#returning to an old sketch to line and colour it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thelightsandtheroses · 1 year

Text

Secret Smile: Checks and Balances (Chapter Three)

Secret Smile | Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: Before returning to Colombia to get things right this time, Javi’s childhood best friend asks him to keep an eye out for his sister while they’re both stationed in the embassy. Only you don’t need Javier to keep an eye you her. Your role as a new legal advisor is all about keeping an eye on him after all. Sparks fly, lines will be drawn and broken and there’s everything to lose. Word Count: 3.4k Chapter Warnings: 18+ blog, language, mentions of alcohol, reader has a nickname (Blue) but no physical descriptors used. Author Notes - Thank you for all your comments, reblogs so far - they mean a lot. As always your comments and feedback are deeply appreciated, I’d love to know what you think of the chapter and fic so far. There is a Narcos Easter Egg in this chapter and if anyone catches it, please please let me know by sending me a comment or ask - I am super curious to see if anyone notices it. The gorgeous banner is by @/wildemaven

Chapter Two| Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

If ten years ago you had told your younger self that you’d be working with Javier Peña to bring down a cartel while you were living in Colombia, you would have laughed.

You would have laughed a lot at the sheer absurdity of it all.

You might, however, have thought how great that scenario could be. While Javier was always your brother’s friend and not yours, ten years ago you liked him and would have thought that he’d make a good colleague. He was smart, he was funny and he didn’t make you feel awful every time Rafa also drove you to the mall at the weekend like most of Rafa’s friends did. His other friends acted like there was decades between you rather than just a few years.

If Javier actually wanted you here with him, was open to working with you, perhaps things would be different. It might even feel more like you could have imagined it would.

He doesn’t want you here though; it’s clear he doesn’t want anyone in this role, but also that somehow it’s worse for him that it’s you.

You ended yesterday with a tentative peace but it feels so unsteady, so easily broken.

None of this is what you anticipated when you took this job. You were supposed to be escaping a difficult work environment by leaving the country in the first place. What you had told your friends was an adventure, an experience you needed to have while you still could, is actually turning out to just be a repeat of the same old challenges in a different setting.

The coffee and food’s pretty good though. You wonder if it’s worth it just for that.

Your coffee pot hisses on the gas stove as you make your way up to the kitchen to finish making breakfast. You barely slept last night so you’ve already been up for some time and are planning on getting into the office early.

Your apartment is one of the many the embassy provides for its staff. It’s plain and the furnishings are basic, but you’re comfortable here. You’re based on the ground floor, so you don’t have to worry about the stairs. The main living area walls are a little faded now and the paint colour falls somewhere between orange and peach. The apartment is surprisingly spacious though, however after living in such a small apartment in DC it could just be your perception.

You’ve tried to make it your own by swapping the two dog related sketches hanging in the hall that you couldn’t any make sense of with photos of your loved ones instead. You have a lot of questions for the person who lived here before. Were they dog people? Was it an inside joke perhaps?

If you could stop tripping on the split level, this place would probably be perfect.

The few personal touches you’ve either bought from DC or in your first week in Colombia have helped make it feel homely though. The patterned comforter on the faded leather couch, a few photos of friends and family scattered around, several orchids you fell in love with and foolishly thought would be easy to keep alive.

You take a large gulp of your coffee and take a bite of your eggs, turning the radio on while you finish eating.

You freeze as you hear the newsreader’s words, abandoning your breakfast instantly, before picking up your handbag and walking straight out of your apartment.

This is going to be a mess.

You’re already in Javier’s office when he arrives, sitting cross legged on the black Chesterfield couch, scanning through a file.

You had arrived at the embassy an hour earlier than you usually would. Most people were still at home or on their way in and you were looking forward to the quiet. You’d made a beeline for your office to get ahead of what had happened but Robert, one of the other lawyers, was also already in and you didn’t want him hearing everything.

You went to Javi’s office instead. Thankfully one of the janitors let you in and you had started building a response plan immediately.

This situation with Duffy and Lopez could definitely become the sort of mess you needed to help manage.

You look around at the papers strewn on his desk and you are slightly impressed by the amount of chaos you’ve caused in less than an hour.

Javi looks decidedly irritated by the scene in front of him. You quickly untangle yourself off your seat and stand up, guiltily picking your cup of coffee off his desk.

“Is this a treat I can expect every morning?” he asks lightly.

“Well, the early bird does catch the worm, Javier.”

“Apparently so.” For a second, he sounds so familiar. This isn’t the Agent Peña you met in the ambassador’s office yesterday. This is Javi, Rafael’s best friend. This is the same Javi who waited outside your school with Rafael when you were being bullied and the three of you would walk back to your house together. There’s mischief in his voice and for a second, he sounds younger.

You can’t get lost in memories now though.

”Did you hear about Duffy and Lopez?” you ask, skipping straight to the reason you’re here in his office.

Javier nods, runs a hand through his hair. “It was on the radio as I drove in.”

“I’ve been on the phone already, that’s uh, why I used your office. Robert’s already in mine and I needed privacy. They’re furious, Javi. Please tell me that they notified the police in Cali this was happening. Please?”

“It was a fast-moving opportunity,” he says, wincing at the way your face darkens. “They didn’t. They wouldn’t. Historically we’ve also had issues with that sort of thing, people in other people’s pockets so - this is just how it goes. You’ll learn that along the way.”

“Shit. Okay, we can - we’ll uh, we’ll deal with it. It’s done, can’t change it now. I’ve got some ideas, it’s manageable.”

“So, what do we do here then, Blue? You gonna help me navigate this?” You raise your eyebrows at Javi’s tone. There’s annoyance in his tone but he says your nickname softly. He looks exhausted already, as though he’s been stationed here for a decade as opposed to a day. Perhaps that’s not so far from the truth though. He’s been here before, he spent years here.

“Why else would I be here?” you ask flatly. “I didn’t even get to finish my breakfast this morning. There’s a meeting - actually, you have a meeting in just over an hour with the Colombians and the ambassador. We need to be ready for it. You need to be ready for it, Javi.”

“So, we what? What’s the play? You said you had some ideas, I’ll all ears.”

“I think Duffy and Lopez’s visas are guaranteed to be pulled at this point. That’s probably non-negotiable. I think you’ll have to eat some humble pie, same with the ambassador but that should be enough. It’s the principle, they want to make it clear to both you and the ambassador that they’re running things, not us, okay?”

Javi exhales heavily. “Do you have a cigarette?”

“I don’t smoke. Much. More socially than anything. Rarely.”

Javi raises an eyebrow at you.

“I mean that I don’t have any on me.” You look at Javi’s dejected face. “I’m sorry!”

“This is going to be a great day, isn’t it?”

You smile widely. “That’s more like it, Javi. Keep up that winning attitude!”

Javi walks into your office later that afternoon. After helping him prepare for the meeting with the Ambassador and Vargas, you’ve been pulled into your own meetings, handing off projects you’d started before you were allotted this special assignment.

Several of your colleagues look up at him with a range of expressions from curiosity and admiration to annoyance. Everyone else is packing up for the end of their day but you’re still at your desk. At first you weren’t sure what you were waiting for but now you know.

He looks dejected. That’s the first thing you see. It’s as though all of the air has been sucked out of him; he’s flat. Even his eyes look lifeless somehow.; they’re dull, colder even.

You’ve never seen him like this before; you remember him so differently. He was driven and ambitious, yes, but there wasn’t this visible weight pulling him down. His smile met his eyes back then.

At least, that’s how you remember him.

Javi loosens his tie a little as he leans against your desk; you look at his tie, it’s blue and gold today.

“Rough meeting?” you ask politely, picking your coffee cup up and taking a delicate sip.

“They’re not letting me replace my team in Cali,” he says in a low voice, “Did you know about this? Was this one of your ideas>”

“Oh.”

“Look, it’s bad enough Duffy and Lopez are out. I get why, I’m okay with it. They’re telling me I can’t send any other agents out there though? How do I do my job because I’ve been back less than a week and my agents are questioning me already. Are you gonna help me navigate me that? That’s what I need from you.”

“I’m sure there are reasons,” you say gently. If Javi says the word ‘navigate’ one more time, you think you might kick him, or slap him, or spill your coffee on him. No, no, you wouldn’t waste your coffee, even if it is bad quality.

“Yeah, the reason is that they don’t want any of this. You do realise what you’re here for, don’t you? This assignment, what they want from you … it’s to block me.“

You scowl. “I’m not blocking anyone, Javier. I’m just here to help and to ensure everything is by the books, watertight so that we have a strong case when we extradite them.”

“You actually believe that?” he asks, an incredulous expression on his face.

You falter slightly. You did believe that - you want to continue to believe that, but if you’re honest you’re not so sure anymore.

“I do,” you say, smiling tightly.

“By the book. You think they’re playing by the book? Do you know how all the checks and balances work down here? The Cali cartel are negotiating a surrender with no consequences. It’s a negotiation where they have all the bargaining power, that seem right to you?”

“You can’t pretend that rules don’t matter, that checks and balances are irrelevant. It’s not how it works.”

“I didn’t say that,” Javi says, shaking his head.

Rules matter to you. It might sound uptight and inflexible, but there’s a system for a reason. Your whole career has been about upholding standards, about ensuring that justice is obtained when rules are broken. You’re not quite as evangelical about it as some of the people you went to law school with, but this matters to you.

It matters because you know what it’s like when those checks and balances don’t matter; when rules are taken as loose guidance or stretched and exploited until they break. You carry those invisible scars from DC, coupled with the complete sense of failure that the rules hadn’t mattered. Not in that scenario, not when it what came to it.

Maybe Javi’s right.

“It’ll be by the book,” Javi says gently, looking at you with all of his attention. “But I can’t guarantee they’re out there doing the same thing.”

He’s standing so close to you right now. You can smell the sharp mint on his breath, either gum or those tiny solid mints you get a tin. You’re not sure which it is; which one of the two is most like Javi anymore. The mint is clearly to mask something, not alcohol, but you can just about make out lingering traces of cigarette smoke following him too.

“What do you mean?” you ask, a growing sense of dread constricting around your stomach like vines.

“What do you know about what’s happened in Yumbo?” he asks in a low voice.

There’s a small TV in the office. The local news plays in the background; the calm intonations of the newsreader fading into white noise.

You look over to see footage of Cali and walk closer so you can hear the report. This is the tragedy Javi told you about.

The cause was a gas leak?

No, because Javi told you that the journalist who approached him had indicated it was the Cali cartel. Why would the inspector say this though?

You left DC for a reason. For many reasons actually. If there is one thing that would affect you it’s a cover up, it’s deliberately concealing the truth. You can’t take watching a miscarriage of justice before you; that’s not why you got into law.

Javi’s right. The Rodriguez brothers, all of them, they need to be held to account, to justice.

You don’t want to be the blocker; you don’t want to be the person bought in to stop justice being served. You thought this role would be about ensuring a watertight case, one that would get justice.

No. No, this is not what you signed up for. This is not what you were promised.

Javi’s right about something else too - you’re naive. It surprises you. You thought the years of legal work, of life experience would have altered that, but clearly it hasn’t.

It’s time to change things.

You neatly stack the paperwork and lock it in your desk, before sweeping your Filofax and assorted pens into your handbag.

You need a plan.

You need to find a way to fix this.

You remind him of home.

Laredo hasn’t felt like home in years, but it transpires you can’t escape your hometown. Javi laughs bitterly; turns out that he can’t even escape his hometown more than two thousand miles away.

It’s not that home is Laredo. You don’t just remind him of there; you remind him of who he was before. Before the DEA, before Escobar, hell before Lorraine even.

It’s unspeakably cruel that you’re the one who has been bought in to ruin his chances of getting this one right.

Talking to Stechner in the bar made it clear; he’s here as decoration. Agent Peña; the man who helped bring down Escobar and will therefore add weight to the legitimacy of these negotiations. There’ll be no police work, no actual justice.

If there were any justice in the world, Javier, you’d be in jail.

Stechner’s words haunt him, continually replay in his mind. That whole exchange rendered Javi too much like his old self. Less than forty-eight hours in Colombia and he’d started smoking again, slept with an intern, all his plans lay in ash.

It became worse when he spoke to Martinez after the meeting about Duffy and Lopez. Martinez made it clear that he’d helped create this problem.

Javi lights a cigarette, moves from the couch to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

This is such a fucking mess already.

He’s taken aback by the sound of someone knocking on the door. Automatically he grabs his sidearm from the coffee table, holding it low as he moves to the front door.

“Javi?” a familiar voice asks.

Javi opens the door, placing his gun down on the hallway table.

“Really?” you ask, watching the scene from the doorway with raised eyebrows.

“How’d you know where I live?” he asks, returning to the doorway and tapping his fingers on top of the door jamb as he leans against the doorframe.

“I may have access to paperwork,” you say, a slightly shifty expression on your face. “They have a few of the attachés housed in this building, I think.”

“That is kind of creepy, Blue. Just turning up like this and looking at paperwork and -”

“Shut up. Please shut up.”

“If I just turned up -”

“I’m leaving,” you say, lips pursed together with annoyance or frustration.

Javi smiles in spite of himself, reaches out to touch your arm. He can smell your perfume; crisp and bright. Citrus and sharp notes rather than the softer vanilla and gourmand perfumes he’s used to. It suits you.

“It’s fine.”

He holds the door open for you, lets you walk right into his apartment. He notices how you scan the space around you, brush imaginary dust off your clothes.

You’ve changed since the office; you’re dressed more casually. A loose t-shirt with a band logo, jeans and sandals. You look younger, more how he remembers you. He’d always been Rafa’s friend, not yours, but sometimes you’d talk to him when he was waiting for Rafa or if you bumped into him in town.

You used to be like that; friendly. Your childhood nickname of Blue was a reference to the flowers you loved as a child, and it wasn’t just bluebonnets, it was any flowers at one point. It was a misnomer though, a joke on a joke, because you’d never seemed morose when you were young. You were always cheerful, optimistic, almost unfailingly positive. Even now, Javi sees that brightness in you, a little duller, a little dampened by time. It’s still there though, shining through layers of bureaucracy.

“So, what’s going on?” he asks. He wonders if you’ve heard about him sending that agent and his partner to Cali, if you’ve come all this way to admonish him.

He braces himself for the criticism, for the scolding at breaching processes, at not telling you. He had to do something though.

“You were right.”

Javi doesn’t skip a beat, manages to hide his surprise. “Obviously. So, you came all this way to tell me that?”

“I -”

“What was I right about again, cariño?” he asks, aiming for lazy disinterest but genuinely curious.

“They want me to block you. They’re working on the surrender and the gas thing - they just covered it up, Javi. People died. Children died, and hundreds got sick and it’s just swept under the carpet? The Cali cartel face no consequences for this? I - they just surrender and no one knows?”

