider -- ”

“There’s dancing and singing and games and gift-giving -- ”

“You just can’t miss it -- ”

Before long, they’d completely gotten off the topic of magic all together, so the Weasleys could tell Orion all about the Winter Festival. Carewyn took the opportunity to start carrying dishes into the kitchen so that she could help Molly clean up. While she did so, Bill pulled her aside.

“Carewyn...can I talk to you? Alone?”

Carewyn blinked, but nonetheless put down the dishes she was carrying and followed Bill off into a secluded corner.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in concern.

Bill bit the inside of his lip, his brown eyes drifting over in the direction of the fireplace where the rest of his family was sitting with Orion.

“Carewyn,” he said slowly, “who is that man, really?”

Carewyn’s eyebrows knit together. Bill ran a hand over the undone collar of his tunic absently.

“He’s hiding something, I know it. And I’m sure you see it too. He dodges questions he doesn’t want to answer, and as much as he’s even told us tonight about himself, he never gives important details. He lived near the border, but he didn’t mention what town he’s from. He lived in a workhouse, presumably after losing his parents, but he never said what he lost them to.”

“Those things might not be easy for him to talk about, Bill,” Carewyn said softly.

“Yes,” said Bill in a bracing voice, “but he also hopped the walls of the palace, completely ignorant of how tight royal security is and why, has enough time to chase after you most every day, and gets paints from people he can’t identify and learns songs from people who, from the sound of things, practice witchcraft.”

Bill crossed his arms. He clearly was trying to be considerate to Carewyn’s feelings, but couldn’t hold back his concerns.

“Look, I...I understand you like the man. And I understand why -- Ginny and the others seem to have taken to him pretty well, too. But there’s no reason for someone to hold back that many secrets, unless they’re up to no good. He could be a cad, or a criminal, or maybe even something worse. Judging by his stance on magic, he could even be a magician himself...”

His brown eyes narrowed slightly upon Carewyn’s face.

“I’m just...worried about you, that’s all,” he said lowly.

Carewyn considered Bill for a long moment. Then, reaching out a hand, she gently took hold of Bill’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Bill...I understand how you feel. And I’m grateful, truly grateful, for your caring. I hardly deserve it, and it...it means a lot to me.”

Bill frowned deeply, ready to say something, but Carewyn cut him off.

“But believe me when I say that people don’t just keep secrets because they mean to do harm. Sometimes -- for some people -- they’ve had to learn to hide themselves and shield their hearts...so much so that even when they encounter good people, it’s hard for them to let their guard down. Sometimes they’ve known so much pain that, even though they’re kind people, they’ve numbed themselves to a degree, just to protect themselves. Lied so much...that it becomes second-nature. Or worse, lie because they don’t know who they can really trust...because so many people have hurt them that they don’t know what trust even feels like anymore.”

Bill’s expression lost some of its edge, though it still looked wary.

“...And if he is a magic user?”

“Then he’s one of the good ones,” said Carewyn firmly.

Bill still looked a bit unsure. Carewyn squeezed his shoulder a bit more tightly, her eyes resting there instead of on his face.

“Bill, my brother is only alive, thanks to magic.”

Bill was startled.

“The Plague swept through our whole house,” said Carewyn lowly. “First the landlord and his family -- then my mother...and then Jacob. We were living hand-to-mouth, and I didn’t have anyone else to go to...so I went to the Cromwell estate.”

Bill’s brown eyes became a little smaller, darkening with grim understanding.

“...You went to your grandfather.”

Carewyn nodded. “He disowned Mum long ago, but he was still our family, so I thought he might be willing to help us. He agreed to take Jacob and me in and nurse Jacob back to health, so long as we paid back his generosity. Grandfather then tracked down a witch who could cast a spell to save Jacob’s life.”

Bill’s eyebrows furrowed. “Lord Cromwell hired a -- ?”

“Do not repeat this, Bill!” Carewyn said very sharply and urgently. “To anyone, do you understand? No one.”

Her eyes then softened visibly, becoming grimmer and sadder.

“Jacob was dying. There was no other option.”

Bill looked like he was in pain, just hearing this second-hand. He swallowed, and then gave a nod.

“So that witch saved your brother’s life,” he said quietly.

Carewyn nodded, her eyes full of emotion despite the stoicism of her features.

“The spell she cast bound Jacob’s life to Grandfather’s will. Jacob was brought into the house on a stretcher just after dawn, and within a half-hour...he was up on his own two feet again.”

Carewyn closed her eyes. She could still remember Jacob’s blazing, relieved smile as he barreled down the stairs and threw his arms around her, cradling her like a baby.

“My Wyn -- my sweet Wyn -- ”

Not long after that, though...Jacob’s arms were yanked away -- all of him was yanked away -- held back by Blaise and Claire and Pearl’s husbands, who all had work to together just to restrain Jacob as he fought to reach her, screaming and raging like a mad man --

“WYN! NO! GET OFF OF ME -- WYN! I WON’T LET YOU -- CAREWYN!”

Carewyn opened her eyes, the soft longing fading from her face completely and leaving a much more stony expression behind.

Bill himself, however, looked more troubled than ever.

“You said your brother left for War the same day you and he arrived at the Cromwell estate,” he whispered shakily. “Do you mean that, right after saving your brother’s life...Lord Cromwell immediately sent him off to War -- all while knowing how few men return home alive?”

Carewyn’s lips came together tightly.

“Grandfather sent him to the front, so that Jacob could start paying back the debt I owed him,” she said, her voice very soft and oddly distant. “After all...a man who wouldn’t die, so long as he willed it...would make an excellent soldier.”

Bill looked horrified.

“Then...” he whispered, “...then Jacob’s only alive because your grandfather decides whether he lives or dies? You only know your brother’s still alive after so many years at war...because Lord Cromwell is bound to him through magic, and he’s holding his life over your head?”

Carewyn withdrew her hand from Bill’s shoulder and turned away.

“Carewyn...that’s monstrous!” said Bill, and he was unable to keep his voice from rising. “I didn’t even know magic could do something like that -- but -- but that’s nothing, compared to...”

He couldn’t restrain himself. He actually threw an arm around Carewyn and pulled her into a hug from behind. The small ginger-haired woman stiffened like a startled cat.

“Bill?”

Carewyn looked up at him -- were those tears, in his eyes?

“Have you...never told anyone else, about this?” Bill murmured.

Carewyn tried to turn around, her blue eyes welling up with regret and pain. “Bill...”

She brought a hand through his hair, trying to soothe him the way she used to for Jacob.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I -- I didn’t mean to upset you -- I only wanted to explain why I’m not scared of magic...please forgive me.”

Bill closed his eyes to try to hold back both his righteous anger and his tears.

“Forgive you?” he repeated in a choked voice. “For what, trusting me with the truth?”

“For making you worry unnecessarily,” Carewyn said forcefully, trying to ignore how uncomfortably her stomach was squirming.

Bill opened his eyes, looking both flabbergasted and more upset than ever. “Unnecessarily?”

He roughly grabbed both of Carewyn’s shoulders and forced her to look up at him.

“Now you listen here, Carewyn Cromwell,” he said, taking on the sort of tone he only ever used with his younger siblings when they were being rowdy, “you may get to decide if you want to interact with me or not, or rely on me or not, or accept my help or not. But you don’t get to decide whether I worry about you or not. And from here on out...”

Bill’s brown eyes were blazing with resolve.

“...I’m going to worry about you. Because I hate the thought of someone feeling like anybody else worrying about them is somehow a problem.”

Carewyn was left speechless.

Bill’s face broke into a broad smile through his tears. “Until your brother’s back from the War, Carey, I’ll be looking after you for him -- no arguments, no dismissals, no saying you’re fine on your own. Got it?”

Carewyn looked at Bill, perfectly stunned. Then her gaze fell away toward the floor.

“...It sounds like...I really don’t get a choice in the matter, then,” she whispered.

“Nope,” said Bill, grinning broadly.

Carewyn was unable to fight back the weak smile prickling at the sides of her lips, nor the emotion flooding her eyes, even as she kept her face turned away.

“...And I suppose ‘Carey’...is a suggestion of a nickname you plan to give Charlie, for me?”

Bill’s eyes sparkled fondly. “Well, every one of my siblings has a nickname, in case you haven’t noticed.”

[chunhua-s]

I don't? understand? how you only have? 200? I deadass thought you had 700 um chile anyways big boobs- you desserve more dkdksk

could I please request an au with mattsun and ' forced to share a table in a coffee shop because it's busy and there are no more seats '? I found it and thought it would fit you well 👉👈 best of luck though baby 💖 I love you so, so much. you're so hard working 💋

fhdhdhfg peachy pleaase!! thank you sososo much for coming through and always hyping me up with nona and runa 🥺 and thank you for requesting!! i had an idea as soon as i read your prompt and i had lots of fun writing — i hope you’ll like it! ✨

THE OASIS IN THE DESERT ➽ ISSEI MATSUKAWA x READER

genre: fluff

au: coffeeshop

warnings: none!

mattsukawa’s absolutely sure he can feel his heart stop inside his chest when his eyes find you.

the picture you paint for him is otherworldly — the sun shines down on you from the glass window and shrouds you in a beautiful yellow light as you focus on whatever your laptop shows you, perhaps an assignment from one of your classes if he has to guess. your eyes squint in a familiar sight of concentration that he’s grown to used to admiring from a distance, the way your tongue sticks out from between your lips and even the way you absentmindedly play with a strand of your hair — it’s all been stamped into his mind and sings its melody of admiration for you in his heart. and issei mattsukawa, he’s a boy who’s so helplessly in love with you, with everything that he feels for you, with every emotion that runs wild on the backs of thundering stallions that pound inside his chest, he’s never once worked up the courage to approach you.

it’s an unreasonable fear, he knows it well; the constant presence of his anxieties and worries whenever he so much as thinks about talking with you causes the breath on his lungs to run dry and vanish away on a scorching desert breeze that leaves him parched, and the only thing that could ever hope to quench his thirst is you. your cherry-glossed smile is the hypnotizing oasis that dances on a heated mirage, the one that pulls him in by his collar and erases everything and everyone from his mind until all there is, all that’s left, is the thought of you. your kindness is the lullaby that soothes his heart beneath midnight stars, as he recounts his affections to the watchful moon — the only witness to his hopeless pining, the one who listens to him talk about the girl who stole his heart until the sun would rise. and you, you’re the angel that visits him in his dreams and leaves butterfly kisses across his skin, traces the letters of your name with ghost touches of your fingers along his body and leaves him wanting more of you. you’re like an illusion that’s constantly dancing in and out of his vision and has him chasing breathlessly in your shadow. and today, as he’s sitting right across from you, you’re right within his reach, close enough for him to smell the sweet citrus perfume that you love to wear. it fills up his senses and weaves a bed of flowers and orange blossoms and — oh, you’re looking up at him now, you’re smiling — issei forgets how to breathe.

