#i added zero coloring and only a shift in the lighting

[musicboxmemories]

1x8

[senjutsunade]

#Blind Incandescence - Detective AU

Note: I randomly came across this - 'T was hilarious. We must continue. Putting it here for easier access.

Thread Title: Data, Drama and Coffee Karma

@uchihaa-itachi:

“For the record, both of you owe me coffee.” Came the monotonous voice from behind a flickering computer screen, “Also, mind telling me who gave Naruto access to the case files?”

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@senjutsunade:

She’s exhausted.

Her head hurts.

They have been trying to fix Naruto’s mess for the last few hours. And how her eyes are ready to bleed out of their sockets.

What was it with Uzumaki fingers and destruction?

Deadpanning, her only response isto throw a pink highlighter at the Uchiha.

“Blame Kakashi!”

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@konohagakurekakashi:

A non-committal humm was his only response as he shifted within his seat, back and shoulders popping in protest. He vaguely wondered how he contributed to the curse that was solely attached to the Uzumaki name (and fingerpads) before his stare settled on the empty belly of his pug mug. Itachi-chan was right about one thing though, they could all do with another refill.

He would have to get to that, seeing as the Uchiha was still trapped in the all-encompassing void of data-input, the light of his screen casting ghostly shadows underneath his lids. Their honored employer was engaged in a battle with a pad of sticky-notes; each treacherous slip, tearing and crumpling before she can stick her reprimands and scribbles to the Intern's chair/table/Ramen calandar (there was also the datum that Tsunade-sama's coffee usually came with an added kick, punch and bodyslam--each sip doing it's bit to disintegrate the esophagus). Kakashi sweatdropped at the thought. Iie he would definitely have to be the propitiatory lamb here. Absently clearing his throat Kakashi's pencil rose from his half-done crossword to flick twice at the switch of their trusted coworker (Mr coffee maker).

"Sou des ne... I need an 8 letter word for difficult... Starting with a T..."

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@uchihaa-itachi:

Cue a noncommittal hum as pale digits caught the offensively colored highlighter, dark orbs pausing to shoot the blond a look that would be more or less ignored. This was routine, after all, though he supposed he ought to consider him lucky it was stationary this time. They were already up to their eyebrows in paperwork and certainly didn’t need an addition in the form of carpenter bills. 

Yare ne...Eyes flickered back to the computer screen, gaze zeroing in on an obnoxious line of code that had no business in a computer software that could barely process binary to begin with. Thus was the power of funding and accident prone little kouhai fingers that could do more damage than they were probably worth. 

“Try toilsome.” Like our collective existence. 

The sound of bubbling liquid was quite welcome in their dingy little void.

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@senjutsunade:

Late hours were become far too common, recently. Cases were coming their way far too frequently. Becoming increasingly absurd. Inhumane. And so, despite the apparent annoyance, these moments were somewhat relaxing.

Or they would have been, if she weren’t being consumed by an  endless amount of paperwork. Hadn’t she done all this not even 4 days ago?

Letting out a barely audible sigh, she tried once again to read the scrawl that was supposed to be...a receipt? A report? A grocery list? Eye twitching in annoyance, she scribbled furiously on a sticky note, and sapped it into the offensive paper, as if force was required to make it stick.

Growling, a glare was directed at Kakashi. “Or Tortuous”. Maybe she should try sticking a few to some of the interns foreheads? “Troublesome!” With a stapler to make them really stick? “Taxing!” the eight letter requirement completely forgotten.

“Irksome!”And so went the ‘starting with T’ requirement out of the window. The annoying paper was shoved away, as another one, with STAINS of some sort on it, was revealed. “Inconvenient!”

Why were these intern creatures becoming more useless each year? “Problematic!!!” As she started scribbling another note, furiously, her pen decided to run out of ink that very moment and thus the useless stationary was hurled at the silver haired idiot, this time.

“Infuriating!”

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@konohagakurekakashi:

His superior’s initial huffs and glowers soared over his head like a paper plane, the Hatake having built up a resistance against the special brand © she reserved just for him within the second year of his employment at Anbu--much like her endurance toward his time-keeping skills and very valid, very real excuses. When her ire started to ascent with each scrap and crinkle of paper however, Kakashi spared a prudent gaze in her direction, pencil long having scratched ‘toilsome’ into each awaiting, puzzle block. Yet, the only thing his concerned gaze got him was a pen to the chin, grey hues following the way the offending piece of stationary fell back onto his desk, before rolling onto the carpet and underneath the copying machine (never to be seen or heard of again) Fact. The underside of their copying Machine was a No-Man’s land. “Maa…Maa…I think you’re running on low blood sugar, Tsunade-sama, if your arms keep jerking like that, you’re ‘gonna get a paper-cut.” He slowly stood from his seat, wincing at the familiar ache that came with horrendous, desk posture—before closing the distance leading to Mr Coffee Maker. “I’d recommend the usual order from the usual place, demo, I think they closed down two weeks ago due to non-compliance with health regulations…” Cue a quirk of his brow in the Uchiha’s direction to confirm same, before he started his search for the Sugar container—the stupid crock never being in the same place at the same time (mutant ants—being the ongoing theory).

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@konohagakurekakashi & @uchihaa-itachi

[oliviaberkeley]

where: the top of the standard on DECEMBER 31ST. time: around ten in the evening.

closed starter for rahi kumar — @astrorahi

Caterers dressed in spotless white outfits walked between tables of beautifully crafted food, meticulously inching plates into just so positions and shifting one dish for another to create a more cohesive presentation for New Years Eve. Long strings of lights hung over the walls, crafting rows that illuminated the penthouse lounge with its expansive views. Florists added the last springs of Baby’s Breath to vibrantly colorful bouquets of flowers, double and then triple checking water amount and temperature. Men ( and a woman she noticed who she'd initially mistook for a fellow attendee ) with the physiques of bodybuilders roamed among the gathering chaos of high profile guests with purpose, pressing two fingers to their earpieces at random intervals to once again confirm the safety of their company. All in all, The Standard delivered once more. Olivia had been sitting at her table for about an hour, giving her feet a much needed rest when her eyes landed on someone very familiar — and immediately, she sprang onto her heels and into action as if she had no soreness just moments before.

She knew her brother would give her hell for snooping, but that had never deterred Olivia from having impulsive ambition towards an objective with zero reservations. Possessing anything from an intricate skillset to off limits conversation — if she could get her foot in the door, she’d charm her way into forbidden territory with such unwavering precision it could fool anyone into believing she rightfully belonged there ( and she often did ). Unfortunately, due to the nature of her busy life, Olivia’s raison d'être switched dramatically every week, making her semi-accomplished at dabbling in a great many things — master of none. Though her charming, intelligent and witty nature existed with outstanding status, proudly boasting over a decade of service as a testament to the ones who knew her best ( and unfortunately in other ways for those that underestimated her ). Nothing made her chemistry obsessed heart soar like making something substantial out of basically nothing. She had an eye for these types of things; and from what she'd heard from Easton briefly, private as he was, she'd worked her magic when it came to setting him up with one Rahi Kumar a couple of months prior.

[  Easton  →  Liv ]:  I can't make it tonight unfortunately. I'm stuck in L.A. [  Easton →  Liv ]:  Please don't interrogate Rahi if you happen to bump into each other. I know how you are. [  Easton  →  Liv ]:  I love you, Livy. Happy New Year just in case I can't get through. Tell Julian I said hello.

Keyword: know. Well, in her defense it was only natural to want to see how things were playing out considering it was all her doing in the first place. Before she knew it, Olivia was standing behind the man of the moment and, very politely, tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention before casually offering: “My darling brother couldn't make it, huh? What a shame." A beat as she sighed dramatically, an impish smirk making an encore on her features. "You ever tried closing your eyes and making a wish? Heard that can work sometimes. Positive law of attraction and all that.”

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

But It Beats the Darkness - the Malevolent Big Bang 2024, ch 11: SACRIFICE

"It may not be much light but it beats the darkness" ~ Charles Bukowski, The Laughing Heart

AO3

NOTE BEFORE READING

This is the eleventh and final part of a Darkthur fic. There is violence and bodily harm.

This fic was written in tandem with Kraiva's IT MAY NOT BE MUCH LIGHT, and is intended to be read together, though both are standalone. For the fullest experience, read the corresponding chapter from each fic. We'll be linking the connected chapters in the end notes of each.

The incredible art in chapters two and eleven are by @wurmeon. The breathtaking 3D models in chapter six are from @iconiccookie.

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

John knew Wallace Larson would not come alone, and the coward did not disappoint. Six vehicles bumped along that old farm road, just visible through the trees. Each of them carried at least four large beings of humanoid shape.

If they hadn’t set this trap right… He’s brought a lot of men, said John evenly. Close to two dozen. I can’t even fucking tell which truck he’s in. 

“We’re ready,” said Arthur, teeth bared. 

Parker (who had apparently been learning magic , the upstart) snapped the stolen book shut. “Traps are set. Mines are good.” He wore Dreamlands couture, a simple tunic and trousers in a color not native to Earth. Annoyingly, he wore them well.

“I’m ready, too,” said Arthur, and held out his hand.

Parker hesitated. “Sure you’re good holdin’ onto this, English?”

“The book is the bait. Between that and John, Larson will have to zero in on me,” Arthur said.

It was true. It was also key to John’s secret plan. And then when we kill him, whatever power he’s banked gets added to what Yog-Sothoth’s failed ritual already gathered.

Except it wouldn’t. He’d be grabbing for it. And so, he knew, would Hastur. 

Parker nodded. “And then we redirect that somewhere safe. You got that, Hastur?”

“Yes,” the other god lied through the fucking hole in reality . “It will be… challenging. If this portal closes before this is done, I believe the both of us will die.”.

Parker deadpanned, “Well, think the whole idea is for you to not let it do that.”

(John refused to like him. It was the principle of the thing.)

Hastur laughed darkly. “Losing faith already?” he said, warm and syrupy.

That was an odd response. The way he’d said that wasn’t… right.

“We’ve got this,” said Arthur, frowning. “They’re nearly here. Get hidden.” 

It wasn’t just the way Hastur said that. Something was up with Parker, too—the way he kept looking through that torn space, and the way Hastur’s limbs undulated as if pleased to be looked at. Hm, John murmured, but then there was no time to analyze it further.

#

The vehicles crested the hill, rounding that last corner, parking in a row and effectively cutting off escape. At that moment, the wards Asenath cast closed. They made no sound, coming down, melting like icing down the sides of a hot cake, but all forest sounds ceased. They were trapped. There was no going back now.

The doors opened, and Larson’s small army disembarked.

John steeled himself. This had to be fast. They’d all agreed: Larson came with the assumption that his wealth and his resources would win this day. He came prepared to win by overwhelming.

So they would strike the heart before he had a chance.

Larson stood there, dwarfed by his freakish family members. He shifted in his long, expensive coat, hands in his pockets, looking around like a man bored with life. He seemed unimpressed by the New England winter, by the weird altar, and certainly by Arthur, who stood leaning on that altar, breathing fast. 

John growled low.

Larson studied them. He looked around, evidently decided he might not be in danger, and faced them. “Well, well, well. Arthur Lester. Has it really been only a few days? You look ragged, boy, like some cloak dragged through the mud.”

“Fuck you,” said Arthur.

The corner of Larson’s mouth turned up. “No, thank you. Well, you led us on a merry chase, I won’t lie, but it’s over now. Whatever you’re planning to do here won’t work; do you even know where you are?”

“A source of power," Arthur snarled.

“Ha!” Larson’s sneer twisted, developing into one John knew: anticipation of someone else’s pain. “One you can’t access. Nobody can access it. Whatever plan you had is already busted. There ain’t no more room for runnin’, boy.”

And then Arthur held up the book.

Larson’s sneer froze, but his eyes grew huge.

“Funny you should say that,” Arthur said, thankfully following the script. “I found something on our journey. Turns out I knew where it was all along… and you just never got it out of me. You’ve lost , Larson, you child-murdering, chicken-fucking, sloppy-skinned rat!”

Well, that bit was off-script, but it was also glorious. Hahaha! Oh, John liked his human. Yes Arthur!

Larson’s expression twisted into the one he’d worn before cutting off Arthur’s arm, which meant it was go-time. “Boys,” he said quietly, his face pale with high red spots. “Do me a favor. Bring him to me alive, and get me that book.”

And the fools started toward them.

Now, Arthur!

Arthur ducked behind the altar.

Here was where trust came in. If Parker had lied, or been less capable than he seemed, they were all going to die here today. Well, it turned out he hadn’t lied. One moment, goat-like men were stomping toward Arthur, rough hands promising pain, cold eyes vowing torture. The next, they exploded.

Pockets of power in the ground detonated beneath them, stripping skin and vaporizing bone. The monsters howled, clawing at their faces as their eyes turned to acid. Most of them died, splattered.

Chunks of rock and dirt and bones flew everywhere. Larson (quick little weasel that he was) had gotten behind a truck just in time, and the shrapnel cracked the truck windows and busted out the headlights, denting the painted metal.

Yes, yes, yes! All but three of those monsters were down , gone to join their fucking uncle Jack. John laughed, a big sound, a cruel sound, a terrible, terrible sound. Coward!

Arthur popped out and laughed, too, holding up the book. “Don’t want it anymore? Come out and face me, you coward! ”

“What the fuck,” came from behind the truck, high and scared, a delicious thing to hear from that man. “Wh… you! You’re still moving—get him! He can’t have many more of those!”

The three on the periphery who’d avoided the mines looked at one another, shocked and shrapnel-bloodied, and they ran Arthur’s way.

Hastur sang.

His voice tore through that hole in precise, woven, glorious power, and John hated it, and yearned for it, and their eyes watered as he remembered the feel of his own self circulating through his veins. That molten-gold bass was his, supposed to be his, and he would have it back.

(This wasn’t about Larson. Larson was the distraction. The only ones who knew that were the two halves of the King in Yellow, and neither carried delusions.)

The first goat-man reached them, swinging a meaty fist as big as Arthur’s head.

John manifested his arm and hit hard .

Arthur groaned, but only John heard it as the goat-man went flying backward, slamming into the truck with a meaty, final crunch. 

“Fuck!” Larson cried, his voice cracking. 

The other two goatmen hesitated now, unsure what to do with this; they’d never been good at thinking on their feet, and John had warned Larson about relying on them, but of course, he hadn’t listened—

“That all you got?” screamed Arthur at the top of his lungs.

That was Parker’s cue.

Parker.

Parker—who may have once been the simple gumshoe Arthur knew, but now was far more, sprinted out of the woods behind the trucks, silent, strong, and absolutely rippling with Hastur’s power.

Priest. He was a priest, and John saw, John knew, this priest was channeling Hastur’s power with an ease that sickened, that made John weirdly defensive over his own battered and bony ride, and Parker was a priest at that level in just a few days what the hell had they been doing?

Some fucked-up instinct caught Larson’s attention, and he spun just in time to avoid the blast of golden power Parker shot right at his face.

It burned, whizzing past, and took out one of the final goatmen—blew a hole right through his chest, and the monster stood there for a moment, mouth slack and eyes blank, before falling heavily and wetly to the ground.

But that’s not all it did.

“You motherfucker!” Larson screamed, dancing backwards, avoiding the follow-up punch Parker then threw. Blood streamed down his face and spattered his fine clothes; that spell had taken the skin off one side of his head… including his right ear.

Hahaha! John howled. Duck!

Arthur did, and the remaining goatman missed, slamming his fist into the altar instead with a crunch.

John used the tentacle to shove the goatman back, but it was too much power, and Arthur fell to his knees.

Arthur’s heart stuttered. John felt it, felt it , and froze.

The goatman came at them again, fist raised. 

And a tentacle the size of a car came out of the hole in the air, out of the Dreamlands. Ebony black and powerful, sparking with golden power, it grabbed the monster, lifted him howling into the air, and then squeezed.

The crunch of a ribcage was something John missed hearing, and he laughed again as the limp, misshapen goatman fell dead.

Blood hit the altar. Blood spilled on it, as if sacrificed, and the ground shook.

Arthur stayed on his knees. Up ahead, Parker’s next swing missed as he staggered, he and Larson both thrown off-kilter by the sudden quake.

This was it. This was the moment. This was his moment. He had to get Larson closer. Up, Arthur! Wave the book! Get his attention!

“Right,” Arthur panted, and began to pull himself upright.

Larson fired a gun, and Arthur spun with a gasp.

Parker was protected (Priest? Fucking high priest, more like), and the bullet ricocheted in a flurry of golden sparks. 

For absolutely no good reason, this was the moment Larson seemed to realize who this was—the man who’d been with Arthur, who’d taken his book, who’d upended all his plans. “You fucking thief!” Larson snarled at Parker Yang, priest, but instead of fighting back, he turned and ran… toward Arthur. He ran at them looking completely unhinged, eyes on fire, teeth bared, hands like claws, chanting something unspeakable. 

All according to plan. This would be the second sacrifice. (And John had planned, sort of, to use Arthur if it came down to it, but of course he didn’t have to, and Parker would be a better sacrifice anyway, and—) Here he comes, John said, low and wicked. Time for the final inspiration. Arthur… her name was Addison.

He’d saved that one, and he was glad, because the use of it flipped a switch in Arthur’s head. The man (his host, that was all, his host ) shrieked like a fucking pterodactyl and lunged.

Three things happened at once.

One: Parker somehow snagged the back of Larson’s collar and pulled, choking the asshole, cutting his spell and attack off out of John’s reach.

Two: No! John reached, trying to grab Larson back, extending—

Three: Arthur fell. Just fell, like a puppet with cut strings.

Arthur!

Arthur panted, pushing himself up on his elbow. “You killed her!” he wheezed.

John had moments to pull this back in control. Let go , you fucking priest! he snarled, and knowing what it was costing, reached further and pulled Larson out of Parker’s grip and toward them, slamming him against the altar. Arthur! Now!

“No!” Larson shouted, telling Adair exactly where he was.

Arthur pulled out his trench knife, wriggled his fingers through the ring guard, and he brought the blade down with all the strength in his wiry form.

Larson screamed.

“You killed her! You killed her!” Arthur shrieked, stabbing again and again, throwing his whole asymmetrical weight into it. He stabbed through Larson’s hand, through his chest and throat, into his shoulder, into his side. “You killed her! You killed her!”

“English!” Parker shouted. “Arthur!”

Arthur heard nothing. He stabbed, and John held Larson up to take it, dead now and limp and jerking with every new strike, and now, now, the altar began to tremble, too.

Its blood-debt was fulfilled.

Yes, John said, and began laughing. Yes! He threw Larson’s barely-recognizable body away.

Arthur staggered, off-balance with the power of that toss.

And Hastur’s voice suddenly pipped through the damn hole again, commanding in song

No! It’s mine! John snarled, and gripped the altar with his long, powerful tentacle, not quite as black and beautiful as Hastur’s, sure, but it was here , and the other King was not.

Arthur fell, held upright only by the strength of John’s grip.

Parker started for them, then stopped, doubling over as if stabbed himself. Between them, the hole in the air—the door between worlds—was closing.