Javi doesn’t say anything. He’s not entirely sure what your play is, if you’re testing him or if what you are saying is genuine.

You look wrecked though; he can see the frustration and despair in your eyes, a familiar expression he’s faced in the mirror more than once since he joined the DEA.

It’s real. It’s real, or you’re the best damn actress he’s ever met.

“You must hate me.”

“Nah, not really. It’s - maybe I need someone to help keep me in the lines.” If he had had you a few years ago, maybe Cali wouldn’t be in the same place right now. Martinez’ words earlier, the way he looked at Javi, repeat again and again in his mind.

When you sell your soul to the devil, you’re not allowed to ask for it back.

Javi needs to stop the Cali cartel, to arrest the godfathers, to prove it can be done and that justice, justice will matter. He thinks it might be the only way he’ll know peace right now. He’s trying, he’s trying so fucking hard to make it right this time.

If they let him. Hell, if you let him. They even chose a ghost from home to be the person who’s there to block him, stop him. Javi swears it’s deliberate.

“What did you say earlier? Checks and balances matter. That’s right too.”

“Oh, because I’ve been thinking and it’s all fucked up. I think we need to still - people need to see them in handcuffs, through the system, that’s what’s needed.”

“Okay,” Javi says, unsure of where you’re taking this, certain he’s misunderstanding the message between your words.

“And it does matter, doing this right does matter. You and me, we make this watertight, by the book, but we have to get them, Javi. We have to get them.”

Tag List

Secret Smile tag-list: @pedgeitopascal @sullyosully @catsickyellow @spishsstuff @casa-boiardi @living-for-jesus-and-telenovelas @pastelnap @babeincolor @iamskyereads

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa

If you want to be added to (or removed from) one of the tag lists, let me know or you can get notifications for @thelightsandtheroses-fics if you prefer. If you do not have an age or age range showing you are over 18, I will not add you to this list. I block ageless and blank blogs.

#javier peña x female reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier Peña #javier pena #javi peña x reader #javi peña #javi peña x you #javi pena x reader #narcos fanfiction #*secret smile

132 notes · View notes

light-yaers · 2 years

Text

Maroon.

Masterlist | AO3 | Ko-Fi

Cassian wasn’t like the others. He was like the red clay beneath the white salt on Crait outpost. He was maroon, and he used to be yours.

Or: the time you and Cassian met, up until the Battle of Scarif.

Warnings: major character death [follows Rogue One: A Star Wars Story], grief, trauma, implied sexual content, masses of angst.

A/N: I will just say that I think this is the saddest thing I’ve ever written. Also-- I do attempt to say something in Kenari in this work. I got it by combining Portuguese and Spanish words. It’s not real Kenari. It’s just the best attempt I had.

Word Count: 10k+

maroon.

Red.

That’s the only colour you can see now. Sketched upon every surface, splattered on every flight suit, hidden beneath every fingernail.

You see it so often now that the entire world seems red. The sky had an ominous haze to it, foggy, with a sickly shade of pink that resembles evaporated blood; sucked up by the clouds; preparing to rain down upon all that you find holy.

Cassian sees it too, but in different ways.

His red is made up of Ferrix bricks, and the clay that makes up Rix Road. The maroon tinge of grease on his palms, the luminescence of the whiskey that Maarva used to love, B2EMO’s distinctive paint job.

He described them all so well that you could imagine everything so vividly. Often times, you found yourself spacing out on perimeter searches and ground missions, mapping out the Ferrix roads and Bix’s section of scrapyard inside your head.

He didn’t tell everyone about his life.

You were special, in that sense.

It had been a while, you knew that, since he’d left his home. For a few months, he worked closely with a higher-up— Luthen Rael— until his expertise was needed elsewhere.

The more time passed, the more savvy the Empire got when it came to double agents. Luthen was under a constant watchful eye now, too far gone to try and bite back against the thumb that he so callously lived beneath.

It just wasn’t worth it; for him; or for Cassian.

You were there when they dropped him off on base; an outpost on Crait. There was nothing much there, bar the salty taste of the air and the vast wasteland.

But, there was red. Red everywhere. The clay that lay beneath the thick, ice-like layer of salt that covered the planet, exposed by footsteps and tank wheels and X-wing take-offs.

So. Much. Red.

And then, there was Cassian.

He jumped off the lander hesitantly, strength lined his shoulders and jaw. All he held was a bag of personal belongings, and the eyes of someone who had seen too much, too far, for how old he was.

But, he still hadn’t seen salvation. None of you had.

“Lieutenant,” your commander said, jumping off the ship behind Cassian. You nodded at him on approach, not yet acknowledging the unknown rebel.

“Commander. Glad you made it back safely,” you said respectfully.

“Almost didn’t, but—,” he smacked his hand on Cassian’s shoulder, alerting you to each other. “Andor here got us out of an Imperial mess,”

You regarded him then, taking in the complexity of his gaze. “You’re a pilot?” you chided.

“Anything that can run, I can fly,”

“You’ll fit right in,” you smiled, and Cassian’s shoulders instantly relaxed. You stuck your hand out to him in proper greeting. He smacked his palm against yours, shaking your hand softly in return.

“Lieutenant,” Cassian said.

“Andor,” you replied.

You were one step closer to friends.

Being on a planet such as this left you with free time— the worst disease you could ever want when in the rebellion. Free time meant suffering souls. Free time meant overthinking.

Cassian was in briefings. Having not been on base before, he was subjected to different training. Security, what to do in the event of an attack or ambush, dormitory regulations and the like.

A few hours after greeting him, you were in the landing bay, going over the mechanic rounds for the fifth time. You’d got so bored that you’d taken to memorising the mechanic teams shift rotations. You were in communications, a Lieutenant, but when things were stale it often left you lonely.

“Lieutenant,” your commander called, but you were so zoned out you hardly heard. “C-26!” he boomed, prompting you to drop your data pad abruptly. It crashed to the floor, a few buttons pinging off and rolling in all directions.

You internally cursed.

“Commander,” you turned to him, noticing Cassian behind him as you did.

“I know things are dry. Show the new recruit around, will you? The escape routes, the fire doors, the dormitory building,”

You saluted him, gaining back some of your composure. “Yes, Sir,”

He left as soon as he’d arrived, leaving Cassian and you in the landing bay alone. As soon as he was gone, you instantly relaxed, letting out muttered curses beneath your breath as you dropped to the floor, looking for stray data pad parts.

“He’s a real stick in the mud,” Cassian spoke first, peering down at you as you scrambled on the floor.

“He’s a very good commander. You’ll learn that with more time here,” you snapped, annoyed more at yourself than at Cassian. He huffed behind you, amused.

“Is it always this… quiet?”

“No. This is abnormal,” you admitted, standing up and assessing the data pad parts in your palm. “Luthen’s off the radar, you know?”

Cassian nodded gravely.

“It was getting too hot,”

“What work did you do with him?” you asked, trying to be as unbothered as possible, but Cassian immediately stumbled.

“Why do you want to know?”

You laughed, a belly chuckle. “This isn’t some random planet, Andor. Nor a back alley. This is the rebellion. We share here. We’re on the right side of the war,”

Maybe this was a test. Your own secret one to assess him. To work him out. To see what game he was playing. Everyone did it, even if you were all on the same team.

Cassian regarded you quizzically, trying to work you out.

“You already know,” he replied. You smiled. He’d caught on immediately.

“Aldhani. That’s a feat,”

“So I’m told,”

“You were there. No point in pushing away congratulations from the rebellion. You deserve it—,”

“No, I don’t,” he cut over you, stiff as a board, as hard as steel. His gaze had turned soured, his eyes stone cold.

Silence descended the landing bay. You reattached the buttons on your data pad quickly, the clicks of metal upon metal clanging throughout the empty bay.

“Come on. There’s much to see,” you said finally. The two of you started the tour of the outpost.

He never mentioned home, never mentioned Maarva or Bix or Ferrix, in the first few months. Only after you’d been assigned a few dual missions, scouting patrols, being a pilot and comm unit, did he finally open up.

You did, too.

“My mother is from Sorgan,” you said gently, five hours into an eight-hour perimeter scout.

It was customary to split up tasks on the outpost. It wasn’t like other rebel bases. There weren’t masses of cadets around to borrow.

“She never liked grey. Only greens, and blues, and the oranges of the sunset. My father was from Yavin. Same greens, same trees, but completely different ways of living. She moved there for him, uprooted her small village life because she fell in love as soon as she saw him,”

You loved talking about your parents.

You missed them. They were some of the first to join the Alliance, and some of the first to die. You were raised with rebellion in your blood, brought up by your godparents and moved from base to base with them.

Crait outpost was their attempt at keeping you safe, but all it did was drive you insane. Why someone such as Cassian was here, you didn’t know— it was effectively a ghost town now, with no more than one hundred officials on base, and only acting as a secure link for meetings to take place, or for transport missions.

“They were rebels?” Cassian asked, sat in front of you and piloting the ship. The space was small, compact, and your flight suits were stuffy, but this was the only time you felt free.

Shoved in a tiny ship, scouting the outer atmosphere of a planet that you knew like the back of your hand— but you were in the sky, dotted amongst the stars. You craved this.

“Yes. They died rebels, too,” you said it quickly, getting it out of the way. All rebels had lost someone; maybe everyone; who was close to them. It was customary.

“And now, you will finish what they started,” Cassian said, no hint of falseness in his voice.

You glanced to your left, catching his reflection in the control console. It was the only way you could see each other sat like this. His reflection was wobbled, warped, but you still got to see his eyes.

You sort of loved them, really, over the months you’d got to know them with increasing intensity.

“That’s the plan,” you leaned back in your seat.

The urge to say what about you? was overwhelming, but you bit on your tongue. Getting personal was not obligatory. Being more than acquaintances was less normal than this, but you opened up because this felt different.

Cassian felt different.

You swallowed through the silence, through the cogs whirring in Cassian’s brain.

Until they finally clicked.

“I had a mother. She wasn’t my real mother, but she was as good as. She was all I ever knew,” he started, and you breathed out slowly as relief washed over you.

This went two ways.

Good.

“Maarva was the bravest person in the galaxy. That’s not an exaggeration, it’s the truth. A daughter of Ferrix. Died with honour. She protected me through it all,” he listed off everything he wanted, recalling small details and going on tangents whenever he pleased.

You listened intently, laughing at his funny stories, envisioning the copper streets of Ferrix.

“I was a pain in her ass, I knew it. From age fourteen I was scaling over the wall in the scrapyard to find Bix. We were just kids,”

“Was there something more?” this is the first time you properly interjected. He perked his eyebrow up at you in the console reflection.

You squinted back at him, amused.

“Come on. A man like you has to have some broken hearts behind him,” you let out, smiling uncontrollably. He does the same.

“For a little while, yes,” he admitted.

“Knew it,” you muttered, and Cassian leaned forward slightly. Maybe he was embarrassed. Maybe he was shocked, because you read him so easily.

A silence descended across the tiny cockpit, encasing you both in a feeling of knowing. Knowing each other, knowing the stars in the sky, maybe even knowing that all of this was temporary; probably.

“When I left Ferrix for the last time, I put her on a ship with Brasso, Bee, some others,” Cassian continued slowly, leaning back in his chair and letting out a sigh. “I promised I’d find her,”

He hadn’t.

“There’s still time,” you said strongly, meaning every word.

You knew Cassian well enough by now to know that, when he put his mind to something, more often than not he ended up succeeding. It’d been a long time since he’d left Ferrix; many moons had passed and grown and disappeared in that time; but not Cassian’s love for Bix.

Not his allegiance to justice, or the rebellion. Not his skill and brash nature and overly annoying attempts at getting you to laugh during meetings with General Mon Mothma or other higher-ups.

You meant every word, every breath. If he tried to, now, he would find his family again.

“My time is for the rebellion, now,” he replied finally, sending you a soft smile into the console reflection. “Wherever they are, they’re safer without me,”

There was nothing you could say to make it better, nothing you could offer to give him even a shred of hope when you knew it was pointless. He was here, and they were elsewhere; that was the way he wanted it, as much as it pained him.

You remembered that perimeter search well. You dwelled on it often, mostly when Cassian was off world for missions and you weren’t in contact; or when he was pissing you off to oblivion that you wanted to blast him between the eyes.

But, upon every landing; every return to Crait that he graced you with; his hugs got even tighter.

When the Death Star hit Alderaan, he was away. You fretted, you cried in private, worried for his safety and whether the Empire would hit his planet next. But, when he returned, you were the first to sprint out to his ship.

He dropped himself from the cockpit, skipping over the last two ladder rungs, and almost tripping upon landing, as he scrambled to you— sprinting, full pelt, directly towards each other.

He dropped his helmet to the ground, unbothered, before you embraced with an unceremonious smack into each other.

“Thank the stars,” you whispered, only loud enough for him to hear. He laughed, but it wasn’t full of comedy; it was relief filled.

“Did you miss me?” He squeezed you harder.

“Shut up, Cassian.” You squeezed him harder right back, until you were just two rebels, standing in an almost empty landing bay, clutching onto the other like he was the very air that you needed to breathe.

On base, you would work around each other in the way giggling school kids would. He would come to the comms rooms just to ask you one question, before hitting you with a joke on his way out. You’d head to the Admiral’s quarters with a message to deliver, only to be hit by Cassian’s gleaming gaze as you entered the room.

He was higher-up than you, a Captain, hot shit. But he never looked down on you; not ever.

“Captain Andor,” you announced. He stood up straight from his position, leaned down, next to the Admiral.

“Lieutenant, how can I help?” He smiled at you jokingly. When formalities came into play, he loved chalking it up, making it worse. Purely because neither of you were like it behind closed doors.

“I’ve intercepted a relay from a close-by Destroyer. I think it’ll interest you to listen, considering we had a tip from someone on a planet close by about the defector,”

The Defector. An Imperial pilot that randomly decided to join the side of the rebellion. He’d been the talk of the Alliance since Alderaan had been hit.

“Good work, Lieutenant,” Cassian started rounding the circular table that separated you. “Tell me everything you’ve heard,” he stopped to peer down at you, smile on his face, before the two of you left for communications.

It wasn’t long after that when he left again. On another mission, out amongst the stars while you played the housewife, fixing the same coolant compartments over, and over again, and trying not to go crazy. You could count on one hand the months that you and Cassian had known each other, but that didn’t stop either of you from falling into the trap—

The trap of care and concern. In the rebellion, it was the worst trap of them all.