“did you already start on our assignment from eco class?”

your voice washes over him like a warm ocean wave, and he nearly loses himself on your question as he basks in the feeling of ease and familiar comfort that fills him up. clearing his throat, he tries to return your kind smile, and finds that smiling at you somehow comes as easily to him as breathing. “to be honest,” he’s grinning at you, entirely wrapped up in the way the sunlight twinkles on your pools of (e/c) — the very ones that marvel at the way his image is painted like a greek god before you. when his eyes squint slightly, you feel your heart skip a beat and your breath catches in your throat, and you can only pray that the man you admire doesn’t notice it. “i haven’t even looked at it.”

issei feels his heart soar on the waves of your laughter, a sound so melodious that it lights up the entire cafe. you’re so bright, he thinks: a pocket of sunshine that warms his body and showers him in gold. “i’m at the point of giving up,” you confess to him, allowing your eyebrows to freely tell of the exasperation you feel. “the professor didn’t even give us that much time to finish everything,” a helpless laugh falls from your lips as you sigh. “i’ve been losing my mind over it.”

the boy chuckles softly, eyes closed as he drops his head for a second before meeting your gaze once more. “yeah, i felt that.” there’s an opportunity in front of him, he realizes; dangling from a red thread for him to reach out and grab, and issei decides that he couldn’t let it get away from him. and so, he reaches his hand out, dips his toes into the warm water, and he hopes you’ll take it and let him walk along that sunkissed beach with you. “say, would you mind if we worked together?” you watch as he shyly averts his eyes, entirely fascinated by his boyish grin and the way that a red colour dances on his brown skin. he’s beautiful, you marvel: he’s a chilly autumn evening that wraps you up in warm sweaters and the weight of a hot cup of coffee. he’s the ambience of the coffeeshop that envelops the both of you like a blanket, the smell of coffee beans roasted on a low flame and dancing with sweet creamer and caramel. “i feel like i don’t understand half of what the prof is saying most of the time, so i don’t even know how to start.”

when he finds the courage to meet your eyes once more, he sees that the very same oasis that was once so far away is now right in front of him, it’s image no longer dancing on heat induced illusions and very, very real. your cherry painted lips are the date fruits that hang from green plants: the blue of your sweater is the colour of the sky above, the reflection of it in the shallow waters that wets his mouth. and you, you’re the golden sun that kisses his skin, the one that lights up his blood with undying love and a yearning so powerful that it replaces his oxygen with you. you feel like home, he thinks as you smile at him with so much radiance that he could never imagine going a day without admiring your beauty — he wants nothing more than to see you smiling for the rest of his life.

“i’d be happy to work with you, mattsukawa-san.”

davi hits 200 followers — haikyuu!! au writing event! 💕

general taglist: @aiiishiiiteru @bootylikepeachy @tsumue

send an ask to be added!

[abreathofthewild]

a touch of magic

Prompt: This TikTok

Tagline: Sometimes all you need in life is a touch of magic.

Summary: A Halloween in the life of Thor and Reader and their family.

Warnings: this fluff will rot your teeth.

Wordcount: 1664

Notes: I am so excited to be posting this! I was inspired by the above-mentioned TikTok and after deliberating which character I wanted to write this for, Thor felt like the most appropriate choice. This piece is self-indulgent fluff, friends. I hope y'all enjoy and that you get to have a safe and fun Halloween! ALSO: IMAGE IS NOT MINE I FOUND IT WITH NO EXTERNAL LINK ON PINTEREST.

It’s Halloween. You had chosen something simple for your costume: a long black dress with gauzy black sleeves that puffed a little at the shoulders and were cuffed at the wrist. A black witch’s hat with a large swooping brim sat smartly on your head. Typically, you went all out but this year you really wanted your kids’ costumes to shine. It had taken you six months in between the creative writing courses you taught to sew Darcy’s Belle gown and half of that time to put together Cole’s knight armor. You could hear them clambering down the stairs now shrieking with laughter.

“Mm, I love that dress on you,” a deep voice said behind you. You applied your red lipstick as the final touch, smirking at Thor’s reflection in the mirror. His massive frame took up the doorway as he leaned against it, giving you an affectionately approving once-over. You turned and sauntered over to him, taking in the picture of your husband standing there. Even after all this time, there were moments where his words still made you shiver. He matched your movements, stepping further into the room and into your space as your arms wrapped around his neck.

“Do you, now?” You stood on your tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Maybe that’s why I wore it.” Another kiss on his lips. He leaned into you, smiling as he returned the kiss. “You don’t look so bad yourself, my wolfman.” It seemed only natural with his tousled golden hair and beard that he would recycle one of his favorite costumes and step out in the neighborhood as a werewolf. He wore a red and black flannel over a white shirt that he had cut in three spots with long slashes. His jeans were purposefully torn in a couple of places and instead of applying any product to his hair he had ruffled it and left it a bit unkempt. The best part in your opinion, however, was the fangs. “Love when you wear those,” you murmured, running your tongue along the fake teeth.

It didn’t take long for him to move you until the backs of your knees hit your bed. “Wish we didn’t have to go anywhere tonight,” he whispered, giving you a soft nip at the neck. A small gasp escaped your mouth as your gripped at him tighter. “Maybe we could get a babysitter,” he said as he kissed from your neck down the v of your dress. You could feel the familiar heat creep along your cheeks and flutter in your belly.

“Mommy! Daddy! Cole pushed me!” Darcy was exclaiming her frustration at the bottom of the stairs. Even from here, you could hear her stamping her little feet.

“Did not!” Cole chimed in with the vehemence characteristic of a seven-year-old trying to not get into trouble for bullying his six-year-old sister. You let out an exasperated laugh as Thor groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder. You sidled under his arm and grabbed his hand, dragging him along.

“It sounds very tempting hon’ but you know how much the kids have been looking forward to this year. Plus, they’d miss us. Plus,” you whispered as you pulled him in to rub the red smudges from his cheek and lips “I already got us a babysitter for tomorrow night.” You let go of his hand and gave one glance behind you, trying not to let your feet falter at the look in his eyes. He followed close behind.

The scene downstairs wasn’t so great as the one you had just left. Darcy had started crying and Cole looked a little like he had been caught doing something wrong. You went to her but she shook her head saying in between tears “I want Daddy.” You motioned to her as Thor came down the stairs.

“Of course. He’s right there. I’ll talk to Cole for you instead, okay darlin’?” She nodded, her eyes puffy and red. Her bottom lip stuck out and was still quivering when Thor knelt in front of her, wiping the tears from her cheeks and adjusting the laces on her dress sleeves. Even upset she was the prettiest little girl you had ever seen (you were biased), especially with the soft yellow of the ballgown she wore. Cole on the other hand looked quite miserable, his armor sticking out at odd angles because his arms were crossed. You took his hand and walked him a few feet away into the living room and sat on the couch so you were at eye level. “Cole, did you push your sister?” He didn’t quite look you in the eye.

“Yes,” he mumbled. You pursed your lips and gave him a disappointed glance, waiting for him to continue. “She told me my costume was stupid,” he finished quietly. You put your index finger under his chin and gently turned his face so he was looking at you.

“Do you like your costume?” He nodded, tears forming in his crystal blue eyes. So like his father. “Well, then that’s all that matters. I know your sister hurt your feelings but that was no reason to push her. She’s allowed to not like your costume but she definitely needs to use better words. Can you think what you could have done differently?” A begrudging and wavery sigh escaped the little boy in front of you.

“I could have used my words too. I could have told her that hurt my feelings.” You gave him a beaming smile.

“Exactly. Next time, let’s work on using your words, okay? And if you need help, you can always ask Daddy or me. Now, I’m going to wave the magic wand and when I do, I want you to try really hard not to smile. You can’t smile, all right?” You tried to hide your own as you already saw the hints of one teasing at the corner of his mouth. It was an old trick your mother had used on you whenever you were unreasonably cross as a child or needed cheering up. She would tell you not to smile as she waved “the magic wand” which was really just her hand. Of course, the act of telling you not to smile alone would bring one immediately to your face. Sure enough, as you did the same to your little boy, a grin had sprung from ear to ear across his features. “There’s my beautiful boy. I need you to do one last thing for me. Can you apologize to Darcy? We want to have so much fun tonight!”

Cole bounded away with such enthusiasm you would have never known he had quarreled with his sister moments before. You followed behind him, grabbing your coat and his from the hooks by the front door. He was already standing in front of his sister and as Thor stood, he wrapped her up as best he could in his clanky armored arms.

“I’m sorry I pushed you, Darcy.” You watched with a knowing smile as she hugged her brother back. Her little voice piped up as you caught Thor’s eye, guessing he had had a similar talk with your daughter.

“I’m sorry I called your costume stupid.” He looked at you as the siblings slipped on their shoes, now chattering happily about the candy they were going to collect. You handed Cole his jacket to put on and stepped back as Thor wrapped an arm around your waist. You glanced up at him, once again taken aback by how blue his eyes were. The small crinkles of the skin there looked a little more pronounced but you knew it was from smiles and laughter. His hair had started silvering just a little around the sides, no longer the burnished gold of his youth. You brought his hand from your waist to your shoulder, kissing it tenderly. Even his hands now held some looks of a man who was still young but had worked long and hard.

He turned you towards him and you couldn’t help but allow yourself to drown in his gaze. It was tender and after all these years still full of promise. You felt something trip across the connection you shared. A hand to his heart told you it still beat for you, still thundered under your fingertips. The flame that had once burned bright hot when you first met had now turned to a steady glowing ember. One that would last a very long time.

“What?” He questioned you with a lazy grin. You just shook your head in a bit of disbelief.

“I’m just very, very happy,” you whispered. “I can’t believe you, all this, is mine to keep as long as I live.” He looked at you for a moment, stunned into silence. You could see the gears turning in his head as he thought of words to answer you, instead settling on leaning in for yet another kiss.

