#of course then there's mid-war which is technically also a bit before the war but technicalities don't count.

[spotaus]

Finally making a timeliness design-guide for Geno from ec-4o.verse! (Just a wip tho)

[miloscat]

[Review] Star Trek Prodigy: Supernova (PS5)

I love to see budget licenced games still being made.

Prodigy is one of my favourites of the (many) new Star Trek shows. It’s got some Star Wars vibes, not just from the The Clone Wars-esque art style, but also the story of a band of misfits coming together to survive in a crapsack galaxy. Now that I’ve caught up with part 2 of season 1 (which was split in half for some reason) I thought I’d check out this companion game.

Like the show, the game could be classified as “for kids”. It’s not dissimilar to the Lego games which I always enjoy: a semi-isometric perspective, puzzles and simple combat, objects to bash and collectibles to find. The two main gameplay modes of puzzle-solving (via block-pushing and logic gates) and robot-battling (via bashing and pew-pewing variations on the show’s Watcher drone) are fairly well-developed if lacking in variety, while the rest of the experience is rough around the edges. These two modes are also very discrete, with rooms basically alternating between the two.

The game is wired for co-op but is technically playable solo by swapping between the two characters. Dal has more ranged options with different kinds of phasers, and for puzzles can lift heavy boxes and “camouflage” past security cameras. Gwyn is more melee with her “fretwork” heirloom morphing between sword, fists, and spear, and can also use it as a bridge or shield against certain lasers. Rescuing the rest of the crew is the main initial objective and once found, they can open certain themed doors and periodically activate a combat effect.

While the game is set in the mid-season gap, there’s a few plot details that are more impactful coming from the show’s second part as opposed to their insertion here. For example, the antagonist is a third Drednok from the Vau N’Akat Order who has enslaved the three-world system that is Supernova’s setting. It works well as an interquel adventure, and the show’s actors all reprise their roles nicely (although the two leads only having two oft-repeated attack and dash grunts gets grating).

The lead game designer and co-creative director Pere Suau Massanet of the upstart Spanish dev studio Tessera is credited with the original story, while actual writing fell to freelance Brit Martin Korda, many of whose most recent credits centre around the Fifa games’ story modes. Some questionable tendencies seem to have snuck their way into the game script, such as Janeway at one point cloaking the ship (something the Protostar is not supposed to be able to do!) using “Bajoran magic” (???), or out of nowhere giving Dal the character trait “constantly making shallow and nonsensical references to Star Trek stuff”, along the lines of “it’s hotter than a Cardassian fire pit” or “it’s colder than a Betazoid freezer”. On the other hand, there is some fun to be had such as with the collectibles, one being a toy version of Voyager’s Salamander Janeway, and I enjoyed the running gag of the crew picking up the expression “check it” from Dal as a part of their official communications.

After rolling credits, I considered replaying levels to find more relics for the captain’s quarters or to unlock more concept art, but having to redo the busywork of puzzles I’d solved before and undertake yet more repetitive combat was a prospect that lacked appeal. But I had a decent time playing through it once. I just wish there were more than two of those attractive, stylised motion comic-style cutscenes that bookend the game. Not that the in-game graphics don’t look good and match the show (except for Dal who looks a bit weird).

Two final notes. I called this a “budget” game because it has a budget feel on the development side, but on the consumer side it’s actually quite expensive at the A$70 mark. Try to get it on sale. And I loved seeing some casual nonbinary rep in this game from Lorn’ess, one of the two oppressed natives you meet. This is in addition to the main cast’s Zero of course, who joined the ranks in new Trek alongside Discovery’s Adira and Strange New Worlds’ Captain Angel. Pride!

[kinsey3furry300]

So how the heck do the Avengers pay for stuff, and how rich are they?

So, in the wake of “Falcon and the Winter Soldier” There’s a lot of debate about why Sam didn’t seem to get paid well for his work in the Avengers (at least in the MCU continuity), and this has got me thinking: we’ve got no evidence that the Avengers are, financially, anything but a hot mess. So lets break it down, Avenger by Avenger, using real-world pay scales for the ones who have jobs.

Tony: a billionaire, so clearly he’s a financial genius, right? Well….. his actions say otherwise. He’s shown to be wildly irresponsible with his money. He inherited a lot of wealth form his parents which was managed by the first Jarvis, Obadiah, and Pepper for him, he buys and then gives away not just woks of art, but entire collections by major 20th century artists on a whim, destroyed his own cars and home without concern, he tanks the value of his own company in the first Iron Man with a bad press interview, gets kicked of his own bord of directors, and ultimately, in Iron Man 2, gives control of his company to Pepper. He’s insanely rich, and insanely smart, but man, he’s not smart with his money. So all the cool stuff, his suits, the Avengers tower, the facility up-state: that’s all paid for by him, but Pepper is holding the purse-stings.  So, does he pay the others? We have no evidence for most of them… but we do with Spidey. Peter Parker is in the Stark Internship Program a euphemism to hide the fact he’s training and mentoring him as a super-hero, but I find the wording interesting: he refers to Spidey, his surrogate son and chosen heir, as an intern. I.E., Unpaid.  I’m guessing this is Howard’s influence over him, some sort of ‘make you own way in the world, son’ attitude, but  if he’s not paying Spidey, is he paying anyone else? He certainly pays for stuff super heroes suits and things, equipment, fuel, the base, but does he pay anyone a wage? No one ever mentions it. You think it would come up.

So, if he’s not paying them a wage, where do Avengers  (and thier allies) get their day-to-day money from, and are they rich? Using google and https://www.federalpay.org, lets find out.

Cap: Well, before Civil war, he’s a shield operative, and he presumably still holds his military rank: he’s a US Army captain, with (well) over 40 years service, so USD$88,142.40 per year, with $237.71  drill pay (pay per drill you have to do on weekends, on leave or outside of normal service) and $175.00 per month hazard pay (which I bet is interesting) on top of that. As a WW2 veteran, he’d be eligible for a war pension if he:

Was not discharged for dishonorable reasons; and,

Served 90 days of active military duty; and,

Served at least one day during wartime ("wartime" as determined by the VA); and,

Had  countable family income below a certain yearly limit; and,

Is  age 65 years or older; or

Regardless of age is permanently disabled, not due to wilful misconduct.

As he’s still receiving 90k per year, he’s ineligible for a pension as his countable yearly income is above the limit.  So if shield pays him in accordance with his rank and years of service, about $90, 600 per year incuding hazard pay.

After civil war, he’s a fugitive on the run, so presumably flat broke. I’d asume he gets his pension returened to him after the snap.

He’s also just gone from the 40’s to the present day, so 70 years of inflation probably makes buying things very confusing for him: everything would seem insanely expensive at first. He’d also not know what the correct prices are for anything invented after 45. You might get used to how much more expensive food and coffee is, but how much is a smart-phone worth? $200? $2000 $20000? Who knows? I bet the others have to facepalm a lot when he either refuses to pay for what he sees as clear price-gouging, and at the same time regularly pays insane amounts of money for goods and services because he doesn’t know better. He also has no known assets other than his pay: he rents an apartment making him one of the few American males in his age-group who isn’t a home-owner

Thor: Does Asgard even have currency? It’s depicted like a “Crystal spires and toga” type utopia with no poverty: even working class Asgardian’s like Scourge seem to be pretty well-off and want for nothing, so he’s from a post-scarcity society where actual magic is a thing. His “Another” coffee cup smashing and the fact he doesn’t have a computer of phone in Ragnarök might indicate that, no, he just doesn’t have, need or understand money. Splitting a bar tab with him must be a nightmare. His breakdown post snap indicates he’s got some cash, but not a huge amount, and is probably skiving of Valkyrie and the other Asgardians.

Banner: Okay, so a PhD could make you a lot of money from patents… in pharmacology or engineering. Theoretical physics? Not so good. And if Banner did have any patents, they’ve probably been seized under eminent domain by the US military.  At the start of The Hulk film, he’s working a entry-level factory job at a botteling plant in Brazil. The minimum wage in Brazil is 1069.62 Real per month, that’s 12,835.44 Real per year, or around $2437.79 US per year, before everything goes wrong for him! He then runs off to India, works for Tony for a bit and then gets shot into space. Spidey may actually make more in allowance than Banner does, and Banner is a gown ass man with bills to pay: I’d imagine he loses a lot in ripped clothing.

Natasha and Barton: Pre Civil-war, both are government spooks, so how well does that pay? The salaries of CIA Intelligence Analysts based in the US range from $25,838 to $685,701 , with a median salary of $125,340, so let’s assume that Shield pays in a similar range: $685,701 per year for Director Fury, around 125,000 for Natasha and Cliff, which explains Cliff’s nice, middle-class mid-western home. Post civil war, presumably not great: we know that Natasha spends a lot of her savings running and hiding all across the world, and Cliff takes a deal and presumably lives of his savings, pension and his wife’s income.

Rhodes: Full USAF colonel with over 10 years service? $105,562.80 per year, plus $293.23 drill pay per drill and $175 per month hazard pay, and because he’s team Stark and not Team Cap in Civil War, he’d not lose any of that. He presumably also gets an injury pay-out after his accident. After T’challa and Stark, he might be the best paid avenger.

Dr Strange: spends all his money he made as a surgeon on trying to cure his hands: spends literally his last dollars heading to Nepal to train. Wong even jokes with him about their lack of worldly money when asking for a tuna-melt. But, can use illusion to make people think he has money, and his home and clothes etc. come with the job, so in the same boat as Thor in that he has no money, but needs none AKA, he’s a bastard to try and split a restaurant bill with.

Wanda and Vision: No know source of income, just sort of live in Tony’s hose and eat his food, and on top of that Wanda goes on the run after civil war… yet they can stay in fancy hotels in Edinburgh, a relatively expensive city, and Vison apparently bought them a house to retire in, so one of them has some source of money. Maybe Tony gave Vision years of back-pay form when he was still Jarvis, or maybe the vison has a day job, which is, frankly, hilarious. Could you imagine him as a barista? I can, and it makes me very happy.

Scott Lang: I’d assumed he’d be super, super broke, but apparently the average pay for a private security consultant in the Bay area is $85,430 per year. Not bad. Pity he gets sucked into the quantum realm just as his business is taking off, so presumably, flat broke again.

Bucky: no known income, and I doubt Hydra paid him for being the Winter Soldier so he probably has no savings, but he should, technically, qualify for a military pension. As a single veteran, he’d be  eligible for federal tax-free pension of up to $1732 per month, or $20,784 tax free per year. Not much for someone who lives in NYC. He may also be eligible for medical benefits over the loss of his arm. Whether or not he got to see any of that money given how confused his life has been over the past 10 years is unclear, but on paper he’s eligible.

T’challa: He is, quite possibly, richer than Stark, and as an absolute monarch pays no tax and has access to his Nation’s vast wealth in vibanium. It’s good to be the king!

Captain Marvel: USAF captain, and a test pilot; the test pilot school only accepts applicants with a service length of less than 9 years 6 months (10 years six moths of helicopters) as they don’t want older applicants. With 8 years service, $79,538.40, plus drill pay and hazard.  However, no know (human) pay since 1990. Flat broke.

Guardians of the Galaxy: no data, but I’m assuming “Cowboy Bebop” levels of perpetual never-ending poverty given the way they choose to live. I’d also assume Rocket has taken all their cash into some sort of Ponzi scheme of his own creation, because just look at him, of course he has.

Spidey: he’s got about $10 of his aunts’ money at any given time, so he can buy lunch… which may in fact be more than Banner or Lang, and we know it’s more that Strange or Thor.

 So, here the big one: how rich or how broke is Sam?

Sam Wilson: annoyingly, we’re not directly told what rank Sam held in any MCU film. USAF pararescue “Maroon berets” are generally NCO’s (but there’ are officer-ranked pararescue) , and he’s seen working on his wings at one point, where as officers don’t generally work on or maintain airframes. He’s shown wearing a Nation Air guard grey while jogging at one point to confuse the matter further. The general consensus on redit is he’s a former USAF tech sergeant (E-6). But how long was he in the air force? With six years service (the minimum sensible time he could have served to work in pararescue based on his age), that would be $41,464.80 per year, plus drill pay and hazard. As Anthony Mackie, the actor that plays him, was 36 as of Civil War, and assuming the character is the same age, and assuming he retired from the air force that year, and he joined the USAF at 17, the youngest you can join, he’d have served 19 years, giving him a pay of $51,566.40, the maximum pay you can get at this rank before promotion to Master Sergent,  but meaning he left just before he’d qualify for the 50% final salary pension you’d qualify for after 20 years. Which seems weird. So let’s assume the character is one year older than the actor that plays him and served 20 years (ages 17-37), that means Sam has a military pension of $25,783.20 per year (20,784 of it tax-free), plus any injury benefits. He councils other veterans, but doesn’t get paid for that. He also chooses Team Cap in Civil War, so would become a wanted criminal, and so lose his income between 2016 and 2018, and then gets snapped and has no income for 5 years, which would destroy his credit rating. Like the rest of Team Cap, he presumably gets his post snap pardon, and goes to work for the US government at his former pay and rank. However, given how Captain John Walker treats him as an equal, it’s possible he’s been promoted to a captain when the  hired back, giving him a pay of between $54,176.40 to $88,142.40 (with 20 years experience, depending on if they take into account his prior service or not, and how much prior service he has), but either way, he’s just starting this as a new job after being legally dead for 5 years: no savings, and no credit.

Commercial fishing vessels cost about 10% of their total value per year in maintenance alone. I can’t identify what sort of boat the Wilson’s have, but some quick googling indicates that the cheapest  15m long wooden in-shore shrimp trawler costs around $140,000, so that’s $14,000 per year in maintenance costs alone, minimum. And that’s a lower estimate, assuming the rest of the business is sound, which we know it isn’t.

So, in concussion, yes, Sam is in some serious financial trouble until he can re-build his savings and credit, but the scary bit is he’s not alone in that: he’s probably better off than Lang, Banner, Danvers, Strange, Thor, Bucky, Wanda and Parker. Only Clint (if he gets a full pardon and gets his full pension), Rhodes, Stark and T’challa aren’t in some sort of potential financial problems. That asshole bank teller was right: despite the fact it seems to pay well on paper, with a few exceptions, the Avengers financials are probibaly a mess. EDIT: Rocket is running the Ponzi scheme, if that’s not clear from context. The others know they have money somewhere, but not where it’s gone. And It’s been pointed out to me that as he’s technically a POW while he’s the Winter Soldier, Bucky is owed over 70 years back-pay, equal to over 3 million dollars, details in the notes.

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 10

A/N: I can’t believe I’m already on part 10 for this series and to be honest it’s fun to write. And in all seriousness, the tumblr mobile app needs to allow you to put a read more link. But anyways love you all and let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! Mwah! 🖤🖤🖤

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, some violence, and blood

“Im sorry, did you just say Madripoor?” You blinked at Zemo, dreading the destination ahead of you.

“What’s up with Madripoor? You talk about it like it’s Skull Island.” Sam questioned, looking between you and Zemo.

“Imagine Mos Eisley from Tatooine but without the aliens and blasters.” You tried to make an analogy. “In other words, a shithole. And to be honest, I’d rather be in Mos Eisley.”

“It’s an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a pirate sanctuary back in the 1800s.” Bucky explained to Sam.

“It’s kept its lawless ways.” Zemo added before turning to James. “But we cannot exactly walk in as ourselves. James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone.”

You had a feeling Zemo would suggest all of you going in with different identities, and being the only woman in the group, you already had a wild guess you weren’t going to be ecstatic about yours. You looked to Bucky with a frown on your lips. You knew what Zemo had meant towards him, and you didn’t know how it would affect him to transition back into the person he tried so hard to deviate from. Bucky saw the sympathetic smile you gave him, and he returned it with a look that reassured you that he would be fine.

“Y/n.” Zemo now spoke to you, tilting his head to meet your eyes. “I’m sure you are aware of the conditions.”

“Zemo if you...” Bucky trailed off as he glared at him, silently warning him to watch what he says next.

Sam and Bucky kept their eyes on Zemo, waiting to hear what his suggested persona for you was and ready to beat his ass if he dared to suggest something that would be demeaning to you.

“No way in the pits of Tartarus. I am not going in as an escort.” You voiced with a clenched jaw. “And if it’s eye candy you need, you have Sam.”

Sam gave you a surprised look from your comment, flattered to have you recommend him to be the designated eye candy before going back to the topic at hand. “Hell no Zemo. You’re not having y/n pretend to be an escort.”

“I’m afraid Sam is already going as someone.” Zemo sat back with his hands folded in his lap. “And don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on having you go as an escort, it isn’t befitting of a baron like me. Plus, I figured it would be uncomfortable for you, so I was going to suggest you act as my fiancé, if you are willing of course.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, pondering on the subject. You were a bit relieved in all honesty. But to pretend to be Zemo’s fiancé and be in close and almost physical proximities with him?

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to y/n.” Sam uttered to you.

“I’ll do it.” You confirmed.

“Are you sure?” Zemo asked you again, making sure you were comfortable with acting the part.

“I thought Zemo might step out of line with this one, but we don’t want you to do something that will make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m sure. I’ve had to do things I wasn’t comfortable with plenty of times in the past.”

Once you had all landed, Zemo decided to stop by a place so that you all may get dressed. You had already packed a dress and a pair of heels with you just in case for situations like these, since this wasn’t the first time you had to dress up for a mission. The dress you wore was a black, burned velvet silk slip-like dress with the velvet print being dark red roses. The dress wasn’t too tight to be constricting of movement and fit perfectly around around your curves. If the situation should arise that you needed to defend yourself, you needed the freedom to be able to move. Going down, the fabric flared slightly at your hips, brushing barely against the floor with your heels on. The skirt was slightly sheer from the bottom of your thighs and down with the floral velvet print, and had a slit going up your right thigh, perfect for kicking and concealing your dagger. The top torso portion of the front of your dress was a spaghetti strap cowl neckline that stopped just above the curve of your breasts, allowing for just a bit of cleavage. Your back was left bare, stopping at your mid back with thin straps that came across in a pattern. Your dress almost had a Grecian/witchy look from the way it draped over your chest and hips. It wasn’t too formal or too scandalous, it was elegant and classy, and showed just the right amount of skin where it wouldn’t be too revealing.

Even though you completely loathed and detested heels of any kinds, your heels were fairly simple, made of black velvet with straps that came across your ankles and toes. You dreaded heaving to wear them but at the same time you’d stick out like a sore thumb if you wore your docs with these. Perhaps you should’ve brought your nicer sandals, but it was too late now. You kept on your mother’s necklace and wore a set of amethyst drop earrings, throwing on a silver cuff bracelet on each wrist. Your hair was let loose to conceal your short sword that you hid on your back underneath your dress, the hilt resting right between your shoulder blades. You prayed that having your hair down would cover the scars and the sword you had on your back. But you were mostly focused about the scars, you failed to mention them to the guys about it since it was something that was hard for you to share. The only makeup you had on was some eyeshadow and mascara to darken your eyes, very little blush, and a lip tint.

The last thing to do was to put on some perfume, so you spritzed on your favorite oil based one that you had from Olympus on your pulse points. The scent was filled with incense-like scents like dragon’s blood, sage, crushed red roses, sandalwood, ghostly white musk, absinthe, almonds, and heady gardenia. It wasn’t as harsh as the common alcohol based ones, this one was more earthy and ancient, and every time you wore it, the scent lingered and heads turned. You gave yourself a once over when you were done, taking in a deep breath before heading out to join the others.

You became nervous as you saw them gathered together, talking amongst themselves as they haven’t noticed you yet. You rarely ever wore dresses these days, especially of the kind you were wearing now which left you feeling bare and exposed even though the dress wasn’t at all much revealing. So as you approached them, you couldn’t help picking at your fingers in anxiety.

The men turned at the sound of your heels clicking against the ground, and when they laid their eyes on you, they couldn’t help but gawk with their mouths parted open, as if they had seen the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth. You chewed on the inside of your cheeks as you saw how they stared at you.

“Wow.” Sam was the first to say something. “You look like a million bucks.”

“What? Never seen a woman in a dress before?”

“No, I’ve just never seen you in a dress before.” Sam answered. “You’re always dressed like some hippie/librarian, with your bands shirts, sweaters, plaid pants and jackets.”

“Haha vary funny.”

“Also since when did you have muscles?” Sam noticed as he poked your bare arm. “And since when did you have a tattoo?” He observed the mark you had on your upper right arm, right below your shoulder. It was the mark that was given to you to signify your Olympian status and what you represented. It was about the color that henna left behind after you wiped the paste off your skin, the color of ginger and bronze. The center of your mark was a lightning bolt, which represented a child of Zeus. Below that was your symbol, the torch and the triple moons.

“Since when did you start asking so many questions? But yeah, I’ve always had muscles Sam, I was trained in combat since I was, you could say 9 years old in human years. Also, technically everyone has them, it’s what allows us to move and lift things. And that.” You pointed to your tattoo. “Is my goddess mark, not a tattoo. Every Olympian god has one and they each have their personal symbol that represents them.”

“Wait, so you’ve been trained since you were a kid?” Bucky looked at you to clarify what he heard as they all started to head out.

“Technically, everyone on Olympus starts training that young. Then, when they become of age, a tournament is held to display their skills, following a ceremony after, to celebrate their victory.” You explained as you walked beside them.

The four of you were currently walking on the bridge that led to Madripoor. You could see the city’s skyline out in the distance, the cyberpunk like buildings lighting up the night sky.

“Do you need my coat?” You heard Zemo say beside you, making you look at him.

“Sorry?”

“Do you need my coat?” He repeated himself, referring to how your arms were bare against the cool night. “I wouldn’t want you to get cold.”

You stared at him, stunned from the kind gesture as you tried to form words to say. “Oh uh.....I appreciate the gesture, but I’m fine actually. I’m not that cold.” Though you didn’t want to admit it, you actually would’ve liked to try on his coat, because in all honesty it was a damn nice coat.

“We have to fix this.” You heard Sam say with irritation visible in his voice. “I’m the only one who looks like a pimp.”

“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing.” Zemo mentioned as he pulled out his phone to show Sam. “The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.”

“He even has a bad nickname. Hell, he does look like me, though.” Sam observed the photo.

“You smell this?”

“Yeah, what is that? Acid?” Sam sniffed the air as you did the same.

“Smells rancid.” You scrunched your nose at the smell.

“Madripoor. No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There’s no margin for error.” Zemo instructed as a black car pulled up in front of you. “High Town’s that way. Not a bad place if you wanna visit, but Low Town’s the other way.”

“Let me guess. We don’t have any friends in High Town.” Sam remarked as he opened the door for the back seat.

“Y/n. A moment please, if you will.” Zemo uttered to you.

You stopped in your tracks, seeing Bucky and Sam stand on either side of the car doors, looking between the two of you and especially Zemo, with caution. You nodded your head at them, signaling you were fine and that they can get seated. And though they sat themselves inside the car, that didn’t stop them from keeping their eyes glued to Zemo to make sure he didn’t pull anything stupid.

“What’s the issue?” You turned to Zemo, giving him your attention.

“Since you will be portraying my fiancé, there’s a certain key element you will be needing to complete the image.” You watched as he pulled out a ring from his coat pocket, displaying it in front of you. “If I may?”

You stared at Zemo blankly before nodding your head and holding out your left hand for him. You knew this was only for a show, but you couldn’t help but stiffen as he delicately held your hand with his gloved one before slipping the ring onto your ring finger.

“There.” Hi smiled softly at you, his hand still holding yours. “Now you look the part.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, his thumb brushing against your knuckles, leaving behind a trail of warmth as he gazed down at you. Zemo swore he could have gotten lost in the violet swirls and gold flecks of your eyes forever, which now sparkled against Madripoor’s lit up skyline, the neon city and the places he’s visited not even coming close to the beauty he held before him.

You tried not to blush under his gaze as you gave him a polite smile before slipping your hand out of his. “I should probably change my eyes huh.” You remembered, changing your eyes to a normal color known to earth. “Should I hide the scar?” You asked him, referring to the one on your face.

“I think you should leave it. It suits you, and besides, you never know who might recognize you without it.”

Nodding your head at him, you headed to the car and settling in beside Bucky as Zemo followed, getting in the passenger seat in front of you. In the car ride there, you glanced down at the ring Zemo slipped on your finger, it was definitely a beautiful elegant ring, with a rose gold band and a pear cut garnet in the center that had diamonds that accented the bottom. Once you arrived in the city, you walked through the neon lit streets beside Zemo while Sam and Bucky followed behind. You loosened up your body as you went, swaying your hips slightly as you tried your best not to walk like a bodyguard and look threatening as everyone’s eyes followed the four of you strolling through the streets.

