#i have concerns about the design. all of it

[romanteacism]

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Particular Risk

Synopsis: They say taking a risk could drown you-- but you knew it must be taken, and if you were to jump in the deep end, your knight would always follow you closely behind. Warnings: None (yet), Aemond and Princess Realizations, Jealousy, Fluff, Princess Taking Risks PREVIOUS PART A/N: MWAH 💋

“No! I’ve already worn this last year— and this the year before that!” You explained as you tried to find a headpiece for your father’s name day celebration. It was a tradition that each name day of the king was celebrated with a masquerade ball— a tradition you had looked forward to each year, always amused and excited to attend such an event. Through the years, it had become vexing as you took it upon yourself to wear a headpiece unique and unlike the other you had worn or anything similar to other members of the court. “How about this, princess? It—“ You cut off the masque maker, “My cousin had already worn a mask similar to that one three years before,” You sighed, struggling to find the final piece of your ensemble for the ball that was fast approaching. 

“If I may, princess— perhaps you have a design in mind? If none of these are to your liking, we are more than happy to create a piece completly unique to you.” The masque maker suggested, not wanting to leave their princess unhappy. You paused for a moment and thought about the proposition before nodding; Ser Aemond was quick to your aid and handed you your leather-bound sketchbook and charcoal. You smiled upon him in gratitude, trying to urge yourself to grow accustomed to the quickening in your heart each time your eyes met and your skin brushed. Aemond marveled at how quick you were to sketch what you desired, quickly creating what you wished. You tore the page and handed it to the masque maker. It was a mask in the intricate design of a butterfly wing. “And I want it to be made with sapphires and… and perhaps gold, if it’s not too heavy,” You say, pointing at the places you wished to put the precious gemstones. “Of course, princess, we shall make it right away,” The masque maker bowed and proceeded to leave with haste to complete your masque for the ball that was merely three days away. 

As he left you, bit your lip and frowned, “Did you think I was too demanding?” You suddenly asked Ser Aemond as you rested your back on your settee. Second-guessing your particularity and having to ask the masque maker to make you a specific mask when, in truth, the masks he presented were completely adequate. “No, princess,” Aemond replied, questioning why you asked such a question. “Why would you think so?” You sighed and shrugged, “Well, it’s just… I feel guilty— maybe the masque maker thinks I do not think his designs are good to the point that I had to make my own; I do not wish to offend him…” You pouted, taking hold of the masques he had left, twirling the feather decoration between your fingers. “You are too kind, princess,” Aemond said, his heart warming and concerned at how such a little encounter made you feel guilty. “You know what it is you want— that is an admirable quality,” Aemond hummed.

“Is it? My mother always said my particularity is a sin because it makes me demanding,” You muttered. Aemond straightened his stance, “There is a difference between knowing what you want and demanding what you want, princess,” He said, “Being demanding is you take for granted all that you are given— asking and asking for more without even a speck of gratitude. That is not you, princess… that is never you,” You smiled at your knight as his words only made you fall deeper for him. “That is very kind of you to say,” You smiled, trying to reign in the flush that crept up your cheeks. Aemond bit the insides of his cheeks as he realized the smile on your lips was because of him. 

When the day of the ball arrived, the keep was busied to prepare for the night's festivities. Ser Aemond stood outside your door as you were prepared for the party in your father’s name, observing and listening to your pacing footsteps as you frantically got ready. “Tighter, please.” You say as you steadied yourself by the poster of your bed. “Are you certain, princess? Can you even breathe?” Your handmaid questions, apprehension heavy in her voice. You nodded and took in a deep breath as your corset was tightened to your liking. You let out a sigh as your body was hugged further by the bodice of your dress. You moved towards your vanity as your handmaid began to style your hair. Theodore lept upon the table, and you cooed at your cat, who was almost fully grown, placing a special collar and a special headpiece on his head so he would not feel left out for the day’s gala. 

A knock sounded out as your handmaiden finished styling your hair. You thanked her and dismissed her, and in exchange, Ser Aemond entered your chambers holding two silk boxes. “Your masque has arrived, princess,” Ser Aemond stated and placed down the boxes on your vanity table. A wide grin spread upon your lips as you inspected the mask made to your specifications and wants. He turned towards the other box, not certain of what it could contain, for he knew you had only sent out one design, but he did not question it. 

You gently placed down the masque and stood, taking hold of the unopened box, and walked to Ser Aemond, urging him to take it. “Pardon, princess?” he asked as he was uncertain what you meant. “It’s yours— I sent them another design and asked them to make a mask for you,” You smiled. Aemond blinked. “I… I am not in need of a mask, princess— I am not a guest.” He said, but you only shook your head. 

“All who will be in the hall later are in need to wear a masque! You are to be my side later on, are you not?” You question, and Ser Aemond nodded. “Of course, I will be by your side—but I do not need a mask— if anything, it would hinder me from my duty. I already only have one eye; it would be cumbersome if I wore a mask and obstructed the view of the other,” He explained, and you pursed your lips. “Which is why I designed one specifically for you,” You say and urge him once again to open the box. Ser Aemond did so hesitantly. Aemond pursed his lips as he was presented with a mask that matched yours. One that covered his damaged eye with a gleaming sapphire. Aemond swallowed thickly, at a loss for words. Had you known his secret? How did you know all that he hid? 

“Do you not like it?” You asked, slight dread in your stomach as your knight only gaped upon the mask you designed. “No— I…I do,” He suddenly spoke, fearing he offended you. You bit your lip as you could not read his eye, “If you truly do not wish to wear a mask, I understand,” You said and tried to take it from his hold, but he hindered you. “No, I shall wear it. Thank you, princess,” your knight assured, and you nodded, hoping you did not force upon your knight the mask. 

“Princess, the guests are arriving,” You hear a squire call out, and you move to wear your mask and carry Theodore in your arms. As you turned your gaze to your knight, Ser Aemond had already forgone his eyepatch and wore the mask that matched yours— a picture of unity that you could humor yourself with. You smiled as he led out his arm for you to take as the two of you went down to the reception hall. “Happy name day, Father!” You greeted as you saw your father standing by the great doors, already wearing his mask. “Thank you, my darling, and don’t you look lovely,” The king smiled, kissed his daughter on the cheek, and petted her beloved cat. The king moved to glance at the knight who stood behind his daughter, Ser Aemond giving a bow at the king, who gave a nod and noticed how Ser Aemond’s maks matched his daughter’s; the king said naught a word. 