“As long as we live, I’m yours and you are mine.” Nothing else mattered. It was you and him and the kids. Your family. Your family. To love and cherish and nurture. He stepped back and boomed “Who wants to go trick-or-treating?” The rumbling of their father’s voice brought Cole and Darcy to ecstatic attention as they bounced in their places by the front door. They both yelled “Me! Me!” as Thor opened the front door letting them run past its threshold and ushering you next to him as he locked it. “As long as we live,” he repeated and you nodded, grabbing his hand as you turned onto the sidewalk.

Leaves danced across the pavement in flaming reds and oranges and yellow. The kids trotted on ahead, screaming in delight as they caught up with neighborhood friends. The air smelled like cinnamon and promises. Promises that the two of you would always keep. And you were safe. And you were happy. And you were alive.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Empires on the Horizon XIV

Jason is a CEO: Part XIV

masterlist for other parts, more jercy, bad headcanons, and an abundance of crackships

SURPRISE!!! i finally got my laptop back and thankfully they didn’t have to wipe anything so i still had all my work! Between you and me i was more worried about all my fanfics than my uni work...... But I’ve learned my lesson. Do everything on google docs now!! Anyway this is a Percy POV and i hope you enjoy because i’ve missed this little universe more than you could possibly know and we’re finally (only fourteen chapters later) getting to the jercy part of this fic?! LOL it’s been wild.

i know i’m releasing a ton of fanfics at the moment so i hope you guys don’t feel overwhelmed. You know i adore your comments and thoughts but please don’t feel pressured to read all the fics i’m posting. I’ve just had a lot of time in the last weeks so it’s been easier to create. Please take care  of yourself, i love you very much and i hope you have a magical holiday season!

Percy Jackson stretched his legs out in front of him and draped a blanket over them. There were few things he indulged in, but a good plane seat was one of them. He was spoilt for it but having the space to lay his unreasonably tall body down for eight hours seemed like a worthy investment. The announcements that continuously filtered through the crackly speakers were background noise as the bustle of people getting to their seats flowed throughout the cabins. He stared out his little window at the neon-jacketed guides and airport officials directing people to wherever they needed to be. He loved watching people just do things. There was something calming about knowing others weren’t interested in him in any way. That people got on with their lives despite the turmoil nobody knew about.

A flight attendant stopped next to him with a polite smile, “Champagne sir?”

“No thank you, a water please. Too early for alcohol.” He grimaced.

Mirth danced in her eyes as she glanced up at the rest of the passengers, some dangling flutes between their fingers. “Absolutely sir, anything else?”

He shook his head, before leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. His pre-flight ritual, which consisted of him snuggling as comfortably as possible it his seat and trying to fall asleep, was already behind. The presence of a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed CEO taking up the scattered pieces of his mind. It was crazy to think they had met almost a year ago, crazier still to think that about how much they had changed in that time. Percy at least felt like a completely different person to the one who had stepped off a plane from Hawaii all those months ago and attended his alma mater’s dinner. Although the university had surprised them with plaques honouring their contributions, it was seeing Jason Grace, learning about him that felt like the real reward. Hell, he was only half joking when he said he’d marry the guy the next Tuesday.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen. Please take your seats and fasten your seatbelts. We will be taking off shortly. In the meantime please turn your attention to the screens in front of you for a video detailing the safety measures you will need to know while aboard this flight.”

He blinked back into the world and turned half his attention to the screen and the other half to locating the blonde he couldn’t seem to keep away from. He knew the safety briefings by heart, but he always felt bad for not paying attention. Someone worked hard to make those. He didn’t spot Jason in the two minutes the video played and then it was too late because the plane gave a low rumble and suddenly, they were lurching into motion. His heart climbed to his throat and he gripped his fingers underneath the blanket.

“Okay Percy,” He mouthed to himself, “You can do this. It’s at most fifteen minutes of instability and then you’ll be up in the air and you won’t even feel it.”

“Just fifteen minutes.” He kept repeating, taking deep shaky breaths. “Fifteen minutes.”

The plane jaggered down the runway, slow enough that he could still read the road signs indicating altitudes and compass directions and all sorts of fun information he didn’t care about. He felt the huge machine turn into the long stretch of tar that led them to the sky and his stomach clenched painfully. This was always the worst part. Take off. It felt like his entire body flew off with the plane while he stuck to the ground, superglue cementing him to the floor with no escape. He didn’t feel free. He felt torn.

The plane gave a horrible lurch and then it was screaming down the runway, grass and yellow lines blurring past them. They were going so fast he’s sure they’d break the sound barrier. He squeezed his eyes shut. Knuckles white as he twisted his hands together. The plan flew down the road and into the sky. His whole body felt suspended in space. He wanted to come down. He didn’t want to be here. Even with his eyes closed he could feel how high they were. He hated it.

Slowly, the plane started to level out until he felt his body realign: feet under him, hands beside him, head above him. He opened his eyes, spots dancing in his vision as they got used to the light once more. The seatbelt sign dinged above him, and a series of clicks followed. People got up to use the bathroom and grab things from the overhead compartments. He wasn’t going to get up until he was out of this plane. So he shoved his headphones over his ears and pressed play.

I will always love you how I do

Let go of a prayer for you

Just a sweet word

He gazed out the window, clouds close enough to whisper to, and his lips pulled up in a soft smile. The sky was beautiful. It just sucked that they had to get into a death trap to get to it. With his ocean eyes pinned to the balls of cotton hanging in the blue expanse his mind drifted. Reyna. He blinked. It was almost shameful how little he had thought of her since their breakup considering their year together. She had taught him tai quan do and baked him blueberry tarts. They had escaped to a little bubble in the forest and watched the leaves turn brown as they tumbled in bed. He knew she tapped her right foot when she was annoyed but her left fingers danced when she was excited. He knew she liked her eggs fried hard because she didn’t have time for sloppy yolk, but she liked them scrambled soft because it meant a richer croissant. But despite this she did not light his soul on fire. And he did not light hers either. They were merely striking matches without wood to burn. He heaved a sigh as he watched the threads of his relationship flutter before his eyes and fell asleep to them disappearing in gold strands leaking into the clouds. He succumbed to the bright sun and the soft warmth of memories and he didn’t wake until a loud announcement gave the signal that they were landing.

It was over so fast he didn’t have time to panic and he was grateful. Finally he was collecting his bags and walking out. A driver with his surname scribbled on a plaque stood front and center and with a quick flash of his ID and a hello they were piling into the car. He didn’t get a chance to see the blonde beauty, but the island was small and time was a plenty. They would find each other again.

“To the hotel sir?”

“Yes Luca, and then please stick around for half an hour. It’s just a quick freshen before I go to work. We have a lab meeting.”

The man nodded and then focused on the busy Italian streets they were navigating. He took in the colours and sounds as they whizzed by. It felt like a different universe. People were loud and excited and full of life and the little markets seemed to pull energy from the sun and direct it into joy. He wanted to tell Luca, to pull over, screw work, and take in the beauty of this little section of the world. But his phone buzzed in his pocket and he knew with a disappointed sinking in his chest that adventure would have to wait.

“Hello Percy,” Rachel Elizabeth Dare bubbled, ‘I assume you’ve arrived?”

“Yes Rach,” He sighed but amusement caught between his lips, “Have you got news for me?”

“No,” She sounded suspicious, “Why would I have news for you?”

“Because you only track my exact times when you want something but you’re too scared to ask me so you wait till I’m halfway across the country before asking.” He wanted to laugh as she made an indignant sound.

“Okay fine,’ She grumbled, “I wanted to know if I could close up the scuba for the weekend. I met a girl and i wanted to go out on Friday night with her.”

He couldn’t hold in his laugh any longer, “Of course you can Rachel. But I’m curious to know…” He trailed off.

“Ugh you are impossible.” He could imagine her eye roll so vividly. “It’s Clarisse. The principal from your old school.”

“Well, well, well,” He grinned, “I better be getting premium seats to the wedding.”

“Why does everything always end in weddings for you?” She groaned.

“Scuse me for wanting a happily ever after.” He scrunched his face, “Oh and guess who’s here?”

“Is this a good guess or a bad one?”

“Good.” He smiled, “Very good.”

She gasped, speaker crackling at his ear, “Tell me!”

“Jason Grace.”

“What?” She squealed, “Are you guys going to have hot rebound sex and then realise you like each other more than just casual fuck-buddies and end up getting married and adopting like six children?”

He burst with amusement, “Slow down there Rach. I know I throw around the marriage idea, but kids seem like a big commitment.”

“You right,” She said decidedly, “Kids are a lot of effort. Just get married then. But no eloping!” He pictured the crease in her freckled brows. “I want to be a bridesmaid.”

“Can’t promise anything,” He giggled.

“Perseus Jackson!” She scolded.

“Oof the full name.”

“I will tell your mother and she will kick your ass.”

“Okay, okay,” He laughed, “No eloping. I have to go. But remember to take the keys for the scuba with you. We do not need the fire department breaking the door again.”

She grumbled about hating him and then blew him a kiss and ended the call. With a smile still playing on his lips he thanked Luca and rushed into the hotel. Thankfully the check in was painless and fast and he was stumbling into his room in no time. He barely had time to appreciate the gorgeous floor-to-ceiling windows and the ocean view it laid out before him. He promised himself he would take the time when he got back.

Quickly he hopped into the shower cursing when he realised he’d forgotten to take his socks off. With a horrified shudder he peeled them off and chucked them into the laundry basket, thankful it gets emptied every day. The water beat against his back, fogging up the glass and calming the racing in his veins. He gave himself the luxury of one extra minute to just take a deep breath and screw his head back onto his shoulders and then he jumped out and shoved on a pair of black slacks and a white button down. He didn’t bother to do the top few buttons, figuring he’d have time in the car. Instead he fastened a watch to his wrists, rolled up the sleeves till they sat at his forearms– any attempt to bear the Italian heat– and then he slid his feet into a pair of sleek ankle boots and mussed his damp curls. With half a moments glance at the mirror to make sure his face didn’t have patches of sun-cream and his collar was straight he grabbed his briefcase and walked out.

Glancing at his watch distractedly he rounded the corner, only to bump right into a hard chest.

“Oh,” He frowned, stepping back into a door. “Jason.”

“Hey,” The blonde smiled, “What a coincidence?” He laughed.

“You’re staying here?” It was really starting to feel like the universe was trying to tell him something.

‘Yep,” He gave a shy smile, blue gaze bright. “Guess you’re going to see a lot more of me then you expected huh?”

