#not well thought through on Casimir’s part

[professorlegaspi]

Really weird that Casimir was trying to get Quiroz to transfer his gifts, because even if that worked, Celia still had three people’s worth of extra gifts, and he’d only have one

[victorckk]

Figured I’d make references of Casimir with various spin offs, along with adding some updated information on him! I think it’s obvious that he’s my favorite child at this point, he’s so spoiled.

I also made a reference of his helmet and eyes (I only draw his eyes without the hearts when I want to simplify his design a bit cause I’m lazy)

Anyway, information for each spin off will be under the cut! There’s a lot of words, so.. whoopsies,,

Bugs Bunny Builders

DISCLAIMER! I have never seen BBB, so.. I just thought the style was cute and wanted to see if I could get close enough to it. Not sure how the BBB universe works at all.

Casimir is from space, but ended up landing on Earth and loved the place so much that he decided to stay. The crew decided to appoint him as a decorator, choosing colors and other accessories for their projects.

His color blindness does tend to be a setback for him at times, but he still pushes through no matter what.

The Looney Tunes Show

This version of him is NOT that developed. He’s still a WIP.

Casimir is Marvin’s roommate, and works at an animal shelter as a volunteer. He’s also part of a biker gang.

He was placed in the same exchange program as Marvin. Casimir was placed in there by his mother, as she couldn’t handle his hyperactivity and other issues. She believed that it would straighten him up, only for Casimir to not want to go back home afterwards.

He befriended Marvin at one point and the two became friends, and eventually roommates.

Tiny Toons Looniversity

I’ve never seen the original Tiny Toons. Well, I have.. but only one episode since they took it off of Hulu when I started it a few years ago. I’ve only seen TTL in full.

This reference was also rushed.

Casimir is a theatre professor at Acme Looniversity.

He was the professor of a melee weapons class, but moved to less arduous work after developing an interest in acting. He still has his various weapons, though, and uses them as props for different Looniversity plays.

Casimir’s Legacy, as the students call it, revolve around his various techniques of using more cute (but still terribly dangerous) weapons to catch his enemies off guard. He is also known by students as being Marvin’s partner -and probably more- in space exploration.

His war hammer, the Heart Throbber, is his popular and most adored weapon out of any of them. Made out of Neptunian diamond, the weapon is pretty strong, and can do a serious amount of damage.

The war hammer is rumored to be so heavy that Casimir is the only one who’s able to lift and use it, along with other rumors claiming that he and the hammer are cosmically connected in some way. The war hammer itself is displayed in the Looniversity’s auditorium hall.

I was debating on adding the information on him and Marvin for this variation, but decided to do it anyway.

When Casimir and Marvin attended the Looniversity as students, the both of them were practically inseparable. There was never a day when the two weren’t together.

Some of the other professors speculate that the duo were more than just friends, recalling the times where the two would play Tooney Ball as an inseparable pair in their team every single year, or played the lead roles in one of the school plays together.

Casimir and Marvin don’t get along as well as they used to, only because they don’t hang out as much as before. Their difference in careers and personalities has caused a strain in their former dynamic as well.

However, they do still care for each other, which is pretty evident whenever a situation requires for them to team up and support the Looniversity’s students. They do tend to become visibly embarrassed about it afterwards, or whenever it’s pointed out by anybody, and always try to brush it off as nothing.

[prairiesongserial]

20.2

Friday wandered down the deck of the ship, her gauzy dress whipping in the wind. She twisted her string of fake pearls around her finger. Their first full day aboard the Demeter was coming to an end, and it couldn’t have gone better.

The level of wealth on display here was really something else; these people were in a class of their own. Friday had only briefly brushed against this kind of money at the Hemisphere Gala, and she found it was almost impossible to imitate. Every other sentence laid a trap to test her knowledge of other wealthy people that she should know and parties she should have been invited to. But Friday had managed to find her angle. She was playing nouveau riche–it excused some errors and explained her outgoing approach.

Despite themselves, the circle she’d been talking with last night and this afternoon had taken to her pretty well; they would humor her until the Demeter made port in Canada, if only for a little entertainment. Val was doing an exceptional job playing the disinterested husband, and all Friday had to do was be herself.

She’d excused herself to powder her nose, hoping that Val would follow her a few minutes behind. She’d been telling some fairly rude stories in which he, as her husband, was a key figure. She’d gone a little over the top with the last one–he should feel compelled to come out and give her a hard time, if nothing else. 

Friday slowed her pace, eventually coming to a stop by the railing. Water made her a little nervous after her dunking in the Hudson River, but the ocean was really something else, especially with twilight reflecting off the glass-like surface. And the ocean spray felt good after spending so long in the warm lounge.

Friday’s hands were nervous–she had to consciously keep them still and serene. The longer she waited by the railing, the more sure she was that Val wasn’t coming.

It wasn’t like him at all. This was the man who Friday had known to lock himself in the bathroom at the Ace of Spades after a mere twenty minutes at the bar. He should be hiding in their cabin, letting Friday act for the both of them. Which was another reason why she’d hoped he would come and find her on the deck. She wanted to gently encourage him to come down with the flu. She could handle this one.

Last night–their first night on the Demeter–Val had never come back to their cabin. He had elected to stay behind when Friday had announced her exit. And for what? No one needed him to be up this late. For once in their lives, all they needed to do was pass through. There was no Hemisphere, no battle to fight, just tea and small talk–all Val had to do was lay low for a couple of days before they disembarked in Canada. John and Cody had gotten the idea, barely showing up for meals before disappearing again, so why not Val?

Last night, Friday had waited up for him for hours, pacing in front of the bed. When Val still hadn’t come back after three in the morning, Friday had crept back to the lounge, expecting to find him asleep in an armchair. Instead, she’d found Val losing at chess against Casimir Brus, a quiet man she hadn’t been able to get a good read on yet.

The rest of the company had shrunk down to six, including the first mate, who appeared to be only just hanging on. It was curious to find her here, sitting up with the passengers. She might be more interesting than Friday had thought. At some point everyone had switched to alcohol, and Val nursed a gin and tonic which was mostly melted ice.

Friday had swallowed her surprise and meandered past the rest of the late night crowd to the chess match, the satin robe she’d thrown over her nightgown hanging loosely enough to show the top of her chest. All eyes had followed her across the room, curious to see what she would do.

“I’m glad to see you aren’t gambling, darling,” she said, landing behind Val. She leaned forward, as if to better inspect the game, pressing the bare part of her chest against the back of his shoulder–an instruction to the rest of the room on how to read the situation. “You know you’re worse at cards than you are at chess.”

“Mm,” Val said. He took another sip of his drink with a hint of a grimace.

Friday sighed lightly behind his ear.

“I’m going to get a cup of tea,” she said. “Would you like anything?” 

Val took his move, and Mr. Brus immediately took one of Val’s rooks.

“No, thank you,” Val said.

Friday felt a spike of annoyance, but kept her face placid. She leaned in to kiss him, but stopped short over his ear.

“Don’t stay up too late,” she whispered. The eyes that had been curiously boring into her back suddenly found something else to look at. Their first night, and Friday had been forced to invoke marital problems. But if Val would just come away and let her talk to him…

As she’d turned away from the chess game, the first mate’s eyes had caught hers for a moment.

“Mrs. Lecter, do you know your way to the dining room?” The first mate, Ms. Écuyer said, standing. She had removed the jacket of her uniform, and her tie was draped over her neck un-tied. “Let me walk with you. My cabin is in that direction anyway.”

Friday smiled at the truly brazen offer made right in front of her husband. She wanted to turn the first mate down, but she was already standing to go, and if Ms. Écuyer’s cabin was really in the same direction as the dining room, she would see if Friday passed by without stopping for her stupid cup of tea. Friday was really regretting coming looking for Val. Now she would have to put effort into a flirtation that would ultimately end in rejection–not that the first mate was bad to look at, but Friday wasn’t in the mood.

“I would hate to drag you away, Ms. Écuyer,” Friday said, drawing her robe closed a little more closely. “Enjoy the company for a while longer, I’ll be quite alright.”

Ms. Écuyer’s gaze wandered over to the chess game behind Friday. After a tense moment, she sat back down with a smile.

“Of course, Mrs. Lecter.”

Friday had returned to her cabin truly bewildered. She couldn’t begin to guess why Val would hole himself up in a room full of strangers so late into the night. Granted, he wasn’t doing well with how things had ended with the circus, but she couldn’t understand why he would want to put himself out of his element.

Unless, of course, it was Friday he was avoiding. She’d next seen Val over breakfast, and it was clear that he’d snuck back into their cabin early to change and tidy up. He’d gotten himself a stack of pancakes and upended a small pitcher of syrup over them. Then he’d wandered into a game of shuffleboard, before finally depositing himself back in the lounge for the afternoon. Not once could she catch him alone.

Friday sighed and released her grip on the ship’s railing. She had better return to the lounge, maybe see if she could tempt Val away to the dining room with her. It was already after seven; he had to eat dinner sometime.

“Mrs. Lecter.”

Friday turned her head. The first mate stood with her hands formally held behind her back–a big difference from her casual attitude when she’d looped an arm around Friday’s shoulders at tea that afternoon. Every part of her from her hairstyle to her smile were subdued and professional.

“Friday’s fine,” she said, smiling invitingly. “What can I do for you, Ms. Écuyer?”

The first mate’s smile faded.

“Tomorrow morning, we drop anchor in Newfoundland,” she said. “It’s our last stop to resupply.”

Friday wasn’t familiar with the islands between Maine and Canada, so she nodded politely. She didn’t want to let her lack of education show.

“And then how long before we reach the mainland?” she asked.

Ms. Écuyer stepped up beside her and draped her arms over the railing. She was close enough that Friday’s dress billowed against the slacks of her uniform. 

“Passengers aren’t to disembark in Newfoundland, but I could let you off the ship,” Ms. Écuyer said. “You and your husband. The stop will be brief, owing to the tides. By six in the morning, we’ll be back at sea, so you’ll have to meet me outside my cabin no later than five.”

Friday felt a sudden coldness creeping up her spine.

“Why would my husband and I want to disembark before we reach the mainland?” she asked. She watched Ms. Écuyer closely, but the first mate betrayed nothing in her face. Had Val said something last night that had revealed them as frauds? If that was the case, maybe the first mate was trying to get them safely off the ship before they suffered the consequences. Or was this a trap? If Friday took Ms. Écuyer up on the offer of early departure, wouldn’t that tip off the rest of the ship that something wasn’t right with the Lecters?

“It’s the last stop,” Ms. Écuyer repeated. “That’s all I’m saying, Mrs. Lecter. Friday.”

She excused herself, returning not to the lounge, but through another door to a different part of the ship.

