#honestly a more dignified fashion than it ever deserved to end

[maxwell-grant]

Was kinda interesting watching Aquaman 2 do that thing Hollywood movies do where a villain barks orders in an non-English language to signal to the American audience that they're foreign and scary, except this time the actress doing it was speaking portuguese so I actually understood everything she was saying and it was just weird and abrupt. I guess they just told her to translate and say the lines in her own language but didn't direct her how to adapt the dialogue accordingly, so she ends up just telling the henchmen to pick up a guy in a very stilted formal factual manner while everything's exploding around them, that was kinda funny.

[agathaharknes]

yennaia + gamer au

This was supposed to be three sentences and definitely not crack but I just had to... sksjsjssksjjs.

Yennaia prompt: Gamer AU.

LINK TO ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN IN THE REPLIES.

Word count: 1.8k+ Pairing: Yennaia. Rating: T.

Tissaia really had no idea why she was doing this. Perhaps to appease Rita. Perhaps because her addiction to nicotine had worsened over the course of one year of a bloody Continent-wide pandemic and she was loath to use her credit card every time she needed a new pack of cigarettes. Perhaps she was going through a midlife crisis to cope with the fact that being the Chancellor of Aretuza College was already stressful enough without half the generations there trying to fool her subordinates into thinking cardboard replicas or even mannequins counted as attendance or simply because the rest of the Board of Governors (Stregobor) couldn't differentiate between what could be said through an email and what required her to clean her entire house so the background of her call was pristine.

Her controller vibrated in her hands, (Why, for the love of the Gods, couldn't that setting be turned off?) her knuckles turning white from gripping it so strongly. "Oh, for fu- heaven's sake." There, she had been ambushed. Again. A funny and wholly unexpected thing happened, though, one of the users turned on her companions, offing the lot of them with clean headshots the brunette definitely couldn't pull off in the span of twenty seconds.

"Uhh..." What does one say when your virtual saviour just betrayed her entire party on a whim and was being cursed at obnoxiously loudly and vulgarly for it?

Yennefer ignored Sabrina calling her names that absolutely applied to her and her hormonal reaction to a lovely blue-eyed MILF the likes of which she had only seen in her dreams. "No thanks needed, love. I was getting tired of seeing you frown like someone had keyed your car every time you got killed. A pretty thing like you should only have cause to smile." Oh, Gods, now she sounded like a creepy old man that lived in his mum's basement. Great. Good job. Her Social Studies major was an absolute hit. Fuck her life. Fuck Oxenfurt College. And fuck Sabrina's witch-like cackling while she was at it. "Name’s Yennefer." She choked out miserably.

Tissaia scowled at her laptop. Hackers. Amazing. This was the best day of her new normal life. "Mind telling me how you broke through the most expensive antivirus in the Continent, dear? Because now I really need a refund." Now she also needed to contact Aretuza’s IT team on a Saturday night, because she was not about to mess any further with these blasphemous machines, thank you very much.

Wait, what? "That wasn't me... You left your camera on." The woman legitimately squealed at that, her oversized jumper sliding down her left shoulder and exposing just a glimpse of her collarbone as she pinned up her hair into a bun with... were those pens fashioned as swords? Oh, bugger, this was so not the time to get turned on! "Are you alright?" Mercifully Sabrina, Renfri and Phillipa were already accosting someone else, else she was sure the brunette would've completely lost it, more than she already was doing, anyways. "Hello?" No answer.

Tissaia was fishing for her boots when she started ranting, “Oh, don’t you worry! I’m fine! Just dandy! This is exactly how I wanted my life to go.” She motioned with her hand to the space around her. “I wished for nothing more than dealing with complete morons from nine to six, five days a week, whilst trying to make sure my sanity doesn't desert me.” Biting her lower lip for a moment she began checking that the ends of the laces were the same length when she pulled them up. “Running right after to my local grocery store to buy more instant meals that are probably going to give me cancer in five years if the bullshit articles my mother keeps sending me-”

Yennefer had told herself she wasn’t going to allow this wasn’t going to get any creepier than her misguided comment but she still had a gift code for that nice liquor store which conveniently had retailers popping up every six blocks everywhere for the last few months, especially in Thanned isle, only Gods knew why. “This bloody succubus of a twat that is my best friend has been forcing me to constantly use this cursed game by changing the password for my email and then Aretuza’s server and then-” Bingo. One text to Philippa and they had her IP address, with a mortified Triss already calling Jaskier since she was the only one that had managed to get a decent scholarship at that posh college.

This was her future wife who was about to jump from a bridge from the looks of her and they just had to do humanity a great service by saving her from herself and from sobriety.

“Can you believe that tosser? I am a lesbian! I spent my teenage years clad in flannel until my girlfriends staged an intervention kind of lesbian! Yes, Vilgefortz, I will sue you for harassment in the workplace and I will blacklist you. No, Vilgefortz, I don’t want to break quarantine to go on a date with you and I definitely do not want your disgusting cologne anywhere near my-” Tissaia’s head shot up, her doorbell was ringing and she pinched the bridge of her nose, reaching for a new, disposable, mask.