“I think you may be at more of a disadvantage than me.”

Jason looked at him, eyes dragging from his face down his body and eventually dropping to his shoes. Percy gave an involuntary shiver as the blonde tracked the same slow pace back up. “I think this could be very advantageous.”

“If you don’t stop staring at me like that I’m going to be very late for my meeting.”

He laughed, the previous sultriness giving away to a sparkle and flashing white teeth, “See you around Jackson.” He started walking away.

“Wait!” Percy called, “Date? Tonight? We can explore the city together?”

Jason smiled as bright as diamonds, “Sounds fun. Meet you in the bar at?”

He realised their time depended on when his meeting finished and suddenly, he wanted to cancel the whole thing and start now. ‘Seven thirty?”

“See you there. And have a good meeting.”

The blonde walked away, and Percy felt this time like he was floating away while his body remained superglued to the floor. He wanted to live in this feeling. Because this did not feel like being torn apart. This felt like coming home.

The elevator dinged down the passage and he crashed back to reality. With a string of curse words he raced for it and jumped in just as the doors began to close.

The meeting and subsequent lab tour felt endless and he concentrated on little less than half of what was being said, his mind more interested on the things waiting for him at the hotel, the person. But eventually it was over and him and Luca were cruising towards the Casa de Vita.

“Anything else you need sir?” His driver looked at him from the rear-view mirror as they turned into the hotel road.

“Recommend any good places for a first date?”

“Already met a lady sir?” Luca’s dark eyebrows almost touched his hairline in surprise.

“A man actually.”

The Italian chuckled, nodding his head as if in on some invisible joke, “The Tesora. It is just down the path and near the ocean.”

“Thank you Luca, have a goodnight.”

“And you sir.” Luca winked before peeling out of the entrance and fading into the setting sun.

Percy strolled to his room with a smile on his face, lost in a world full of possibilities. It was unsurprising then that he didn’t see the extra bag against the wall, or the shoes neatly placed by the door that weren’t his.

He took off his watch and undid the few buttons on his shirt, head lost to the glimmer of the ocean. He let his shirt fall open as he slipped off his shoes and walked towards the windows. The view really was spectacular. No matter how much he travelled it always blew his mind the places that existed, that he had yet to learn of. It was irresistible. It was perfect. It didn’t fail to cross his mind that the ocean was the exact same colour as a certain pair of gorgeous blue eyes. He blinked the image away, turning around, and his gaze landed on that exact aquamarine gaze.

“Jason?” He gasped, clutching his chest in surprise. “What are you doing in my room?”

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Tags (if you want to be added/taken off the tag list just let me know. All my channels of communication are open):

@lesbian-peanuts​​

@leydiangelo​​​

@queen-of-demons-and-hell​​

@msdrpreist​​

@sparkythunderstorm​​

@nishlicious-01​​

@lucyisblue​

@pjo-hp-things​

[abluescarfonwaston]

Lettenhove Au

Part 1   Part 2

Oh how unreasonable.

“Dear did you finish those logging reports?” His mother stepped into the office. Head buried in a logistics report.

“Just did. Here.” He offered them to her but her eyes were stuck behind him.

On Geralt.

“You must be my son’s new bodyguard.” He watched Geralt hesitantly nod out of the corner of his eye. “I hadn’t expected you to be quite so…”

“Old?” He suggested for her. “You won’t offend him by being direct. He does have- oh what?- Half a century or so on you. It’s only fair.”

Her brow pinched. Her fingers rubbed together nervously as she glanced back to him. “Julian I know numbers aren’t your forte but he can’t be-“

They knew exactly the moment the gold in his eyes registered.

A tiny back step. Half a sharp inhale.

“A Witcher?” She looked at him. Hand covering her agape mouth. “How? How did you-“

He readied himself to explain when her eyes widened. “The white wolf.”

They both tensed as she rounded the desk to him.

She cupped his face in her hands. You are the man who kept him from me. You are the bastard he abandoned me for. He braced for her to say. As so many of the women in his life had.

“Thank you.” Her tears freezing Geralt more effectively than any spell he’d ever seen. “For protecting him all those years. Thank you.” Geralt eyes stayed locked on her. Trapped by her thin hands. “For bringing him home.”

He was halfway out of his chair he’d realized. He eased back down into it. Who he’d worried for he wasn’t sure.

How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do.

“Julian!” His mother burst into the room. Letter in hand. “The Countess responded!”

Geralt looked up from his sword sharpening, hands stilling. Ciri shrunk behind him, further into the couch they’d settled into that night. It was honestly a relief for the too familiar noise to halt. It made the space behind his eyes hot. It’s steady rhythmic sound as horrible as it had once been calming.

They’d been moved into the servant’s quarters attached to his room in case someone came for him in the night.

He stood and seized her by the waist. Picking her up and spinning her, as he knew she wished he would for she was very excited, her dress billowing around her. The way Father had when he’d courted her all those years ago. She’d admitted to him once she missed it. It was one of the few things she missed about him.

What do you need? He’d asked. He knew how to play his role diligently.

“As I promised she would!” He smiled brightly for her. It was as fake as the rings that had dyed his fingers green years ago. But she didn’t know that.

“A Countess Julek! I’ve no idea how you managed this!” She was well above their class. But she’d loved him once. With a title she might love him again.

“What did I say?” He gently put her down and swept her into a waltz. It’s been so long since I’ve gotten to waltz. She told him.

“Trust me.” There were tears in her eyes. A brightness to her he couldn’t remember ever seeing.

He spun her. “I said I would take care of things.” Dipped her gently to the familiar tune in his head. It sounded flat even though he knew it was in tune. “Didn’t I?”

“You did!” Her steps faltered as she pulled him into a tight hug. It might have been bone crushing a decade or two ago. “Thank you for coming home.”

“Of course.” Geralt and Ciri watch him tuck her into his shoulder. He whispered above her grey hair. “I had nowhere else to be.”

I’ll spend my days so close to you cos if I’m standing here maybe.

“You’re getting married.” Geralt stated as the door closed behind her.

“That is the plan yes.”

“You’ll be miserable.”

And how, he thought, is that any different from how I am now?

Everyone will think I’m alright.

Court was easy. Simple.

Deadly. Dangerous.

It was just about saying the right thing. Listening. Not giving away too much.

“There are some rumors going around about you Julian.” She fluttered her eyes distractingly. Let her sleeve slip down just so. He’d seen it before. Hell he’d done it before.

That didn’t mean it didn’t work on him.

Or. It used to.

“About what happened to you after you disappeared.” She leaned in making a point to show off her assets.

The color of her dress was brilliant. Vibrant. His collar was buttoned all the way up. It didn’t actually make it hard to breathe but it still felt like it. He recognized the dye they must have used. It seemed less. Less everything.

Course the courts in Kerack hardly compared to the ones he’d played at so it was likely just. Less.

It had nothing to do with how dull the world seemed these days.

“I went to Oxenfurt. I hardly disappeared.” He flashed her a smile. Winked as he said, “And I’d be happy to show you what I learned.”

She giggled.

“What did you study?” Interjected her handler. Forcing distance between them with practiced ease.

He’d never been grateful for the restraints of court. How a hand touch outside of dancing was as scandalous as a long passionate kiss elsewhere.

He was grateful for it now.

“A variety of things. Geography was my favorite.” The textbook was big enough to hide a demijohn behind. “And I took to teaching for a few years.”

Her eyes glittered. “Did you ever see any of the places you learned about?” Whatever information she’d been told to gather forgotten to the wonder of the world beyond their logging forest and rocky coasts.

Or maybe this was what she wanted. The machinations of a country this small didn’t have to be terribly inspired.

“A few.” He granted. The back of his throat tensed. I went to the edge of the world and back before my eighteenth year. He didn’t say. “Any place in particular you were hoping to hear about?” He raised his glass for a drink.

“Are the blue mountains really blue?”

His cup paused at his lips. Golden eyes rested heavily on him from across the feast.

Posada sat at the feet of its range. Stretched up to Kaer Morhen and beyond.

“Yes.” He tried to cover for the stilted pause. Gave too much away he knew by the devilish look in her eye. “In the evening light the whole range turns the most beautiful blue I’ve ever seen.”

“What does Kaer Morhen look like?” He’d asked. Because he’d never seen it.

Would never see it.

“Big stone keep.”

“Oh come on! We both know you can do better than that!” He’d protested. “I want to know what its like!” Tell me what your home is like. He begged.

“What do you think of Lettenhove?” He asked as the carriage rattled down the road to their accommodations. His Mother had retired hours ago. What do you think about my birthplace? My unwilling home? My soon to be grave?

Geralt opened an eye. Considering him. Just like everyone at the party had. Just like everyone always did. Judging without seeing. He maintained his posture as the snow fell outside the window. He had a role to play.

“Seafood’s decent.”

Laughter bubbled in his throat. High and hysterical.

He swallowed it down.

“I suppose it is.” He told the falling snow. He did not think of the Blue Mountains covered in snow and the big stone keep he would never see buried within it.

I’ve seen enough he says. I know exactly what I want.

“Jaskier!”

There were hands on his shoulder and a knife to his throat and it was all pointless but he was still scared.

He was still scared.

There was gold and white filling his vision as his chest fought for air. He couldn’t breathe and he was going to die and gods.

Gods he was going to die.

And he was okay with it.

“Jaskier?” His face was wet as he sobbed. I was going to die and he was okay with that and that was the scariest part. Someone was moving him. Arranging his limbs and tucking him into the crook of their neck. “It was just a dream Jaskier.”

The dream slipped from his mind but the hollow in his chest didn’t. The violently terrible acceptance of his fate didn’t slip away.

Let’s run away. To the coast, to the blue mountains, to the end of the world. To Skellige even. I’d brave sea sickness for you. Let’s run away Geralt.

Think of your people ordered the ghost of his old man.

Life’s one blessing. Said the man cradling him in his arms.

Stay. Begged his Mother.

He curled into the embrace of the man who’d served as his home for two long decades. For half his life. The half of his life that had a home for.

Geralt was only here because there was no better option. Because a fool promised him a place to stay long ago and that fool wouldn’t break a promise. Not a promise to him.

Did you ever care for me at all? Or am I to you, as I am to everyone, a burden you’re too kind to put down?

No. Because Geralt had put him down. Now he was simply too desperate to step away.

“This is your fate Julian.” Rumbled the voice of his Father.