Friday let out a hiss of breath, too quiet even for her to hear over the slosh of the ocean against the side of the ship. If there had been any question as to how she would be spending the rest of her evening, she had her answer.

20.1 || 20.3

[domestikhighway58]

✨ 2022 Writing Year In Review ✨

Thanks to @spencer-reids-adventures for tagging me! Woo!

1. Number of stories posted to AO3: 58 (LOL UNINTENTIONAL)

2. Word count posted for the year: 1,099,815

3. Fandoms I wrote for: Criminal Minds, Harry Potter, Parks & Rec (but yo, I don't really count those last two)

4. Pairings: Luke Alvez/Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid/The BAU Team, couple random outliers in there somewhere. Feel blessed I didn't drop any of my 4 Jeid fics in public.

5. Story with the most:

Kudos: Casimir Pulaski Day with 536

Bookmarks: Casimir Pulaski Day with 262

Comments: And again! Casimir Pulaski Day with 151 comment threads (why is sadness so popular?)

6. Work I’m most proud of (and why):

Honestly? My first ever fic and the thing that got me back into writing. The Eyes Have It literally opened my own eyes to writing again after a decade of not touching a keyboard. I did not think I would make it past 1000 words, let alone the 100,000 words that fic inspired. I had never written dialogue seriously before, never come up with any kind of extended plot, never explored character arcs, or even written creatively past a few lines of poetry. I posted that first chapter assuming I would lose interest or my depression would get the best of me yet again but neither of those things happened. I finished the three-part series three months later and made so many amazing fandom friends through that one fic. Even if it's not my most popular or even best-written work so far, it will always be my favorite.

7. Work I’m least proud of (and why):

OOF. Well, quite a few fit that category but one I'm quite sad about is also just a symptom of my itchy fingers when it comes to writing whatever pops in my head. I deleted it (so sorry) but I plan to return to it one day and make it what I wanted it to be. If you're dying for shitty Highway58 drunkfics, here are these two terrible gems: The Wolf (terrible half-assed attempt at werewolf Spencer, update coming the next time I have whiskey) and my one and only Harry Potter fic, Sequi Mi, where I decided no matter how hard I fangirled on HP in my youth I can't do it anymore now. Maybe one day.

8. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

My very first few comments on my first-ever fic bolstered my confidence like nothing else could. Some were short, some were so long and detailed that they made me cry. I recall two specific commenters who stuck by that crazy story with inspiration and encouragement and they are now in my circle of online friends I never would have found if I didn't keep writing. <3 Every comment I get is an amazing compliment and every single person who decides to take the time to read my bullshit is a goddamned gift.

9. A time when writing was really, really hard:

Several stories I've completed this year spanned a time of my life that I thought was my lowest point. While writing it out through fic was helpful, it was also an outlet that exposed my issues and forced me to face them. The hardest time for me to write was also the time I probably wrote the most, when I was in that lowest space around this time last year. I felt guilty about it when everything else was going to hell but I kept doing it. Ultimately, exploring this side of my creativity allowed me to overcome some of those massive problems I thought were insurmountable.

10. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: 

So many. I think I was somewhat surprised to find how much I enjoy writing the OC protagonist from their warped perspectives. I wrote a sadistically evil Doctor, a psychopathic billionaire heiress, and a Wild West warlord this year all within the context of CM and they were SO MUCH fun, I'm sad I killed them all. I also just think it's interesting to explore the potential depths of OCs within the fanfiction genre. So, that was a pleasant surprise when all I anticipated starting on this journey was a new way to explore the characters I already love.

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

Ugh. I dunno. Too many words, but here's this from my first OC I still love and miss: Cheers, Caro, you might be in my first OG novel one day:

"Time to make an offering. 

The clothes and the phone bundled in her hands, she turned to the door. Walked down the narrow stairs, across the empty hall. Pushed the creaking screen door open against a violent night, the storm which had gathered earlier finally unleashing its fury. 

She cradled the phone with the image of those hands frozen, locked against her. Against her. On her. In her. Choking life back into her. 

Edging the rusted gate open she entered the garden. The wildness couldn’t compare with home, but it was something. " The Eyes Have It, Chapter 19

12. How did you grow as a writer this year: 

I think I've expressed this already elsewhere but... I wasn't a writer at all before this year. I dabbled for years in poetry and songwriting before landing at a point where I assumed my creativity was dead beneath the yoke of daily life and responsibility. When I started reading fanfiction, I was more depressed than I have ever been in my life. I buried myself in the words of others and wished I could even come close to that kind of creative expression. So when I finally sat down to write a story, I outlined something that came nowhere close to the story I ultimately wrote--and that's when I learned it's not about planning or hoping to do it, it's just about doing it. So, if anything, I grew comfortable with the idea that I can write and that I should--for myself. Because it helps.

13. How do you hope to grow next year:

I hope to start finishing my WIPs more succinctly and with a bit more regularity. I do think I need to spend less time writing fanfic and more time honing my other skills. It is difficult to find the delicate balance between doing something for fun and doing it because you feel you need to please others. That's the double-edged sword of writing and posting fics--sometimes you feel the guilt weigh heavy when you let. a story lie there for months without relief. So, I want to probably slow down with my writing and be a little more intentional with it going forward. (Though honestly, that pains me to imagine--I love following the faintest whiff of fresh plot wherever it might lead). I do know I have no plans on stopping now that I've started.

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc): 

This is so hard. I've met so many new people this year who have endlessly encouraged and inspired me. Way too many to list here. I will shout out to @foggyblues-ralvez for being the first person to say Hi to me from the fandom (seriously, my dear Mandy, thank you <3). @masterwords, I love you and writing with you has been a fucking honor (also just hi, you should do this if you haven't yet, ily). @spencer-reids-adventures--endless love for your support and comments and the sprints, literally every step of the way. And then I'll shout out @brillianthijinx because darlin' you bring out a side in me I love and am terrified by lol, in the best way. But again, if I were to personally shout out every single person who has made an impact on me and my writing this year this silly thing would be longer than my ao3 wordcount. No one wants that.

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

I won't go into detail here, but, yes. I write Spencer as my comfort character. While I sensationalize his issues to suit the story, the emotions are written from repressed experiences I have never explored. Writing is therapy as much as it is an obsession for me.

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

Just start writing. Don't think. Write. Share it or don't. Edit or don't. Just write. Every damn day, if you can.

17. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

Good lord, ALL of them. I hope to finish Casimir Pulaski Day by the end of January. I will be bringing back Signed, Sealed, Delivered in January as well. I want to finish up a few short fics soon and then continue my sequel to Silk Road quite soon. I have several A/B/O fics in the works, including the sequel to Old Town Road. @masterwords and I will of course be continuing our soft Hotchreid saga in Missing Pieces of Sleep. And then, you know, in my spare time I plan to start up part 2 of Finding it Out to explore some complicated Moreid/Hotchreid love triangle stuff within the canon. So, I've got a few things going on, ya.

18. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read.

@masterwords @eldrai @goobzoop @tobias-hankel @pandorasdreamings @fortheloveofwonderland

[kinglyisms-archived]

@azurescaled inquired: "Zero...Can we talk?" Izumi's aware that the man has every right to not speak to him, given that he ran off the last time they spoke, but knowing what he knows now...Well, he has to get this done. "Because, you're hurting Zero and I never wish to see him like that." Eric's words are fresh in his mind, and the last thing he wants is to hurt someone he loves, that he wants to spend his life with...Or rather, his eternity with. He stares at the man's back, afraid to reach out to touch him, to wrap his arms around him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that, when all you've done is show concern for me. I've just been thinking about everything and I don't want to fail you. You make me happy, Zero, and all I want is for the two of us to be able to live together for as long as you'll have me." "I never want to be parted from you, I want to be able to travel the world and show you everything you haven't been able to see. I want to wake up with you in my arms and in your arms. I want you, scars and all, because you are dear to me. I want to claim you as my mate, and to be your mate. To be bound with you, mind, body and soul." Words left unsaid, but the dragon wraps his arms around the other. "I need you, Zero, and I want you, and I want to be with you, no matter what."

   They’ve never argued before. They’ve had little–tits he almost wants to call them, over Zero trying to tell him he’s fine like this. That he doesn’t need a soul. That he can figure out how to function as he is without one. He’s taking it day by day, sexual interactions with Izumi are hard because they really get his heart going. But they’re working their way around it all, making it go as they can. One step at a time.

   And then they had this. This argument, one sided, where Izumi yelled at him and–well, Zero doesn’t take well to being yelled at. Much less by people he cares about. He’d shut down, Izumi had fled, and they’ve been dancing around each other sense. He’s given him a mountain of space and Izumi had–been with Eric? That’s where he thought the other was when he didn’t see him, so he avoided the office heavily. Even neglected bringing Eric his tea. The shattered remains of the teapot he actually really liked was a result of that.

   Zero’s picking the pieces up when Izumi joins him in the kitchen, his voice soft, those words spoken. He doesn’t need to apologize, Zero really doesn’t think he makes the other happy. His entire time spent here has appeared to be nothing but trouble and trouble over Zero at that too. Trouble over his lack of being whole. No one has ever really seen it as a problem before now, Zero struggled less with that and more with his broken damaged heart that slowed him down. 

   What a tangled mess this has become. 

   He feels his hands tremble as he picks up the broken pieces of porcelain, adding them into a pile beside the sink rather than in it. He doesn’t know how to respond, since the words that will come out are not the ones Izumi wants to hear. Needs to hear probably. There’s nothing to forgive though when he didn’t do anything wrong. 

   The other’s arms loop around him and Zero blinks, feeling the slightest bit of tears trail down his face. He really is far to breakable isn’t he? Izumi should have left the manor a long time ago after his stay to get out of the intense heat. Left like everyone else who cycles in and out through here once they’re well enough to travel. He’d probably be somewhere much happier in the Town, maybe even the Academy where Casimir and Satoru are. Literary genius and Professor, people more up Izumi’s ranks. 

   Why did he stay? 

   “You can do a lot better.” Not what he wants to hear either. “We’ve had this discussion before, I do not have much to offer.” Zero’s entire life was in these walls. He had no interesting stories, no things he’s accomplished, no parents or childhood. The Manor was his life story. Written in the walls people walk. Hours of cleaning, tending to, decorating and caretaking. He’s never been to school, he reads for fun, where is the interest in someone like that? 

   “You don’t need to apologize. For there is nothing to forgive. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

[berserk-jewel]

La Boite à Musique (The Music Box)

[A/N: argh sorry for lack of writing recently; I was in a slump. But! I'm on spring break next week so hopefully I can finish my WIPs and get some things queued.]

"Casimir!"

The Frenchman's ears didn't so much as twitch when you called his name for the fourth time. He was vent over his desk in concentration, fiddling with a gear under the magnifying glass so small that you couldn't even see it.