“You stay right there.” She threatened the girl, who had the most beautiful violet… Perhaps she really ought to let Coral get her a therapist. It rang again. “Gods-damn-it.” She thought.

Her plan was going marvellously. She would only have to sleep with a knife under her pillow for a few weeks for blackmailing Sabrina (Who honestly hadn’t the slightest talent to pass off plagiarism as a sudden stroke of genius in her final project without her aid.) into going along with this. The blonde was lighting the candles around the monitor without trying to burn her hair off and had given away her best bottle of cheap but still good wine for the cause. Thanks to Renfri and her frankly psychotic, owl obsessed, girlfriend she already knew what she would be replacing her trauma-ridden last name with! Splendid!

The brunette shut the door on Jaskier’s face after taking the brown paper bag from his hands, spraying the bottle of vodka inside it with so much disinfectant that it dripped down onto her carpet. Taking off her gloves and disposing of them, she grabbed a knife from the counter and ignoring the annoying blue light that came from the kitchen table, “Oh, shit. You’re soulmates. I’ll tell the rest of the girls we’re all fucked.” Tissaia cut off the upper part of the glass in one smooth hit, like Calanthe had taught her when the then teacher could still be considered fun by her groups of friends.

“Shut up, tiddybug!” She heard Yennefer sing-song.

Feeling like being crass the blue-eyed woman took a rather large swing directly from the bottle. Sitting back down, she sighed. Yennefer took a dignified sip from her wine; she could do balanced when her significant other to-be needed to let loose. “Did you like the bottle? It has good reviews from… wait a minute… apparently several alcoholics who don’t know what a budget is.”

Tissaia’s face paled. “I thought you weren’t a hacker.” The woman muttered. She didn’t fancy getting kidnapped and… No, no, no. Fucking Rita. What was the cost of moving, again? If she slept four hours less a day and split her cleaning time in two she could probably trade this house for Stregobor's in-

“I am not!” Yennefer cried. Bloody hell. “You just mentioned that you worked at Aretuza and-” Sabrina had probably started a group call and Phillipa was indeed hacking into her computer to save her arse. The Redanian was currently writing a script for her to follow. “Your username in the game is your surname. My friends and I tried to get into that school a few years back and I do remember that the Chancellor is a woman and that her last name is de Vries.” Her username wasn’t her last name, it was actually something that suggested she was an Ice Queen of the highest order. Queen Elsa from the movie Frozen would be intimidated kind of Ice Queen.

“Everyone is aware the highest-ranking members of the faculty live in chalets near the castle, pardon, the building.” True. According to Triss, that was a part of their contract that if unfulfilled prohibited them from working there ever again. To Yennefer that seemed borderline cruel, forcing them to be available at all hours like circus animals for juniors that didn’t deserve their spots.

“My best friend is a student there and she knows which one is your home because she wants to eventually be a teacher.” Partially true. Until that day came, Triss, like any rational individual, avoided the Chapter’s Village like the plague lingered inside, and wouldn’t be caught dead there unless she had to stop Sabrina from doing something stupid because of the anarchist phase she was going through. Jaskier was an acquaintance of hers of sorts because Triss had tutored his boyfriend Geralt in Biology and being daddy’s boy, he knew which one was Tissaia’s house because he had almost gotten expelled like fifteen times.

“I honestly just wanted to do something nice for you, you sounded like you needed it and… I know quarantine hasn’t been lifted once in Temeria since it all started.” Philippa wrote then that she would probably make for a decent actor without flashing her breasts to the audience every five minutes. She pursed her lips and replied in the mock post-it note to fuck off.

“I… I… Thank you. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed- I’m sorry, darling.” Her pale cheeks flushed at the term of endearment that slipped her tongue and Tissaia bowed down her head, red-painted nails caressing the glass bottle almost reverently. “Say, why don’t you tell me what your email address is and I send you my mobile via chat? The explosions in the background aren’t that, uhm, comforting to listen to when I’d much rather be hearing your voice.” Should she have looked up she would have seen the smile that threatened to split Yennefer’s face. “Only if you want to, of course! I- what am I even saying? Never mi-”

“No! Wait!” She placated. Sabrina squeezed her shoulder as she went to retrieve her phone charger, offering her a genuine smile. “I’d love to.”

“Okay.” Said Tissaia, an awed sound leaving her throat when blue finally meet with lilac. Gods, she was drop-dead gorgeous. Rita could have whichever bottle, all the liquor she wanted from the school’s cellar for indirectly enabling this.

Was one week a proper enough courting period to then buy the engagement ring? Or should she just have Philippa get her the best, costliest one from that jewellery eshop they all liked through some minor fraud that would take her like half an hour at most, today? “Good.” Yennefer de Vries had such a nice ring to it.

[secretblog1212]

All in Good Humor

BLEASE can I get “You think you’re funny?” with Geralt & Jaskier? -Amazingmsme

Of freaking COURSE! this turned out way longer than I expected it to but like y’know oops. Hope you like it!!!