“I’ll find a better fate then.” He’d screamed back. “I’ll make a better one.”

He had.

“I want to go home.” He quietly admitted into the crook of Geralt’s neck. To the stars over the path and the grinding of a whetstone on silver or steel. To the crackle of a fire and pages filled with ink by its dying embers.

To raunchy laughter and shared bedrolls. Desperate dashes from terrible towns and angry cuckholds. To grumpy Witchers dunked in bathtubs, yanking knots from disgustingly tangled hair and quiet gifts of lute strings made from griffin guts slipping into his case while he slept.

“We’ll be back at the estate tomorrow.” Came the wretched assurance.

He sobbed. “I know.”

You couldn’t run away from fate. Not really.

It’s this life that we’d created, inundated with the fated thought of you

“Geralt said you used to play.” Ciri admitted to the bookshelves she’d been dusting. “He said you played wonderfully.”

“Did he?” He blankly responded. He could feel Geralt frowning at him.

You should have cheekily grinned at me. He could hear Geralt correcting. You should be making fun of me for liking your music but never admitting it to you. Then I could comment on how i didn’t want to feed your overgrown ego.

He checked the ledgers math on the abacus. Then did it again because numbers had never been his forte.

“He said,” She hesitated. Turned ever so slightly to watch him. “You were at my mother’s betrothal.”

Jaskier was. I wasn’t. An angry part of him snapped.

He took in the tight tension of her shoulders. The pointed dedication to a meaningless task.

I see you little swallow. I see you. “I was.” He glanced at the door. If someone overheard. He could avoid this if-

“Everyone’s asleep.” Geralt told him.

“Then,” He stood, weighted heavy by a story he had no desire to tell. “I suppose I owe you a story.” He smiled and offered his hand to her. “Since Geralt never tells it right.”

She took it and he pulled her into the ballad. Into the start of her tale.

Into the beginning of their stories end.

And if you asked me to, if you asked me I would lose it all, Like petals in a storm

He lifted her sleeping form from the couch, carrying her to bed.

“Thank you.” Geralt muttered from the doorway as he tucked her in.

He was so tired.

He nodded. Turned from the room.

Geralt caught him at the doorway. “Thank you.” He repeated.

He took in Geralt’s face as he stared at her. As he listened to her slow steady breathing. Sleeping comfortably and warm.

Ask to stay. He begged the hand holding his bicep. Ask me to come with you.

Tell me you want me. He plead. That what you said was a lie.

But he didn’t. Because he was looking at Ciri. At the best thing he’d ever done for Geralt.

At the little girl who was the end of the story they’d shared.

“You love her.” He told him. “Which I say only because I don’t think you know.” Geralt’s face hardened as it always did when faced with an uncomfortable truth about himself. “But you love her Geralt.”

If this was his fate then at least he’d done that.

He couldn’t save his people and he’d broken every relationship he’d ever made and he was going to die in a manor he hated all alone.

But at least he’d done this. At least he’d given Geralt Ciri.

At least he’d given the love of his life the love of his.

cos darling I was born to press my head between your shoulder blades

[whatiwillsay]

Every shred of "proof" for Tily is based on stuff Kaylors have connected to Karlie. Butterflies, angels, golden tattoo,.. it's all core K-material and you guys recycled it for Lily. So the thought process behind this ship is also tinhatting //

I’m sorry Cam I know this is besides the point but it annoys me to no end when people don’t even read why others think these are “proof” and instantly call others tinhatty.

*disclaimer: I don’t belieb in Tily I just think Swiftwyn is airtight so it’s hard to think about how it would’ve worked but if Swiftwyn wasn’t a thing yeah maybe it stacks I totally see why others belieb I don’t think it’s tinhatty at all.

There’s nothing I hate more than taking shit out of context, then using it against people. Please learn to read and comprehend. It’s not like the proof is “ooh Lily wore blue/gold in this” or “wow Lily has a white umbrella behind her and Taylor also has a white umbrella in her house”

Butterflies

Kaylor: the mural looks like that one pair of wings Karlie wore

Tily: lily literally uses the butterfly emoji in stories about taylor?? Her highlight reel where she put stories that have something to do with taylor is literally named 🦋 and the cover of said highlight reel is literally the picture of the two of them

Angels

Kaylor: Karlie is a VS angel

Tily: the timeframe of when they were always hanging out, taylor started wearing a ring that was given to VS models who satisfy the following: a) walked in VSFS 2016 and b) already walked more than once. Lily satisfies both

Golden Tattoo

Kaylor: taylor had a golden butterfly tattoo on her back in Drake’s party and Karlie was also there at said party

Tily: lily literally has a tattoo that means “golden” in latin. And the other is: they both had on the same golden choker tattoo at different times (the times they wore it were close to each other though)

I’m not trying to convince anyone but I read things first before getting my panties in a bunch. Y’all are taking so many things out of context just to spread your hate to more shitty people who have nothing better to do than harass a queer woman creating a safe space for queer people to discuss. I get putting effort in something that makes people happy and gives them a sense of community but it’s so fucked up that you’re so obsessed with something that only makes you angry and miserable like pls get a fucking life.

it is besides the point but i appreciate you drawing out the differences between some of the kaylor vs tily content thats being passed around here.

but i want to say like… it’s also ok if kaylors want to look at all that stuff and analyze it and have fun and build kinship around that content AS LONG AS they aren’t being harmful about it. most big name kaylors did sink into antisemitism, homophobia, bullying, and other Bad Behavior. they have also gone far beyond “let’s theorize about this” they are in “it is a fact that karlie kloss had taylor swift’s baby” and THAT is why kaylors draw my ire and criticism. but i will defend kaylors right to have fun speculating in their own lane in non harmful ways always. like i get it. taylor was on tumblr liking pictures of karlie with captions suggesting they were hooking up. people are allowed to look at that and speculate if they did! i also defend haylors right to say taylor never got over harry and that they were hooking up in ✨secret✨until 2015, toe shippers right to say every song shes written since 2016 is about joe, and the bisluts’ right to speculate on if toe is secretly engaged or married.

if you are not being harmful, if you are staying in your own lane, if you are having fun fostering a community of likeminded people and finding fellowship as you chat about taylor (which is the culture she has built and encouraged around herself for over a decade) you should get to do that without drawing harassment or a bunch of manipulated, unfair, unreasonable criticism. like we should all just be kind to one another no? like if someone told me “what you’re doing is hurting me” i would want to know that and have a conversation about how i could stop hurting that person.

so even if the tily connections and clues were just as equally reachy as kaylor konnectioms (some of them probably are!), as long as we keep saying “grain of salt, no one knows for sure, this is just a theory we enjoy with some gossip that seems to back it up but we can’t know for sure” then the harassment would still be unwarranted and unfair. and i have ALWAYS said that and always will.

but yes i can’t stand people twisting my words out of context. it’s so unfair and lazy and stupid.

[nightashes]

Hi! Okay I wanted to send a prompt (but it's fine if you don't have the energy or anything like that to write it!) How about some fluffy logicality with "See I told you that I'd always be here for you"

When I’m with You, I Glow

a/n:  Thank you so much for the prompt! This was so fun to write! I hope the wait wasn’t too long. <3

summary: Victorian-ish era. Logan has some big news to tell his boyfriend, Patton. They take a walk in the evening and share their love.

warnings: none that I can think of but let me know if there is anything you’d like me to tag.

ao3 version - writing masterlist

Dusk is approaching. The warm tones of the sunset chase away the cool blues of the day. The streets are beginning to empty as Logan walks down the lane. His shoes hit the stones with a satisfying tap. Tap. Tap. He smiles at the sound. If he were a different person, he would be skipping. But Logan is a professional. He is content to simply listen to the heel of his shoes clicking against the pavement.

The lamplighter nods as he passes, working his way along the road, lighting each streetlamp one after another. The faint flames do not do much to illuminate but they do add to the romance of the dusk. Once true night sets in, they will be invaluable. Until then, they were at least pretty to look at. He feels a warmth in his heart at the thought. In the past, he would not have given a second thought to the aesthetic value of street lamps. But Patton, his beloved, his burning flame, has a way of finding the joy and the beauty in the simplest of things. He supposes that some of that optimism is beginning to rub off on him.

He hopes that Patton will want to walk with him. He does have something quite big to talk about with his beloved. And it would be nice to share the evening with him.

Approaching the apartment of his companion, he gives a quick one-two knock. Banging the knob of the knocker against the door with a pair of resounding thuds. The sound of hurried footsteps precedes the opening of the door and the arrival of his friend who was more than a friend could ever truly be. The grin of the man before him revivals the beauty of the sunset and the enchantment of the fire-lit street lamps. This is the fellow that has managed to steal Logan's breath away with each new meeting. This is the fellow that has managed to make Logan feel as if he wasn't just a scholar but a person of value. And Logan knows without a doubt his heart beats louder because of the man before him.

His professionalism melts away. It always does around Patton. How could one be stoic around a person that could exude the warmth of the sun with a simple laugh and a pat on the arm? The gentleman’s eyes twinkle with mirth. "Good even'n, Logan. How are you on this fine evening?"

"Hello, my dear," he smiles somewhat nervously. "I was just in the neighborhood and I was hoping that you would maybe join me on my walk," Logan requests. His fingers nervously playing with the chain of his pocket watch.

"Oh, now wouldn't that be lovely. Just let me grab my hat and I'll be right out." And with that Patton once again disappears into his apartment.

Logan stands on the step, straightening his tie, brushing dust from his jacket. Staring around him at the potted plants that stand beside the doorway. He checks his watch. Patton is taking longer than usual. 

“Patton!” He calls. Knocking his knuckles softly on the wood. “Have you found it yet?”

The door swings open to a beaming Patton… without a hat. “Shall we go?”

“But… Patton, your hat?”

“Hmmm?” The smiling gentleman questions, patting his head. “Oh, silly me. I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached.” He grabs it from the nearby coat hanger and hurries out the door, quickly locking it behind him. 

Turning around, Patton’s hand immediately finds his own. Interlacing their fingers together. It warms Logan’s heart. A gentle squeeze of the hands and a tender kiss, Logan whispers to his sweetheart, “I’ve missed you today.”

Patton’s laughter is sweet honey to his ears. “I’m here. I’ll always be right here for you.”

The worries of the day feel small in comparison. And though they still need to have a talk, he feels like he can handle it. With Patton he can handle anything. 