Hastur’s voice rose, cradling his priest.

John focused. Pulling. Taking. 

The ground began trembling so hard that dirt danced over its surface. Parker changed direction, staggering away from Arthur and toward that ugly slash in the air, sawing at it with Asenath’s blade. Yes, yes, keep doing that, John thought, because he was almost there, he almost had it.

Arthur hung, barely breathing, pressed against cold and trembling stone as John began to chant. The power… John’d had no idea how much power was stored in this place, and it splashed into what Hastur was sending through, filling John like electricity and wine, and all he could do was respond .

Every pebble and twig rose from the ground as if worshiping in his presence. It thickened, filling John, speeding their heart and warping his sight. He laughed. This was it! At last! Restoration, reclamation! Earth was his, all of it was his! Except—

The other him fought back, and this power (John’s! His!) whipped away, torn into the gap of the Dreamlands like the air sucked out of a window and into a storm.

No! John fought back harder. His!

Parker tried to get back to Arthur, but instead rose into the air along with all the corpses, and the pebbles and twigs and trucks, and he flailed uselessly.

Arthur was down for the count. Now, it was between John and Hastur, and John would win.

John pulled.

Hastur pulled.

John would have this. It’s mine! Mine! Let go! Fuck you! Let go!

Hastur’s voice rose in song (probably keeping his stupid priest alive), and he must have opened another mouth to speak so clearly: “John! You’re killing him! ”

Him. Arthur. Arthur?

Arthur hung by John’s grip, head lolling, pressed against the altar. He didn’t move at all.

Was he breathing?

John couldn’t tell. There was so much power jackhammering through him, battering all John’s senses. 

( At any cost. )

No. He could do this! He… I am taking what I’m due! The power rose from this altar like a sunrise, like a bomb, like a blowing wind. 

Corpses went tumbling over the hill, pebbles and twigs and all blasted away. Parker clung to Hastur’s tentacle, extended through the gap, and like some fucking painting, they held on to one another as Parker was buffeted by John’s (his!) power.

Arthur groaned. He was alive. He was alive? His heart strained, and that, John felt.

No, no, no, it was so close! It was here, all of it was here, and it was his only fucking chance! Let go!

And then, insanely, “You aren’t alone,” his other half said under the unceasing rumble of his song, as if that would mean anything , as if John hadn’t already been alone , as if that grief and regret in the other’s voice could be real at all. “This won’t fix it. We can’t rejoin—but we can help. Don’t throw away your host.”

(At any cost.)

Arthur was dying, but he had enough lifeforce to do what John needed to do. To… to…

John groaned. Power thickened the air, like they were all in syrup. Let go! he cried to his other half, but this time, it sounded panicked. 

“I can’t,” Hastur sang back. “The power must go somewhere. If you take it within you, Arthur will die.” His massive bulk shuddered. “Let me help you.”

Arthur would—

(At any cost)

Arthur was necessary for—

(At any cost?)

Arthur’s heart stuttered again. And then he did the worst, awfulest, most cruel thing he could: “John,” he wheezed. “I trust you.”

(At any…)

John couldn’t do it.

Not at the cost of Arthur Lester. 

He could not.

He let go.

The power snapped away as if cupped in a slingshot, and Hastur’s grip on it proved true. With an ear-bleeding crack, the altar broke, and John’s limb vanished as he gave Arthur back what lifeforce he had left. They collapsed. 

Trees tore from the hilltop. Boulders crashed down below. And then slowly, it all settled, and the howling wind calmed, and the power was gone. 

John was left behind. John was bereft . He wept.

Arthur inhaled wildly, breathing fully at last, his heart pounding but no longer unsteady. “John? John! Talk to me!”

Parker groaned. “Fucking hell , English,” he said, rising from where Hastur had gently placed him. 

John didn’t answer. He’d lost. He’d lost everything. And he didn’t even know why.

“Parker,” said Hastur, groaned Hastur, as his limb retreated through that narrowing hole.

“John,” Arthur whispered. “I’ve got you. I knew you’d do the right thing. I knew.”

John didn’t know what he’d done. John didn’t know why he’d done it. John would never have his throne back, his body back. John…

“Material from the Dreamlands, and material from Earth! Go to Arthur!”  Hastur barked. “Now!” And Hastur’s song rose again as Parker laid out his cloak, scattering a handful of dirt over it. “Yeah?”

“Arthur’s blood!” Hastur bellowed.

What in fuck were they doing?

“John,” whispered Arthur. “I’ve got you.”

Fuck, whispered John. No you don’t. I’m lost. I’m lost.

“Sorry,” Parker breathed, his face pale; he wiped his hand under Arthur’s nose, coating his fingers red.

“Parker?” whispered Arthur.

“Good enough!” Hastur roared, and Parker darted back, smearing it on the cloth.

Parker panted, golden power spitting from his veins. “Hastur—”

“Trust me,” Hastur said, barely audible over the song.

The song transformed into a demanding tune, a commanding tune, a shaping melody with the will of one who creates . It came from one who’d sung Carcosa into being (and John remembered), and one who could mold reality to his will (and John grieved), and the power of it gripped him so tightly that John suddenly feared he was going to be destroyed. 

“John,” Hastur called, gently. “Thank you.”

For fucking what?

Arthur tried to sit up, failed, and lay back down.

“Hastur?” Parker called.

“I need you to trust me once more,” Hastur rumbled. “A gift, John.”

John almost didn’t respond. What?

“You have earned your freedom,” Hastur said. “I will not leave you alone.”

How could the other do anything? It was all over, for the sake of a fucking human , and—

“You must choose to leave him,” Hastur said. “As I have chosen to untangle myself from Parker. I cannot give you the power; but I can give you this.”

John choked. Leave him? Leave this host? How can I do that? He’s all I have left! Some rage slipped through. I just gave up everything for him!

“I know,” Hastur said, his voice full of grief (why, why, why). “I know. But you will not lose him.”

There was nothing left but this host.

Arthur may not have been worth that much before, but now? Arthur was worth the resurrection of a god. I…

Arthur managed to sit up. Arthur was alive. That mattered. “Is it… good for him?” Arthur said.

“Yes,” said Hastur. “This, I swear to you.”

Arthur’s breath hitched, and he wiped his face. “Then I release you, John. I release you.”

No! Wait!

The wind whipped, howled; Hastur’s song grew, triumphant, shimmering in the air, thickening with glorious life and joy and incredible magic—and just as John though he could take no more, would burst at the seams, would explode in Arthur’s eyes and kill them both, it fell silent.

John couldn’t feel anything but the echoes of that power, throbbing. He couldn’t see. He moaned.

Arthur’s gasping was loud, and… somehow to the left?

“It is done,” Hastur said quietly, slightly muffled as though through a quilt. (And John couldn’t see, but it wasn’t completely dark, was it? And there was pressure on him, against… his right side, somehow?)

“What did you do? ” Parker cried.

“What was right,” Hastur said.

John felt the hole between worlds shrink. He hurt more. His whole self kept pounding somehow, beating internally as if something with a hammer had snuck inside him and was knocking down walls.

“Wait,” Parker said. “Wait. Wait! Don’t let it close! The knife—where’s the fucking knife?”

“Parker,” Hastur said, so softly, so gently. “I have done as we agreed. You have returned home, to aid your partner.”

“You can’t,” Parker said, voice breaking. “You can’t—I changed my mind. Come through. Hastur, come with me! You could fix this place! I know you could! Don’t—don’t leave me alone!”

“Never,” said Hastur. “I gave you my word, Parker Yang, and I adore you too much to break it.”

(It hurt, it hurt, it… wait, Hastur what? )

Parker sobbed. “Then take me back,” he wept. “I can’t—”

Wait. What was happening? The other was abandoning his priest? (And John shifted, feeling strange, feeling heavy .)

“You can,” said the god. “Arthur needs you yet. I will not let you live with regret, my most favored priest.”

“No,” Parker sobbed. “No. You can’t���don’t fucking do this to me!”

“Parker…” Arthur sounded… away. Off to the side. Not like a host should. “Parker, you…” 

“Go to him,” Hastur said softly. “I will not abandon you, my most beloved. When the Dreamlands are worthy of you once more, I will retrieve you; and no power will keep me from your side.”

“Q-question,” Parker sobbed. “That true?”

“As true as my love,” Hastur said. “Farewell, Parker Yang, gem among mortals. Dream sweet of me.”

As true as his what in fuck?

With an ear-pinching shift, the tear in reality closed. Silence; then Parker made a sound as if he’d fallen to his knees, and he screamed. 

“Parker?” said Arthur, even further away. 

Parker merely sobbed.

John wasn’t blind. He was under something . He wasn’t throbbing from magical hammers. He had a heart . A beating heart, and his side hurt because he lay on rocky ground and was naked. He lay under something that smelled familiar.

Arthur pulled the King’s yellow cloak back, and John finally fully grasped what had happened. He lay on the ground, staring up. Hastur had done creation . Hastur had done the impossible. Arthur had let go, for John’s sake, and Hastur… had given him a body.

[ID:

A drawing of John and Arthur. John is sitting up; he has black skin, black hair, and yellow eyes, and is partially covered in a yellow cloak. Arthur is kneeling down towards John and pulling his cloak off of his face. Arthur has brown hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. He is wearing a beige shirt and brown pants, and is missing his left arm. They are in front of a slate blue slab cracked in two pieces. The background is green grass and trees off in the far distance, and there are slate blue pillars among the hills.

End ID]

John stared down at himself. His own skin, dark as night, was whole and unharmed in spite of his screaming nerves. Black hair hung to his shoulders. It was a shockingly human body (though at least it was well-appointed ), and he stared up at Arthur again—Arthur, whose irises had gone back to steel-blue, no longer gold. 

Arthur gawked at him. Back at Parker. Back at this. “John?”

“Arthur,” said John, voice unsteady, unable to say what this was or why it mattered or how he’d come to make the choice he had. He looked at this human worth the resurrection of a god, and the tears came only from his own eyes, no longer shared by Arthur. 

John hadn’t asked for this, to be human, to be mortal, to be… what was going on?

“Hold on,” Arthur said, and crawled back to his (stupid) partner. “Parker. Parker!”

Parker looked up, eyes red, and weakly smiled. “H-hey,” he managed. “English. Fuck.”

“I can see you,” Arthur said, and made a sound that wasn’t weeping and wasn’t laughing. “Hey. Hey, we… we did it. We did it.” He reached with his one hand to help Parker sit up.

“We did it,” Parker repeated, regret darkening his face. “We—”

“Fuck you both! ” cried John, betrayed by his own body beginning to lurch with misery, his breath going uneven and betraying him. He clutched the King’s yellow to himself like a teddy bear. It was cold here. That was part of the reason things hurt.

“That’s what he was doing,” Parker whispered, eyes enormous as he took in John’s form. “Holy fuck.”

Arthur swallowed. “You’re free.”

Arthur. Who was worth the resurrection of a god. 

John fixed his gaze on his former host. That cost would be coming out of his hide. Somehow. “Like any of you are worth it!” he snarled in denial of a thing they hardly understood.

“The matter from the Dreamlands, and from Earth,” Parker murmured. “That… the Dreamlands, to give him purchase. Earth, to ground him here.”

“What?” said Arthur weakly. “Parker, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Parker lied badly. “I mean—are you?”

Arthur’s gripped Parker’s shoulder. “We did it,” he said again. “And… and…” His face twisted. “John’s… here? And…” He swallowed. “Did… the god… say love? ””

Parker looked uncomfortable. “I… It’s… He did say love. It’s… It’s complicated.”

Arthur stared for a moment. He swallowed. “Does he make you happy?”

Parker stared at Arthur as if seeing a sunrise for the first time. “It don’t, uh…” He gulped. “Bother you?”

Arthur frowned at him. “Does Hastur make you happy or not, Yang?”

None of this was addressing the most important thing. John tried to stand and fell back on his naked ass. Who knew standing on two limbs was much harder than on twenty-five? How was that even fair?

“Yeah,” Parker said said, tension melting. “He… he does. And I think I make him happy too.”

Arthur looked stunned. “A god. That… that’s what that was, right? A real god.”

A god! It was his other half! And John wasn’t… he wasn’t ungrateful, but he… but he… why did he only have two legs? And why was Arthur over there?

“Yep,” Parker said—and cracked a smile. “Don’t worry, English. Not gonna be draggin’ you to services. It’s…” He looked away, gaze distant. “It’s not really like that. I’m not… You know how I am. That’s not me.”

“Yeah. I know.” Arthur rubbed his eyes again. “You love him? He loves you? You… you found… you found what you needed in the Dreamlands?”

Priest, John’s golden ass . He got it! He figured it out. They thought they’d been sneaky, but ha! John staggered to them, clutching the cloak to his chest, and glared.  “Parker Yang,” he snarled. “Did you fuck my other half?”

(masterpost)

Notes:

Read the accompanying chapter of It May Not Be Much Light here! Listen. You are not prepared for the level of dork we both are. Thus. Trin and Kraiva, respectively. Yes, those shirts are real.

[IMAGE ID Two images, each showing a woman wearing a bright yellow shirt that says, "PARKER YANG, DID YOU FUCK MY OTHER HALF?!" On the left is Trin, with medium long dark hair and red glasses and a smile. On the right is Kraiva, with short brown hair and a shrug as if to say, "whaddaya gonna do." Both are wearing pajama bottoms. END ID]

[jaderimehardt]

Resin First Attempts

Ohhhh, where do I even start~?

In one of my previous posts, I said as soon as I get enough things, I will go out in the garage and start tinkering around even if it's 11pm, midnight, or 1am- didn't I? Yeah, well, that happened, Lol 😅. I was outside in the garage until 2:30am and probably didn't make it to bed until around 3:15am-ish. Details. (I forget when I started, uh, 6pm?)

Second day I went out there earlier but I was probably still out there for about 8-hours? Time can fly by quick this craft! And you don't even notice it. Holy geez.

The first night taking so long, made sense. I was trying to organize things, pull out tools for the first time. Basically get acquainted with my 'Mise en place' (totally a cooking phrase but whatever, I'm using it here).

I've only made 6 bezels so far, and used some of my extra resin in some earring molds (that I haven't added backings to yet) but...! Right now I'm just toying around with techniques and trying to get the hang of things. I think I even already found a new one? I've watched so many resin videos and I've yet to see anyone do this thing 🤔

Anyhow. Here are my very first bezels 😊

Some of these pictures were taken on a cloudy day and some were not... I didn't edit the lighting in photoshop either. And on top of that- I took some pictures next to my backdoor, some in my bedroom, and some in my garage where I've been making these. I did this intentionally to show the lighting variations of the resin, coloring, mica powder, glitters, etc etc.

That potion bottle was my very FIRST one. I'm likely going to keep that one forever as a memento. I had zero intention at the start to add the hearts but had a lightbulb 💡 moment.

Dr. Stone inspiration kicked in and I instantly thought of Senku's love potion at the start of the anime 🤣. In hindsight I should have used the round potion bottle but the love potion idea was literally an afterthought - still came out cute as heck, imo.

If you're wondering about the snowflake ones when it's the beginning of Spring- I was trying really hard to get a Captain Hitsugaya (Bleach) themed bezel but it just wasn't happening for me 🫠

This purple one is a prime example of how different lightings can make a bezel look different. It has me questioning how I want to post this on Etsy in the future 🤔. Many pictures I guess 🤷🏻‍���️

I wanted something quite literally like a teardrop....? This one has the smallest imperfection in the world that I can see at the weirdest angle if I look at it really hard, LOL. I know it's stupid, but I'm OCD like that. Uhhh... I probably need a better light in the garage so I can avoid this in the future. I think I didn't see a bubble before curing or something. Not 100% sure.

This one has an aurora+pearl mix type mica and aurora glitter so it's constantly shifting colors in the sunlight. It also has intentional ombre, though it's not as dramatic as I wanted. Yeah... definitely a trial and error learning process going on here, lol. I still very much like how it came out. I added the shining star at the bottom to symbolize 'a light in the darkness'.

Couple last shots of some already seen ones- garage shot + bedroom shot. Just to show varying lighting.

Don't worry, I'm not going to do this every time (I think). Maybe 1-2. One near sunlight and one against a white backdrop that I'll setup somewhere. Seems more professional that way, less messy, and maybe my posts won't be a novel long each time 🙃

>>>

Oh let me add a couple somethings!

🔹 I'm still working on getting my Etsy up. I think I just need a banner and an icon? Smol simple things really. There might be more but I think that's it. Aside from me learning how to actually post a listing. I probably won't start selling anything until I get better at this though and feel confident with it. ALSO, I still haven't received the packaging supplies I ordered (bubble mailers). Who knows when I'll get that.

🔹 Yes, those are a bunch of octopus plushies in the background of my pictures. Be prepared to see them a lot, and a lot more other octopuses in my pictures. They are everywhere. Octos are friends in this house 🐙💓

[blackwoolncrown]

For the past few days, a heatwave has glowered over the Pacific Northwest, forcing temperatures in the region to a record-breaking 118ºF. Few people in the region—neither Americans nor Canadians—have air-conditioning. Stores sold out of new AC units in hours as a panicked public sought a reasonable solution to the emergency. Unfortunately, air-conditioning is part of what’s causing the unusual heatwave in the first place.

We came close to destroying all life on Earth during the Cold War, with the threat of nuclear annihilation. But we may have come even closer during the cooling war, when the rising number of Americans with air conditioners—and a refrigerant industry that fought regulation—nearly obliterated the ozone layer. We avoided that environmental catastrophe, but the fundamental problem of air conditioning has never really been resolved.

Mechanical cooling appeared in the early 1900s not for comfort but for business. In manufacturing, the regulation of temperature—“process cooling”—controlled the quality of commodities like cotton, tobacco, and chewing gum. In 1903, Alfred Wolff installed the first cooling system for people at the New York Stock Exchange because comfortable traders yielded considerably higher stock returns. Only in the ’20s did “commercial cooling” appear. On Memorial Day weekend 1925, Willis Carrier debuted the first centrifugal air-conditioning system at the Rivoli Theater in Midtown Manhattan. Previously, theaters had shut down in the summer. With air-conditioning, the Rivoli became “the talk of Broadway” and inaugurated the summer blockbuster.

-another direct tie to capitalism. Everything born out of colonio-capitalism carries its toxic mark. Article totally not under the cut for those who can’t pay for Time. It honestly paints a really clear picture of the situation. Bolding mine.-

“It’s time we become more comfortable with discomfort. Our survival may depend on it.“

Before World War II, almost no one had air-conditioning at home. Besides being financially impractical and culturally odd, it was also dangerous. Chemical refrigerants like sulfur dioxide and methyl chloride filled most fridges and coolers, and leaks could kill a child, poison a hospital floor, even blow up a basement. Everything changed with the invention of Freon in 1928. Non-toxic and non-explosive, Freon was hailed as a “miracle.” It made the modernist skyscraper—with its sealed windows and heat-absorbing materials—possible. It made living in the desert possible. The small, winter resort of Phoenix, Arizona, became a year-round attraction. Architecture could now ignore the local climate. Anywhere could be 65ºF with 55% humidity. Cheap materials made boxy, suburban tract housing affordable to most Americans, but the sealed-up, stifling design of these homes required air-conditioning to keep the heat at bay. Quickly, air-conditioning transitioned from a luxury to a necessity. By 1980, more than half of all U.S. homes were air-conditioned. And despite millions of Black Americans fleeing the violence of Jim Crow, the South saw greater in-migration than out-migration for the first time—a direct result of AC. The American car was similarly transformed. In 1955, only 10 percent of American cars had air-conditioning. Thirty years later, it came standard.