Okay, so Jaskier should have known that going after Roach would be taking things a bit too far, but he didn’t happen to be thinking of that at the time. No, instead his only thought process was ‘this will get Geralt back for even thinking of touching my lute.’ Roach seemed perfectly content with it as well, so jaskier didn’t quite see what all the problem was, but by the time Geralt had gotten back from fighting some monster on their way to the next town over he had been put in a mood.

Jaskier was tuning his money maker when Geralt walked up to where he had left the two of his companions together less than an hour ago. The crunching of sticks and leaves as he made his way closer had Jaskier barely keeping his grin off his face. He couldn’t wait to see what his Witcher would do. 

The snapping stopped all at once and the air was silent waiting for some response to be had. Geralt walked towards his beautiful steed, patting her nose and bringing his hands up towards her hair which had been braided with forest wildflowers. He hummed at her and she snorted back, pushing herself against his shoulder. 

Now, this is where Jaskier started to think he might have gotten away with it. Geralt seemed to appreciate that Roach approved. At least, that was what he thought until Geralt turned away from his horse and the Witcher and his Bard were face to face. 

Geralt took slow, strong steps to where Jaskier was sitting against a tree. Panic began to boil in Jaskiers belly. Surely Geralt wouldn’t do anything horrible, maybe tell him off for putting Roach in the cross hairs of their games, but no harm no foul right? Those thoughts began to turn more fearful and questioning with every rustle of the leaves beneath Geralt's feet. Perhaps using Roach was a no no he hadn’t thought of before, but he had thought it was a cute idea. She was truly a beautiful horse and deserved to be pampered from time to time. 

Jaskier looked his doom face on as Geralt stood towering over top of him. He’d allow Geralt to make the first move, caution would be needed until he knew how deep he had gotten himself. 

Geralt's voice was gravely, raspy like he got after fighting a good fight. The adrenaline was still pumping its way through his veins. 

“You think you’re funny?” He asked. The question itself showed that although he may not be angry at Jaskier, he wouldn’t let him get away with any of his actions. 

If Jaskier had any sense of self preservation he would have made the smart choice of either apologizing, or switching the conversation to how beautiful Roach looked. But sadly, Jaskier did not have a single cautionary bone in his body. 

“I think I’m quite hilarious actually.”

“Hmm.” 

Jaskier, as he always did, kept going. “Honestly surprised I haven’t started to take up being a comedian yet, perhaps a jester or something if i were to ever settle down?”

“More like a town foul to me.”

With a gasp of shock, more for dramatic effect now than anything, “Why I am offended Geralt! Wh- How dare you call me a foul. A *foul*!”

Geralt just hummed at him again, not even dignifying him with a response, honestly the nerve of some people. 

Jaskier carefully set his lute on the ground, he would need his arms for this performance. “Just because you have a bad sense of humor,” he began as he got himself to his feet, ignoring how Geralt still towered over him. “Does not mean that others would not find my jokes funny. And if you believe so, oh, you are sadly mistaken! You couldn’t make a hyena laugh if you tried you-you always serious big Mr.Tough guy!”

Geralt just tilted his head as if contemplating something. “I have my own methods.”

Jaskier had to laugh at that. “Methods? How, boring people to death till they give you pity laughs?”

That was the wrong thing to say. Geralt wasn’t angry, of course not over some playful dispute, but Jaskier had seen how his eyes shifted from bored and slightly annoyed to playful and observant. He had started a competition he wasn’t ready to handle. 

Geralt set his shoulders back. “Alright. How about we make a deal then Jaskier, if I can make you laugh before we sleep for the day then you will have to complete a request of mine.”

A double edged sword if Jaskier had ever seen one, a deal that he knew he would lose, but what was pride if it didn’t make you make poor decisions in order to prove a point. 

He narrowed his eyes, he was curious as to what Geralt would do anyway so why not.

“Deal.”

Geralt smirked, and then backed away without saying another word. 

“Uhh, hello there?” Jaskier grumpily asked as he followed the taller man. “Are you going to do anything or just give up?”

Geralt looked over his shoulder, then up at the beaming sun in the sky. “Well, since I have all day and night before I need to complete my task I figured I could take my time. I am going to head down to the lake about half a mile to the east to wash up now.”

Jaskier was dumbfounded, although he should have expected Geralt to drag this out as long as he could. Instead he scoffed and crossed his arms as Geralt gathered a set of new clothes to change into. 

He didn’t notice when the Witcher had walked up behind him until he was leaning down with a hand on his waist to whisper in his ear causing goose bumps to crawl across his whole body. 

“Don’t worry, I will put my full focus on you here soon my love.”

To say that Jaskier was on edge was an understatement. After Geralt had left it had taken him almost the full hour he was washing to get the blush to leave his face. What exactly Geralt was playing at Jaskier didn’t know, but it hadn’t made him want to laugh. All it made him want to do was find the nearest hotel. 

When Geralt came back, hair damp and skin washed of the dirt and grime of the past week Jaskier was sure he was trying to seduce him rather than make him laugh. But instead of making a move Geralt just went to go fetch some firewood for the night.