You took your place by the left of your brother, and your knight stood behind you. “Did you truly bejeweled your cat’s collar?” Your brother asked, looking upon Theodore, who was perfectly behaved in your arms. “Of course! No child of mine would be underdressed!” You say, placing a kiss on your cat’s back, and your brother lets out an amused breath as you claim the feline to be your child. You greeted the guests who attended the celebration, but you could not help but be distracted and glance towards your knight— sneaking a look upon him as he surveilled all who came and, if any, presented danger. Gods, the sapphire truly suited him. You could not help but think. You let out a breath and returned to face forward to return at the matter at hand, fearing Ser Aemond would notice your glances and learn of your affection for him. 

When the party had moved to the great hall, you found your way back to your knight, ushering you along the crowded room. The two of you were supposed to make your way toward the long table at the end of the grand hall, but the call of your name, unchained by any title, made you both pause. Ser Aemond was quick to frown at who had the gall to call upon you so openly. He turned to you, and before he could utter a word, you left his side and readily ran towards the call. Aemond felt a twisting in his gut as you ran towards the man and threw your arms around him— the stranger twirling around and even went as far as to kiss your cheek. Aemond swallowed thickly, not knowing what to do. He knew he must be by your side, but he could not bear to be there when another took his place. 

“I did not know you would attend! Why did you not write to me?” He heard your question, watching as you took hold of the man’s hand and pulled towards the end table, walking past him without another glance. Aemond’s hold on the hilt of his sword tightened as he followed you and the stranger whom your brother and your father readily and warmly welcomed. Absent was any recognition from your mother— which was not at all surprising. “You did not tell us you will attend!” Your brother greeted in surprise, hugging the man and giving him a clap on the back. “Of course, I would never miss the king’s name day,” He charmingly smiled, and Aemond watched you roll your eyes as if it were something amusing that completely flew over Aemond’s head— he could not even bear to look upon the man’s face as he was certain if he did, he would have to battle with the urge to maim him. Who was he?! 

Throughout the whole night, you were enveloped with merriment and were entertained by the man that Aemond had slipped away form your side, and he was certain that you had not even noticed. He watched from a distance as you spun on the dance floor, laughing carelessly whilst in the arm of another. Aemond looked away, unable to bear such a scene. Jealousy was consuming him, but at the same time, he knew he had no right to feel such emotions, for he was only your knight. And yet, envy gnawed at him— coursing through his veins and making the scar of his eye throb and burn. 

At the height of the party, you excused yourself to have a breath of fresh air; you looked around the hall in search of your knight. You had been trying to capture his gaze the whole night, trying to spot his unique silver hair, but he had been seamlessly in the crowd, denying you to gaze upon his lilac eye. You went towards the farthest balcony alone, wagering to yourself that your knight would somehow find you— that an unknown presence would pull him towards you. It did. 

“I haven’t seen you the whole night,” You stated, staring at the moon at the distant sound of the party filled the quiet night. You had felt him creep up by his rightful place that he had abandoned the past few hours. “How could you? You were distracted,” Aemond answered, tone holding bitterness that he tried not to seep through, but jealousy was an erratic and unbridled emotion that not many could control. You finally turned to look upon your knight, your smile faltering as you saw his overly stoic demeanor, and he had removed the mask you had made especially for him. “You’re not wearing your mask anymore,” you said quietly, a tad disappointed. “I did not feel the need to, princess,” He answered coldly.

You blinked upon the furrow in his brows. “Are you well?” You questioned, the air between you tenser than it was just a few hours before. “Yes,” Ser Aemond answered curtly. “But you’re frowning,” Ser Aemond shook his head, “I am not, princess.” You playfully rolled your eyes and step closer to your knight. “You are, there’s a line between your brows,” You say, reaching up and trying to smoothen the crease on the middle of his face. But as you did, your knight jerked his head away— as if your touch had scorned him— he moved away as if he were disgusted. “I—“ You say and quickly retrieve your hand, your stomach twisting as you find offense in his actions. “I’m sorry,” You finished your sentence, not expecting him to react in such a way. 

Aemond saw the hurt in your eyes, guilt creeping into his bloodstream, but it was overpowered by the jealousy he felt as he had to observe you with the stranger. “Go back to the party, princess,” He said, voice having the same tone of indifference it had during his first days as your sworn protector. “I… I do not understand you,” you said, resting your hand on your abdomen as the twist in your stomach never left. “One moment, you are warm and… and kind and obliging— then the next, you turn cold and detached… why do you do it?” You asked, as much as you hold affection for Ser Aemond, it was hard to overlook his differing treatment. It confuses you further, and you do not know if his sentiments were genuine or an act. Aemond shook his head once more, not wanting to answer your question. 

“Just return to the party, princess— I’m certain he is waiting for you,” He gritted, not able to meet you in the eye. You frowned, noting the bitterness in his voice, a bitterness you had grown to know as you had felt it more often as of late. You turned your gaze upon his gritted jaw, then to his clenched fists. “Are you jealous?” You suddenly asked, his stature not of anger but rather of jealousy. His reactions are quite the same as yours as you felt such emotions. Aemond scoffed, “What kind of question is that?” He asked in ridicule, once again toeing the line of impertinence as he addressed you in such a tone. 

“A simple one. Are you jealous?” You asked once more, curious as well if that was the emotion he felt and as to why he felt it and what it meant if he were actually jealous. “I do not know what you speak of, princess.” Aemond gritted, not wanting to admit that you knew the precise emotion he felt. You tried to meet his eye, trying to see if he uttered the truth, but he avoided your gaze. You bit your lip in defeat and embarrassment. “Very well then,” you nodded and walked past him and did as he said and returned to the party but your merriment had gone the moment your knight had left your side. 

“Come, let me escort you to your chambers,” Aemond heard the man say as he linked his arms with yours. He could not believe what he heard and saw— you nodded and let him assist you, bidding your family good night, and they only let you go off with the stranger without question. Even your brother, who was overly protective of you when it came to your suitors, only nodded and bid you goodnight, not even batting an eye as he let the man escort you to your chambers. Aemond wanted to scream— to let out his frustrations at what was happening, at how you, the one who had insisted that she wanted nothing to do with a suitor or the opposite sex, let this man escort you to your room. He tried to listen in to your conversation as he trailed behind you in the halls, but your voices were hushed and could not be understood; it was as if you two spoke a secret language— familiarity between the two of you evident and only twisted the heart of Aemond. 

You paused when you reached your door, smiling at the man. Ser Aemond held his breath as he watched you stand at the tip of your toes and give the man a kiss on the cheek. By gods, this was torture. What had he done to bear witness to such a scene? Aemond was ready to succumb to another dimension of hurt and envy, but before he could fall into a further pit of despair, he heard you speak. “Good night… brother,” You smiled fondly. Ser Aemond caught your eye as you quickly glanced at him before disappearing into your chambers, leaving him dumbfounded. Brother?