The cooling boom also altered the way we work. Now, Americans could work anywhere at any hour of the day. Early ads for air-conditioning promised not health or comfort but productivity. The workday could proceed no matter the season or the climate. Even in the home, A/C brought comfort as a means to rest up before the next work day.

The use of air-conditioning was as symbolic as it was material. It conveyed class status. Who did and didn’t have air-conditioning often fell starkly along the color line, too, especially in the South. It conquered the weather and, with it, the need to sweat or squirm or lie down in the summer swelter. In that sense, air-conditioning allowed Americans to transcend their physical bodies, that long-sought fantasy of the Puritan settlers: to be in the world but not of it. Miracle, indeed.

But it came with a price. As it turned out, Freon isn’t exactly non-toxic. Freon is a chlorofluorocarbon (CFC), which depletes the ozone layer and also acts as a global warming gas. By 1974, the industrialized world was churning out CFCs, chemicals that had never appeared on the planet in any significant quantities, at a rate of one million metric tons a year—the equivalent mass of more than 500,000 cars. That was the year atmospheric chemists Sherry Rowland and Mario Molina first hypothesized that the chlorine molecules in CFCs might be destroying ozone in the stratosphere by bonding to free oxygen atoms and disrupting the atmosphere’s delicate chemistry. By then, CFCs were used not only as refrigerants but also as spray can propellants, manufacturing degreasers, and foam-blowing agents.

The ozone layer absorbs the worst of the sun’s ultraviolet radiation. Without stratospheric ozone, life as we know it is impossible. A 1 percent decline in the ozone layer’s thickness results in thousands of new cases of skin cancer. Greater depletion would lead to crop failures, the collapse of oceanic food systems, and, eventually, the destruction of all life on Earth.

In the 1980s, geophysicist Joseph Farman confirmed the Rowland-Molina hypothesis when he detected a near-absence of ozone over Antarctica—the “Ozone Hole.” A fierce battle ensued among industry, scientists, environmentalists, and politicians, but in 1987 the U.S signed the Montreal Protocol on Substances that Deplete the Ozone Layer, which ended Freon production.

The Montreal Protocol remains the world’s only successful international environmental treaty with legally binding emissions targets. Annual conferences to re-assess the goals of the treaty make it a living document, which is revised in light of up-to-date scientific data. For instance, the Montreal Protocol set out only to slow production of CFCs, but, by 1997, industrialized countries had stopped production entirely, far sooner than was thought possible. The world was saved through global cooperation.

The trouble is that the refrigerants replacing CFCs, hydrofluorocarbons (HFCs), turned out to be terrible for the planet, too. While they have an ozone-depleting potential of zero, they are potent greenhouse gases. They absorb infrared radiation from the sun and Earth and block heat that normally escapes into outer space. Carbon dioxide and methane do this too, but HFCs trap heat at rates thousands of times higher. Although the number of refrigerant molecules in the atmosphere is far fewer than those of other greenhouse gases, their destructive force, molecule for molecule, is far greater.

In three decades, the production of HFCs grew exponentially. Today, HFCs provide the cooling power to almost any air conditioner in the home, in the office, in the supermarket, or in the car. They cool vaccines, blood for transfusions, and temperature-sensitive medications, as well as the data processors and computer servers that make up the internet—everything from the cloud to blockchains. In 2019, annual global warming emissions from HFCs were the equivalent of 175 million metric tons of carbon dioxide.

In May, the EPA signaled it will begin phasing down HFCs and replacing them with more climate-friendly alternatives. Experts agree that a swift end to HFCs could prevent as much as 0.5ºC of warming over the next century—a third of the way to the goals of the Paris Climate Agreement.

Yet regardless of the refrigerant used, cooling still requires energy. According to the U.S. Energy Information Administration, air-conditioning accounts for nearly a fifth of annual U.S. residential electricity use. This is more energy for cooling overall and per capita than in any other nation. Most Americans consider the cost of energy only in terms of their electricity bills. But it’s also costing us the planet. Joe Biden’s announcement to shift toward a renewable energy infrastructure obscures the uncertainty of whether that infrastructure could meet Americans’ outrageously high energy demand—much of it for cooling that doesn’t save lives. Renewable energy infrastructure can take us only so far. The rest of the work is cultural. From Freon to HFCs, we keep replacing chemical refrigerants without taking a hard look at why we’re cooling in the first place.

Comfort cooling began not as a survival strategy but as a business venture. It still carries all those symbolic meanings, though its currency now works globally, cleaving the world into civilized cooling and barbaric heat. Despite what we assume, as a means of weathering a heat wave, individual air-conditioning is terribly ineffective. It works only for those who can afford it. But even then, their use in urban areas only makes the surrounding micro-climate hotter, sometimes by a factor of 10ºF, actively threatening the lives of those who don’t have access to cooling. (The sociologist Eric Klinenberg has brilliantly studied how, in a 1995 Chicago heat wave, about twice as many people died than in a comparable heat wave forty years earlier due to the city’s neglect of certain neighborhoods and social infrastructure.) Ironically, research suggests that exposure to constant air-conditioning can prevent our bodies from acclimatizing to hot weather, so those who subject themselves to “thermal monotony” are, in the end, making themselves more vulnerable to heat-related illness.

And, of course, air-conditioning only works when you have the electricity to power it. During heatwaves, when air-conditioning is needed most, blackouts are frequent. On Sunday, with afternoon temperatures reaching 112ºF around Portland, the power grid failed for more than 6,300 residences under control by Portland General Electrics.

The troubled history of air-conditioning suggests not that we chuck it entirely but that we focus on public cooling, on public comfort, rather than individual cooling, on individual comfort. Ensuring that the most vulnerable among the planet’s human inhabitants can keep cool through better access to public cooling centers, shade-giving trees, safe green spaces, water infrastructure to cool, and smart design will not only enrich our cities overall, it will lower the temperature for everyone. It’s far more efficient this way.

To do so, we’ll have to re-orient ourselves to the meaning of air-conditioning. And to comfort. Privatized air-conditioning survived the ozone crisis, but its power to separate—by class, by race, by nation, by ability—has survived, too. Comfort for some comes at the expense of the life on this planet.

It’s time we become more comfortable with discomfort. Our survival may depend on it.

[radiowallet]

December 7th - Christmas Market

Summary: You offer to help your Aunt run her knitting booth at the city’s annual holiday market. What you don’t expect is an accidental run-in with a handsome stranger.

WC: 1.6K

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x GN Reader

Warnings: Teen, Kissing, Fluffy, Meet-Cut, Coma-inducing sweetness, heavy Christmas talk.

Thank you so much to @toomanystoriessolittletime for setting up this prompt list. I don’t write a lot of meet-cutes. Here’s hoping I do the genre justice. 

The street stretching out in front of you is a disaster of a maze. A literal labyrinth of food trucks and shopping stalls, filled to the brim with people. 

Every nook and cranny of main street is covered in red and green, twinkle lights and tinsel as far as your eyes could reach. You’re certain that this has to be every single person who lived in this city, possibly the entire state, not a single person wanting to miss out on a chance to be here. It’s a maddeningly stifling scene that has you wishing you hadn’t volunteered to do this, but your aunt was getting older and you were already helping her knit most of the items she sold anyway. Practically everything displayed in the booth was your work; blankets, hats, scarves, mittens all in a rainbow of colors and patterns and sizes. Helping her with the booth on market days just made sense. It just so happened that the first market day she would call in your offer would be the busiest of the year, the annual Holiday market. You take one final deep breath, pulling the dark green hat -one of your own, thank you- lower on your head before taking a step into the thick of the crowd.

The air had a distinct nip in it, a cold snap sliding in last night unexpectedly, but that clearly had done little to stem the crowd. Usually large groups of people didn’t phase you, but this was almost excruciating, everyone moving in different, random directions, jumping from booth to booth, zero pattern to their movements, and the constant chatter mixing with cheesy holiday music was only adding to your anxiety. You were desperate to get back to the safety of your booth where your knitting needles were waiting for you, nothing but the clicking of them as you talked to each customer through their purchases. BUT- it had been two hours since your last cup of coffee, the paper cup you had grabbed on your way to main street emptied very soon after the market had opened, and you were fading and fading fast. Aunt Tilly must have noticed your voice getting progressively more snappy and the slight twitch at the corner of your eye when the last customer critiqued your turnaround time on custom projects, because soon after that she was shoving some bills in your hand, asking you to run to the coffee shop at the end of the street to get her a cup of hot tea.

“And while you’re there, go ahead and grab yourself a cup of coffee, sweetie.  Something to help keep the chill at bay.”

You had a feeling she wasn’t talking about the chill of the weather.

Whatever. You didn’t have to be told twice. You pocketed the money and took off, willing to brave the frantic crowd of holiday shoppers if it meant the sweet relief of caffeine was waiting for you on the other side. Head down and hands in your pockets, you make yourself as small as possible, and make your way towards the coffee shop. Your strategy proves successful, and soon enough you're walking back out of the coffee shop, Aunt Tilly’s tea and a large red eye for yourself safely in hand. You allow yourself one gratifying sip, the warmth of it immediately helping your mood shift to a happier place and praise whatever workings of the universe that coffee is a thing that exists. You’re about to step back into the crowd when suddenly someone slams into your back. Hard.

You stumble forward, feet slipping off the curve and straight into the crowd. You prepare for the inevitable fall and subsequent loss of your precious caffeinated beverages, but it never comes. Instead a strong arm is wrapped around your torso, pulling you backwards against something warm and firm, a honey deep voice speaking softly in your ear.

“I got you.”  

After the initial shock wears off, you breathe a sigh of relief and take a step away from your savior, turning to thank whoever it was that kept you from losing your very precious cargo. It’s a man, tall, so tall, wearing a black winter coat and a pair of dark rimmed glasses, brown eyes searching your face for any discomfort, his arm still conspicuously wrapped around your waist. You don’t hate it. His other arm is stretched out wide and it’s then that you notice he’s shaking it slightly, attempting to dispel as much liquid off himself as he can, a crushed paper cup dripping chocolate colored liquid to the ground below.

“I’m so sorry about that. This guy came out of nowhere and bumped me, then you. I sort of acted out of instinct but I didn’t want your drinks to suffer the same fate as mine,” the stranger rambles, motioning his mangled coffee cup for emphasis. You nod dumbly because now that he’s speaking directly at you it’s hard not to notice how nice his lips look forming around words or the pink chill sitting on his cheeks that accentuates his dimple, and, oh man, does his arm feel really good wrapped around you.

Interpreting your silence as discomfort, the man let’s go, leaving you very cold all of a sudden, and mumbles out an embarrassed apology.

“No!” You practically shout despite the fact that he’s barely moved more than an inch away, and then it’s your turn to feel embarrassed. “No, I, um, thank you. Really. This coffee is my lifeline for the next few hours. Honestly, you saved my morning. Oh! Here-“ you thrust both of your drinks into his free hand, ignoring the thrill in your spine that he can easily hold both cups at once, and rummage through your pockets, pulling out the huge stack of napkins you had grabbed on impulse as you doctored up your coffee with cream and sugar. 

You go about wiping as much of the sticky mess from his hand as you can, shifting the both of you closer to the garbage can sitting near the curb, allowing him to drop the ruined cup down into it. You can feel his brown eyes watching you as you gently wipe his hand clean, and you fight down the wave of self-conscious anxiety at the idea of a very handsome man admiring your face. You focus instead on the sweet smell of chocolate and peppermint wafting off of him, with just a hint of something muskier, almost spicy, mingling in. Once satisfied you’ve done all you can, you toss the napkins away and shoot him a smile.

“Much better. Though there’s a chance you’ll smell like chocolate and peppermint until the end of the century,” you tease, smiling up at him as he hands you back your drinks.

He’s still staring at you, his lips forming the cutest curve of surprise, clearly shocked you felt the need to help him out. He’s so adorable you honestly hate him a little bit for it and it was not lost on you that his left hand, the one that had been wrapped so easily around your waist, was devoid of a ring. You’ve just about worked up the courage to ask him his name when the watch around his wrist starts ringing, the tune of “Wonderful Christmas Time” floating up and into the open air between you.

“Oh, man, I’ve gotta take this,” he cringes down at the watch before shooting you one more apology covered smile. “Thank you so much for the napkins and for this and…” he trails off, eyes darting down to your lips then back up, his blush growing deeper. He stands there a second longer, eyebrows sewn together as he takes you in, and then just before he turns to leave, “I like your hat.”

And then he’s walking away, disappearing into the ridiculous crowd of people, gone without a trace, almost as if you had imagined the whole entire thing. Somehow you make your way back to the booth, barely giving Tilly a grunt of a long line in way of an explanation of why it took you so long. You grab a seat towards the back of the booth, grabbing a pair of knitting needles and some grey yarn, determined to distract yourself from the stupid moment, chastising yourself for thinking it was anything more than what it was. You’re just about done with the first line of stitches when a familiar baritone reaches your ears.

“I saw a hat like this earlier and I really liked it. My daughter loves purple. Any chance…” his voices drifts off as soon as you walk up, standing beside your aunt with what you’re sure is the most idiotic grin ever on your face.

The man from earlier is standing in front of you, that same look of shock and awe on his face, but there’s something else lingering at the edge of his lips that has you eager for more.

“You knit?”

“I do,” you answer back, holding up the needles in your hand to offer proof.

“A long line?” Your Aunt Tilly asks, a smirk stretched across her lips. You shoot her a sheepish grin and she waves you both off, turning to help another customer that had walked up. You turn back to the man, who is watching you carefully, brown eyes warmer than any cup of coffee you’ve ever had.

“You were saying something about purple….”

“Marcus,” he supplies, smile shy, his teeth nipping gently at his bottom lip. “My name’s Marcus.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Marcus.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.”  

Later, after you’ve sold him one purple hat and a scarf to match, and Aunt Tilly has shooed you both away, Marcus pulls you down an empty side street, pulling you close, just as he did before, pressing his lips to yours. It’s the perfect first kiss, soft and slow, laced with the promise of more to come, and you don’t even mind that it leaves you both smelling like chocolate and peppermint.

Main Masterlist

31 Days for Marcus Moreno Masterlist

Tag List:@nolanell​​ @honestly-shite​​ @leslie-lyman​​  @gingersnappe-9​​ @mandocrasis​ @castleamc​  @dobbyjen​​ @sergeantbannerbarnes​​ @lowlights​​ @cowboy-turtle​​ @mindidjarin​​ @alm0501​​ @tintinn16​ @hnt-escape​ @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @magpie-to-the-morning @jazzelsaur @mylovelycomandante

[elidelochans]

For the Elucien week drabbleathon, can I have Lucien finding out about his bio father and talking through his feelings with Elain?

ELUCIEN WEEK

DAY 7: FREE CHOICE

Okay so this is kinda funny to get this. I actually have this in my docs that's a multi chapter fic. The feelings bit with Elain is spoilery for the story itself so I can't share that...yet. But what I can do is show this part. Basically in this story, Elain finds out of Lucien's parentage through a vision and this scene below is what happens after that. It's set to be a few parts. Where Lucien deals with this information and then Lucien and Elain playing matemakers lmao. The chapter after this is where we deal with Lucien and talking to Elain I can tag you in it whenever I post this story to tumblr.

TRIGGER WARNING: very, very slight mention of child abuse

The three of them settled in the sun-lit room. For an office it was worlds different than Rhys' in the river estate back in Velaris. That room was a standard four walls. This one, Helion's office in the Day Court was a rounded room. Tall ivory columns wrap around the circular area. There were no windows, it was simply an open space allowing the sunlight and the warm kiss of its rays inside to dance along the tiled floor. Elain adored the sun peering in at every angle and the soft breeze that followed. She only wished they were here for better circumstances.

Glancing between the High Lord of Day and her mate, the resemblance was uncanny. From their posture, sitting regal yet with an air of recklessness to the silken strands of hair, matching grins, and the shape of their eyes. Mother above even their nose was the same. There was no denying her vision wasn’t false. They scarcely were.

When she told Lucien of seeing Helion and his mother, he refused to believe it. He was Beron's son unfortunately. His mother would never hide this from him. Elain pointed out to him that he did in fact cleave an unbreakable spell to come to her aide that day in Hyberns. No Autumn court member, high fae or otherwise had done that. Lucien attempted to pin it on the bond. Elain dismissed it bringing up his tendency to glow when in the throes of passion. The seer had once asked her sister if this common for faes to glow while being intimate. Feyre told her it was power from the High Lord of Day. Elain never could make sense of it. Why her mate glowed like a fire bug in the summer seasons until her vision. Lucien claimed it could be from a crossed lineage years ago.

“Lucien...you said you never felt like you were a Vanserra. That there was something wrong with you.”

“Maybe this is why. Because you’re not a Vanserra. We go to the Day Court and ask Helion says no then fine.”

There was panic and fear in his russet eyes when he looked at her. “What if he says yes?”

Elain crossed the threshold to her love taking his face in her hands, resting their foreheads together, her fingers lacing with his. “Then I will be there with you and together we will hear him out.”

With reluctance he agreed and now they were here, an awkward tension like a dense fog slowly filling the silent room.

Lucien leaned backed in the golden chair, hand flexing at fae speed on the arm of it, his equally golden eye whirring as it zeroed in on Helion. The High Lord's brows quirked up in amusement, a roguish smirk pulled at the corner of his lips.

"I've always wondered what that eye of yours could do. What it could see." Elain's cheeks flushed a vibrant pink, Helion's gaze fell on her offering a wink, "Petal." He purred, "Is it alright if I call you petal?"

The smile he gave her could turn someone's insides into liquid heat. No wonder he had as many lovers as there were clouds in the sky. She chuckled before answering, shifting in her seat, "Elain is fine."

"Ah, I see. We don't want to upset your mate and have him feel left out."

Helion turned to Lucien who remained silent and watching. A steely gaze on his father, Not father and his boots tapping with the same ferocity as his hand. Elain reached through the bond feeling wave after wave of anxiousness roiling through him. It was enough to make her feel nauseous like they were in a sea of turbulent waters instead of seated, far away from any ocean. His heart, she could tell, was battering so quickly Elain was surprised it didn’t fling directly out of chest. There was something else she noticed in the bond. Realization. He knew. And Lucien was not handling it well in his mind. Elain poured her affections down the bond then overlapping her hand with his. Sweeping a thumb over his knuckles. A silent statement to say, I'm here.