Things continued on in a similar fashion for hours, the taunting actions Geralt showed, well aware that Jaskier couldn’t take his eyes off of him, began to be more than just visually distracting. By the time he was getting ready for bed he had forgotten entirely about their whole little competition. 

    Jaskier was pulled close to Geralt, sitting sideways across his lap by the end of the night. Geralt held him with one hand on his back and the other across Jaskier’s legs, watching as the younger bard began to blush light pink across his cheeks. 

‘Get yourself together,’ Jaskier told himself, ‘He shouldn’t be able to fluster you so easily.’

But the bard's face only gained more color as Geralt began to hum in his ear, teasing him about how perfectly the two seemed to fit together. “My hand fits in your hand, and on your head like ale in a tumbler. And even now you sit in my lap as if it were a chair made specifically for you.” Geralt pulled him in closer.

“Any my hand right here, fits perfectly against your side,” he said, but something was different about his voice. It was lower, but not in the way he spoke to the things he fought. No, it was more like he was imitating a monster himself. 

His voice was a growl, sending shivers from his neck to his toes once his next words finally hit him with the force of a mountain troll.

“Just perfect to make you like, like music to my ears.”

In his defense, Jaskier was much too taken aback to properly respond in time. It was a rude trick, a dirty rotten cheating trick. Although the realization had hit him it was too late to try to escape the Witchers hands and wiggling fingers. 

With a squawk of betrayal he tried to push himself further into Geralt, away from the hand that had snuck around his side to squeeze and poke the squishy meat of his body. 

He was able to bite down the giggles that tried to jump out of his chest, and focus on squirming away from the feeling. Memories of earlier that day came rushing back, of fuck why did he make a bet against a Witcher, Geralt none the less. Was he a fucking idiot, no just a town foul. 

He in his squirming he brought himself to have his back against Geralt's chest, best for rolling over to escape right? Well not so much. Instead it just so happened to give Geralt his whole chest to explore, and freed his other hand up from where it had been holding him from flopping backwards out of reach. He tossed his head back onto Geralt's shoulder as he valiantly fought the losing end of his internal war, laughter was sitting right behind his teeth trying to desperately pry his lips apart. 

“Come on Jask, you know you won’t be able to hold out much longer. If you break now maybe I’ll take it easy on you for insulting my humor.”

Jaskier knew he was asking for it, really, but again his pride decided now would be a good time to take the map out of his hands and go off road. He shook his head, ending with his face pressed firmly into Geralt's neck to hide the fact that he was smiling, although Geralt could have figured that one out himself, and blushing more than a maiden at a bar. 

His hands began to wander away from just his sides, one heading toward his center, poking around at the squishy section of his stomach while the other went off on its own down past his hip and to the top of his thigh. 

The sudden shift was enough to break the seal of his lips with a yell. 

“FUHuhucKIHING Gerahahlt!”

Jaskier felt himself losing control, his leg kicked out and he did his best to curl up in an attempt to get away from the devilish fingers, but Geralt easily just held him back against himself. 

Geralt could have stopped there, he had already won so what was the point in continuing. Oh, right, Geralt liked to watch Jaskier suffer. How could he have forgotten. 

Geralt just held him there, occasionally switching spots to test which ones got different reactions. He made little comments too, just little “Oh your ribs must be a bad place if you tried to fling yourself away that hard.” or “Remind me to go for your knees when you start to act up on Roach next time, that should get you acting right.”. The little things like that, or how he analyzed Jaskiers different laughs that he had depending on where he was being tickled. 

Geralt learned that when he dug into Jaskier’s legs he would cackle and kick out a lot, but if he went for a softer spot like his stomach he would giggle and melt almost immediately. He loved to see how they made him blush too, even without the little comments areas that were softer tended to make the man much more red in the face than just laughing could explain. With one hand tilting his head up, too weak to try to really fight him off, Geralt was able to see how Jaskiers eyes squinted shut, and his face was dusted with a light pink which disappeared below the collar of his undershirt. He looked almost graceful, like a Nymph from some of the older stories Geralt had heard. Innocent and playful as he seemed Jaskier began to peek an eye open through his laughter.

Now that wouldn't do, Geralt didn’t like to be caught looking as hypocritical as that sounded. As quickly as he could recover, which was much too quick for Jaskier to even notice what was going on in the first place, Geralt had found his escape plan. 

“I know I’ve already won, but I know you love a big finish.”

He wedged both of his hands underneath Jaskiers arms and began to press against the top most rib with vigor. The rapid switch caused Jaskier to let out an honest to god snort which Geralt would have to come back to later seeing how Jaskier moved to cover his mouth at the sound rather than to get the hands away from him. 

It only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to get Jaskier cackling like some witch in a wooden cabin. 

His fingers stilled and Geralt held his huffing Bard against his chest while he caught his breath. Jaskier didn’t try to move away, even after the same person had just attacked him, he knew the threat was over now. Geralt put a hand in his hair and gently rubbed at his scalp, occasionally pulling at the tangles that had found a way into his precious locks. His other hand held onto Jaskiers own, the fingers intertwined. 