“Here we are.” Zemo announced, stopping in front of a bar before speaking to Bucky in Russian. “Ready to comply… Winter Soldier?”

As you went in, Zemo leaned in to whisper in your ear, his warm breath tickling your neck and startling you as he spoke in a hushed tone. “I want to apologize in advance, forgive me.”

You looked at him with furrowed brows to question what he meant until you felt his gloved hand slide across your back before resting on your waist, pulling you closer to his side. You noticed how his hand fumbled after brushing across your sword as he gave you a questioning look. What was that on your back? Did you really conceal a full on sword on your back underneath your dress? On your way to the bar table you saw people stare as you went through, some of them gawking in surprise at Bucky, or the winter soldier as he was now portraying, while the slimy men in the area roamed their eyes over your body hungrily. Zemo noticed your uneasiness from the way your muscles tensed, though your face didn’t show a sign of it, and glared at the men who dared to lay their eyes on you, only pulling you closer to him to prove that you were with him while Bucky and Sam noticed this as well and positioned themselves where you were blocked from the view of your peers, allowing you to breathe a little better as you approached the bar.

“Hello, gentlemen.” The bartender greeted you all. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

“His plans changed.” Zemo answered for him. “We have business to do with Selby.”

“The usual?”

Sam nodded his head.

“And for the lady?”

“Um Something fruity.” You answered with a flirtatious smile, silently hoping they had something like that on the menu and that you hadn’t blown their cover by ordering the wrong drink.

The bartender handed you what looked to be a pineapple martini and you internally thanked the gods for your sheer bit of luck, taking the drink and thanking the bartender with another smile. You watched as he went to work on Sam’s drink, pulling out of a jar what definitely was a snake. You gulped, your stomach feeling nauseous as you saw the bartender cut open the dead snake, taking out its guts and throwing it in the shot glass. You were mortified to say the least, snakes were one of your symbols and you had owned plenty of the gentle little creatures. You shot Sam a sympathetic look once you saw his expression.

“Cheers.” Zemo held up his glass while Sam stared at his before gathering the courage to drink it all in one go. If Sam wasn’t going to throw up, you were going to do it for him.

While your eyes were trained on Sam’s expression, you felt someone breathe over your neck before feeling a clammy hand graze across your ass.

“Hey baby-“

Your eyes widened before you grabbed the wrist of the man behind you in one quick motion, twisting his arm to an unnatural position as you yanked it away from your body, causing the sleazy looking individual let out a yelp of pain. You would’ve crushed his wrist like crumpled paper if Zemo hadn’t put a cautionary hand on your arm as he whispered to you. “Careful now.”

You let go of the man’s wrist before shoving him aside like a pile of garbage. If their identity wasn’t at risk of being revealed, Zemo, Sam, and Bucky would have gone over there and beat the guy up after you were done with him.

“I got word from high. You ain’t welcome here.” You watched from behind Zemo as a bearded man approached him.

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…” Zemo gestured towards Bucky.

“New haircut?”

“Or bring Selby for a chat.”

The man glanced between Zemo and Bucky before leaving.

“A power broker? Really?” Sam turned to Zemo.

“Every kingdom needs its king. Let’s just pray we stay under his radar.”

“Do you know him?” You asked.

“Only by reputation. In Madripoor he is judge, jury, and executioner.”

Another man was approaching in your direction, most likely to kick you all out or worse, and after following your gaze, Zemo turned to Bucky, speaking to him in Russian just as the man laid a hand on his shoulder. “Winter Soldier. Attack.”

You stood back, watching as Bucky grabbed the dude’s arm and twisted it back. You refrained yourself from intervening as Bucky took down the men that fought against him.

“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.” Zemo commented to you and Sam.

Bucky slammed one of the men down on the counter. And as you heard the clicking of guns being loaded, your defensive mode nearly kicked in as you almost reached for your sword before Zemo stopped you.

“Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us.” Zemo whispered to you both before turning to Bucky and speaking in Russian again. “Well done soldier.”

You let your arm drop back down to your side, not a single change in your expression as you eyed everyone around you.

“Selby will see you now.” The bartender spoke up after getting off the phone.

Zemo gave him a thanks, nodding you over and holding out his hand for you to take as you went to his side again, Bucky and Sam following after you. You went through a back door, going down a dark corridor with Zemo’s hand on your back as he guided you through.

“You should know, Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.” You heard a woman’s voice speak, turning your head to see an older woman in a suit with short white hair lounging back on the coach with her security around her.

“Not a demand. An offer.” Zemo sat down on the couch before waving you over when he saw you standing near Sam. “Come sit schatzi.”

You straightened up, plastering a smile on your face as you went over to him. Selby’s eyes followed you curiously as you placed your hand in his, your eyes rapidly moving in nervousness for what area would be the most appropriate area to sit. Were you......were you supposed to sit on his lap? Is that how couples work? No, that would be inappropriate. Before things got awkward, you quickly plopped down on the empty spot next to him, crossing over your leg in a way so that it draped over his, leaving your thigh completely exposed from the slit in your dress, save for the dagger that still remained hidden. Sam and Bucky widened their eyes at what you just did, while Zemo stiffened at this sudden movement from you as you also draped one arm around his shoulders, bringing yourself closer to him. Were you even doing this right?

“A lot has changed since you were here last.” Selby observed the two of you before her eyes landed on your ring. “Who’s this pretty little thing?”

“This.” Zemo looked at you with a loving look, throwing an arm around your waist to draw circles on your bare back, while his other hand rested on your thigh, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps on your skin as you felt shivers go down your spine. “Is my fiancé. Gorgeous isn’t she?”

How long has it been since you were this close and personal to someone? The last you could remember, women still wore corsets and people still rode carriages. You felt your body heat up from being this close to him, and from the way he stroked your back. How was a mortal man able to leave you feeling like this? If he was able to send shivers down your spine with the mere touch on your back with his gloved hand, you wondered how it would feel to have his bare hands on you, just skin to skin. And if you were being honest, you never really were a fan of cologne but his smelled of a deeper earthy tones with hints of musk, and you were surprised and almost ashamed to say you liked how he smelled. You returned the same loving look to Zemo, trying to make it as believable as possible as you ran your fingers through the hair on the back of his head before placing a kiss on his jaw close to his ear. Sam and Bucky couldn’t believe their eyes at the scene before them, the same you who preferred to be a hermit and didn’t go on dates because it involved human interaction, was cuddling up to none other than Helmut Zemo himself. Zemo’s breath faltered a bit from from your touch as he swallowed the lump in his throat, struggling not to break character. Being this close to you, he was able to get a whiff of your perfume and my goodness, Zemo felt as if he could drown in your scent, you smelled like the heavens, not overbearingly sweet, but dark and luxurious and even seductive. Is this what vampires and sirens smelled like when they lured people to their deaths? You raised a brow at Zemo, your heightened senses were picking up on his breathing patterns and heartbeat. Was he getting nervous?

“Extremely.” Selby commented, smirking at the two of you before roaming her eyes over your body. You could feel her taking you in but you kept your eyes trained on the side of Zemo’s face. “Where did you pick this one up? She looks like a fighter.”

“As they say, why not get a woman who can do both. She was part of the Sokovian armed forces, I met her through there.”

“By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?” Selby added after finally taking her eyes off you.

“People like us always find a way, don’t we? I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.”

“You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger.” Selby turned to Sam with a flirtatious grin, using her hand in a claw like manner as she let out a purr. “What’s the offer?”

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum.” Zemo got up off the couch, going over to Bucky and holding his chin between his fingers. “And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.”

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately. Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right. The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank. Or… condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but… things didn’t go as planned.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?”

“Oh. The bread crumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron. And before you get all cute, don’t think you can find Nagel without me. But.....” She turned you with a sly smile which made your insides turn. “Throw her in with the package and you have yourself a deal.”

Zemo, Sam, and Bucky turned to look at you with dread upon hearing her words. This wasn’t at all part of the plan.

“No, no no. That wasn’t the deal.” Zemo stepped over to where you sat, blocking you from her. “She’s not for sale.”

“Why not?” Selby raised her brow at Zemo. “I’m pretty sure a man like you could pick up someone else to be your plaything or fiancé or whatever. I like this one in particular.” She turned to you again.

“That’s not-“ Zemo started before he was cut off by Sam’s cellphone vibrating.

You breath was caught in your throat and it felt as if the room had dropped in temperature. You could feel the tension floating around the air as everyone’s eyes were trained on Sam now, making you sit up straight and uncross your legs so that they were planted firmly on the ground. Your hand rested on your thigh just above where the hilt of your dagger was as your eyes darted around the room, watching each and every person like a hawk about to swoop down on its prey. You had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well.

Tag List: @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @thebivirgin @gambitsqueen @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @on-my-way-to-erebor @thewinterrbucky @mylifeispainandiloveit @fillechatoyante @padmoonyfeorge @montypythonsholysnail

[peaches-writes]

full circle

description: even if you’ve only known him for eight years, if you think about it, you’ve actually been with minho for most of his entire life. member: minho / lee know genre: fluff, historical au, vampire au, time traveler au, college au, neighbour au, best friends to lovers au, fem reader, this is a longer and revised version of reliable source word count: 10k warnings: explicit language, mentions of animal murder, war, death, blood, alcohol note: yay a third entry to the seven hundred and one universe! oc from seven hundred and one universe is named shiyeon here while the oc from kart rider is named soojung! + this prolly has a lot of plot holes & is just generally mediocre but whatever it’s fiction lmao + @skzwriternet​

present: February 13, 2020

Even before he saw you on the other side of his apartment door at 9 PM with all of your work materials and equipment, Minho already knew full well that this day was coming. He’s always known most days are coming. He‘s just more excited for this in particular than the rest, given its inevitability that he‘s lived through for almost 600 years of his total 900 years as a vampire. Tonight, as evidenced by the Google Docs displayed on your open laptop, is the night you’d travel to the past for your doctorate thesis and meet his past self for the first time. 

He just didn’t expect this in particular to be on the day right before Valentine’s Day, when he and his two other housemates have decided to make a complete mess out of the kitchen with all of the chocolate they’ve been trying to make.

“Hi, sorry for bothering you at this hour but I was thinking—ew, what’s that smell?” You instinctively and bluntly ask first, sniffing the air escaping his side of the door. Minho could smell it too, strongly at that, and the older vampire could only purse his lips and widen his eyes at you. “Are you guys—please don’t tell me you’re actually cooking humans this ti—“

At that, he immediately shakes his head and breaks out into a nervous laugh, pulling the door closer to his body and effectively hiding Jisung scrambling around for the exhaust (and maybe the fire extinguisher too, for some reason) before you could peer over his shoulder. “No, no! It’s just Jisung and Jeongin—well, it’s mostly Jeongin then he dragged Jisung in on it—they’re making Valentine’s Day chocolates for...some people.”

You could sense the slight bluff in his tone (supported further by the little heart-shaped candy on his cheek) and that at least one of those ‘some people’ he could possibly be referring to is one of your friends, Nari, whom Jeongin has not-so-discreetly been pining over since your second year of college, but you easily let it slide. In the eight years you’ve known the vampires who live and own your apartment complex, after all, you’ve definitely walked in on much wilder things than a couple of questionably burnt chocolates (chocolates aren’t even cooked, as far as you’re concerned!). “Um, okay, sure, I’ll trust you with that.” You squint your eyes at him. “Anyway, can I come in? I need your help with something.” 

Minho exhales a small sigh of relief which he turns into a smile for you before looking over his shoulder once to make sure that the coast is clear then opening the door wide once again. “Yeah, come on in.” He concludes next, picking up your backpack on the floor and your heavy laptop in your hands as you cross the threshold. “But it’s really messy in the common area right now so we’ll have to stay in my room, if that’s okay with you.” 

You’ve never been in his room, not even when you first became friends in your first year of college eight years ago or on game nights when he always asks for help taking out his Play Station sets. All of Jisung and Jeongin’s jokes of his serial killer tendencies when you’re not around could be true for all you know and it’s the only thing going through your head as you wordlessly follow him inside his apartment, pondering on the thought.

In response, Minho bites down a laugh between his teeth next to you as he accidentally reads your thoughts and when you catch him in the act, you make sure to elbow him with your freer arm, careful of your drafts binder. “Ya, stop reading my thoughts without permission, you asshole!” You scold him in a sharp hiss right as you pass Jisung and Jeongin in the open doorway leading to the kitchen. You greet the two courteously and even make a salute to the fallen chocolates, to which Minho laughs even more at and the two boys groan in protest. “Well, shit, it really is...bad.”

“I know, poor people who’ll get that tomorrow.” Minho shrugs.

“You could say Nari, it’s fine, I won’t tell.” You shrug back with a laugh, taking this time to take the candy off of his cheek and walking past him and the other two boys with a parting wave before Jeongin could even process that you caught up to him and his crush so easily.

Minho, meanwhile, clears his throat awkwardly and follows you, in a poor attempt to hide his immediate flustered expression. Some of the chocolates were actually for you but he won’t tell you that too, of course.

Especially not when you arrive in his room not long after, nodding in approval at its cleanliness that clearly contrasts the current state of his kitchen and, by a slight extension, living room. “Glad you to know you don’t murder people in your room, Min. See? We get closer as friends would every day.”

“I’ve been on blood bag and animal diet since we met, you brat. Don’t tease like that.” Minho rolls his eyes, prompting you to laugh.

“So, where do I work, then?” You ask after, turning to Minho on your side and accidentally brushing your shoulders together.

He gestures to his work table in response, naturally placing his other hand on your back and guiding you towards it. He really hopes you’d be oblivious to the way he’s growing more flustered this time. He doesn’t let you in his room for a reason, after all (that being it’s too intimate in his opinion). “You can use my desk.” He instructs you after, following you and pulling an extra chair for himself once you’ve reached his desk. Placing your backpack next to his work bag then your laptop on top of the table, he then asks, “So, are you travelling now or later?”

He already knew you’d do it sometime now, he really just wanted to ask to keep the conversation going. He even has your hanbok ready—bought from Changbin’s wife’s shop last month.

But, to you, he seems to have miscalculated the situation a little bit as a realization dawns on you while you’re taking out the portable time travel machine from your backpack. It’s actually just a watch but your professors insist on keeping them in really fancy boxes. “I can do it now if it’s oka—wait, I haven’t even told you that part yet! How do you know I’m not just going to hoard your wi-fi?” You exclaim mid-thought, your mouth falling agape and forming an ‘o’ shape in surprise. You know he wasn’t reading your mind just now because, usually, Minho would announce his presence obnoxiously loud in your head or make the face he did a while back but he didn’t this time. “So you’re going to agree to my request? Is that it?”

Eyes equally wide in his mistake, Minho falls back in his chair and ends up fumbling around with his words. “Well—no, I mean, you always only need my help when you’re about to time travel so—!” He tries his best to cover up which only elicits a victorious smile from you. “Ugh, fine, you got me!”

“So, you’ll help me? I mean, past you, technically.” You ask again for confirmation, sitting down on your own chair this time as you fully take out the portable machine and place it on your lap. “I have to tell you, though, that I need to travel to three other periods for my thesis this time. Is that okay?” 

Minho props his elbow on the arm rest and nods against his knuckles. “You already know the answer to that, I think.” 

You chuckle at this. If eight years of knowing him has taught you anything, it’s to pay attention to the smallest details. He’s clairvoyant, after all, and you need to up him at his own game every now and then somehow. “Then, I’ll also need the proper attire. Haseul said that she can’t take in commissions at the moment so I couldn’t—“

“In the closet, furthest right.” Minho gestures to the walk-in closet behind him in defeat. “You can use that for all the times you’ll go, too.” 

“Have I told you that you’re my bestest friend in the world today? Even more than Nari, and she’s a witch, might I add!” You dramatically announce with a grin, handing him the machine’s box before standing up and making a beeline to the double doors on the other side of his bed. When you follow his instructions and find a pink and blue hanbok along with a floral hairpin on the very end of his closet, you then take it out and head to the open bathroom across the room. “Oh, wow, you even got my size right! You must’ve been preparing for this for a long time, huh?”

He really has—but, again, Minho is too stubborn to admit it to your face. “Just tell me if it’s uncomfortable or something.” He simply replies to you instead before you could close the door and change. Once he hears you acknowledge him with a hum before clicking the door to a lock, he then quickly prepares the time travel watch for you (by the way he remembers you doing it in front of him countless of times while you were cramming for a school requirement with him) then places it next to your laptop in exchange for his phone to message the rest of his friends.

minho [9:13 PM]: its happening

chan [9:14 PM]: you’re confessing?

hyunjin [9:14 PM]: hey that’s great! good for you hyung!!!

minho [9:16 PM]: no! y/n’s making the travel to 1388!

changbin [9:18 PM]: chan u know not to get ur hopes up w minho alr we all know he’s hopeless

minho [9:21 PM]: just bc ur alr married u brat

Changbin was still typing out a reply in the groupchat when you came out of the bathroom in your hanbok, laughing behind your hand when Minho looks up and momentarily gapes at you. “Why are you looking at me like that, weirdo?” You furrow your brows as you approach, smacking his arm before sitting down on his bed right behind him with a slight struggle. Peering over his shoulder, you smile appreciatively at noticing the time machine already set up. “And I see you’ve set up the machine without breaking anything this time! Progress!”

Minho scoffs, swiveling his wheeled chair to face you properly before gesturing to the hairpin in your hands. “You don’t like the hairpin?”

"I don’t know why you’re making me wear a hairpin that looks like a wedding heirloom.” You frown. Not to mention, from it’s material, you could tell that it’s new as well, meaning it was designed this way on purpose. “Won’t it attract too much attention?” 

Minho doesn’t know why you eventually came to him in the past wearing the hairpin too. He thought his future self was being ridiculous then (and he still does in the moment). “I don’t know, either,” He tells you truthfully this time, standing up from his chair to place it on your tightly-made bun. “But you did come wearing it eventually so just go with the flow, I guess? I don’t know, what do your sci-fi movies say?” 

You scoff at him, puffing out the heat rising up to your cheeks at the proximity. He could read your mind if he wants to but he doesn’t seem to be in the moment, even when his lips are gently fanning air into your ear as he fixes the hairpin with utmost care. “I guess I’ll just have to follow your instincts, then.” You sigh in defeat. “I can’t miss a detail, even if it’s weird.” 

“Right. I was there in the moment before you right now.” He smiles cheekily before sitting back down on his chair, passing you your time travel box after. “Ready to go?” 

You nod, fixing your collar one last time before receiving the machine from his hands. “You haven’t met me in the 1388, right?” 

“The first time you met me in the past was in the 1910s for that graduate thesis of yours and the oldest version of me that you’ve met so far was the one from the the 1740s.” Minho corrects, recalling your fourth year thesis some eight years ago. “But the first time I met you in my history was for this doctorate.” 

Your eyes light up at this. “Really? You’re meeting me for the first time now?” 

“Yeah. Why?” 

“We’ll have differing first impressions after this!” You point out to which he snickers. “Also, I haven’t met this version of you, you might be a snob in 1388 and think I’m weird or something.” 

Minho personally doesn’t think his first impression of you will ever change, no matter when you’ll meet in time. He’ll always think positively of you. “I was already turned for a long time, then. I haven’t met Chan and the others but I’ve seen and heard of weirder things than a time traveler.” He assures you. “Now, go, so I can help Jisung and Jeongin in the kitchen.” 

Rolling your eyes, you then set the date to January 1388 (you notice Minho’s already set the location while you were in the bathroom) before bidding a temporary goodbye to him, disappearing into thin air with the watch on your wrist right after. “I’ll be back before you know it!” 

In the blink of an eye, you’re already in a flea market somewhere in Seoul (then named Hanseong, you made sure to remember that well out of all of your history and anthropology notes). 

past: January 1388

You easily find 1388 Minho wandering around the flea market, a crowd of court men and women following him religiously as he examines the crops, livestock, and flowers being sold in stalls. The sight makes you scoff in disbelief, even more when you approach and see how he ignores each and every one of them up close. 

You know Minho isn’t the one of royal blood in his current coven of vampires (that’s Hyunjin—you know it well from the amount of times you’ve pestered him in your other time travels while he was sulking over his present day fiancée) but he has mentioned in passing once about being popular in the palace court, a socialite of his time if you will. 

But then, who could blame him? He’s just that handsome and charming.  

“Minho...Lee Minho...” You try calling for him in the crowd but to no avail, the slight embarrassment of following the crowd creeping up to you. It reminds you a bit of when you first saw him in your timeline, your first year of college and his fourth year (because Chan keeps insisting that he goes to university every now and then to pass the time) when all kinds of students would also follow him around at the campus library. It’s annoying, regardless of wherever you are in the world timeline. “Excuse me, Lee Minho!” 

He only turns to you when you raise your voice, an eyebrow momentarily raised until your eyes meet and a look seemingly of recognition crosses his features. 

You became friends with him as an older vampire but why is he more intimidating as a younger one? It’s probably the rest of the crowd’s eyes being on you because of your sudden interruption. Either way, you forcibly gulp down your nervousness and call for him again. “Lee Minho?” 

“Yes?” 

“C-Can I—Can I talk to you for a moment?” You gesture for him to follow you, his piercing gaze making your hands shake a bit. This is probably what Chan meant when he said Minho was a bit scary when he first met him in the 1400s. 

Minho follows you, anyway, which alleviates and heightens your nervousness at the same time. The crowd would’ve followed if not for him glaring at them not to right before you turned to the main entrance of the flea market where a few people were loitering around at. He feels like he knows you from somewhere which, if you knew about, you’d tell him that that’s impossible since, chronologically, you haven’t met him before this. 

Once you’re away from the majority of the market crowd, only then do you turn to properly face him and his expectant eyes. He’s still looks the same as he does in the present, just more curious, seeing as you’re a stranger for now. It’s comforting, somehow, so much so that it relaxes you and eventually makes you laugh as well. 

“What’s so funny?” He asks you without any hint of malice once you uncontrollably burst into giggles, prompting you to lift your hand up to your mouth. Already developing his clairvoyant abilities at this time period, he could easily tell by the unfamiliar terms in your thoughts and the way you hold yourself up that you were different—far more different than everyone around you. “And who are you?” 

You wave your other hand dismissively, taking a step back to recuperate. You end up giggling a few more times before you could manage to take a deep breath and exhale slowly by turning your eyes away from Minho momentarily. “I’m sorry, I’m Y/N and I—sorry! It’s just so...it’s a bit weird!” 

“Definitely.” Though your answer is unsatisfactory, the boy nods anyway. “And how do you know my name?”  

“I know you from the futur—wait, you can tell that it’s a bit weird too?” You raise an eyebrow and fold your arms over your chest. “It’s…sometime in the 1300s—“

“Thirteen eighty-eight.”

“Right.” You nodded at his correction with a dry scoff, piquing his interest further. “It’s only 1388 and you’re already this good of a clairvoyant?”

Minho was instinctively taken aback with you. His present self forgot to tell you that clairvoyance doesn’t have an established name in this time yet. “How did you—? What? Huh, well…the hanbok—the hanbok’s a bit of a giveaway too, I guess. It looks different from what the court women usually wear.” 

You then briefly glanced down at your hanbok, a pout resting on your features when you look back up at Minho again. “Really? But you—I mean, my source told me that this was accurate.” Come to think of it, you didn’t really check the attire thoroughly since you really needed to travel immediately to cram your paper. You’ll have to give 2020 Minho an earful about this later. “Ah, guess it’s my fault for not double-checking. I was in a bit of a rush to come here.” 

Minho from 1388, however, shakes his head at you in disapproval then briefly begins pointing out the different design patterns that looked foreign to him. “And this hairpin,” He pointed your hair accessory last, from what you can remember at present. There’s an unreadable expression in his face, one you’re too flustered to interpret as amusement. “This looks like a wedding heirloom but…a bit futuristic for my time, if that makes sense. I don’t suppose you wanted to come here disguised as someone’s wife, right? That’d attract more attention to you.”

And with that, you almost immediately deflate right in front of him with a defeated sigh and he smirks teasingly in return. To the passersby at the flea market, people could’ve easily mistaken the two of you for a quarreling married couple. “So that’s how it is.” You surrender easily, your arms loosening. “I guess even at this time you’re clairvoyant and smart. How annoying.”

His smirk grows even more triumphantly at this. “So, why did you come here?” He asks next. He figures out halfway through your rambles that it’s probably better to go along with you than to insist on his own questions, at least until you’ve organized your thoughts a little bit better. 