Elain smiled tenderly, noting the appreciation in his russet eye as Lucien glanced at her fingers. Sliding in between his own, squeezing them in reassurance. He repeated the action to her, holding tightly as if she were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Then his eyes met hers. The nervousness etched on his beautiful face softened. Her heart fluttered as it always did when he looked at Elain this way. Like she was his home. His comfort. His everything. Just as he was hers.

Helion coughed a bit too loudly to be real, breaking their moment, "I hate to break up this lovely storybook moment petal. If this is about the Pegasus who ate Rhys' shirt. One Rhys should come and two he left it in the stables. If you’ll excuse me, I do have a party to prepare for and guests will be arriving shortly.” Helion made to stand.

"Sit.” Lucien snarled. Helion’s eyes widened at the pitch and the bite of the one word. “We don't know anything about a Pegasus. We're here on our own accord." Lucien curtly stated.

The two high fae stared each down as Helion slid back into his chair. The fog thick tension is now so deep a knife could only strike it. Helion lifted a hand over his heart " Unfortunately, I don't take mated mates as lovers. I'm honored you thought of me to share your bed." He teased with a lovers grin. The fire in Lucien’s eye was a roaring flame. He was several seconds from exploding. Elain has seen him angry, furious, but nothing like this. If he wasn’t her mate, she’d be frightened at the burning rage beneath him.

"I find that odd. Being if Feyre or Nesta were here you'd take the chance." Elain challenged feeding off the energy her mate emitted.

"I-" His eye shuttered briefly before meeting Elain's again, "Sweet petal," he crooned before he could speak again Elain cut him off feeling Lucien's waring feelings churning through the bond.

"There's a reason you'd deny me. Us. I think it deals with a vision I had and Lucien." She gripped her mate tighter feeling his hand grow clammy yet white hot beneath her own.

Helion grew quiet, brows pressed together, his tanned chest rising and falling in rapid succession. Holding a stern gaze with Lucien. "Of?"

"The past."

Helion blanched, the color of his skin fully drained. All hints of the easy going High Lord faded into nothing. A mask of steel replaced it.

"What did you see?" His voice faltered, shaking and strained. He cleared his throat, aiming for a deeper tone in his voice. One that caused anyone to listen and obey. If an ominous storm with roaring thunder that streaked the sky in lighting had a voice it would’ve sounded like this. It came through gritted teeth in a low predatory growl. "What did you see?"

"You will not speak to her like that." Lucien snapped. Slamming his fists on the desks sparks of embers shot from his hands. Elain jumped back into the chair. Helion had the good sense to look startled for a moment, "Unlike you or my mother, she doesn't keep things from me." then Lucien added that and the steeled features returned.

It was Helion’s turn to stand and move for move copy his son’s actions. “Listen boy. I will rip your throat out if you insult your mother like that in my presence again are we clear?”

Lucien scoffed. Not the usual playful scoff Elain had grown accustomed to. This was laced with malice. “You don’t think I’ve heard threats like this before? My entire life? "I've been beaten for saying less.”

Elucien watched as the emotionless expression Helion wore quickly faded. Now his face crumbled. Pained with grief, the glow in his eyes gone as he stepped away from Lucien. Her eyes darted between the two. This wasn’t just protecting a secret she realized. There was love here. For the lady of the autumn court, and for his son. Her mate.

"I'm sorry." Helion let out in a defeated sigh. "Forgive me. forgive us."

For as fast as that heated anger ripped through Lucien, it seemed to to die down. Like the loud sigh for Helion somehow cooled her mate down.

"I-" Lucien turned to Elain unsure of what to do. Elain did not respond the whites of her eyes rolled up, her body falling back into the chair.

Mate.

The word seared in her head, when thrust back into the past, seeing Helion and the Lady of the Autumn Court together. As if her inner eye was speaking to her, revealing a part neither Lucien nor herself were ready for. Now she felt it. The golden spark tethering two souls. Pure, protective, unbreakable love. Seconds later she came back to reality.

Lucien no longer standing at the desk but kneeling in front of her. Calloused palms on hers while he searched her features.

“Elain?”

She didn’t look at him. Her gaze landed on Helion who took a step back.

“You’re mates."

“There are things bigger than telling you the truth. Stakes are high dealing with him and a situation like ours. This conversation cannot happen here.” Helion drew a finger to follow as he stood. “Ears are everywhere in Prythian. You should know this.” He fixed a sorrowful look on Lucien. “We will talk in my inner office.”

elucienweek taglist: @ladyvanserra @helion-ism @bookologist @firestarsandseneschals @thecrownlands @rarephloxes @elucienweek @nestaisgod

[jgvfhl]

THE NUMBER LADS ARE STILL HERE!!

Some of these chapters might be uh... less than consistent with the actual chronology of TCW but that's what they get when they don't air the episodes in order! (Read Part 1 and Part 2!)

CT-2222 = Do-si-do = Double Trouble

CT-3333 = Trees = Leafs

ARC-5555 = Fives (duh) = high fives

ARC-1409 = Echo (honorary number lad) = BetterDomino

CC-6666 = Sixes/Death = DEATH

ARC-7777 = Sevenset = RedBoiiiii

CT-8888 = Loops = Loopy

Trees had almost forgotten about the Numbers meeting. Honestly, the only thing reminding him of the day of the week was his own internal clock. A lot had happened, okay? Geonosis was never “fun” for anyone, and he was just glad it was over. His general and commander had both nearly died there--which was only a first for Commander Offee, because that had been the second campaign to Geonosis, and that wasn’t even including the damn brain worms--kriffing sithspit he needed a nap.

But a nap would wait until he could tell the others he was okay. Fortunately, he’d set a reminder for it, so at least he wouldn’t be getting half a dozen comms from Sevenset or Do-si-do about being late. The rest of his squadron was sound asleep by the time the meeting was supposed to start, so out of courtesy, Trees walked to the mess hall, which, at this time, was all but empty. One or two others milled about, looking just as exhausted as Trees felt. He took a seat in one corner, setting the holoprojector on the table and waiting for the transmission to start.

And trying not to fall asleep.

Sevenset started the meeting, Fives and Echo standing beside him like they had last month. They were approaching graduation by now, weren’t they?

“Hey, Trees,” Sevenset smiled.

“Hi.”

“How was bug world?” Fives asked.

Trees gave them a deadpan stare. “How do you think? I’m sure your friends in Torrent have plenty of stories.” The 501st had also been on Geonosis--their Commander Tano had been with Commander Offee onboard the medical transport infested with kriffing brain worms.

Echo smirked. “Yeah, we heard General Skywalker and Commander Tano threw Captain Rex off a building.”

“They did what?” Loops had appeared just as Echo had started speaking.

“Yeah, they’ve done it a lot, apparently,” Fives nodded.

“Kinda sad I missed it,” his batcher said.

“Devastated.”

Trees blinked slowly. “You aren’t. Believe me.”

Sevenset chuckled. “Yeah, you look like you’re falling asleep over there.”

Trees rubbed his face. “Yeah well,” he sighed, resting his chin on his hand, “when your general and commander nearly die twice on the same campaign, and somehow it involves mind controlling parasites, you’d be a little tired.”

The other four all raised their eyebrows at him. Before they had time to ask questions, however, a third hologram appeared. Trees recognized Do-si-do instantly, sitting at a table instead of in his cockpit like normal. But next to him was a new face--as it were. Judging from the glasses on the table and the shifting lighting, they were at 79s on Coruscant. Lucky bastards.

“I found zero!” Do-si-do announced happily. The man next to him gave a little two-finger salute.

Right after that, two more holograms appeared, which made Trees blink and sit up a bit straighter. He was used to Commander Sixes by now--honestly, he was--but after years of training to recognize COs and react accordingly, it was hard to shake the urge to go to attention. But the commander wasn’t the only one joining. Judging by the dull fuschia color of his armor, this was number four, from the Nova Corps.

He looked like he would rather crawl under a rock. Trees had felt similarly upon being press-ganged by Sevenset and Do-si-do to join them.

Sevenset’s face lit up at the two new holograms. “Commander!”

“Stow it, ARC,” came the immediate gruff reply.

“We’ve got two ARCs now,” Do-si-do was quick to point out, tapping the pauldrons of the man next to him.

The commander looked at the newcomer, then looked back at Sevenset. “He knows who I mean.”

“Indeed I do,” the ARC in question answered. “But hey! Two whole new numbers!” Trees couldn’t help the small smile forming on his face. Sevenset’s joy was contagious. “What do we call you guys?”

“I’m Zero,” the man next to Do-si-do replied. He had dark green paint over his armor, --maybe now Trees could convince Sevenset to change his name in the group chat to something other than Green Bean. His pauldrons were both green, and there was an inverted chevron visible over his grey chestpiece. Zero’s head was shaved on both sides, leaving a wide strip of curls down the center, and a tattoo on one side that Trees couldn’t quite make out from the hologram. He also caught sight of wide loops set into his earlobes. This guy almost had Sevenset beat for aesthetic.

They all turned their attention to the marine, who shrank back minisculely from his holoprojector. “Uhm…” He looked like he’d bolt at the next opportunity.

“It’s just your name, marine,” the commander prompted.

Instantly, the man answered, “Fours. I’m Fours.” Fours looked almost regulation from where Trees was sitting. It was hard to tell over hologram, but there might have been the remnants of a dye-job in his short hair, but it was too overgrown to be recognizable. The Nova Corps really didn’t get much time off. The armor they could see on him had vertical stripes painted over each shoulder, ending mid-way down his chestplate, as well as one down the center of his chest, and stripes down each shoulder bell.

Sevenset beamed at them both. “Well, welcome to the party. I’m Sevenset. I see Fours has already met the charming Commander Sixes.” The rest of them introduced themselves one by one, with Sevenset mentioning Echo’s “honorary number status” briefly.

“So… what do you guys actually do in these meetings?” Zero asked afterwards.

Several of the older members shrugged. Sevenset answered, “Eh, just chat. Or… I dunno, spread gossip.”

“They’re largely useless,” the commander said plainly.

Trees smirked at Sevenset’s eyeroll. “Yet, you keep coming to them, Commander,” the red ARC reminded him.

Do-si-do added, “He’s actually never missed one since you dragged him into it.”

Trees could confirm that--he often kept tabs on attendance just so he knew when to be worried if someone missed out. But he also wanted to keep watching Sevenset and Do-si-do taunt Death.

Zero and Fours both looked surprised, although Fours’ expression was a bit harder to read. He was still pretty on-edge. “How did you get Commander Death to join, anyway?” Zero asked, swirling the contents of his glass.

“Sheer willpower,” Sevenset answered smugly.

The commander crossed his arms. “I’m actually waiting for your last functioning brain cell to die from lack of stimulation. It’ll be funnier on camera.”

Fives and Do-si-do both burst out laughing--a problem for the latter, who had just taken a mouthful from his drink and consequently sprayed half of it across the table. Echo and Loops simply had huge grins on their faces, an expression Trees found mirrored on his own face. Sevenset had a sort of strained smile as he waited for Fives and Do-si-do to recover.

“I’m touched you have so much concern for me, Commander.”

“Oh, I’m concerned, alright.” The remark made Fives and Do-si-do break up again.

The commander was definitely warming up to the group, even Trees could see it. He would probably never admit it, but since his first meeting, he’d thawed a bit. Trees almost wished he could have seen their first meeting on Kamino, just to know how close the commander had been to wringing Sevenset’s neck. For old time’s sake.

Once the laughter had died down into smiles, Zero looked to the two batchers standing with Sevenset. “When are you two graduating, anyway?”

“Next week!” Fives announced, beaming with pride.

“Yeah, we get our new gear tomorrow,” Echo smiled.

“Which means this guy,” Fives added, putting an arm around his brother’s shoulders, “is going to stay up all night reading about it, right Echo?”

Echo shrugged his arm off with a well-worn scowl. Trees frowned a little. “Hey, reading up on the kit isn’t a bad idea. I did it. I’ll probably do it again when Phase Two comes out, whenever that’s gonna be.”

Vindicated, Echo folded his arms and lifted his chin at his brother, who rolled his eyes. Zero tipped his glass towards them. “Well, you survived this long. Have fun next week.” He drained what was left of the drink, then slid the glass to the center of the table. Trees really couldn’t wait for leave… he needed a drink after Geonosis. And not just the stuff the boys managed to sneak onboard.

“Hey, Zero,” Loops spoke up, leaning forward a little. “Why haven’t I heard much about the one-eigteenth?”

A good question. Trees knew rather little about Zero’s legion, aside from knowing it was in the Seventh Sky Corps along with the 501st and the 212th. He didn’t even know which Jedi led it.

“Probably--” The green ARC started to answer, then something out of frame caught his attention, and he held up a finger. He stood up and they heard him shout, “Incident! Off the ceiling! Troll, stop helping!” He leaned down. “Hang on.” Then he disappeared out of frame.

“Is someone actually on the ceiling?” Fives asked, looking to Do-si-do for answers.

The pilot nodded, his attention directed upward. “I don’t know how he did it. But he did.”

“Okay, so Torrent should never meet them,” Echo said. “I think we’d watch as the captain went grey from stress before our eyes.”

Fives grinned. “I dunno, it could be fun.”

“No, it would be fun,” his brother agreed, “right until you blow something up and get yourself and others hurt. Then Kix would have your balls.”

“Worth it.” Echo looked between Sevenset and Fives, who had both spoken, then rubbed his face with both hands.

Commander Sixes shook his head. “Never have these problems with my boys.”

Zero returned a minute or two later, another drink in his hand. “Okay. Sorry about that, someone got a balloon stuck in the rafters, and Incident thought it was a good idea to retrieve it.”

“Did he get it?” Loops asked.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Why unfortunately?”

“Because he got a reward for climbing to the ceiling to get it, and he’ll probably try it again later.” He took a drink. “Anyway. One-eighteenth. We’re pretty small for a legion, which is probably why you haven’t heard of us. One company of the two-twelfth is probably most of our troops.”

“Who’s your General?” Echo asked.

“General Veekah Bala.” He got mostly blank stares and couple heads shaking. “Yeah, well. She’s pretty awesome. Togruta, double-bladed lightsaber. Kinda young, like Skywalker, but…” He paused, like he was looking for the right words.

“More sane?” Fives offered. Trees smirked. Skywalker had quite the reputation.

Zero shrugged. “I guess? Dunno, maybe she’s just crazy in a different way.”

“What do you guys do when you’re that small?” Loops prompted further.

“Special stuff--kind of like Rancor, actually. The demo jobs, the stealth missions, that kind of stuff. Each company has a specialty.”

Do-si-do bumped their elbows together lightly. “What’s yours?”

“I’m in Whisper Company. We do stealth and recon and stuff like that. Firebolt is our demo team--that’s… where Troll and Incident are.” He cast a glance towards the ceiling.

Motion drew Trees’ eye to Fives, who had leaned over to whisper something to Echo. Echo thought for a second, then shook his head, a small smile on his face. With Torrent’s reputation, they might like Firebolt, from the sounds of it.

“The other two are Blitz, who hate clankers and bugs more than anyone I’ve ever met, and Enigma, who have made it their sworn mission to hack General Grievous,” Zero finished.

“Hack him?” Sevenset repeated, voicing the confusion on the others’ faces. Except for the commander, because his helmet was still on.

Zero sighed, scratching his head. “Yeah, I dunno. They figure because he’s a cyborg, they can hack his cybernetic parts, right? They’re obsessed. The general totally enables them, too. The Enigma hazing ritual is to hack into a B1 as fast as you can.”

Trees’ face scrunched up slightly. They just kept battle droids around for initiation? That… didn’t seem safe. He and Fours seemed to have similar skeptical reactions to it, but Fives and Echo were nodding along like it made perfect sense. Trees was so glad to be in the 41st.

“What about Whisper?” Loops wanted to know.

Zero just smiled slyly and held up something so they could see. Trees recognized it. Most pilots he’d met had a lucky charm of some kind, either painted on their armor, or their ship, or it was an object they kept with them at all times. Do-si-do had the latter kind: his charm was a dark brown rock with a hole through the center, always in his utility belt. But suddenly it wasn’t.

Do-si-do’s eyes went comically wide for a second, then his hand was flying to the empty pouch on his belt. “What--hey!”

Zero put the stone on the table and slid it to him. “That’s what we do.”

“Steal stuff?” the pilot shot back, snatching the stone up and clutching it to his chest.

“We always give it back.”

Do-si-do was still frowning darkly as he carefully replaced his charm in his belt.

“Huh,” Sevenset nodded. “You guys sound pretty cool. Shame I only learned about you now, honestly.”

“Yeah, it’s okay, we’re usually out of the way, anyway. You know what that’s like, right, Fours?”

The marine stiffened at the sudden attention, and at the subsequent attention from everyone else. Poor guy. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Oh, hey, how’s that mission with Death going?” Sevenset asked him, looking between the marine and the commander. “That’s how he found you right?”

Fours nodded. “Yeah. It’s… good, I guess?”

“They needed the help, that’s for sure,” the commander added. “Although, Bacara’s doing a pretty good job without the general around.”

Trees nodded, remembering General Mundi had assisted on Geonosis, and likely hadn’t been cleared to return to the Nova Corps yet after the assault. Some of the others looked a little lost, though. He reminded them.

“How long do you think he’ll be out?” Fours asked quietly. Trees couldn’t tell if it was genuine concern behind the question or curiosity.

He shrugged. “No idea. I never actually saw him, he was with the two-twelfth most of the time.”

The commander made some nonverbal reply to that before adding, “Well, at least he’ll be coming back. Geonosis has done worse before.”

He would know. Trees had looked him up after his first appearance, just like he had done for them. Commander Sixes had taken part in the first assault on Geonosis over three years ago. As Trees had dug a little deeper, he’d discovered almost nothing but casualty reports in connection. The commander had lost all but three of his original unit that day. Of the three left, two had died in combat, and the third just had a lot of “unknowns” in the report. That might explain the prickly shell of a personality.

Yeah, well, there weren’t brain worms the first time, Trees thought, rubbing his face tiredly. He then realized he’d spoken out loud when the guys who hadn’t been there first balked at him. Whoops.

“Brain worms?” Loops repeated, recoiling, his nose scrunched in disgust. Fours had a similar, though silent, reaction.

“Should’ve had Blitz Co there,” Zero remarked, barely fazed by the revelation.

The commander was oddly silent.

Trees shook his head. “Yeah, well, I’m tired, so I’m gonna turn in. Make sure you add Fours and Zero to the comm link.”

Sevenset nodded. “Will do, Green Bean.”

Trees leveled a deadpan stare at him. “Zero’s green too, get creative. And you’re not the only ARC now, ‘ARCBoi with five i’s,’” he told him, then clicked off the holoprojector.

-------

RedBoiiiii: [image file]

RedBoiiiii: LOOK AT THE NEW ARCS LOOK AT THEM!!!!!

Double Trouble: Yes!! Congrats, guys!

d0nut man: yay! nice paint

high fives: hey how’d you get that so fast??