Against protocol, Cassian sent you message relays this time. Maybe it was due to everything feeling less stable, everything going to shit. The Death Star was in full flight; citizens were at war with their own minds, worrying about whether they’d be the next planet to be destroyed by the power of a dying star.

Jedha City, that’s where we’re going. Saw Gerrara is close, as is the defector. I’m with someone who’s very valuable to the cause, someone who can get us close to Gerrara. I’m safe. I miss you.

You read them at night, over, and over again. Every crumb and speck of communication that he could muster or even allow.

Jedha City, that’s where he, K-2SO, and this mystery helper were. His written words allowed you to imagine him, surrounded by sand, by the wind, by the ruins of old temples and all that sandstone that made up the planet, and the city itself— alone, yes— but also being him.

Cassian was brave, Cassian was fearless. He was born to be a rebel, and, despite his troubled upbringing, he was still kind. That was a good sign of his character.

“C-26,” your commander approached you one morning. You were alone in comms, choosing to stay during breakfast to get more done. The quiet was the only place where you weren’t reminded of Cassian. “A word?”

“Of course, Sir,” you swivelled on your chair to peer up at him.

“We just received news,” he started, but the tone of his voice shifted immediately. Your heart dropped. “Jedha City has been hit by the Death Star,”

Words couldn’t describe the jolt that slashed its way through your entire body.

“We haven’t received word from Andor or Kay-Two, but due to their mission parameters, their location was on world—,”

“Stop,” you let out harshly, trying to come to terms with the words he was saying. He stopped when you asked, standing up straight as he waited for you to reply. “You think they didn’t make it out, is that what you’re saying?”

“I just want you to prepare for the worst,” he replied sullenly. “That’s what I’m saying, C-26. I know you and Andor are close,”

“That’s irrelevant—,”

“No, it’s not,” he said strongly, taking you by surprise. “I’ve been at this outpost with you for close to two years, seen you when you’re bored stiff and wondering what the hell your purpose is,” you listened to his every word. “As soon as Cassian showed up, that all changed, don’t deny it,”

“I’m not,” you said defensively, standing up abruptly to face him, but there was part of you that had completely shut down.

This wasn’t the time where you needed someone else to confirm just how close you and Cassian were. This wasn’t the time where you needed someone to drill into you about the extent of your lonely, prior life on this outpost— only gleaming brighter after his very arrival.

You needed to raise your guard and focus on your breathing and not spill your guts all over the floor by your commander’s feet.

“We’ll find out in a few hours,” he added, finally. “Feel free to take some time.”

“With all due respect, Commander, I’d rather be so busy that my fingers go numb than sit in the silence of the landing bay and wait for him to come home.”

He nodded at you, taken aback by the power laced between your words.

“As you wish,” he said, softer this time. “Back to work, then, C-26,” he gulped after speaking, like he didn’t want to have the formality of it all right now. Not while you were tensing every muscle in your body to stop yourself from screaming, and he could see that pain written all over your face.

“Yes, Sir,” you breathed out as you sat back down, swivelling yourself back towards your screens. Your fingers got to work, and your commander disappeared once more.

You stayed at your desk for eighteen hours straight. You looked up images of the Death Star hitting Jedha City. You reached out to other bases to see if they had any updates themselves. You scanned the skies with radar until the clockwise motion of the visuals had fucked up your eyes for the night.

When you dozed, dreams finally took you.

You and Cassian are on a forest planet, somewhere that looks like Yavin and Sorgan combined. He looks younger, almost, less stressed by his years as a rebel. His clothes are clean. Gently, he turns to you as you both stroll through the lush greenery, sticking out his hand for you to take.

“Come,” he urges, as you slip your hand into his grasp. When he smiles, it’s like nothing can ever be wrong with the world. “I have to show you something,”

You follow him as he leads you to a clearing; large and built from limestone. It’s moss covered, dazzling in the sun rays as the vibrant green lights up the entire clearing. It’s soft, it’s warm, and you have Cassian’s hand in your own— there is nothing that could have made you happier.

“Here,” he says, tugging you forward with more excitement. You squeal as you stumble into him, but he simply repositions himself and holds you to his chest warmly.

You both look out over the horizon. You’re at the top of a cliff; steep and deadly should you fall; but quiet and beautiful where you’re stood. You see mountains on the horizon, snow-capped and covered by a subtle fog. The sun is setting as you breathe in sync, as Cassian gently drops his cheek onto the top of your head.

“This view,” he says. “This view reminds me of you,” you watch in silence, a warmth cascading through your gut, as the sky changes to a glowing red. “The colour red reminds me of you. Maroon, burgundy, whatever shade, it doesn’t matter. When I see something red, I think of you, wherever I am in the galaxy,”

You peer up at him, eyes glassy with emotion. “Red reminds me of you, too,” you admit. “The red of Ferrix bricks. The clay that makes up Rix Road. The maroon tinge of grease on your palms,” you pick up his hand softly, but it is spotless. “The luminescence of the whiskey that Maarva used to love. Bee’s paint job,” you list everything one by one, certain that you’re thinking on the spot, but there is an odd sense of Deja vu that falls over you.

Gently, smiling, he takes your chin into his hand, resting his thumb just below your bottom lip. His eyes skim every feature on your desperate face, every wrinkle and bump and scar and bruise. The sign of a rebel is etched on your skin, while he is completely perfect. The small scar above his eyebrow is gone. The collection of dirt stains from clay don’t litter his face.

He is perfect, but not his usual perfect. He is perfect in aesthetic ways, not in the ways that make Cassian; Cassian.

You suck in a breath as he starts to lean forward, softly, gently, your gut lurching within your body with the desire to absolutely crumble against the feel of his lips on your own.

“The red of the Death Star ray,” he whispers, just an inch from your face.

“What?” you gasp suddenly, tugging away ever so slightly.

“You remind me of that red, too,” he smiles at you so genuinely that you feel sick. “The red of the Death Star. The red of the Death Star that killed me,”

“Cassian—,” you stutter, pulling away from him. He’s still smiling, and you feel like you might vomit your guts upon the forest floor at any moment. “No,” you find your words. “You’re not my Cassian,”

“Here it is, now,” he says, turning back to the horizon. The sunset that once faced the sky has now been replaced— by an explosion the size of a small moon. Debris already litters the crater, as the impact of the ray heads in every direction on the planet.

You look at him, distraught, but he’s in some kind of trance.

“Look at that,” he breathes out, before turning back to you. “What a beautiful way to die.”

You woke up to beeping. Incessant and shrill, you shot up in your chair as you realised what had happened. You’d fallen asleep at your desk, drifted into dreams that were unable to replicate Cassian in person. Quickly, you shut off your systems. When the beeping stopped, you leaned back in your chair and tried not to think about how your fingers were shaking, how your heart was beating out of your chest.

Inhale. Shake. Exhale. Shake. Inhale. Shake. Exhale. Cry.

You wiped away a stray tear, not wanting your own subconscious to be your downfall. You wouldn’t let it, wouldn’t let it show. He had to be alive, somewhere out there, he had to still be completing this mission.

What a beautiful way to die.

You switched off the light by your desk, knowing it was time to call it a day. You wouldn’t be of help if you were sleep deprived. Hoisting yourself from your chair, you left communications glumly. Your back clicked when you stretched yourself out.

The bays were empty. You had no idea what time it was, but from the quiet of the outpost, you guessed everyone was in their dorms. Gently, you placed your hand on one of the X-wings in the bay. It was customary for pilots to swipe the noses of their ships before take-off, just for good luck, just for the hell of it.

You always oddly loved the way Cassian did it. Before every perimeter search or recon mission, the methodical way he so delicately placed his hand and dragged it against the smooth metal of his ship reminded you of the soft way he draped his arm around others; around you.

Oh, Maker, please let him be alive.

Back in your dorm, you didn’t sleep— but you still dreamt. You dreamt of him, of the real Cassian, not the one that had infiltrated your mind beforehand.

In the morning, a knock woke you from your dozing. As the door wooshed up, you were hit with the face of your commander. You saluted him immediately, standing to attention.

“Sir,”

“At ease,” he said breathlessly. He’d run all the way here. “There’s a call for you,”

“Sir?” you let out, but he was already smiling.

“It’s Cassian.”

The two of you sprinted to the control room, hearts in your throats. Your commander was older, but not by much. Your godparents had placed you under his command for a reason, and you knew this was one of those times. His softness was needed, as too was his formality and allegiance to the rebellion as a whole.

He cared; and that’s what mattered in the long run.

You rounded the corner to the control room and almost stumbled, but he grabbed your waist before you could trip. “Come on. He’s on the General’s frequency,”

The General’s frequency? This was a line solely reserved for Alliance Generals to talk to one another undisturbed. This was unheard of; Cassian was a Captain; you were a Lieutenant.

As you passed the control table, you slowed your breathing. A comm headset sat atop a desk, just waiting for you. Your commander stayed behind you, filling the room with a calmer energy. “Go on, C-26,” he urged, and you almost burst out laughing; from relief.

You peered back at him, sending him the softest smile you had within you. He reciprocated in full.

“I’ll leave you be,” he decided, before stepping back slowly. When the thud of his boots disappeared down the corridor, you finally allowed yourself to pick up the headset.

You slipped it on, feeling the pump of blood in your ears and the incessant beat of your heart as you prayed to the Maker. Then, you clicked the relay button.

“Cassian?” You whispered pathetically, but there was no other way around how you felt.

“Meu korazon,” his voice trickled over you like honey, in some language that you couldn’t identify. He’d called you it many times before—it was a long time joke that he never told you what it meant, but you still felt warm whenever the name cascaded over you. The relief in his tone is what got to you the most.

“What does that mean?” you asked, on the brink of tears. Cassian chuckled; it was a sound you loved.

“Nothing,” he let out, changing his tone. “I’m just happy to hear your voice. Meu korazon,” he repeated. You shut your eyes, trying not to utterly explode into tears. You’d never felt more relieved in your life, never been happier to hear someone’s voice.

“Where are you?”

“Yavin 4. We got off Jedha in time, just before the planet was destroyed,”

“We?”

“Me, Kay, and some stragglers we’ve picked up. The defector is with us, and two protectors of the temple from Jedha. And—,” he stopped, sucking in a deep breath. “Jyn Erso,”

“Erso?” You let out instinctually. Everyone knew of Galen Erso, Imperial weapons designer, the man responsible for the fucking Death Star.

“It’s complicated, not something that I can explain over a comm relay,” he admitted, and your heart sank. You knew things were escalating, knew missions were in place. You waited for orders to rally every single day, knowing that it was only a matter of time before a strike occurred on the Death Star.

“Are you coming back?” You whispered. “To Crait,”

He went silent for a moment, and you knew what his answer would be.

“No, I’m not,” he let out. Your heart broke, the blood rushed to your head. “You’re coming to Yavin 4 instead.”

The shuttle came for you as soon as possible. Your commander had set it up without question, knowing that it was time for you to get involved elsewhere. This wasn’t just about Cassian; it was about you. You packed in record speed, bringing the limited items that you owned and fitting them in one bag alone.

Before you left your dorm, you etched your name on the underside of the small desk in the corner. Others had done it too, names like Lynx 2BBY. You added yours, scribbling 0BBY next to it, knowing that you wouldn’t be coming back again. You had more purpose than this, more than working behind the scenes when you knew you were capable.

Cassian knew it too. Knew that you could do more; wanted to do more; to end this war once and for all.

You jumped on the shuttle before your commander, but he stopped by the hull door. You turned back, rucksack on your shoulder, and peered down at him. “You’re not coming, are you?” You knew. He shook his head with a small smile.

From this position, you were closer to his height now, basically the same. It felt odd, being able to look him in the eye fully; it also felt needed.

“There’s still work for me to do here,” he said finally.

It sunk in then that this might be the last time you saw him for a long time. Depending on how things went, depending on the mission at hand with Jyn Erso.

“Thank you,” you said. “For being the best commander to work beneath, and for being my friend,” you meant it.

“It’s been a pleasure,” he smiled, before saluting you once more. You saluted back strongly, before the hull door slowly rose, cutting you off from each other.

He waved as you took off, flying high above the outpost until you left the atmosphere.

You arrived at the hight of the meeting. Mon Mothma and Bail Organa were present, amongst others. The room was packed to the brim as you entered at the back, rising onto tiptoes to see better.

“There’s no choice but to retreat! The Empire will stop at nothing to ensure every base, every planet that we inhabit, is dead and gone—,”

“There’s a flaw!” A young woman spoke up, someone that you knew to be Jyn Erso. You stepped through two others, looking out into the light. The breath hitched in your throat when you saw Cassian next to her. “There’s a flaw planted specifically for this use. We need to gather a team and strike it while the iron is hot,”

“With all due respect, Gerrara and your father are dead, Erso,” Tynnra Pamlo spoke up softly, but with purpose. “How can we believe these claims? When there is so much at stake and our resources are already running so thin,”

“I can vouch for her,” Cassian stepped forward abruptly. You flinched as he did, his eyes skimming the crowd of higher-ups and rebels— until his gaze finally hit yours.

He stopped, going silent for a moment as a few sets of eyes hit yours from following his own. Jyn followed his gaze, too, and when her stare hit yours, her expression softened. Perhaps, Cassian had told her about you. He’d gone to all this trouble just to get you here; had called you over the General’s frequency to ensure that you knew he was alive and well. Had called you meu korazon, whatever that may mean.

My heart. My heart.

You smiled at her, before glancing back to Cassian.

“Go on, Captain,” Mon Mothma urged him, and the moment ended. “Continue.”

“I can vouch for Jyn,” Cassian repeated. “I was there, both on Jedha and on Eadu. I saw the hologram with my own eyes,”

“That’s all well and good, Captain, but there is no evidence. It’s been destroyed. We simply have no choice,” Vasp Vaspar chimed in, but he looked almost apologetic.

“You’re asking us to invade an Imperial installation based on nothing but hope,” Pamlo spoke up again, looking directly at Jyn. Jyn smiled sadly, strongly.

“Rebellions are built on hope.”

It wasn’t enough.

“So, it is decided,” Pamlo spoke again. “We will scatter our fleet, retreat to safer planets, hide away— until we are strong enough to fight back against their weapon,”

“No— please, Senator—,” Jyn persisted, but Pamlo held up her hand.

“All those in favour of retreating?”

The majority put their hands up. The room fell silent.

“It is done.” Pamlo left first, followed by the scattering of cadets and rebels.

You fought against the dissipating sea of people to get to him. Cassian caught your eye, pointing to the door, so you followed the rest of the gaggle back to the landing bays. Your heart was in your throat when you made it out, glancing and scanning over all the pilots, mechs, and techs that left the meeting with upset frowns on their faces.

When Cassian emerged, he pushed himself through the crowd and broke into a run immediately.