"Casimir!"

His head finally jerked up in response to his name, the house giving an impatient creak to catch his attention. "Huh- what- yes?" he asked, getting his bearings.

You'd called his name multiple times, standing in the doorway of his recently-renovated bedroom. It seemed the house and he were starting to get along even when you weren't there to calm down disputes. You'd ducked out earlier this morning after breakfast to go into town, picking up various watches and trinkets you could find from antique shops. You held your bag up proudly, keeping it closed to maintain the surprise but you were vibrating with an excitement that even the house felt.

"What's that?" Casimir's face screwed up in a mixture of confusion, caution, and intrigued.

You stepped into the room properly and approached the desk in the corner, setting the bag on the edge, mindful of his tools and small parts on the desk.

"Well, I went into town after breakfast, right? And look at what I picked up for you!" you said excitedly, reaching into the bag. "Actually, wait, wait. Close your eyes!"

Casimir hesitated for a moment but closed his eyes regardless. You reached down and took one of his hands in your own, noticing the flush to the tips of his pointed ears as you do so. You set an antique pocket watch into the palm of his upturned hand, covering the with your own.

"Okay, look now!" You lifted your hand with a flourish as he opened his eyes to peer down at the cool metal piece in his hand. He looked confuses for a moment before his eyes widened in surprise. The small antique watch wasn't as old as one Casimir would be more familiar with but you thought that he would enjoy it nonetheless.

"There are more in my bag. I got a bit overexcited," you explained, taking out a few more time pieces from various periods and a delicately crafted music box with a ballerina atop it.

"You did all of this for me?" Casimir asked, sounding shocked as he looked through the small stash you'd brought him.

You looked confused for a moment, smiling. "What do you mean? 'Course I did," you tell him, resting your hand on his shoulder as he examined the pieces underneath his magnifying glass.

"I'm sorry, it's been so long... I'm still a little unused to being shown such kindness." Casimir looked over his shoulder at you with a soft smile.

The house gave an indignant little shake at his explanation, as though to bring attention to the new room it had created for Casimir.

"Thank you," he said, clasping your hands in his. "And thank you as well, house."

Casimir seemed overjoyed with your offerings, examining the trinkets closely, already picking them apart. You stood behind his chair, very conscious of the fact you were basically leaning over his shoulder creepily.

"Do you mind if I stay and watch? I could keep you company," you offered.

He immediately sprung to attention, repeatedly asking you if you're sure you wanted to watch, going on about how boring it was, even as he hurriedly asked the house (politely) for an extra chair. Chair received, Casimir went about moving it as close to him as he could comfortably get it. As he did so, he rambled on about this or that, before finally settling the chair in a suitable place. He waited until you sat down before stiffly sitting back in his own chair.

Your knees brushed his lightly as he sat back down and he tensed. When you didn't move away, Casimir cleared his throat sheepishly and began to explain to you what he was working on. You were barely listening, nodding along to be polite. You were more preoccupied with watching his hands.

He delicately held a small screwdriver in his hands, beginning to take apart the small music box. He explained to you how each of the pieces fit together as he neatly set them on the desk, occasionally pausing to note something of interest. You didn't mean to not pay attention but Casimir's smooth, rambling voice provided the perfect soundtrack to your less... platonic thoughts about him.

"Are you listening?" Casimir asks, face flushed and brow furrowed as he looks at you.

You scrambled to come up with an excuse or to recall anything that he'd been speaking. "I'm sorry!" you blurt out, embarrassed. "You just have really nice hands."

Casimir's eyebrows shot up in surprise before he immediately turned away to hide his red face. You could still see the red tips of his ears, however.

"I mean it. You're so good at working on these all of these tiny parts." You gently take one of Casimir's hands in both of yours. "It's really impressive."

You admired his smooth skin and slender fingers. He really did have the hands of a nobleman, you thought. Compared to yours, it was obvious he didn't do a lot of labor with them. You could still praise his willingness to fix up the house alongside you despite this.

When you look up again, Casimir is looking down at you, eyes wide. You move to let go of his hands and he instead takes yours in his own.

"Truly? You don't think it's trivial?" he asks you, sounding genuinely concerned with how you felt.

You shake your head immediately. "I don't think it's trivial at all," you say earnestly. "I think you're very skilled with your hands."

"You are too! You do things all around the house that I can't even fathom!" Casimir holds your hands firmly but gently in his as he looks into your eyes.

"We both have our own skills," you reply, flushing slightly. "Besides, you're more helpful than you give yourself credit for."

Casimir's worried expression finally breaks into a sheepish smile as he relaxes slightly. You grin and lean up to kiss his cheek.

"Now, explain to me what you're doing now?" you ask as Casimir panics over how to keep holding your hands and continue his work.

He settles with letting go of your hands to fidget with the music box's internal mechanisms before quickly taking them back up again, for however brief. You had to bite your tongue to keep from laughing as he struggled to multitask but even he began to find humor in it until the two of you were doubled over laughing.

Casimir's whole face lit up when he laughed and you added it to the growing list of things about him that you found charming.

[queenxxxsupreme]

A/N: This was an ask from I believe @creatingstuffinpeace but I accidentally deleted the ask right as I was about to post it. I am going to probably make this into a little series with at least one more part because I have an idea, it's just a matter of when I have time to write it out :)

***

Thunder rumbled outside.

You moved around the bookshop, tidying things up.

“But momma! What about Gunnar?” Your son, Cas, tugged at your skirt.

“He’s probably just outback chasing a cat, love.” You brushed your fingers over his hair momentarily before picking up a small stack of books. “Will you help me with putting these back, Cas?”

He took two of the books from you and began to follow you to the other side of the little store.

“But momma! It’s about to storm! Gunnar doesn’t like storms!”

“Cas–,”

“What if he’s hurt? What if someone’s taken him or something’s happened to him? What if he’s lost!” The more the six-year-old thought about all the things that could have happened to his pup, the more frantic he became.

“Casimir.” You placed the books down on a table and knelt down to his level. You took the books from him and put them aside.

Tears welled in his eyes as he gazed at you. His bottom lip quivered.

You cupped his face and brushed your thumb over his cheek.

“I don’t want to take you out in the storm. But if you promise me to stay upstairs until I return, I will go look for Gunnar.”

“You will?”

You nodded.

“Okay.” He sniffled.

You wiped the tears away and leaned in to kiss his forehead.

“Let’s get these books put away. Then I’ll take you upstairs.”

As you stood up, Cas grabbed four of the books and tried to hurry towards the bookshelf they belonged on.

The front door creaked open and the bell above the door chimed, signaling someone was entering.

You glanced to your son once more before turning to greet the customer.

It was a tall figure with broad shoulders and a hood over his head. Something underneath his cloak moved and out poked Gunnar’s head.

“Gunnar!” Cas squealed in delight, running towards you.

The man put Gunnar down and the pup ran to meet Cas.

“I was just about to go searching for him.” You smiled at the stranger, taking little note of his vibrant golden eyes with catlike pupils.

“I found him clear on the other side of town.” His voice was deep but quiet. He gave a tight smile before turning to leave.

“Have you got a hunt to tend to at the moment, Master Witcher?” You asked, messing nervously with your hands. You hoped you weren’t crossing any boundaries by asking this.

“Not with the storm outside.”

“Would you want to stay for dinner? As a thank you for bringing my son’s dog back?”

The man hesitated to answer.

“I don’t want to impose.”

“It wouldn’t be imposing if I invited you.” You smiled just a little. “The rain seems to be coming down awfully heavy out there. And we’d like the company, wouldn’t we, Cas?”

Cas held Gunnar in his lap but was watching the witcher curiously.

“Yeah.” He answered quietly, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

“Your manners, son.” You lightly chided. The witcher turned back to you.

“Yes.” Your son repeated, this time lifting his head a bit.

“You don’t have to do this, m’lady.” The witcher insisted, his voice quiet and a bit on edge.

You could see with the way the poor lighting caught his face that there was something…. unnatural about his features.

“If you feel uncomfortable with the matter, my apologies.” You murmured softly, smiling. “I just wanted to thank you for your kindness. Not many people would bring the dog back, especially not in such weather.”

The man said nothing.

“Please stay, s-sir.” Cas spoke from behind you, his voice timid. “You brought-brought Gunnar back h-home. Let-Let us thank you.”

The witcher looked past you to your son briefly, before nodding his head.

“I am Y/N. This is my son Casimir.”

“Eskel.”

***

You took Eskel upstairs to your home located above the bookstore.

As you prepared dinner, you made conversation with the witcher. He was very polite and well-spoken, though he remained silent unless you asked him a question.

Your son sat by the hearth, watching Gunnar as he ate his dinner. You happened to be looking at your son when he looked into the kitchen. His eyes were focused on Eskel.

The witcher’s eyes flickered over to Cas, shifting ever so slightly in his seat. Was your son making him uncomfortable?

You moved around the table to place a mug of tea in front of the witcher. Golden eyes found you once more, taking in your every move. He turned his head just slightly away from you as if he was trying to keep his right side from you. But you had already seen the scars, the mangled lines that pulled at his face.

“You’ll have to forgive Casimir.” You lowered your voice so that only Eskel could hear you. “He’s young and just a curious boy. He means no harm, I promise you.”

Eskel’s brows furrowed together just slightly. Had he given you the illusion that something was wrong?

“Cas?” You looked up, smiling as your eyes landed on your boy. He perked up and raised his head. “Is everything alright, love?”

“Yes…. Can I get the book about daddy?”

“Of course, love.”

Cas shot up to his feet and ran to his room. Without finishing all of his food, Gunnar followed the boy.

“Your boy did nothing wrong.” Eskel spoke as you moved away from him. His eyes followed you. “There’s no need for any apologies.”

“But I know how cruel children can be, Master Eskel.” You focused on the pot of soup over the fire, stirring the contents steadily. “They are mean and cold because they are raised to be that way by their parents. They see it in the ones they look up to. They see fathers calling women in the streets filthy slurs and mothers degrading anyone who looks different from them or from their idea of what is normal and what is right….”

You trailed off, only realizing with the silence that followed that you had started to ramble.

You turned your head to Eskel, completely embarrassed that you had let yourself start down that path.

“I’m so sorry, Master Eskel. I didn’t mean to lecture you on my views of society.”

“Don’t apologize.” He shook his head, holding a hand up just slightly. A little smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “What you said is true. Children learn from their parents.”

You nodded, turning to check the bread in the oven.

“Momma, here!” Cas ran into the kitchen. He held a thin book high above his head. Gunnar was on his heels, happily wagging his tail.

“Set the book down on the table, Cas.”