Geralt leaned them both back together, Jaskier malleable like dough in his hands. Geralt was preparing to sleep now, Jaskier almost fully dead to the world himself when he heard the faint whispers of his bards voice. “Your humor still sucks though.”

He chuckled deeply from inside his chest. Jaskier might never learn his lesson, but they could always try again tomorrow if he wished to be stubborn.

[zankivich]

Teacher’s Pet: A College AU Chapter 11

a/n: *pokes head out* sorry I’ve been MIA. RA training is a thing and it’s literally been taking up all of my time, but here is this thing that I’ve written. I hope you enjoy it. I just really love these characters and this story makes me happy. And I love love so like... that’s all. Let me know if you don’t hate it I guess? BYE! (P.S reblogs are cooler than likes tbh)

Chapter 11

*Shawn’s p.o.v*

“So you just don’t get to come back to class?”

They were in their bedroom. He was getting dressed to head to class for the third time without her and it was really starting to grate on his nerves. She was lying in bed still in one of his hoodies and sweats, with no reason to put on any different. She wouldn’t admit it allowed, but he knew it was killing her not to be in the classroom.

She sighed. “I have to respect Dr. Edward’s wishes, Shawn.”

“Okay but she said she’d look through the policy a week ago, how fucking long can it take? You didn’t do anything wrong, you deserve to teach that class!”

He was annoyed and frustrated and he couldn’t help but know in his heart that it was his fault. He had been the one who hadn’t taken no for an answer, who had followed her around practically on his knees until she’d given in. She told him the consequences of positions of power, but it had only been in fear for him. He never could have imagined that the most painful consequence would be watching her not get to do what she loved. In this incredible time in his life where he was meeting with producers and finally showing important people his music, her support had been instrumental. Not getting to give that back to her, not getting to show her all of the love that she was showing him, on top of being the reason that she wasn’t working, hit him hard in the chest. The need to fix it was incomprehensible.

“Shawn I get that you’re frustrated. You can maybe imagine how I’m feeling right now as well.” She hinted, reminding him that as painful as it was to watch her go through it, he wasn’t the one experience it.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled pushing her back down to the bed, so he could crawl on top and smother her with the warmth and affection she deserved. “I just want you to be happy. Going to that class just reminds me that it’s all my fault.”

She settled her fingers into his hair and scratched soothingly at his scalp until he closed his eyes and sighed at the comfort.

“I never pushed you away. I never kicked you out of bed, or told you we couldn’t happen. It’s no one’s fault we just… it’s bad timing.”

He peered up at her hand coming to cup her cheek.

“I don’t think falling in love with you could ever be bad timing.” He mumbled.

She smiled and kissed him, her lips soft and plump and intoxicating as ever.

“Go to class. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“I love you.” He mumbled as she pushed him out of bed.

“I love you too. Don’t stress yourself out.”

But he couldn't help it. On the way to campus, all he could think about was the fact that he was getting off scot free, and she was dealing with the worst of it all. She’d been so concerned about the social justice aspect of positions of power in relationships, but how had this not ended up any differently than everything else in the world? The woman was in fear of losing her career, her livelihood, everything, and he just got to go and potentially get a record deal. It made him sick.

He thought about it all of class, completely incapable of focusing on anything Dr. Edwards was saying. By the time class was over he had it completely made up in his mind. He was going to confess and get his girlfriend off the hook if it was the last thing he did. He was sliding out of his seat and heading towards the Professor Edward’s desk when an arm came to wrap around his shoulders.

“Hey Shawny boy.”

It was none other than Mr. asshat himself.

“Roger, how nice of you to join us in class today. Have you decided whether or not you’re going to flunk out yet?” He asked.

Roger only grinned at him.

“You would know a lot about how we’re all doing in class nowadays wouldn’t you?”

That stopped him in his tracks.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh nothing.” He chuckled pulling his arm from around his shoulders.

Shawn stalked after him. “What do you mean by that Roger?”

“Teacher’s pet knows all right?” He asked.

It all sort of clicked at once. Who else had time to try and blackmail his girlfriend but this fucking loser? Who else would care enough to want to hurt either of them? It was creepy and twisted and it brought an anger to his body that he’d never experienced in his whole entire life. The classic macho, hitting walls, and having random bursts of anger in his teenage years had never happened for him. His dad hadn’t raised him that way, had never set that example for him either. So, Shawn was left with no idea how to control what he was feeling. He just knew that his girlfriend was sitting at home hurting, that everything in the world that mattered to her was in jeopardy and it was all because of this fucking asshole.

The heat seemed to radiate from deep within him. He felt hot with it, and he reached for Roger’s shoulder roughly  before he even consciously was aware he was doing it.

“Are you the fucking creep behind this?”

Roger didn’t dignify that with an answer.

“How she taste, Mendes?” He asked eyes holding a wicked glint as he raised two fingers into a v and stuck his tongue between them lewdly. “Grad school pussy that great?”

It wasn’t conscious. He didn’t think about it let alone decide to do it. It just felt like there was something ugly inside of him and he had to get it out, needed to rid himself of it. His fist was cocked and shooting forward before he even knew what happened. Roger fell into one of the desks taken off-guard as much as Shawn was. There was a throbbing pain in his wrist, probably because he’d never punched anything but a bag at the gym, but the anger he felt inside overrode all of that.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” He yelled. “You don’t get to talk about her like that. You don’t even get to think about her like that!”