RedBoiiiii: i know a guy :)

Fives+1: thanks do si do

high fives: echo what is your name

Fives+1: *long sigh*

RedBoiiiii: lol you can change it if you want. i’m the only one with the power to change other people’s names bc i created the chat

BetterDomino: got it

high fives: hey

Double Trouble: oof

d0nut man: hey my buddy Pixel has a handprint too

d0nut man: but he sprays paint around his hand instead of putting the paint on it to make the shape

high fives: oh neat

d0nut man: what’s yours for echo?

BetterDomino: captain rex put a handprint on my original kit on our first mission

high fives: in blood

RedBoiiiii: BLOOD???

BetterDomino: not human blood to be clear

Leafs: and that makes it better???

Leafs: oh maker’s sake, sevenset, really? Leafs?

RedBoiiiii: >:3

BetterDomino: it was rishi eel blood

d0nut man: oh okay

Double Trouble: that tracks

Double Trouble: oh does this mean you’re heading back to the 501st?

RedBoiiiii: yes :’((((

high fives: yeah we got back a couple hours ago

RedBoiiiii: i cri

DEATH: sack up sevens, kamino has enough water without you adding to it

RedBoiiiii: why do you only come into these chats to roast me?

DEATH: you keep standing in firepits

Double Trouble: ouch

high fives: commander sixes sir

BetterDomino: oh no i saw his face

high fives: that was amazing

BetterDomino: aaaaaaand fives has a new idol

high fives: hey echo you wanna come down off your bunk and say that?

BetterDomino: nope im all comfy

Leafs: kick his ass fives

high fives: >:)

Loopy: okay well you guys have been busy

Loopy: oh! Congrats domino the kits look awesome

RedBoiiiii: LOOPS!

BetterDomino: thanks loops!

Loopy: hi sevenset, how are those burns treating you?

RedBoiiiii: what burns

DEATH: you know

Loopy: yeah those :)

RedBoiiiii: ah

WELL IT'S BEEN A SIZZLIN' SECOND SINCE I POSTED PART 2 but that's okay :) Life has been a bit hectic, and also I forgot. Also!! Zero belongs to my dear friend @23-bears and the 118th lads and General Bala have their own blog: @118th-special-forces. Go say hi! And yes, I have part 4 written, so hopefully it won't be another EON between chapters 😬

@blsmjoon @nintendolover13 @darth-void @glubtheflyingfish @peacefulwizardfox @theultimatesandwich @alamogirl80

[evening-starlight]

Warm Beers

Taglist is Open! Dm or comment to be added!

Posting Schedule: Monday, Wednesday, Friday

Set before season One!

All Works Master List

Warm Beers Master List

5

Word Count: 1284

    Kenzie skips into the chateau, making pointed eye contact with Kiara. "Kie, kitchen?" Kiara was already off the couch and on her way to the kitchen before Kenzie could finish. JJ had spilled that she was going on a date after work, and Kiara knew exactly what that meant.

    "Girl talk?" JJ asks, following Kenzie into the room with a smile. "I never get to be a part of those." He whines when Kiara points for him to leave. "Please? What are they even like? Do you talk about boys? Sex?" JJ continues while McKenzie ignores him, grabbing two beers from the fridge.

    "Maybe one day, J, but tonight's not the night," Kenzie says as she pats JJ on the shoulder and turning him to leave. He scampers off like a scolded dog, head hung low and shoulders sunken. Both girls sit on opposite corners of the counter, knees bumping slightly.

    "Okay, what's up?" Kiara asks, looking over her friend. Kenzie's cheeks are pink, and her hair is conveniently placed to cover her neck, held down by JJ's hat.

    "Dude, you will not believe the hookup I just had," Kenzie starts. Kiara laughs as Kenzie moves her hair, revealing her hickeys. "Kissing was a four out of ten. Way too much tongue and not enough lip." She starts to judge the escapade. She doesn't know when she began rating her hookups, but Kiara was always willing to listen. "Dick work? Zero." Kiara covers her mouth to stop from spewing beer over her friend as she chokes. "Couldn't feel a god damn thing, and he came in like three seconds flat, I swear to God." McKenzie finishes her rant with a chug of her beer.

    "Overall rating?" Kiara prompts, eager to hear how well he ranked. No one has ever placed over a five on Kenzie's scale. Maybe it was the types of boys she went for or the high expectations Tumblr stories had set for her sex life.

    "Four out of ten, only because he indulged the vampire kink," Kenzie rationalizes, shrugging at Kiara's snort. "Eh, wait, no. Three. Three out of ten because I can't forgive the three seconds." Kiara laughs loudly, pulling the boys' attention to the girls.

    JJ watches closely as Kenzie laughs and leans into Kiara. He wished he could be in there to hear exactly what they were talking about. The curiosity was killing him as McKenzie snorts at something Kie said. Was it about her date with that stupid touron in his leather jacket? A dark feeling fills his stomach as he watches Kenzie shift her hair to the side, revealing a black and blue neck.

    The door slams behind him as JJ leaves, needing to smoke a joint to combat the feeling growing inside. His hands shake as he tries to light the blunt, groaning in frustration when the lighter flickers and snuffs out.

    "Was I the only one who thinks JJ sounded mad when he left?" McKenzie asks when she and Kiara join the boys. While the boys shrug, Kiara nods in confirmation that JJ seemed irritated. With a small sigh, Kenzie follows after her friend, worried about his small outburst. "Need a hand?" She asks when JJ toss the black lighter out into the yard with a frustrated sigh.

    "No, I got it," He bites, not looking towards Kenzie as he rummages through the sunroom for another lighter. McKenzie clears her throat as she pulls out her favorite yellow one that's covered in little stickers Kiara bought her. JJ looks at her and gives a pressed smile when he takes the Bic and lights the weed.

    He takes a seat on the steps, ignoring the fact that Kenzie sits next to him, shoulder pressed to his. They sit in silence as JJ smokes, watching the waves crash to the marsh. The heavy feeling coating JJ's heart slowly lifts the more he smokes. "Want to talk about it?" She asks, reaching for the blunt in his hand as she lays her head on his shoulder.

    "About what?" JJ deflects, watching Kenzie's cloud disperse into the air. The sweet smell of her coconut shampoo mixed with weed fills his lungs. Kenzie sighs and takes another hit of the blunt. They continue to sit in silence while Kenzie waits for JJ to answer her question. "Just feeling off, I guess." He finally divulges, feeling safe and secure with Kenzie next to him.

    It was like she had a spell on him. McKenzie could make JJ tell her everything in just one look. John B. was his best friend, sure, but the deputy's daughter was his personal secrets holder. She knew things about JJ that he's never told anyone, some of which he won't repeat again in his life. The deputy's daughter was the town's bad boys' safety person.

    "I'm sorry, J. Had too many warm beers?" She jokes, pulling a chuckle out of JJ as he steals the joint back from Kenzie. He shakes his head before laying his cheek on her head. "Everything going okay at home?" She asks, knowing it's a loaded question. Nothing was ever fine at the Maybank house, but some days were better than others.

    Somedays, Luke was too drunk to remember his own name, let alone his hatred towards his own son. Other's he was already passed out by the time JJ got home from work. Nothing was ever 'fine' in JJ's house. Somedays were just easier to handle.

    "As fine as they can be, I guess." JJ shrugs and changes the subject. "How'd the date with Leather Jacket go?" Kenzie giggles and shakes her head.

    "It wasn't a real date. I gave him a three out of ten." JJ makes a disapproving noise and shakes his head.

    "Poor guy didn't stand a chance. The scale is brutal," He jokes, elbowing Kenzie gently as she giggles. It only took some weed, and now the friends were back to their usual banter.

    "Whatever. You think you could beat a five, Maybank?" Kenzie laughs, looking up at her best friend. He stares down at her, and something inside of him took over. Something devilish and confident.

    "I know I can, Princess." He whispers, leaning into her. Kenzie stays still, practically paralyzed by JJ's words and actions. Kenzie can feel his breath fanning across her lips, smelling of weed and beer. His blues eyes are glazed over but captivate Kenzie as they stare at each other. JJ continues to slowly lean in, hesitant to bridge the gap.

    The trace snaps when JJ realizes just how close he is to her lips, mere breaths away. What the hell was he doing? This was his best friend. He wasn't supposed to be having these feelings towards her. She was practically family to him. An extremely hot and sassy family member.

    JJ kisses her cheek sweetly before getting up, passing the last of the roll to her. "I'm gonna go get a game started. Come in when you finish the blunt," He announces. But, really, he just needed to get out of that situation before he did something irreversible.

    Kenzie sits in shock on the stairs, watching as the sun starts to set to the west and casts beautiful warm colors onto the water's surface. She couldn't decide if she was angry because he even tried to kiss her or that he didn't follow through. That was her best friend, and she wasn't supposed to want to kiss him, but goddammit, she wanted nothing more than to kiss his perfect pink lips.

    As the water turns orange, Kenzie rationalizes that she was still frustrated after Theo's three-second and projected onto JJ. A night's sleep would fix it all.

Taglist: @gwenlovesharrystyles​ @x-lulu​

[vytels]

A Glimpse Into Our Life

Todobakukirideku

The screen came to life, filling with soft colors and accents. A man sat in the middle of the screen, a soft smile adorning his face as he made a little wave. “Okay, hi! Uhm, oh I didn’t think this through!”

The man laughed a little and rubbed the back of neck, looking to the side. Behind him, an old poster of All Might watched.

“Well uhm, I’m Deku!” The man said, finally looking towards the camera. “And it’s my day off, so I thought that I would make a YouTube video!”

The scene jumped ahead, quickly changing to a different angle as Midoriya Izuku held the camera. He was walking now, figures and posters of All Might in the background. “Ka- Ground Zero is asleep right now, so I’ve got to make sure that I don’t bother him too much! He’s a pretty heavy sleeper though.”

A little note appeared at the bottom of the screen. You can say my name, dumbass.

“Because it’s my day off, I’m suppose to stay home and relax.” Midoriya stepped out of the room he was in and closed the door behind him with a soft click. “My agency knows that my quirk can be hard on my body, and I’m prone to overworking myself, so they force me to take rest days so that I don’t hurt myself on the job!”

Midoriya laughed a little. “I still sometimes manage to, don’t know how though!”

The video jumped again, this time with the green haired man standing in front of a big door. He smiled at the camera before swinging it around, showing off a little bit of the entrance to his home. His hands were shaking.

“So this is the entrance…” Midoriya pointed the camera towards the ground, where there were marks on the floor. “We have a bad habit of throwing the door open, so there is a badly patched hole in the wall… and some scorch marks on the floor.”

A clip of Bakugou kicking open the door while carrying large bags of food was added in— voices laughed in the background as someone complained, “stop abusing the door!”

Then the screen snapped back to Midoriya quietly opening another door and pointing the camera inside. “So uh, you just saw this room like a few minutes ago… but this is the All Might room!”

The room, where Midoriya had started filming, came to life as the light turned on. Dozens of All Might’s smiled in all directions, posing or giving thumbs up. There was well over a hundred items in there, all different from the last.

“Ground Zero and I like to collect All Might stuff… most of this is ours, but Shoto and Red Riot have their own shelf!” Midoriya turned the camera to the shelf, which held a few notable items— but seriously, the two only shared one shelf in a room filled to the brim with All Might merchandise. “We’ve all been collecting for years!”

There was the sound of a door opening, and then Midoriya swung the camera out of the room. The screen snapped to the next clip, where the green haired man stood in the living room.

The large couch was covered in pillows and blankets, taking up almost all of the space. The side table had a fish lamp on it— if Midoriya has turned it on, viewers would have seen that light was orange— like the fish. And the walls were covered in more posters, but of countless other heroes, and pictures.

“This is our living room!” Midoriya did a little spin, showing off how nice the room— it was cozy, it was nerdy, it was used. The space was home, and it clearly made him happy.

When he stopped spinning, you could see the kitchen behind him— and Bakugou grumpily cooking something. He kept looking over, almost glaring. His hair was a mess, but that was usual for him— but he did somehow look more tired than usual.

“Hey, put the camera down and eat!” Bakugou yelled at him from the kitchen. Midoriya laughed and nodded, the camera screen going black for a second…

Then it lit up again as Midoriya appeared in a small gym. “This is our gym! I’m not allowed to use it today, and I need to leave soon, because of Ground Zero finds me in here… he’ll kick my ass.”

The camera was pointed around, still shaking a bit before the screen jumped forward and suddenly Midoriya’s head filled the space. “Like I said, I’m suppose to be resting today… and Ground Zero usually takes the same off days as me because he likes making me not do stuff.”

“You aren’t suppose to be doing stuff, Deku.”

A small whine left Midoriya’s mouth and shifted the camera, revealing he was back in the living room. He looked away from the camera, towards his boyfriend with a point. “He’s basically my glorified baby sitter for the day.”

The camera quickly cut away again and Midoriya was back in the All Might room, with a large smile on his face. “I convinced Ground Zero to let me go on a walk! So I’m going to go, so that’s the video for today!”

He waved at the camera. “You guys might get to see more in the future! Bye!”

The camera cut to black, then the little note at the end appeared. A Glimpse Into Our Lives.

[retvenkos]

blanching | helnik

Six of Crows - A Helnik Story, angst, slight fluff requested by @musicallisto​​

tw: a suggestive comment, grief, spoilers for crooked kingdom

word count: 1.5k

prompt: “i’m here for you. i have your back.”

A/N: y’know, this turned out pretty decent, but ohmygod... you guys should have seen the scene that was painted in my head... it would have made you sob.

Summary: Fear and uncertainty didn’t belong here. Not in Novyi Zem. Not with Matthias.

Novyi Zem was beautiful. In the morning, the sun rose steadily, filtering through slatted blinds and spilling across the floor, warming the shadows until they disappeared from view. In the mid-afternoon, its bustling cities were full of life - laughter seemingly reverberating from the very ground, the smell of food wafting through the clear air, the bright, sparkling ocean bringing in a soft breeze that ruffled skirts and jackets. In the evening, its farmlands hummed with the music of crickets, lush greens and dying yellows stretching onto infinity.  Colm Fahey lived in Cofton, with rows and rows of jurda plants, all of them vibrantly orange, flowering under the warm summer sun. 

Once, maybe a lifetime ago, Colm Fahey told Nina and the rest of the crows that his home was open to them, should they need it. Jesper had laughed as though the offer were a joke without a punchline, and Kaz had assured Mr. Fahey that they would never be passing by.

Nina was the one to laugh, now.

Novyi Zem was one stop on a trip to somewhere much warmer, and when they were running low on coin, Wylan pointed out that Jesper's family home wasn't far from them. Kaz said they would stop for only a day or two. How long had they been there, now? Two weeks? Maybe longer?

Nina was pleased with the arrangement. As long as there was enough flour for waffles and enough sun for warmth, she could gladly stay in Novyi Zem forever.

The sounds of the farm were a charming cacophony that rooted Nina to this reality - to this beautiful, warm world. Nina lay in the fields, her hair haloing outward, her palms digging into the fresh grass. She closed her eyes, feeling the sun on her face, its golden and amber hues playing against the dark of her eyelids. The sun was a brilliant ball of light, kissing Nina's skin and warming her from the outside in - penetrating the bone. Never had she known warmth such as this.

In the Heartrender rooms of the Little Palace, Nina was taught the secrets of the body and the science of bending it to your will. She learned everything - from releasing chemicals in the brain for good spirits to inducing heart attacks that could prove fatal, given a particular turn of the wrist. Nina mastered how to increase blood flow and quicken the heartbeat, and ever since, she kept herself warm.

Nina had only ever been cold twice in her life, in the orphanage where she grew up and on a boat lost in a tempest. Warmth was a luxury that a Grisha Heartrender could afford, and Nina swore that she would never be cold again. Not after the orphanage. Not after the storm. Not after...

Novyi Zem was beautiful, but mostly, it was warm.

"What are you doing?" Matthias' voice called out -  rich, full of teasing and mirth. She could hear the steady beat of his heart as he came closer, walking toward her from the barn, where Colm kept his harvesting tools. 

Nina didn't have to open her eyes to know he was smiling. "Enjoying the sun," she replied.

Matthias scoffed, but he laid down next to her all the same.

"Do you not do that in Fjerda, drüskelle?" Nina opened her eyes and shot him a teasing glance. His cheeks were a ruddy pink, full of life and love. For a moment, Nina didn't want to let go. She shifted onto her side, but her eyes never left him. "Do you just sit around all day and hope the temperature drops below zero?"

Matthias rolled his eyes. Hips lips parted softly. "We are not in Fjerda."

"Thank the Saints for that. I've had enough ice to last a lifetime."

Matthias chuckled, and Nina bit her lip to stop a giddy grin from crossing her face. The sun beat down on them, warm and full of zest. Nina moved to grab his hand but hesitated, pausing halfway in the space between. Matthias didn't notice - his eyes were on the sky, far away from her.

"I would like to go back, someday." And the wind came by at the mention of Fjerda, as though he were summoning it all on his own. It made the jurda sway, and the breeze seemed to carry a message. 

"Take root... follow the water north..." 

Nina grabbed Matthias' strong hand; it was warm. She squeezed it tightly, feeling the steady beat of his heart; warm, alive.

"We'll go," Nina said, her smile smaller than before. Her voice cracked, and something was breaking in her chest because of it - something raw and heaving that didn't belong in Novyi Zem. Not with Colm Fahey - so kind as to invite everyone over to stay. Not with a home with fields of jurda and always enough flour to make waffles. Not the with this sun that shined down on them, begging them to stay. Not with the warmth and the love and the life.

"You will come with me?"

Nina blinked.

"And let you go alone? You'd never make it." And Matthias chuckled again, an exasperated breath of delight. His blue eyes were sparkling with the light of the sun. She let go of him slowly, their hands still brushing. He was here - he always would be. Nina taunted him more. "Have you ever had to charm a barkeep for a meal?"

"No. But I would work for one."

"Oh, so you would sell your body, then?"

Matthias' expression turned scandalous for a heartbeat. He turned to her incredulously, but when he saw the wide smile that stretched over Nina's face, he heaved a dry laugh. Nina raised her eyebrows and started to chuckle. 

"You—" but he was laughing too hard to finish, his breathy chuckles turning into bursts of rich laughter, a sound deep in his chest, warming Nina to the bone. She grinned with him, peals of laughter ripping through her until her sides hurt from the pure joy it all, the brightness of their love, all-encompassing and fading into the air. Nina's heart ached - it was too full.

She poked Matthias' sides, and his laughter intensified. Eventually, he captured her hands in his and held them close to his chest, still laughing, all the while. Their love was warm and radiant, but his eyes were an icy, frozen blue - the tundra from which he came. Nina stared into them deeply, wishing to memorize the look in his eyes. A beautiful, pale blue. Steady like the ice. Glassy...

Tears pricked Nina's eyes, spilling down her cheeks. She was crying.

For a moment, she wondered if it was from the laughter at all.

"We'll go together," Matthias affirmed, his voice no longer laughing, his expression turning back into that sculpted, strong sense of calm. He kissed her fingers before letting them go, reaching up to wipe the tears that glistened on her cheeks.