They walk down the lane. Patton swinging their hands, talking about his day. Pestering Logan with questions about his own. “Oh, don’t you just love the night air! Something about it just makes you feel so… alive!”

“It’s because the air is cooler. The molecules in the air slow down when it is colder, producing less smells and tricking us into thinking the air is more ‘crisp’ and ‘pure’ than it is in say the afternoon.”

He can feel Patton’s eyes on him as he speaks. He knows he is beginning to slip into his teacher mode again. But unlike his students, Patton stares at him as if mysteries of the universe were unfolding before him. Logan can feel the heat in his cheeks rise from the attention. He stutters to a stop. “At least that’s what I have read.”

Patton takes both of his hands in his, standing before him he whispers. “It’s amazing. Each day we spend together and yet you never run out of new things to teach me. Have I told you how much I love listening to you lecture.”

Logan smiles, but a thought continues to beat at the back of his mind. They still need to talk. “The park is near. Come along,” he attempts to steer them towards the entrance. 

Patton, though, Patton is not having it. He stands steadfast, his hands still gripping both of Logan’s. 

“You’ve got something on your mind.” Patton states simply.

“You’re right. I do have something on my mind. It’s you.” He leans in to place a kiss upon Patton’s brow. “You’re always on my mind.”

“Not ready to tell me?”

“No. It’s just big news. I was hoping we could discuss it sitting down.”

“Alright. The park it is. But you know whatever it is I’m here to support you.”

Logan nods in understanding. Wrapping his arm around his sweetheart, he steers them towards the park. The crickets are loud now. Their repetitive chirps fill the otherwise silent evening. The glow of the setting sun has lessened, but what remains paints the trees golden. It surrounds the couple in a warm glow as they move to a nearby bench. Settling down, they nestle into each other's side. LIke a pair of turtle doves taking shelter in a storm.

Logan fumbles with the chain of his watch once again. He knows Patton is waiting for the news. But, he is so patient. He simply leans his head against Logan’s shoulders and whispers to him about the trees. Asking Logan to explain how they grow so big from such small little seeds. 

He can’t hold it in anymore. “Something really big happened at work today.”

His beloved smiles up at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“After my class, I was approached by two men from Rivance. They wanted me to come and lecture at their school. It’s… It’s an opportunity few have been offered. They’re very selective and I would be foolish to turn it down. But it would mean leaving Nelaian, leaving my students, and well… I mean I wasn’t sure if you… If you would.”

“You wouldn’t want to leave me?” Patton finishes softly, his fingers tracing the lines in Logan’s hand.  

“It’s a long way and it would be unreasonable to expect you to come. But, I don’t want to be apart for so long.”

“Logan, I have a confession to make.” Patton looks up, staring intently into his eyes. Logan can feel his jaw clench and his heart stutter at that look. 

Patton withdraws a crinkled envelope from his pocket. Handing it over he continues, “you see, I was actually there at your lecture this morning. I had time before my shift and I was missing you. So I sat in for the tail end of it. I saw those men approach you. I knew all about it.”

Nothing is written on the envelope. Logan flips it around. Carefully, he removes the contents. Pulling out two pieces of paper. Two tickets. Boat tickets. To Rivance. 

“Two tickets. For me… and you?”

“See, I told you that I’d always be here for you. I’m coming with you and that’s final.”

“But, this is a whole other country. A whole other continent. To leave everything behind, just like that. For me. I can’t ask that of you.”

“You don’t need to ask. I’m with you until the end.”

“Patton, I… I don’t know what to say?”

“Say what you feel.”

“I’m happy. I’m so so very happy. And I.. I love you, my firelight.” 

“Well then kiss me, you dingus.”

The gold of the evening is beginning to fade now. A shadow has been cast over the scenery. But the fire of the streetlamps glows brighter in the dark.

awesome people to tag: @stop-it-anxiety @hexatrash @ollyollyoxinfree @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @leiasolo77 @arya-skywalker

[the-bard-followed-the-witcher]

A new scent

Omega!Jaskier x Alpha!Geralt 

(warning: if you wish this to be a happy little fic DON`T read the optional part at the end, besides that, have fun!)

Jaskier stared at the exit of the latest flight, trying his best to look over the other anticipating heads and the safety glass. The exit doors were still closed and Jaskier felt the milky white glass was mocking him. He hated waiting. He truly did. Still he had come out to the airport today, still come here to wait. It felt like he had been here for forever already, and each second that passed made him more nervous, more excited.

Geralt was finally coming home today. Finally. One month, 14 days and 17 hours since they had last seen each other, since Geralt had last held him. One month, 14 days and 17 hours since Geralt had gone off for a work trip somewhere to Japan. And sure, Jaskier was proud of his boyfriend and the success his independent business had but Jaskier missed him. A lot. The video calls they made sure to share every evening since day one only helped so much. Jaskier just wanted to be able to kiss his Geralt again, hug him, hear his voice in person and not with the weird robotic sound that always accompanies a microphone recording. And so, he waited. Even if he hated it, even if it felt like torture. If it meant he would see Geralt sooner, even if just 20 minutes sooner, he would wait. And he did. Waited as the milky doors finally opened and the first travellers stepped out. Finally.

Jaskier stretched his neck further. The crowd in front of him was not helping this whole thing. He was tall for an Omega but not tall enough to overlook most of the people in the crowd. Especially since most seemed to be Betas and Alphas. To Jaskiers disapproval those two genders had an unfair advantage in height. They grew taller than Omegas did and were physically more fit. Fortunately for Jaskier he was a tall Omega, tall enough to be mistaken for a Beta from time to time, and still this didn´t help him here. His neck was already hurting from the stretching, the try to glimpse white hair.

The first few travellers were not Geralt, and the next few weren´t either. Strangers whose faces Jaskier forgot the moment they passed the exit. He was growing more impatient with every new stranger, every face that wasn´t the one he had been waiting for since a month ago. Why was Geralt not rushing out to find him? Did something happen?

Unexplainable worry wailed up in Jaskiers chest. What if Geralt got hurt? What if he didn´t catch his flight? What if…? His mind was jumping from unreasonable worry to unreasonable worry while he was doing the same in frequent intervals. Jumping just to get a better glimpse, jumping in a desperate attempt to speed up the process. There is a reason Jaskier avoided waiting at all cost.

By about the 15th stranger Jaskier felt his worry skyrocket but also a slight tinge of annoyance. Geralt was keeping him waiting. He knew how much Jaskier hated waiting and yet he kept him waiting. And here he had thought that after his weird sickness the last two days, Geralt would rush out all worried, ready to take care of him if the sickness came back today. Jaskier didn´t believe it would, he blamed it all on the nerves, but still he would have greatly appreciated his companion to be worried about him at least a bit. Or excited. Or even just in a hurry damn it.

Jaskier felt like a fool jumping up and down in the crowd that was slowly dissolving around him as strangers were reunited with the people they loved. He was still alone. Geralt was still not there. He wasn´t even sure what to feel anymore. The jumping was making him slightly dizzy, so he stopped for a second to catch his breath. Damn, had he gotten that out of shape already? And here he had thought his stomach felt a bit harder, more stretched by muscles. Guess he must have been wrong after all. To his delight that second was also the second Geralt finally managed to make his way through the crowd to the exit.

He didn´t see Jaskier in the crowd immediately and his heart dropped for a moment. What if Jaskier had forgotten? What if he didn´t care after all? Had finally realized that he deserved so much better than Geralt, a lousy Alpha? What if something happened?

Even bigger was the relief, the delight, the excitement when sky blue eyes finally met golden ones. One month 14 days 17 hours finally over. Jaskier even with a still uneven breath grinned widely, and Geralts heart skipped a beat at that. How much he adored that grin, that smile. How much he loved putting that grin on his lover’s face. God, he had missed it. Missed all of Jaskier. As quickly as he could with all his luggage he made his way past the last barricade of the exit all the while keeping his eyes on Jaskier who was banning his way through the crowd to the very front, his grin, his gorgeous breath-taking smile, never leaving his face. How desperately Geralt wanted to hold him. It had been too long. Too much waiting.

Until finally One month 14 days and 17 hours of waiting were finally done. Geralt dropped his luggage the moment he was out of the exit finally and not even a second later were Jaskiers legs around his hips and Geralts arms holding him up and their lips touching. Jaskiers hands were tangled in white locks the moment their lips touched. And it was all fire and comfort and home. Lips pressed together trying desperately to make up for more than a month of abnegation. Clinging and fitting so perfectly to one another. Heated and still soft at the same time. A perfect fit. As they had been from the start. From the very first time. Still that was the moment Geralt first realized something was wrong.

Jaskier was heavy. Not that that was bad, not that that was generally unusual. Jaskier was taller and more muscular than the average Omega so really, he was bound to be heavier than one too, but that was not it. Geralt was used to Jaskiers weight like that, it never bothered him, maybe even made him desire the other more, so no, this was not the issue. Jaskier was heavy, heavier than before. Not much, so little in fact that Geralt first thought he had simply lost strength and was just noticing it now. But that didn´t make sense. The whole month he had done nothing but work. His body was as fit as it had been since he had reached adulthood. So, through their kissing that Geralt enjoyed gravely still, he also became increasingly confused.

What finally made him pull back from the kiss though, was not the slight change in weight Jaskier had experienced, no, what really made him pull back and drop Jaskier was the smell. The smell that came of Jaskier.

It was not Jaskiers. Not entirely. There was something, someone else mixed with it. Someone that smelt oddly familiar.

“Geralt!” Jaskier squeaked when he was dropped by his lover. His lips were already bruising from their kiss, his sensitive skin making sure of that. Usually that sight would have filled Geralt with pride but right now that pride was overruled by pure confusion. His Alpha senses were already going mad, telling him to get jealous, telling him to rage. The only way an Omegas smell could mix like Jaskiers obviously had, was by a shared night. But Geralt didn´t want to get angry, fought back his instincts. He trusted Jaskier. There surely must be an explanation. Still he couldn´t help but keep sniffing the other who was still so close, their breath almost mixed. The scent was so familiar and yet it was foreign.

Jaskiers angry expression turned soft when he saw the hundred different emotions run over Geralts face. Geralt was not good with emotions and so many at a time could only mean there was something seriously wrong.