Professor Edwards was already running over and yelling at them to stop and just as quick as the anger had flooded his senses, it rushed directly back out of him. What was left was a sickening taste in his mouth, and the need to call his girlfriend.

“Both of you in my office. Now! Before I call campus police!”

Shit.

***

“Have you both lost your ever loving minds?!”

Dr. Edwards slapped an ice pack from her fridge at Roger before turning her glare to both of them. She’d never been anything but sweet and kind in class, so this was a major turn around. Roger was suddenly Mr. innocent and quickly threw Shawn to the wolves.

“Dude just swung on me. He’s fucking psycho!”

Shawn scoffed. “Oh no yea, I just swung on you Roger. It had nothing to do with your grotesque way of referring to women by their fucking body parts, or being a general creepy piece of shit.”

“You really wanna go there teacher’s pet?” He spat.

Dr. Edwards was looking between the two of them and Shawn’s eyes widened when he realized this asshole might actually out him. The only thing he could think of was her, and what would be best for her. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to come clean, but he wanted to be in control of the narrative, and if Roger spilled the beans then he’d lose that.

“Alright, look...Whatever is going on between you two does not need to be taken out in my classroom. I’m not going to tolerate this behavior, and if it happens again you’ll both find yourself in front of the dean with an incomplete in this class, am I understood?”

They both nodded sullenly hanging their heads as they were reprimanded.

“Now get out.”

They both jumped out of their seats at her tone and moved to get out of the space. He’d barely made it to the door before Dr. Edwards was calling back for him.

“Shawn, a moment please?”

He turned back cautiously as she looked him up and down. It wasn’t the way that his girlfriend did, but more calculated and intrusive.

“Yes, Professor Edwards?”

She pursed her lips. “When Roger called you teacher’s pet... what did he mean by that?”

“I--I don’t know, Ma’am. Maybe he meant that I was sucking up to you.”

“You sure about that?”

“I don’t know, Ma’am.”

She sighed. “Is there anything you need to tell me, Shawn?”

Her gaze was unwavering. Quite honestly women had always been his downfall, and he should’ve known that he wasn’t going to make it out of that office unscathed. He fell apart with dramatic fashion and quickly collapsed in the chair across from her desk. This was y/n’s favorite person in the world. She had been the one to go out of her way to bring her to the university. He had to believe that she could help, that she would help.

“He thinks that I’m hooking up with your TA.”

“And are you?” She asked eyes peeling away at all of his defenses. “Hooking up with my TA?”

“N--No, I... I tried to. I uh… I was just trying to hook up with her and she completely turned me down. And that asshole has pictures of it and is trying to blackmail her because he doesn’t like me. You have to help her, she doesn’t deserve to lose her job just because of me.” He explained.

She peered at him over her glasses for a minute before her features suddenly softened. She took her glasses off and rubbed tiredly at her eyes.

“I swear I got my doctorate so that I wouldn’t have to teach children and yet here I am.” She mumbled to herself.

He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m not sure I understand ma’am.”

“Bless your heart. Look I admire your valent attempt to white knight this situation, and it really is sweet of you to put yourself into the fire. However, my TA sat right in that seat and openly admitted to being in love with you--though she refused to give you up as you’re doing for yourself right now. So, if you want my help in this mess, you’re gonna have to cut the bullshit.”

So, basically he was fucked.

***

Y/n p.o.v

You were sitting on the couch folding laundry when he came back in. It was wildly domestic to see his socks mixed in alongside yours, or to fold his gym clothes for the drawer that he now occupied in your room. (He also very much did laundry and folding because performing tasks in a relationship are not inherently gendered, and women were not created to clean up after men) You’d never had a conversation about the fact that you lived together at this point. That he bought groceries for your apartment and not his senior house, that his toothbrush sat alongside yours, and you’d even allowed him to change the brand of toothpaste because it was the kind his mom used to buy at home. You woke up to his alarm at six in the morning every day so he could go to the gym, and he always spent at least fifteen minutes cuddling and kissing you before he left you to fall back asleep. It just sort of happened. And you couldn’t really imagine it any differently.

You’d spent your whole dating life being comfortable going with the flow. You’d dated a lot of assholes and a lot of really great people who you hadn’t been able to share yourself with, or hadn’t been ready to. It felt like the perfect timing and things weren’t picture perfect, but it was you and him, together, and everything else just had to fit around that. Being with Shawn felt natural; it felt like breathing, which could only lead you to wonder what the fuck you would ever do without him if that was the feeling he gave you. You kept falling, kept wondering when this feeling would scale back even in the slightest, but it hadn’t. And you were pretty sure that you didn’t want to. If falling forever was a possibility, you wanted to get swept up in that.

So you were in a very reflective, sappy mood when your boyfriend stumbled into your apartment clutching his hand to his chest with his backpack strung awkwardly across his shoulder. There was something off about his aura, like he carried all of his feelings and emotions in cloud that followed him. It was one of things you’d love most about him. Who knew it could also be the most stressful.