The next morning came, and everyone in the keep had a later start on the day except for Aemond, who still tried to piece together what you had said the night before. Borther? You had another brother? How did he not know? None had mentioned him before— he was absent from any other event— he was not even present in any of the portraits in the keep. How, then, could he be your brother!?

“Goo—Good morning, princess,” Aemond stuttered as you exited your chambers. His jealousy had simmered and instead turned into nerves as he did not know where the two of you stood after your conversation last night. “Good morning.” You replied curtly, walking past Ser Aemond, growing accustomed to the usual retaliation and routine of ignorance and silence whenever you and your knight would grow cross with one another. He followed you to the gardens, your usual lonesome place now housed your two brothers who waited for you. “There you are!” Your brother, whose name he was still yet to know, greeted. “I still cannot believe you did not tell us that you were coming! We could have prepared your room!” You greeted your brother as he assisted you to your chair. “Well, in truth, my coming was unplanned— I was only near the capitol as I had to buy supplies, and I thought I should come to the king’s celebration,” Your brother explained as he fought with you with the piece of pastry you were eyeing, smiling at his tease to acquire what you wanted but in the end, he only placed it onto your plate. 

“I actually have to leave— I had just waited for you to wake so I could bid you goodbye.” The smile on your lips quickly disappeared. “But you’ve only just arrived! And we have not seen you in so long— must you truly go already?” You asked, disappointed upon the revelation. “I’m afraid so; they are waiting for me in the Citadel… but I assure you, I shall come once again during winter— that is if your mother allows me to step foot on capitol grounds.” Aemond frowned upon your other brother’s wording— the prince letting out an amused chuckle as he popped a berry into his mouth. “Fine. But if you are not here by the holidays, I’ll have Father send out men to come fetch you, I swear.” You say as you narrow your eyes, and your brother only smiles. “I know, you’ve done it before.” 

Aemond followed as you and the prince bid goodbye to your brother by the gates. Aemond still wondered about what had happened— at how the man he thought was your suitor was your brother and how your brother was not acknowledged by the court. “Ser Aemond,” the prince nodded as he walked past your knight to attend his duties for the day. Aemond swallowed as he heard you sigh, the two of you now left alone and the tenseness in the air had never departed. You and Aemond were once again succumbed to the silence of indifference— one he hoped would be quick to be gone. It was nearing nightfall, the sky alight with the afterglow of the sun, and Aemond could no longer stomach the two of you not speaking. 

Your knight pursed his lips and let out a grieved breath, daring to take hold of your arm and pull you into an alcove of an empty hall. “What is it?” You asked coldly. “I…. I—“ Your knight could not articulate his words— confusion and remorse taking hold of his senses. You stood there for a moment as Ser Aemond could not make out his words, but the confusion in his eye told you all that you needed to know. “Do you recall when I told you when my mother and father did not marry for love?” You questioned, and Ser Aemond only nodded. “Father loved another… and from that love came our half-brother.” You explained the deepest secret your family had to your knight. “He was born a moon before my mother and father married— but his mother had died during his birth. Instead of disregarding his existence, Father placed him in the care of a distant cousin— and the court has been fed the lie that he is our cousin when, in truth, he was our brother.” 

“He is a bastard,” Aemond stated as he recalled all you had said. His words quickly made a frown slip to your face. “He, is my brother. No matter the state of legitimacy.” You said, and Aemond recoiled as he realized not all held the distaste for bastards as he did because not all had the same treatment he had from the bastards in his family. “I’m sorry, princess,” Aemond said in remorse, not even able to meet your gaze. You pursed your lips and rested your back upon the curved wall of the alcove as you assessed Ser Aemond. It should concern you that even though he had offended you, your heart still yearned for him. “I still do not understand you,” you say. “Whenever I think we are venturing towards a sense of normalcy— that we’re getting somewhat closer… you grow cold and distance yourself.” You hated this— you hated to sound as such before Ser Aemond because you knew, at its core, your relationship did not warrant any speck of closeness or anything that resembled intimacy. He was your knight, and you were simply his duty. 

Aemond licked his lips as he had no words to explain why he did such action— well, he did have the words, but he knew he could not utter it. “That is just how I am, princess,” he reasoned, but you sighed and crossed your arms across your chest, looking to your left and momentarily distracting yourself with the view of the afterglow. “I do not believe you.” You say quietly. “You do not have to,” Aemond answered. “So last night… your reaction was not brought forth by jealousy— what was it then?” You questioned, daring to utter the question even though you took the risk of hurting your pride once more. Aemond bit his tongue, having no way out of the conversation. He swallowed thickly, and before he could listen to reason and before his sensibilities could hinder him, he spoke the truth. “It was.” You frowned and wondered if you heard correctly. “Why?” You questioned in disbelief. 

Aemond turned to his right and stared out into the afterglow as well, knowing in himself there was no escape— he knew he must take the risk even if his station and pride would be on the line. “Because… because he took my place.” He said, not having the guts to offer half-truths or a made-up reason to defend his actions. “You had not even noticed my departure, for you were too consumed by his presence,” he mumbled, not able to hinder himself once more. “So you were jealous because you thought he was my suitor, and my attention was on him instead of you…” You trailed, your knight unmoving and providing no validation for your question. “Why would you be jealous?” In truth, you thought he had no care— that he was immune to such emotions, for your affections were certainly unrequited… wasn’t it?

You locked eyes with his unique lilac ones. The silence was palpitating but never uncomfortable. None uttered a word, but each moment you held your sworn protector’s gaze, you found your answer. You let out a shaky breath as you realized Ser Aemond’s gaze mirrored yours— that your emotions were one with his. And with such realizations, words were taken from you, and all you could do was close the damned gap between and take the risk. You stood on the tip of your toes and let your lips be met with your knight’s because you knew what you wanted, and what you wanted was him. Just him. 

[mischievousmoony]

Omg I love ur James fics. You think you could do one where reader finally feels comfortable getting drunk while going out with their group because she knows James is there to take care of her. Ur drunk reader x James interactions are too cute. I feel like I always have a hard time letting go cause I’m afraid I’ll need to take care of my other friends haha. Love your work!

thank u love! i have fun writing them, i just know james would be so caring! ps thank you for being patient ik this request came in a while ago

𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍

⟢ james potter x fem!reader ⊹ 1.0k ⟢ warnings/tags: intoxication (i think that’s it but lmk if i missed any pls)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"But what if Sirius tries to get a new tattoo again?" you ask, twisting back and forth with a steady squeak, squeak, squeak of your barstool.

James clasps his hand on your shoulder, turning you one last time to face him. "Remus is watching him."

"What if Marlene tries to go on another one of her adventures?"