You ponder on the question for a moment, shifting your weight between the balls of your feet to pass the time. When you do answer, you explain, “Well, it’s a little crazy but my source has said that you’ll be okay with it so...believe it or not, I’m from the future and doing my doctorate thesis on a dynasty that’s about to establish itself around this time.” When 1388 Minho doesn’t immediately and visibly freak out as he would on your worst case scenario, you take this as your cue to continue. “You’re still alive in my time but I can’t tell you what our relationship is or it’ll be spoilers! All I can say is that you’ve helped me passed a lot of my major requirements in school and if you’re okay with it, you can help me with this one too!” 

The Minho in front of you thinks that you probably know him very well to know that he’s not easily spooked with anything out of the ordinary, not even by someone who claims to be from the future and is doing an academic paper about the past. You did mention knowing his personal history, as well, which effectively gained you his trust. He just hopes you’re not married or something in the future as the hairpin seems to be trying to imply or else he’d consider this first meeting of yours a bit chaotic for his liking. “Sure. Where do you have to be right now?” 

Really? It’s that easy? Is all you can think about, much to Minho’s curiosity when he reads your thoughts. “O-Oh, well, um...if you can take me to the palace courts, that would be...cool, I mean nice.” 

And so, Minho from 1388 ends up showing you around the palace courts for the next six months that follows (but, really, it’s just merely six minutes in the present time), even introducing you to people whom you ended up entrusting with your data-gathering. You almost mentioned Hyunjin and his fiancé, Shiyeon, on more than one occasion, remembering how the vampire would be with Seungmin already by this time while the immortal witch would be travelling around Korea, but opted not to instead when you also remember that no one from this time period really liked talking about the previous fire that killed most of Hyunjin’s family. 

Besides, you didn’t want to mess up the timeline and have Minho meet Hyunjin before he could meet Chan, even when he would ask you about it right before you left. 

“How am I in the future, by the way? Am I allowed to ask that?” Minho asks you curiously as you hold out your watch in front of him. It was starting to get annoying, having to hide it in your bell sleeves all the time. “And what am I doing by then?” 

“I can’t say anything specific that’s important.” You scrunch up your nose disapprovingly to which Minho only glares at you in response. “Just trust me, you’re sort of happy with where you are in my present day. You don’t have to worry about it now, it’s still 600 years away, anyway.” 

Minho mistakenly interprets that as the two of you being married in the future. He doesn’t have feelings for you in this time period but he takes your word not to worry about it until it’s happened. 

Besides, you seem kind. He’ll see something in you eventually. 

“When will I see you again, then?” 

“Um...around 1418, probably?” You answer with a hint of uncertainty as you faintly recall your thesis’ outline. You needed to see King Sejeong’s court next. “You’ll still be here, right?” 

Minho initially had plans on moving to a nearby province but he nods, anyway, thinking that that could wait for a few more years. “Yeah.” 

And with that, you’re gone again. 

present: February 13, 2020 

When you get back to the present day, it’s only 9:35 PM, almost six minutes since you left, but Minho’s already in the kitchen, helping Jisung and Jeongin clean up their mess. 

“Back already?” Minho asks with a blood bag between his teeth when he catches sight of you by the open doorway as he wipes the kitchen island clean, immediately noticing the grin you wear on your face. “What did you think?” 

“You were much chiller then!” You exclaim, ducking past Jeongin and Jisung to sit down right across Minho on the countertop. “I mean, you were a bit scary at first with the whole glaring thing you got going on but you were very calm and collected, then, like you weren’t even phased about me being from the future!” 

Of course he would be at that time, he was literally there when it happened (and also because he’s always had a feeling even from before that you’d meet but that’s also on his long list of things he won’t tell you). Instead, you see him quirk an eyebrow, throwing the rag towel in his hand to the side to pick up his phone and resume his Kart Rider. “Weirdoes vibe with weirdoes, I guess.” He shrugs, chuckling when you protest at this. “Anyway, you got what you need, right?”

You nod happily with a hum, propping an elbow up on the now clean counter and resting your cheek on your palm. “I have enough to write about later when you’re done cleaning.” 

“Ya, Y/N, if you’re gonna stick around at least help us clean the kitchen!” Jisung complains as he drags a wet mop across the floor behind you. 

“And why would I do that? I didn’t even help you make the chocolates!” 

“Because Minho’s been making cho—” Before Jisung could finish his sentence, however, Minho throws his rag towel towards the younger vampire, aiming it directly to his face. “Ya!” 

You shake your head in disbelief, turning to Minho again after. “Anyway, I have to fix my notes for a bit and you need to tell me where else I went for this paper!” 

Also because you were kinda cute back then, you think to yourself more as an after-thought, not really expecting for Minho to accidentally hear it.   

Now, Minho knows why he made you wear the hairpin. Is it normal to be jealous of one’s past self? 

present: February 16, 2020 

Minho offers you a whole bag of your favorite mini Toblerones the next time that you knock on his door to work on your thesis. The Valentine’s Day homemade chocolates were a fail even when Felix was eventually brought in last-minute (then you just had to disappear for a whole day with Nari and Shiyeon, too), so he rushed to the nearest convenience store to buy you the Toblerones as soon as you told him that you’ll come over again to pester him with his Internet connection and ask him more about your work. 

Maybe this is really it, the one you were talking about in his past. 

“You’re being nice to me with all this chocolate.” You squint your eyes with a piece of the chocolate in between your teeth suspiciously across the dining table as you work, head buried in papers to revise and dusty reference books. Your professor has you on travel limit as everyone else, only allowing you up to four actual visits to the past, hence the mountainous stacks of library books and journals you’ve borrowed from both the campus library and Changbin’s personal collection. “What do you need? Ya, I’m talking to you.” 

Minho, busy in his own academic work on his laptop, only peeks up at you belatedly when he’s reaching out for his blood bag buried underneath all of your papers. “What?” 

“What are the chocolates for?” You ask straightforwardly this time, picking up another mini Toblerone off the yellow bag. “Last time you bought me something from the convenience store was when you ate the squirrel I was feeding in the back garden.” 

Minho only shrugs as nonchalantly as he could, though he can’t help but feel a little flustered as evidenced by the way his eyes briefly widen. The squirrel incident was a long time ago and yet you still won’t let it go. “Can’t I be nice?” He simply asks back in answer to which you scoff at. He laughs along with you, anyway. “Jeongin bought it then gave me the extra, probably to give to you since I can’t really eat it.” 

You wanted to tell him that Nari actually shared the chocolates Jeongin gave her and they were definitely not Toblerones but you let it slide again. For some reason, it’s funny seeing Minho try to cover up something right in front of your face and thinking that he’s doing a good job at it. He’s trained you to see past his bullshit for the past 8 years, he should really know better. “Um...right.” You nod teasingly. “I’m gonna pretend you’re not looking very suspicious right now.” 

Minho could clearly tell that you’re doubting him even without reading you but he does nothing more to it. He’s too deep in his bullshit already and you both know that. 

Truth is, he was just fulfilling something you mentioned in your second visit to him (and probably as a way to give you something on Valentine’s Day even if it’s two days late). 

“Anyway, when are you making the travel again?” 

“Right after I finish summarizing this book.” 

And it happens to come full circle today, too. What luck does your best friend have. 

past: August 1418 

You jump between days in a span of six years this time (which is approximately an hour and twelve minutes back in the present time) with the help of Minho, Chan, and Changbin from 1418 helping you by preparing an entire closet of clothes and coming up with a very detailed background story of how you were a distant relative of Chan’s from the province in the case that someone asked about you. The other two boys were more than happy to welcome you despite how foreign time travel was to them in this time period because, apparently, you’re all Minho’s ever talked about since they met. 

“It’s nice knowing that Minho didn’t fever dreamed you up or something.” Changbin joked to you once towards the end of the six years of your data-gathering, to which he received a full apple shoved in his mouth from Minho. In this time period, his wife, Haseul, was still in that sleeping curse you still don’t understand fully at present, carefully laid in a tomb somewhere in the capital. Fortunately, you managed to avoid telling him that she wakes up seven centuries later (and that they get married) throughout your entire stay and avoided spoilers. “Vampires who’ve lived long like us tend to do that sometimes. Heck, even Chan does that lots of times these days, telling us about this immortal person he’s been looking for a while now. I guess it’s the human brain’s natural response to having a lot of memories.” 

“Minho remembers me just fine in the present, though.” You shrug as you re-write your interview notes, to which Minho mumbles a ‘Really?’ at. When you nod at him, he immediately rolls his eyes up in thought. You want to tell them that the person Chan’s been looking for at this time’s also real (and that he and said person, Eunhye, even live together now), too, but you decide against it later on for spoiler reasons again. “You have really good memory in the present, you even bought me Toblerones today.” 

“What are those?” 

A realization dawns on you right there and then, a small smile forming on your lips to which Minho quirks an eyebrow at and Changbin immediately asks you about. “You’ll find out soon enough. Just know that they’re my favorite.” You simply answer, standing up from the front porch of the inn you’ve been staying at and dusting the dirt off of your new hanbok. You remind yourself to ask Minho and Changbin about where these are at present later on. “Anyway, I’m off! I need to interview a few court people then I’ll be off your hairs again soon!” 

When it’s time for you to leave again, Minho’s still pestering you about what Toblerones are. 

“Come on, tell me!” He protests, going as far as holding your wrist where your watch is before you could escape. “Y/N!” 

You only grin up at him mischievously, gently swatting his hand away. “February 16, 2020! Also, make me ramen and coffee when I get back to the other side, please! I’d really like that!” 

present: February 16, 2020 

A steaming bowl of ramen and a warm cup of miraculously decently-brewed coffee are on the kitchen countertop by the time you come back, just as you asked him six hundred years in the past. What you didn’t expect, however, was the way your notes and references have also been organized neatly on the table while you were away and Minho dozing off on the nearby sofa in the open living room (he really likes genuine sleep lately which you’re yet to ask him as to why). You make sure to check that he really is sleeping by pinching his nose (and getting no response which is his usual indication of actual sleep) before placing the blanket he has reserved for you in his apartment over his hunched over body. 

“You don’t really need it,” You whisper tiredly, tucking the blanket close to his neck. His skin is naturally cold, as any normal vampire’s, but you’ve slowly grown accustomed to it over the years. “but how else am I going to say thank you for remembering my request after six hundred years? You’re going above and beyond anyone I’ve ever met, Lee Minho, you should stop raising the bar too high for men like this.” 

three

past: May 1592

“Are you sure you want to be here?” Minho from 1592 asks you right after you’ve reappeared in his house. Chan is out for work and Changbin is visiting Haseul on this particular day, leaving him to tend to their main house alone. “We’re in the middle of—”

“A Japanese invasion, I know.” You finish his thought for him, casually plopping down on the front porch right next to him and gingerly receiving the cup of tea he offers you. The garden he’s been trying to tend the last time you were around hasn’t made any significant progress even when an entire century has passed. You want to think it’s because the boys have been travelling elsewhere right before you returned but you also know it’s because they haven’t met Seungmin and Hyunjin yet. Those two are still probably travelling with Shiyeon. “That’s exactly why I’m here.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re—” Minho leans away and gazes back incredulously at you. He can already tell, with his own abilities, that you’re not thinking of what he’s thinking but he asks anyway to fully confirm. “I’m not letting you go to the frontlines if that’s what you’re going to ask me this time.” 

You chuckle at his genuinely mortified expression as you sip on your tea, making the boy furrow his brows at you. You really must be crazy. “You already know I’m not thinking of that! Though, I will ask you crazier things in the distant future.” You assure him. “I’ll only be staying for a year, six years again at most since I only need to complete a few interviews and fact-check a few books.” 

“Good.” Minho sighs in relief, taking a long sip of his tea as well. Even in 1592, the only human beverage Minho could stand is tea, you’re quick to notice. “That’s...that’s a relief.” 

“Why would you even be worried about going to the field, you’re immorta—ya, perhaps, do you you care about me?” You tease, grinning widely at the sudden realization. “We have a really messed-up timeline but you already care about me as early as now, that’s cute!”   

Minho from this time period could only roll his eyes at you against his sudden flustered feeling. If he was curious of your relationship with his future self when you first met, he’s curious as to how his future self keeps up with you this time. “Because you might be important to me in the future or something.” He bluffs to which you only chuckle fondly at. “I can’t really tell since you won’t tell me exactly how I know you in the future.” 

“Well, what am I to you now?” 

“A friend.” And he means it truthfully.

You’re momentarily taken aback, Minho sees even when you’re quick to hide it. Present Minho won’t even call you his best friend like you do to him. “Then just—just remember that until then.” You point out, smiling when you gaze over to his side and see his sincere expression. Something leaps in your chest at hearing him say those words without his usual playful tone of voice. It’s not what you’ve always been hoping for but it’s a start. “Won’t it be better if you just find out in the moment when it does happen?” 

Minho wants to tell you that he can’t wait but his teasing nature always gets the best of him first, “Hm, maybe you don’t actually know me at all in the future, that’s why you’re always being vague when I ask you.” 

You scoff, smacking his arm. “Ya!” 

“So, really, what are you to me in the future?” He insists anyway, swiftly dodging your hits until he’s caught your wrist in his hands. “Friend? Best friend?” 

A lover? He wanted to add further but he bites his tongue back just in time.  

“I always call you my best friend but I’ve yet to hear the same thing from you so, honestly, how would I know when you’re so secretive with your true feelings all the time! I’m even surprised you answered my question just now.” You frown, unintentionally coming off as bitter in your tone of voice as you retract your hand back to your side. You place your cup down as well, careful of the remaining tea so it doesn’t accidentally spill on your hanbok. At this moment, you miss the way Minho’s expression turns into confusion. “If it helps, though, I can only tell you that you always let me in your house to hoard the wi-fi—which you don’t have to know about right now!—and you’ve kept me around long enough to know when you’re trying to lie to me or read my thoughts with your clairvoyance thing going on.” 

Minho nods along, humming in thought. “So you’re a parasite?” 

You inhale a deep breath, focusing all of your energy into restraining yourself from hitting him for a second time. “You’ve called me worse.” You sigh with a controlled laugh. “Expired dinner and ex-wife who has nowhere else to go are my personal favorites.” 

Next to you, Minho’s eyes genuinely widen in curiosity. “We got married?” 

“Um, no? No, no, it’s an expression!” You shake your head and snicker despite the contrasting heat on your neck. Minho grows flustered at sensing the blood rushing up to your face. “I don’t even know if you’re capable of romantic love, dude. You’re always kinda everywhere and nowhere.” 

Minho’s not offended, though, especially not when you try to apologize after at realizing that you’re not as close with this version of him as you are with the version you know in your own time. “It’s fine.” He assures you with a shrug, knowing full well that you were just kidding around. “I’m guessing with that that I’m still single five centuries later.” 

“That and a bit of a flirt, too.” You clarify before his words fully process in your head. “Wait, so that means you haven’t dated even before this?” 

Minho shakes his head. “No, no one’s caught my eye yet.” 

You purse your lips in thought of this new revelation. It’s in moments like this, when you’re meeting past selves of your immortal friends that you realize just how little you actually know of them. “Huh, I didn’t peg you as the type.” 

“The type to what?” 

You shrug slowly, hunching over in your seat. “To be the fall in love just once type? I don’t know...”

Chan has mentioned to you once about Minho believing in soulmates but you were quick to dismiss that then. Remembering that now, maybe he is right. 

And, as if he has been reading your thoughts this entire time, Minho agrees with a nod. “Then, now you know. If you’ve lived as long as I have, soulmates are really nice to think about.” 

“But you always tease me about it...you from the future at least.” You pout. “Again, no offense, it’s just that—from the way I know you in my time, you’re very confusing.” 

When you glance over at Minho, you see him sit up straighter and lean closer to you again, your shoulders bumping against his as he tilts his head to meet your gaze. “Really? How am I confusing? Maybe I can help.” 

You scrunch up your nose. “Ah, but that’s unfair. You’ll take note of this in the future again.” 

“Your time’s five hundred years away, I’m sure I’ll forget this with time.” He assures you to no avail as evidenced by your squinted eyes. 

“You remembered my ramen and coffee request from last time, though.” You argue back, making his eyes light up. 

“I will?” 

You nod, placing a finger on his forehead and pushing his face away from yours. “Yeah, so I don’t trust you. Let’s just leave it at that.” 

Minho doesn’t bother you anymore about it for the rest of your one-year stay, which you’re more than grateful for.

present: February 22, 2020 

He does, however, teases you about it again when you’re back to the present. Closing in on you in one of his bone-crushing hugs when you reappear in his room, he asks, “So, how was meeting me in the 1500s this time, best friend?”

“Excuse me, what did you say?” You furrow your brows at him, your arms going limp on your sides while your entire body freezes on the spot. 

“I just called you my best friend.” He repeats casually with a shrug. “Why?” 

Minho purposely omits the fact that he double-checked his old journals to make sure that you just time traveled to that period when you mentioned to him how he’s never called you his best friend. He’s been waiting for this opportunity to set it right with you since he didn’t know much of the context back then. 

You shake your head in response, reluctantly hugging him back once you’ve regained feeling in your arms again. “Nothing, it’s just...” 

“Dude, you’re acting like past me and present me are different people.” He chuckles against your hair, squeezing your frame once before pulling away. “So, we’re good, right? You’re not bitter about the whole best friend thing now?” 

You frown, slapping his elbow to which he only chuckles at. “Who said I was bitter?” 

“You did in 1592!” He teases, his mischievous grin softening into a fond smile after. “But seriously...sorry about that. I just think it’s cheesy to say most of the time but you really are...my best friend now I guess—maybe until you die in 50 years.”

Minho then runs away before you could even protest, prompting you to chase him out of his room and into the hallway. “Ya, Lee Minho! I’m going to kill you first, you brat!”  

But you know that deep in your heart that he’s only joking (and also because Jeongin has gossiped to you once about accidentally reading one of Minho’s journal entries from the 1700s once about meeting someone who shares your name but was already working as a professor in university and may or may not already be a vampire). 

present: February 29, 2020

“Okay, to refresh...” You mumble as you adjust the watch on your wrist and the switchblade Minho insisted on you keeping in your pants’ pockets. Next to you, said vampire’s is sprawled on his bed, a reviewer and highlighter in hand. “In 1895, Hyunjin was following Shiyeon around the world, Seungmin was starting out his photography career, Soojung was taking a beauty nap, Haseul was still sleeping, Changbin was going on a Jack the Killer rampage somewhere in Europe, Jisung was still a newborn, Felix, and Jeongin haven’t joined you yet, and Chan was...learning yoga with Eunhye? Is that right?” 

“And I’ve met all versions of you by this time.” Minho adds in absentmindedly before going back to chanting his notes over and over again. He really doesn’t need to since he really has sharp memory these days but you let him study for whatever it is he’s studying, anyway, so he has something else to do besides Kart Rider and annoying his other friends. “Just tell past me who I’m meeting when you arrive since you know how I kept mixing graduate studies you and college thesis you up all the time.” 

“That’s...you guys have lived lives.” You puff out a tired breath, making Minho glance up to you briefly and chuckle. “Sometimes, it makes me and Nari feel so small.” 

“It’s not much.” The boy shrugs back. “It personally hasn’t felt that long.” 

“And why’s that?” You hum curiously. 

He mumbles something behind his paper but you don’t hear it well. When you ask him about it, he only shakes his head and kicks you with his socket foot, urging you to go already. 

Minho actually said, “It’s because you’ve been with me the entire time.” but he’ll just tell you all about it later when you come back. 

With a scoff, you then swat his foot away and bid him goodbye. “Fine, see you later then.” 

“I’ll organize your notes until then. Bye.” 

past: July 1895

Minho sets your location on your watch to his house, now renovated to what was considered modern then. You’ve been here countless of times, albeit in different time periods of your own past (the last being when you had to ask for his help in the 1860s about your graduate thesis), but you’ve never been here in the 1890s, not when a newborn Jisung had the self-control of a toddler and immediately tried pouncing on you the moment he smelled you on their front lawn.  

Now you know what the switchblade is for (and the one time Jisung kept apologizing to you in the 1910s). 

“Ji, calm down!” Minho growls in annoyance, holding the younger boy by his arms as he drags him back inside the house. He can feel your anxiousness increase just by looking at this unfamiliar side of Jisung, prompting him to send you an apologizing look. “Sorry, um, Y/N, I—” 

“I-It’s...it’s fine.” You assure shakily with a curt nod, taking a step back as well when Jisung tries regaining two steps towards you again. “I think I came in the wrong day.” 

“It depends. What are you here for?” He asks, his voice growing faint as he successfully manages to lock Jisung inside the house. He then quickly jogs back to you, examining your face for any recognizable hints of where you could be from.

“Doctorate thesis.” You answer for him, earning you a look of realization from him. 

“Oh, it’s you.” He smiles in relief. You remember distinctly how these were also the very same words he told you when you first met him in a time travel. “I was thinking you’d never come back.” 

You feign a frown in front of him, making him laugh. “Why? Did you think I wouldn’t finish my studies?” 

“It’s just that the next time you came back, from my point of view, is when you were only in college to ask me about the 1810s.” He clarifies, to which you nod in understanding. So he does remember. “I thought it weird at first that you didn’t come back sooner to finish your doctorate.” 

“Ah, well, you in 2020 has been a big help—well, him and a shit ton of books.” You chuckle awkwardly. “This is my last trip for my doctorate, actually, since I have the smallest amount of resources for Queen Min.” 

“T-This is—this is your last?” 

You smirk at his briefly dejected expression, elbowing him gently. “Why do you look so sad? You already know we’ll meet again in the future. Plus, you’ll still meet younger versions of me later on for my college requirements which is a bit confusing to hear right now but you’ll get it later!” 

Minho opens his mouth to speak, initially to tell you something about being frustrated that he’s only seen glimpses (and different versions) of you throughout his life so far, but he’s suddenly cut off by Jisung banging wildly against the front door, making him and you flinch. 

“Um...what if we deal with Jisung first?” You suggest. “I assure you we’re all going to be great friends in the future but no one really told me that this would happen.” 

Minho nods slowly next to you, rubbing the nape of his neck. “Yeah, we should probably take care of him first before your thesis. You could spare five minutes to sit down, right?” 

“Definitely.” 

And so, you spend the rest of your first day getting Jisung to calm down in your presence. 

present: February 29, 2020 

“Chan, babe, please, please, please promise that you won’t flinch when we use the party poppers later.” Eunhye sighs exasperatedly as she leads everyone into organizing the kitchen and living room. “Felix, good job on the cookies by the way! They turned out really well! Jisung, hurry up with that banner!” 

“Babe, I don’t flinch!” Chan yells across the hallway as he re-checks if everyone will have enough party hats, trumpets, and poppers for later. 

“Yes you do!” 

“What’s so significant about today, anyway?” Nari asks Jeongin as the two enter the apartment with boxes upon boxes of blood bags and alcoholic drinks. “Besides Y/N finishing their thesis, of course.” 

Shiyeon and Hyunjin follow closely behind with take-out boxes of chicken wings. “Because today is Y/N’s last time travel before they become a professor! A lot of good things are going to happen after, trust me.” Shiyeon answers with a wink. 

“How come you know all of that? You were barely with us in the 1800s.” Jisung asks while struggling to put the other end of your congratulations banner across the kitchen. Soojung is on the other end, arm beginning to fall asleep as she holds up the other end of the banner for Jisung. “Even Jeongin and Felix don’t know that.” 

“There’s a thing called correspondence and Hyunjin was a diligent gossiper.” Shiyeon only chuckles, setting down the take-out boxes on the countertop. “Also, hey, I was there in one of Y/N’s visits! It just hasn’t happened in our timeline yet but it will in three years!” 

Minho then emerges from his room, phone in hand counting down the seconds until you’re back again. “Okay, we have two hours to get everything ready.”

“Lee Minho where have you been this entire time!” Eunhye complains, finally taking the boy’s presence to take a seat. “I’ve been organizing everyone for a whole ten minutes!”  

“You mean you have two hours to get ready.” Haseul teases, seated on one of the dining table chairs and helping Changbin, Seungmin, and Felix make proper chocolates this time. “Don’t you have something else important you need to prepare?” 

“No, I can just wing it.” Minho dismisses to which Chan immediately laughs at, catching the younger boy’s panicked expression. 

“Sure you do.” Seungmin dryly responds, to which everyone topples over in laughter. 

past: November 1905

“You’ll see me again in five years, at least from your point of view.” You assure Minho from 1905 right before you leave. Jisung’s apologizing again about the incident last time but you’re quick to hug him and effectively shut him up. “The one you’ll meet in 1910 is going to be a little different, though, a little younger.” 