“What happened?” You asked immediately ignoring any greetings he might try and give.

He winced. “N--Nothing I… I think I overdid it at the gym.”

“You don’t go to the gym in the afternoon, you only go in the mornings before all of the weight benches are taken. You’re a shit liar, sweetheart.”

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that today.” He sighed. “You won’t be happy with me. I’m not even happy with myself.”

Just what every girl wants to hear.

“Oh Jesus, Shawn. What the hell happened?”

He meandered over to the couch with his head drawn and jaw clenched like an angsty teen who ran their father’s Cadillac into the neighbor’s mailbox. You were fully prepared for the worst. And the worst is exactly what he gave you.

“YOU PUNCHED HIM?!” You screeched slapping at his chest in frustration. “Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

“That is also the second time I’ve heard that today.”

“Shawn what in the hell were you thinking? You can’t go around punching people! He could’ve hurt you, or worse you could have gotten in trouble.”

“Babe don’t you think I know that? I’ve never punched anyone in my whole entire life. I’m Canadian for Christ’s sake, our cars come with an apology honk and a giftcard to Tim Horton’s.” He muttered. “But he… He’s the one behind all of this. And he--he was talking about and I just didn’t know what else to do with myself. It made me so angry.”

His face was soft, cheeks pink, and he was frowning while a curl flopped into his face. He was kind of the most adorable thing to ever exist, and it made it hard to keep up the same level of steam you’d had before.

You slid your hand upon his cheek turning him gently to face you.

“What do you mean?” You asked, voice much softer.

He peered at you and anger flashed in his eyes, something you’d never seen before.

“He’s the asshole behind the texts. He basically admitted to knowing you and I are together. And he was making these comments about you like you’re just a lay to me, like you’re not the most important part of my life. I--I’ve never felt that kind of anger together, but no one is ever gonna talk about you like that in front of me.”

The feelings you’d had from earlier came roaring back and you felt your face heat up at his words. A smile that no one else could pull from you appeared on your face, and you dropped your eyes down to your lap as if to hide just how fucking good that made you feel. Feelings came easily for Shawn, and he was always willing to share how you made him feel, but it didn’t stop it from shocking you every time. It felt good to know where you stood.

“Thank you.” You mumbled.

“Thank you.”

Ugh, so sappy.

“So, Roger is behind the texts. You punched Roger in the face, which like we should probably have a convo at some point about how that made you feel within the context of masculinity and Canadianism, I think that’s important and maybe topic for your final paper but moving right along...Did Dr. Edwards see you?”

His face dimmed. “Y--Yea, she’s the one who broke it up. And she...she knows it’s me that you’ve been dating.”

“WHAT?!”

“Well to be fair, you could have told me you told her you were in love with me! I thought I was confessing to hitting on you like a creep only to find out you told her our whole entire story!”

You slapped him again and he made a comment about the American starting to rub off on him with all the aggression. He may have had a point, but no one--certainly not you--cared at the moment.

“I didn’t tell her our whole story, jackass I simply told her that I was in love and I didn’t regret it, which you would’ve have known if you talked to me before trying to save the day with a lie, when you’re literally the worst liar in the whole world.”

“Well that’s aggressive, have you been lied to by the whole entire world? How could you even measure such a thing?”

“Shawn, can we get back on task please? Am I getting kicked out of school or what?”

“Sorry, sorry.” He reached for your hand with his good one and squeezed it reassuringly. “She thinks we should take it up with the conduct board. Because he’s blackmailing you and because it’s technically an attack against your character, we can plead our case. She said she would back us. I guess she went through and saw all of my tests haven’t been graded by you. She thinks we might be okay.”

You groaned. “I don’t want to put you through that. Conduct cases can be long and messy. You’re still meeting with the music execs and trying to figure out your career, and you have classes on top of all of that. You shouldn’t have to do this.”

“I want to.” He blurted out instantly. “You shouldn’t have to deal with it alone. I love you, let me do this for you.”

Your shoulders slumped and he moved quickly to squeeze at your tense muscles only to hiss when his hand brushed against your skin. You took his oversized palm in both of your hands, moving slowly as to not hurt him.

“Let’s get you some ice.” You murmured effectively ending the conversation for the moment. “Can’t have your money makers getting injured.”

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re talking about my guitar playing, or fingering you. But I’m really great at both.” He grinned.

“I’m breaking up with you.” You deadpanned sending you both into fits of laughter.

What an idiot. God, you loved him.

Because love or whatever.

***

“This is what you want?” You asked.

He nodded. “I can’t….I can’t imagine it any other way.”

You were sitting at the table with three huge info packets in front of you. Shawn picked up the contract that Andrew had given him to look over and held it in his hands. He looked simultaneously overwhelmed and over excited all at once and it warmed the cockles of your heart.

“Then sign it, babes.”

He turned to you with big, brown innocent eyes looking scared as all hell. The urge to wrap him up in your arm and shield him from the world was infinite and you couldn’t help but wonder how the hell you were going to deal with him being a star if it were to happen.