Marlene has a knack for getting herself into precarious situations when she gets drunk, which she likes to call her “little adventures.” Usually, this means going home with a stranger, whether it’s for a hookup or to steal their lightbulbs because they looked at her wrong.

"Lily’s got her.”

"What if I do something stupid?" you ask, now swinging your legs. The nerves eating away at you just won’t let you sit still.

James puts his other hand on your knee, soothing you with a gentle squeeze. "I'm watching you," he says. After thinking it over for a moment, he adds, “And I don't think you'll do anything stupid. Even if you do, I'll do something more stupid so that nobody notices."

This earns him a giggle from you, and he’s happy to see you smiling. He picks up your glass, which is now covered in beads of water, plenty of time having passed for condensation to run its course. He dries what he can with a napkin because he knows you hate when the droplets land in your lap.

You once asked him why it happened, even though you knew the answer. He simply told you it was science.

“Science is stupid,” you had said, eyes fixating on several small spots of water soaking into your jeans.

Now, James wraps your glasses with napkins. He holds out your drink, a black napkin enveloped around it, as he asks, “You want to do this, right?”

You peek into the glass and watch the dwindling ice cubes swirl around in a vodka cran; a drink that James had called “beginner friendly.”

“Yeah,” you answer shyly.

James frowns. “It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind.”

You chew your bottom lip, thinking it over. A part of you wants to forget it, but another part of you knows you’d be disappointed in yourself for chickening out again.

You wrap your hand around the glass, cringing at the squish of the soggy napkin beneath your fingertips. You don’t know what’s worse: this feeling or the water dripping all over you. But James’ attempts to help make you feel warm inside, so you don’t complain.

“No, I still want to do this.”

“Then I’m here for you. Promise.” James gives your knee another squeeze.

You cast a look toward your friends. For years, you've nominated yourself as the designated driver. Or you've claimed to have early morning obligations. You've always felt better knowing someone sober was around to deliver plenty of water and carb-rich snacks to your incapacitated friends.

That was your excuse, anyway. Not that it isn't one of your concerns, but truthfully, something about drinking makes you feel uneasy. You always knew your friends were safe because you've been there, ready to hold back anyone's hair or stray them away from bad decisions. If you drank too, how could you be sure your friends would have someone to depend on? How could you be sure you would have someone to depend on?

Then, you started dating James, and you found a level of trust you never knew was possible. You know you can depend on him for anything.

When you admitted to him why you never drink when you go out, he swore up and down that he would be there for you.

Remembering his promise summons a wave of courage. You shoot James a nervous smile, and take your first sip, scrunching your nose as it burns your tongue.

"This is kind of gross."

James barks a laugh, "We can try to find something you'd like better next round. That is, if you decide to have another."

Feeling brave, you do have another. That's when you discovered something called the Cosmic Lemon Fizz; a drink that sparkles with edible glitter and manages to be blue, green, and yellow all at once. You laughed when you saw it, not knowing how in for it you were.

"Jamie!" you exclaim after taking a sip of your third Cosmic Lemon Fizz. "This tastes like happy feels!" you gasp as if the thought had just occurred to you, despite this being the fourth time you tell him.

"I bet it does!" James cheers. His eyes wrinkle in the corners as he beams at you.

"You should try one!" you declare, and immediately try to flag over the bartender.

James smoothly takes your hand, stopping you as he says, "No can do. Made a promise to a pretty girl that I wouldn't have a drop tonight."

You whip your head around. "Who!?" you ask, eyes wide.

"Who do you think, pretty girl," he says, poking you in the side.

Giggles escape you and you swat his hand away. He doesn't go far, lifting his arm to brush some stray hairs out of your face. His hand lingers on the side of your face, soothing the pad of his thumb against your cheek.

You lean into his touch, gazing up at him with an affectionate glaze in your eyes; a look that gives him butterflies.

"Wowww," you say dreamily. "You're handsome."

James feels his heart flip in his chest. "Thank you, love," he says, a soft smile playing at his lips.

"Hey," Sirius says, appearing out of nowhere as he lazily throws an arm over your shoulders, "How's it going over here?"

While you're distracted with Sirius, James waves over the bartender and replaces your drink with water. The next time you reach for your glass, you hesitate.

"Where's my cosmo magic fizzy thingy?" you ask, an eyebrow raised as you glance at James.

"You must've finished it," he shrugs, acting clueless.

"That's like the oldest trick in the book. You replaced it with water and now you're trying to be sneaky!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," James feigns innocence.

You giggle, bringing the straw to your lips. "I knew you'd take care of me. I love you," you say, happily sipping your water.

James feels another eye-wrinkling smile break out on his face. "I love you too, pretty girl."

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[stxneflxwers]

pain reliever.

⋯⁂ summary. migraines. migraines never end.

⋯⁂ a/n. oh my god im so sick of being in pain someone just make it end-

⋯⁂ characters. aventurine. gn reader.

⋯⁂ cw. reader in physical pain (migraines, light sensitive eyes). comfort. all lowercase. aventurine is now designated weighted blankie.

"another migraine, huh?"

aventurine chimes in, his voice soft as a feather – without its typical sassy and teasing edge, too. he stands behind you as you rest on the sofa in his penthouse, your sluggish body flush against the puffy back cushions. his hands rest on the tops of the cushions, caging either side of your head as he stares down at you, your head tilted back to look up at him.

of course, the seating is about as lavish and comfortable as it comes – you wouldn't expect anything less from your eccentric boyfriend.

"yup." you don't even nod, and your words are barely louder than a pained whisper.

"you poor thing," he coos, "here. take it." he offers his rose-tinted sunglasses to you, to help subdue some of the bright lighting coming from the ceiling.

you stare for a long, hard (and painful) moment at the sunglasses offered to you. without another moment thinking about if the rose-tinted lens will actually help with negating some pain, you take the accessory by its temples and slide them on. you then look up at him through the rosy glass, your eyes half-lidded and your expression droopy.

"adorable." he grins, a genuine one he reserves for you – only for you. "now, how about i look for some meds, huh? i bought some recently for times like these." he reaches out a gloved hand, intending on gently petting your head, but ends up holding himself back. his hand awkwardly hovers above your face before it rests back down on the sofa back.

"...you did that? for me?" you blink, eyes widening momentarily with knitted brows.

"i sure did. i can't have my favorite person being in debilitating pain every time i see them, yeah? it's no fun that way." he chuckles breathily before leaning down to press a chaste, feather-light kiss to your exposed forehead.

"i wouldn't call it debilitating, per se..." you drawl, but smile from his tender ministrations.

"well, we'll have to agree to disagree, then," he shakes his head. "i'll be right back. you try to rest some." he walks away, dimming the lights in the living room as he leaves to look for the medication he mentioned.