“But it’s still you.” 

You smile at this. “Yeah, still me.” 

Minho wants to tell you so badly that he’s met another version of you while you were away, someone older, but he quickly pushes the thought at the back of his head. Is this how you feel holding back spoilers from him? Instead, he ops to tease you. “You know, when people usually meet, it’s not as backwards as us.” When you raise an eyebrow at him, he continues, “You keep meeting me from the past and I’ve met you from the future countless of times. Even if culture’s going to be different in the future, I’m pretty sure this is still not how it goes there.” 

Finally, understanding, you let out a laugh, hitting his side playfully. “Definitely not.” You agree sheepishly. “But I think that makes it even more special. It makes you wait until we’re in the same time, right?” 

Minho nods. “What date are you going back to again?” 

“February 29, 2020. Why?” 

He says nothing else on it but bids you goodbye with one last hug instead. “Nothing. I’ll see you again soon...or another version of you.” 

“And I’ll see future you.” You chuckle before disappearing. 

present: February 29, 2020 

You come back to all the lights in Minho’s apartment turned off at the present. You hear whispers and the soft clicking of a lighter as well, prompting you to follow the noise outside. 

“I think it’s better if Changbin doesn’t hold the cake, don’t you think?” You recognize Haseul’s loud voice even from the hallways, fueling your curiosity even further. 

A slight pause then follows before you hear Chan agree, “Yeah. Hyunjin, you hold the other cake.” 

“Lix, you’re stepping on my foot.” That’s Jisung, you know by the way he’s always whiny when he complains. 

“Oh shit, sorry!” 

“Everyone, quiet! Y/N’s on their way!” Nari scolds and the hushes then quickly fall silent once you reach the kitchen, flipping the light switch on the hallway to the sound of party poppers exploding right in front of you. Only then do you see the big ‘CONGRATULATIONS Y/N!’ banner hanging right above everyone standing in a line with cake, hats, and trumpets. 

“Um?” You raise an eyebrow at everyone, breaking out into an uncontrollable grin. “What’s with all this?” 

Minho of your time then walks over to you with a Toblerone cake, carefully protecting two candles from the breeze that enters through the windows. “Chan and Eunhye insisted on a party so...congrats on finishing your thesis!” 

Over his shoulder, said vampire and immortal immediately shake their heads in denial. “It’s his idea!” Eunhye mouths to you with a smirk, making you chuckle.

You then turn to Minho with a smile. “I haven’t even finished writing it yet.” You point out only for your best friend to shrug nonchalantly. “And my graduation’s in a month.”  

“Yeah, we can work on that once everyone’s out of the apartment.” He suggests. “Now, just blow on the candles first, Seungmin’s arms are about to fall off waiting to take a picture.” 

You briefly apologize to Seungmin on the side with a sheepish laugh, blowing on the cake’s candles after to the many snaps of his film camera. “Thank you for all this. I really appreciate it, you guys!” You thank your guests after, approaching them with Minho on your side this time. 

“We can call you Professor now, right?” Hyunjin playfully asks, elbowing you gently on your side. 

“It makes me sound really old.” You pout, making him laugh. “In a few years.” 

“Three years.” Shiyeon coughs to which Minho immediately glares them down for. 

Catching this gesture, you decide on purposely ignoring it for now. You’ll have to ask Shiyeon what they mean with that later. “Anyway, let’s eat. Have you guys been here long?” 

“Not really but I’m already starving!” Soojung exclaims, passing you a plate and utensils. Next to her, Felix and Chan instinctively open up all the take-out boxes of food for everyone to dig in. 

“Alright, let’s eat!” 

present: March 1, 2020 

Minho kicks everyone out after by the strike of midnight, when all the food’s been devoured and the party games have been played at least twice. Surprisingly, even Jisung and Jeongin were directed outside by Minho at this time, which you immediately ask him about once the two boys are out of the door. “Don’t those two live here?” You joke with a dry chuckle. “You don’t have to kick them out so we can work.” 

“They’ll come back later.” Minho gently shuts the door before turning to you as you stand with your arms crossed in front of your chest, a genuinely curious expression on your face. “I just...need a moment with you.” 

You pretend to take a step back with your best dramatic expression of fear. “Oh my God, you’re going to kill me after eight years of friendship, right?” 

“What? No.” Minho furrows his brows at this, making you laugh. “It’s just...fuck, now I’m off-tracked.” 

You giggle this time, loosening your arms in front of you. “What is it, Minho?” 

There have been times, both in the past and present though rare, when Minho has looked nervous in front of you. The last time he was, from what you can remember, was when he was about to tell you that he accidentally killed the squirrel in the apartment’s back garden but even then, he wasn’t as nervous as he is now—fiddling with the hem of his blue sweater for a brief moment before finally taking the courage to step closer to you. “I-I, um—” He stammers out, one hand instinctively going up to his nape. “What I want to say is that...remember when I asked you in 1592 about how I know you?” 

“You just teased me about that last week.” You roll your eyes in an attempt to ease the sudden awkwardness, only to make it even worse for Minho. With this, your expression immediately contorts into worry. “What about it?” 

“Then in 1905, where you just came back from, you told me we’ll meet in the right time eventually...” He continues after a while, smiling back when you do reassuringly. “In between those centuries, of course, y-you—you came in for your college homework and your Masteral’s but there was also...there was also someone else.” 

This unexpected turn drops something heavy on your stomach, your smile unconsciously faltering. Minho wants to snicker but, knowing you, you’ll probably think of him cold if he does so he takes in a deep breath and tries his best to continue with less stutters this time. “Don’t be too sad, it’s still you, just a few months in the future.” He assures with a chuckle, hands instinctively going up to your sides to rub your arms comfortingly. Your eyes widen at this in response and you freeze in his touch. “Anyway, July 2020 Y/N just told me to do something tonight, if that’s okay.” 

It takes you a moment to respond but Minho patiently waits, holding back his laugh by biting his lip down. He’s reading your thoughts as they go into overdrive. Is this how you feel when I hide the future from you before? You internally ask to which he nods at. “U-Um, so...what are you going to do?”

“Just tell you that I’ve been in love with you for a long time.” Minho finally confesses, sighing in relief once he’s gotten the words out surprisingly well. “And if you’d like to go out for a trip after your graduation—and not the time travel trip, this time so we can be together right.” 

There’s more to it, actually, Minho has a whole paper written and rehearsed for a span of almost three centuries but he figures you’ll find out about it eventually. He could tell you about how he’s been in love with every version of you that he’s met in the past another time or maybe you already know it. 

“So?” He asks after a while when you don’t speak verbally. Your thoughts are still muddled and your heartbeat’s a little too fast for his liking but he holds any impulsive urge he might have in for your sake. “What do you say?” 

You purse your lips once, mustering up a relieved smile at him after. “You already met me from the future this time—which I commend you for, by the way, because you’ve one-upped me again this time!—so I think you already know the answer to that.” 

epilogue

past: July 1799

You know full well that you’re not supposed to travel back in time for personal reasons, especially not for the reason you’re coming into 1799 to see a past Minho for, but you figure that you’re already in your university’s faculty roster. If I get caught, you think to yourself as you easily spot Minho with Chan at an art exhibit in Paris, the professors will probably understand. 

“Minho! Chan!” You call with your hand above your head waving frantically at the two, catching theirs and a few patrons’ attentions. You don’t mind the extra attention as you approach him, though, since they did instinctively made way for you because of it. “Hello there, you two!” 

“Hi, Y/N!” Chan greets you happily, giving you a side hug. “Aren’t you back too soon?” 

But knowing full well that you’re probably not the same one the two met last time, Minho smirks in amusement as he eyes your choice of clothes and asks, “And where did you come from? By the clothes, me from the future probably doesn’t know you’re here.” 

“Yeah, I picked out my own clothes for today. Anyway, I won’t be here long.” You roll your eyes with a chuckle. “I’m from July 2020 and I’m not here for any academic work this time! I just wanted to ask you a quick favor.” 

From what you’ve detailed in your own journals, the last time you met from this particular Minho’s point of view was when you were doing a paper on the Baroque movement for one of your college classes. 

“What is it?” He asks you anyway, his body turned away from the painting that he and Chan have been previously admiring as he gives you his full attention. 

Judging from the amount of times you’ve visited him (and the different versions of you he’s meet as well), his future self seems to agree on your requests all the time. 

“I can’t tell you much but please prepare something on February 29, 2020!” You answer, your watch beeping on your side to remind you that it’s almost time to leave. “And make sure to mention me! Remember, Y/N from July 2020!” 

Before he could ask about it, further, however, you were already gone. 

“What do you think that was about, Chan?” Minho asks the older vampire instead. 

But Chan simply shrugs, hands going deeper in his pockets as he thinks. “No idea.” He admits in equal confusion. “Guess we’ll have to see in three hundred years.” 

[the-writing-mill]

Fantasy au arranged marriage, pairing of choice involving Obi-Wan?

Is this... is this about the arranged marriage fantasy AU I abandoned for homework on the discord yesterday? Is that what’s going on here, anon? Are you on the discord server or does everyone just have this sort of thing on the brain recently?

In either case though I shan’t rehash that but do something else lol

Obi-Wan is born as the third royal prince in a mountainous, vaguely European country. The world is about at renaissance level technology, with a few bonuses due to the presence of magic (and magical creatures)

His majesty, King Qui-Gon Jinn, is a moral, stubborn ruler who is thought of fondly by the commoners but who is also quite unthinking at times, a bit neglectful and letting the nannies and governesses raise his children

His royal highness, crown prince Freemor is studious and quiet, and frequently works in the gardens. People are tentatively approving of him as crown prince, since he should be able to handle managing the kingdom’s graneries and other food resources well, but are worried about what will happen during foreign affairs, especially if they go to war.

His royal highness, second prince Xanatos, is... certainly aggressive and ambitious like is needed for foreign affairs, but there are too many rumors of underhandedness and selfishness for him to drum up support, especially by the public

Obi-Wan Kenobi, the third prince, grows up feeling the need to rise to his title. His brothers are already well-versed in their studies and have their own strengths physically. Further, Obi-Wan was told by a nanny when he was young that a true prince has a duty to help their citizens as much as they can and he’s never let that go

Obi-Wan, like all members of the royal family, also has the ability to use magic. And so he is sent off for a few years of his childhood to the academy run the druids/[insert magic pseudo-priest group here]. There he makes good friends with Quinlan Vos, a count’s son whose family is well known as sword mages

When Obi-Wan learns the basics of magic enough from the academy, he’s sent back to the royal family, where he proceeds to take a bre- proceeds to start studying even harder. (Obi-Wan has no chill)

Obi-Wan doesn’t take a break from studying combat, magic, politics, diplomacy, etc. (and becoming a pretty good dragon rider) until basically a few years later when Quinlan graduates from the academy’s full program and shows up to get Obi-Wan drunk. Obi-Wan’s servants quickly pull every favor they have in the palace to get Quinlan hired as Obi-Wan’s aide

Obi-Wan convinces Quinlan that he needs more experience in the real world, and that he needs to prove himself capable by his own abilities, not just the royal name. Quinlan agrees to help Obi get the experience so long as Quinlan comes along

Thus they begin their careers as errant knights

They gain a reputation for bad luck/chaos, and so eventually are only hired/requested when everyone’s sure some mission will go to hell anyways, in which case they’re very good at getting out of things in the best case scenario

During this time they also meet a certain disguised person from a certain royal family in a tavern and Obi-Wan of course flirts and tries to drink the man under the table

After a few years of this, with a few scattered months of being recalled home to the palace or sent to help protect a border from his father, Obi-Wan is called back to the palace again

It’s now that Obi-Wan finds out he has been promised to a neighboring kingdom’s crown prince to diffuse tensions, as there were two neighboring kingdoms seeming to be preparing to make a move. Obi-Wan getting married off to one prevents that kingdom from being able to attack and gets their support to help make the third kingdom back off

Obi-Wan is back for less than a week before he’s being sent off to his new life, which isn’t actually enough time to come to terms with his life getting completely uprooted and him apparently no longer being allowed to serve his kingdom how he planned to/was tying most of his identity to

Obi-Wan arrives at his new home the day before the wedding, and does not see his husband until part way through the wedding ceremony where they both take off their ceremonial veil/headpieces that covered their faces, revealing the man from the tavern

Crown prince Cody does not insist on having sex, although the are required to share a bed, and thus begins Obi-Wan’s somewhat awkward attempts to adjust to his new life

Obi-Wan attempts to be a perfect husband/married in royal, polite, keeping quiet, not causing trouble

He thinks that things are going well, and that he’ll be able to have a perfectly proper, tolerable life until he overhears his husband and a few of his brothers complaining about how distant and cold Obi-Wan apparently is, and how it seems like Obi-Wan’s birth kingdom didn’t really want the marriage

Obi-Wan runs away to the stable where his dragon is being kept, and stays with her for a while, cuddling up against he warm belly

He stays like that until he hears someone enter the stables and reflexively hides. Cody comes over to Obi-Wan’s dragon and takes care of her for a bit, checking her over and petting her and giving her a snack. Obi-Wan’s dragon clearly likes Cody (yes the dragon is Obi-Wan’s lightsaber, why do you ask?) and given the kind way Cody treats her, Obi-Wan can’t really blame her

Obi-Wan, after a night or two to settle himself down, decides to make a concerted effort to actually being a good husband by his new family’s standards

He invites Cody to tea, which is awkward until Obi-Wan switches the subject from personal matters to the latest political/governance problem. He shows up at the training arena more, until he runs into a few of the other princes and gets to spar with them a few times. He shows off a few magic tricks to the curious youngest prince Boba, when the boy finds him in the library

The princes seem to respond in kind, inviting Obi-Wan to things and being very friendly and affectionate, especially physically, which Obi-Wan’s not used to

The day Obi-Wan sasses something at Fives that leaves the man sputtering is Cody’s “oh no” moment, not that Obi-Wan realizes that the funny look Cody’s giving him is his husband trying to refrain from kissing him

Cody starts actually trying to court Obi-Wan after that, not that Obi-Wan does more but obliviously accept the attention, not even suspecting that Cody’s feeling more than a slight increase in respect and friendship for a few months

And then Obi-Wan gets word that King Qui-Gon Jinn has died

Obi-Wan is able to convince his new family to let him go back for the funeral with a well-guarded but small (and therefore fast) retinue, which includes Rex and Wolffe (? Probably? Another brother who is very competent and is not Cody, because crown prince)

The funeral is somber and formal and very much unlike Qui-Gon Jinn, and Freemor’s coronation is smooth and as simple as a royal coronation can be. Obi-Wan gives Freemor a thoughtful coronation gift and leaves. Rex and Wolffe have also come to understand what made Obi-Wan who he is much better and are very much planning on telling Cody and their brothers

A few months go by in which Obi-Wan finds himself falling for Cody more and more, and feeling guilty because he’s decided that Cody is only looking at him as a good friend now. Cody meanwhile is a bit frustrated by his new and improved seduction strategy both clearly working and not being enough to get Obi-Wan to make a move

Before Cody can act on a decision to just kiss Obi-Wan himself, Obi-Wan gets word that Freemor has died in an “accident”

This time, the kingdom is getting ready for harvest, so they can’t afford to let Obi-Wan go back. Obi-Wan sends a letter of condolences and sends an equally appropriate but far less thoughtful gift to Xanatos for his coronation

A year and a half later, after getting the kingdom through two winters very successfully, Obi-Wan finally confesses to Cody that he’s fallen in love with Cody, even though they had agreed to be political partners at the beginning. Cody (who had backed off on the seduction after Freemor’s death) responds enthusiastically

As they’re settling into their new relationship and dealing with much teasing, Quinlan Vos breaks into the palace (much to the chagrin of prince Fox, captain of the royal guard) and informs Obi-Wan that Xanatos has quickly proved to be a tyrant who can’t handle/care about running the country well enough to keep people from starving, putting most of the budget towards himself and the army

Obi-Wan… can’t exactly depose Xanatos. Even though he was third in line, he gave up those rights when he married the crown prince of another country. And the more distant relatives, while not as cruel as Xanatos, are in no way good candidates for the throne

The obvious solution, the Fetts decide, is to invade the country and take it over. Obi-Wan can’t really find a good argument since all the planning involves trying to keep civilians out of the line of fire

Usually, taking over a mountain region is very difficult, especially if you’re from a coastal trading kingdom. But they have Obi-Wan there to give them all the information they need

They spend the winter planning and begin to prepare, get everything ready after winter, and march in mid-spring

By the end of the summer, most of Xanatos’s army is defeated, or defected once they realized their royal prince/Ben the errant knight is trying to save the country with his new people

There’s some cool epic battle where Obi-Wan breaks the siege at the capital where Xanatos is holed up by flying him and Cody and a few others on dragons straight into the throne room/castle

Obi-Wan fights Xanatos as two sword mages, but Cody gets in the killing blow, despite being injured/knocked out earlier in the fight

Xanatos is given the proper funeral for a disgraced noble, and the people in the capital throw a party (technically it’s a belated coronation celebration for their new King Jango Fett)

Cody and Obi slip away from the festivities to watch from afar, and start talking about plans on how to actually rule the new territory and help it out after all the damage Xanatos did to it

The conversation ends with Obi-Wan expressing that he’s looking forward to going home (which is the first time Obi-Wan’s called the Fetts’ kingdom home) and Cody takes a moment to get over his shock before kissing Obi-Wan as the fireworks start going off overhead

Have I ever told y’all that I write really long outlines, btw?

(Also, side note: King Jango has a somewhat strained relationship with most of his sons. He raised them with very high expectations and little praise, and would not give them any responsibilities he didn’t think they were ready for. This led to, among other things, an almost co-dependent kind of closeness between the brothers. Jango, however, is more of a jerk than a bastard in this AU, so when his younger brother Alpha came back from abroad he was able to beat some sense into Jango, literally and figuratively. Boba is significantly younger than the rest of them and is being raised much more properly, but Jango is still in the process of mending his relationships with his other sons)

[cinna-wanroll]

Obi-Wan’s Unusual Behaviors Towards Satine Kryze

Ft. 2am character analysis notes

 Obi-Wan Kenobi is hardly a people-pleaser. In fact, it is speculated in Wild Space that he may never have told a single flattering lie in his entire life. Prime examples of this trait would be in the TCW movie, where he has tea and friendly banter with the enemy general- he even winks at his opponent. He unashamedly flirts with Sith assassin Asajj Ventress multiple times throughout the series- even in front of others. He lets himself lose terribly in a fight during the Kadavo arc to buy Anakin and Ahsoka time, and constantly makes snarky/sarcastic commentary. He can be rather blunt, and isn’t afraid to contradict other people’s ideas, views, or tactics. He does this with Anakin throughout the series, with Count Dooku in the Dooku Captured arc, and even with Captain Tarkin in the Citadel arc. All in all, Obi-Wan is a confident man who doesn’t let the judgments of others affect the way he operates. 

That is, until mid-season two. 

Why, Cinna? You ask, voice full of curiosity. You have no idea where this is going. You’re on the edge of your seat, waiting for me to tell you. Are you ready? Do you wanna know? I’ll give you one hint- I never shut up about her.

Yes ladies and gentleman, I’m talking about Satine Kryze. 

You gasp, shocked. 

When she shows up, Obi-Wan suddenly displays multiple uncharacteristic habits. He constantly touches her, constantly checks to be sure she’s safe- which shows doubts in his own abilities as a protector, and he even seeks affirmations of friendship from her. 

He isn’t afraid to look into her eyes, but is shy at some moments, which we almost never see from him in any situation, ever, unless he’s being touched. See: the moment he’s being hugged by a Talz. 

Examples of his shyness around Satine would be the way he looks down after she teases him about falling and dropping her, or when she comments about his beard ‘hiding too much of his handsome face.’ He doesn’t instantly make a snarky or light-hearted comment back to her gentle teasing here like he normally would, instead he asks her seriously why she doesn’t like it. 

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

Although I would like to note he never truly looses his Obi-Wan characteristics here- he doesn’t shave after she makes the comment, but his questions show that he cares not just about what she thinks of him as a person, but physically as well. 

This adds a softer, sweeter side to the Jedi Master/ my husband, and is an indicator of a difference to all of his other relationships. Upon further analyzation, I have broken Obi-Wan’s stages of relationships into six stages of companionship.

Stage 1- Puts up walls, distant, stiff, snarky/witty, deflective, non-emotional, sometimes chiding. An example of someone in this category might be Sugi, from the Trouble on Felucia arc. (although I mean there is some sexual tension there, its probably because shes also played by Anna Graves who plays Satine, but-)

Stage 2- Friendly, cheerful, lets his guard down a little. Dex would probably fall under this section.

Stage 3- Still a little distant but will show he cares about you in some ways. Will defend you. This is probably where all his work friends go- Yoda, Mace, etc.

Stage 4- Listens to you, checks on you, jokes with you, will give you advice. Ahsoka is a good example of someone in this category. 

Stage 5- Basically Anakin. Will confess his flaws and internal struggles.

Stage 6- Satine Kryze. Cares about what you think. Probably thinks about making out with you a lot.

Now there is another important component of their relationship to discuss- their PDONAs, or public displays of non-affection. 

The over-the-top argument on The Coronet in front of the senators is a perfect example of this. While Obitine may butt heads on occasion alone, their squabbles are usually tedious and are centered around one thing: tension.

Whether it’s the tension of a dangerous situation, physical attraction, or things left unsaid, they take every opportunity to deny their tensions to both one other and themselves. This of course is aided by their intellectual and stubborn personalities, however their private disagreements are a lot more about their concern for one another than they are grandiose like the aforementioned Coronet argument. A good example of this is when Obi-Wan responds to Satine’s comment on him hurting people by fretting:

“You don’t seem troubled that I could’ve been killed back there.”

Obi-Wan could have said so many different things to counter what Satine said, like ‘Would you have preferred I stood by while they ground me/you to bits?’ But no, instead he very directly asks the question, ‘don’t you care about me?’

This is the heart of their personal arguments. However in public, not only are they trying to convince themselves they aren’t in love- they also have an audience. And since they are both stubborn, passionate, and very extra, things explode. 

Obi-Wan isn’t really disputing Satine’s beliefs- he’s known about her political views since they were young. So the argument they’re having only makes sense to me as a young Obitine argument. No, he’s convincing those around him that he could never be with her because they have different interests. 

Satine doesn’t think Obi-Wan is war-hungry, she knows that he’s almost as dedicated to peace as she is, and she’s intelligent enough to understand he just has a different opinion on how peace is achieved in the first place. So when she is accusing him of such things, she is attempting to erase their history and understanding so that their audience won’t know what is going on between them or what went on between them. 

In that episode (Voyage of Temptation) the inner turmoil felt by both Obi-Wan and Satine is palpable, and driven by the rekindled emotions which were never properly burnt out- only unhealthily buried by two emotionally constipated and overly-responsible young people. 

Their desires are coming to the surface after all these years of repression faster than either of them knows how to deal with. So, they attempt old methods of burying their emotions from when they were apart- i.e. convincing themselves they are too different, they have different goals, one of them is incompetent, etc. Except no it’s not just themselves they are dealing with, and the truth is in front of their faces so it’s harder to deny their chemistry and compatibility. 

This eventually dissolves into Obi-Wan becoming more physical with Satine, constantly needing to be around her and not being able to get her out of his mind. 

He is seen watching her defend her world when he’s admitted to disliking politics and has different views. He attempts to comfort her afterwards, even running to catch up with her and grabbing her arm, then later attempting to grab her hand. He seeks her out after she’s been avoiding him to make sure she’s okay and when she says she “didn’t want to worry him,” he replies, “on that count, I’m afraid you failed spectacularly.” 

He doesn’t say, ‘Well, I was,’ or even ‘on that count, you failed.’ 

No, he adds spectacularly, which shows that most likely all he’s been doing is worrying about her. He grabs her by the shoulders and leans his face in way too unnecessarily close just to talk with her.  

He’s shown gazing out the window worriedly while Satine is on the run. He stares at her (which is technically putting her in more danger the longer he waits!) just to watch her and how good she looks in her disguise. He even smiles like a fool at her. He only comes to his senses when police pass by. He sits with his hands close to hers and then when he’s about to enter the senate building he looks back to make sure she’s okay. 

They both touch each other like crazy in every episode, and as I mentioned before, Obi-Wan has expressed how uncomfortable he is with physicality, which shows how comfortable and trusting he is around and of Satine. 

In conclusion: Obi-Wan is soft for Satine.