Cas chose to stand at the table directly to Eskel’s right. He placed the book down on the wood and opened it up.

“Tell Master Eskel what the book is about, Casimir.” You took the bread out of the stone oven and placed it on the counter top.

Cas turned his head to look at Eskel but only for a split second. He didn’t want to stare for too long. Staring was rude and Casimir was better than that.

“It’s about the tales of a witcher!”

Eskel read some of the words over Cas’s shoulder, but the six year old seemed to just want to flip through the book.

“Momma?”

“Yes, my love?”

“May I ask Master Eskel a question?”

“He’s right beside you, Casimir. Go right ahead.” You paused what you were doing, placing one hand on your hip as you watched your son.

“Master Eskel?” Cas closed his book and rubbed his fingers over the wording on the front cover.

“Yes?” Eskel looked down at him.

“How many witchers do you know?”

“I suppose a handful. There aren’t too many of us left.”

Cas nodded his head. A furrow formed between his brows. You could tell he was deep in thought.

“Casimir? What else would you like to ask Master Eskel?” You moved towards the table, kneeling down so that you were at your son’s level.

“Do you think he knows the one who knew daddy? The one who gave me this?” Cas tapped on the book.

“Oh, love.” You gave him a sad little smile, brushing your fingers over his hair. “The one who gave you that wasn’t a witcher. It was a man who travels with a witcher. A Witcher’s barker or bard. I don’t think Master Eskel knows him. That happened so far away.”

Cas nodded understandingly.

“May I ask who it was?” Eskel asked almost hesitantly.

Your eyes met his. You weren’t sure if you wanted to keep talking about the matter knowing that it would upset Cas, but Eskel was just curious.

“It happened when we lived in Cintra years ago. The witcher’s name was Geralt.” You explained.

“And we had to move far, far away from home.” Cas nodded his head, taking a deep breath. His voice was sad and made your heart break. “Now we live here.”

“This is home.” You leaned forward to kiss his head.

“I’m going to put my book back.”

You watched him leave the kitchen.

“I do know that witcher.” Eskel spoke. He didn’t want to say anything loud enough for Casimir to hear him. He wasn’t sure if you wanted your son to hear what he was saying. “He’s my brother.”

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out at first. You weren’t sure what to say. You were surprised. What was the chance that this witcher sitting here at the table knew your dear friend Geralt?

You pulled out the chair directly across from him and sat down. Your eyes fell to the wedding band on your left hand.

“Geralt was great friends with my husband. Geralt saved him on more than one occasion.” A fond smile came to your lips at the memories. “My husband, rest his soul, could never stay out of trouble in his youth.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Your eyes flickered up to Eskel, offering him a smile.

“Do you know Geralt’s bard, Jaskier? He wrote stories of Geralt and my husband’s journeys together for our son and had a book created so that Cas would have a book to always remember him by. He clings to it.”

“That was very thoughtful of Jaskier.”

“It was. Brought me to tears for nearly a month afterwards.”

Eskel watched as you tapped your fingers absentmindedly against the table. Your eyes were stuck on the hallway but you weren’t watching the hallway. Your mind was elsewhere. You were absent. He knew that look. The look of someone who had lost someone, a part of them.

Silently, the witcher wondered how long ago your husband had passed. Time never made things better, but it did help to numb the ache of a loss. He had plenty of experience with time and with loss.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen Geralt?”

You blinked and straightened your posture, no longer lost in your mind. The sound of Cas coming back to the kitchen made you remember what was happening, where you were, and what you were supposed to be doing.

You stood to your feet and began to finish the last bits of dinner.

“Um, oh…. I’m not sure…. He, um, I think he came to visit just after….” You trailed off, looking at your son then at Eskel. “Just after it happened.”

Eskel nodded understandingly.

Casimir returned to his seat directly next to Eskel.

“Alright, gentleman. Thank you for your patience tonight.” You placed two bowls down in front of them then turned to get yours.

“Thank you for joining us, Master Eskel.” Cas picked up his spoon and began to eat.

“Thank you for having me.” Eskel smiled, golden eyes flickering over to you.

You met his gaze. Your eyes lingered on him for a few heartbeats before finding your soup.

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If your name is in italics, it wouldn't let me tag you :(

[handfuloftime]

Twelve chapters into Perhaps the Stars and I need a break (this book is Large), so some scattered thoughts:

For a variety of reasons I haven’t reread the other books since the summer of 2018, and boy was that a mistake. 

Things that hit considerably harder now than they did in 2018: everything about the tyranny of Distance (especially 9A’s “That is your short-term” message, and “I have never been in a place before”), all the set-set discourse (the parallel with trans kids has never been particularly subtle, and watching the term creep to include anyone sufficiently deviant from what Lorelei Cook considers an acceptable norm--’Utopian set-sets’--is chilling. Anyway fuck the Nuturists.)

Dragging the war back to pre-2400s levels of technology is a really interesting device, and watching the world try to cope with vastly limited travel and no longer instantaneous communication is fascinating. On the other hand, it’s making the book feel even longer than it already is. Not for a lack of things happening, just that I’m very aware that I’m moving through it at a snail’s pace.

Though 9A’s comment that Jin Im-Jin getting pneumonia was the scariest thing that’s happened so far was very effective.

I do think my opinion of this book is going to depend a great deal on who’s behind all of the tampering with the cars and the mysterious disapperances, etc., because while it’s certainly a very convenient device we are kind of reaching a critical mass of world-spanning conspiracies. Surely it can’t all have been Casimir Perry?

I am simultaneously extremely worried that Martin Guildbreaker is going to starve to death in the Oregon wilderness and...kind of relieved that they’re out of the way of the actual violent parts of the war? I just need them to be okay. (Though I can’t imagine they’re handling the loss of JEDD’s omnipresence particularly well, either.)

On the other hand, at least there’s still a Guildbreaker around. I adore Charlemagne. (Really I’m just very attached to the whole Guildbreaker bash’, I guess).

I love Jin Im-Jin too (”If I take off my sweater I’ll be cold.”) The grandparents that Earth deserves.

I’m glad Carlyle is doing better <3

Relatedly, Julia is still the worst, and I love how salty the dramatis personae was about her still not having been removed from office. 

Can’t quite get this to cohere into a thought, but something about Huxley as 9A’s invisible companion paralleling Mycroft’s accompanying ghosts.

When will we see Mushi Mojave again?? (I hope I don’t regret saying this.)

My working theory after The Will to Battle was that Madame was behind the attack on the Sanctum Sanctorum in order to force MASON’s hand, but the live broadcast of the Masonic Oath makes me think probably not--or at least, I can’t see any obvious benefit from it. Hmm. 

Halley????

Swapping back and forth between 9A’s and Mycroft’s narration is giving me whiplash, which I suppose is the point. 

It wouldn’t be this series without an utterly unexpected assassination in Romanova, I guess. What the fuck. 

[sappheirs]

♛ → THE STORMLANDS present CASIMIR TARTH, the HEIR of TARTH. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought the BLACK would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the TWENTY-FIVE year old MALE who was FREEWHEELING & VEHEMENT before they saw the first of the flames, is now CALLOW & PUGNACIOUS after seeing the last. through the ash, now they struggle to find A SILVER  &  SAPPHIRE PLATED SHIELD THAT SHOULD NOT BELONG TO HIM,   CHESHIRE CAT GRINS HIDDEN BEHIND HIS SISTER’S SHOULDER,    THE CRISP TASTE OF A PEACH CRUSHED BETWEEN TEETH;   JUICE DRIBBLED DOWN THE FRONT OF HIS TUNIC instead of the remnants of the war of succession. ( thomas doherty )

full  name:   casimir tarth.  nicknames:    cas,   casi.  age:    25.  date  of  birth:    december 3,   115 ac.  orientation:    undiscovered bisexual in training.  religion:    faith of the seven,    mostly just in name at this point.    casimir is known for skipping out on trips to the sept and really only appears when it’s deemed absolutely necessary.  political  affiliation:    baratheon loyalist,    has secret  +  silent opinions about the targaryens sucking.  hair  color:    brown.  hair  length:    generally grown out to just below his ears,    in his natural state it’s shaggy and unkempt.    you can always tell when minisa’s helped him get ready by how his hair looks.  eye  color:    sapphire blue.  height:    6  feet,    4  inches.  father:    bryndenmere tarth. mother:    aemma tarth,    nee estermont    .    deceased.  siblings:    petyr tarth  *  brother,    deceased.    arik storm  *  half - brother,    deceased.    minisa tarth  *  sister.  children:    none,    yet.  significant  other:    none,    yet.  pets:    cider  +  mead,    sibling otterhounds.    rye,    a black forest horse. 

the final trueborn child of the lord and lady of tarth,    casimir,   better known to those around him as cas,   had a torrential childhood.    moments into his life,   his mother passed,   seemingly setting the scene for those he cared for to one by one find their own graves.    what began with his mother carried into his eldest brother,   and then his beloved bastard brother as well   -   casimir knows loss like the back of his hand,    knows that in the blink of an eye what little remains of his family could be gone just like the rest.    he clung to minisa just as much as she did him;    allowed the coddling and kindness,    because at least it was closeness.    at least it was proof he wasn’t alone.    she was,   and continues to be,   his closest confidant;    as he grows closer to inheriting evenfall and the isle of tarth,    cas longs to keep her by his side,    despite knowing that she ought to have a family of her own,    that he himself will need to do the same.    but his chest aches at the thought of another loss,    even if she exists somewhere in the world,    it wouldn’t be the same comfort of having her at his side.    and to be entirely truthful,    he isn’t certain he can rule without her    -    doesn’t believe himself capable of being the lord he’s supposed to be when he knows the role was meant for petyr and not him.

his lows are low    -    fear and guilt tangled into one unfortunate web that lingers in the corner of his mind;    but casimir on a good day is almost whimsical.    full of boisterous laughter and jokes,    blue eyes alight with life and a joy unmatched.    he jests with his father and his men,    hunts and fishes with the best of them and always manages to come back telling a harrowing eventful tale.    he wants to believe in the good of others,    so desperately,   but the fact of his life is that he cannot depend on the kindness of anyone not loyal to the name tarth.    he wishes it wasn’t this way    -    wishes for better things and better days,    where his mother and brothers are smiling and laughing alongside him and not buried beneath the dark soil,    a smattering of blue flowers marking each one.

casimir is fond of animals,    and considers himself the proud owner of the equivalent of a pair of otterhounds named cider  &  mead,    as well as a horse named rye.    he isn’t much for reading,    but is known for his singing    -    though he plays no instrument,    he can often be found providing his voice to the tunes his sister minisa plays.    his favorite song is ‘alysanne’.    

wanted  connections     -    new  additions  not  in  the  group,    i’ll be typing these up officially for the wc section i just needed to splat these ideas down sdflkj. 