"thank you, vasha..." you mumble, watching him walk away – his stride holds significantly less bravado to it when it's just the two of you. it's...relaxed.

when he returns with two pills and a cup of cool water in hand, he finds you laying down on the sofa – curled up in a tight, little ball of..., well, pain. he hates seeing you in pain, much less so this frequently. but he masks his concern just enough to not make you worry about him being worried. it's almost ironic.

"hey," he whispers, voice even softer than earlier, "c'mon, time to take your meds~." he teases a little as he bends over enough to meet your scrunched up face, hoping to lighten your mood.

"alright, alright..." you grumble, "thank you, nurse." you tiredly grin at him before pulling yourself up into a seated but slouched position.

"aww, i bet you'd like to see me all dressed up like a cute little nurse, huh?" he jokes while handing you the pills and cup.

"...i will neither confirm nor deny that allegation." you scoff playfully, and then you take the medication as instructed – of course, you down all the water too. or else a certain gambler will get on your case.

"pfft, figures." he snickers, taking a seat beside you on the sofa, slinging an arm on the top of the back cushions.

after setting the empty cup down on the accessory table next to the armrest, you glance at him with weary eyes. but to him, it looks like you're about to beg for something–

"be my blanket."

perhaps "beg" was a poor word choice. that sounded far more like a demand.

"...your blanket...?" he blinks on repeat, looking somewhat bewildered.

"yes. lay on top of me." you blink back, but your expression lacks any sort of discernible emotion. "it's...comforting."

"well," he starts with an awkward, stiff chuckle, "if you insist. i'll gladly be your blanket, then." he smiles and shakes his head.

you lay on your back, opening your arms to him before he settles on top of you – he's the best height and weight to be a nice, warm weighted blanket. he rests his head on your chest as his body sits between your legs. you sigh in contentment, and you swear this is what real perfection feels like.

warm, safe, quiet.

[scintillyyy]

actually it is interesting how dixon has tim discover his feelings for steph over the course of and in contrast to what was ultimately his failing relationship with ari & like. listen i'm not here ti cast judgment on either tim or steph here, but it was very much written by dixon as like. steph knowingly was very pushy about wanting to be in a relationship with tim even knowing he was actively in a relationship and fundamentally did not care about tim's girlfriend as a human being because steph saw tim being in a relationship already as basically minor inconvience because she wanted tim & tim clearly seemed to want her so he should just be with her instead. and like tim's hands clearly aren't entirely clean here either, because he did kind of ultimately just going with the flow and letting things happen. (but!! i am on the side of both of them are messy teens in their first relationships & neither deserves lifelong castigation for 14-15 year old messiness, let's be clear). but the circumstances around this messiness even being able to happen is because ariana is fundamentally unable to truly know what's going on as she's never privy to the secret. she had no way of knowing what tim is doing or who he's meeting--sure she gets jealous when she sees tim notice steph, but she never knows that there's another girl in tim's life exists & can't know. meanwhile the whole time steph is flirting with tim she is well aware that ariana, or "tim's girlfriend" exists. tim & steph exist because at the time of his relationship with ari, tim was allowed to actively and consistently interact with another girl while actively in a relationship with another one & steph was well aware and a participant in that.

and that's kind of by design--dixon, i do think dixon fairly early on decided that he was more interested in tim&steph over tim&ari, but i do think it's important to note that when dixon created ari he's on the record of conceiving of her as a lois lane type romance interest for tim, she was clearly originally intended to have long term sticking power for him. but then--*readers* didn't vibe with her. there's letters in old issues basically asking--"hey, is steph going to come back, hey is steph going to date tim, hey love steph when are they getting together". so while dixon got fully on board with tim & steph i think it's safe to say he was also. probably very cognizant of readers deciding they like a different love interest better.

so there's an interesting pivot in dixon once tim & steph are firmly on the "getting together" train and it's that tim is not allowed to exist of breathe near other female characters without being chaperoned by steph or it involving steph somehow in deference to steph's jealousy issues. with steph's entrance into tim's life, tim is moved away from the mixed more sex friend group (that existed with callie & ariana) of gotham heights high to 1) homeschooling in keystone 2) all male boarding school brentwood. the only female friendship he gains is star, and that's used in a story for steph to misunderstand and start stalking star and her brother in an attempt to find tim & catch him in the act. tim is no longer allowed to team up with girls his age or a little older without stephanie there. he's not even allowed to be concerned about random adult woman dana (his stepmom) without steph breathing down his neck despite the fact that once they start dating tim is doggedly pretty loyal to steph as far as girls were, far more than he ever was with ariana. & like. in universe this is an interesting character beat for steph considering the start of their relationship being that steph pushed tim while he was in a relationship & is paranoid of all other women, that they'll act like she did. but from an out of universe perspective you can tell dixon was absolutely shutting down any other relationship possibility for tim other than steph. he knew the pain of creating a love interest that got subsumed in interest by another and was under no circumstances going to let anyone else in that that could become a threat to his girl. hence, every time he teams up with a girl after steph has to be there, monitoring & chaperoning. which is very interesting. considering their beginnings and steph's own willingness to hang out with a guy known to be taken without his girlfriend there & her eventual disallowment of tim to do anything with girls who aren't her.

[tragedycoded]

writing share tag!

Oh shit, @cowboybrunch left an open tag on that beautiful excerpt of babygirl Theo being an asshole. And I'm whittling away at this short story.

Yesterday I posted the first 3.1k words of "Among the Elements," which I am revising.

Today I'm offering up 1,930 words and content warnings for DIY surgery, first-person past-tense body horror, and general Mad Science in the name of self-impregnation. It's explicit. IDK how else to tag this. Be careful.

Week 12 Wednesday Most obvious answer has been in front of me the entire time. , Or, rather, adjacent to the experiment itself--it is within my own corpus.

Incubator biosynthetic for sake of fetus's health and safety--never designed with goal of implanation--odds of rejection significant--lower than odds of discovery if left exposed.

Will need to procure robotic assistance. Unable to perform procedure alone. Will require magnetic nerve block, suction, traction, cauterization, waste management if the procedure is successful…

Uncertain as to best incision site. If transverse, reduced risk of hernia and shorter recovery time--limited exposure to surgical site, challenging closure, risk of nerve damage.

Longitudinal…

Had I known I would be installing through a longitudinal incision I may have made different methodological decisions. Earlier installation for one. Will have to manually extract incubator at conclusion of gestation.

Worry about that later.

//

Completed risk assessment.

Incubator 49.5cm in length. Able to accommodate utilizing space in abdominal cavity.

Circumference presents concern. Material somewhat inflexible. Will have to rearrange cavity interior. Possible organ removal necessary.