[drarry-we-meet]

Valentine’s Day Sucks

Part 1

Draco grit his teeth as another wave of ooohs and ahhhs sounded across the small collection of cubicles. He tried to ignore the outbreak of distinctly feminine chatter and focus on the report he was currently writing. After reading the same paragraph three times, he was finally able to get back into the flow of things. He was halfway through drafting his next sentence when a loud bang followed by assorted squeals and giggles broke out, and he couldn’t help but sneak a peek.

Longbottom was currently surrounded by a cloud of glittering pink smoke that smelled strongly of roses, and there on his desk was a humongous box of chocolates. Draco sighed, he was more than ready for this Valentine’s Day nonsense to be over with. It was bad enough hearing all the witches in his department cooing like a pack of wild doves each time one of them received a flower delivery, which of course was every few minutes. But to make matters worse, this year the wizards seemed to be getting just as many gifts thanks the Wheezes new ad campaign which insisted that witches must also get soppy romantic trinkets for their gents.

Draco would have admired such a brilliant marketing strategy, that had surely doubled their profits this year, if it didn’t cause him to have double the annoyance at the same time. While the witches gifts were more traditional and quiet; flowers, chocolate, jewelry. The men’s gifts were far sillier; singing heat shaped telegrams that burst into miniature fireworks at the end of their song, stuffed bears that did cartwheels across desks before exploding into a shower of confetti, and large boxes like Longbottom’s that went off like a bomb, leaving behind chocolates once the smoke had cleared.

Of course it didn’t help matters that Draco knew he wouldn’t be receiving anything this year. It wasn’t that he was alone, at least not technically. He had been seeing, or at least sleeping with, Harry-savior-of-the-whole-fucking-wizarding-world Potter, for just over 4 months. Not that it counted though, probably. They had never discussed whether or not what they were doing was exclusive. For Draco it was, and he was fairly certain it was for Harry as well, seeing how he barely had any free-time as Deputy Head Auror and all. But a lack of time to see other people, and actually wanting to date someone were two very different things.

Case in point was the Mountain of gifts that Draco could see steadily growing in the office across the room filled with their cubicles. Witches and wizards from all over the world sent Harry gifts each holiday, but this one always seemed to be the worst. Two curse breakers were currently stationed in the room sorting, screening, and vanishing questionable gifts, while Harry himself was still out meeting with the muggle liaison of Interpol for some reason or another. He wasn’t due to return until Monday, and by then his office would be clear once again.

The safe candy was set aside to be distributed to various departments in the ministry, particularly those inconvenienced the most by this whole fiasco; the mailroom, the janitors union, the curse breakers, and of course the aurors. All of the mail was piled neatly for his secretary to review. The majority of it would be vanished of course, but a few of the most polite ones would be answered eventually.

In fact, now that Draco thought about it, his willingness to always be available to Harry no matter how last minute or weird the hour was, in order to be able to see Harry in between his many meetings and trips abroad might be the only reason Harry even bothered with him at all. It was that thought, paired with the reminder that so far whatever ‘this’ was between them had remained a carefully guarded secret from even their closest friends, that caused a sharp clenching pain inside his gut. Draco determinedly pushed all thoughts of the idiot-who-lived far from his mind and tried once again to focus on work.

By lunchtime, the continuous loud bangs and rose scented smoke that accompanied them, had the beginnings of a migraine forming behind Draco’s eyes. He decided to escape the ministry for a bit and get some fresh air at the cafe across the street. He had just finished, and stood up to don his coat when a shadow appeared across his desk. He looked up into the sneering faces of Zacharias Smith, his well-endowed girlfriend, and a couple of brand new trainees whose names he didn’t care to remember.

"I was just about to head to lunch Smith so whatever it is you need will have to wait till after I return,” Draco kept his most impassive face in place, but his voice was firm. He knew the only thing Smith wanted was to start trouble and he wasn’t in the mood for any of it.

Smith smirked, “I just wanted to ask you where your Valentine’s Day gift was," he asked with a faux sweet voice.

That threw Draco for a loop for a minute, “What are you talking about?"

Smith and his group immediately started laughing, Draco wasn’t sure what the hell they found so funny or why on earth they were asking him about Valentine’s gifts of all things.

Smith’s smile had only gotten wider, “Well Malfoy, he emphasized, maybe it has escaped your notice, but you’re the only person in the entire department, possibly even the entire ministry who hasn’t received even one measly card.”

Draco could feel his heart rate picking up, but he hadn’t lived with old-moldyfarts for nothing, and was able to keep his face blank and posture relaxed. Smith was just getting warmed up though, pointing out how ‘of course’ they shouldn’t be so surprised that he hadn’t received anything, since he was death eater scum and all. By this point they were attracting the attention of the rest of the office.

Draco could see out of the corner of his eye that Granger was heading their direction, but Draco would rather die than have someone he once allowed to be tortured in his house defend him from a spineless git like Smith.

Draco carefully rolled his eyes and shook his head at Smith, “is that really the best you could come up with today Zachary?” Because he knew how much Smith hated people using the shorter form of his name, "you must be having just such a fulfilling Valentine’s Day yourself if you would rather spend all your time talking to me than your girlfriend, what are you 12?” He then swept out of the office before Smith could reply or Granger could reach them.

He was waiting down the hall for the lift when a fierce grip grabbed his arm and spun him around. It was Smith’s girlfriend, and Draco was fairly shocked to be manhandled by her. She, unlike her slimy boyfriend, had always seemed like a genuinely nice person. However her face right now was twisted in fury.

"No one will ever love you," she spat. "You can look down on us all you want, but in the end you will be a bitter old man and die alone. You don’t even have any friends!” She spun on her heel and left then.

Draco was left reeling in the hallway, his vision swimming a bit and his breathing a bit too fast and shallow. As the room came back into focus he locked eyes with Granger. Of course she had followed him out into the hall, of course she’d probably seen the whole thing. Fuck. The lift chimed and Draco stumbled back into in, jamming the door close button to stop her from pursuing him any further. He knew that look, that look of pity, and it made him sick to his stomach.

Draco ended up skipping lunch, he walked aimlessly around the nearest park until his face and fingers were numb with cold despite his gloves and warming charms. The words, “no one will ever love you,” played on endless repeat in his head as he fought to direct his thoughts toward anything else. He didn’t know why he let their words get to him like that, he didn’t give a shit what Smith or his girlfriend thought.

But the words had cut him to the bone, mainly because it was a very real fear he had held onto since the end of the war. His friends had all fled the country after the trials, some even before, and his dating life had been pretty nonexistent for the last 6 years. Nothing they had said was technically wrong. The men Draco had been with were ok with fucking him as long as no one ever found out. He just wasn’t the type of person anyone could ever take home to meet their parents.

And Draco had been ok with that, or so he thought. Relationships were just messy, unnecessary. Until Harry. Harry was the first man Draco had ever been with who took him to dinner, (at muggle restaurants), who always spent the night, who held him after sex, who made breakfast for him the morning after. Harry made him watch muggle films on his couch while giving him neck rubs or foot rubs and always made sure he had Draco’s favorite tea on hand. By the second month Draco had begun to think that maybe, just maybe they were something more than just sex.

But then one day they had been interrupted mid-foreplay by one of Harry’s friends visiting unannounced, and Harry had quickly shoved Draco into the closet and told him to be quiet. Draco had died a little inside that day. It was an unspoken agreement after that. Draco was a secret, a dirty little secret, just like always.

Draco returned to the office a few minutes late, half frozen and despondent, but as always he didn’t let any of it show on his face. He had considered skiving off the rest of the day, but wouldn’t give Smith the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten under his skin.

He buried himself in his work and carefully ignored any whispers or glances he felt come his way, but he was still attuned enough to the atmosphere of the room to notice as everyone was wrapping up their tasks at the end of the day and loudly discussing their romantic plans for the evening, when a ripple of silence suddenly overtook the room. It was so quiet and still that Draco looked up, wondering if everyone had somehow been stupefied simultaneously.

His jaw dropped as his eyes met green. Harry was standing just in front of his desk looking so very fit in his deputy head uniform. His brass buttons shining, his hair tousled just right, his brilliant eyes unobstructed since he’d finally ditched his horrid specs long ago. He was holding a garment bag in one hand and the biggest bouquet of long stemmed roses in the other. They were wrapped in white silk with a dark red bow, each petal had gold filigree on the edges.

"Are you ready to go darling?” He asked with a warm and inviting face, a fair bit of mischief in his eyes.

Draco, who had no idea what was going on, but was pretty sure he must have passed out from all the fumes and was dreaming just nodded.

Harry smiled brightly and laid the garment bag over Draco’s desk. "Well that’s good," Harry said, handing the roses to Draco, who took them dazedly, "Hermione told me you were too busy to pick up your suit today, so I went ahead and got it for you. We don’t have much time until the Portkey to Paris leaves so we’ll need to hurry home and change. I don’t think Le Cinq will let us in without the formal wear.

Draco who had decided he was definitely dreaming, simply nodded again and stood. Harry wasted no time walking around the desk to meet him. He placed a chaste, but lingering kiss on his lips, grabbed the bag and steered Draco toward the door with a warm hand on the small of his back.

The entire trek to the doors no one moved, Draco wasn’t sure any of them were even breathing. He wasn’t sure he was even breathing. Harry had just publicly outed them. Every face in the room was stricken with shock, except for Hermione who smiled at them both and Ron who gave him a curt nod. Draco realized neither of them were surprised. They know, he thought, oh gods they already know. He looked at Harry again and Harry gave him another dazzling smile and kiss on the cheek.

As soon as they were outside the doors a cacophony of noise sounded behind them and Harry turned to wink at Draco, but instead of heading toward the lifts, he simply wrapped his arm more firmly around Draco’s waist and apparated them on the spot.

-gift for @mothermalfoy

Link to Part 2:  https://drarry-we-meet.tumblr.com/post/190868463275/valentines-day-sucks-warning-this-2nd-half

[bondsmagii]

This is definitely one of the… wilder stories here, but as always, I suppose people will believe what they will. 

This will unfortunately require some backstory, but I guess you could say the long and the short of it is that I played at being God, and it. Well. Kind of sucked, actually.

So, the backstory. I’ll try to keep it brief. I grew up in a small country village about forty-five minutes away from Belfast, Ireland. There wasn’t much going on there, as you could imagine – just a standard rural Irish town, where the most exciting thing that might happen in a week was old Farmer Joe getting a new tractor or something. Anyway, I’m not sure how many of you know about Ireland’s rather troubled past, but for the most part I missed all that. I was born around the time things were finally settling down, and while my earlier memories are filled with bomb scares and low-flying helicopters and gunshots in the night, the distant sound of shouting and the acrid smell of smoke burning a little too close for comfort, by the time I hit my teenage years most of it had wrapped up. Of course, there was the occasional scare here and there, and I’m not saying my friends and I didn’t go out looking for trouble once we were old enough, but it wasn’t the same. I’m not saying that out of a sense of, I don’t know, regret or annoyance or anything. Now I’m older, I’m not so enamoured by the idea of that much violence. I’m just saying it wasn’t really a patch on the kind of violence that used to happened there – the kind of violence that fascinated my friends and I so much. It sounds bad, but really we were just kids being kids. Little boys everywhere play at war games. It just so happened that the war we were playing had happened in our own country. It’s difficult not to be obsessed, when you see the reflection of history on the faces of every generation around you. Even slightly older siblings would know all about it – it wasn’t something you asked your grandfather, distant war stories over some vague European country that you’ve only seen on a map in your Geography classroom. This was our street corners, our high streets, the road outside the house. Here the grass verge at the side of the road where the bodies were dumped; there the lay-by where over a dozen people were blown to pieces. It was awful, but we were children. We were enamoured.

Anyway. The only violence we got really involved in was the summer rioting that happened yearly, like clockwork. It sounds like a joke, but that’s how it goes. You don’t need to know the details, but suffice to say in mid-July every year, the city would light up like we were back in the 1970s. Localised, of course, and still nowhere near as drastic as it used to be, but enough to get a taste. Petrol bombs. Police lines. Armoured cars. Water cannons. Unrestrained summer fun, you could say. But that’s for a bit later.

I’m a writer. I have been since I was four years old. Generally speaking I’m a horror writer, but I’ve branched into historical fiction a fair bit over the years. Living in Ireland, growing up how I did, it was inevitable that I would develop a fascination for Irish history. I was always a very curious child, my head in books, chasing up stories that would keep me awake at night. I never knew any boundaries. I would go after answers with military precision, asking questions, going places I shouldn’t. Dangerous for anyone, of course, but in a country like mine, where crossing the road could quite literally lead to your murder? It was reckless. I was reckless. But that’s the thing about being that age. You think you’re invincible. You think you can do anything.

I was about fourteen or fifteen, at the height of this obsession. I believe I was fifteen when I wrote this particular story, but it’s difficult to say. It was part of a series, and I was going back and forth on it and other projects for many years. Here we finally get to the point of the whole story: I had developed an obsession with Irish history, as I said, and specifically the more “modern” history – from 1916 onwards, the Easter Rising, the War of Independence, all that. I was fascinated by the Irish struggle for freedom, and while age and hindsight has lessened my… enthusiasm for the violence, I do maintain a strong opinion towards the whole thing, which is not the point here so I won’t get into it. What I’m trying to say is that my stories reflected this enthusiasm, and were undoubtedly glorifying in nature, and also at that age I was more concerned with living the fantasy than doing the research, so it was all very self-indulgent. I’m sure anyone who wrote at that age knows what I mean.

My main character… well. I’m sure you know what to expect. He was—well. Me, really. In the way of all main characters at that age, and perhaps a little even as we get older, there’s a piece of us inside all our main characters. Sometimes a little piece, other times just a cooler and more badass version of yourself. Michael was that for me. I suppose that must is obvious; I wasn’t even trying to be subtle. My name is of course Miceál, which for those of you keeping track is the Irish form of Michael. I’m just grateful that I didn’t go as far as to give him my last name, too, but everything else was there. He looked like me, he held the same views and beliefs as me, he acted like me – or at least, he acted in the ways I liked to think I’d act, or how I imagined acting later that night in the shower, reliving the scenario again. He was the best kind of self-insert character, indulgent and fun and a good friend to me. I poured a lot of myself into him. I poured everything into him. He was a constant companion, something that became ever more important to me as my real life—well, went to shit. To put it mildly. I would sit in my room writing my stories, and Michael would go out there and fight the good fight, killing and bombing for good old Ireland, and then I’d shut my computer down and go to sleep feeling just a little better than otherwise.

I’m not afraid to say that I can be obsessive. I like to get into the heads of my characters; I like to know them as well as I know everything. Yes, Michael was me, but he was also a version of me who had done things I have never done. Sometimes I would try to imagine myself as him; wonder what it was like to see through his eyes. Wonder what a me who had done that would look like. Wonder what he would do in a situation. I asked myself that a few times; a lot of times. What would Michael do? I could have put that shit on a wristband. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I’ve always been a bit of a method writer like that. It was normal, until it wasn’t.

I first saw Michael on a hot July day, in Belfast. What we call the rioting season had come around; my friends and I were there to take advantage. Just at the sidelines, mind you – nobody wants to get a face full of water cannon, even on the hottest of days. Michael was in the thick of it though. Of course he was. I’d written him to be that way.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. At first I thought I must be seeing things, but the more I looked the more I realised he looked exactly like me. Only he was a little taller, a little fitter, and his hair looked different. His clothing was different, too; perhaps a couple of decades out of date, but looking at him I saw his clothing didn’t remain consistent. The changes were subtle – material, tone – but I noticed. Looking back, I assume it’s because I never did give a specific date for his story to occur in. Well, wherever he was from he was there now, throwing rocks with the best of them, skipping from stone to stone and hurling them at police lines with an easy swing that could only come from years of practise. When we had all finally cleaned out the area – soldiers coming, a helicopter, the kind of trouble you don’t want to toy with – I managed to catch up with him. He was talking to my friends. They noticed we were both there, but didn’t seem to realise we were two different people. The whole time we were all talking, I couldn’t take my eyes off of Michael. I tried, because I knew how obvious I was being, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t work him out. I couldn’t even trust that’s what I was seeing. And the whole time, Michael watched me back. I knew the look in his eyes. It was his smug little, I know something you don’t know look. Of course I knew it. I had made him like that. I had given him that look.

I didn’t see him for some time after that. Believe it or not, I put it out of my head. I mean, come on. It was probably some other guy that my friends knew. We were in Belfast enough, and Michael isn’t exactly an uncommon name. I put it out of my mind, but I was sure that sometimes, I saw him. I was sure I’d see him in Belfast, ducking down side streets or leaning in close conversation with someone I couldn’t make out. He was always watching me. Sometimes I’d feel eyes on me and know it was him, but when I looked around I wouldn’t spot him. On some occasions – and these were always the worst – I would feel his eyes behind my own. Like he was on the inside looking out, moving independently in there, a set of eyes swivelling around over my own. It happened most often when I was trying to write his story. As you can imagine, I was nervous to do so. The more I thought I saw him, the less I wanted to write, but I didn’t think that was a good idea either. I didn’t know what to do.

It was a sunny weekend just before school started back after summer that I finally resolved to do something about it. I didn’t even feel stupid as I booted up my old Windows 95 desktop and opened Word. Michael’s story was there, in 12-point font as I always wrote then, plenty of enthusiasm but a lot less technical skill. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, and then I typed.

Hello?

Nothing, of course. I deleted the word, wondering what I had expected. Feeling a little stupid now, I tried to think about where to go with the story. It was difficult to write now I had some kind of real person to assign to it all – what were the ethics here? How could I—

I won’t get into that. It would be a philosophical essay all of its own. I sat for a while wondering what to write, and then it hit me that the story had changed. The words Michael had spoken, in the paragraph that I had left off – they were no longer the words I had written. I forget what the original words were now, but they were something relatively simple; some response to another character, and I remember that another name was mentioned in it – the name of Michael’s in-universe best friend, Eamon. Now that name was gone, and the rest of the text had changed, too. Now the writing read something different entirely.

I thought you wanted to know?

I lied earlier. I said that age and experience and perhaps some more emotional maturity had led me to turn away from the kind of violence that fascinated me so much then, and I have no doubt that under normal circumstances it would have done. I had somewhat of a speed run, however; I turned my back on it because

I’m getting ahead of myself.

I had often wondered what it would be like to do what Michael did, of course. To kill and risk death for a cause, to face down prison, torture, exile. I had wondered what it would be like to commit those acts; how easy or difficult it would be to pull a trigger or push a detonator. I liked to think, in my foolish, idealistic teenage mind, that if it came down to it I could. Of course, I was in the very privileged position to not have to actually answer that question.

Michael, on the other hand, knew. And Michael was, if not me, than a product of me. Could it be possible that he could show me?

I ignored the message for several days. I didn’t know what to think. Truth be told I thought I was going mad. School started again and I got so busy that I almost, almost forgot about it – and then I opened the document by mistake one day, got into reading it over, laughing at my brilliant comebacks, you know how it is. And there it was again.

I thought you wanted to know?

Yes, I remember thinking. It stunned me – I remember that. I didn’t want to mess with this kind of stuff – I’ve always been a huge believer in the paranormal, always been cautious when it comes to fucking with that kind of stuff. I believe that magic like this, it requires intent. It needs you to be sure. It knows how you feel, true in your heart. So even when I ignored it again, even when I deleted the words and re-wrote whatever the original had been, even as I didn’t reply… I knew in my heart that my question had been heard by something. I could feel Michael’s eyes on me again, though now I wondered if it was Michael’s eyes, or something else entirely. It felt like a weight. Have you ever been in an old, old place, where you can practically feel the people who lived and died there; reach out and touch them? It felt like that. Like the weight of history was pressing down on me. I didn’t fall asleep easily that night, but when I did sleep was dark and endless.

I don’t know how long I spent in that state. In reality it was only seven hours; I woke up with my alarm. In that time period, wherever I was – because I was not living – I seemed to witness a hundred different lives. Over the course of Michael’s story I had him do all kinds of things; live all kinds of situations. I deleted things, changed others, added things in. I wrote what would now be called alternate universes. In that night I experienced them all. I know how it feels now. I know how it feels to pull a trigger; to watch the spray of someone’s life splatter a wall or a windscreen or the screaming backseat passengers of a car. I know how it feels to push the button, the one that sends a charge surging down a wire or flickering out over my head in an invisible wave of death, notifying the bomb, detonating the explosives. I know how it feels to sit in a hotel bar across a border, listening to the news, sipping a drink and feeling my heart beat in my chest as I add more numbers to the tally, more blood to my hands. I know how it feels to be shot, to be beaten, to watch a friend die, to kill someone who used to be – who still is, despite everything – a friend. I know how it feels to cough blood into my hands, onto the ground; to grip a wound that won’t stop bleeding; the blinding flash of an explosive detonating too soon and how the whole world seems to roar and how there’s a difference between the thud and slap of wet mud hitting the ground and the warmer, denser rain of something that used to be human. For days, weeks, years – I walked in Michael’s shoes, I lived his life, I committed every act.

I felt his pain. His fear. This hellish world that he lived in, created to kill and die and lose and fear, over and over. To meet his God and to finally, finally ask – why?

And what could I say? Because I wanted to know?

Well. Now I do.

[tiredassmage]

Character Profile ❅ Astor Caulfield

But the AU one. Also yes, I just took a bunch of pics in one set, shhh, am lazy atm.

BASICS ---

Name: Astor Monroe Caulfield

Age: 28 years (By approximately Heavensward)

Nameday: 17th sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon

Race: Midlander Hyur

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual

Martial Status: Single, though still mourning

OC Tags: ch: astor caulfield, vs: dragonsong (the first being his overall character tag, the second being specifically for our lovingly dubbed heretic au x,D, which this sheet is for!)

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE ---

Hair: Dark brown, usually pulled back into a single, neat braid, though occasionally simply done up in a ponytail. When free, full length hangs roughly about his mid-shoulders down his back. He somehow manages to keep it relatively neat, despite the relatively frequent travel - part of why it’s usually tied up.

Eyes: A pale crystal blue, almost gray if you catch him in the right (or wrong) lighting.

Height: 5 fulms, 10 ilms.

Build: Average, with broad shoulders.

Distinguishing Marks: Little physically that isn’t covered by general physical descriptions. The stark contrast of his dark hair and pale eyes is usually enough to stick to people, if they’re trying, and the way his hair is always braided back.

Common Accessories: Generally carries a full deck of arcanima, regardless of current job. Generally wears a relatively simple band with a small design of blue gems set into it resembling ice or crystal. A simple leather necklace with an aged, once silver (at least in color, if not partially in material) charm usually worn freely over robes and other clothing - an inheritance from his mother.

PERSONAL ---

Profession: Scion of the Seventh Dawn, he supposes, if you’d want to be technical. Generally speaking, just an adventuring companion to the Warrior of Light. Previously, a high-ranking member of Iceheart’s band, and something of an unofficial keeper of their knowledge.

Main Job: Astrologian and, later, Summoner, learned in the course of helping the Scions and Warriors of Light combat the persistent primal threat.

Hobbies: Gardening, a light and quiet enthusiast for drawing (he keeps a small journal of sketches of various landmarks and such from his adventures that he also keeps little scribbles of notes in, don’t perceive him, especially if he didn’t tell you). Let him hear of animals in need of rescue or adoption at your own risk because he’ll probably at least really consider taking them on himself. Occasionally indulges in a little fortune telling with his deck. Not that he’d admit it. And not that he’d do it for just anyone. Usually for his own peace (or opposite) of mind.

Languages: Possessed of the Echo, but native to the Eorzean Common Tongue, both spoken and written.

Residence: He hasn’t really felt settled anywhere since he left Tailfeather and Anyx Trine behind, but likely has a small retreat of a residence either somewhere in Gridania or Revenant’s Toll, so as not to be too far from Scion operations when necessary.

Birthplace: Tailfeather, the Dravanian Forelands. A little north of it, technically. But it’s the closest town, and that’ll do.

Religion: Though not exactly practicing, had offered his beliefs to the Twelve, and selected patron in Nymeia, the Spinner, though adventures since would have made him question a fair bit of things.

Fears: Disinclined to be totally alone, abandoned. Wildfires. Being manipulated and used as a tool or weapon, particularly against the few he does cherish. Not being fast enough to save someone else he loves - and, worse, not being able to do a damn thing even if he was there.

RELATIONSHIPS ---

Spouse: Ysayle. No, he’s never quite recovered, even by Shadowbringers, though he has learned to live with it, to carry his grief and move forward, instead of being held back.

Children: None, currently. Though he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.