"Always?" Nina's voice shook, an uncharacteristic uncertainty in her tone. Her hands were shaking, but she couldn't understand why. Was it fear?

No.

No. Fear didn't belong here. Not in Novyi Zem. Not with Matthias.

Matthias had an easy smile on his face. He leaned back in the richly colored grass and sighed, content. "Are you planning on holding me hostage if I do not say yes?"

"If I say yes, will you stay?"

Matthias smiled and closed his eyes; he breathed deeply like he couldn't get enough air in his lungs. For a moment, Nina was in Ketterdam, crying over the dark cobblestones, holding Matthias in her arms. He was there, with her, and he was pale... so pale...

No.

"Matthias?"

He was smiling like some kind of victorious Saint, the sunlight woven into his hair. He didn't open his eyes.

"Helvar."

A jurda plant broke as though snapped by a nonexistent breeze. It fell on Matthias' chest, but its color was red, not that vibrant, wholesome orange. A red tulip from the Van Eck gardens - not from Novyi Zem. Not from here.

"Drüskelle!"

Matthias' eyes snapped open. He had just been dozing.

"Nina?"

They were on the dirty streets of Ketterdam. The world was chaos - full of plague alarms and hellfire - and Nina was slipping into her grief, drowning in mourning, floundering in this power that couldn't save him. She was holding onto him, again, but his body was already claimed by death; cold. So, so cold.

"Come back," Nina sobbed.

“I’m here for you, Nina. I'll always have your back.” But his voice was no longer his, just an echo of someone who once was, just the cruel imaginings of her mind, dark and hollow - grieving, still.

"Come back to me, then. Don't leave me, Matthias. Please."

"I have been made to protect you. Even in death, I will find a way."

Nina took in a shuddering breath, and all around her, the beauty of Novyi Zem crumbled. Her world - her beautiful, warm world - was fading, blanching into nothing and burning into pale, grey ash. The wind was whipping around her, and the Fjerdan ice was unforgivingly claiming her.

She was sitting on the shore with tears crystallized on her eyelashes. The sun had long since dipped over the horizon, and she was cold. So, so cold.

-- taglist: @musicallisto​, @catsbooksandmusic​​ // message me if you want to be added!

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans Are Space Orcs,”Red Void.”

Hello everyone, I am back from my little vacation from writing. I am thinking about slowing down my story output just because I work now, but who knows if I actually will since I have the opportunity to write at work. Anyway I am back, and I hope you like the new story. 

A dark silhouette against a backdrop of red haze, dwarfed thousands of times by rising black monoliths ascending into the redness, fading before their tops could be seen. Feet clatter against the ground echoing thousands of times over and outward, never fading, but seeming to vanish into the haze as it is bounced repeatedly of the towering metal structures.

The metal monoliths are geometrical, made in almost perfect rectangles with sharp cutting edges.

They don’t look natural, though mother nature has been known to make stranger things.

Their size is shocking, towering many thousands of feet into the air, taller than skyscrapers, almost never ending, and packed together like a forest, or it would seem that way.

It is hard to gage distance in such a space. The towering walls and the pulsing red fog give the impression of being confined indoors: claustrophobic and pressing, though the monoliths don’t seem to move as the silhouette makes  its way towards them.

It walks for many minutes, its feet echoing a thousand times in space.

The monoliths seem to be a mile apart in some places though their daunting size and oppressive shadow still gives the impression that they are close, towering over and staring down at the wandering figure in the shadowy gloom.

More smoke rolls in, giving a strange greenish haze toone of the towers, and a blue haze to another.

The walking of the feet continue to echo upwards and outwards, for miles and miles.

It would be nearly impossible to sneak up on someone in this place.

A deep moaning seems to permeate the air, the creaking of metal as it shifts back and forth in the wind.

It is a sound of abandonment. 

It is a sound of loneliness.

A shrill screeching sound rises up through the mist and then fads back down again.

Fingernails on chalk, or metal on metal.

All to be taken back over by the distant moaning.

The Shining illumination of the star is barely visible through the dim haze. On occasions the mists part just enough to allow a stuttering beam of light to pass through, and roll over the ground again before disappearing.

Despite the noise.

The place is lonely, and desolate.

Footsteps continue to echo.

“Admiral, do you copy.” The voice inside his helmet seems distant and warped despite its objective clearness.

Little white lights inside his helmet reflect over his skin, while his headlamp attempts to cut through the fog, though it is like trying to cut through soup. Instead of a clean beam of light, there is simply a great halo of white light that illuminates the darkness around him, being of more hindrance than help in some cases.

He turners it off, finding it easier to see.

A wave of distant light passes down through the fog and caresses across the metal ground before fading.

Ground, or floor.

What is the difference.

Ground seems… more natural while the floor sticks out to him as being man made, though that is probably down to simple semantics.

His brain keeps wanting to call it a floor though, and the implications of that thought sends a shiver down his spine.

“Admiral, do you copy-”

The voice seems nervous and impatient, and he swears he can hear a warbling echo behind the words, though he knows it is just his nervous mind talking, conjuring ghosts in the darkness.

“I read you loud and clear, Omen.”

Simon sighs in relief and exasperation. SHe is in control of the ship while he is gone. He thinks it is good for her, though he knows other people are skeptical of her ability to lead.

Sometimes she has a habit of sticking to closely to the rules.

“I don’t see why you insisted on doing this yourself. It isn’t your job, and someone else could have easily done it.”

Not this argument again.

“Simon, I told you before, the day I stop doing field work is the day I shoot myself out the airlock. If anyone is going to go out here into dangerous situations, I would rather it be me than some member of my crew, and furthermore, there are plenty of people on the ship as capable, or maybe even MORE capable than me, at commanding, so stow the argument for the time being.”

His tirade is cut off as another deep echoing moan rolls up through his feet and rattles through his suit.

“Admiral, are you still there.”

Ah, one of the science Nerds.

“Yeah, still here. What can you make of the noise?”

‘Hard to tell, there are too many echoes and too much interference from the fog.”

“Can you tell what it is.”

“CO2 mostly, and we can’t identify the components in the smoke either. WHatever it is, it is all over the planet in a low concentration, but where you are it is VERY high. How about you, any luck getting closer to those monoliths.”

He looked upwards, at the dark and towering structure just visible as a silhouette through the mist, “Yeah, almost there. I thought I parked a bit closer, but this palace is so big it is messing with my sense of…. Space.” He could hear the slow rush of his own breathing inside the helmet, “Any luck on that video feed.” he wondered.’

“It's patchy as is the sound. We think you are close to some sort of magnetic interference, that is messing with your equipment.”

He toggled the heads up display inside his helmet and took a look at the atmospheric readings.

It is still detecting mostly C02, and a tiny bit of oxygen, though not nearly enough to sustain human life.

Other readings are coming up as well, mostly though, they indicated high presences of other unknown compounds -- likely whatever is making the smoke different colors.

There is absolutely no moisture here with a humidity at zero and a temperature that plunges dangerously low, to the point that this place would have been a tundra if there is any water to freeze. He supposed all of that added to the thundering echo that came up every time his feet hit the ground.

The air is thick here, and it is easier for sound to travel.

“This is quite extraordinary.” one of the scientists sats, “The geometric structures on the monoliths alone are…. well , incredible. Would it be too presumptive to guess that these are leftover from some sort of advanced alien civilisation.”

There is a grunt on the other end of the line, “Lets not get carried away with ourselves just yet.”

Adam grunts in agreement, “As cool as it would be to find the ruins of some ancient xeno civilisation, we can't rule out that there are just some really strange natural formations.

“Out of all the people here who wouldn’t immediately jump to ancient alien civilisation, my guess never would have been you, Admiral.

He lets out a short blast of air from his nose, “Yeah, I guess it is a bit out of character, but this place…. Well it seems strange and wrong. Has me kind of on edge.”

Another slow beam of light passes before him, like the rolling eye of a searchlight.

The thought makes him even more paranoid, giving him the feeling like he is being searched for or watched.

This is all going too slowly for his taste.

He toggles another link on his head up display and kicks the bottom of his boots to life.

The personal gravity generators whirr into being, and he feels himself float slightly off the floor.

He wobbles a bit before regaining his balance.

He kicks lightly at the round to send him floating forward across the floor. He continues to do this for some minutes, speeding up and heading even faster towards the monoliths.

The blackness grows deeper in his vision, until the haze is all but gone and he is looking up at one of the massive structures. It is so tall, he has to crane his head all the way back to even imagine seeing the top. It is very distant and obscured mostly by the red rolling fog, but, on occasion, a beam of light cuts through and he thinks he can see the top.

“Hos is my camera?” He asks, reaching forward with tentative fingers to press against the wall.

“Much better, admiral, what is the suit telling you.”

He glances at the readout on his helmet which is still doing an analysis, “I can’t really tell what it is, it looks like metal to me though it isn’t shiny. When I press on it It doesn’t give.”

He curls his other hand into a ball and raps on the side of the monolith hard with his knuckles. 

A clattering echo rolls out and upwards before vanishing into the fog.

He waits a few seconds hearing the distant echo as it is rattled back to him, “It feels and sounds like metal.”

A groaning sound rises up in the mist, haunting, like the moan of some gigantic beast. The sound sets his hair on edge, and he can feel it prickling on the back of his neck.

He knows it is probably an inorganic sound, but somehow it still puts him on edge.

He keeps glancing over his shoulder into the rolling fog, watching as beams of light pass over the ground in great rolling waves.

“Take a sample if you can.”

“Copy.”

He lets the radio go silent and turns over his right arm, popping a catch on his forearm that contains a small collection of scientific tools. He extracts a small drill bit and places it against the wall unholstering the sample gun from his right hip. His breath is loud in his own ears.

He places the tip of the bit directly against the metal face and pulls the trigger.

The sound that follows is absolutely horrifying.

The squeal of metal on metal roared upwards and outwards causing a rising shriek to echo about the chamber only to be repeated back a thousand times. He panics and lets the drill go silent wincing as he listens to the echoes roll back at him from across the vast and immeasurable space.

The way it echoes reminds him of the inside of a cathedral or temple: a palace where one is supposed to keep silent and reverent. He feels the same way here as if his mere presence and the sound he brings distrubed some sort of hallowed silence.

It feels wrong.

And he feels wrong for being here, knowing that no human steps had ever marred this hallowed place.

He is unwelcome.

He turns his head back to the wall as the echoes fade and rests his hand against the metal confused at first until he realises….. There is nothing there. He pulls back in surprise  and looks down at the drill head which is also unmarked.

It’s a diamond drill bit, so it should have at least chipped something off.

“Admiral?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what this stuff is, but I couldn’t even put a dent in it. I am going to try to find somewhere else, maybe where it isn’t so thick, like a corner or something.”

“Alright, admiral we have to warn you that we are sensing some sort of atmospheric shift, which is going to make the fog even worse for you, perhaps we should pull back so the radios-”

“No, it's alright. I have the tracking implant, so just keep an eye on that. If, for any reason you don’t have me on the line and I am in trouble, I will run in a zigzag pattern or some shit.”

They seem skeptical, but don’t argue with him. He is the Admiral after all.

He turns to the side and activates the gravity fields on his shoes again sliding silently through the mist while keeping to the side of the wall. He can feel how it towers oppressively overhead.

The scientists are right, the fog does seem to be getting thicker, mostly its a sort of hellish red, but there are spots where it seem to glow sapphire or emerald, not in the pretty way of the jewels mind you but dark and greasy like dye poured into a muddy river.

As the wind picks up, the distant moaning increases.

The sound brings up feelings of abandoned factories at night, with the shrieking and hissing metal cracking and popping at the joints as the wind pushes against it. Luckily he is no longer making any sound, and that makes him feel a little better. For some reason he doesn't want to be noticed.

The scientists said there was no indication of organic life on this planet.

They never said anything about inorganic life.

He shakes himself to rid his mind of the stupid thought. That was just ridiculous, and what did it even mean. Did he expect Megatron to pop out from behind one of these monoliths and yell boo. 

Maye they were right.

Maybe he did watch too many sci fi movies.

The fog continues to roll in until it seems there is nothing left but a vast wasteland of red smoke, and the towering wall to his side.

He must have been going for many minutes, and only realises that he has reached the corner when the shadow passes away behind him, and he is left standing in a haze of red. He backpedals quickly until he is standing in the shadow once more and takes a deep breath. He turns to the wall, to where the corner is.

He does not want to try again, but he can’t lie to the scientists, and redraws his drill placing the diamond edge right against the corner. The grinding noise is even more painful this time, a screeching howellike the lamenting of some ugly terrifying monster with metal joints.

He pulls away and shuts off the drill.

He can already see that it is no use.

He holsters the drill and quickly slides around the corner. He cannot shake the feeling of being watched, normally he would just try to ignore such a sensation, but Krill: logical straightforward scientific Krill seemed to think that there was some truth behind all of it, and, somehow, it made him feel uneasy.

He had made it a good ten minutes around the corner, deciding to pass over to another cluster of monoliths looking smaller than the first grouping had. Hopefully he would find something more promising.

He tries using his radio, but there seems to be no signal. All he could hear was the rushing static.

For a few disconcerting minutes, he finds himself wandering through a red abyss. Nothing but red above him, red around him, and the dark black ofthe metal below his feet. It doesn't feel real, but at the same time, It doesn't feel like a dream. After about fifteen minutes of steady movement, he feels the beginning of burgeoning panic.

Is he going to be stuck in this abyss forever?

No! He can’t think like that. He is going to be ok, it is just the quiet that is bothering him so much.

He thinks about turning on his music, but decides against it. Somehow, even that feels wrong.

He just needs a bit of stimulation.

So he starts humming to himself. 

After a while the hummed tones of the imperial march disassemble and morph into nothing more than a stilted discordant melody made up of nothing more than stitched harmonies and the occasional off key note.”

It doesn’t help him to relax.

Over the sound of his hustling, a distant sort of ringing echoes through the fog. He can’t describe the sound, much less pinpoint where it is coming from. He keeps going in a single direction, afraid of getting turned around in the endless abyss.

Another sound assails him just as he is reaching the center of the divide.

This is hard to describe too, but sends a wave of shivers down his spine.

Like someone turned up the base on a massive speaker, and then decided to play a single note. It vibrates the ground and causes his teeth to chatter inside his head.

He stops, floating above the ground for a few seconds as the noise continues.

A wave of light cuts past him to the right, and he turns to follow it, witnessing, just in time, as the curtain of red haze parts, and he is given his first unobstructed view of his surroundings.

He freezes on the spot eyes wide.

He stands in an open space between two long lines of monoliths as if he were standing in the middle of a city street which continues on before it curves over the horizon. The massive black monoliths aren’t perfectly uniform, some large and some squat, some thin and some quite large.

Those don’t surprise him.

Not as much as the ones that are floating.

He takes a step back and nearly loses his balance staring wide eyed at the scene laid out before him.

Massive black towers hundreds of feet tall, suspended above him and to the sides. Now he understands where the light is coming from, the light and the interference.

It comes from the moving of the floating monoliths.

Even as he watches,one of them passes slightly to the side allowing a beam of light to cut past it and down to the ground, skimming over the space before him before vanishing again as the monolith rocks back into place. The swirling mist is pushed and tugged by the large shapes undulating over the ground and occasionally being sucked into areas of lower pressure being caused by the moving of the monoliths.

This explained the radio interference.

He has no idea how those things manage to stay in place, at least until he notices the massie black cables acting as a tether for the massive structures.

These formations can’t be natural.

There’s no way…. It… 

It can’t

Their scans showed that there were no more lifeforms here…. unless … it was abandoned.

It does LOOK pretty abandoned to him.

He tries once more to contact the ship, but still gets no signal. He tries to rout it back to his shuttle, and the signal boost is a bit better. He isn’t receiving anything, but maybe he can get something out.

“Omen this is Admiral Vir. I have come across something strange that makes me think this palace…. Is not…. A natural formation. I see floating monoliths and wires, or cords that seem to be holding them in a palace. I think it might be magnetic which explains why our coms aren't working so well, or maybe it’s something else.

I am going to take a look further in, but send a group of marines into orbit, and have them head down if something goes wrong. Warning that the monoliths move, so I don’t know how close they will be able to get. Keep in orbit, but don’t come down…. I don’t trust this place..”

Now that he can see, if only partially, he moves faster through the mist, pushing himself along over the ground in swift sweeping motions. Little rims of light glow from the bottom of his boot and over the ground as he moves. He can go faster now that he can see where he is going, and he makes quick time as he sweeps towards one of the structures.

They are smaller here, and he feels like they would be more easily handled.

He is quick moving towards them, and disengages his gravity fields as he gets closer, dropping to the ground with a thud that echoes up and down the massive block.

Overhead one of the monoliths groans, and he looks up.

HE knows where the sound was coming from now, watching as two of the shapes scrape past each other shedding sparks.

The sound is horrendous, but it is soon gone.

 He cuts into one of the side alleys, the echoes of his feet a bit closer now, bouncing back to him from one of the walls.

He is walking down another nondescript thorofare when another echo reaches him.

An echo that makes his blood run cold and his bones turn to glass.

A whisper that seems to echo from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Deus. 

[starsinmylatte]

A Song Among the Stars Ch 3

Pairing: Grand Admiral Thrawn x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature/Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings/tags:

Slow Burn

Slow Romance

Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con (never by Thrawn)

Sexual Tension

Mix of Legends and Canon

Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo is protective of his muse

Ballroom Dancing

Imperial Officers (Star Wars)

Angst and Romance

Canon-Typical Violence

Masquerade

Imperial style

Phantom of the Opera AU if you squint

Thrawn finds his muse

Summary: Lyra's life was turned upside down the day the Empire took her. Once a renowned singer and performer on the Outer Rim, she is now little more than a songbird trapped in a gilded cage. Forced to perform and used as Imperial propaganda for years, she grew to despise her life until one fateful night and a chance encounter with a certain Grand Admiral.

Author's note: Hi everyone! Please let me know if you enjoy chapter 3 of A Song Among the Stars. I'll have a masterlist soon with all of the chapter links, but here's the link for the first 2 chapters on Tumblr and AO3 here. Tumblr likes to hide my writing, so please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it!

A big thank you to @pala-din-djarin for formatting advice!! 💙💙

AO3 link here for chapter 3 if you'd prefer!

Song Suggestions At the beginning: Thrawn - AtinPiano The dance: Masquerade Ballet Suite: 1. Waltz - Aram Khachaturian

“I am Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Seventh Fleet. I trust you will have no further issues with me asking you to leave.”

The edge in the Grand Admiral’s voice glittered with dark promise, and a tense silence fell. Even in my current state, I could tell that he was definitely not asking; his statement was little more than a scarcely veiled command. Bost stood incredibly still as the oppressive atmosphere continued. I could tell he was carefully considering his options, but there couldn’t have been many, as Thrawn’s commanding body language clearly showed he had no intention of backing down.