//

Must be longitudinal incision. Large scar, slower recovery; fewer surgical complications due to open site, will be able to visualize organ migration.

Nothing more to consider. Prepping now. Will update after.

Thursday Glad I'm not two centimeters shorter.

//

Anti-rejectants performing admirably. No redness at site of incision. Pain persistent but tolerable--pharmaceutical intervention will cause unwanted mutations at this stage of gestation even if our systems are not enmeshed.

Acclimating to persistent feeling of fullness and the effect it is having on the gastrointestinal and urogenital systems. Unable to rest supinated--incubator weight occludes the inferior vena cava. Pressure on diaphragm also an unforeseen concern. Several pre-surgical consideration for future application of this prototype.

//

Awakened with realization that THIS IS A PROTOTYPE.

If this doesn't kill either myself or the fetus the implication of successful implantation is phenomenal.

Of course the probability of our both expiring is significant. Compared to this afternoon the fetus's vitals are stable and strong while father vitals are stable and show hypotension and hypoxemia. Lower limb elevation with compression and oxygen adjunct resolved.

I must proceed with caution.

Friday Limited space in hollow organs.

Have learned to vomit without use of abdominal muscles.

Longitudinal incision a terrible idea. That robot was a terrible idea. This was all a terrible idea. I am the king of terrible ideas.

//

Terrible Idea That Wasn't Terrible After All #18: program robot to feed cat in morning. Stay in bed.

She did join me, which was unforeseen. Cleaned her face for roughly an hour and then--purring--laid on my side. Desires the heat of the incubator, doubtless. Considered kicking her out of bed but felt unwell. Feel less unwell, now.

Saturday Fetal heartrate elevated today.

Corpus temperature 38.1C.

This may be how I die. I'd always hoped it would be an explosion that did it. Or an electrical mishap.

Adjusting anti-rejectant dosage.

Sunday Fetal heartrate returned to 110bpm. Corpus temperature reduced to 37.8C. All other systems nominal.

Would say it is easier to breathe but that would be both a colloquialism and a lie. Am however much improved compared to yesterday. Damned cat purred and refused to leave my side until I was able to remove her myself. Robot shuttled broth from the nutrient synthesizer to the bed--I've not taken in nutrients since Wednesday evening.

Thus far the onboard biometrics have reported no issues with the fetus's metabolism or gestation. Incubator nutrient system is unaffected by change in environmental conditions.

Too soon to celebrate.

Monday Cat insists on running in front of me as I'm walking.

Blood loss within acceptable limits--stitches holding--some internal shifting that resolved with external binding. Incubator switching from internal nutrition and filtration to transplacental--connecting its vascular system to mine--a strange sensation I'm unable to put into words, knowing how like and unalike a plumbing system, it can be.

Thinking of my body as a house. Must still be delirious. Back to bed.

Week 13 Wednesday Condition improving--post-operative pain and swelling have subsided significantly--am able to walk from one side of the apartment to the other and have attempted stairs--the incubator appears settled in the abdominal cavity.

One benefit of this arrangement is the incubator will not grow. It is sized for a 12-week-old infant. If I am careful I believe I will be able to keep the incubator hidden for the duration--either in my person, which is less than ideal, or upon returning to a secure laboratory where I can work uninterrupted to perform an extraction. Until such time, I suppose the fetus--

Continuing to refer to the experiment as "the fetus" is unideal. Will have to decide upon a more appropriate name.

Week 18 Friday Initial consideration of healing factor accelerant not entirely baseless--however, I've decided to allow the installation site to close on its own without interfering with placental growth factor. Elastic bandage ensured the incubator did not exert excess pressure on--quite a bit of in and ex in those two sentences for there being not a lot of either, until this stage of the experiment.

Five weeks to complete closure--I should say that's nominal healing, under the circumstances. My own biology may be resistant to the experiment but it continues to perform its essential functions. Equilibrium is returning.

Final and admittedly unthought-through stage of phase I complete.

The experiment is safe.

Week 19 Monday The temptation--the need, I would say, if I were inclined to enter hyperbole into scientific record at some point in the future. I don't need. I want to run scans on this experiment, and the frequency of that want is… overwhelming. Until this point, it would have been too early to scan. Yet that want reared its head near every week for the past month.

Today I was able to measure the fetus's development, and observed continued healthy growth and functionality. Fetus is in the 25th percentile for height and weight with no abnormalities. All vital organs and systems functioning within normal parameters. The incubator is effectively supporting fetal growth and well-being.

While the incubator itself is completely self-contained and able to produce its own hormones, mine has now joined the lymphatic and vascular systems in reducing the incubator's energy consumption.

Am uncertain what to make of this, and look forward to postpartum dissection of the incubator to determine what caused spontaneous integration.

[See supplemental data log for biometric data for week 19 fetal growth.]

//

The biometric scanner is capable of producing imagery of the fetus based on soundwaves.

I saw them. I saw them tonight. They're alive.

//

For the sake of transparency--yes. I was overcome with emotion. It would appear as though the incubator's presence within my abdominal cavity is also exerting bottom-up control over the corpus's endocrine system. I am drawn to think of abstract concepts such as embodiment and caregiving. Of how my corpus had not changed in the milliseconds before the biometric scanner produced an image of the experiment's face, but the experiment became the baby upon subjection to the observer effect. Whether that meant I, by extension, was changed. Whether I had inherited personhood with the death of my ignorance.

I was overcome. I now know everything there is to know about the baby.

I saw my child tonight.

Week 21 Monday The temptation to perform a scan more frequently than every four weeks is maddening. I have the incubator set to alert me if anything changes--not even to suboptimal levels; any change at all--I know when the heartbeat increases, when not enough nutrients are moving through the exchange--when the baby puts their thumb in their mouth.

The only metric I have not gathered concerns their sex. All I know is they are healthy, and I have to be patient.

That sad, I am finding it increasingly difficult to focus on other projects with earlier deadlines. This requires patience, and I keep daydreaming. Knowing months are left between myself and the conclusion of this experiment--for which I was unable to gather consent from the most important participant! Not quite six months, and the difference in how I think of this baby today compared to a series of CRISPR instructions… it may be the literal internalization of my role in the infant's development, or knowing that soon they could survive outside the incubator--so much time has passed, and yet it is not near soon enough to extract the unit.

Nothing to do between here and then but gather data--and, I suppose, as the child has ears, to read to them. Or sing.

Unable to recall if my parents sang to me, when I was only a possibility. Before they sent me away. I was an agreeable child, is my recollection. The Society came for me, and appealed to my parents. They could not give me the sort of education the Society was offering to pay for, and my parents wanted to give me everything. They did not want me to have to work the way they worked.

I wish I would have argued with them. It would have made no difference. But I wish I had told them I didn't want to go.