“Cassian—,” you breathed out, but the air was ripped from your lungs when he bombarded you into an embrace. He held you for a long moment, so hard that you could feel his heart as it pumped in his body, syncing up with your own. “Thank the stars,” you let out from relief; a saying that you’d said to him so many times before, on missions where he almost hadn’t made it home.

“Did you miss me, meu korazon?” He whispered, only loud enough for you to hear.

“I always miss you,” gently, he brought his hand to the back of your head, stroking your hair softly. You nuzzled your cheek into the nook between his shoulder and neck, breathing him in.

This felt different. They said that distance made the heart grow fonder, but you and Cassian weren’t like normal people. Perhaps it was the threat of death that kept you so close, the worry that one of you might never return when they left. Either way, it had come to this. You thanked the Maker for him.

When he pulled away, he raised his hand to your cheek. You smiled; before punching him in the stomach swiftly.

“Hey!” He yelped.

“How many times do I have to tell you to not die?” You exclaimed.

“I didn’t!”

“You almost did!” You pointed at him threateningly.

“But— I didn’t,” he said, straightening himself out as his surprised tone mellowed. He smirked at you, but you shot him with a look of fire.

“Don’t you dare make that face at me,”

“What face? This is just my face,”

“You know exactly what face I mean, hot shot. That little smirk,” you imitated the smirk. “Like you know everything, like you’ve just thrown an insult at me and are proud of yourself,”

“Have I ever told you that you look beautiful when you’re angry?”

You almost swallowed your tongue, stepping back and immediately feeling your ears go boiling hot at his comment. You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the way his gaze was eating you up inside. It skimmed down your body and all the way up again, divulging all your secrets within seconds.

“No, you haven’t,” you almost spat it out, knowing that the heat was growing onto your cheeks as well. “You should more often, you piece of Bantha shit,”

His smirk turned into a full grin, which then prompted chuckles to burst from his lips. You rolled your eyes at him, pissed off and flattered and wanting him all at the same time.

“I hate you, I swear,” you said through clenched teeth. A lie.

“Don’t swear it. You know you don’t hate me, meu korazon,”

“Tell me what that means,” you uncrossed your arms, stepping closer to him again. “Tell me, Cassian.”

He sucked in a deep breath, and suddenly the roles had shifted. His ears got warm; his cheeks went rouge. He kissed his teeth as he accepted this; he had to tell you the truth after so many months.

“It means—,”

“It means cooler than him,” Jyn spoke up suddenly, approaching you both gently. “Because you are definitely cooler than him,” she said, and you couldn’t help but smile. She stuck her hand out to you gently, which you took happily. “Everything he’s told me about you has been good,”

“I should hope so,” you joked, as the two of you looked back at Cassian. He looked awkward, or caught out, or both.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” his voice trailed off, as he placed his hands on his hips and looked uncomfortably around the bay.

Eventually, others gathered. You were introduced to Bodhi, the defector, a scrawny pilot with a big heart; Chirrut and Baze, the temple protectors; a few others who wanted Jyn’s plan to be set in motion. It was clear that they’d all been through a lot— Jedha, Eadu—and now their want to do something good had been denied.

Throughout the solemn chat, you stuck by Cassian’s side. At one point, he placed his hand on the small of your back, peering down at you like you were pure gold. This was the Cassian that you adored— tired, but still fighting. There was dirt on his forehead and some dark circles under his eyes, but he still looked perfect.

“I knew they wouldn’t believe you,” he said to Jyn, peering down at the floor with his hand on his hip, the other on you. Gently, you wrapped your arm around his back, too, just so he knew you were there.

Jyn stepped forward, a look like fire on her face. “Thanks for the support,” she said stubbornly. Cassian met her eye.

“But I do,” he said strongly. “We do,”

Men and women gathered, over thirty of them, all ready to stand up and fight for the cause that they believed in. When Cassian spoke, you held onto his every word. He was impossible not to listen to, impossible not to go utterly silent whenever a speech erupted itself from his mouth.

Jyn approached you and Cassian after it was decided; they would all fight.

“I’m not used to people sticking around,” Jyn smiled, a smile that you knew to be genuine. She turned to you gently.

“Welcome home,” you let out.

What ensued was a heist of epic proportions. You helped Bodhi locate a stray passenger lander, watched as he powered it up, checked the fuel gage and coolant compartment. You sat in the co-pilot seat, going through checks.

“I thought you were in communications?” Bodhi asked somewhat frantically. He had a rapid way of talking, but he was sweet.

“I am,”

“Then how do you know so much about ships? Do you pilot as well?” you scoffed at his question.

“In the Alliance, we’re all all-rounders, truthfully. But—after my parents died—I wasn’t allowed to fly anymore,” you admitted.

“Why?” you shrugged, sad whenever you remembered your godparents taking that away from you.

“My guardians when I was growing up, they just want to protect me. I just wish—I wish that they’d realise I’m good for more than this,”

“This is legendary,” Bodhi said suddenly. “Hijacking an Alliance lander, going to Scarif for the Death Star plans. This is what someone like you was made for,” you knew you’d only just met him, but your heart reached out to him.

You placed your hand on his forearm, nodding at him in appreciation.

“Thanks, Bodhi.” You smiled at him, eyes glassy.

“This is what I’ve been saying for almost a year,” Cassian’s arrival made you flinch. You swivelled around to meet his gaze, looking at him knowingly as he peered down at you proudly. “You’ve always been capable of so much more, but you’ve been held back your entire life,”

“Who are your guardians? Are they here?” Bodhi asked. You sucked in a sharp breath.

“They’re both Admirals,” you confessed. “They’re not posted in this system, they’re elsewhere, but,” you glanced back at Cassian, shooting his own smirk back at him. “What they don’t know, won’t hurt them,”

Cassian pointed at you, leaning down affectionately, and bringing his fingers to hold you by the chin. His thumb rested just below your bottom lip; just like the dream; but this was real.

“This is why I love you,” he said lowly. Bodhi turned away with an awkward smile on his face.

“Tell me what meu korazon means, you coward,”

“Not until you ask nicely,” Cassian joked, shifting his thumb ever so slightly upwards, so it was swiping against your lip. You fought the urge to smash your face onto his; he was so close, it would be easy, and he’d definitely expect it. “You’re looking at my lips, meu korazon,” he whispered, and you all too late realised that you had been staring at his mouth.

It was hard not to.

“Because I’m waiting for you to tell me what it means,” you lied.

“I’ll go find Jyn—the ship is ready to fly,” Bodhi said quickly, removing himself from the cockpit as soon as possible. Cassian laughed to himself, a knowing laugh that radiated through every pore in your body.

“I forgot he was still there, truthfully,” Cassian let out. You held your breath with embarrassment, falling into him ever so slightly.

“We’re awful people,”

“We’re only human, you can’t blame us,”

“I can, and I will blame us,” you chuckled out, bobbing your shoulders softly with built up laugher. You had to bring a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from giggling to oblivion.

“Hey,” Cassian said, annoyed suddenly. “Don’t do that,” he grabbed your hand gently and pulled it away from your mouth, holding it in his own. “I was about to kiss you, that’s just not fair,”

He swiped his thumb over your bottom lip. Your heart jolted beneath your ribcage, lurching forward so quickly that you’re surprised you didn’t kiss him as soon as his words had stopped being spoken. He was looking at you like you were gold, like you were the red of the sunset that both of you loved, the maroon clay that laid beneath the salt on Crait, where you’d both met all those months before.

“Tell me what meu korazon means, and you can kiss me all you like,” you whispered, giving him an ultimatum. He let out a soft huff, peering down at the floor as an excuse to lay his forehead on yours.

His hand wound its way onto your cheek, his thumb swiping there instead.

“You’re impossible,” he let out. You shut your eyes, feeling the strength in his arms as you laid your hands on his biceps, just to hold him as he squatted on the floor by the co-pilot chair.

“That’s why you love me,”

“I do,” you opened your eyes. “I really do,” he admitted. “My heart. It means—you’re my heart, meu korazon.”

My heart, my heart. How many times had he called you it? He’d started after a trip where his cover had been blown. He’d come home, beaten and bruised to within an inch of his life. You cared for him for days, fussing over him in the med-bay, reading him books as he lay in bed.

That’s when he’d called you it for the first time, all those months ago. Since then, you’d asked around about it. What language it could be, if anyone knew what it meant, since Cassian had been so against telling you every time you’d asked.

Now you knew why. He’d been waiting for to realise it, waiting for you to understand that you were his heart, his body, his love.

You kissed him before you lost your nerve. It felt like coming home. It was everything you’d ever wanted and more. He was soft, but you felt the fire within him. One that started in both of your guts and grew outwards, overtaking every sense and controlling your every move.

When you pulled away, you took the time to indulge in the way he looked. A deer in headlights, flushed, breathing heavily.

“If you’d told me that sooner, I would have kissed you sooner,” you let out, a few chuckles escaping alongside the words.

“We’ll just have to make up for lost time,” he smiled, holding you close.

You both stayed like that for a while, laughing subtly at the fact you’d finally done it—you and Cassian had finally told each other the truth, spilled your guts upon the floor for each other, felt the other in a way that you’d both so desperately wanted behind closed doors.

When the shuttle engine started, all of you held your breath.

“Cargo shuttle, read back, please. What’s going on out there?” the control tower spoke through the pilot comms. Jyn approached Bodhi, squatting by his side to hear better. “That ship’s off limits, no one’s supposed to be on board until further instructions,”

Bodhi clicked the relay. “Uh—yes, yes, we are. Affirmative,”

“That’s an impounded Imperial ship. What’s your call-sign, pilot?”

Bodhi looked to Jyn, stuttering over his words. You watched her mouth we have to go, while Bodhi continued to struggle with what to answer.

“Say something,” Jyn whispered, fierce. “Come on,”

Bodhi exhaled shakily. “Rogue,” he glanced around for approval. “Rogue One,”

“Rogue One? There is no Rogue one,”

K-2SO switched on the radar scanner, evidently running out of patience. “Well, there is now,”

The shuttle took off abruptly, rising into the sky as fast as Bodhi and K2 could get it off the rebel base. As soon as you left the atmosphere, you were punched into hyperspace. You stood with Cassian by the cockpit, watching the blue lights of lightspeed cover the ship windshield.

You were going into the belly of the beast, right into the enemy’s hands, but you’d never felt more part of something.

Flying through Scarif’s shield was up there as the scariest moment of your life, but still you all persisted. Cadets in the back got on their gear and checked their blasters, dusting off their helmets and preparing themselves both mentally and physically for what was about to come.

Upon landing, Cassian took you aside gently.

“I need you to stay here,” he explained. “We need someone on the ground with Bodhi while Jyn and I find the data inside. It’s too risky having more of us inside the building,”

“Okay,” you said, just so he knew you understood. Gently, he placed a communicator into your hand, wrapping your fingers around it slowly.

“For you and me. You need me, you call me,” he whispered. Once again, this was not allowed, but he was doing it for you.

All of a sudden, everything hit you all at once. He was leaving, the same way he did every time he took off from Crait outpost and went off world. He was leaving, and he may not come back this time. Really not come back this time.

You peered up at him with all your strength, widening your eyes to get across every fibre of your love for him, everything.

“Come back to me, Cassian.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he laid his hand on your cheek. “I promise,”

“Because, I swear, I’ll kill you otherwise. I really will,” you let out, stuttering over your word and trying not to crumble completely.

Cassian leant forward and kissed you simply—as if it was the most normal thing he could ever do. When he pulled away, that fucking smirk was on his face again. The one you loved to hate, but dreamt about when he wasn’t around.

“What a beautiful way to die, meu korazon.” he said.

And then, he was gone.

And all hell broke loose.

First, it was the troopers. There were so many of them, all with their blasters firing. You stayed with Bodhi in the ship while cadets fought them outside, knowing that you needed to be here for the transmission of the plans. It was essential.

Then, it was the walkers. They bombarded over the landing bays and destroyed ships and people alike. Smashing their bulking feet down upon the ground without so much as a second glance.

Chirrut and Baze were dead. You struggled to breathe.

Come on, Cassian.

Bodhi had sent distress signals to all branches of the galaxy, praying for rebels to arrive. It was a call to action, a cry for help. You needed all the help you could get, as the war raged outside and you focused on not losing your cool.

“Bodhi!” you screamed, just so he could hear you. You were sat at the secondary comms, heart in your throat at what you were hearing. The tears came faster than you could have imagined. “They’re here! They heard us!”

Above Scarif’s shield entrance, two dozen rebel ships had arrived. They were there to help, there to answer your call. Bodhi grabbed his comm immediately, knowing what to do.

“Rogue One to the Rebellion!” he yelled.

“This is Admiral Raddus to Rogue One!”

“Raddus, they have the plans. They found the Death Star plans. They have to transmit them from the communications tower! You have to take down the shield gate, it’s the only way we’re gonna get them through!” he spoke quickly, efficiently, and for a moment you allowed yourself to feel relieved.

“Pull up a hammerhead corvette—I have an idea. Stand by Rogue One, we’re on it!” Raddus replied. Bodhi bowed his head in thanks.

After the battle for the past hour, the fear of death from every trooper and walker and higher up on this godforsaken planet, you were hopeful—you were hopeful.

“This is for you, Galen,” Bodhi whispered to himself. It was go time.

“Bodhi, we need to tell Cassian—,”

“Grenade!” he yelled over you, as the tinker of metal upon the hull of the ship alerted you both to the danger.

You had seconds to live.

You did the first thing you could think of; you clipped a blaster to you hip and jumped out of the shuttle; right before it exploded and blasted into a thousand pieces. You fell onto the sand of the landing pad, covering your head and ignoring the agonising sting of burns on your back.

All around you, troopers and cadets lay dead on the floor. Debris littered the sand. The once beautiful seclusion of the bay, surrounded by swinging palm trees, had been obliterated.

And Bodhi. Bodhi lay, burning, on the hull of the destroyed and on fire wreckage of Rogue One.

It was hard to hope for the best when all you wanted to do was join him. You felt the guilt first, then the grief, then the excruciating pain of all the losses you’d endured. You knew what you’d signed up to, knew this was always inevitable, but that didn’t stop you from feeling broken.

When you moved, your skin burned. But still, you moved. You moved into the tree line, into the last of the greenery that surrounded you. You think your mother would have done the same, and your father; hidden in the foliage; made friends with the leaves as you focused on not dying.

You gulped down the pain, knowing that you needed medical attention; badly. It would have to wait.

You grabbed the communicator Cassian gave you and turned it on. You clicked the relay.

“Cassian,” you croaked. “Cassian—everyone’s dead,” you said, not even knowing if he was listening on the other end.