casimir’s  best  bro    -   he requires someone to be a himbo with him,    tbh.    maybe someone who was fostered @ evenfall and they kinda just ???  became inseparable and now cas is forever like  NO NO THAT’S MY DUDE RIGHT THE FUCK THERE.    cas is pure and truly sees this pal as a psuedo brother,    would 100% die for him no questions asked u feel me?    makes sense for this dude bro to be from another house in the stormlands or a house that was also aligned with the blacks. 

because i enjoy spice ... casimir’s best bro’s sister.    best friend’s brother from the hit nickelodeon show victorious plays in the bg except it’s his best friend’s sister and boy oh boy is this man w H I P P E D.    he’s well aware that it’s probably never going to happen,    has for the most part,    resigned himself to fawning from afar.   maybe she’s married to someone else,   maybe she’s just not interested    -    either way,   i humbly request and require an unrequited love for this sad,   sad boy. 

wanted  connections    -    for  pre - existing  characters. 

i think it’d be cool for someone to want to take cas under their metaphorical wing;   and i think it could easily go for either a genuine,    loving friendship or someone who just wants to be able to manipulate the future of house tarth and have them under their thumb.    cas is naive enough to allow the latter to happen,    and i think it’d cause some really cool tension for the tarth sibling dynamic. 

characters who,   for whatever reason they so choose,   dislike cas  /  house tarth    -   yes i enjoy angsty bullshit,    no i will not stop trying to ruin his life.    he’s really like,    a dumb golden retriever boy,   and won’t fully understand why someone wouldn’t like him because he’s like:    i’ve never done anything wrong ever?    and would probably try to at least prove his goodness. 

i mean,    eventually he’s probably going to have to be betrothed,    because as a very eligible future lord,    that’s the logical step.    i like to imagine that while casimir is the type to play a little fast and loose with his heart and probably has flings where he proclaims his never ending love and devotion,    he’s also just dedicated and understanding enough of his position that he will do as his father and the storm king decree.      what i’m saying here is    . . .    if you wanna be his lover,    that’s cool,   but he’ll very sadly leave you when his papa tells him to marry someone for reals. 

[afoolandathief]

Word find tag catch-up

Catching up on my tag games, so here we go -

I got a few tags and some of these excerpts are pretty long, so I'm putting these below the cut:

TWs for swearing, food and drink, alcohol, blood, needles, vomit, death and violence, mentions of sex, and a slight reference to body image:

Tagged by @thegreatobsesso to find shine, shade, trust, and life:

Shine

“You should try exercising, Caz,” she said, switching to her other arm. “You’re not going to stay young and thin forever.”

“Believe me, Amelia,” he replied from underneath the blanket. “My body is not going to change much for a very long time.”

“Well, it may help that you don’t eat anything.”

He poked his head out from the blanket.

“I eat,” he said.

“I never see you eating, Caz.”

He grinned.

“Well, I guess that’s because, when I’m with you, I’m only hungry for -”

“If you say you’re only hungry for me — or a certain part of my body — I’m going to kick you,” she cut in. “Anyway, I should be back in at most 30 minutes. Hopefully it’ll be sub-20.”

“Enjoy the sunshine,” he said, ducking back under the blanket and falling asleep.

Shade

“Juni,” Caz said weakly. “Didn’t think I’d see you again tonight. Back for more?”

“I’ve had my fill,” the prince said.

“You sure about that?”

“Where is it, you bloodsucker?” Juniper demanded while turning a shade of emerald.

“Um, where is what?”

“Don’t play dumb, it’s not that cute.” The prince gritted his teeth and continued, “Where is the armband?”

Trust

“You’re a vegetarian?” Jade asked.

“Yeah, always a little weird growing up on a farm and not eating meat, I suppose.”

“I don’t know why people would care, but then, I’m used to people with weird diets,” Jade swallowed. “Not that I think your diet is weird!”

Violet laughed her tinkling laugh again. “You’re fine.”

“Is it bad if I still order the chicken panini?”

“Not at all. Though I’m sure all those chickens that died might mind,” Violet stared at Jade.

Jade didn’t say anything for a moment. “Oh shit," she finally said. “You’re messing with me again.”

“Yup," Violet grinned. She handed Jade a sandwich wrapped in wax paper. “You want to try our mango juice with that? Grew the mangoes myself.”

“You’re messing with me again, you can’t grow mangoes here,” Jade said.

“I have a greenhouse.”

“Still, you couldn’t easily grow a mango tree.”

“Trust me, I can grow anything,” Violet said, her eyes flashing the same way they had the other night. She poured a pitcher of the bright orange liquid into a plastic cup and handed it to Jade.

Jade took a sip. “Good as always. Which reminds me, I still owe you for the lemonade.”

“Consider that paid for by keeping me company, if only for a short while. In fact, consider it the same today.”

Life

She turned her keys in the ignition. The engine sputtered, but refused to start.

“With double the pay, you could save up for a truck that’s not a piece of shit,” Caz retorted.

Jade turned the keys again, this time revving the gas until the engine roared to life.

“This is a good truck,” she said. “I just need new spark plugs.”

Tagged by @pertinax--loculos to find travel, needle, depth, weather and save:

Travel

Marie and Caz were huddled around a phonogram.

“I can’t believe you have a recording of Buddy Bolden,” Caz said. “I thought there were none left.”

“I managed to hold onto a few records after I left New Orleans,” Marie said.

“So you were in New Orleans right when jazz was taking off?” Caz asked. “Wow, I should’ve come to America a lot sooner than when I did. I didn’t get to New York until about 20 years after Bolden was around.”

“You were in New York during the heyday of jazz,” Marie said. “Not to mention where a lot of great minds were meeting then. I wish I had been there.”

“I figured you would have traveled there yourself.”

“Well, I stayed in Haiti for a bit after the revolution,” Marie said. “But I went to Florida to help the Seminoles in their fight a little while after, and then New Orleans. I just kept traveling around the south and west after that.”

“I’ve never been to Haiti, actually,” Caz remarked. “The closest was when I went to Cuba a few times for, uh, work reasons.”

“It’s a beautiful island,” Marie said. “I miss it a lot.”

“You grew up there?”

“I did.”

“How old are you exactly, if you mind me asking?”

“Just about 250 years old.”

“Ha! I’ve got you beat by about 350 years,” Caz said. He rubbed his neck, narrowly missing a hanging plant with his elbow. “Um, guess that’s not really something to brag about.”

“Well, you are blessed with being forever young,” Marie smiled softly. “Witches eventually do age, albeit slowly, myself included.”

“True,” Caz sighed.

Needle

“You’ll sleep upstairs with the other girls, but let’s get you outfitted first. I’m interested in trying a sample of you myself.”

Renner tied off her left elbow and began searching her arm for a vein.

Jade felt the sting of the needle and looked down to see it attached to a vial not too different than the one that had been sticking out of Arravich’s arm in the hospital. Renner attached a long winding tube to it, placing the end of it in a wine glass. He pushed down on the vial, sending a dark red stream through the tube into the glass.

“Just a small amount, Renner,” Valfierno said. “I don’t want to overindulge.”

He began to take a sip just as a knock was heard at the door.

“Go ahead, Renner, I’m curious to see who would be at our door at this hour.��

Renner opened the door to reveal a shocked-looking Caz.

Depth

“What was up with you and that one kid, anyway?”

Jade realized Caz was talking to her.

“Who, Matt?” she asked.

“I mean, he was alright to look at, but,” Caz paused to hiccup. “He had the depth of a — what do you call it in English? — ah, right, the depth of a tide pool.”

Jade tried to track Caz in the mirror, but he had leaned down to slurp loudly from Derek’s neck.

“I just figured,” he continued, getting up to lean against Jade’s seat like he was maneuvering on a ship at sea. “That you preferred someone with a little more class and maturity.”

He proceeded to belch almost directly in Jade’s ear.

“‘Scuse me,” he said in a swinging tone. Then, as if realizing the irony, he burst into high-pitched laughter as he fell back into his seat.

“What is wrong with you?” Jade snapped. She wrinkled her nose at the acetone scent on Caz’s breath. “Are you — are you drunk?”

“No, I’m just,” Caz paused long enough to answer Jade’s question. “I’m just a little bit buzzed.”

Weather

In his six-hundred-and-seventeenth year of being on this earth, Casimir Jozef Mraz had come to a realization.

He was absolutely, hopelessly in love.

Of course, Caz fell in love at least once every decade. But this time was different, he thought, as he lay in bed, not used to trying to sleep at night. It had to be; he couldn’t find a damned thing wrong with this girl, even her name.

Amelia.

It was old-fashioned, and he liked that. Speaking it felt warm and familiar on his lips.

Lying next to him, Amelia’s eyelids fluttered for a moment, before going still as her breathing evened out and she fell even deeper into sleep. Caz heard her heartbeat slow to steady rhythm.

He leaned closer, cradling his arm around her, taking care not to catch the gold strands of hair that seemed to change texture with the weather, curling up in wiry spirals.

Caz watched a shadow falling across her ski-jump nose twist and morph as she shifted slightly. She looked almost like porcelain now, blue veins painted on her neck and chest like delft tile. She sighed again in her sleep.

So many people he had been with had wound up dead or forgotten over the years. Caz was determined this time would be different.

Save

Jade had gotten herself lost in a thought, again.

Usually this occurred when she was at her kitchen table, trying to piece together a spell; or when she took apart her laptop so it no longer sounded like a jet engine. It wasn’t supposed to involve Jade charging forward into the next room of a crowded party, ignoring all instincts to run outside and take a deep breath of cool night air.

Maybe it was hearing that someone else could get hurt. But that didn’t make any sense. Don’t try to save the world. Just focus on the next step in surviving. That was what she lived by.

No, she realized. For the first time in a long while, Jade was actually afraid.

Tagged by @diphthongsfordays to find space, scream, soft and scare:

Space

He jumped to his feet and ran towards the space between Jade and the alleyway.

Then he was falling to his knees and dry heaving.

“What the hell?” he gasped. He looked around at a circle of white surrounding him, a series of sigils carved into it by Jade’s knife. “What is this?”

“Table salt,” she said. “Combined with a few wards. Vampires are pretty susceptible to threshold magic, aren’t they?”

Caz choked back some bile and rose unsteadily to his feet.

Scream

“Lila, you seem to have calmed down a bit,” Caz said, stroking an ear larger than his hand.

He held the wolf back by the nape of her neck and leaned towards the other vampire.

“Sai cosa, Giuseppe? Non avevi torto riguardo alla tua supposizione,” he said, a small, wicked smile playing on his lips.

He released his grip on Lila.

“Ma devi capire quanto fosse stupido ferirla se mi sentivo in quel modo.”