“Geralt? Love? What is wrong?” His voice was dripping with worry, Geralt would never drop him, never push him away like he just had, unless… Jaskiers eyes frantically went over the others body. Had he overlooked an injury? Had he hurt Geralt? But he had seemed fine while walking out, as excited as Jaskier. There had been no limp, no flinch, nothing that indicated there was something physically wrong with Geralt, and yet Jaskier worried. He couldn´t bear the thought that he had perhaps hurt the other with his excited rushed jump into his arms. But there was nothing. Geralt simply stared at him and kept sniffing. And then their eyes met. Panic was locked in Jaskiers, all the emotions at once in Geralts. Sky blue stared at breaking gold.

It didn´t matter how hard Geralt tried, he couldn´t keep all the emotion out of his voice. “You smell of someone else.” His nose twitched with his words, for just a second, he looked disgusted. Then confused again. Then sad.

The only thing Jaskier now felt was confused. “What?”

“Your scent.” Geralt growled. Anger, disappointment, hurt. It was all there, right there in his voice. “Your scent is mixed with someone else´s.” He sniffed at Jaskier again and Jaskier was inclined to push him away. He knew what Geralt was implying and he definitely didn´t like it. Geralts face was laced in confusion again as he pushed his Alpha sense further down. The scent Jaskier was mixed with was familiar and yet completely unknown. He simply couldn´t pinpoint what it was.

Jaskier crossed his arms in front of his chest.  “I know what you are implying Geralt and I can´t believe you´d ever think me capable of doing that.” He glared at the other who was now sniffing out the air around him as if he was trying to pinpoint exactly which part of him smelled the most of betrayal. To Jaskier the answer was obvious. None.

“I have not cheated on you Geralt.” And that was the truth. One month 14 days and 17 hours had he been waiting for his lover, his only lover, to come back to him. Hell, he had not even touched himself properly since they last parted ways. Geralt should know this. He had waited for him. But he had not waited to be accused of cheating. He had not waited to be accused of betrayal. He felt anger wail up in his chest.

The only answer Jaskier got was a raised eyebrow and more sniffing. Geralt was slowly following the intensity of the other smell only to find to his surprise that it was mainly coming from the other lower torso area. Jaskiers stomach. That fact simply confused Geralt more as he stopped his sniffing and simply stood upright in front of a very pissed of Jaskier.

Seeing Geralt brood in silence simply pissed Jaskier off more. This was supposed to be a happy reunion damn it!

“Listen Geralt, I have no clue what you are smelling on me, but I can promise you: I. Have. Not. Cheated. On. You.” He knew Geralts sense of smell to be a good one, as all Alphas was, but this was simply crazy. He had not cheated on his lover. He loved Geralt.

But while Jaskier was full out there, trying his best to convince Geralt of his innocence all the while suppressing tears that were threatening to spill from his rage and disappointment filled eyes, Geralt seemed to be far away with his thoughts. All his memories searched for that smell, but every time he thought he had found it, it was gone again.

He looked at Jaskier the puzzle in his head still not solved. “The only way a scent can change is if the person spent a night with another or if…”

And then finally everything in Geralts head clicked into place. He was flooded with memories that involved it, found it everywhere he looked now that his mind knew what to look for. It all made sense. He was frozen in his place.

And Jaskier saw it happen in real time as Geralts eyes got wide, saw how all confusion dropped from Geralts face. “Fuck…” Jaskier raised an eyebrow at that.

“What, Geralt?” He snapped; arms still crossed. The annoyance at his companion was overwhelming and a little voice that Jaskier ignored skilfully, warned him that he should be reasonable, that he should listen but Jaskier was an emotional person. It wasn´t exactly possible for him to cut of his emotions from his mind. He was a second away from leaving Geralt standing there, eyes still wide.

And then:

“Jas, you are pregnant.”

It took a moment for the words to settle in but when they did Jaskiers arms dropped, his face did too and rage was quickly turned to confusion, denial even. “What?” It was barely a whisper.

“Your scent did change Jaskier. It did. But not because of someone else.” Geralts face lit up with a small smile, eyes filled with love, with pride. His voice turned soft, protective. “It changed because of me, because of us.” A low laugh escaped Geralts throat as he took Jaskiers hand in his. Jaskier was still just staring at his excited lover. His mind was turning, screaming, trying to process what was happening. “You smell of me, of me and you together. You smell of them.” And in the most loving motion Geralt guided their hands to Jaskiers stomach.

And when their skin touched his shirt everything snapped into place in Jaskiers mind too. His stretching stomach, his strange sickness over the last couple of days, his overwhelming emotions. It was like everything finally found its place. It was simply too much.

“Geralt… I think I will faint.” And Jaskier almost did. But Geralts strong arms were around him in an instant gently guiding them to a sitting position on the floor. Their hands were still intertwined, placed right above a growing new life.

“Geralt, I swear if this is a joke...” Jaskier couldn´t even finish his sentence before Geralt interrupted him.

“It´s not, love, it´s not. You are pregnant.” And Jaskier couldn´t believe it but when Geralt nuzzled into his neck, kissed his skin, he could also feel wet salty tears hit his skin. Geralt, his Geralt, the guy for everything, the most stoic Alpha to ever live, the white wolf was crying. Crying because there was a new life growing inside Jaskier. A new life that consisted of the both of them. A true child surprise. Their child.

And Jaskier curled up to Geralts chest as tears spilled his eyes too. And he heard Geralt purr low and proud. His Geralt. Their child. Jaskier could barely sob out an “I love you” as his emotions continued to overflow his eyes. There was warmth in his chest, and his hand rested in Geralts and Geralts rested on Jaskier stomach and for a second it felt like that was where they should have always been.

And Geralt pressed Jaskier closer to his body and kissed his neck because he loved Jaskier as well and he already loved who Jaskier was holding inside of him. He breathed in the new scent Jaskier held, a scent that after despising it for a second now felt like the world to him. Like the only thing that mattered. And he knew finally that the smell was close to what Jaskier always smelled like after Geralt had buried himself deep inside the Omega but there was something more overwhelming, something more present. A scent new to this world. Unique already. Consisting of him and the love of his life.

And as Geralt was sitting there with Jaskier who was still crying of happiness on the floor of an airport, he knew he would love this child.

And Jaskier pulled away from Geralts chest and looked up at him. Blue eyes watery with tears but the softest happiest smile on his face. It was the most beautiful sight Geralt had ever seen. Jaskier was the love of his life and since the child was a fraction of Jaskier, Geralt was sure he would not be able to resist loving it. He wouldn´t even try.

And Geralt pressed a kiss to those beautiful lips, the lips, the smile, he would never get sick of kissing, of loving. And Jaskier kissed him back like he was all that matter, like they were all that mattered in the world and perhaps in that moment that was true. Because they were together, they were happy. At the end of the day that was all that mattered.

Optional ending:

8 months later Jaskier was put under the earths soil. Geralt blamed himself. He couldn´t save him. Not from nature. In the distance a baby was crying. 

[mollymauk-teafleak]

The Man That Came Back

Thanks so much to @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian, my wonderful betas

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3, it’s free, easy and means so much! 

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For the next part of their plan, a heist needs to be pulled off in the fanciest bar on Saturn. And Buddy knows exactly how Juno can disguise himself, much to the delight of Nureyev

---

“Captain, all due respect and everything but that’s got to be the most ridiculous idea I ever heard.”

Buddy gave him a more than slightly exhausted look over the building plans she was studying on her comms screen, “You know, darling, it would be incredibly helpful if that wasn’t your response to every single plan I put in front of you…”

Juno gave her one of his scowls, the ones where he pouted a little and scrunched up his face, where he knew he was being unreasonable but was going to be stubborn all the same, “Well, let’s just say this one tops the whole damn lot! I don’t even...how...how do you even imagine I’d be any good at this?”

Buddy seemed to be tuning him out for the most part, eyes returning to her screen as the floorplan of the bar rotated slowly, exactly where their marks would enter, meet and most likely leave plotted out in glowing lines, “From the data I gathered on you, same way I know not to send you to any job that may, for some unknown reason, take place in a seafood restaurant owing to your allergy to shellfish. I like to know my crew, young lady, their likes, dislikes, the skills they boast about...and the skills they don’t. Keeps things smooth, interesting and us alive.”

Juno had very little reply to that, still choking on the embarrassment he was hiding behind annoyance, “But...what kind of database has that on file?”

“No database that I’ve ever heard of, darling, but you are aware that your high school yearbooks are also digitised and on file, easily accessible in the archives if one has no more information than your name?”

Juno stalled at that, turning somehow redder, “And that was relevant when hiring me to be a space pirate, was it?”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Buddy raised an eyebrow, tracing a new glowing line onto the screen with her finger, “When I am inviting someone new into my family, everything is relevant. Would you pick a sibling or cousin so carelessly, if you had the chance to do so?”

“But…” Juno screwed up his face even tighter, clearly recognising he was trapped in an unwinnable argument but unwilling to go down without a pointless fight, “Of all the jobs, why did it have to be this?”

With a flick of devastatingly manicured fingers, Buddy blew up the plan into a hologram between them and spoke as if to a small child, “The view offered by that position is unparalleled, you’ll be able to see every table as well as the entrances to the bathrooms and the kitchens, thereby covering every possible means of escape for our mark and you can provide a fitting distraction at a moment’s notice.”

“Yeah, yeah, I read the plans before I came in here,” Juno waved away her hands patiently pointing to what she was referencing on the miniature, translucent version of the Saturnian wine bar, The Albedo, “I get your point, doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I grant you that,” Buddy allowed, “Look, Juno, I’m not asking for talent worthy of a Saturday night stream, you just have to be functional. Enough that we can pull off what should be this very simple and problem free job. Put away that scowl of yours and have fun with it, if you can.”

Juno groaned irritatedly and stared at the still revolving plan in front of him. A simple job. Place themselves within the bar, watch the exchange of the stolen goods between their marks then wait until they leave and re-steal it right from out their back pocket. Boom, details on where the last piece of their little puzzle was hiding, where the book was. Snatch it up before anyone else could find it and not have to pay the exorbitant price their mark probably did. Don’t rob the shadowy, organised crime seller of the information who had security coming out of their ears, rob the poor idiot who bought the thing.

Easy. But it sure as hell didn’t have to be fun.

“Just do me a favour,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Please put minimal crew members in earshot. And for the love of all that’s holy, not Vesper.”

“Brown butter old fashioned please. With a cherry, if you have one to hand.”

A good alias was like stepping into a different skin, Nureyev had always been taught. Everything you were became less than a memory and this new personality took over completely. If you didn’t believe it, then your mark never would. It had to be complete. It had to be total. You essentially needed to die, for as long as required.