Static was all you were met with, until he finally replied.

“I know,” was all he said. “So is Kay-Two. But, you are alive,”

“And you,” you said bluntly, struggling to be emotive when your energy was all but gone. “I’m trapped, at the landing pads. There are walkers, and—there were troopers—Bodhi. He’s—,” you stuttered through the words, trying to hold it together.

“Use that big brain of yours,” he urged you forward. “I know you can get out, meu korazon. Through the shield gate, back to the Rebellion,”

“Not without you,” the tears came thick and fast as you realised what was happening. “Where are you, my love?” you struggled to get it out.

“We’re at the communication tower. Krennic—he got me with his blaster,” you stifled a sob. “We’re waiting now, for the shield to go down. We’re so close,”

You allowed yourself to picture the perfect outcome: Raddus manages to open the shield gate, allowing the Rebellion into the atmosphere. They blast away the last of the enemy, kill Krennic where he stands, destroy their ships and leave them marooned on the planet to rot.

You find a ship and pick up Jyn and Cassian from atop the tower. They crawl into your ship and fall to the ground, hugging, safe, while you fly them far away from this god-awful place—back home; back to Yavin 4.

You kiss Cassian a thousand times; you kiss him until your lips go numb and your belly hurts from all the laughter that he causes to burst from within you. He touches you softly and warmly, keeping you safe while also letting you roam free; the way you’ve always wanted to live.

You destroy the Death Star. You destroy the Empire, together. Alive.

“Okay,” you said, shutting your eyes and dispelling the last of your cold tears. You sucked in a shaking breath, forcing yourself to stand. “I’m finding a ship and getting off this fucking planet. And then—I’m coming back for you, Cassian. I will always come back,”

“Meu korazon, I know,”

His comms cut off. You forced yourself to move.

You blasted your way through the last trooper stragglers, going from landing pad to landing pad, looking for a ship. When you found one, you thanked the Maker within your heart. Somewhere deep down, you let yourself rejoice.

Just this once. Only for a second.

You’re working on autopilot when you entered the beat-up lander, praying that the engine is still usable. It stopped and stuttered to life, while you worked on powering up the comms systems. The static pinged abruptly, and you fiddled with the frequency knob until you could hear Admiral Raddus.

“Admiral, this is—,” you stopped. You didn’t know what to say. “I’m on landing pad four. How is the shield gate plan going?”

“Tell me your call-sign, Lieutenant,” he pushed you, replying over the static. You sat in the pilot seat, looking out the dirtied windshield.

“Rogue Two,” you made it up on the spot. It was fitting.

“Rogue Two, copy. Look at the sky,” he said knowingly.

You leaned forward, looking at the sky above. The blue haze of the shield gate had all but disappeared, after a Star Destroyer had crashed directly through it. It was still falling—in that slow motion sort of way that is both menacing and beautiful.

“They did it,” you whispered, but your comms were still on.

“The plans are being transmitted and uploaded as we speak, Rogue Two,” he announced. You thanked him, before clicking off your relay and got to piloting.

Before you could think, you took off in you ship. Quickly, you headed to the tower. If they were still up there, there was a chance that you’d be able to pick them up. You prayed, you hoped, you dreamed.

Cassian.

“Cassian,” you said over yours and his comm. “I’m in an Imperial lander, circling the tower. Where are you?”

Only static came from the communicator.

“Cassian, come in,” you urged, as tears fell from your distressed eyes.

Nothing.

“Cassian!” you shouted, you screamed, you raged.

“Rogue Two—get out of there!” Admiral Raddus exclaimed over your ship comm. “They’re here. The Death Star is here,”

You ceased to breathe. On the horizon, you saw it. Hulking, large, a sickly shade of grey and the size of a fucking planet as it loomed over everything. It covered the sun, casting a shadow over the entire planet.

“Rogue Two, that’s an order!” another voice came over your comms, but it wasn’t Raddus. “Don’t you dare disobey your commander,”

“Commander?” you replied, eyes still glued to the horizon as you circled the tower for a third time.

“The shield gate is down. Leave the atmosphere, Rogue Two. Now,” he pleaded, and you wanted to rip the control console before you. You wanted to destroy every scrap of metal, every bolt, every button, and scanner that resided in this grim ship.

You only wanted him. You needed him.

“I can’t, Sir,” you croaked.

“Yes, you can,” he urged. You could picture his face, concerned and worried and on the brink of a meltdown in his X-wing, up in the stars. “Yes, you can!” he exclaimed again, shouting at you full pelt.

With every wasted second, the Death Star was gaining power and would soon blow. It would destroy the planet in minutes, seconds. Immediately.

“Please,” he let out. “You have so much more to do in this life.”

You grimaced when you left the tower, heading for the upper atmosphere. You could see the collection of rebel ships, above the destroyed shield gate. Admiral Raddus, Bail Organa, your commander. They were all here—they’d all responded and helped.

You didn’t say a word as you entered space, letting the darkness encase you. You ignored the stars; the stars weren’t the same without him here. They would never be.

You blocked out the frantic comm relays from your ears. Something about Vader himself, something about the plans still uploading—nothing about Cassian. You turned off your comms altogether; you would follow the rebels back to base when you saw them jump into hyperspace; but this time was for you and Cassian.

Picking up your communicator, you looked down at the planet beneath you. Somewhere, Cassian was still down there. Jyn was still down there.

“Cassian,” you tried again, hating the sound of the static after each word. “Cassian,” your voice wobbled, your tears started to fall again. “My love, I need you. You said, if I needed you, to call you. I’m calling you, Cassian. I need you,”

The air shifted when the Death Star fired on Scarif.

You watched in horror as the initial blast slowly erupted, crumbling the crust of the planet as if it were nothing but a piece of paper that had been stabbed by a sharp lead pencil.

“Do you see it, meu korazon?” Cassian’s voice croaked over the comm. You almost vomited up your heart. “The colour of the sky. It’s red, but still soft. It reminds me of you,”

You bit away the want to scream.

“Describe it to me,”

“The skies used to look like this when I was a boy—on Kenari. They were so soft, so red, casting a glow over our forests and reflecting off the waxy leaves that we used to build our homes,” his voice was beautiful. You memorised every syllable and note and croak that he could muster. “My sister would clap at the sunset, every night. It happened so fast. One minute, the sky was still blue, the next a pale pink, and then—you,”

“Me?” you sniffed through your tears. You couldn’t see properly.

“You. That shade of maroon, the deep kind. The kind that warms you. The kind that I see whenever I close my eyes. You,”

The explosion was spreading fast, forcing the water from the vast ocean of the planet in all directions.

“Where are you, my love?” you asked. You wished you hadn’t.

“On the beach, meu korazon. It’s beautiful. I’m with Jyn,”

“Good,” your voice shook.

The first of the rebel ships flew into hyperspace around you. Time was up.

“Cassian,” you wobbled. “I love you,”

“I know,” he said, huffing slightly. “I’ve loved you since you dropped that data pad and scrambled on the floor to pick up the buttons,”

“Meu korazon,” you stuttered out.

“Meu koraz—,” the communicator went dead.

All you could hear was static, the ugly kind, the kind that made you want to vomit up your heart and use it to drive the ship home.

“Cassian?” you shut your eyes, feeling every muscle in your body give up. The air was ripped from your lungs. “Cassian!” you let out a scream so shrill it could’ve curdled cream.

Below you, the last of the planet was being destroyed. The crust crumbled like breadcrumbs, scattering out into the stars, while the core lay slowly dying. The light of a dying planet—it was maroon.

Just like him.

Admiral Raddus’ ship blasted into hyperspace quickly, so you had no choice but to follow. There were only a few ships left now, including the looming Star Destroyer on the horizon that you knew wasn’t the ally.

You blinked away your tears, punching your ship into hyperspace as you collapsed onto the console. You wept, you cried so badly that your throat went red raw. The communicator was flush in your palm, cutting off the blood circulation and turning your knuckles white all the while.

You could no longer dream.

When you returned to base, you didn’t speak for four days. You went back to work, helping Mon Mothma with a statement and planning the first stages of the attack on the Death Star. Despite doing it without words, Mon Mothma still chose to rank you up.

Captain. You were a Captain now, just like he was.

“Congratulations, Captain,” your commander approached you in the comms room. You were alone, but you preferred it that way. He was staying on Yavin 4 until rebels were needed at Crait once again.

He saluted you, and you silently laughed, allowing yourself a small smile.

“How does it feel, hm?” he sat next to you, smiling at you sullenly.

You said nothing, still not comfortable with the sound of your voice after you listened to it for so long—screaming, wailing—a few days prior. It made you feel sick.

When you didn’t reply, your commander shuffled to find something in his pocket. “I thought I’d bring these for you. He was always leaving his stuff around, you know? His dorm was next to mine, and it was gross,”

Gently, he dangled Cassian’s dog tags before you. He never wore them, there was no point when he was always on recon missions. It would be a dead giveaway. You sucked in a deep breath as he slowly lowered them into your palms. They were cold, freezing cold, like they’d been left in the snow for days. You instinctually warmed them with your fingers. Turning them over, you read his name.

Captain Cassian Andor.

You were speechless, and not just because you’d decided not to talk for days on end. There were no words that would be thanks enough for what your commander had just given you. You had nothing of Cassian’s, nothing to remember him by, until now.

Gently, you skimmed your fingers over the metal over and over again, furrowing your brows when the tears started to well behind your eyes.

You looked up at your commander. “Thank you,” it burst from your lips, a coarse whisper, but words, nonetheless. He smiled.

“There she is. I was starting to miss her,” he said fondly.

He left you to have some time, smiling as he exited the communication bay. You exhaled shakily as you finally put them around your neck. They were cold when you shoved them beneath your shirt, resting them over your heart.

This was the Alliance. The Rebellion. And Cassian had fought valiantly for what he believed in. An excellent pilot, a stellar fighter, the man you loved and who loved you back. It seemed only fitting that he would return to the sky, where he came from.

Scattered amongst the stars forevermore.

Meu korazon.

278 notes · View notes

steampaul · 9 months

Text

i've started a little series of weekly posts documenting every MoC i made (digitally) over the last few years:

Week 9: 2022

some old MoCs returning, lego art, 90th anniversary toa team, video game stuff and more Rock Raiders (yay)

this one will be the penultimate week.

remember back in week 2 (2018) where i tested out the differences in rendering between stud.io 1 and 2? i tested out the mecabricks extention for Blender to render some digital bricks.

this took way too long to setup and render, so i decided to not use blender for rendering after that (escpecially after the win11 updated fucked with my graphics card)

another mandalorian s2 set MoC. din djarins N1 starfighter, based on the last N1 set we had back in 2015. i think these proportions aren't good, but a bit better than the official set. (its still too big though)

the Horizon: forbidden west set was also teased/revealed around that time, so i decided to make a diorama with just the watcher (and one with a corrupted one) that would be a bit more managable in both cost and size than the tallneck.

i still got the tallneck, becauce those robot dinos are cool as hell and i want to support video game based sets, even though i am a big supporter of the concept that LEGO should make more original themes instead of big and expensive licensed sets (like rivendell....)

some greebles inspired by the ones on the Icons (formerly master builder) "theme" of sets, also my header image for tumblr.

back in 2017 (week one) i made The Slugcat Portrait mosaic, and i decided in 2022 that i would remake it to be more in line with the way i would built with bricks at that time. i think i improved wuite a bit.

i like the 90 years of play tahu, even if his design was considered to be controversial, so i decided to make the full 2001 set lineup for bionicle. i think they turned out pretty good, but i find it a bit annoying that the maccaroni piece does not exist in tan or medium blue (a dicontinued colour)

anyone remeber Valley? the momentum-based FPS platformer? no? it wasn't really mind-blowing, but i still enjoyed the movement and flow of the game. i also always wanted to try out the Legoland Miniland style of character building. this was the perfect opportunity to combine both of these things.

i think the proportions might be a bit off, but i still like this little desk friend

someone asked me on twitter to send them the instructions for my marble machine MoC (as seen in week 7), but i didn't want to give them such and outdated build, so i re-designed it to be more up to date.

they ended up giving me about 14 $ for these instructions, which made me pretty happy.

i tried to make a micro-scale version of the exo-force set 7701 Grand Titan. i really dislike the way this one turned out.

Lego Ideas had yet another contest. this one was about designing a poster for the then new 21334 Jazz Quartet. i called this one "Golden Sounds" and it is the first mosaic-type MoC that i made where i first sketched it out to kinda figure out how i wanted it to look.

i like the way this one turned out, but i think i should've built it in such a way that the colours in the background wouldn't be as dim.

remember last week when i said i wanted to make more Rock raiders MoCs? turns out i did. a lot too.

this VTOL-style transport vehicle was kinda inspired by those industrial transport helicopters and was supposed to be some sort of reimagining of 4980 tunnel transport. i think it's a bit too clunky and a bit too skinny at the same time. not my favourite.

also there's a modular open container (is that what they're called?) that can be fixed under the vehicle. (as well as the room container that you'll see next)

Modular bases are so cool you guys. this one is inspired by 4990 Rock Raiders HQ and those big old moving platforms Nasa uses. it could be controlled with a motor, has a removable cockpit (with an access hatch) and the platform has a lot of room for modules. like the crystal refinery, the room container, the high platforms, the crane and the crane attachment holder.

here are a few variants for the room container: an artifact storage with workbench, a small break room and a laboratory. i like those and i might do more in some time in the future. idk yet.

my take on the rock monsters. some crystal infested/energized Fauna.

first some bipedal designs (the left one is a modded version of a deviant form an eternals sets) that could be more agressive carnivore types.

in the middle are some quadrupedal guys that could be a bit less agressive and even friendly. Left is a modded version of my SCP 860 creature from week 4 (which was based on either an legendary beast from Chima or a dragon from elves) and the right one is a recolour from the fluffy-tailed Hog from my satisfactory series from week 3

and lastly, some insectoid designs, a kind of beetly creature and two ants, one of them with wings. these could be some sort of neutral (like in minecraft) swarm that might be a problem for buildings and cocky miners.

this is probably my favourite of my Rock Raiders Builds from 2022. it's 4920 rapid rider built with modern pieces that has been overtaken by the energy crytals. it can be fully freed from crystal and reassebled, which is nice.

we'll see another rapid rider next week...

first week last week final week

#lego #lego moc #lego minecraft #the mandalorian #horizon zero dawn #rain world #valley #wintergatan #marble machine #exo-force #lego jazz quartet #90th anniversary tahu #rock raiders

7 notes · View notes

realcatalina · 11 months

Note

opinions on this portrait of mary rose tudor? it just popped up on my pinterest feed and i'm intrigued about its validity.

link: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/878272364816871434/

It's actually drawing by Holbein of Mary I. The other Mary Tudor.