Caz walked away from the alley, a strange and familiar feeling of satisfaction growing in the pit of his stomach as he heard Valfierno’s screams behind him increase in pitch and desperation. It was a sensation he hadn’t come across in years, and it felt good. He looked up at the full yellow moon and grinned, his teeth flashing in the light.

Soft

She looked up at Violet.

“Do you think we could each carry one of them?”

“If you can maintain a levitation spell for the whole length of the walk back,” she replied. “But your arm looks pretty bad, Jade.”

“Hmm,” Jade furrowed her brow. “I vote we leave Amelia.”

“No,” Caz whined softly into the stone. “Don’t leave my girlfriend behind.”

“Caz you’re currently bleeding out from where she carved into you. I don’t think she’s your girlfriend anymore.”

Scare

She was getting closer to him. Caz could smell that scrape still bleeding from her wrist. He was already faint from hunger. He needed to get her out of here.

The best method, he decided, was to scare her.

“So what if I am?” he asked, before smiling his widest and sharpest smile. “And if I am, may I remind you you’re currently backed into a corner by someone much stronger and faster than you, Jade?”

Mistake. You made a mistake, you fool.

He knew it as soon as the words left his lips. Don’t ever piss off a witch. His left ankle left the ground first, carried upward by a root looping around it, followed by his right.

Tagging, if you'd like: @drippingmoon, @authortango, @author-a-holmes, @avian-writes & @faelanvance to find calm, lake, ivory & estimate.

[intrepidim]

WHEN  — ｡ ‘✧ 1845, day after the mutiny. WHERE  —  ｡ ‘✧ the former captain’s cabin, now the admiral’s. WHO —  ｡ ‘✧ @seraphsaint​.

Whatever armistice he thought he had found on this ship, whatever understanding of loss, of nights spent afraid of what would come rapping at the door or, on the contrary, longing for it to arrive, pulse droning into the bedframe        all that is gone now.

He had expected it. He had made his terms with that, even as he saw Edward hobbling over the ice, battered, sunken, yet somehow alive. Alive against all odds. Christ, but he’d been ecstatic, for a second, hysterical with gratitude. He’d nearly barked out into laughter. No mistake, the biggest part of him, the lesser part, didn’t expect he’ll see them again. He had been so relieved. So relieved, and so utterly resentful.

When Malachy had pulled on the ropes of the ladderway, and the rescue party began to climb, Marc’s thought hadn’t been: what do I need next?. It hadn’t even been, God, I hope one of these idiots won’t get themselves shot point blank, though that certainly was thrown along with it.

No, when what was once another man’s crew climbed aboard, a crew he never found any affinity to until Pantea’s death, Marc’s thought was simply: here it goes. Here it ends. These two men understood me, Boyne and Dowling both. They may be the last ones who will. And here it goes.

He had looked down, signaled for Sohrab to take away his rifle. Best not have weapons on his body - talk of wrong messages, talk of self-fulfilling prophecies. He walked out to meet them. Said his speech. By the time it was all over, the part was played, the duty carried out. Malachy was waiting for another continent, under lock and key, under gun point and silence.

And Marcus went to drink with his niece. Worse, worse.

That was last night. Now is another morning, a fine bladepoint wedged between the ribs of today and the ribs of tomorrow. Now comes another note in the song. Oh, this is no fucking overture, he copped on that by now. And hopes of odes and anthems have long been hollowed out. But he won’t have it be a swan’s final bawling, either. He has to find the Passage. He has to give this another ending. He has to make sure there will be no ending to speak of.

Enough of knells. He means to dine the surgeon’s aide. Dine, dish out, dissect: they’re similar notions. The Frenchman will understand. Who else? He means to secure one more loyalty, one more name in the bag. Cat in the bag, too, and why not       what’s all this but the greatest show that never went up on Drury Lane?

With a conscious gesture, Estrada pushes the napkin out of the way. It lets it fall by the side of the plate, rather than his lap, and makes sure the other guest notices. We won’t eat like they do. If it’s high society you’re keen on, pining after, you won’t find it here.

Though something tells him that’s not it. He can sense it, this brush with atrocity, this intimate affair with means and ends. He sees it, the courting of the inexcusable, the talking oneself hard, talking oneself righteous. For all that it’s rendered in more cautious strokes on Toussaint, it still rears its brutish head: they are killers.

It hardly matters what they had to kill. Hardly matters what they’ll have to, either.

The point of it is there, patent, portent: they know they can do it, not only unblinking, but more       convinced. Marcus used to boast that he could convince himself of anything. It amused him, the possibility that there is no order at all, no guiding rule. No shears sharp enough to cut through the undergrowth of morality inside him. He didn’t really believe it, of course. He only lacked principle, never belief; the compass, but not the axis. Not the points that made it all worth it. There was God, of course; had been. There was his mother, his sister. The hard set to his father’s eyes, when he told him to be careful down there, down in Whitehall. Above all, there was life, there was life and his love for it; the thrilling parody, the way it always forced one to catch it on the chin. He thought life, well, nothing more sacred than it.

Now he thinks of different things.

The knife goes into the cutlet, musk-ox flesh, something or other. He gestures with the fork in the air, a blood-spitting arc, and lets his gaze bore into Casimir Toussaint.

❝ I feel like you and I have a lot to discuss, Mister Toussaint. But I also feel, and do allow me the liberty of claiming it, there’s nothing I can sell you that you haven’t already refused. In a past life, perhaps. Another world. God knows they’re abounding, these other worlds; people get sucked inside them before you can say knife. ❞

A shrug, a roll of one shoulder, small enough not to disturb the scene. The fork is still mid-point, mid-section. The juices drip from it, lick into the table cloth. He doesn’t spare it a single glance, but he’ll think on it later, later in the dead of night: who washes all these things? Who cleans the stains they leave behind, here inside this snow-globe of metal and wood? He’ll think on it long after Toussaint leaves. Those kind of questions, the pointless ones, the harmless ones, are really the only kind that remain.

Now, Marcus leans closer, elbows digging an inch further on each side of the plate. The wine is untouched; he notices that, files it away.

❝ Are you awfully fond of it, that past life? Bear with me a second. I am asking, see, because there’s no other point but this one. If you want to move forward with me, with us—harry this blasted journey to the end—it has to be for your own reasons. Because you don’t want to go back, or at least not without a deadly advantage in your pocket. The passage; the testimony of a different world. ❞ His head tilts, no trace of the raconteur inside it. His face is grave, stone-hewn, sawed down from the crags. His tone is serious: he wants Toussaint to know it. To never see England again suits him just fine. To see England in the shoes of a leviathan, the shoes of a man who brings proof of hell, suits him slightly better. With a click of his tongue, the admiral disengages. He moves his chair back, drops the cutlery.

❝ But if you’re only here, hacking at your steak across from me, because you’re loathe a blade at your throat... Well, Doctor, I’ll let you in on a secret: it won’t happen. You can go your way, sleep easy. So long as you don’t openly plead for Dowling, no one will touch a hair on your head. I’ve no need for false accomplices. In fact, I like my pawns undeclared, if need be. They make for such a more honest chessboard. ❞  

[talldarkandroguesome]

28th Entry in Coldharbour

The four of us, Tel, Suni-La, and Ahnir and I headed west from the city. Along the way we shared our experiences in Coldharbour thus far. Suni-La and Ahnir seemed particularly interested in learning more about the Lights of Meridia.

I shared our gripping tales of triumph against the dreaded Daedric forces of this plane.

Well, I tried to. Tel kept interrupting to make their own corrections. I kept trying to explain that it was called atmosphere and poetic license, but Tel clearly did not understand a bard’s purpose. It is not as though I exaggerated and of the dangers or the number of our foes. I even left out certain parts of the story to be sensitive to people involved.

But mention the tragic love between Zur and Gadris and how some part of it lives on within Zur’s heart and mind and Tel throws a small fit.

I tried to explain that it was a matter of reading what was said and unsaid, but Tel kept trying to argue with me that we did not truly know of the feelings the two had for one another. That it may have been a love of friends, not of the romantic variety.

I made a comment in Ta’agra, very softly so that only our Khajiit companions would have been able to hear and understand it, about Tel’s youth and foolishness, but Tel just kept on ranting about how it was rude to play voyeur to  the story of another and fill in the unknowns with your own interpretation.

If I thought it would have ended the argument, I would have pointed out that that was nearly verbatim the teachings of the Bard’s College of Solitude, but it would have done no good, of course.

Suni-La laughed and I could understand snippets of her finding us very amusing as the way that only close friends can argue back and forth. Ahnir did not say much but clearly seemed to agree. I think she was in a good mood.

When I had finished telling our story, Suni-La asked if she could hold one of the Lights of Meridia and I was happy to hand the one I carried over. They are heavy and I have, more than once, worried that it might smash some of the more fragile items within my pack.

Her eyes lit up as she held it and looked into it’s reflective crystalline surface. Even Ahnir seemed to be interested in it.

Once the novelty of it had worn off and they had re-wrapped the Light and Ahnir had placed it into her bag, I asked them about their rescue of Vanus and some of the Mage’s Guild.

I must say, Suni-La did not disappoint in her telling of the story. She has a great voice for telling stories. She also added drama. And I thought her Vanus voice was hilarious. I could tell from Ahnir’s body language that she was also amused.

A part of me was still bitter because it was obvious, as a spinner of tales myself, that there were exaggerations in Suni-La’s story, too. Of course Tel did not seem to get that and took it all at face value. But that is my trouble with Tel, and no issue that I take with Suni-La. It was all fantastic. Particularly when she kept turning to Ahnir and asking her to repeat things she said at the time. Her face always full of emotion and then Ahnir always responded in the shortest and most dry way. It was the perfect bit of humor and really added to the feeling of the story.

I felt like we were really starting to warm up to one another after that. Surely we had now been through two harrowing experiences in Coldharbour and one on Stirk together. And while we had many differences, these experiences in common surely serve as a greater point of commonality than so many people are able to share. So I hope that as we continue to work together and share these experiences more personally, they will learn to trust Tel and I and know that we have more in common than apart right now.

Yet there was no time for us to share much more than that before we came up to a road where a spectral figure approached us. I was readying my weapons when I realized I recognized the figure. My heart sank as I saw the familiar face of Kireth Vanos. Surely she had not been killed so soon!

To my great relief, she had not been. As I fretted over her state, she informed me that I was being as overly dramatic as ever and that she was using a method of projection to try and secure some help. That her brother Raynor and some of the other Mages had been searching the library for information or artifacts that could be of use to our forces.

I introduced Tel and Suni-La and Ahnir to Kireth. The Khajiit seemed more confused about her referring to me as Casimir than Tel, who seemed to want an explanation later, so that is when I shall explain it to them. Though the way they paused before each time saying the name was certainly unnecessary.