This child deserves a promise--not to be sent away, and not to be made to be agreeable, if we are not in agreement.

Now I understand why strangers ask if other strangers want to see pictures of their babies, the new ones, all the way up to teenagerhood. I want to show everyone I pass on the street that printout of the impression of this child, the unformed features of their face, and I want to tell them, I made this. This is the only important thing I'll ever do in my life.

Week 23 Neighborhood hot when I returned from the metro. Counted no fewer than four MIB per square kilometer. Uncertain whether they're looking for me--no reason why they ought to be. Simplest and most obvious answer is someone else in the area is drawing attention to themselves. See prev entry re: Omens. Foolish to think ignoring the presence of Technocrats reduces their interest in me, should their interest be above zero. Will proceed with caution.

Week 24 Weight increased substantially, though the incubator has not changed in size. Baby has been gaining 29 grams per week, and the placenta is keeping pace with their development. Anticipate accelerated growth as the trimester continues.

Plenty to discuss, and nothing at all of note. My impatience rears when I acknowledge it; and, in acknowledging it, I have to wonder if impatience doesn't serve as this child's mother, rather than Scientific inquiry.

Week 25 I'm certain other events occurred yesterday that are worth noting. Every other day I make a new discovery, or experience a breakthrough. Were I not frightened of it being entered into evidence, I would record much more of the child's development than I have been.

I am afraid--paranoid, even--and yet.

Every ounce of fear I've felt thus far was erased by a sensation I'd never felt before--never would have felt before--replaced by what can only be described as enlightenment.

I felt like a mortal man stealing fire from the divine. One who went up the mountain sightless and returned with fire. I was, for a moment, a god.

And in that moment I was aware of the presence of life growing within my own, housed within a structure that defies reason or sanity, and I was aware because I felt. I ought not to have been able to feel--I never programmed the biopolymers to transmit information--yet they have.

This is not referred mechanoreception.

I can feel my child move.

[solidwater05]

I'm watching a video about a nuclear reactor in Minecraft and I understand the nuclear part better than the redstone part. What the fuck is a monostable circuit.

[airocats]

[medi-bee]

isat pokemon au, my liege?

my rambling in tags

[h-didanart]

Have any of you guys ever been doodling when suddenly you’re hit by the angstiest idea ever and so you start workshopping that idea into an au as an alternate timeline to see if it would fit with the au only to create an absolutely heartbreaking and depression inducing scenario, only for your brain to decide that’s not enough and end up creating that same scenario in your two other main aus so that you end up with three deeply traumatized versions of the same character?

Anyone?

No?

That’s fair

I call them the heartbroken trio.

We have a post-Everything Goes To Shit arc Scythe, around January ‘24 Bloody, and a post-Second Takeover Harvest. You may notice I called them by their actual names and not by their usual [insert trait here]!BM names, and that’s on purpose.

See, due to various circumstances in each of their respective timelines, their twins died.

They’ve all taken it very harshly, but express it in different ways, Scythe is more reserved yet more ruthless in her anger, Bloody has become extremely disconnected from everything, and Harvest is an anxious wreck. All their reactions are directly correlated to their twins’ death and how they perceived it.

Anyways, yeah.

New au//timeline thing. Yay?

Oh, and for your troubles

The guy who in his canon lost his twin being extremely conflicted about the newcomers. Cuz in one hand they are versions of versions of himself that he knows that he can relate even more to! But on the other hand they are versions of versions of himself that he knows that he can relate even more to.

Yeah :P

Might elaborate on these guys later

[anghraine]

My best friend and I moved in together with his closest friend from his MA program, and while I had met her before (the friend; my bff is a man), we hadn't spent much time together because I've never lived away from the West Coast (and only two years out of the PNW) and she's never lived outside of North Carolina and only briefly visited the PNW once, when she went to Portland last year.

It's been a delight to show her around the PNW and realize we need to explain things that are just sort of omnipresent in our lives. The bff and I were casually griping with each other about having to run an errand to Trader Joe's at an inconvenient hour, and were telling her, "it's okay, you can stay in the car and avoid the people if you want" and she was like "NO I MUST SEE IT, I'VE ONLY HEARD OF THEM" and nearly ascended to another plane when we showed her around the store.

The bff and I grew up in the same town in NW Washington (him for his first 18 years, me from 9 to 19) and he lived in Bellingham and Seattle for years before he went to NC for grad school (I went to the SF Bay Area for mine, a very different experience). Both of them are hardcore coffee aficionados, but he struggled with the different Coffee Ways of the South, so for the true PNW experience they want to tour various indie coffeeshops next.

Also, she adores Kaidan in Mass Effect and we were like, oh, is your passport up to date? We could take a trip sometime and show you your boyfriend's beloved English Bay. It's very beautiful :)

her: O_O

me: Actually, it's worth going to Vancouver BC for its own sake as well, it's truly spectacular. We used to go all the time as kids.

bff: And Victoria!

her: O_O

[true-blue-sonic]

I know for sure I've asked about this a long time ago before but I'm kinda back to thinking about how different the development of Espio and Silver's dynamics would've been in Rivals 2 if they weren't as quick to fully trust each other as they were in canon but remained "enemies" a bit longer and only really teamed up out of necessity. If their dynamic isn't already near-spotless following an inexplicable "for some reason I trust you" type conversation, there's more room (and requirement, really) for growth on both sides; in the original dynamic it feels more like if there's any growth to be had then it'd be solely on Silver, so this thought might also help find a balance

I recall having talked about it before as well, yes. I would say that Espio and Silver alike have quite a few vices that would make cooperating between them far more difficult: they're both tremendously stubborn, proud, opinionated, hot-heated, and just to the extent neither can let evil go its way. While none of those are necessarily attributes that are bad in the situation they are in, I can envision them clashing very badly because of those traits. Considering Espio is actively chasing Silver down to gather evidence of him committing a crime, Silver's hot-headed nature might cause him to fly right off the handle if Espio keeps pushing him about it. And Silver's haughty and rude attitude in turn might make Espio far less willing to see the best in him and try to trust him. I think it speaks to Silver's honest nature and Espio's ability to see the truth in it that they were able to cooperate so relatively smoothly in Rivals 2, but I can also envision many scenarios wherein things did not go so idyllically until far later in the game.