Parents: A father he didn’t know too well, lost to bandits on the roads when he was sixteen, and his mother, Gaia, lost when he was eighteen to illness.

Siblings: None

Other Relatives: None by blood, though the Scions are something of a found family, with time. He has also endeared himself to several of the dravanian residents of Anyx Trine, and got no small amount of delight in working with the younglings.

Pets: A hunting hawk named Zephira he nursed back to health from a broken wing.

TRAITS ---

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

HABITS ---

Smoking: Never

Drugs: Never

Alcohol: Occasionally, and only lightly. Usually socially.

ABOUT ---

Born and raised in the Dravanian Wilds to a humble hunter and trader and healer who had spent some time studying in New Sharlayan before she had left, Astor would see little of his father in his youth, though he’d know him to be a decent and loyal man. He was closest with his mother - almost insparable, they were just as much friends and as family. From her, he soaked up as much of her knowledge as she could share, eagerly taking after her in learning healing arts from conjury to the art of the astrologians. The young boy was particularly entranced with the art of drawing magic from the heavens and their representative cards. Together, him and his mother ran a small clinic from their home just north of Tailfeather, occasionally traveling into town to trade and work with the hunters there.

On one of his hunting and trading trips, his father was killed by bandits and thieves when he was sixteen, leaving just him and his mother with little closure on the who of the deed - not that it mattered. Knowing wouldn’t bring him home, and they still had lives to lead for themselves, and patients to tend to, so they carried on. Sadly, one might have said it was the first strike of tragedy, as his mother feel ill no more than two years later, and, despite his best efforts both physical and magical, her condition refused to improve until she passed shortly after his eighteenth nameday. Though the boy struggled to grieve the loss of his closest friend, he persisted their work in the clinic for two more years before the Calamity struck and changed everything as all had known it.

In the cold and snows that followed, Astor met Ysayle, and the pair of dreamers quickly grew close. Astor packed up to follow her where her dreams would lead them - into revolution, change for a better future, and an end to a war that had mired so many lives for far too long.

Over time, he became one of her most trusted comrades, filling a role akin to a second-in-command, often tending to their forces himself in the wake of skirmishes and conflict with Ishgardian forces and otherwise. When finally the Scions and the Warriors of Light entered the fray, it was with wariness and caution he met these would-be heroes. His trust would not be so easy to earn; he would not risk all they had worked for thus far - beloved, just hero of the realm or just some overzealous knights filled with lies and duty. Though, if Ysayle deemed them worthy of trust and cooperation... he would concede, for now. But he’d be keeping a very close eye on them.

Ysayle’s eventual death struck him hard and shook him to the core. He was quick to withdraw from their new would-be companions in his struggle to process the loss, though he ultimately agreed to see the battles through to the end - their vision, their dreams, could not end here. As Ishgard entered a period of reform and unrest in the wake of Thordan’s defeat and demise, Astor withdrew further to Anyx Trine, preferring to spend his time with the dragons - the better to perhaps find his own footing in the new unstable ground the nation tread upon.

Eventually, the mage would re-approach the Scions and Warriors of Light and ask, if they would permit it, something of a second try... He... had not exactly been warm with them before then, but... they had helped, when it wasn’t their fight, really... And Ysayle had believed in them. Trusted them. And this was all real... it was really happening... And he couldn’t stay.

He needed a new purpose, a new direction. One he could, perhaps, call more of his own. He would join them in their battles and adventures, if they would be amicable to it... For those they had lost. For those they could yet save.

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

the best by far is you: chapter 14

Read on AO3

Previous Chapter

For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you -  Cecilia and the satellite

————

Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

Chapter 14

May 1746 

In the light of morning, Claire woke in a strange room, in a bed she’d never slept in before last night. And yet her hand still reached for the pillow next to her as her consciousness slowly surfaced. Of course he wasn’t there. They’d never shared this bed, but being back at Lallybroch meant that his presence haunted this place at every turn. It felt wrong that she was here in his family’s home and Jamie wasn’t.  

When she trekked downstairs in the mornings now, she half-expected to see him in the parlor with his arms full with the babies, or at the breakfast table in discussion with Ian and Murtagh.

And of course, any giggle or peep out of her young nieces had Claire’s gaze following the sound, knowing full well she wouldn’t find Faith at the source but still helpless to stop the impulse to check. 

Her logical mind knew they wouldn’t be here, but the places in her mind that were filled with Jamie and Faith could not reconcile this. So much of Lallybroch was painted with memories of them. 

Her one comfort in all of this was Fergus. 

Fergus, who stayed by her side and in his own way told her he would do as Jamie had asked of him many times before; he would look after Claire. 

And Fergus, who was only 11 and still reeling from the loss of Jamie, was in dire need of his own looking after. He was hers to take care of, to mother, to protect. 

So when Ian told him after breakfast one day to get ready for a trip to Broch Morda for supplies, Fergus was hesitant to leave. 

“You can go, Fergus. It’s alright.” 

“No, Milady. I will stay.”

“Fergus,” her tone softened. “I will still be here when you come back. I promise. I’m not going anywhere without you.” She could see his resolve weakening at that so she gave him a quick side-hug and released him with, “Go on then. Go with your uncle.” 

It didn’t strike her until they had left, what she had said. Ian had smiled at her, a little curiously, and left with Fergus, one hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

“Uncle, hmm?” had been how Jenny announced that she had noticed, too. 

She found Jenny’s gaze. “Well, he is, technically… isn’t he?” 

“Och, aye,” Jenny agreed easily. “We kenned before the war that he was yours, when ye and Jamie asked us to… to raise both him and Faith, should anything happen. Ye’ve jest never said it like that, calling Ian his uncle.” 

“There’s a lot that we should’ve said sooner with Fergus.” She swallowed roughly, fighting the urge to cry. The rest remained unspoken ‒ the fear that, with Jamie at least, they might’ve missed a chance to correct this. 

  The rhythm of life at Lallybroch didn’t cease with Claire’s return, though she found herself unsure of her place in it now. Lady Broch Turach no longer, she watched as Jenny ran the house. 

She had been eager to help still, but Jenny had insisted she rest for a few days after her recent journey and in light of her condition.  

Which is how Claire found herself trying to make herself less of a stranger to her small nieces and nephew.

Wee Jamie still held some small spark of recognition for his auntie, and his joy over her return warmed her to the backbone. Little Maggie was reticent and shy around Claire, needing some time and space to make up her mind about her. But fifteen-month-old Kitty, as the youngest of the household, had never known the luxury of having either of her parents’ undivided attention and had grown used to being passed from one set of arms to the next. As such, she’d never been a clingy child and in contrast to her older sister, Kitty warmed up to her Auntie Claire very fast.    

By mid-afternoon, she’d crawled into Claire’s lap and fallen asleep. That was how Mrs. Crook found the two of them when she came to collect the girls for their nap.

“D’ye want me to take her, Mistress?” 

“No.” Claire’s arms tightened ever so slightly around Kitty’s small form. “I’m alright with her. Thank you.” 

Jenny flitted about throughout the day, never quite sitting still, but she paused when she found Claire and Kitty there in the parlor. “That didna take long,” she said warmly, her gaze flicking down to sweet Kitty. 

“She’s quite the character now.” 

“Aye, since she learnt tae speak, she’s kept us laughing.” 

Claire exhaled a soft laugh, her gaze inexorably drawn back to the sleeping girl in her arms. She felt Jenny sink into the seat next to her, and drew in a deep breath. 

“What’s she like now?” Claire asked, her voice trembling as she managed to get the words out. Her eyes flicked up to Jenny to see if she understood that she wasn’t asking about Kitty.

Jenny made a soft, pitying sound and took her time considering how to answer.

“She’s a terribly smart wee thing,” Jenny said at length and despite how Jenny’s words made her ache, Claire also felt the pull of a proud smile. “Always keepin’ me on my toes, that one. And she was always the one in charge, despite Maggie being six months older.  

“And still as stubborn as ever, if no’ more. Took an age tae get her tae sleep wi’out needing to be held.”

Claire’s smile faltered, her thoughts flooded with the nights spent holding Faith in her arms, walking the length of the upper hallway until she fell asleep. She supposed Faith had been a bit of a difficult baby in that regard ‒ she never could fall right to sleep if they laid her down in her cradle. But Faith was their first baby and they’d been too wrapped up in her to try and change that nighttime routine with her. 

Jenny studied her expression. “Ye ken I was the same way with my wee Jamie. Lad never so much as touched the ground until he was well o’er a year. But with all the bairns, I‒” 

“Oh, Jenny, no. I’m not upset or judging you. With all the little ones, you couldn’t possibly…” 

“She only started going to sleep on her own when we let her share a bed with Maggie,” Jenny added.    

“Really?”

“Aye, they were always together when they were awake so we put her in wi’ Maggie one night and then she was happy as a lark.” 

Claire’s gaze dropped again to small Kitty. “They must miss her,” she said softly. “As I’m sure she misses them.” 

“She’s still such a wee darling,” Jenny said after a moment, and Claire felt her heart constrict. “She was always the last one out of bed every morning, but she’d look for me first when she woke, aye? After weeks of that, I… I never felt like my morning really started until after she’d run and found me... given me a hug. I miss that. I miss her‒”

She didn’t miss the way Jenny turned away slightly, surreptitiously wiping at her tears. Claire swallowed past the sudden lump on her throat as a heavy silence followed.      

“Ken she’s yer bairn, Claire, but after months of…” Jenny’s eyes were watery but she blinked back more tears and straightened. Claire watched her physically steel herself against the pain. 

“She was yours, during that time. I know that,” Claire whispered tightly, fighting her own rush of tears. For Jenny’s loss. For Faith’s. For her own. “You and Ian were prepared to raise her if… if Jamie and I didn’t make it back. I can never thank you enough.” 

“I’ll accept no thanks for it. She’s blood.” 

“I didn’t mean…” Claire reached for Jenny’s hand, surprised to feel Jenny’s tight squeeze in response. It was hard for both of them, unimaginably so. 

“I wanted ye both to come back for her. I’m no’ saying‒”

“No, of course not,” Claire said firmly. “I only meant that it… it was a comfort to me when we were gone, knowing she was here. Knowing she was loved. Jamie and I couldn’t have entrusted her to anyone else.” 

“I wasna in the house when Murtagh came and fetched her,” Jenny said suddenly, her voice suddenly wooden. “I found out a short while later. Mrs. Crook made a fuss of it but she didn’t stop him.” Her gaze met Claire’s and she saw the pain lurking behind Jenny’s stubborn resolve. “But if it had been me, Claire, he never would’ve gone one step away from here wi’ that child. And I jest keep thinking if I had been here to stop him, mebbe none o’ this would’ve happened. Mebbe Jamie would’ve had tae figure out a different plan if Faith never arrived. And surely ye wouldna have agreed to go anywhere wi’out her.”

“Jenny…” Claire sighed. “I have replayed that day over and over in my mind, wondering how I could’ve changed the outcome. But at the end of the day, it’s wasted energy. Because there’s nothing either of us could do now to change what’s happened. I know you know that.”     

She squeezed Jenny’s hand a little tighter. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Neither did ye.” 

Jenny’s words surprised her and she let out a humorless laugh. “Not so sure about that‒”

“Claire,” Jenny chided sharply. “Ye didna ken what would happen ‒ and how could ye? Would ye have gone if ye had?”

“No, but I‒” 

“Are ye really goin’ tae argue wi’ me o’er the same thing ye just told me no’ to punish myself about?” 

Her mouth snapped shut, no counterargument coming to mind. She’d meant what she said ‒ Jenny should carry no guilt for that day. That didn’t mean the choice of going through the stones that day didn’t weigh heavily on Claire’s conscience. But Jenny was bound and determined to make the same argument on her behalf, she could see.     

“How far along are ye?” Jenny asked when their conversation stalled. 

“Eleven weeks or so. Still so much that can go wrong.” The last sentence came out in a rush. Jenny’s hand held tight to her own, an unspoken understanding passing between them. “In fact, I‒ well, besides when I came through that morning, I haven’t felt sick once and I worry… what if that…” 

“Have ye bled at all?” Jenny cut in, not unkindly but to the point. 

“N-no, but it would take some time still before my body‒” She couldn’t finish the sentence, but Jenny squeezed her hand, seeming to understand. 

“Were ye sick when you went through back tae yer time?” 

“Sick as a dog the entire time I was there. That’s how it had been when I was pregnant with Faith.” 

She hadn’t realized she was crying until Jenny’s hand gently brushed the tears from her face. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to talk to someone about this until the words were spilling out to Jenny, no longer festering under her skin. 

“I’ve been so focused on finding Jamie and Faith the last few weeks that I’ve barely even thought about the baby, but I‒ oh god, I couldn’t bear to lose it!” 

The sobs came then and she was pulled sideways into Jenny’s arms and held there. Kitty stirred but didn’t wake, stretching sleepily in her new position.     

“Dinna talk like that, Claire.” Jenny’s voice was soft and soothing but laced with concern. “Until we ken otherwise, this bairn is jest fine. It’s no use tae spend yer time worrying when it might jest be yer sickness easing up.” 

Rationally, Claire knew this could be the reason… her morning sickness letting up as she approached her second trimester.  

“Ye willna be alone, Claire,” Jenny startled her by speaking right to the heart of her fear, the part she couldn’t possibly put into words without breaking. “No matter what happens to the bairn or to Jamie or Faith. Ye hear me?”

Jamie had said those same words to her once and though she would never quite be whole if she lost any of them, she knew Jamie was still right. He’d seen to it that she had a family who could carry her through even the unthinkable. 

Her free hand came up to grasp Jenny’s arm where it was holding tightly to her. “I hear you.”

“Milady!” 

“Jenny! Claire!” 

Fergus and Ian’s voices announced their return from Broch Morda late in the day and had both Jenny and Claire hastening out to meet them. 

“What’s happened?” Jenny demanded. 

“There’s a letter for you!” Fergus jumped down from the wagon before Ian had even slowed the horses to full stop. 

“Careful!” Claire scolded, but it was lost on Ian’s next words. 

“Jest have a look at the handwriting.” 

Fergus handed the letter over to Jenny, to whom it was addressed, and Claire had to restrain herself from snatching it from Jenny’s fingers when she caught sight of the familiar, fine penmanship that belonged to her husband. 

 “Jamie…” 

Jenny tore open the letter abruptly and unfolded it while Claire arranged herself at Jenny’s shoulder, peering over at the contents of it. Not a word of it was in English and bits of the Gaelic was lost on Claire. 

“What does it say?” Fergus asked impatiently, but Claire and Jenny were both too engrossed to respond. Instead, Claire slipped an arm around his shoulders and tucked him against her side. 

“That word there ‒ what does that mean?” She pointed. 

Jenny gave her a sideways glance. “Sorcha? It’s… well, it’s you, Claire. It’s yer name in Gàidhlig. He’s written that you’ve gone. That he’s lost ye.” 

She didn’t need a translator for the next sentence written in French. One word jumped out at her and suddenly her vision blurred with tears. It was clear he was trying to be careful; he’d referred to their child as faith, a belief. But he had her. 

There was no way to tell him of her return but somehow just the confirmation that Jamie and Faith were alive and together at the time he’d written gave Claire a sweeping sense of relief.   

“They’re alright,” she breathed out. 

“Where are they?” Fergus asked. 

“He doesna say.” Jenny sighed. 

“Where are they headed?” 

It might’ve been quicker to hand Fergus the letter and let him see for himself, but instead, Jenny scanned it again, as though trying to extract some further message from it. “He doesna say,” she repeated, with no effort to hide her disappointment. 

“He’s being cautious. Especially because of Faith. And he wouldn’t want to put any of your lives in jeopardy by disclosing his plans.”

“But…” Fergus began and then hesitated. When Claire glanced down at him, she could see the concern etched into his expression. His gaze slid up to meet hers. “How will we find them if we don’t know where he is or where he’s going?” 

Claire breathed in deeply. An excellent question, she thought, and one she had no answer to. “Don’t you worry. We’ll… we’ll keep looking.” 

  They went inside, but the contents of the letter stayed top of mind for all as they tried to move about their day. Ian read the letter for himself and then Murtagh read it when he joined them before dinner. In the evening, they gathered in the parlor, and Jamie’s letter ended up in Claire’s hands while the discussion of Jamie and Faith’s whereabouts unfolded around them. 

“He could’ve gone to Leoch.” 

Claire pulled a face at that suggestion from Murtagh. “Surely not after Colum’s death and‒” her gaze broke away to wee Jamie and she couldn’t get the words out of how it had ended with Dougal in front of the little ones. 

“Aye, with both brothers gone, the role of clan chieftain will pass to wee Hamish. Doubt he’d give Jamie much trouble, wee runt that he is. No one there would ken what happened wi’ Dougal MacKenzie. And Jamie does have people there who would be loyal to him and give him shelter if he asked for it.” 

Claire considered it, but only for a moment. “No, he wouldn’t risk it. Colum wanted to remain neutral but Dougal fought in the rebellion with his men and there’s no telling how the British will interpret Clan MacKenzie’s loyalty. Especially in the immediate aftermath, they work tirelessly to squash any trace of rebellion. Besides, if anyone knows of Jamie’s ties to the MacKenzie clan, it would be the next place the Redcoats would look after here.” 

Murtagh only grunted, still considering. 

“I ken how he feels about Lord Lovat, but maybe…” Ian trailed off, staring at Claire. “Have I missed something, Claire?”   

She breathed in briskly. “This hadn’t felt relevant when I shared my story with you all, but… Lord Lovat will be executed as a traitor by the British for his involvement in the rising. There was a… Well. Let’s just say I knew of this before Culloden, but I found confirmation of Lord Lovat’s execution when I returned to my time, while I looked for Jamie. And Jamie knows about his grandfather’s death, too. He won’t bring Faith there, even if they are family.” 

Jenny took the news of her grandsire in stride while Ian cleared his throat awkwardly, not sure how to move on from that piece of news. 

“More likely he’ll go where no one kens him,” Murtagh said softly, his gaze on the fire. “If he canna turn to family without risk involved.” 

Claire didn’t miss the way Fergus’s face fell at this pronouncement. He had picked a spot on the floor, away from everyone else and closer to the fire, but his attention to their conversation was completely present. 

She’d never seen him so morose before, but she understood perfectly why he felt so hopeless ‒ it was a daily battle of her own not to give in to the feeling. 

“Fergus, come sit by me,” she called to him. 

He went without any resistance and sunk into the spot next to her on the sofa. Claire pulled him closer and his head leaned against her shoulder. “It’ll be alright, love,” she murmured quietly. 

“Can I see this?” he asked, ignoring her comment. 

“Yes, of course.” With a sad smile, she handed over the letter to him and then let her attention drift back to the conversation at hand. 

Fergus pored over the contents of the letter and, like everyone else, found nothing new to glean from it. Clearly frustrated, he began to fidget with the letter, using the weight of the wax seal on one end to flip the paper back and forth, open and then folded shut.

Claire watched him, unable to ignore the movement from the corner of her eye. Something clicked in her brain and her hand shot out, stopping Fergus. The red wax seal faced up to both of them and Fergus glanced curiously at Claire. 

“I’ve seen this seal before.” 

She said it quietly enough that none of the others heard it ‒ she’d said it mostly to herself but Fergus had caught it, too. 

“Where have I seen this seal before?” 

Fergus took a deep breath, his whole demeanor shifting. “Is it not Milord’s?” 

“No, it’s not his. But it’s familiar, somehow…” 

“If you remember, it could help us find them, non?”        

She frowned slightly at it. “Perhaps. If I remember.” 

That night she dreamt of the World War, of being back in the field hospitals tending to wounded soldiers. But she was looking for someone in particular as she checked the cots of the wounded. Suddenly, someone tugged on her arm and she turned, finding Mary Hawkins at her side, clad in the same dress she’d worn that day at the apothecary in Inverness.   

“Please, Claire, you have to help him!” Claire could see Alex Randall suddenly, laid out on a cot just behind Mary. A nurse was pulling a sheet over his head, already gone. “He’s dying!” 

“I’m sorry, Mary. There’s nothing I can do.” There was an urgency, an almost physical push for Claire to leave that she couldn’t define. “I have to find my husband.” 

Claire woke with a start and laid very still in the dark room. For a moment, her mind struggled to place that room, and which year she resided in. She curled up on her side and breathed in deeply, the details of her dream already starting to fade. But seeing Mary, someone from this time, plopped into the middle of 1943 was hard to forget. And the powerlessness she’d felt of being unable to cure poor Alex…

Her eyes flew open again and stared through the darkness.  

She had seen the seal before. Three weeks ago on Alex Randall’s desk. 

“Randall?” Murtagh scowled. 

“Alex Randall, yes.” Claire handed the letter to him. “During one of the times I tended to him in Inverness, I wrote out a list for Mary of what she could give Alex to keep him comfortable and help him rest. The seal was there. He must’ve recently written a letter ‒ or Mary.” 

“And ye’re sure? Ye ken it’s the same as this one and no’ just because ye dreamed it?” 

Claire, on some level, understood his skepticism, but she leveled an irritated gaze at him for that remark all the same. “Yes, I’m sure.”    

“What the devil would Jamie be doing wi’ a dead man’s seal? Wi’ a Randall’s seal?” 

“Not Alex,” Claire murmured, noticing the sounds of little ones up in the hallway. It wouldn’t be long before the family joined them. “But what about Mary?”

Murtagh gave a soft grunt, considering this. 

“She would’ve still been in Inverness,” Claire pressed. “And Jamie knew this. What if he stopped there first after the stones?”

Murtagh looked doubtful of that possibility but he didn’t say anything. 

“How else would Jamie have used this seal, hmm?” She pressed the issue, feeling for the first time a sense of hope. They had a direction, at least. They knew where to start. If Mary was still in Inverness, they had someone to question who likely saw Jamie and Faith after Culloden.

“Suppose we head for Inverness and we’re wrong about the seal. What then?” 

Claire gave a helpless shrug. “We don’t have anything else to go on. If not Inverness, where else would we look that wouldn’t be a complete guess?”   

In 4 days’ time, they were packing up from Lallybroch to head for Inverness. 

For Claire, that meant grabbing what she would need for the journey, but also what she could bring should she find Jamie and Faith. When they’d left from Lallybroch the last time, there were plenty of their things they’d left behind, like Jamie’s mother’s pearls that he’d given to Claire on their wedding night. 

She packed her maternity stays she’d worn in Paris, uncertain of where she’d be when the need arose for them again. She stilled in her packing at that thought. She had no idea where she’d be when the baby came, either, and that thought was terrifying. Digging into a chest in the Laird’s room, she unearthed some of Faith’s clothing from when she was a tiny baby. They’d packed them away last year ‒ was it only last year? ‒ with the unspoken hope between her and Jamie that they’d have a reason to use them again someday. 

Her fingers toyed with the fabric of one simple white nightgown. These were such imperfect circumstances to bring a baby into, but then again… Faith had entered the world amidst equally imperfect circumstances. Claire knew she could do it, if she had to… raise the baby on her own. But oh, the thought of this baby never knowing Jamie or Faith broke her heart clean in two. 

A light rap on the door startled Claire and she turned to see Jenny with a few of Faith’s things ‒ her doll, a blanket, and the wooden box that Claire knew held 12 apostle spoons. 

“Are you sure about that one?” She gestured to the box. “I know that’s a family heirloom.” 

“It was Faith’s christening gift. It should be returned to Faith.”    

Claire smiled faintly, bolstered slightly by Jenny’s unwavering belief that wherever this journey ended, Faith and Jamie would be there. 

“All set, then?” Claire poked her head into Fergus’s room. The boy was finishing up packing his things neatly into his pack as Jamie had shown him. He’d been different the last few days, since she’d remembered about the seal. Since they had a direction in mind to begin. Hope had returned for him and no shortage of determination as well. 

“Oui, Milady. Just about.” 

His wooden swords leaned against the wall in one corner. He’d already decided that those would go to wee Jamie, that they were too bulky to bring along and that he was too old for them now anyway. 

But Claire felt a soft swell of relief to see him tucking his carved horse into his bag to take with him. He was growing up much too quickly, but he hadn’t outgrown her and for that, she was grateful.    

“Are you sad to leave this behind? It’s been your room for a while.” 

Fergus glanced over the room and gave a small shrug. “It’s only a room.”

She thought of all the places they’d lived over the two years that Fergus had been with them ‒ Jared’s place, Lallybroch, drafty cottages and flimsy tents dotted all along Scotland and England. They’d given him an upbringing not unlike what she’d had with her Uncle Lamb, and with it, an untethered understanding of home. 

“You’re right, it’s only a room.” 