So Kireth explained that she had been watching from outside the library and seen the Daedra seal them inside the library. She had found one of the projectors to try and find help, but she also thinks that the Daedra are using them to spy on those trapped inside. She said she could show us where the focusing lenses are and explained that some sabotage was in order. I happily agreed and Kireth said she had hoped that her traps expert might be able to help out. Ahnir agreed that she could also use invisibility to help out.

Tel and Suni-La are going to head towards the library entrance and Ahnir and I are going to split up and damage the focusing lenses while Kireth reworks the mechanisms to unseal the door. I admit, I am a bit excited to work with Kireth again. There were a lot of missed opportunities with her and her brother both. I wonder if we could make good on those this time around.

[its-sixxers]

Heeeeeck if we can talk about your fic, how's that one with briar Mary comine along? Or anyone that you're writing

Its going very well! I've almost got the first part finished. :) This one is about Nines and her meeting when she's still a human. Theme wise it's heavy on how even though many Kindred think little of humans, its who they were before the Embrace that echoes into their unlives and has more influence than they'd think - but it's also out of reach when it comes down to the reality.

Mary flees her home situation and Nines' haven happens to be the door she knocks on seeking momentary shelter. Being worn down in every possible measure by the war with the Kuei-Jin and only recently settling on an uneasy truce, Nines is in very great need of something going right in the world and a reminder that not everything is terrible so he helps her out.

Part II is them reuniting a few years later while Mary is still human but in a much better life situation, and their relationship shifting as the power dynamics equalize. (not that Mary was unafraid to shank him if things went sideways, but on Nines' part he thought her more delicate than she is. not all humans are squishy)

Part III is after Nines cuts himself out of her life entirely and Mary starts building her human life alone. (The whole realistically vampires and humans cannot have intersecting worlds in the long run without enthralling/ghouling humans and turning them supernatural, and Nines doesn't want Mary pulled into that after what she's been through.) She does well, but unfortunately at her new workplace the supernatural is still present. A friendly co-worker turns out to be a ghoul for a very old Nosferatu (Casimir), and has decided that Mary is a good choice for the Embrace. Casimir's a polite if horrifying fellow, and explains his intentions in turning her.

It's a prequelfic for my vague plans of a fic during Bloodlines itself where Mary's become Briar Mary and full nosferatu. I'm still debating on a few details and how I'll tackle the sequel while keeping things interesting. 😅

The changing dynamic from Mary being human to turning vampire and her (and Nines) realizing she was always tough as nails is something I really want to do. As someone who's been through some shit it's a theme and principle I adore and want to put more of out into the world.

[constantwritingblock]

Stolen Worlds 5

Queen of Thieves: Takes place just after the MC breaks up with Nikolai.

Avengers: Takes place during The Winter Soldier, but with additional characters.

Unknown!Nick Fury x reader, (previous) Nikolai Stirling x reader, platonic!Natasha Romanoff x reader, (eventual) Steve Rogers x reader.

Also just a statement, for any other languages spoken in this piece it will be done in bold and in English so that you are aware characters are speaking a different language. I find this easier than finding a bad translation.

Warnings: Strong Language & Violence. There are also some cuts of the film in this chapter, I have tried to edit as much as possible so that they aren’t the exact same...

Summary:  A new hideout made things all the more difficult to get a certain Nick Fury in and out without catching the glare of cameras surrounding the bustling city of New York, though Y/N is up for the challenge. Remy makes a deal with Casimir to not tell the others about what they witnessed, the only issue is, can the infamous conman stop Nikolai’s cousin from spilling the beans? Natasha looks into this Agent Z character a bit further now that she has nothing to go on, meaning easy bait for Hydra. Perhaps there’s something more she can uncover. Meanwhile Steve is still adjusting to the fact that ‘Z’ is not who she says she is.

If you had to ask her how things were going, Y/N would most likely respond with everything falling to pieces. She suspected that her cover was going to be blown by Hydra soon enough, meaning that reasoning with the Winter Soldier will not happen any longer. Moving to a more secure safehouse, well, safe-apartment, she continued on her hacking duties, remaining indoors. Unfortunately when she was in the zone, she tended to ignore the outside world, ergo, Steve’s messages asking when they could meet next.

She didn’t have time at the moment, she needed to ensure things were going to plan in her books or it would be the end of the road for all of them. Hydra would win. Something within her struck like lightning to her brain. The soldier! Fury, who had been accustomed to her silence for a long time now, perked up. “I take it you found something.”

“More like remember something. The Winter Soldier, he has a string of words and numbers that trigger him into the monster assassin that he is known for. I… speak to him, to get him to cooperate within the Hydra ranks. He’s softening, in the words of Pierce.” The older man raised a brow at her words, wanting her to continue. “As bad as it sounds, I could see about programming him to snap out of it? The only issue is that I have no doubt that Hydra are pushing their agenda faster… I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s not there anymore. Most likely trying to kill Rogers and Romanoff.”

Cracking her knuckles she tapped away at the keyboard in front of her, accessing files, while ensuring that her IP couldn’t be traced back to their current location. “He’s out… to kill Sitwell. He’s with Romanoff, Rogers and Wilson...”

—

It certainly was suspicious timing for Steve to come across this Z. In all fairness the man may have been from the 40s but given the danger they were in, Natasha presumed that he would be more careful who he spoke to. She was obviously wrong. Hell, the name Z is a bit odd, not even giving him an actual name. So she spent her time now sitting through encrypted data that is hard to bypass. But the name has popped up a few times. Agent Z, joined recently after Fury died.

Wait what? After he died… Hydra aren’t that careless given that they had been planning this for years… Something wasn’t right, but as Nat was about to put her finger on it. “I got food, if you want some…” Sam’s voice called out, momentarily taking her gaze away from the laptop. “Ah, thanks.” Slamming it shut, she pounced on her feet, nimbly moving across the floor.

“You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind… care to share?” Filled the silence between the two as she helped herself to some pasta. Nat kept quiet for what appeared to be an hour, but then remembered she needed to trust him, especially since Sam has let them crash at his place. “Just this Z person. She’s an agent in S.H.I.E.L.D.. My guess she was a part of Hydra, but the only piece of information I have is that she joined recently… as in, shortly after Fury died.”

Wilson was quick on his feet to contribute. “So what you’re saying is, either Hydra is getting sloppy or…”

“Or she’s our person on the inside.”

—

Steve wasn’t far from Sam’s home, he was merely a couple of paces away. Luckily the man’s neighbourhood was a quiet area. Hopefully there wouldn’t be S.H.I.E.L.D. agents running amok and causing chaos for the civilians. His head was reeling still at the thought of Z, he assumed it was short for Zoe or something could be his enemy. I must have fallen hard to get caught over it. Natasha was trying to be a friend to him, he valued honesty and if Z couldn’t do it then he’d get it out of her. She hadn’t responded to any of his messages he sent her via burner phone. She probably knows I’m on to her. All he wanted was to talk to her, if she was Hydra then maybe being taken in was the best to get more information out for them.

“I got something on Z.” Turning his head to face the spy, he headed inside to hear what she had to say. “I am still unsure on whether she’s Hydra or not, still nothing on that matter, but I’ve got something I need to deal with, a loose end…” Brows furrowed together at her cryptic words, Steve chose to just ignore it for now, after all, even if he asked it wasn’t as if she was going to give a clear answer, she would’ve done so to begin with. “Do you need any help?” The nod of her head shocked the captain, but he began to prepare.

—

Pushing his longest friend’s cousin against a wall was something the other man had not expected from the conman. Remy hushed any complaints out of Casimir. “Listen to me and listen to me carefully. There’s no need for Niko to know this. If you really want to value family then I suggest for the better, you keep your mouth shut about Y/N.” It was an out of character threat, but Remy understood that Y/N would’ve said something if she wanted anyone to know this side of her life. The side that was linked in with death and violence. As much as he didn’t want to assume anything, Remy trusted Y/N enough that she can handle herself. She was right after all. The Poppy doesn't get involved in anything violent or purposefully taking from the innocent. What she was doing must go against their beliefs, but that doesn’t mean that they would abandon her.

The cold stare she gave him spoke words to him, more than anyone else would. She’s doing this for herself and also for the man that was with her. He means something to her, and she to him. What, was something he would hopefully find out later. Shouts of names were called out as the rest of the band of thieves showed their faces. Quickly setting Casimir back on his feet, Remy frowned and shook his head. “Sorry, but she wasn’t there when we got there, it appears that Y/N has disappeared.” A solemn look crawled onto all faces of the Poppy, except Nikolai. His expression was more of pain and worry. He was griefed with fear that something bad had happened to her, much to his willingness of admitting it.

“Gathering from what I could see and find, she’s living fine, not terribly, but whoever is causing her to run, they frightened her so much that she thought we were them.” Looking down apologetically, it appeared everyone else seemed to buy it, Nikolai was more cautious than anything. “You’re positive you didn’t see her?” One guilt riddled shake of his head was all it took to convince the Thief Lord.

—

The fight on the bridge was a losing battle. Sitwell had most likely been killed off and now Sam was arrested alongside Natasha and Steve. The juddering movements of their confined vehicle caused them to bob, as vibranium-made restraints cuffed the trios wrists tightly.

“It was him.” Steve was the first to speak after a good 10, maybe 20 minutes of utter silence. Glancing in his direction, Sam observed the man’s expression, one of haunting. “He looked right at me… and he didn’t even know me.”

“How is that even possible? It was like 70 years ago.” It didn’t take long for Steve to put the pieces together of what had happened before he rescued Bucky the first time.

“Zola. Bucky’s whole unit was captured in 43, Zola experimented on him. Whatever he did helped Bucky survive the fall.” There was something that irked Sam with the way Steve was acting. He understood the first time round was the fact that this Z woman could possibly be Hydra, but this one held more pain, like he was remembering losing Bucky for the first and second time, the latter being for good, or so Steve thought. “They must’ve found him and-”

“None of that’s your fault Steve.” Natasha seemed to be the right person to speak up then. If Sam did, it wouldn’t have been pleasant. Yet, it caused an uncomfortable silence for what lasted hours, when in reality, a few seconds. “Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky.” The conversation came to an end. Though, Sam caught on quick that Natasha wasn’t looking so good.

“We need to get a doctor here. We don’t put pressure on that wound, she’s gonna bleed out here in the tru-.” His eyes widened in horror to see one of the guards getting electrocuted by their fellow colleague. What the hell was going on? Panic ensued him as he had no idea who had hijacked their truck, when all three were under restraints. The helmet soon came off alongside the voice of Maria Hill.