It's in Royal Collection Trust(and on their webpage it looks trooly peach...idk why) and it is very real.

Question is, are any of Holbein's sketches correctly identified? ...Well, the big labels come from centuries later. However they are based upon 16th century labels.

During 16th century a courtier who met these people personally...(I believe it was somebody of name Cheyne...but i am not certain. Don't quote me on this.) had labelled some of Holbein's sketches in his own hand. He didn't have access to all of them.

But he marked them in pencil and thus unfortunately most of them rubbed off over the centuries, though in few it is still visible!

For example Lady Rich(in that part of background I didn't colour):

(Holbein also left some some writings within his sketches on occasion, and marks to know what colours to use later...)

Hence we consider these labels to be truthful...Of course we cannot rule out that somebody played with them...but we hope it is not the case.

However, Mary's sketch...is recognizably her.

It matches other portraits...it's just that part of her nose and one of her brows has rubbed off-why you can't tell immediately...and even the highlighted parts(possibly done in ink) are now quite hard to spot properly.

This is engraving(that's why it's flipped) by Wenceslaus Hollar, probably based upon finished painting:

(By the way he totally downplayed size of pearls on her necklace).

But gives us a clue as to the possible shape of pendant...I think it is this one:

Or very similiar one. By the way at some point it seems somebody labelled it as Catherine Howard:

But the fabric of gable hood twists almost exactly as in the sketch...and rest is good match to either Holbein's drawing or Hollar's engraving.

This is same drawing after I highlighted the more visible lines:

However, I am not 100% certain i got the tip of upper veil(at top of head) correct, I am having trouble determining exact shape of pearls on left of the neck(upper strand).

And mainly the shape of the golden pendant in middle. Either Holbein moved it and it partially shows...or it had some edge and lines are now blurred.

...But despite all this. It's still so good, a skilled artist could recreate the portrait. You'd just need to use those engraving to look at the pattern of frontlets...and look at other portraits of Mary to look at shape of her nose and other brow...

You could do it. ...If you chose to do it without hands.

Entire lower part of drawing is very rubbed off...But I have spend considerable amount of time trying to figure out what was there...looking at it under different filters and such...

But it never ended up looking good.

My digital attempt after I gave up on hands:

(back when I didn't yet realise I should highlight the lines first.)

By the way...neither Hollar nor that other engraving overexagerate the breasts...in the drawing you can definitely recognize the shape if you focus on it in closeup. But back then it wasn't considered provocative or indecent.

Royal Collection Trust thinks the drawing was done after Mary returned to her father's favour in 1537.

Well, Holbein was in England firstly in 1526/27(Mary would be 10-11 years old, hence way too young for this). And then from 1532 onward to his death in 1543. It's unlikely that Mary would be painted during Anne Boleyn's reign in 1533-1536.

However I heard recently Catherine of Aragon had some jewelry designed by Holbein in 1532. If she had authority over such things at that time...Mary could equally be painted at the time. And she'd be 16.

Hence Mary's drawing should be either from 1532 or 1537-1543.

In theory you should be able to tell from these parts of gable hood, if it is closer to 1533 or closer to 1537:

(Smaller in 1537, bigger and sticking to side more in 1533). Here, i am not confident enough to say either way.Coudl be that part rubbed off...but idk.

Enough information?

#tudor history #mary i of england #hans holbein

8 notes · View notes

sophieswundergarten · 1 year

Text

People talk about SQ going on a villain arc, but personally I've always thought he'd be more likely to just shut himself away for a while

He'd fall off the map, become a recluse not because he's trying to hide from his father, or his uncle for that matter, but because he's so confused and mixed up and lost he isn't thinking clearly

He finds an empty old house, one in a little town somewhere in the middle of nowhere, that he can live in. It's in much worse condition than Mr. Benedict's, and he gets to stay because he does farm chores for the nearby people who own the property

A quiet town. No one questions why this boy appeared, and as he keeps to himself no one bothers him

He comes into the general store sometimes, or maybe the hardware store. Buying basic necessities, repair materials, and asking sometimes strange questions with obvious answers in an embarrassed way

Every now and again, he stops by the pet store. Buying a small bird or two and an obscene amount of birdseed

He becomes known as a lonely artist, a mysterious figure the adults ignore for the most part and the children whisper about. He doesn't pay either reaction any mind

SQ's house is full of art

Colour splashed across the floor, tiny vines and butterflies covering the shutters, vibrant shades all over the fan blades. He etches painstakingly accurate bird footprints on every windowsill, sketches large diagrams of feathers and bird wings across most of the walls, because, who's there to tell him no?

He tries to teach himself to whittle, and there are many mishapen lumps of woods that vaguely resemble birds lined up on the back porch. (He knows they're terrible, but he can't bring himself to throw them away. He feels too guilty, after all, he's the one who brought them into existence. If he won't love them, who will?)

And he has a lot of birds. Some were wild ones he befriended, leaving food and nesting material out until they felt comfortable enough to rest in the rafters, flying in and out of the near-always open windows. Some were bird he saw, either sitting in a cage when they had no business to be, or wandering the park looking half frightened and confused. Birds that people had captured from their natural homes and probably smuggled, hoping to pass them off in a small enough town where no one would notice. Some were birds that had been "released" by their previous owners; left to wander an environment that was not their own and to fend for themselves when they'd been raised domesticated

It's these last few he feels for the most. It's not fair, he thinks. There's no one to take care of them, and it isn't their fault they were forced into a situation like this. At some point, someone had hurt them. Had taken advantage of their innocent nature, and it left some scarred.l

Some physically, like the ones who needed their wings splinted, or had lasting limps, or sometimes were even half blind. And sometimes mentally, like those that still shrank back from his touch after months of rehabilitation, or had missing patches of feathers, or would hiss instead of sing

And so he became known as sort of a wild artist. Someone who seemed to know everything about art and birds and the forest, but occasionally could be seen asking how microwaves worked or whether he would have to pay for checking books out of the small local library (He always returned them in perfect condition)

And, eventually, after he's had some time to think, he calls his uncle. He isn't sure how to contact his dad, but he isn't really surprised to hear the two are living together again. They're twins, after all

And so he tells them where he is, tells them that he wants to talk, wants to understand. And to his surprise, they come to him. And they offer apologies, and answers both

While the kids marvel at the birds and his art and the small collection of poetry and naturalist books he's been slowly building up as he shows them around, the adults confer on what it best to do

And he thinks that, if it's offered, he'd like to go back with them. But he isn't sure. And he's still caught off guard when they ask

#I don't know #Rambly stuff that would definitely not be legal but it's MBS Universe and I am having a really good time imagining the legal systems #Sometimes they're super strict #And sometimes I just pretend they don't exist #But really #I don't think SQ would get angry #And I'm not saying you guys who give him a villain arc are bad!!!!#(Connie you KNOW I love your AU)#But personally #I've kind of thought he'd be the kind of person to just quietly shut down and process #Whether that's on his own or with Mr. Benedict #And I think the big thing would be teaching him not to internalize all of that as his fault somehow #Maybe that's me projecting #Also I was thinking about Big Fish and Benny and Joon and IQ and those kinds of movies while writing this out #Specifically about the type of house I was imagining I guess #Except it backs up to a huge forest #(They're all good movies by the way I think they're very interesting)#But #Yeah #Enjoy more garbage from my brain #the mysterious benedict society #mbs #sq pedalian

7 notes · View notes

mandalorianbrainweasel · 5 months

Text

Commission Information

Can also be found here if tumblr doesn't glitch it for the fifth time.

As said, Tumblr is glitching like hell. But! I need to get money for surgery and I feel weird about asking for money with nothing in return so...Commissions!

I do standard commissions, art nouveau style commissions, and a few different niche commissions like making doll-style versions of characters, doing outfit designs, and finishing old sketches or redoing old art you may like.

I also love bringing OCs to life!

Will Not Draw:

Gratuitous Gore, Furries (no shade, I’m just bad at them. Normal animals? Fine. Anthro animals? I’m so bad at it).

Preferred Fandoms (though I will also draw OCs and other fandoms)

Star Wars (Mandalorian Armour will get a $50 upcharge on painting, Clone Armour will get a $25 upcharge on painting)

Time Princess (Mobile Game)

Sailor Moon

Apothecary Diaries

Pokemon (pokemon count as animals in the extras section)

Vtubers (I just like drawing them)

Vocaloid

Princess Tutu

Marvel (Ironman will get you a $50 upcharge of painting)

Information (USD) under the cut.

Standard Commissions

Headshot (single)

Sketch Only - $50

Clean Lines - $75

Painting - $150

Headshot (kissing)

Sketch Only - $75

Clean Lines - $100

Painting - $200

Waist Up (single)

Sketch - $75

Clean Lines - $125

Painting - $225

Waist Up (extra figures)

Sketch - Plus $50 per figure

Clean Lines - Plus $75 per figure

Painting - Plus $175 per figure

Full Body (single)

Sketch - $100-$150

Clean Lines - $225-$275

Painting - $350-$400

Full Body (extra figures)

Sketch - Plus $75 per figure

Clean Lines - Plus $150 per figure

Painting - Plus $200 per figure

Finish It! Commissions

These are commissions that are based on past sketches I never finished. If you’ve seen a sketch from me here or on twitter you’d like me to redo as a full art piece, please let me know. The rates for these are as follows:

Redo Sketch - $50 (optional)

Finishing (lining and rendering) - $150 for a single figure, another $50-$100 per extra figure based on complexity

Art Nouveau Commissions

These are commissions that are only finished, rendered pieces, but there are certain breakdowns and extras that you can add.

Initial Sketch - $50-$75 per figure

Background Sketch - $25

Art Nouveau Lining and Rendering

$200 for one character and the background, adding another figure would add another $100-$150 per figure

Final Touches

$25, this includes things like changing lineart colours and colour balancing, along with adding some texture to the piece

Extra Motifs

$10 per motif, things like adding a kind of flower into the composition, adding a plant, adding a weapon, basing the piece off a tarot card, or adding some other extra (like the wine in the Cody and Obi-Wan piece)

Extras for All Commissions

Holo Effects - $10

Animals - $75 for sketch to render, only as an extra. If an animal is the only figure in a piece or a major figure, it runs you the same as any other figure.

Dollified Commissions

Sketch (per character) - $25

Lined and Rendered (per character) - $50

Outfit Design Commissions

Sketch (per character) - $100

Rough Colours (initial colourway) - $150

Rough Colours (per additional colourway) - $50

Commission Perks

All commissions receive a web-quality PNG of their commission

If your commission total passes $200, you can pick one of the following to receive:

A two-hour private livestream (you can invite whoever you want) to watch me work on the sketch for your piece, make comments, ask questions, and make additional requests

A timelapse video of the creation of your piece

None of this applies to NSFW including artistic nudity. If you’re interested in a NSFW commission, please reach out in DMs.

#open commissions #my commissions #star wars #star wars art #art commissions

5 notes · View notes

stickbug-made-entirely-of-spite · 7 months

Text

Hello friends!

I've decided that I'm gonna start posting some of my old art on here, so that I have it all saved neatly in one place :]

Of course, a lot of my art was made with references that I don't own the rights to, and therefore not allowed to post, so I'll only be posting things that have come directly from my mind, with the exception of art that was made using royalty-free references (which I honestly don't think I have lol)

That being said, here's victim #1!

I made this around mid-2023, if I remember correctly. I started sketching with no real goal or expectation, and I had no idea what kind of vibe the final piece would have. I never would have guessed that he'd turn out to be an android! (gargoyle and vampire both crossed my mind while sketching, but evidently, neither one stuck with me)

I used quite a few different supplies while making it, mostly because I like to mess around but also because I had no plan whatsoever for this guy lol

The sketch was in graphite of course, but the colouring is a bit of acrylic paint, some water-based ink, and a smidge of alcohol-based markers. The blue detailing is white gel pen with blue marker on top :]. The outlining was done with a dip pen and black water-based ink, which I think gave me some pretty nice line-variation!

I had a lot of fun with placing the different panels, and trying to make them and the blue markings flow in a convincing way on top if his skin (can I call this skin? He's made of metal but like, I can still call it his skin right? TTvTT)

Overall, I'm really happy with how he turned out! ^-^

I decided to name him Bryan as a little homage to Detroit Become Human, since the actor who plays Connor is Bryan Dechart :]

In retrospect, the blue detailing on his body is definetly influenced by DBH as well, even if didn't realise that at the time of making him lol

I definetly think I'll return to this character in the future, I don't doubt he'll become a main OC of mine at some point ^-^

With all that said, I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day!

Yours truly, Stickbug 🪲

#Art #artwork #mixed media #painting #sketchbook #character design #original character #android #artist #markers #side profile #Stickbug's art :]

5 notes · View notes

yesjojobirdflyhigh · 1 year

Text

i cling to hope like an animal.

when i wake up, i open my blinds to see how the sun is rising. i listen to my favourite songs and do my makeup in the mirror. i think about people i used to know and the versions of myself they knew. i think about how we were girls together and i will always care for them. i plan the day and daydream out the train window. i sit on a bench in the park and greet people with a good morning. i get lost in the books i read and smile at everyone i see. i smell the freshly cut grass and sweet pastries. i flick through the notebook where i sometimes sketch landscapes to capture the scenes i want to remember every detail of. i see children that remind me of a younger version of myself. i try to find heart shapes everywhere. i want to share my dreams with someone who wants to listen. i want to stop and smell the roses. i want to be sentimental and unashamed of it. i think about community and public libraries. i think about how our hands contain our humanness and how holding hands connects us. i sit by bodies of water when i don’t want to talk to anyone. i like to scribble lines of bad poetry and i try to be kind to myself. i wonder if the road ever ends. i look up at the trees and wonder if there are any that are the same age as me and have been growing with me. i think about how much history they have witnessed, the endless stories engraved into their bodies. i touch the flowers and hug my friends. i listen to birdsong and stare at art. i want to dive into the water even if it’s cold. i get into moods where i feel so much love for everyone in my life.

i try to listen to my body and work with it rather than against it. i listen to podcasts about poetry and joy and healing. i think that sharing an orange is the peak of love. i dream about all the places i can go and all the people i could be and of you. i feel grateful for bright colours and for being able to try again. i wonder if i can ever leave. i remind myself to pay attention, to listen, to stop being so sure i know anything. i think about how small flowers look like constellations. i cry about the same things. i email my friend who lives across the world every few months and wonder what it’s like to be someone else. i keep everything that people give me, especially handwritten letters and their love in my heart. i think about childhood summers and the last sunset. i think about how we can miss so much but we will never get any of it back. i bake with my friend and things feel easier. i want to be one of those old couples who hobble along the streets of foreign cities holding hands and chatting away, or sitting by the river under the shade of trees reading. i love road trips with the windows down and the soft sounds of music flowing. i think about warm light and sitting in silence by the lake. i think about basking in the comforting smells of laundry and campfire and cooking. i think about handprints in caves and the tenderness of kissing a bruise. i think about how old my grandma’s house is. i hope our kitchen tables are always full of food, people, and laughter. i find myself returning to the view from my attic bedroom window: the clouds, the hills and trees in the horizon, the occasional train passing, and all the people in their little houses living their little lives. i mostly spend my days alone. i watch comforting films and journal every so often. i write about what tugs at my heart and what i dare to wish for. memory feels like sunlight on water. i wish i can be everything like my parents and nothing like them. i want to live inside a melody. i want to be soft without turning into a beaten pulp. i light candles in the evening after showering and settle down to read. i look forward to moments in the morning when the light streaks into every crack and crevice, and the world feels quiet and bearable. i pray no one lets the loneliness consume them. i listen to the rain pat gently on the roof at night when i can’t sleep and stare at the moon in all its glory. i think about how anger unravels us and regret eats away at us and how we need tragedy. i keep my window open to hear all the soft sounds of the earth.

i cling to hope like an animal.