She reached an arm out to him as he slung his pack over his shoulder, and they walked out of the room together with his shoulder tucked into her side. 

  “Ye have everything then?” 

“Think so.” 

Claire looked up from adjusting her saddlebag with last-minute provisions and saw Jenny standing there, arms folded across her chest.  

She’d said her goodbyes to wee Jamie, Maggie, and Kitty already, which was harder for a second time, having felt as though she’d only gotten to know them again just to leave them, never knowing when ‒ or even if ‒ she might see them next.

Murtagh and Fergus were securing the last of the packs to Murtagh’s horse so she and Jenny had a moment to themselves. 

“I feel like we just did this, saying our goodbyes,” Claire said ruefully. 

Jenny pulled her into a tight hug. “Aye, weel, the two o’ ye never can seem to stay out o’ trouble.” 

She gave Jenny a squeeze before releasing her. 

“Take care of yerself, sister. And I don’t jest mean because o’ the bairn. Though…” her hand came to rest on Claire’s stomach over the layers of her skirts. “Do take care o’ this one as well.” 

“I will. And I’ll send word as soon as I know anything. I promise.” 

Jenny smiled appreciatively at that, though Claire knew in this century, it would take weeks if not months for the news to arrive. It hardly felt right in these circumstances to leave their family waiting that long without word, but they didn’t know anything different than the snail’s pace of correspondence. 

“If I find them‒”

“When ye find them,” Jenny corrected her. The only time she’d even hinted at the possibility of losing Jamie and Faith had been that day in the parlor, and only to assure Claire that they would support her.  

“When I do … it will still be a while that the British occupy the Highlands. I don’t know when it will be safe to return to Lallybroch, but it might not be for a long while.” 

“I ken that.” Jenny’s expression was strong and unshakable but Claire knew… the reality of what stretched out before them even if they found Jamie quickly still meant that the Murrays might not see them for years. Might not see them ever again, even. “Dinna bring them home if it’s no’ safe. We understand.” 

Claire nodded. It didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt like hell to be apart. She pulled Jenny back in for a last hug, murmuring a quiet apology against her shoulder, and hoping that Jenny knew that she understood what Jenny was losing, too. What she’d already lost. Faith had lived under Lallybroch’s roof since she was four months old. And for eight months, she’d been entrusted solely to Jenny and Ian. It wasn’t just Jenny’s only remaining brother that was missing, likely not to return any time soon, but the niece who was also a little more than that.   

“She’ll know about how you felt about her morning greetings,” Claire found herself saying. “I’ll tell her everything about her life here, including what you shared with me from the last several months. She’ll know it all, I promise.” 

Murtagh and Fergus were hovering awkwardly nearby, having loaded everything onto the two horses they were taking ‒ Murtagh’s and the horse Claire had bought in Inverness. She released Jenny in time to see Ian making his way out to say goodbye to them. 

“C’mere, lad,” Jenny beckoned Fergus to her. “Come say goodbye to yer auntie then.” 

Claire turned to Ian, at a loss for what to say. He smiled at her, a touch sadly, and pulled her into a hug. “Take care o’ yer Fraser, aye?” 

She felt her vision burn with tears, remembering how they’d parted last year. “I will,” she said, her voice raspy. “And you take care of yours. Take extra good care of her, please.” 

Ian’s response was to squeeze her tighter. She sighed and finally released him, seeing that Jenny was laying into Murtagh what seemed to be instructions for looking out for her and Fergus. Murtagh appeared less than thrilled, but wisely only grunted in acknowledgement. 

When everyone had said their goodbyes, it was time to leave. Claire turned to Fergus and tilted her head in the direction of the horses. “Your choice. You can ride with me or with Murtagh.” 

“I will start the journey with Murtagh,” Fergus said decidedly. “And when he gets too grumpy, I will ride with you, Milady.” 

His words broke the heavy feeling in their group as laughter rippled out. 

“I dinna have to let ye ride wi’ me,” Murtagh fired back, though his eyes danced with merriment as he mounted his horse and extended a hand to Fergus to help him up. 

Ian offered Claire a hand as she mounted her horse. She turned to Murtagh and Fergus. “Ready?” 

Murtagh gave a curt nod, and Fergus from his perch behind Murtagh gave Claire a determined nod of his own. Claire gave her horse a firm kick and they were off. 

This time, when they cleared the gates, Claire looked back. She wanted to remember seeing Jenny and Ian by the front steps waving goodbye, and how Lallybroch looked in the early May light with the rest of the world all green around it. For as long as she lived, if she never saw it again, it would live always in her memory just like this. The first place that felt like home.  

But it’s only a place, she reminded herself. Though she couldn’t find it within herself to feel completely as Fergus did, as she might’ve when she were younger. Lallybroch was home for a while. And the Murrays were family. 

But home would be if‒ no, when… home would be when she found Jamie and Faith, with Fergus and Murtagh with them, and their little family wouldn’t be separated for the first time since last August. Home would be back together again. 

Jamie and Faith were out there somewhere. All they had to do was find them.    

[in-love-with-darth-vader]

Star Wars as if it were like the Office! (Also i need a title, so if anyone has any ideas for that or any suggestions in general, let me know.

Also, sorry if this sucks. I don’t write very often nor have I ever written a screenplay type of thing before. I honestly just did this for fun!

PART 1

“Anakin, what are you doing?”

“I’m standing on the edge of this balcony.”

“Yes, I can see that. Why are you standing on the edge of that balcony?”

*pan to the chaos of Coruscant below; ships speeding in traffic, huge buildings, and an insanely long drop. Obi-Wan is standing behind Anakin on the part of the balcony that’s made to be stood on; Anakin is on the edge of the railing*

“Uh, well, some of the clones said there was no way that I could jump and land in one of the ships flying through the city, and I told them I definitely could, so here I am.”

*Obi-Wan looks to the camera in annoyance and disbelief; camera pans down to Anakin’s end point where Fives, Echo, and Jesse wave up to his position*

“Absolutely not. Get down from there right this instant!”

“Sorry, Master!”

*he jumps, and he is flying through the air for about two seconds when he suddenly freezes. Obi-Wan is looking down at him as he holds him mid air with the Force, slowly raising him back up to eye level*

“Anakin, you are twenty years old. Could you maybe start acting like it?”

*he drops him onto the floor; Anakin gets up and sulkingly follows Obi-Wan out of the room*

*this would be where the theme song and title card would go*

In the background: “yeah, so Obi-Wan refused to let me jump, so I had to come back here. Sorry you all waited for nothing”

*Obi-Wan turns to the camera*

So, does Anakin do this sort of thing frequently?

“Oh, yes. He doesn’t seem to care about safety or his own well-being. That’s the third time this month I’ve had to stop the Balcony Jump. And clearly I’m the only one who thinks these are bad ideas, so I’m always the one who has to step in. I swear I already have a few grey hairs from having to stop Anakin from doing something stupid so often.”

*back to normal scene*

“Alright, everyone gather around, we have a new mission to discuss.”

*anakin, ahsoka, and many of the clones from the 501st and 212th gather around Obi-Wan*

“The chancellor seems to think it’s a good idea for us to go investigate a possible takeover on Ryloth….” *fades out as we zoom in on Anakin clearly bored and not listening*

“I hate debriefings. When Obi-Wan does them he talks for forever. They’re too long, so I just tune him out and pretend like I know what I’m doing on the actual mission. When I tell the others what we’ve been assigned, I take 2 minutes tops. Master Obi-Wan stretches it into at least 10.”

*now to ahsoka*

“Yeah, Master Kenobi goes over every single detail in the mission log every single time. I’ve had to slap Anakin awake in the middle of a meeting too many times to count.”

*back to obi wan speaking to them all*

“So, we need to go in and investigate the distress signal’s purpose, mainly to see if it’s a separatist attack. Anakin, you’ll be positioned here and you’ll direct your troops to-Anakin?? Are you listening to me?”

*obi wan turns away from his whiteboard where he’s drawing out strategy to see Anakin staring slightly up at the ceiling. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed, but Obi wan knows his past-padawan turned Jedi Knight too well*

“What? Oh, yeah, of course I am.”

*interview with obi wan*

“Anakin is a terrible liar. You’ll soon find that out.”

*switch to interview with Anakin*

“Luckily for me, I’m an amazing liar, so I’m not worried.”

*back to the scene. Obi-Wan has his hands on his hips in his judgmental pose™️ facing Anakin*

“Oh really? Then what did I just tell you to do?”

“Uhhh I have to hold my position, lead the 501st, all that jazz”

“Mhm and where is this all going down?”

“Uh, Iridonia of course.”

“You literally could not be more incorrect.”

*obi wan int.*

“Told you so.”

*anakin int.*

“Okay, in my defense, there’s thousands of planets. I had like a 1% chance of guessing correctly.”

*back to the scene*

“Ryloth, Anakin. Ryloth is where we’re going. A distress call was detected coming from the planet, and since the Separatists have a history of meddling with the peace of Ryloth and its citizens, we were instructed to go inspect. I will not repeat myself again. That is all, everyone get ready. You’re dismissed.”

*interview with Rex; clones preparing armor and weapons in the background*

So, are you kind of like the leader of the clones around here?

“Uh, I’m the captain of the 501st Battalion under General Skywalker’s command. I follow his orders and then lead my brothers to execute those orders. We’re one of the most successful groups of clones, so I take great pride in-“

*rex is interrupted as the camera switches focus to the background where Jesse Kix and Fox are all at each other’s throats. They’re stealing each other’s helmets and tossing them around. Rex turns to look*

(Sigh) “as I was saying…I take great pride in our success and professionalism.”

“Rex!”

“Sorry, gotta go do my job now.”

*they board the ships and head off to Ryloth*

*camera switches to Anakin on Ryloth*

“Can we please leave now?”

“Absolutely not, Anakin. We still aren’t quite certain what set off the alarm.”

“It was probably just an accident. There’s nothing here, Master. Ahsoka, back me up.”

*ahsoka is looking down at and messing with a data pad clearly not listening to Anakin*

“What? Oh, uh, yeah. Totally.”

“Were you even listening to me?! I was speaking to you, Ahsoka. Can I get a little bit of respect please?”

*obi wan looks at the camera like ‘are you fucking kidding me’*

“Listen, Master, I started to tune you out like an hour ago. All you’ve done is complain.”

“Because there’s nothing here! I want to go home!”

“You just want to get back to Coruscant in time to go to that party for the senators.”

“What??????!?!?? That’s absurd, master. Absolutely preposterous. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

*cut to Anakin*

“Okay, I know exactly what he’s talking about, but I can’t admit it! There’s this politician gathering tonight and normally I wouldn’t be one to willingly seek out social gatherings-especially one full of politicians-but Padme is going and she asked if I would come. So of course I said yes. Also, they usually have those little cocktail weenies, so no way I’m missing that.”

*cut to obi wan*

“Anakin is terrible at hiding things, especially from me. He clearly wants to get back so he can go to the party tonight with Senator Amidala.”

Any reason why he’d want to go with her so bad?

“Oh, yes, you see my former Padawan thinks he’s sly, but as we all know he’s a terrible liar. He’s been pining after the senator since he was a boy. I assumed it would pass by now, but clearly he’s still infatuated with her. They’re very good friends but he still has his teenage crush on her. It’s very unprofessional.”

Will you be attending it as well?

“Oh, no. I’m not one for politics.”

*back to the scene*

“What? Master why are you going to that stupid thing? You hate those types of parties! Plus, last I checked, you are not a politician.”

*cut to Anakin*

“So I’ve never actually told Ahsoka about my secret relationship with Padmé…”

*back to the scene*

“Uhhhhh because I’m good friends with the Chancellor, obviously. He would like me there to….to talk about strategies. Yes. Strategies for the Republic.”

“At a formal gathering for politicians? That doesn’t even make any sense!”

“...you’re asking way too many questions, Snips. We have a mission to focus on! You’re better than this!”

*ahsoka looks suspiciously at him as obi wan shakes his head at the two of them*

“Now that you’re done bickering, will you two please go explore the blocked off caverns for any possible signs of life?”

*both, simultaneously and clearly annoyed*

“Yes, Master.”

——-

“You know, there’s nothing in these caves. He just wanted us out of his hair. He’s just keeping us busy.”

“How can you know for sure?”

“Because I don’t sense anything. There’s nothing in here.”

“Master Kenobi told us to do it, so that’s what we’re gonna do.”

“So you listen to all of his orders but not mine?”

“Well, Obi-Wan doesn’t lie to me, so yes.”

“Psh. Pssshh. I’m not lying to you...that’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not. Tell me the real reason you’re going to that party! I know that you’re lying!”

“I’m absolutely telling the truth. I don’t know why you’re so adamant about this. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh please. Whenever you lie you start using big words and you talk faster than normal. Just tell me the truth!”

“Fine. My friend Senator Amidala was allowed to bring someone and since we’re friends she asked me if I would like to come along too. So I said yes.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Makes sense why you’re so anxious about it.”

“Whatta you mean?”

“Oh, nothing, it’s just that you’re going to a party as the Senator’s plus one which she asked you to. It’s definitely a date.”

“Whaaaaaaaatt. It’s not a date. That’s ludicrous! We’re just friends. Plus, I’m a Jedi. We can’t go on dates!”

“Right, and you don’t have a crush on her.”

“I don’t have a crush on her! We’re friends! It’s extremely platonic.”

*int. With Anakin*

“Okay, so it’s not platonic. But I don’t have a crush on her because I’m married to her! If I tell her that I willingly break the Jedi Code whenever I want, then maybe she will too! And then what kind of Master would I be?!?!”

I thought you technically weren’t a Jedi Master.

*zooms in on anakin’s ‘I will fuckin kill you’ face”

*back to the scene*

“Right, and I don’t secretly steal your jackets when you’re sleeping when I’m cold.”

“What?”

“What?!”

“.....look, can we just get back to the mission?”

“Sure thing, Skyguy. Wait till Master Kenobi hears about this.”

*under his breath* “pretty sure he already knows...”

*scene switch to obi wan, he’s with Cody and many other clones. They’re in a room in one of the government buildings on Ryloth surrounding a beacon device. It’s a distress signal activator.*

“And you’re sure you didn’t do this, Mr. Syndulla?”

“No, Master Kenobi. I only use the distress beacon for serious emergencies. I have no clue as to who did this. There aren’t many people that have access, and it’s not something that just anyone can do by accident. You must enter a code and confirm multiple times.”

“Thank you for the information. Will you let us inspect the fortress for any intruders?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thank you. Cody, take Waxer, Boil, and Gearshift to the west wing. Gregor, you and your troops take the left. Myself and Crys will start here. Report back if you find anything.”

“Sir yes sir!”

*we see Obi-Wan and Crys searching first. They stayed in the room where the beacon is kept. Obi-Wan is looking through digital records as Crys is underneath it looking at its internal parts like those scenes where someone is laying on a skateboard to fix a car*

“This is strange. There’s no trace of tampering with the records or files. Nothing was wiped. This doesn’t seem like sabotage or a distraction for something bigger. Crys, do you have anything?”

*crys rolls out from under the beacon*

“No, sir. Everything is wired and hooked up properly. No signs of sabotage or demolition.”

“Hmm.”

*Int. With Crys*

“I’m really good with robots and droids, so that’s probably why General Kenobi wanted me to tag along with him. Usually he takes Cody, but this is more of my field of expertise.”

*back to the scene*

“This is trivial indeed.” *he’s doing his beard stroke* “I wonder if the others have found anything.”

*switch over to gregor and his troops. They’re searching the left wing of the fortress. They’ve been interviewing many citizens of Ryloth. They’re not very successful*

“I don’t see the point in talking to anyone else. I doubt they’re gonna know anything. We should report back to the general.”

*int with Gregor*

So, Gregor, can you give us a little summary of what you do around here?

“Yeah, sure thing. Uh, I’m kind of like third in command here. I’m a captain in the 212th Battalion and that’s pretty much all there is to it.”

Your helmet is very interesting. It’s pretty unique compared to the rest of your brothers.

“Oh, this? Some clones have tallies, but these represent stitches.” *he points to em* “It’s basically just showing how many injuries I’d have and how many stitches I would’ve gotten if I didn’t have the helmet. I think it’s pretty cool.”

*back to the scene. They’ve found nothing*

“Yeah, I’ll comm the general.”

*gregor taps into his comms and contacts Obi-Wan*

“Gregor, have you found anything?”

“No, general, I called to report that we’ve found nothing out of place. The twi’leks we’ve interviewed seem like they know nothing. How about you?”

“No, sadly we’ve come across nothing either. The beacon hasn’t been tampered with whatsoever.”

“We’ll keep looking around. I’ll keep you updated.”

*he hangs up the comm*

“Alright, boys, let’s keep going!”

*we now cut to Waxer and Boil being lead by Cody. They’re going door to door in the right wing where the rooms are located asking questions*

“This is leading us nowhere, Commander.”

“I know, Boil, but General Kenobi told us to inspect the entire right wing. We only have three more rooms to do. Let’s go.”

“Fine.”

*they knock at the next door*

“Hello?”

“Hello, ma’am. My name is Commander Cody of the 212th Attack Battalion. We’re on a mission here from the Jedi council. The distress beacon gave off a signal earlier today and we were wondering if you knew anything about it.”

“I’m very sorry I can’t be of any help to you, Commander, but I know nothing.”

*suddenly, a small child comes running down the hallway laughing. She trips and falls and scrapes her knee.*

“hey, are you okay?”

“Waxer you know that’s not how you talk to a child!”

“I’m sorry! You know I get awkward around kids. Why do we always find a runaway child when we’re on Ryloth? Like, how has this actually happened twice?”

*boil ignores him and kneels down to the kid*

“Hey there. My name is Boil. Are you okay? Do you need help?”

*she looks a bit frightened still. Boil realizes he still has his helmet on so he takes it off.*

“Sorry about that. Is it okay if I patch up your knee? I keep bandages on me, you can even pick the color if you want.”

“...okay. Blue please.”

“Blue it is. So, why were you running so fast? Is anything chasing you?”

“No. I was just looking for my papa. And I’m bored. I played with his fun machine today.”

“His machine, huh?”

*the three clones look at each other with a look™️ and Cody comms obi wan*

“General? I think we found your culprit”

——————

“‘Wow Anakin, you’re such a genius. It’s almost as if you were right all along!’ ‘Why thank you, Master. I knew I was right, and now we can go home even though we could’ve earlier.’ ‘Yes, you’re so right. We should’ve listened to you the whole time-“

“Anakin, are you finished?”

“‘we should make you a master on the council. I admire you.’ Now I’m finished.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Master. We get it, you’re right, now let’s get you home for your date.”

*anakin freezes and turns slowly. They’ve been walking up the ramp to board their ship when ahsoka said that. Anakin is now very red in the face*

“....what. What are you talking about snips??!! I don’t have a date. I don’t date. I’m just attending a senator party with the Chancellor. A date. Psh. Psh.”

“But you told me-“

“LETS GET ON THE SHIP, AHSOKA!”

*obi wan just rolls his eyes as they board the ship*

*We’re back to Coruscant!*

“Finally, we’re home. I’m so tired from all the nothing we did.”

“Oh, Anakin, you are such a drama queen. We did our mission like we were supposed to. Now, can I please speak to you in private?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Even though you have complained a lot today, I still care about you Anakin, and I know you made a promise to someone else already. So, I will go inform the Jedi Council that this was a false alarm by myself. Maybe I’ll take your Padawan. But you, my friend, should go get ready for your senator party.”

*anakin hugs obi wan*

“Thank you, Obi-Wan. I owe you one.”

*anakin goes up to his apartment on Coruscant where Padme is; she’s on their couch reading something and already dressed when anakin comes in*

“I’m back! I’m finally back!”

“Hello to you too Anakin. I was hoping they’d let you out. You’re cutting it close this time.”

“I’m so sorry. We had to go to Ryloth for no reason and Obi-Wan wouldn’t let me leave until we knew for sure what happened.”

“Well, I’m glad you made it in time.”

“Me too. Obi-Wan is letting me skip the debriefing for this.”

*he goes to change into his formal clothes for the party. Padme is already wearing one of her super rad fancy senator outfits. Anakin has an all black suit cause you know he’s that guy™️.

*int with Padme*

“Anakin has missed a lot of these outings with me due to Jedi business, so I wasn’t expecting him to actually be here for this one. I’m glad he is. I don’t see him as often as I wish I did.”

Do you ever think of asking him to leave the Jedi Order then?

“Oh, no. Absolutely not. I would never ask him to give up his life like that. And I don’t want that either. He’s a great Jedi and he loves what he does. I would never try to take that away from him.”

*back to scene. Now they’re walking down the halls of the senate building on their way to the party*

“So, get this, Ahsoka is convinced that I have a crush on you and that this is a date.”

“I mean, she’s not exactly wrong, is she?”

“Well, no, but I don’t really have a crush on you since, you know, we’re married. And she meant date as in ‘you invited me to this thing but we’re not together but in her eyes, it’s a date’ kind of thing.”

“Hmm so she still doesn’t know?”

“No. I can’t bring myself to tell her. I love her, but I don’t want to taint her mind and views of the Jedi Code and council. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“A very good point. You’re a good Master, Anakin.”

“Thanks.”

*they then enter the party. Many political figures from across the galaxy are there already. Its purpose is unknown to us, but it is clear that it’s important but also not too serious. They speak with many different people included Palpatine. We have yet to actually speak to him yet. Anakin is eventually over near the snack table, a drink in his hand and another one being handed off to Padme*

“Here you go. It’s your favorite.”

“Thank you. So, are you having fun yet?”

“Well, I don’t think I’ll ever have fun hanging around any politicians but you, but it’s not so bad. Plus, these snacks are really good.”

*padme rolls her eyes but laughs at him*

“It’s nice for us all to get together like this. It’s important for the Republic.”

“Mm, indeed.”

*they continue chatting until Anakin notices someone across the room. Fancy blue outfit. Blonde hair up in a bun. He doesn’t notice who it really is until she comes a bit closer. He does the pikachu face and drops his drink, luckily catching it midair with the force as he apologizes to those around him*

“Anakin?? Are you okay? What was that for?”

“You didn’t tell me she was going to be here!”

“Who?”

*he points to her by nudging his head in her direction hoping Padme will see who he’s talking about*

“Her? That’s my friend Satine. She’s the Duchess of Mandalore. She’s-wait a minute, how do you know her??!?”

“Nothing bad, I assure you. I’m actually quite fond of her. I just wish I knew sooner!”

“Why?”

“Because that, my love, is Obi-Wan’s girlfriend.”

END of this part.

Part2

——

[angelqueen04]

Hamliza Month, Day 27

@megpeggs @historysalt

Languages Summary: Alexander pays a call on Eliza in Morristown.

Alexander trooped along the path toward Dr. Campfield’s house, just as he did nearly every day now. Though there still remained a great deal of snow on the ground, the path he walked was clear and well-trodden and, thankfully, not a complete pit of mud and slush. It was still cold, but the bitterness had begun to fade. It made him hopeful that spring was at last beginning to arrive.

As he approached the neat white house where Dr. and Mrs. Cochran had taken up residence for the winter, and had later been joined by their delightful niece, he glanced toward one of the front windows which looked in on the front parlor. The lace curtains obstructed the view, of course, but Alexander fancied he could catch faint movement behind them. His heart leapt. His dear Betsey was no doubt inside.

He was let into the house by a servant, who took his coat for him and gestured him toward the parlor door. As Alexander approached, he heard the delightful sound of feminine laughter, and then two women falling into conversation that, at first, sounded unusual to Alexander’s ears. It wasn’t until he stood in the doorway and their words became clearer that he understood what was hearing.

Mrs. Cochran and Eliza were speaking Dutch, if he was not mistaken, and with all the fluency of native speakers. Which wasn’t surprising, really, if he thought about it. The Schuylers were among the descendants of the early Dutch settlers in and around Albany and New York, back before the land came into the hands of the British. The old families there held their heritage close.

His appearance must have caught their attention, because Mrs. Cochran, who sat on the sofa facing him, stopped speaking and beamed when she saw him. Eliza was sitting next to her aunt on the sofa, but had her back to the door. She turned to look over her shoulder to see what had made her aunt halt in mid-sentence, and her eyes immediately lit up. “Alexander!” she said, thrilled with his appearance. “We did not expect you until supper!”

He strode further into the room, bowing courteously first to Mrs. Cochran and then turning his full attention to Eliza, who had risen to meet him. She approached him faster than would be considered proper in most circles, but Alexander hardly cared. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips and pressed a reverent kiss to her knuckles. “My dear Betsey,” he murmured against her skin.