—

It was getting rather late for some, Y/N had disappeared off to do god knows what in order to keep her cover under wraps. According to her Rumlow had been questioning her whereabouts and so she had to meet with him to get him off her back. Exhaling slowly, Fury never had peace for this long in his entire life. He may have been a trained spy but a part of him still held a small ounce of regret for dragging Y/N into this mess. She was the only other person he could trust in hiding him. She was a loyal person in general, even after she disappeared. He knew she kept tabs on him in secret when she could. He always knew. The young woman cared too much for her own good.

The peace didn’t last that much longer though, as his eyes snapped open to the sound of multiple footsteps. Seeing Rogers, an injured Romanoff and a new guy, he couldn’t resist a retort. “About damn time.” After an explanation of what had been hit with during his own assasination attempt, Romanoff was getting patched up from her own wound.“You’re looking good for a dead man.”

“Supposedly dead man. You can’t kill me that easily, trained assassin or not.”

“Why all the secrecy? Why not just tell us?” Rogers was never one to shy away, always one to get straight to the point. “Any attempt on the director's life had to look successful.” Thankfully Maria had stepped in for him, but he continued.

“Can’t kill you if you’re already dead, besides, I wasn’t sure who to trust…” The trio shared a look between them, but Natasha was the one to speak up first. “It’s clear you trust someone. They are going through a lot of effort for you to stay alive?” From her query, as much as it did imply Maria, he understood exactly who she was on about. Staring down at the assassin and spy, he took in her posture and expression, scanning for anything that could possibly be a trap. Noting how Rogers and the other man were giving similar reactions for a demand of an answer.

“The kid’s my niece. Been watching out for her since she was six. And the reason she chose that lifestyle… well I’m sure you’ve definitely heard the news.” And Natasha did. She knew what he was on about, though, Steve and Sam, not so much.

“What do you mean Fury? You’ve got a kid niece?”

[pkmnomegaverse]

Post Coital: Casimir/Hale

Characters: Hale and Casimir.  Mentions of their traveling companions

Pairings: Casimir/Hale

Summary:  Hale reflects on his relationship with Casimir, enjoying the physical aspect of things, but not quite ready to admit there’s something more growing between them

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 642

Warnings: You can definitely tell they just banged and it’s discussed, but it’s all post-coital so nothing explicit happens

Notes: This actually is the second half of a NSFW self-indulgent Casimir/Hale oneshot I wrote for myself way back.  The actual porn part is too cringe to post, but I felt that some of it was still worth posting for the glimpse it gives into their characters

Moving slightly to the left so he could flop down beside Casimir, he turned his body to get a better view of the face of the boy he had just been fucking.  Cas had his eyes closed and looked fairly content. With Hale no longer pressed against his backside, he had lowered his hips the rest of the way to the bed so he was lying flat. 

While Hale had always found Cas attractive, it was moments like this that it really struck him how beautiful Casimir was.  Like this, his features were softened and he had an almost docile air about him. For a boy that normally had such a dominating aura, it was moments like this where he truly seemed like the omega he was.

Reaching out unthinkingly, Hale brushed his fingers along Casimir’s cheek, tucking a section of his hair behind his ear.  His skin was deceptively soft too. Hale wondered if it was natural or if he perhaps used something. Maybe Cas was secretly more vain when it came to his appearance than he had initially thought. 

By this point, Cas had opened his eyes to half mast and was watching him. He still seemed content enough, not offering up any protest when Hale moved his hand back up to run it along Cas’ check for a second time. “You wanting to go again already?” he stated, seeming neither intrigued or irritated by the idea.  More like it was simply an accepted fact.

While the idea was welcome enough, Hale didn’t think he quite had it in him to go again so soon. “Nah, figured I’d take it easy on you tonight,” he replied.  “Wouldn’t want you too worn out before your gym match tomorrow.”

“How uncharacteristically thoughtful of you.” Cas smiled. “I would have thought that would be even more of a reason to work me over all night.”

Hale chuckled, since he couldn’t really deny that something like that hadn’t happened in the past. “How about we meet back up after your match. Can give you a better reward than some dinky piece of metal.”

Casimir shifted closer, bringing their lips meer inches apart. “You gonna come and actually watch my match this time or just lurk outside like an obsessive stalker,” he breathed.  Lips never touching, but Hale could feel the temperature in the room increase.  Maybe he actually could go another round this quickly.  Casimir was certainly tempting. 

He felt an undercurrent of… something, at the thought of openly showing up to one of Casimir’s matches. Sitting in the crowd while his friends cheered him on. Maybe even cheering him on himself, although he couldn’t imagine being so vocal about his support. But he couldn’t deny the appeal of at least watching him.  Casimir was an impressive battler.  It was what had initially drawn him to the boy. Well, that, and his great ass. But admitting one of those out loud was less likely to get him whacked. It wasn’t like he had anything he needed to do tomorrow. Could make some excuse to Ignis and Valen on why they needed to stay in town another day. Didn’t need to actually tell them where he was going.

“Eh, guess I can show up. Better put on a good showing though. Only winners get their afterparty rewards.” He hoped he sounded suave when he said that.  That the unexpected nerves he felt didn’t carry through in his voice.  Plus if he focused on the lips in front of him, it was easier not to think about tomorrow. Focus on the here. And if it meant getting a little more of this tomorrow he could deal with Casimir’s friends drawing whatever conclusions they did about his presence. 

“It’s a date then,” Casimir smiled, moving the last little bit to connect their lips. 

Yeah, definitely worth it.

[first-ones-tech]

I have an unfinished Entrapdak fic that’s getting a little too heavy on physics for me because of this:

Look at the bigger screen. It shows a 2D visualization of a wormhole.

THIS NERDS ARE BUILDING A WORMHOLE!!!!

If the portal is in fact a traversable wormhole, there are several narrative alternatives to explore.

1) The portal would allow travel from one part of the universe to another but also could allow travel from one universe to another. 

We know that Etheria is currently isolated in Despondos. So Etheria could be so far far away that it doesn’t receive any light from the majority of the stars that otherwise would be seen in the sky... not all the stars, because doesn’t make sense there’s no “sun” in the etherian system. Satellites need to reflect the light they receive from somewhere to provide natural light.

OR Etheria was sent to another less crowded universe, implying Mara actually created a basement/baby universe to hide the planet from whatever she was protecting it from.

And that bring us a second alternative. 

2) Traversable wormholes could allow space AND/OR time travel. 

So, Horde Prime would be the ruler of the known universe, but not necessarily Etherian (baby or not) universe, if Prime is currently in the future. It just occurred to me that maybe there is still a chance to stop his universal conquest without demoting him as the ultimate villain...

Anyway, time travel would bring a solution to some things that bugged me from the start (I just watched SPOP this week so excuse me if they are explained canonically):

a. The First Ones are introduced both as a bygone ancient civilization and as technologically more advanced than the current Etherians. And that sounds too close to the ancient astronauts theories for my taste.

Yeees, they don’t refer to them in a cultish pseudoscience fashion, not Bow’s dads at least and they’re the experts.. because one thing is using the tech they left (it’s useful to the Rebellion/Horde), another thing is respect and admiration because they were people and they were here before us (the reason it rains on my face when I look to cave paintings from the Paleolithic, and why it was really touching to watch that little girl’s hologram dancing in “Signals”)... but why on Earth would someone align themselves, without a second thought, with an agent of a totally unknown hightly advanced civilization when almost nothing was transmited from them, so they’re an “other” and not “us”. Tradition, invented or not, have to be passed down for us to believe it’s “natural” or the “best way” of doing things without even thinking it could be a bad idea. I get why listening to Light Hope could be rational for now but they’re giving her that kind of traditional authority based on her connection with the First Ones, without having any traditional legitimacy... As if Light Hope throwing shade on Mara wasn’t suspicious enough... ok, moving on. 

The First Ones seem to be quite elusive to research too.  Did they even settle on Etheria? Why their culture (more crucial for the show, their tech) didn’t pass to next generations? Were they the worst/best cultural colonizers? Are there even descendants of the First Ones among Etherians? Wouldn’t the acknowledgement of this lineage (invented or not) have some sort of hierarchical consecuences on social organization, assuring some kind of transmission...? For now there are some scattered ruins and sigils nobody can read, so I bet they’re extinct because of some cataclysm (like the dinosaurs) or they never really established themselves on Etheria and left. Or it just might be we are discovering Etheria through the eyes of our protagonists, that happen to be ignorants on the matter so we don’t know more than them... All of this could be neatly solved by adding time travel because it would let us and the characters see the First Ones, NOT in flashbacks but chronologically and narrativelly in the future.

b. When Hordak crashed on Etheria, the planet was already in Despondos (the only reason to build a portal), so the Horde cannot be the cause of the Marapocalypse. But, if Mara moved Etheria from one time and space dimension to another, Prime’s Horde could be the triggering vital menace, or even the First Ones if you prefer exploring gray morality as the show does, or the intergalactic war between them. With time travel, there is a chance all these unresolved conficts are still happening in the future.

Yeah, I’m craving for some spaceships explotions but if space/time travel gets on the picture and it leads to Etheria’s involvement in some sort of large-scale universal war, I really hope the producers know how to do it without shooting down the dynamics between the characters... I’m not looking at VLD but yup.

Ok, let’s go back to the portal. Do you remember Hordak was settling for sending a signal to Prime instead of making the whole thing fully operational for travel? Well, that’s a hard pragmatist. The problem with wormholes is that they are very unstable and doesn’t stay open long enough for anything to get through. To prevent collapse, they need to be fed negative mass-energy, of all things. Even if negative masses could be a real aspect of our Universe and experiments for generating negative energy have been proposed, it could be reaaaally difficult to engineer them on Earth (or being technically bounded and grounded in Etheria). Actually, I cannot imagine how did they solve it, but I’m a layperson and Entrapta is a genius so it’s ok. Anyway, negative energy is consistent with quantum mechanics, especifically with the Casimir effect that allows states where the energy can be negative at given point. The thing is, at least in principle, a wormhole that’s long-throated enough (I mean a really skinny one) could generate the Casimir energy-density to keep itself open. It would still collapse, but slowly enough to let a pulse of light pass through its center. So, Hordak wasn’t being a defeatist in that scene. Sending a signal was, in fact, the safest bet. 

What I’m trying to say is the writers didn’t need to construct a plausible explanation for the portal. They could’ve just tossed “magic” at us, and it would work wonderfully like the rest of the show, but they chosed to give us this

and their lab partnership and I’m crying because now I have 10k of early Entrapdak mostly about the nerds discussing how to build a traversable wormhole and finishing each other’s sentences and Hordak’s mental ramblings, and it's getting too hard to write (mainly because freaking wormholes but also given that I fail at writing fiction) so it probably would be too boring for anyone to read and it’s in spanish.