What you're saying next is actually a bit of an issue I have when writing my fics: I've joked before that Espio is "already perfect" because he's just... basically an expert at everything, haha! He completes his missions well, he's driven and skilled, and his overly serious demeanour as the Chaotix's straight man alongside his snark feels like more like comedy than a flaw or something that truly hinders him to me. Meanwhile, Silver is far more 'imperfect' to me: he jumps to conclusions, he can be uncooperative and rude out of nowhere, and even if he is always right in the end, the way towards that end can be tremendously rocky because of those personality traits. That was why I wanted Espio to also go through a development in Stories that made sense to who he is as a character: specifically that he follows Vector's rule to a T regardless of his personal opinion on the matter, which begins to clash with the fact Silver is very much guilty but did what he did for a good cause (aka not a black-and-white scenario at all). And since Silver plays a central role there as well, I think his flaws can play a role also: he doesn't want Espio to be walked over, but the way in which he conveys that (which is rude as hell) might make things worse at first. Vector might be even more pushy about Espio gathering evidence if he gets yelled at by Silver, and Espio in turn might feel needled and put under pressure from two parties now that demand entirely opposite things from him (in his mind). I think such a thing could help make their dynamic more interesting and also different from New Beginnings, while fitting with their personalities.

[lowcallyfruity]

Guys I thought we hated the shroud parents- I thought this was a whole thing one time when we talked about how they’re probably not the best parents- guys am I going insane I swear there was a point in time when we hated them- guys-

[ducktracy]

What’s your favorite Patrick design?

my answer is unsurprising but i promise i’m answer if this with as much objectivity as i can, and answering as a fan of cartoons and what appeals to my sensibilities: BUT! his design in The Patrick Star Show.

i think it just brings such a great aesthetic balance and COMMUNICATES a lot about his character too! i think the inverted theming is clever with his shorts being opaque purple and his shirt green with flowers (as opposed to the green trunks and purple flowers). likewise, it makes me think back to his appearances in the earliest days—the same guy who asks SpongeBob if Sandy is putting on airs would absolutely wear a Hawaiian button up. it’s leisurely and loose, a bit “zany” even to match his endearingly off-color personality, but there’s a sort of prestige to it too! or, at least, as much prestige that can be found in a Hawaiian button up. and i feel like that prestige matches a guy who misinterprets “a hat full of air” as “putting on airs”. he looks like such a buddy, y’know? like someone who gives you that advice that you probably shouldn’t be listening to, but just has such a naturally warm conviction that its hard not to.

as for general art style.. it’s funny, i don’t have a major preference! i gravitate towards his earlier appearances in S1, but i do that with all characters… the show(s) in recent seasons have been really great at capturing a nice balance between some reserved cute charm and fun energy. i’m really not too picky because Patrick’s not too picky! i will say i do tend to gravitate to a style that has slightly bigger/taller eyes and a taller forehead… i tend not to be a fan of The Tooth, but especially when i was first starting out i could understand why it was such a crutch.

alternate, much shorter and more facetious answer: shout-out to the handful of you who remember when this was my profile pic back in early 2019!

[turian]

i love achievements as a feature on steam because it's so fun to be able to see what percentage of players of (for example) new vegas, did a thing. and then speculate on why. and compare to the percentage of players who did another ideologically dissimilar thing. and it also lets me know that not many people bothered with busking in bg3.

[toestalucia]

btw

[whitherwanderer]

20 // hamper

Sawyer huffed as she looked over formulas and figures, the graphite in her hand tapping an impatient spot into the paper where the dulled tip hit it. Even as she reached forwards for her cold tea (per the usual, she’d forgotten it was there while it was hot), she continued to glare down at the page, her brow set into a focused scowl.

Behind her, errant wings tapped at her shoulder—one, two, forcing her to pay attention to her posture in her chair as the other two skittered across the paper lightly and poked at the material samples that lay atop them.

Sawyer turned in her seat as the raen’s pointed nouliths folded neatly against her back, and the raen reached out to touch the page.

“Frustration and fury. No stranger to the Hawk, but poured into what, the oasis rarely knows.”

Sawyer hummed a note, answering in her comparatively unembellished fashion, “Modifications to those tools of yours. I’ve traded letters with some acquaintances in Sharlayan that were thrilled to see an original iteration of the concept and asked for schematics in exchange for…”

She paused, watching the way her partner’s hand felt aimlessly at the fibers of the page. She had tried to involve Amesha in as many steps of the design process as she knew how to, initially, having her try to attune herself to a great many different crystals and conduit metals, but the parchment-bound stage of design was always… rather one-sided.

She made an angry noise to herself at the injustice of it. As much as she tried to offer Amesha agency—asking what might better enable her rather than assuming, giving her a means to feel her way through a space rather than be led. "Unfettered by sight" as she so often described herself, and yet there were still realms that Amesha was kept from.

“...Hawk?” the raen called, the lengthy pause no doubt causing her worry as she reached out comfort Sawyer with a scaled hand that the hyur took and pressed to her cheek.

“Sorry, I was lost in thought for a moment. I… find it unfair that I’ve spent all this time designing these wings of yours and yet I’ve not included you in the design as much as I could. The wood models are serviceable, but only once I’ve gone through iterations upon iterations with little of your input.”

The raen’s head tilted, and though she smiled, she knew better than to placate. She’d learned well than to give Sawyer an empty reassurance when the hyur was set on the idea that something could be improved for her partner’s sake. Honestly, the hyur might have felt more strongly about it than even she did, but she knew Sawyer would argue back, “All the more reason to be a part of the solution.”

Sighing, the raen withdrew her hand and returned it to the page. “Would that quillstroke and letter could be writ into parchment like the river writes a canyon. Engraved upon page as it is engraved upon earth���” With this, her noulith tipped itself into the sheet, pressing a deep line into a corner of the page that nearly threatened to tear.

Sawyer sat up, at first ready to give the raen light admonishment, but quickly stopped herself at a realization. “...That’s less of a fantasy than you imply. I think you’ve quite possibly come up with the first step towards a solution all by yourself.” she mumbled, looking up and around her desk at the various materials there. “Just a moment.”

She leaned forwards to grab for a narrow metal rod, then grabbed for a blank sheet of parchment while she moved all others aside. The shuffle of paper followed by the quiet scraping of metal caused Amessha to wonder quietly what Sawyer was, presumably, sketching onto this new sheet.

“Now,” the hyur said, papers shuffling again. She pulled Amesha’s hand to the table and laid it gently across the parchment, where the raen explored with her fingertips delightedly. “What do you think I’ve drawn?”

Amesha made an unsure noise as she explored, but indeed, she did feel raised lines in the paper. Long, not quite straight, narrowing shapes that met a tight, rounded end. Many of them, fanned out and layered not unlike scales—

“A… bird’s wing?” Amesha questioned, and she could practically hear Sawyer beaming.

“Yes, exactly right,” she said, in that tone Amesha knew meant she’d be spending a while longer hunched over her work table. She was pulled in briefly, a kiss planted on the raen’s cheek before Sawyer excitedly mumbled. “I’ve got some additions to make to my schematics.”