Mrs. Cochran rose too at that moment, giving them a genuine, indulgent smile.  “I’ll go see about getting something warm to drink,” she told them before slipping past them and out of the room, though the door was pointedly left open. Technically, it was tea time, Alexander supposed, though he knew as well as anyone that there was no tea to be found for miles. Still, he did not doubt Mrs. Cochran’s resourcefulness. She would bring something for them.

Eliza wound her arm in his and led him to the sofa she and her aunt had just vacated. “How are you, my Alexander?” she asked as they settled themselves.

“Well enough,” he replied. “There appears to be an actual lull in the copious amount of letters that the General must send, and so I was excused early. They will send someone if I am needed, though I don’t expect that will happen.”

She nodded. “We received a letter from my sister, Mrs. Carter. She’ll be joining us here within the next week, along with her two children.” Eliza smiled, her happiness apparent over the impending arrival of a dearly beloved sister.

Alexander expressed his own pleasure at the news, but then turned the conversation back to what he had noticed upon his arrival. “Were you and Mrs. Cochran speaking Dutch when I came in?”

Eliza blinked at the change of subject, but nodded. “Oh, yes. Why?”

He shrugged, brushing his fingers along the back of her hand fondly. “No reason. I was exposed to many different languages in my youth,” he told her, “and I became fluent in several of them. Though,” Alexander admitted, “I am a bit rusty in some of them, such as Dutch.” He smiled somewhat self-deprecatingly at her. “General Washington has a great need for my skills in French more than any other. Even as the Marquis’ English improves, he still has a tendency to fall back into his native tongue when he becomes excited over one topic or another. Which is often.” He laughed, recalling his friend’s natural high spirits.

Eliza also chuckled, and Alexander recalled that she too had met the Marquis de Lafayette in the past, and was thus quite familiar with his natural exuberance.[1] “I first learned Dutch as a child,” she said. “My parents spoke it at home more than anything else, particularly when we were just among the family. I suppose English would be my second language, with French being my third.”

She paused, and her expression seemed to grow slightly pensive. Alexander was about to ask her what troubled her, but then Eliza forged ahead of her own volition. “With French, I can speak and follow it well enough when spoken by others, but my talent for reading and writing it leaves much to be desired. Angelica always performed better than I did in such things.” A faint blush spread across her cheeks, and she looked down at their joined hands, avoiding his direct gaze.

She was embarrassed, Alexander realized with some astonishment. His Betsey was actually ashamed that she had difficulty with learning another language. And she had mentioned that her older sister was quite fluent? Perhaps some indication of sibling rivalry or jealousy? Alexander himself only had limited experience with that, due to he and his brother being so often separated, even as boys. They were never truly around one another enough to grow jealous of each other’s talents.

It won’t do, he thought with sudden fervor. He would not have his dear, wonderful Eliza look down upon herself or think herself in any way inferior to anyone or anything. While he was certain that Mrs. Carter was a wonderful woman, he did not care if she was a genius on par with Hypatia of Alexandria. Alexander refused to countenance Eliza blushing over the idea that she was somehow wanting in comparison to her sister, or to anyone.

He opened his mouth to say as much, but then stopped, still thinking furiously. There was an idea forming in his mind, but he did not want Eliza to think he pitied her. His future bride was perhaps the most modest soul he had ever met, but Alexander knew that she still had her pride, and woe betide anyone who managed to offend it.

After several moments, he squeezed her hands. “I have a proposition for you, my love,” he told her.

Eliza looked up at him. “Oh? What would that be?” she asked.

Alexander let go of one her hands to run his hand over the back of his head. “I propose a trade,” he said. “If you will allow me to practice and improve my Dutch with you, I will aid you in improving your reading and writing of French.”

Eliza’s dark eyes widened, surprised by the offer. “Truly? But why?” she inquired. “You said that the General requires your fluency in French more than any other language. What need do you have of Dutch?”

He smiled at her, letting his hand fall back atop the one he had previously let go. Taking it in his, he held both of her hands up between his and replied, “We will not always be at war, my Betsey. The former colonies, especially New York, are a port of call for many, some who seek a better life than the one they left behind, or even just as a stopping point on the way to somewhere else. There are multiple languages that are spoken in these lands besides the King’s – besides English. I mean to have at least some familiarity with as many as I can. You could assist me with that with your fluency in Dutch, and I can return the favor by aiding you in improving your French, as it a language that people should certainly know. I am aware of several books that might help you that you could seek out from your father or purchase if you so wish.”

Eliza gazed at him, her eyes still wide with shocked amazement. Just when Alexander thought he may have been too hasty in his offer, that he might have offended her after all, she broke into a wide smile. “You are such a dear,” she said, shaking her head. “I accept your offer,” she then said, and her grin took on a teasing quality, adding, “But I must warn you, sir, I can be very hard to keep up with in my native tongue. I hope you are up to the challenge.”

Alexander laughed and said, “I shall endeavor not to disappoint my teacher, then.” Impulsively, he leaned in and kissed her. He’d intended it only to be a peck, a playful gesture. The moment their lips connected, however, it was as though they were both struck by lightning. The desire that rose up in him was like nothing Alexander had ever felt before. He was not a virgin by any means, but the sudden, desperate yearning for this woman on the sofa with him put his previous conquests – not that there had been that many, anyway – quite in the shade.

And if Eliza’s own enthusiastic participation in their abrupt embrace was any indication, she too was every bit as overwhelmed as he was.

Within the space of moments, they had closed the polite gap that even engaged couples kept out of modesty and were completely ensconced in each other’s arms. Alexander marveled over just how good it felt to have Betsey like this, in his arms, kissing him, loving him. How it made him want more. He nudged even closer, encouraging her to lean further back on the sofa, and he grabbed one of her hands in his, lacing their fingers together…

The sound of someone clearing their throat pointedly reached both their ears, but took a moment for it to sink in. When it did, both he and Eliza reared back in their haste to separate. They both turned toward the door, their guilt apparent in their flushed faces, in their swollen lips, in their heavy breathing.

Mrs. Cochran stood in the doorway, a tea tray held before her. The older woman stared at them both, a single eyebrow raised pointedly. “Really, dears,” she said, her tone laced with disappointment as she swept into the room, placing the tray down on a table by the window.

Alexander opened his mouth, ready to offer his profuse apologies, to her and to Eliza, for allowing his passions to get the better of him, when Mrs. Cochran turned back to them, this time with a wicked sparkle in her eye. Before he could utter a word, she continued, “If you are going to play those types of games, the parlor is not the place for them, where anyone can walk in.” Her gaze shifted to Eliza. “Truly, dear, have you forgotten the stories I told you about your own parents?”[2]

Alexander blinked, confused, and turned toward Eliza, only to find her blushing even more fiercely than before. “No, Aunt,” she murmured, ducking her head and glancing in Alexander’s direction. “I didn’t forget.”

What was that all about? Alexander wondered. He didn’t get a chance to ask, however, as Mrs. Cochran kept close after that, never permitting him and Eliza another moment to be by themselves. She did not scold them further for their behavior, though, nor did she ever seem to inform Dr. Cochran, much to Alexander’s relief.

In the years to come, though, she would tease him and Eliza both about that day, speaking fondly of young love and how it could grow and mature into the stoutest of bonds.

-----

[1] I don’t know for certain if Eliza and Lafayette met before 1780, but Stephanie Dray and Laura Kamoie created a very plausible scenario for their first meeting in the early pages of their novel, My Dear Hamilton, so I went with the idea that she had her own acquaintance with him.

[2] An allusion to the fact that Catharine Van Rensselaer was actually some months pregnant with Angelica when she and Philip Schuyler married. No one in this family was foolish, so I can just imagine that Catharine and Philip endured all sorts of familial teasing about that over the years, and the kids would have picked up on it and/or were told stories about it. The whole ‘no sex before marriage’ concept didn’t truly become a huge Thing until a few generations later (thank the Victorians). At this time, I’ve read that at least a third of women were already pregnant when they married, which says that people were not as prim and proper as people think them to be. And culturally among Eliza’s people, it seems that it was the engagement that was the most important thing, not necessarily the marriage ceremony. So if Eliza and Alexander were to have some fun together pre-December 1780, well, so long as the engagement remained intact and Alexander didn’t try to run from it, then no one was going to scold them too much.

  This ficlet was partially inspired by a letter Alexander wrote to Eliza, dated July 2-4, 1780, where he reminds her “not to neglect the charges I gave you particularly that of taking care of your self, and that of employing all your leisure in reading.” I’ve read several different accounts – fanfiction, pro fiction, and nonfiction alike – interpreting Eliza’s reaction to this letter as one of hurt feelings, that Alexander was thoughtlessly implying that she was somehow not good or smart enough or something like that. I wanted to do a different take on it, and came up with this. Eliza’s first language was likely Dutch, and was said to have continued her fluency in it into adulthood, but seemed to have trouble with French. Alexander was fluent in French – it was one reason he was so valuable to Washington during the Revolution – and likely knew Dutch very well from his early years in the West Indies. And I wanted him to actually think a little before offering to help Eliza with her French, and not have him hurt her feelings in making the suggestion.

So I expected this to be just a cute little moment where the two discuss languages, but then they pretty much hijacked my brain and insisted on supplying several paragraphs of them making out like two horny twenty-something-year-olds. Because that is what they were at this point in their lives. And in doing so they introduced a third language into the moment – the language of love. ;)

[terramythos]

I beat Prey yesterday! here are the general thoughts i scribbled down. 

i thought the opening was super strong. When you break the glass on the apartment window? *chef's kiss*

i’ve never played system shock 2 but understand this is heavily influenced by it. I've played Bioshock though so I did pick up on some of the similarities by proxy.

generally I liked combat. In the first half it's pretty tense and survival horror-y and there's certainly a difficulty curve. I liked using limited resources and thinking up creative solutions to problems. 

However, most stuff became trivial halfway through. The shotgun is just busted after a couple upgrades. Once you know a surefire way to deal with each enemy type, the game gets pretty easy. from what I understand the difficulty settings do not affect this much (I played on normal). You can make the game more tedious, but not necessarily harder.

i wish there were more horror elements in the mid to late game. There are some genuinely great jump scares early on but they're basically gone past a certain point.

main quest in general was a treadmill of “go to point a, do x thing, oh no something stopped you from doing x thing, you need to go to point y and do b thing so you can go back and do x thing”. kind of disappointing; it mostly served as a way to get around and find more interesting stuff (with a few exceptions). i liked the side quests more. 

the voice acting was great. In particular, Benedict Wong's performance as Alex stuck out to me.

the visual and world design was fantastic, too. I think its impressive that Talos I had a unifying design but each area still felt distinct.

visually the Looking Glass stuff was super cool. I think that Arkane developed this with the time travel Dishonored 2 mission and it was cool there too.

there's an impressive amount of extra flavor. All of the art, audio logs, emails, books, and even the ability to explore a bit in space. Just cool details that helped make it all feel real and believable. It adds a lot.

i wanted neuromods to be more like the plasmids in bioshock. While they are the same thing story-wise, in game they function as a talent tree. And some just don’t make sense. Like... how would jamming 4 neuromods in my eye make me physically better at lifting stuff? Why is it an incremental skill I have to invest in 3 times? This makes a little more sense with the Typhon powers since those are basically magic, but not the Human ones.

the ending and some of the mid story is clearly rushed, although I'm glad there's more stuff after the credits.

despite the underwhelming endings (pre credits) I do think the developers put an impressive amount of thought into the circumstances various playthroughs would have surrounding them. I looked it up and there's a boggling number of variations on what's basically two endings.

startlingly few bugs! Just some clipping stuff for me, mostly.

there were some cool small details. I like that if you go someplace before the main story officially tells you to, January will act surprised that you knew ahead of time to go there for the next step. This only happened to me once (on accident), but I imagine it's fun for replays.  

SPOILER THOUGHTS BELOW THE CUT 

LOVE the meta commentary on identity and autonomy in video games. Morgan is a little different between each reset in the early simulation, even though theoretically that shouldn't be possible. Characters constantly compare you to the Morgan they knew, whatever that means to them. Morgan the player character is a silent protagonist. Morgan the narrative character has several audio and video logs from their past and multiple robots with their voice. More broadly, each player will play a video game differently, even if they make similar choices. So is any playable character the same person between playthroughs? Is the player character narratively that person, or are they simply a vehicle that reflects what the player wants? It's no "would you kindly" but it's still interesting. 

in theory i like the Nightmare. kind of a pyramid head type thing but more random. however there’s little incentive to defeat it and it’s easy to avoid, so it turned into a “wait for a 3 min timer to count down” simulator. also, if you accidentally spawn it in certain areas it can WRECK your ending (though it’s easy to reload). 

so the Big Twist hints were pretty heavy handed. I figured it out early. It occurred to me after the first level that if the tutorial was a simulation, anything could be, and that was basically the big twisterino. Stuff like January saying "well good thing you're not an alien" in a super ironic tone of voice made me laugh out loud. Also, I did the Obvious Bad Ending for shits and giggles and it spoiled the whole thing. Really wish it had just cut to black since you can access it early. This potentially ruins any shock value for a lot of people.

on some level I like that the ending explains away certain "plot holes". Probably the most obvious is Morgan not remembering any of their past, which is... not how the neuromod memory loss works. But of course they wouldn't remember it, because the player is a Typhon going through a simulation, not the real Morgan.

you can also view the ending from the perspective of humans desperately trying to convince an alien they're worth saving, despite some "bad actors" (read: war crimes in space). Hence the sometimes on-the-nose moral choices and optional side quests. Even the fact that Morgan and Alex are characterized as total assholes in the past-- yet Alex in game and post credits is gentle and compassionate. Perhaps Alex in real life is trying to atone for his mistakes?

i kept expecting mirrors to be relevant? The Phantoms whisper about "what you see in the mirror", promo material shows Morgan looking at themself in the mirror, the Looking Glass tech, and the fact that mirrors are all over the place and DO NOT actually reflect Morgan. Which isn't a technical limitation since the Looking Glass is a whole thing. There's the whole mirror neuron thing but that's such a tiny line of dialogue I'm not sure it matters. Have to wonder if this was a story concept that got cut. 

in a similar vein to "crap Phantoms say", there's a minor human character who just... says a bunch of Phantom lines in a row once you complete a quest. He’s seemingly unaware that he's echoing them. What was the purpose of this? Was this an abandoned plot thread? 

why wasn't Dahl a bigger part of the story? or Alex and Morgan's parents? I assume it's due to a time crunch, but it just feels like a missed opportunity.

small detail: I love that one of the main story quests has you fake someone's voice using audio logs, and someone MUCH later uses the same trick against you.

another small detail which I missed: flying out to the space billboard to get an early horror twist about the fucking escape pods. there are lots of little things like that all over the place. 

[americangodstalk]

Hi! I was watching the interview where Mr. Gaiman says that Technical Boy had previous incarnations (Telegraph Boy, Telephone Boy, etc) but when he mentions Television Boy, for some reason it doesn't make sense to me. I mean, isn't Media supposed to be the television goddess? Or at least in a past incarnation she was the one with that title? Hope you have a good day/night! ♥️

Well, actually no it makes sense. 

First element: one has to split the book and the television series. In the book, Media is the goddess of television yes, while the Technical Boy is the god of computers. The “players” and “tv people” of the book represent television and cinema, fame and celebrity, popular movies and shows. The “techies” represent technology, all the new innovations and gadgets. (The first ones have a stronghold at Hollywood, the second in the Silicon Valley). 

The television series highlighted this concept and expanded/modified it slightly, given technology and media have changed in our modern era.

Media is the goddess of media in itself. She is a goddess of television, of cinema, of radio, of newspaper - but she is actually the goddess of their content, not of the tools themselves. Media is all about fame, celebrities, advertisement, rumors, urban legends, movie tropes, sitcom codes, etc... Technical Boy is here however a god of technology. Overall, each of his incarnations represent what is the highest and most-cutting edge technology of an era, as well as the most omnipresent and powerful one. 

As a result there could very well have been a Television Boy - as the god of television itself, of the machine, the device, not of the content itself. Media explains that the television screen is just the “altar” with which people worship her. She is not the television, she merely uses it to get her worship. She also mentions in the television series that smartphones are one of her new altars - she does not depend on the screening device, she is rather what these devices show. On the contrary, Technical Boy is those device. When the smartphones appeared, his old incarnation got scrapped so that a new one would appear. 

Now, to answer you more precisely, how come there could be a Television Boy and a Media at the same time? (Also, remember that this is just an element Neil said in an interview as an exemple. We don’t know if it is part of the show’s lore, and as long as it hasn’t been aired or filmed it technically isn’t canon, this is just pure fan theory over unofficial content)

When you retrace Technical Boy’s incarnations chronology, you realize that “Television Boy” would have appeared between “Telephone Boy” and this mysterious other incarnations that I personally call “Game Boy” (I wish I would know how they had planned to call him... ah those deleted scenes drive me crazy). We know Telephone Boy was around during the 30s and 40s, we saw him on screen in this era. A study and list of all the video game consoles present in the deleted scene of “fat-Tech Boy” - I still have screenshots of BTS on this blog - reveal that all of his “games” come from the 1980s and 1990s (or at least got their glory time there). So one would roughly put Television Boy between the 50s and the 70s. Which fits actualy chronology if we consider the real world:

(Again, rememebr Technical Boy is an American god, so the chronology of technology in Europe for exemple doesn’t matter - we need to focus on when this technology came over to America). The first generation of home consoles for video games appeared in the mid-70s, followed very rapidly by a second generation in the late 70s-early 80s. This seems to have been roughly the “birth” of “Game Boy”, “Fat Technical Boy”, “Video Game Boy”, whatever one wants to call him (if we had the official name it would be far easier...) Now, when did television became prevalent in the USA. One should note it seems that an incarnation of TB only appears when one specific technology becomes widespread and more favored than others. Indeed, television knew a high rise after World War II - before, there were 44 000 television sets in American homes for 40 million radios. But starting with 1948 the demand for televisions became massive and overwhelming - and the 50s was also the era when the first television in color appeared. This was probably when Television Boy was birthed (if he ever existed in the show continuity of course). So, Television Boy existed roughly between the 50s and the 70s. 

In this era I wouldn’t say that television was considered a tool of “culture”. Because that’s what Media is, the goddess of pop culture. Note that in the first television series she doesn’t take the appearance of a Youtuber, or of memes, but rather of movie stars and old sitcoms. She represents those things that had time to implant themselves inside people’s minds to the point they are considered part of the “cultural landscape”. When television was the new fad, no one thought it would be considered part of a larger pop of culture, and this dignity was still associated with “noble” mediums such as the cinema or the radio, serious and respected mediums that were on since several decades. Media would need a bit more time to get control over television - she would need to wait until television was respected as everyone’s source of entertainment and information, as the main thing to trust and watch when you are bored. [In a similar way, Media didn’t get a hold or control of Internet per se during the 2000s when they developped, it was still under the grip of Technical Boy - one had to wait the late 2010s, when Internet became the main source of information and entertainment, for Media to evolve into New Media, and for Technical Boy to be replaced.]

I don’t know if this answer was very clear... but this is how and why I would say Television Boy and Media could coexist (Media in the 50s being probably still a goddess of cinema, radio and newspaper, not yet of television, since no “television culture” existed then. But as soon as this “television culture” was built, she definitively got a hand on it.]

[thatsgay-writes]

Glimmer x Reader Part 4

Summary: You were born different and not everyone was okay with that. After the death of your father, Bright Moon is the last place you can attempt to call home.

Warnings: Light cursing?

The next few weeks you spent with Glimmer and trying to find a foot hold in your relationship. You and Glimmer had also decided to keep it on the down low for a while so you both could figure things out. Glimmer and Adora's friendship was fixed quickly after Adora apologized and told why she cornered you with Bow. Adora didn't even know of your uniqueness when she cornered you and had no idea that that was a reason Bow was trying to stop you and Glimmer from happening. "You have... a what?... Wow... No Bow didn't tell me that... I am so sorry guys if I had known that was the reason I wouldn't have joined him." Glimmer and Adora's friendship was fixed after that and you gained a new training partner, she even let you fight She-ra sometimes. Things with Bow were different...

For the first week, Bow went to stay with his fathers. Out of shame or embarrassment, you didnt know but it felt good to not have to worry about him glaring at you or anything. When he did come back, however, everything was tense. On the days were Queen Angella made everyone (Adora, Glimmer, Bow and you) eat dinner together, Glimmer wouldn't speak. Queen Angella could tell something was wrong but she wasn't sure what. She tried to talk to Glimmer about it but Glimmer didn't tell her anything. The first person you both fully came out to was your mom, Adora had known since she apologized but you and Glimmer hadn't specifically stated it.

The reason you and Glimmer came out to your mother first was because she had known about your uniqueness for your whole life and Queen Angella still hadn't asked you about it after the village leader came looking for you. Your mother, of course, was fine with your relationship. Her only worry was Glimmer's social status and what would happen if people found out. But Glimmer reassured your mother that no matter what, she would stand by your side and make sure you were safe. You thought that that was funny since you were technically her personal guard but it also made your heart melt at how passionate she was about keeping you safe. Telling Queen Angela, you were scared out of your mind. You knew Glimmer wasn't exactly seeking her mom's acceptance about your relationship but you knew it would play a big factor in your relationship with them and their relationship with each other.

*Flashback Start*

"Come in!" Angella said from her throne. You opened the door and held it for Glimmer,  who gave you a nod as a thanks. "Glimmer? What a pleasant surprise. What do you need?" (I feel like Glimmer never visits her mom in the throne room) Glimmer rubs her hands together nervously and you put a hand on her shoulder to try and calm her down. "Well... I... Umm..." Angella looks at Glimmer in concern, "Are you okay? Did something happen? Is this about Bow, you both have been acting weird around each other lately." "I'm fine... More than fine, something did happen and... Bow and I aren't on the best terms right now but that's not what I came to discuss." Angella nods her head in understand, urging Glimmer to continue. "Well, mom you see... There is this person... I'velikedforawhileandwehavebeentogetherforawhileandIthoughtIshouldtellyou..."

Angella looks confused, "Glimmer you must slow down when speaking, I have no idea what you just said." Glimmer looks even more nervous now and freezes. You roll your eyes before speaking, "Queen Angella, I have very strong feelings for your daughter and we have been together for a few weeks." Queen Angella is silent for a bit, which makes you think you over stepped and that scared you. "Well, I certainly did not expect this but never the less, I have known your parents since before you were born and if you are anything like them, which you are, then you are the perfect fit for my daughter. I am happy you both are happy." Glimmer's smile is super wide and she starts jumping up and down a little. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" You smile at Glimmer's excitement and look back at Queen Angella when she clears her throat. "And about y/n's difference..." You got scared. "I am completely okay with it and you both can decide if or when you want to tell the people of Bright Moon about it." Now it was your turn to get a giant smile on your face. In your excitement you pick up Glimmer in a hug and spin her around some before putting her down. "But... What happened between you and Bow?"

*Flashback End*

"Today's the day... Are you ready? Got a level head?" Glimmer nods her head at your question. "Yep, first things first is to forgive Bow after he has been doing literally everything to make up to me the past few weeks. And then after we start rebuilding the Princess Alliance." You nod your head at Glimmer's short checklist. "Are you sure you want me to come, I don't think Bow likes me that much. Especially now that we are together." You tried to make a joke but it was true, you didn't think Bow liked you before but now its probably worse. Glimmer gives you a smile and grabs your hand. "I want you by my side..." You smile back at her and lead her out the room.

The air is thick in the war room, it was just so awkward. Especially since Bow had walked in on you and Glimmer mid make out. After a couple of seconds of silence, Bow speaks up. "I can never say sorry enough for my actions. When I went to my dads for a week, we had a long conversation about what I did and why. I realized I should have never let my jealousy control my actions. I deeply apologize to both of you for the pain I caused and any other things that I caused." You and Glimmer both look at each other for a moment, talking to each other through your eyes before looking back at Bow. "We both forgive you but our friendship won't go back to what it was for a while. Your actions really hurt me and my chance with the person I like and almost messed up my friendship with Adora. Luckily everything went positive, which made it easier to forgive but just please never do that again." Bow nods his head fast in understanding and stands up to hug Glimmer. Glimmer hugs back with a smile, glad that she and Bow are going to be okay, before thinking of what was happening before Bow came. Glimmer releases from the hug before grabbing your hand. "Y/n and I need to go we have some... unfinished business we need to take care of." Glimmer says as she bites her lip and drags you out the room, with a blush on your face. Bow is confused for a second before remembering what he walked in on. "Oh... eww!"

PREVIOUS