- Tiya

#tiya #newsletter

3 notes · View notes

amid-ice-and-snow · 1 year

Text

Halrë Vatari

Halrë only ever knew Gondolin as he was too young to remember much about his actual home, despite having been born in Aman. His family came from a line of Blacksmiths/Weapon-crafters but they were secretive and often known as mysterious, for they tended to work alone. After losing all of his family through the years, he became more isolated out of his work, only really interacting with Turgon and Glorfindel.

A wanderer by nature, he returned from his travels at the request of his King to help primarily with the weapons for the Last Alliance. Not many actually knew what his true name was, for he went only by Ihain. Although he preferred working in the forges, Halrë was a dual sword user and his height meant that he often saw attackers long before they actually saw him.

“Sometimes being yourself is more difficult than expected, especially with no memories.”

After Sauron’s defeat, no one saw him again and it was often thought that he had died in battle like so many others. That was proven wrong in T.A. 830 when he was found near the Grey Havens with amnesia and nothing but the tools of a blacksmith on him. It was also documented by the healers that when asked what he remembered, Halrë could only shrug and say that all he recalled was fighting, gate of hell (Black Gate), an alliance of Men and Elves, before pain and just nothing afterwards.

Although Cirdan recognised him, his name was lost to time and his own lack of memories. He couldn’t exactly go around being called Ihain though, so in recognition of many thinking that he was just a ghost at first, the Grey Haven elves called him Ferne.

Basic

TRUE NAME Halrë Vatari

MEANING/S Halla = Tall | Rë = Wanderer | Varne = wild | Tary* = crafter

NICKNAMES lhain = Free in old Noldorin | Half feral blacksmith

ALIAS Ferne Olorel - due to amnesia

AGE Not known precisely but younger then Glorfindel

DATE OF BIRTH Evening before the Trees were destroyed

PLACE OF BIRTH Aman

RACE Elf | Noldor

GENDER & PRONOUNS Male | He/him

ORIENTATION Demi

THREAT LEVEL Isn’t one to annoy.

Physical

HEIGHT 7ft5

WEIGHT It tends to fluctuate depending on how long he’s been in his workshop and has forgotten to eat.

EYE COLOUR Slate grey at first | But over time, his eyes started to reflect and eventually became the colour of silver.

HAIR COLOUR Midnight black with random streaks of white | Straight & falls to his waist when loose. Generally tied back so he can see what he’s doing in the forge.

DOMINANT HAND Right

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES His height is what people notice first. Then his eyes.

SCAR(S) Various little scars & burn marks due to being a blacksmith. Scar running across his chest from right shoulder to left hip. Multitude of different sized scars across his back, gained during the years he was thought to be dead.

Background & Misc

HOMETOWN Gondolin | The only true home he would ever have

CURRENT RESIDENCE The road

LANGUAGE(S) Westron, Sindarin & sign language

PAST RELATIONSHIP Kirya Ilmalire | mother to the twins & his partner from T.A 1000 until her death in T.A 2971

CHILD(REN) Taenil Ilmalire & Teldran Ilmakalle (Twins)

ANIMAL COMPANION White mountain wolf | He saved it as a cub & it followed him ever since.

CRAFT: Blacksmith | Family heritage

HOBBIES Travelling, teaching, sketching, Whittling wooden figures and flutes

ELEMENT Earth

MAIN WEAPONS Two nearly 7ft swords

SECONDARY WEAPONS Knives and daggers

Personality

MORAL ALIGNMENT Neutral | more Dark then Light but rarely shows it

TEMPERAMENT Patient, calm, natural peacekeeper although rather isolated | Taenil has his temperament

ANGER Much like a hurricane | Slow to build but you’d better hide once he hits his limit

LIKES Wandering, seeing his sons, camping under the stars, visiting the Longbeard Dwarves & helping with children

DISLIKES People being silly near the forges, his lack of memories, being disturbed whilst he’s working on a project & slave traders.

QUIRKS Hides unusually well in the shadows for someone of his height

DRINKS Rarely | Isn’t that fond of alcohol.

SELF DESTRUCTIVE? No. Unless you count forgetting to eat and sleep while working on projects | Would prefer to put himself in danger than others

#~/ memories are some of the building blocks of life \~ :: halre #muse info

0 notes

gffa · 4 years

Text

I swore for about ten entire minutes that I wasn’t going to do a set of recs for THE OLD GUARD, I was just going to watch the movie, indulge in a bit of fanart, and then I would be done. But then I was like HOW ABOUT I HAVE SOME FEELINGS INSTEAD? and here we are. So HAVE SOME FEELINGS ABOUT ANCIENT IMMORTALS AND REASONABLY ANCIENT IMMORTALS AND BABY IMMORTALS. COME YELL ABOUT FEELINGS WITH ME, FANDOM. THE OLD GUARD RECS: ✦ An Unrecorded History by xpityx, joe/nicky, 1.1k Joe closed the book and dropped it none too carefully on the table. He would have liked to have thrown it away—to prevent anyone else from reading it—but it was far too easy to make copies of books in these times, so he knew it would be no use. He also could not quite bring himself to discard something as precious as a book, no matter how poorly written it was. ✦ keep yourself alive for me by retts, joe/nicky, NSFW, 1.7k Nicky grabbed Joe’s hand and pulled him towards the stairs, not that there was any resistance from Joe. ‘If I remember correctly, this one has two bathrooms, doesn’t it?’ ✦ let’s give them something to talk about by lacecat, joe/nicky & andy/nile, nsfw, 4.8k In which Nicky and Joe take liberties with recounting history, because it’s fun. ✦ Family Dinner by dadvans, joe/nicky & nile, 2.4k The only time Nile ever sleeps a full night and feels remotely part of herself is when she stays with Nicky and Joe, who shampoo brains out of each other’s hair in the shower and clean their guns on the couch watching Chopped reruns. ✦ one burning candle, one wind-whipped flame by Dialux, joe/nicky & andy, 5.1k Yusuf dies, and dies, and dies, and lives, as well, for a thousand years. Nicolo’s by his side for all of them, and it’s not quite the love story of eternity, but it’s theirs: and that’s enough for them both ✦ Future Days by maroon, joe/nicky & andy/noriko, 2.1k “Then why untie me?” The man grins, terribly amused, and awfully affectionate. Andromache wants to look away, but for some reason, can’t. Maybe because the look in his eye reminds her of herself, a lifetime ago. “Because my beloved is soft, and kind, and will flay me alive if he’d known I tied up a woman.” ✦ Islands of Hours by RC_McLachlan, joe/nicky, 1.5k There eventually comes a lull, and so they go to Malta. ✦ take out by j_gabrielle, joe/nicky & nile, ~1k It probably should bother her when Joe kicks the door to the flat open and promptly marches in to deposit their takeout on the living room table. All while he is tracking half-dried blood and mud on the shiny tile floors. “You, ah,” Nile says even as she hurries to pick through the night’s offerings. “They let you on the subway like that?” ✦ all a smooth plain, and the soil deep by inlovewithnight, andy & nile & joe & nicky, 2.1k After London, they all need to rest. ✦ we are golden by retts, joe/nicky, ~1k Joe lowers his gaze to the open page on his lap. The sketch is of a man on a charging horse, hair and beard whipping in the wind, sword in one hand and a shield in the other. The eyes in the drawing are the same eyes watching him now. His Nicolo. 'You were a hard fucker to kill back then, Nicky.’ ✦ An eagle’s old age, a sparrow’s youth by BakedAppleSauce, joe/nicky, 2.2k Joe comes shuffling back into the room, heavy footsteps that mean he’s either tired, or not really trying, or both. Familiar as breathing. Nicky’d recognize him anywhere, walking among a million of strangers. In which some people are laying low for a while, in more ways than one. ✦ A Most Forgetful Death by RC_McLachlan, joe/nicky, 1.2k “You’re an incurable romantic,” Nicky says, and though his expression doesn’t so much as twitch, Joe can hear the laughter languishing between the words, can feel it on his tongue and rubbing up against his teeth when Nicky meets him halfway to smear a kiss against his mouth. ✦ Luce e ombre by sheafrotherdon, andy & nile, 1.2k The discomfort is so new that it startles her, and she searches her memory to remember a time before she was immortal: a time when a cut, a scrape, a bruise hurt for longer than a moment, long enough to interrupt sleep. The memories don’t come ✦ When I Am with You by takethisnight_wrapitaroundme, joe/nicky, NSFW, 5.4k “You… would like to waste a thousand euros’ worth of champagne by pouring it all over me?” Nicky has to repeat it aloud to make sure he’s heard right. While spending some quality time together on vacation in France, Nicky has a surprise for Joe. And Joe, as it turns out, has a surprise for Nicky. ✦ the common tongue of your loving me by spokenitalics, joe/nicky, NSFW, 1.4k “It’s just— Do you ever wonder how much we’ve forgotten?” Nicky asks, eventually. “How many names and faces and places have just… faded away from our memory?” ✦ i have loved you for a thousand years by owilde, ~1k It’s him. Again. Yusuf shields his eyes from the blinding desert sunlight, staring into the near distance where a man is stood, alone, a harsh silhouette cut against the bright blue sky and peach-coloured sand. ✦ this is why by retts, joe/nicky, 1.2k Small as it was, they had their own room in the London safe house, which was a good thing because Joe was prying open Nicky’s mouth with his fingers. Not with his tongue, much as Nicky would prefer it, but with three calloused fingers sneaking inside his lips as if Nicky wouldn’t wake up from the intrusion. He was on his back, Joe pressed closer to him than his own shadow. The slant of moonlight from the window illuminated Joe’s dark eyes as he bent over Nicky. Joe sucked in the corner of his mouth, a tell that he’d never shaken off all these long centuries. ✦ I Found Peace in Your Violence by j_gabrielle, joe/nicky, 1.5k 5 Times Joe and Nicky kill each other + 1 (of many) times they killed someone together ✦ life is very long by kaydeefalls, joe/nicky & andy & nile & booker & quynh & copley, 7.1k Andromache tells him: “The Greeks used to have seven different words for love. Well. More, probably. But I remember seven.” She shrugs. “There are many ways to love one another, and life is long. We’ve time enough for them all. It’s the only thing that makes it worthwhile.” Nicky and his immortal family, over the centuries. ✦ take a breath by BeStillMySlashyHeart, joe/nicky & andy & nile & booker, 1k Once they are safe, Nicky and Joe take a moment together. ✦ Between the Hour and the Age by hauntedjaeger (saellys), andy & nile & joe & nicky, 2.5k “To the Art Institute of Chicago,” Andy echoes, “so that my breasts may be culturally appreciated in perpetuity.” She tips the bottle and lets out three drops. As they fall to the stone floor, Joe and Nicky rap their knuckles on the nearest pieces of metal: the other lantern for Nicky, the oxidized helmet for Joe. One rap for each drop. In another time, they might have struck their swords on shields. ✦ how we live by retts, joe/nicky, ~1k Life, though, brings pain. Goddamn pain. Bullets that struck his cranium and pelvis – the big bones in the body – are forced out. The rest went through him, carrying organ tissue and muscle with them. Those lost bits have to be regrown. Bones realign and the ribs in his lungs retract so they can breathe again. So Nicky can breathe again. And when he breathes, he thinks, Yusuf. ✦ Paradeisos by Enneara, joe/nicky, 2.9k Traveling through Greece with Yusuf after fleeing the Holy Land, Nicolò suffers a crisis of faith. ✦ The Language of Love by 1derspark, joe/nicky & andy/quynh & booker & nile, 4.5k Or five times Nicky hears Joe speak his language and one time Nicky returns the favor. ✦ Le Vite by ScribeofArda, joe/nicky & andy & nile & booker, 8k Nicky breathes out. “What did I miss?” he asks, staring out at the hills. “Why didn’t I see this coming?” After everything, after finding Nile and losing Booker and Andy’s new mortality, Joe is pissed off. Nicky is just tired. ✦ The god of my idolatry by Petra, andy/nile, NSFW, 3.4k “You said you were worshipped as a god.” “I was.” Nile steels herself and asks, “Would you like to do it again?” Andy laughs and throws back the contents of her glass. “They don’t teach you pick-up lines in the Marines, do they.” ✦ love is not over by retts, joe/nicky & andy & nile, 1.3k 'Babe, do you know what this reminds me of?’ asked Nicky. Joe licked his lips and tilted his head to the side, gaze intent on the mole on Nicky’s cheek. 'What?’ 'The first time you drew me.’ ✦ Case Analysis by skeeno, joe/nicky & andy & booker & copley, 3.4k It’s not totally out of the ordinary for the people Copley meets in his line of work to be extraordinary. But he’s intrigued by these four. ✦ compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience by Jack_R, joe/nicky & andy & quynh, 11.9k ‘You are a shame to your countrymen and the lowest of the low,’ Yusuf said, ‘and your mother copulated with a dog.’ ✦ Everything in moderation (even moderation) by BakedAppleSauce, joe/nicky, NSFW, 6.1k The novelty has worn off, of course, but it’s not the novelty that keeps anybody coming back, anyway. Novelty never sustains anything. ✦ What the Water Takes by xpityx, andy & nile & quynh, 1k Here is a secret she will never write down. ✦ Stracciatella by ScribeofArda, joe/nicky & andy & nile, 4.8k “None of us have any evidence of the ways we have died,” Nicky continues. “But you remember the fall, don’t you? You remember the first time you died, the way your blood spilled out as your throat was slashed. I remember the first time I died, when the love of my life drew his sword across my neck as I drove mine into his chest and we both fell to the sand.”