Suddenly, the sound of frantic footsteps broke the silence. All my muscles involuntarily tensed as my instincts screamed danger. Three more shadowy figures came running around the corner of the maze behind Bost. Fearing the absolute worst, I physically and mentally prepared to defend myself again. I dropped my weight evenly between my legs and shifted into what I assumed was a passable fighting stance. Apparently, the change in my posture did not escape my new friend even though I was still completely behind him.

“There will be no need for that,” Thrawn’s voice had returned to its original soft, dulcet tone, “excellent timing, Commander Vanto.”

How did he recognize him? It’s kriffing pitch-black out here!

I quickly decided it was a question for another time and relaxed ever-so-slightly as Thrawn acknowledged the newcomers. If he knew them, considering the present situation, it was currently good enough for me. Thrawn gestured back towards me and spoke again in an infuriatingly calm tone for the situation, “Please escort her back towards the ballroom. I will join you momentarily; the Commodore and I have something to discuss.”

I had no idea what Thrawn needed to discuss with Bost, but anything was better than me being chased down.

The three shadowy figures stepped into a patch of starlight. Any relief I felt earlier was amplified tenfold because Dreycolt and Arkmad were instantly recognizable. They stood slightly behind the third man, who I assumed was Vanto. All three of them looked ready for a fight, and their facial expressions flickered between worry and relief. Vanto gave Thrawn a curt nod before pushing past Bost and offering me his hand.

I don’t know him, but I don’t have much of a choice here, and there’s not really any time to think…. I have to trust my instincts.

Tentatively, I reached out and placed my hand in his; he gave it a reassuring squeeze. Vanto’s hands were noticeably calloused, which gave me another sensation to focus on. However, even with those feelings grounding me to reality, my frazzled emotions swooped in like carrion birds as the adrenaline started to wear off. Intrusive thoughts started to slip through every mental wall I had in place as he led me away from the maze and back through the garden.

Stars, what do they even think about this situation… How is this going to be handled? Is the Empire going to somehow blame me for causing a scene? Am I going to be the one punished??

Before I realized it, we had walked about half of the way back to the ballroom. Vanto led me to a nearby bench; I gratefully sat down and stared back in the direction of the ballroom. The flickering lights, laughter, and faint music indicated that the party was still in full swing and would be for some time. There was zero chance of me leaving early because the second part of my job tonight hadn’t even started.

Vanto took a seat on the bench directly across from mine, and I didn’t even have time to open my mouth before words came tumbling out of his, “Are you alright?”

I immediately recognized the accent, and it momentarily drew me out of my melancholy state. “Commander Vanto, you’re from the Outer Rim too,” I noted with as much of a smile as I could manage.

He returned the smile, but his deep brown eyes and creased eyebrows still showed unease, “Yes, I’m from Lysatra, but please call me Eli.”

It was obvious that Eli wanted to discuss the incident, but it was so very rare to meet another person from a world near mine on Coruscant that I actually felt slightly relieved. It was like having a small piece of home nearby.

Another pleasant change was that the starlight shone bright enough for me to fully see in this area of the garden. Eli’s tanned face seemed kind, even though half of it was hidden by a black mask, and his dark hair and eyes were a welcome contrast to Bost’s icy complexion. Maybe it’s a sign that everything will be ok.

I could tell that Eli was trying to find the right words to continue, but he only managed to gesture around like he was trying to pull them out of the air. That alone told me all I needed to know; he had a rather good idea of what Bost tried to do.

Deep breaths, I reminded myself as I nodded with all of the confidence I could muster. You must be strong. “It’s happened before. I didn’t have anyone to rescue me, but I survived then, and I will survive now.” I was reminding myself just as much as I was informing Eli.

His face paled. “This isn’t the first time?” He trailed off before nervously running his fingers through his dark hair. I heard him muttering something under his breath that sounded like a long string of swearing in another language.

Any chance of further conversation was stopped by the sound of footsteps and the arrival of Dreycolt. He was out of breath from running through the garden, but he still managed to get the words out, “I cannot apologize enough for what happened. We tried to get help, but….”

The apology is nice but pointless.

I raised a hand to cut him off. “I’m assuming you don’t know Bost like I do. That conniving bastard would have found a way to dispose of you both so he could get me alone. However, you getting help likely saved me; the Grand Admiral arrived at a very timely moment.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but a pointed look from Eli cut him off. I raised an eyebrow at the two men.

Eli rushed to speak first. “I was the contact if there was trouble, but we weren’t expecting anything like this.

Something doesn’t quite add up here…..

At that point, I noticed both Dreycolt and Eli had the same insignia on the shoulder of their uniform: an extremely stylized black tribal design with three heads. It was emblazoned on a grey circle, and the whole thing was ringed in red. They had to be from the same fleet, and if Thrawn knew them immediately….

Suddenly, everything clicked into place as I locked eyes with Eli. “You’re all from the Seventh Fleet, and Grand Admiral Thrawn is your commanding officer.”

“Quite perceptive.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sudden reappearance of Thrawn’s smooth voice behind me. Unlike with Dreycolt, there had been no footsteps or any other warning of his arrival.

Kriffing hell, why is this man so silent? He may have helped me, but that doesn’t give him the right to scare me out of my mind a few minutes later.

Concern flashed across Eli’s face as he wordlessly reached out to make sure I wasn’t too rattled by the shock. I took a deep breath and nodded slightly in reassurance. My thoughts raced through my previous mantras. You are fine. You are safe now. Eli shot an annoyed look at the man behind me as I composed myself and turned to face Thrawn so I could properly thank him.

It was still dark but I immediately realized that he was tall. Very tall. Even though I was looking up, my small stature combined with my seated position meant my gaze fell on his broad shoulders. I instantly noticed the crisp, white hue of his close-fitting dress uniform and the shining rank bar he wore confirmed his earlier claim. He was absolutely a Grand Admiral.

He smoothly stepped backward and acknowledged me, “My apologies, it was not my intent to frighten you.”

Any words coming out of my mouth died at the tip of my tongue as I finally saw Grand Admiral Thrawn fully illuminated in a patch of shifting starlight. All thoughts of this rank or thanking him abruptly left my mind as one thing became abundantly clear: he was not human.

Where the neck of his pristine uniform ended, his skin was blue. Not merely tinted with blue, but it was truly the beautiful color of a deep pool of water that had frosted over in winter. My gaze continued its path upwards and traveled to his face, which was partially obscured by an ornate mask resting atop high, regal cheekbones and an aquiline nose. From beneath the mask, his ruby eyes seemed to burn into mine like red-hot coals.

Trying desperately not to make a fool out of myself, I did my best to snap out of the shock. Grand Admiral Thrawn was the only non-human Imperial of any significant rank I had ever met, and I severely doubted any others existed. Every Imperial gathering I attended before this one had been filled with countless human guests, but I had only ever seen non-humans used as servers or entertainers. Talle, Kaia, and Ahni had never served a non-human Imperial, but almost all of the other handmaidens were non-humans taken from their worlds.

Why is he working for the Empire in this high of a position?

I fervently hoped the dim lighting hid any sign of my surprise. After all, no matter the reason why, this man was still a Grand Admiral. There was no guarantee that he wouldn’t request some kind of a favor in return for saving me earlier. I knew enough legends about the types of favors high-ranking Imperials often pulled or traded, and I was already way more indebted to Thrawn than I was comfortable with. His appearance may have surprised me, but I refused to let my lack of knowledge show. I fully realized that lack of knowledge was a weapon the Empire had firmly pressed against my throat, and it was marking me as prey like blood in the water.

I took a deep breath, straightened my posture, and mentally berated myself. This was all my fault. I had gotten too complacent and comfortable with the Imperials. I had no idea Bost was even here, but I let down my guard and accidentally gave him an opportunity. Dreycolt, Arkmad, Eli, and now Thrawn…… There was absolutely no guarantee that I could trust any of them.

Think, Ly, you have to think. These people prey on the weak, so you have to seem strong, at least for now. At the very least, use caution. Just get through this night.

It was like flipping a switch mentally; all of my walls flew back up, and my emotions dulled until everything was just numb. The sparkling, faultless personality I used in Imperial society clicked back into place. I inclined my head respectfully and addressed Thrawn, “Grand Admiral, I cannot thank you enough for your help tonight; your quick response to the situation likely saved me.”

“There is no need,” his voice was still impossibly soft as he regarded me. I lifted my head and met his eyes for the second time; the heat of his gaze sent a shiver down my spine. “From the state of his hand, I would say you were defending yourself admirably.”

My face flushed, “Still, I do not know what would have come of the encounter. If it came to a case of my word versus his, especially since I injured an Imperial officer, I doubt anyone would take my side.”

As a “guest” of the Empire, I had everything to lose based on my reputation. If I angered the wrong person or fell from social favor, I would no longer be useful as propaganda……. The weight behind my previous words went unspoken but was understood by all.

An indecipherable expression crossed Thrawn’s face. Krayt spit, he’s hard to read. Most people had tells that let me read their expressions like an open book, but the Grand Admiral seemed to be very different.

“However, I do have one question. What happened to Commodore Bost?” I couldn’t help the tiny falter in my voice when saying his name, but it was small enough to be excusable.

Thrawn’s eyes narrowed and seemed to burn brighter, “I sent him to be treated for his injury. However, I made it perfectly clear that you were a guest and asset of the Empire, so his behavior towards you would not be tolerated.”

I mentally scoffed. So that’s what upset him. Not the injustice committed against me, but the mistreatment of Imperial property. I wasn’t foolish enough to ignore the protection he had provided, but my blood absolutely boiled at his words. However, I gritted my teeth and smiled at him, “Again, I do not know how I could possibly ever thank you enough for this.”

I wasn’t worried about the medics treating Bost; they knew enough about Imperial society to keep their mouths shut on what and who they treated. Most likely, they assumed he was one of the many starting an after-party early. The rumors of the extreme tastes of some officers and politicians often spread like wildfire among the servants and handmaidens. Talle had been unofficially requested at an after-party once before, and she told me stories that made my stomach turn.

Thrawn inclined his head towards me in acknowledgment of my thanks, and I continued speaking, “However, I do need to return to the ballroom. The orchestra will be the main entertainment for the rest of the night, but I was requested to be available as an escort. I’m sure my dance card is already quite full, and I don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

After all, what good is propaganda if it isn’t thoroughly used, I thought dryly. It honestly did not matter to me if I kept anyone waiting; in my opinion, they could wait for all eternity. Unfortunately, it would matter a lot to my handler if they complained.

“Don’t worry, Captain Dreycolt and Lieutenant Arkmad will still be accompanying you. Both of them are already on your card,” Eli reassured me as I turned around to face him again. “I also took the liberty of placing myself on your card so that I will be close by too.” He pulled out a small datapad and continued, “We are all spaced evenly throughout the remaining time so that you will have someone checking on you often.”

Now that was reassuring. As much as I wanted to be wary of Eli, he seemed to be very kind and it was making it hard to keep my guard fully up.

I thanked him with another smile and reached up to check my hair. Thankfully, all of Kaia’s hard work seemed to have paid off. Not a single pin or gem felt out of place, and I chalked it up to a minor miracle. After a brief inspection, my dress was still pristine, and my shoes were fine too.

I stood up from the bench and turned to address Thrawn once more, but he had stepped off to the side and seemed to be in deep conversation with one of the medics. His current expression was much easier to infer because the poor medic looked terrified. I quickly decided that I didn’t want to know, and it was better that I didn’t ask.

When I glanced back towards the ballroom, Eli offered me his arm, and I accepted the gesture. He signaled to Dreycolt, and the three of us began the short walk back through the garden. Thankfully, it was uninterrupted and uneventful.

Arkmad was waiting for us at the same side door he and Dreycolt had helped me exit from earlier. He was fixated on the small datapad he was holding and muttering under his breath. The datapad looked very similar to Eli’s, but this one was exceedingly familiar.

I peered down at the list displayed on it, “So, who’s on the card tonight?”

“Oh, just the usual mix of the usual senators and high officers. You actually seem to be in higher demand tonight; the performance earlier must have really impressed some important people,” he responded with a sympathetic look. “It looks like your card is completely full for every dance tonight.”

Oh, joy. Sometimes I was lucky enough to escape the last few dances, but, of course, tonight couldn’t be that convenient. I sighed inaudibly and shifted my feet. At least these shoes are comfortable.

Arkmad tapped me lightly on the shoulder and gestured to the far side of the ballroom, “Your first partner will be waiting for you near that column. The next song is about to begin, so I suggest you get started.”

The first thing I did when I stepped inside was signal the nearest server. I took a glass of sparkling wine, quickly glanced around to make sure nobody was staring at me and downed it. I felt the effects of the strong alcohol almost immediately; one glass was nowhere enough to make me drunk, but I hoped it would further dull any remaining nerves. I returned the glass to the tray and ventured off in search of my partner.

The first few songs passed by quickly. The slight buzz from the alcohol lightened my mood and made it easier to tune out any faults of my partners. Some were heavy-handed with flattery or praise, intent on trying to steal me away for the night. Others had already indulged in too much alcohol to the point where their breath smelled of the wine and their steps faltered. At least they all seemed to be decent dancers, and I was skilled enough in social etiquette to politely refuse or divert the conversation.

I truly had no problems dancing; most of the time I rather enjoyed it. My education at the conservatory had included many lessons on the classical styles and different regional dances in addition to my more intensive singing lessons. We were all supposed to be well-rounded performers, so the education contained much more than just singing, even though it was my main focus. When I was taken to Coruscant, it was vaguely easy to learn any dances I didn’t already know. Most of my partners here were higher class, so they had some kind of dance instruction at least once; they weren’t always graceful, but almost all of them were bearable partners that only sometimes stepped on my feet.

As the orchestra played on, the long list on my dance card grew shorter. Some faces were new, but many were the same senators and officers that often requested me. Before I knew it, I had danced with both Arkmad and Dreycolt, and less than half of my list remained.

I told both men the same thing when they checked on me: the rest of the night was going well. They each seemed satisfied with that answer and moved to the balcony overlooking the dance floor. As Eli’s lively dance was finishing, he pushed his stray hair back into place with a gloved hand, “Miss Lyra, it was a pleasure.” He gave me a small bow as an excuse to lean in close and whisper, “Are you doing alright?”

I responded with a curtsy and an almost imperceptible nod. “The pleasure was all mine, Commander.”

He seemed satisfied with my answer as he walked off to join the other men on the balcony. I had turned to grab another glass of wine before my next partner found me when an all-too-familiar voice turned my blood to ice.

“I do believe that I have the pleasure of claiming the next dance. It seems the man on your card….. won’t be able to make it.”

I whipped my head around and stared directly into the cold, glacial eyes of Commodore Bost. Somewhat vindictively, I noted that his injured hand was bandaged and slung across his chest. He had also donned a plain, white half-mask that covered the scarred side of his face since our last encounter.

My heart raced in my chest; I scanned the upper balcony for Eli, but he was nowhere to be seen. I caught Dreycolt’s eye and he raced off with a panicked expression at the sight of Bost standing in front of me. Even though my heart was racing and panic rose in my throat, I knew that as long as I stood inside the ballroom he couldn’t harm me; even Imperials dew the line somewhere.

Bost reached out to seize my hand and I snatched it away from his grasp. “I refuse to dance with you. You aren’t the name on my card and I have no reason to accept your request.”

He clicked his tongue at me mockingly, “So defiant…” He leaned in to whisper in my ear, “However, I am a very patient man. I can be here all night if that’s what it takes.”

Another shiver ran through me at Bost’s chilling words. I closed my eyes and winced at the foul feeling of his breath on my neck. Suddenly, a looming presence appeared behind me and Bost quickly stepped backward. Assuming Eli came to my rescue, I turned around and gave a low curtsy in greeting, but I instantly realized my assumption was profoundly incorrect; the figure standing in front of me was dressed in white.

Still in my low curtsy, I raised my head and stared directly into the smoldering gaze of Grand Admiral Thrawn. His red eyes remained fixed on mine as he bowed and offered me his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Thrawn’s request rang in my ears. Did he actually want to dance with me, or was he just guarding an Imperial asset? Either way, I was incredibly grateful for his second timely arrival of the night. There was no other choice for me but to take his hand.

Before I could, Bost made a small noise of protest behind me. Thrawn rose from his bow and silenced him with a single look. The Grand Admiral’s voice had the same dark, commanding edge as it had in the garden, “Commodore Bost, your presence here is not required. I will be claiming the rest of Miss Lyra’s dance card tonight.”

My thoughts raced again at his statement. Sometimes a particularly wealthy or powerful person would request multiple dances a night, but someone claiming the rest of my dance card was absolutely unheard of. However, I highly doubted anyone would be willing to argue about it with Grand Admiral Thrawn if he was serious.

Bost must have realized the futility of his position; he glowered at me, turned away with a flourish, and exited the ballroom. I sighed audibly, “Thank you for stepping in again. However, I don’t wish to be a burden on you for the rest of the night.”

The corner of Thrawn’s mouth twitched into a smile, “Not at all. I believe it will provide an enlightening distraction.” He offered me his hand again, “May I?”

Kriffing hell, he was serious then. I gently placed my right hand in his left, and he wrapped his long, elegant fingers around mine. The orchestra played the beginning notes of the next song, a waltz, and he seemed to recognize the dance immediately. Thrawn murmured appreciatively, “ah, an excellent choice,” as he pulled me in until our chests were almost touching.

My cheeks colored slightly and I prayed he couldn’t tell. The familiarity with which he moved me was almost seductive when combined with his velvety soft voice and the lingering effects of the wine.

The dance began and we glided across the ballroom floor to the music. This was one of the more difficult dances of the night, so many stepped off to the side and watched the braver couples attempt it. I knew it by heart, but Thrawn led us with an intensity that told me he did too.

Some of my previous partners could dance very well, but none moved with the same warrior’s grace that he exemplified in every step. The feeling of his broad chest against mine and his strong arms firmly around me made my mind spin. He was so unlike anyone I’d ever danced with; he seemed to move with the same strength and confidence with which he commanded.

No, no, no... you are not doing this. It’s just the wine and your overcharged emotions running all over.

I distracted myself from the dance and his burning touch by studying the intricate pattern on his mask. It was white, but under each eye a thin strip of red in a slightly darker shade outlined the openings and made his gaze even more intimidating. An intricate pattern of entwining, golden snakes bearing their fangs delicately wove their way around the mask’s rim.

In the back of my mind, I came to a sudden realization: Thrawn was testing me. As the song progressed, he began using more and more complex movements. It was as if he was trying to see if I could keep up with his brutal pace.

Kriffing blue bastard. I’m not some little thing for you to toy with.

Well, two could play that game. I locked eyes with Thrawn, gave him the most stubborn look I thought I could get away with, and switched my step pattern up. If his gaze was smoldering before, now it was blazing. He flashed me a grin that was absolutely feral and twirled me out on his arm. As he brought me back in, he pressed me against his chest and dipped me low. He murmured in my ear and his breath smelled faintly of the sweet wine, “Very enlightening, thank you.”

The rest of the night passed in a similar fashion. Thrawn led and I matched his pace step for step, challenging him the entire time. By the time the final note on the last song rang out, we were both breathing noticeably harder. A single strand of his neat, dark hair had fallen into his face and I knew some pins had fallen out of mine. This was the first time a dance partner had made me break a sweat since I was at the conservatory.