Nureyev still held true to that belief. But sometimes, on a job as easy as this one, he didn’t think it beyond the realm of possibility that your new identity may just happen to have the same favourite drink as you did.

He leaned against the bar and waited for his drink, allowing his eyes a pass over the scene. The bar was comfortably full without being a press of warm bodies in evening wear, just a generous handful of couples and groups at tables or standing with him at the bar, showing why Saturn was considered to have the most eccentric style of the solar planets. The headdresses were towering, the frills were voluminuous, the skirts were miles in diameter. Nureyev was starting to feel a little overshadowed in his simple black suit with gold embellishments set into the silk. The drinks poured out billows of dry ice and came in every colour on the spectrum apart from the usual ones. The music was the only thing old school, classic, a simple piano played by a very talented individual on a small, circular centre platform. Nureyev smiled, it was funny how some things kept coming back into fashion. How old could seem new if it was just old enough.

And in amongst the noise, familiarity. Rita, dressed as a waitress, moving between the tables, chatting animatedly with everyone she brought drinks to so her rounds took about ten times longer than she needed to. Hopefully that slight, almost unnoticeable lump in the pocket of her trousers was the signal jammer, just in case their mark tried to call him some kind of backup or there was a tracker on the goods. Rita didn’t often come down on jobs like this, her place was usually back on the ship, but she’d been desperate to see the bar itself (it had apparently been the setting for one of the streams she liked so much) and besides, if the signal changed, the jammer would need to hunt it down to take it out and Rita was the only one Buddy trusted with that task.

Jet was posing as a patron, dressed in smart dark clothes with his hair pulled back rather neatly, looking like he was struggling with the drink that had been set down in front of him. Nureyev couldn’t blame him, the thing had glowing orbs in it that looked like alien eggs. Not that he’d be drinking much of it anyway, in his usual roll as the muscle, just in case things went south. Jet was always a strong, comforting presence when they went to task and Nureyev was really starting to appreciate it. Muscles were certainly something he’d lacked, if he could be said to lack anything aside humility. Speed and cunning he had but his wiry frame had earned him more than a few bruised ribs in the past when jobs had turned irritatingly sour and fists had come out. He’d learned how to avoid those sorts of outcomes fast.

Nureyev’s eyes continued along, taking in the electric blue lighting fixtures making them look like they were all underwater, sleek leather furnishings, glinting gold and jewels on necks and fingers and wrists. His fingers got that old itch in them but he stilled himself. After the prize was taken, perhaps, but certainly not a minute before.

But one thing unsettled him deeply about the whole situation. The one face he hadn’t seen. The one face he would know no matter what disguise or mask it wore, the one face he always looked for first. Juno Steel was nowhere his eyes could see.

Nureyev frowned. He knew Juno was supposed to be posing as an employee of the bar itself, Rita had worked hard forging them employment orders from the owners. He’d expected to see him behind the bar serving drinks and had gotten himself a little excited about flirting with him shamelessly. They’d had some fun experiences with that, playing around with their new personas when they were supposed to be strangers. Nureyev didn’t think that was breaking his golden rule either. He couldn’t imagine anyone not being attracted to Juno Steel.

But he wasn’t here and that was settling a heavy feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Too many unknowns. Too many, all centred around a person he cared about. Recipe for panic sparking through his nerves and poor decisions being made.

He tried to catch Rita or Jet’s eyes, tried to calmly and subtly convey the extreme anxiety raging behind his easy, playful bar patron’s expression. But at that moment the lighting shifted, swimming and coalescing on that centre platform. There was an old fashioned mic stand there now, clearly a shift in the entertainment to welcome the actual start of the evening. Though some glitzed up aspiring starlet caterwauling their way through some old Earth classics was hardly what he needed right now, when his boyfriend was AWOL in the middle of a mission. He ignored the gathering interest around the platform and scanned the available exits, head full of potential scenarios with the seller being tipped off somehow, grabbing Juno while everyone else was occupied, leaving him bleeding in the alleyways outside the bar…

Nureyev was halfway out of his seat, drink forgotten in front of him when an artificially amplified voice echoed through the bar room and stopped him in his tracks. No introduction, no preamble,

Just a soft, shy voice buoyed by the sweet piano music, a voice he knew well.

“The night is bitter

The stars have lost their glitter…”

Nureyev whirled his attention to where the rest of the patrons were focused, on the individual in the long, sleek red dress standing behind the microphone, his outfit simple compared to the others on display but so striking for that.

“The winds grow colder

Suddenly you're older…”

Nureyev knew he was gaping at him but he didn’t care. His curls were spilling out over the nape of his neck and forehead, looking so soft under the blue lighting. He looked otherworldly, like something fae and unnatural, glitter dusted over his bare shoulders where it would catch the light just so, the material of the dress shifting and spilling when he swayed to the piano. And his voice.

“And all because of the man that got away.”

Since when did Juno Steel have a voice like that?

If Nureyev had been able to tear his eyes away, he would have seen Rita standing towards the back of the crowd, jaw on the floor, eyes wide, hand having gone limp so a thin stream of neon green wine was dribbling onto the carpet from the bottle she was holding. He would have seen Jet with an eyebrow raised bemusedly, tapping his foot under the table, attention then caught by a man walking in looking more nervous than anyone out for a good time had any right to.

But all he saw was Juno. He was clearly shy at first, voice soft and small, his movements a little stiff. But as the song continued and the reactions from the crowd were clearly appreciative, he began to sway his hips slightly, taking his hands away from holding onto the mic stand in a death grip, letting them float at his sides as he sang. And he started to smile, soft and soulful like his song, full of wry bitterness and loss and longing.

“Every trick of his you're on to

But, fools will be fools

And where's he gone to?”

And then suddenly his eye was on Nureyev, picking him out in the crowd, narrowing the space between them to nothing until they could have been alone in his room back on the ship, voices hushed, lips brushing. And Juno’s smile quirked slightly, enough pin Nureyev to the bar, his breath coming out in a long, quiet exhale. He would make his dear heart sing for him, once this was done.

“The road gets rougher

It's lonelier and tougher

With hope you burn up

Tomorrow he will turn up

There's just no letup the live-long night and day…”

Nureyev could have fallen to his knees in that moment, with how deep and sweet his voice became, drunk without a single sip of his drink. But then Juno’s eye caught his again and slid pointedly over to a table in the shadowier corners. Their mark and the seller. A thin brown envelope being passed under the table, barely visible.

Nureyev went scarlet. Not one of his more professional moments.

He refocused, taking his crystal glass in his hand and sauntering over, like he was just looking for a better view of the stage, an easy thing to feign now Juno’s hands were resting on his chest in a gentle pantomime of heartbreak that was so very distracting. The mark was just getting up, clearly eager to make a quick exit. It was amateurish in the extreme, a millionaire really should have some more self awareness.

It was the simplest thing. Bump into him, the drink cascading over them both. Apologetic pleasantries, outraged exclamations. Pat ineffectually with a nearby napkin. Slip the envelope from the inner pocket and replace with a blank to mimic the weight. Pretend to only just notice that you have just swilled one of the richest men on Saturn and bid a hasty, flustered exit. Child’s play, as smooth and silken as when he’d first mastered the maneuver at thirteen.

Nureyev allowed himself a self satisfied smile, once he was out of view. It was good to know that some things would never go to rust.

He headed back to the stage, stopping to gently tip the wine bottle in Rita’s hand the right way then claim it for himself, taking a seat directly in front of the stage before tipping it to his lips, eyes fixed on Juno, a self satisfied smirk on his lips.

“Ever since this world began

There is nothing sadder than

A one-man woman looking for

The man that got away

The man that got away.”

There were a lot of rules when it came to working jobs, false facing, slipping on alibis like a second skin.

But no one said you couldn’t have fun.

Later, much later, Juno’s voice was raw and breaking from a full night of singing and the noises Nureyev had been drawing from him for the last three hours.

Considering his work done for now and smiling smugly, Nureyev let him fall back against his bed, curling around him and pillowing his head on his broad chest. There was still glitter clinging to his skin that would likely end up on Nureyev and refuse to budge for days but he couldn’t make himself care about that right now.

“Oh my god…” Juno was still panting, chest heaving, heart hammering against Nureyev’s ear, “I mean...oh my god, Nureyev…”

Nureyev chuckled, pressing a kiss to the warm skin beneath his head, “I rather enjoyed it too, dear heart. And I did say you’d be fairly rewarded for your performance, didn’t I?”

“I thought you meant you were gonna buy me a drink or something,” Juno laughed breathlessly, hands coming up to stroke through Nureyev’s soft hair, sort out where it was matted at the back from their efforts, “Not that.”

“Well, I did say the reward would fit the quality of your performance...and that was pretty spectacular.”

He heard the blush in Juno’s voice rather than saw it, he was far too comfortable in his current position, “Ah...I mean, I was alright. Just something I used to do when I was younger.”

“Oh?” Nureyev’s interest was sparked but he hid that. Juno spoke about his past so infrequently, even with all of their lengthy conversations before they’d fallen back into bed with each other. It was clearly still a wound and Nureyev had no desire to poke it.

“Yeah,” Juno continued on, “My brother was always in the school productions, even though it was always kind of crappy and the sets were junk and most kids' parents wouldn’t even come, he still lit up when it came back around. And because it was better than sitting on the curb waiting for him for hours, I signed up too. He was the real talent, Ben could sing, dance, act...everything. I could carry enough of a tune to get shoved into some minor roles but...whenever I sang, even if it was just a few lines, he’d go crazy applauding for me and grinning a mile wide. Really, I was just doing it to see him smile. I knew it made him happy when I joined in.”

Nureyev smiled gently at that, hand reaching out to  entwine his fingers with Juno’s, “I’m sure he’d have loved to see you sing tonight.”

“Oh, Ben would have laughed his ass off seeing me up there trying to be all femme fatale,” Juno hummed, holding Nureyev’s hand just as tightly, “But...yeah. It was hard not to think of him while I was up there.”

“And...what would he have made of the man drinking wine and watching you all gooey eyed, hm?”

“That asshole?” Juno cuddled Nureyev closer with his free arm, “Nah...he’d have liked you. He’d have realised you’re good for me.”

Nureyev buried his face in the crook of Juno’s neck, feeling a burst of delight in his chest at that, at the idea that he was good for someone.

And that someone was good for him.