#the old guard #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #andromache the scythian #nile freeman #fic recs #the old guard fic recs

1K notes · View notes

fairyoftbz · 4 years

Text

Tournesol | Changmin

🌻 pairing: shy florist!changmin x fem!reader (briefs mentions of barista!Jacob & tattoo artist!Kevin) 🌻 genre: fluff, slow-burn, strangers-to-lovers (?) 🌻 word count: 3.1k 🌻 synopsis: you are new in town so you decide to explore a bit of your neighbourhood. You never knew that the flower shop down your street would change your life in a good way. 🌻 requested? : yes, thank you so much! ✨ 🌻 A/N: here comes my first ever post for my first personal project! thank you to the anon who requested this and i hope you’ll like it! constructive feedback is always welcomed in my dms or my asks! I will write the English translation of the French word I used in that way. PS: If anyone wants to be tagged on my future posts for this project, please let me know !!

Locking the front door of the brand-new apartment you had just moved into, you pulled down your light coat’s sleeve after dropping your keys in your little cross-body bag. You walked down the few flights of stairs that separated you from the entrance hall, quickly checking if you had any mail and walked out the door as it was found empty.

Today was your lucky day because the wind stopped blowing right before you woke up, and the sun decided to show up as you were enjoying your breakfast, making you finish it on the little balcony right outside your living room. You couldn’t ask for a better start of the day, the light mood and warm atmosphere bringing nothing but a huge smile on your face.

You greeted the old lady with a wave and a bow as she was swiping the entrance of the bakery, wishing her a great day as you kept your route.

Two weeks ago, as you were moving in, the baker happened to be with her son and some of his friends, and instead of helping her serve the bakery customers, she sent them over to your place as she knew who you were, since you visited her place in a rush the day before. She seemed to have the gift of the gab because she was quick to ask if you were new around the neighbourhood. You remember being surprised by her behaviour and politely answered, but you were glad that you had this conversation with her. You weren’t even halfway through your move that the 4 boys appeared in the entrance hall, offering their help. Feeling a bit suspicious at first, you kindly refused, but when one of them offered you a smile extremely similar to the baker and introduced himself as her son, you finally gave in and accepted their help.

The amount of time you had planned for your move got reduced by almost three thanks to them. They followed your orders like no one else, and once they were done moving the boxes around the rooms and left, you quickly went to the local convenience store you had spotted at the other street corner and bought 4 bottles and some chocolate for them. You walked by the bakery the following day, and the son happened to work here, replacing his mother while she was at a doctor’s appointment. He was touched by your small gifts, and he made sure to call his friends to come over and get them while you slipped away from the bakery to go to IKEA. Before you got to leave, he advised you to take a few walks around the neighbourhood to get to know your surroundings. You wished you could have followed his advice earlier, but you were busy with moving in and get ready for your interviews that could lead you to potential jobs.

But today was the weekend and you decided to take some time for yourself and follow the advice of the baker's son. It was a beautiful day, and you had planned to make the most of it to get familiar with your neighbourhood.

Your area was surprisingly calm to be in the middle of the city, but you weren’t going to complain since it was something you were dying to have: a friendly, quiet neighbourhood. The nice smell of the bakery lingered around you as you walked past the building, following you until you turned at a corner, leading you to a new, unknown street. Some shop windows were beautifully decorated, and you mentally took some notes of the various local shops that could become potentially useful one day. You walked past a china shop, staying for a few seconds to admire the detailed and precise work displayed in the window display. Offering a smile to the young lady inside the store, you walked away and looked around, noticing something that caught your attention on the opposite pavement. You quickly checked as no car drove by and crossed the street, smiling as two shops were the polar opposite of the other. The flower shop in front of you was sweet, it smelt delicate and chic, just like flowers. The walls were covered by some off-white roughcast, adding a soft touch to it.

A few meters away, on the left of the flower shop, was a tattoo parlour. You giggled as you noticed the cliche that emanated from the two places. The parlour was covered in black, with a Gothic, biker style, posters of metal and rock music pasted around the walls, hardcore music blasting from the speakers, completely contrasting with the softness and the sobriety of the flower shop. A tattoo artist appeared behind the counter that was situated next to the window and your eyes widened, trying to quickly count the number of tattoos and piercings that was decorating his body. A single front piece of hair was dyed blond among the other jet-black strands, his warm smile standing out from the rest of his physical appearance.

You turned your head to the side as you focused on the flower shop, its atmosphere suiting you better despite the next-door shop spiking up your interest. You smiled at the yellow Beetle parked in front of it and pushed the door open after a few seconds of consideration, a small bell tingling as it hit the glass door.

The smell of pollen and freshly cut flowers welcomed you in, the intensity of the colours making you slightly dazed. They were all gorgeous, the arrangements giving you an impulsion to buy a bouquet of each flower they had in store, but that would never happen.

“Welcome!” a voice from under the counter greeted you, a man appearing behind it a few seconds later, secateurs in hand. You smiled as you greeted him back, charmed by how similar he was to his store, soft and friendly. He stayed behind the counter, watching you walk around his shop, all of his other activities and tasks were instantly forgotten as soon as you stepped a foot inside his store.

Changmin was amazed by your smile, finding you incredibly beautiful, his heart hammering in his chest at the sight of your admiring smile creeping across your lips. He was dying to talk to you and get to know you, but he knew himself, he was most likely going to make a fool of himself if he ever dared to exchange some words with you. He was already pleasantly surprised that he had managed to welcome you without getting in a muddle or stumbling on his words.

With a slightly shaking hand, he diagonally cut the end of the red roses resting on the counter. He couldn’t help but glance at you, which you didn't notice, luckily for him. However, by paying too much attention to you and your gorgeous smile, he began to cut the stems a little too rapidly and too high, alas once pinching a piece of skin between the pruning blades, making him jump in pain and let go of the gardening tool. Changmin stifled a groan of pain and rushed into the back office, looking for the first aid kit. He hurriedly found a sticking plaster and wrapped it around his cut, pressing on the wound to ease the pain and get back to work as quickly as possible.

As he reappeared in the doorway that separated the back office from the front office, he heard the bell above the door chime again, signalling your departure.

His shoulders subsided and he watched you walk away with a disappointed pout. He sighed in sadness and pushed the roses away, nervousness and guilt fuelling his mind and regrets.

"Shit," he sighed, picking up the wilted petals of a few roses that were littered on the floor, shoving them into the front pocket of his apron. He blamed himself for not having spoken to you to at least know your name. Quickly, Changmin walked around the counter to door, showing the “now-closed” store sign as remorse flooded his veins. He let his feet guide every single one of his moves, now finding himself in the storeroom. He took a pencil and his notebook sticking out of his bag before returning to the counter.

Closing his eyes, he tried to remember your face and began a sketch. He erased a line, then two, then several, feeling the frustration overcome him as the portrait did not correspond to what he had seen a few minutes earlier at all. Changmin had a perfect image of you in his mind, but maybe the stress of forgetting you or his shaking hands prevented him from replicating your gorgeous face on paper.

Completely unaware of what was going on behind those four walls, you kept on walking around the neighbourhood until your feet hurt and decided to go back to your apartment.

The next morning you enjoyed the rays of sunlight that your curtains had failed to filter for a few minutes, smiling shyly as you remembered seeing the florist appearing in your dreams. He was here, you recognised his face, but you couldn't hear what he was saying. He sounded extremely sincere and filled with love, but it was probably just your lonely mind playing tricks on you. You decided to get up, a sudden urge for pastry invading your thoughts, your stomach growling at the sudden idea. After dressing appropriately for going out, you walked through your doorstep and walked leisurely to your favourite bakery. The baker was sitting on a chair on the small terrace of her shop, sipping tea with who appeared to be her husband.

"Morning Sir. Ma'am," you bowed, greeting them warmly, the baker hurriedly setting down her tea mug to gently grab your wrist. "Dear, this is the young lady Jacob and his friends helped move in the brick building, around the street corner that I told you about. Remember that?" she explained to her husband, who took the time to swallow his sip while nodding. "Ah, the bottle of wine and the chocolate," he says looking at you and you smiled, as it was your turn to nod. "That's right," you stated, holding out your hand for him to squeeze, which he did delicately. “Thanks again,” you told them, and the baker waved her hand in front of her face, a genuine smile on her face. "Oh please, don’t worry about it, it's okay," she declared, and you thanked them again before entering their bakery. Jacob was behind the counter chatting with an old lady who seemed to waylay him. He noticed you and apologised to her, seeing him sigh before greeting you. Jacob was a sweet man, always ready to help everyone and too nice to say no. Talking and getting to know him was a piece of cake, he was so nice to hang out with and a gem to have around.

"Y/N, hello! What can I get you?" he offered you a beautiful smile, which he got from his mother, noticing another time the striking similarity with the old woman on the terrace. "I'm going to get a baguette and one of those," you say, pointing at a pain au chocolat sprinkled with powdered sugar in the little window that separated you from the young man. He smiled and grabbed a metal clamp, placing the pastry in a paper bag. Typing a few things on the machine, you handed him a banknote and he gave you back the change, along with your pastries. You thanked him and started to leave when a familiar figure stood at a table against the window.

Changmin was quietly drinking his coffee when he heard a conversation start from outside the window. He almost spat out the liquid he had in his mouth when he saw you talking with the owners of the bakery, his eyes widening at the sight of you. He pursed his lips to stifle a smile and continued to drink his coffee, tapping on his phone screen. His heart was hammering harder, faster, in his chest as he tried to keep a low profile, lowering his head in case you were to curiously look around the place. He sighed through gritted teeth when he heard your complicity with Jacob, feeling a touch of jealousy pinching his heart without intending to. Changmin nervously finished his cup of coffee in one sip, the warm liquid burning his throat, not bothering looking up. Stuffing his phone in his jacket pocket, he was ready to go when he saw you still in the store, immediately freezing as his brown eyes met your sparkling ones.

"Hello!" you told him with a smile, waving discreetly with one hand while the other clutched the brown bag against you. He blinked several times, your beauty and kindness bouncing around his skull. He answered you with a brief, serious nod and walked away without even saying goodbye to his friend behind the counter. You watched him leave out the window before turning to Jacob, who was looking at you with a thin smile on his lips. "Did I say something wrong?" you asked him, and he exhaled a laugh through his nose, shaking his head from side to side. "Not at all. Changmin is just a very shy person sometimes," he said, and you nodded, still a bit confused from the florist's behaviour, but you said nothing and walked out of the store after wishing for a good day to Jacob. The latter smiled as you walked in the opposite direction from Changmin, greeting another customer as he understood his friend’s behaviour.

A week passed and it was time for you to start your new job. You had used up a good chunk of your last salary to pay for furniture and taxes which you barely remembered the names of, so you needed to have a new entrance of income. You applied to a real estate agency that wasn't far from where you live, as a financial chief director, exactly what you worked at in your previous city. You had to walk past the florist to get to your new workplace, but the florist was the only closed shop on the whole street, which surprised you. You had the opportunity to talk a little more with Jacob, and he had confessed to you that Changmin loved his job and was a flower enthusiast, which confirmed your concern when you didn't see his store open.

A smile grew on your face at the end of the day, when you took the same path as this morning, seeing the shop illuminated. When you had assembled your furniture, you remembered that you wanted to decorate your apartment with more greenery and flowers. Seizing the opportunity that the florist was still open, you pushed open that same door you had walked through a few weeks ago, the same wonderful smell and tinkling bell welcoming you inside.

You noticed a brown chunk of hair behind a large, flowered wall, immediately recognising Changmin's slender figure. You heard him clear his throat as he hummed a tune, arranging a bouquet.

Changmin heard a customer walk into his store and finished his bouquet of sunflowers and red roses before revealing himself, his eyes opening widely as he discovered your innocent smile and your office outfit. The pencil skirt and beige suit you wore made his heart fuzzy with warmth, his mind only filled with how pretty you looked.

“Good evening,” you greeted him, and he nodded, swallowing his saliva before answering you. "Welcome," he said, his husky, uncertain voice melting your heart. He managed to smile, finding dimples growing in the corners of his mouth, he was handsome when he was smiling with reddened ears. "I would like to know if you have any flowers or plants to recommend to decorate my apartment," you clear your throat before telling him your request. "May I ask the colour of your walls?" he asked in a hesitant voice, looking everywhere around the shop except you. "White, cream, and some in greyish tones as well," you explained and he nodded mechanically, looking through his stock.

"I can suggest you some dried pampas grass with cotton stems. It's... quite sober and low maintenance," he walked around the counter and you followed, his hands grabbing a few stems which he gathered under your nose. You liked the harmony of the two plants, you already had an idea where to put these at your place. "I like them a lot, I'll take a bouquet," you stated, and he nodded, giving you a small smile as he walked over to the cash register. He remained motionless for a few seconds, his finger hovering above a key. You saw him take a deep breath before disappearing into the back office, making you frown for an instant.

Changmin reappeared a few seconds later and you looked at him in shock, expecting everything but this. He held out an arrangement of sunflowers and roses in front of you, the warm tones of yellow and red reminding you of the summer warmth.

"It's for you," he said, holding your gaze, the tips of his ears turning a crimson red. You remained a few seconds dumbfounded in front of the bouquet, not knowing what to do. "For me? But in what honour? I don't deserve it," you stated but he insisted with a nod, so you shyly took the bouquet and gave him a big smile, your heart pounding. "That's so sweet, thank you very much," you told him, plunging your nose into the flowers, the scent of the two flowers blending beautifully together. He seemed to be breathing again when he discovered pure happiness in your eyes, giving you a big smile as well.

“You are as radiant as a sunflower, I… I wanted to gift you some,” he confessed, and you were touched by his words. “And the red roses… well, I don't think I should draw you a picture,” his voice trailed, and you were both embarrassed, but you could still feel some connection emerge between you two. Looking at the flowers again, you noticed a small card hanging at the base of the bouquet, and you flipped it to read it.

"A date to celebrate my arrival here?" you asked, surprised he knew this information about you. "Only if you want to, of course. I accidentally overheard your discussion with Mr and Mrs Bae, I thought it would be a good opportunity for me to show you around the city," he scratched the back of his neck, an embarrassed look painted on his face, apprehensive about your reaction. "With great pleasure," he looked up and sighed in relief, making you smile at his behaviour. "Saturday morning in front of the bakery, is that okay with you?" "It's perfect." He smiled while nodding, his brown eyes lingering into yours for seconds that seemed to last forever, but he didn't feel so intimidated anymore.

He almost felt confident, and that only sounded promising for the days to come.

145 notes · View notes