He released me from his arms, and the loss of contact was more disappointing than I cared to admit. The Grand Admiral bowed one last time as Eli, Dreycolt, and Arkmad appeared behind him. His voice seemed to have the slight accent from the garden as he addressed me, “You dance quite artistically; thank you for indulging me.”

Thrawn turned away and shared a quick word with Eli, who had an expression of shock on his face. Their conversation lasted for a few minutes before he addressed me again. However, this time his accent was gone. “I’m afraid I must take my leave now, but Commander Vanto will see you safely home.” He reached up to push the stray lock of hair back into place and walked off the dance floor and out of the building. Dreycolt and Arkmad shared a look before following closely behind him.

Eli still seemed to be in a state of surprise. He shook his head like he was clearing out his confusion and offered me his arm, “Miss, if you’re ready, we can head outside. I have a speeder waiting for us.” I smiled at him as we walked out of the ballroom and into the crisp Coruscanti night.

Tags: @mittheresabosen @pretty-with-andorian-shingles @handbaskethell

[kiwikipedia]

Updated list for the Mythology AU

I’m still missing some things and I’ve added some things too? Idk whats going on lol.

Here are some extra notes before I post the Council List:

Basically, the most trusted followers of their sects ascend to familiars?? I guess???????

Stass and Adi share temples and followers— hence why Neyo is under both of them as a follower/familiar. No clue what creature he’d be able to shift into though

Saesee canonically had a Commander in the 2003 series but went unnamed and was colored incorrectly. If you know my Sticker series, you know I used him and gave him the name “Vic”, I also tossed one of his pilots in too— Char

Speaking of which, I have zero ideas for Oppo, Yarael, the Colemans, and Yaddle because they were either not on the front lines or didn’t participate in TCW because they uh. Died. (Rip Trebor and Yarael, we barely knew ye). Also only have a slight idea for Agen because the man said no to a unit and decided to yeet the hutts. Might give him the M10 because Ultimate Chaos, or Fox because He Deserves A Little Murder (did both, not sure if it’ll stick)

Still sorting out where the other Jedi would fall but from what I have been thinking either as minor gods of their own sects or minor gods under the Council’s domains.

Quinlan is a “minor god” of Trickery, T’ra is the god of the forest, Ahsoka is a follower of the Hunt, Anakin idk where to put him, Cin is a follower of Depa’s and Yoda’s (Possibly the minor god of the guardsmen or another form of protection), Sha would be a minor god because of her relation to Plo, maybe one of the wind gods? and the Padawans would follow their masters (ie: Depa and Caleb, Bant and Nahdar with Kit, Bultar and Lissarkh with Plo...). Still working on this idea

Jocasta: Historic Record

Luminara: Light

Idk what to do with Aayla

Tholme I might make the god of darkness? my knowledge on the man is lacking ngl

Micah was the god of Luck but he’s gone now :’) 

Even Piell held the OG War God title despite his status as the god of victory through battle, but then Agen was born (spawned from the blood of a battle?) and he took up the full name of the god of war? But only took spot on the Council when Even vanished. I guess?

idk what Tyvokka would be. Maybe the OG god of the Hunt? 

Yoda

Title: The Grandmaster, The Grandmaster of the Pantheon

Domain: Widom

Banner Colors: Hazy Green (HEX: #6FB170)

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): (Undecided animal/mythological beast) | Gree (?) Thire (???)

Mace Windu

Title: The Shatterpoint

Realm: Justice

Banner Colors: Purple (HEX #8B3DC0)

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): The Zillo  (lol) | Ponds

Depa Billaba

Title: The One Who Protects

Realm: Protection/Safety

Banner Colors: Pale Red/Smoky Red (HEX #B24444)

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): (Undecided animal/mythological beast) | Grey

Eeth Koth

Title: The One Who Creates A New Way (This has to do with his canon leaving of the order)

Realm: New Pathways (connects with his line about Funerals and weddings, the new path of death and life) and New Fates (His leaving) 

Banner Colors: Forest Green (HEX #75BC00)

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): (Undecided animal/mythological beast) | Lock

Oppo Rancisis

Title: The Upholder

Realm: Time (he’s just begging to be the ouroboros, lets be real)

Banner Colors: Silvery Green (HEX #9BC89C)

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): (Undecided animal/mythological beast) (J... jormungandr?) | N/A

Ki-Adi Mundi

Title: The Tactician

Realm: Strategy

Banner Colors: Maroon (HEX #540031)

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): (Undecided animal/mythological beast) | Bacara

Plo Koon

Title: The Sage of Storms

Realm: Storms and Sky

Banner Colors: Icy Blue (HEX #B5E5FF)

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): Storm Dragon/Raiju | Wolffe, Sinker, Boost

Saesee Tiin

Title: (work in progress)

Realm: Earth, Stone, and the Riches Beneath

Banner Colors: Turquoise (HEX #30D5C8)

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): Grootslang. Giant elephant snakes. Terrifying but have to do with the riches of the earth | Vic, Char

Shaak Ti

Title: The Huntress

Realm: The Hunt and the Beasts of The Hunt

Banner Colors: Blood Red (HEX #B20808)

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): Great Amarok Wolves | Colt, Blitz, Havoc

Kit Fisto

Title: The Spirit of the Sea

Realm: The Seas and Oceans

Banner Colors: Sea Green (HEX #22CB9A)

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): The Leviathan | Monnk

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Title: The Negotiator

Realm: Negotiations

Banner Colors: Gold/Yellow

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): (Undecided animal/mythological beast) | Cody, Waxer, Boil

Agen Kolar

Title: The Attack Dog ( Not sure on this one yet)

Realm: War

Banner Colors: Royal Blue

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): Chimera | Fox, Fordo

Even Piell

Title: The Battlemaster

Realm: Victory Through Battle

Banner Colors:

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): (Undecided animal/mythological beast) | N/A (Honestly, i dont remember his commander’s name or if he had one)

Yarael Poof

Title: The Dream Keeper

Realm: Illusions and dreams

Banner Colors:

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): (Undecided animal/mythological beast) | N/A

Adi Gallia

Title: The One Who Finds What’s Hidden

Realm: Perception

Banner Colors:

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): (Undecided animal/mythological beast) | Neyo

Stass Allie

Title: The Navigator

Realm: Wayfinding

Banner Colors:

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): (Undecided animal/mythological beast) | Neyo

Coleman Kcaj

Title:

Realm: Knowledge and Teaching

Banner Colors:

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): (Undecided animal/mythological beast) | N/A

Coleman Trebor

Title:

Realm:

Banner Colors:

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): (Undecided animal/mythological beast) | N/A

Yaddle

Title:

Realm:

Banner Colors:

Closest Familiar(s) and Follower(s): (Undecided animal/mythological beast) | N/A

[royalstorm]

better off   *   xiaoqing // ; xiao x keqing //

content warning : pda, negative thought patterns

Xiao's infatuation is not a slow boil. His heartbreak is.

It's a realization that had dawned on him months ago. He vowed to himself to keep it tucked away, on the backburner left to simmer. To worry about an uncertain future would be to neglect the demands of the present, is what he told himself. He had believed it. He had been pretty convincing back then.

Then, last week...November 20.

In the air that day was a hum of excitement, one that persisted in spite of his itching ears. The people amongst him, too—grinning, giggling, resonating on a frequency that he was tone deaf to.

Even the thrumming in his own chest was akin to a death march.

Her voice had been his only saving grace—the symphony stringing away con brio, above all the noise. And when he offered her his present — clumsily wrapped, barely held together with a ribbon — she graced him with a "thank you" that silenced the discontent in his mind — the darkness in his heart — if only for a moment.

But that same night, the realization Xiao had forced down all those months ago resurfaced, bubbling with a vengeance. How he wished he had just rested, instead of patrolling where he had not been needed. Maybe then, he wouldn't have had to stand testament to the tragedy he came upon on Mt. Tianheng. It was a simple tragedy, but a tragedy nevertheless.

Raining down on him, like a hailstorm, were three eagles — all skewered by a singular, steely arrow.

It was when they reached ground zero — nothing short of battered, bloody feathers at his feet — that it was he who'd taken a shot to the chest.

Memento mori.

"Remember you must die."

Remember she must die.

Flash forward to the adeptus' current state: a state of motion. Running. Practically flying. For the past thousand or so years, all he knew to do was stay still. Physically, he was and continues to be on the move. Evil never sleeps, after all.

But spiritually and emotionally, where it truly mattered, he had been complacent: to the shifting sands, to the rising tides, to the erosion of Liyue's many mountain ranges.

It's useless, he chides himself. A loud thwack! punctures the air as he descends, polearm first, from a rooftop to the cobblestone ground below. He rises from his squat form to better regard his surroundings.

To think that the esteemed Yuheng of the Liyue Qixing would willingly live somewhere ordinary...remote, even. Indeed, he's still roaming the streets of Liyue Harbor, but he would've been fooled quite easily had someone told him differently.

"I don't care to live lavish, even if it's something I am able to afford," is what she told him once, when they were discussing philosophy. "Once in a while, it does you no harm to treat yourself, but it feels ... unnecessary flaunting that which so many can’t have themselves, and—" She had chuckled here. "—Never mind. You get my point, don’t you?”

Xiao keeps that thought at the forefront of his mind as he nears the front door. Upon reaching it, he silently thanks the archons for her residence's ease of access: on the first floor and as one of the very first units of the complex.

Lifting a hand, he knocks once...twice...

The door handle on the opposite end almost immediately rattles in response.

"Xiao?"

Keqing's voice is a colorful blend of concerned and (pleasantly) surprised. She fidgets with what looked to be an empty rice bowl in her hands.

"Keqing," he acknowledges, amber eyes suddenly skittering to the ground. Ignoring the heat rising to his cheeks, he follows up with, "My apologies for the unexpected visit. I hope you don't mind."

From his periphery, Xiao can see that she's still fiddling with the bowl — shifting it, inclining it, turning it upside down and right back up. He isn't sure what it means.

"No, of course I don't mind," she reassures him. Even as his eyes avoid hers, he can tell she's being earnest. Something soft and warm to the touch permeates the fabric of his glove. Eyes darting to the side, he sees her hand clasping his — on the verge of tugging him her way.

The "come inside" catches in Keqing's breath as the adeptus simply allows himself to be ushered in. Bowl now nestled solely in her other hand, she shuts the door closed with a foot. His hand still in hers, she then leads him down the main corridor and into the kitchen, where she'd been enjoying a late night dinner.

They seat themselves in her dining room, chairs directly across one another's. He ignores the arrangement of food scattering the table in favor of examining the rest of her home. The walls are relatively bare, save for two swords displayed in their respective racks front and center. Most, if not all, of the furniture looks decent enough—nothing too gaudy or flashy, though nothing secondhand, either—but even their presence is minimal ... underwhelming for a common civilian, let alone an aristocrat.

"Sorry if you were expecting something more grand." Keqing's voice rustles him from his observations.

Xiao rekindles the will to look her in the eyes. He attempts to ignore the dark circles weighing them down. "There is no need for you to apologize. I quite like your home, actually." When she chances a dubious brow in his direction, he adds, "It seems comfortable."

Keqing exhales a breath that is half scoff, half laugh. “Great save.” She props herself up on the dinner table and begins adding contents from each dish into her bowl. Xiao watches her from his periphery, realizing that this may have been one of the first times he’d seen her eat.

“You are free to help yourself to whatever you please.”

This time, he visibly flinches — once again, roused by the Yuheng’s voice.

“I will have to politely decline.” And before she can protest, he follows up with, “Adepti do not require the same amount of nourishment needed by human beings.”

Keqing’s shoulders roll into a lazy shrug. The sound of chopsticks scraping porcelain rings in the air. “So be it. Just know that the offer is yours for the taking whenever.”

For the next few minutes, the pair sits in silence — one that is only curtailed by the occasional sound of Keqing’s chopsticks against her bowl. Silences between them have been comfortable, for the most part...perhaps not in the beginning — back when they could not yet see eye to eye, back when they found faults within each other, back when they could not acknowledge those same faults within themselves — but that tension came to pass the moment their fondness for each other began to bloom...as friends and then, eventually, as...more.

Tonight, the silence feels especially oppressive, perhaps even more so than it did when they first got acquainted with one another. And as it continues to crescendo, looming over them like gallows, Xiao can only assume that she feels similarly.

”Keqing–“

”Why have you come here tonight?”

Xiao freezes, stunned. Consider the image of a deer in the headlights — not only only the fear and the wide eyes, but the acceptance of a certain, untimely fate. In hindsight, it’s foolish for him to react so severely. Hadn’t he paid her this visit for a pressing reason?

Or perhaps he still didn’t want to accept that pressing reason himself?

He’s too quiet. He hesitates for too long. He is always too quiet and hesitating for too long. The sound of a bowl settling atop mahogany, chopsticks following suit, fills his ears. With bated breath, the adeptus feels her presence shift from the seat across his to standing right beside him.

It takes everything in him not to pivot.

“Xiao.” Keqing’s voice is firmer now...still gentle, but far more stalwart in intention. His eyes glaze over briefly, searching hers, finding in them the stubborn concern he’d grown to cherish so much.

When he still offers her no reply, she lifts a hand to his arm, fingers gently running over the exposed skin. “I know you aren’t just here for the sake of being here.” Keqing continues skimming his arm with that feather light touch, just barely cognizant of the slight bumps left in its wake. “After all, it’s a Thursday night. You know better than anyone that I like to spend these nights in solitude.” Her hand halts upon contacting his bird bone wrist.

The adeptus feels his mouth dry at the tenderness of it all, sucking in a breath once her fingertips stop at his wrist, a hair shy out of his reach. He wonders if intimacy would always feel this...strange. Exhilarating. Or was this merely her Vision’s power at work? She is an Electro user, after all...

“Please talk to me.” There’s a meek lilt in Keqing’s voice that coerces Xiao to not only look up, but to also maintain his hold on her gaze. How pathetic, the way he can stare at hell itself square in the eye but could barely muster the courage to expend even a glance her way.

“I–“ Pause. Falter. Swallowing thickly, Xiao rises from his seat. He slowly takes the hand adorning his wrist into his own — intertwining the fingers one by one, marveling at how perfectly they fit together.

Then, bowing his head and releasing a sigh, he finds the courage to speak his piece — to voice his pressing reason...

“You are better off without me.”

Xiao feels the hand in his go limp.

”What? What do you mean?” There’s an incredulity that leaks into the Yuheng’s tone that he isn’t familiar with. He doesn’t like it.

”I am not worthy of you, Keqing. What we have, it cannot be.” What vile things to say. What vile, disgusting things. The words lapping his tongue taste almost as bitter as the blood he’d once shed, so he does exactly what he did all those years ago.

He gulps it down.

”You deserve better. You deserve the world. I don’t say this with the intention of discrediting myself. But I–“ Xiao trembles in spite of himself. He feels her other hand cup the small of his back. “–I am not capable of offering you all that you deserve, or even half of that amount.”

He doesn’t quite know how he sounds at that moment, let alone how he looks, but as he feels Keqing’s arms adjust to wrap around his frame, he figures it can’t be good.

”I don’t understand you sometimes,” she whispers into the crook of his neck. “You say you don’t mean to sell yourself short, yet that’s exactly what it sounds like you are doing.” She squeezes him softly before leaning further into the embrace. “Besides, who are you to tell me what I do and do not deserve? Who is anyone to decide that? Shouldn’t that decision be mine and mine alone?”

Whenever she talks like that, Xiao finds it difficult to fathom her mortality...to grasp the idea that she would one day be nothing but ashes at his feet. Yet, as he holds her, and as she holds him, her breath, her small frame, and the bray of her human heart become all the more clear to him.

”I suppose you’re right. Forgive me. This is novel territory for someone such as myself.” The adeptus feels her form loosen as she chuckles. He rests his chin upon her shoulder. “But still, I can’t help but feel that the life you lead has far more meaning than mine.”

Xiao withdraws from their embrace, if only to get a full glimpse of her face. Noticing the hints of tears pooling at the corner of one eye, he takes a thumb and lightly brushes it away.

”But you are the protector of Liyue, handpicked by Rex Lapis himself.”

Classic Keqing. Always so quick to counter him. He begins trailing his thumb down her cheek — slowly, softly. Her eyes reflexively draw closed. “While that may be so, my time here knows no limits. I can afford to be complacent. But you–“ Xiao pauses again. At this point, his thumb is bordering the curve of her jaw and her bottom lip. “–Your time in this world is finite. As a result, you cannot afford to spend it with regrets.” Now, it’s his turn to shut his eyes. He bows his head again. “I fear that may come to pass if you continue to involve yourself with me.”

The Yuheng allows her eyes to flutter half-open. She too bows her head, if to just press her forehead to his. “You don’t know that for sure.” Lifting a hand, she rests it on top of his. She prods his thumb so that it rests on the flush red of her lip, right where it meets her skin. “Even knowing the fate of our bond, much of the future is still uncertain.”

Xiao‘s head dips lower. Their noses brush. He can feel her breath hitch. “I understand that better than most. Nothing in this world is completely certain. Even the word of our gods is something that, at times, must be taken with a grain of salt.” He almost smiles saying that. You taught me this yourself. His thumb begins gingerly grazing her bottom lip. “But wouldn’t you want to pursue that which would yield you the most certainty?” Xiao can sense his feelings going awry once more. He breathes deeply and prolongs the exhale that follows, as if to ground himself. “That includes entering a relationship with...another mortal. Someone who can provide for you. Someone who is always present. Someone...whose love will not be lost to the whims of time.” He sighs in spite of himself, consciously commanding that his voice stay as level as possible. “Is that not what you want?”

Not even a second elapses before Keqing scoffs. Whether it’s ironic or not is completely lost on the adeptus, but what he does know for sure is the feeling of his other hand being claimed by hers — of it being lifted to her face, of it cupping her cheek.

”Do you even hear yourself right now? I’m not sure whether to call you foolish or stubborn, but that doesn’t matter right now.” She releases a breath. “What matters is you knowing, with absolute certainty, that no, isn’t at all what I want.” Keqing’s face nears his even more so. Lips, parted. Eyes, half-lidded. Xiao’s thumb moves to frame the curve of her chin.

”What I want is you.” Their lips brush for a fraction of a second. Her breath is a strange comfort, hot in his mouth. “Xiao, I choose you. For better or for worse. I want to spend this lifetime with you ... and if not that, then at the very least, every second of  the time we’ve been allotted with each other. Nothing can hope to alter those facts — nothing except how you decide to proceed with this information.”

He opts to respond by, at long last, closing the last bit of distance that separates them. Lips pressed against lips, body pressed against body, hands pressed against hands.

They need not talk even after they pull away from each other, the tingling in their lips and blush sweeping their cheeks speaking volumes for themselves. Moments later, they’re close again – practically insoluble as they envelope the other in their arms, as their heads settle warmly atop each other’s shoulder.

There, they stay for a while.

There, they reconcile with their comfortable silence.