“I feel like everything’s about to change.” He mumbled reaching for your hand to intertwine your fingers. “I just don’t want us to.”

“We won’t.” You assured him with a ferocity that stunned you both. “We’re good. You do this for you, and I’ll support you through it all.”

“Do you promise?”

You put your hand on his knee and squeezed, never breaking eye contact..

“I promise.”

He nodded and that one curl fell down into his face and his cheeks were rosy and he looked so damn young and so mature all at the same time. You watched with bated breath as he signed his name on the dotted line making him officially a managed artist. A heavy moment sat in the air as you both stared at the signature. It was as if you were waiting for the ground to shake and open up or something. It felt like there should’ve been a noticeable shift in the air, but it was just the two of you in your apartment staring over the the document.

“Your handwriting is shit.” You grinned to break the tension.

It worked and he turned to you all smiles and and general fluffiness as he pulled you into a kiss to celebrate.

“Can we go out to dinner to celebrate?” He murmured kissing at your cheek and down to your neck.

“Of course.”

“And walk on the beach afterwards?”

“Yea.”

“And go skinny dipping?”

You chuckled reaching to tug at his curls. “You’re pushing it.”

“Had to try right?”

“You don’t have to try very hard to get me naked. Just not in a place that will get us arrested for indecent exposure, aye?”

He blinked over at you a grin slowly spreading across his face.

“Did you just say ‘aye’?”

Your eyes closed to slits. “No.”

“Oh but I think that you did. Babe if your American is rubbing off me, maybe my Canadian is rubbing off on you!”

“I think not.”

But he was already off and running, his mind completely diverted from the contracts on the table as he would much rather bug you.

“Before you know it you’ll be apologizing for everything and having a subliminal urge to head north.” He laughed.

You figured this was as good a moment as ever to head to your room to get dressed. Your boyfriend was a dumbass.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop! Just one last thing I swear.”

You rolled your eyes but turned to him nonetheless.

“What?”

“O Canada! Our home and native land! /True patriot love thou dost in us command.”

You flipped him off and he quickly tackled you down to the bed to tickle the shit of you, both of you laughing hysterically for seemingly no reason at all. You were  just a bunch of weirdos who happened to be completely in love with each other, and you couldn’t ask for things to be any other way. Even if your boyfriend was a dumbass. Which he was. But you loved him anyway.

taglist: @nevermindmisha @spendsmychange @glader-groupa-sub8 @beggingyouformendes

[rocproductions]

FFXV Small Secret Santa Gift

I’m pushing it for time, but it’s still the 23rd here, so here goes!

This fanfic is for @soundlolgic, one of their requests was for a present swap fic, and they like Cor/Nyx, so... :D

I hope you enjoy! :D :D To all who celebrate something this time of year, have a wonderful holidays! <3

Title: Good Night and Joy be to you all Length: 1563 words (sorry, I haven’t written a short fic in my life, and I was apparently unable to start now) Pairing: Cor/Nyx

Summary: The Winter Solstice is coming up, and Cor forgot about the whole darn thing until Monica reminded him. But Nyx hasn’t said anything either, so maybe it isn’t the biggest deal? (Men.)

“It’s the winter solstice in a few days, Cor; have you gotten something for your better half yet?” Monica asked, her smile knowing, and Cor froze.

Shit.

He had forgotten all about it. Cor thought about it as he finished his paperwork for the day, but couldn’t for the life of him think of a damned thing. Nyx wasn’t big on material goods, minus the occasional keepsake; he wasn’t one for fashion, he already had a phone, and his precious kukri were of world-class make. Sword polish was just boring, and while clothing was practical, that was also...too easy. The few people he had traditionally gifted to got easy to purchase consumables: a fine liquor of some sort for both Regis and Clarus, something that could strip paint for Cid, Monica got the fancy fruitcake she liked plus a cat toy for her fuzzballs, a little cake for Dustin, usually something useful sent by hunter out to Auburnbrie, gift cards for the rest of the Crownsguard-

He was pretty predictable. However, he now had a boyfriend. He was an adult in an adult relationship, and while he knew that Nyx would just laugh it off if he didn’t get him anything, Cor knew he’d feel horrible.

So.

Another day passed, and he still hadn’t figured it out. Nyx had been silent on the subject, and as far as Cor could tell, things were continuing as per usual. Maybe Nyx didn’t celebrate? Maybe he just didn’t care? Cor didn’t know. If he had actually opened his big mouth and asked at some point all of his stewing could have been avoided, but he was an idiot. He knew this, and Monica’s drily amused looks told him that she thought much the same.

Cor generally accepted that he made a good figurehead for the organization, and Nyx liked to say he looked great on the magazine covers, but honestly, Monica and Dustin kept the damn Crownsguard from crumbling under his stupidity sometimes.

He was just wrapping up an eval when he loaded up the news on his computer, something in the corner of the screen drawing his eye.

He would never admit that a popup advertisement on his computer gave him the idea for Nyx’s solstice gift.

Twenty minutes later he had a little inclusive vacation package booked at Galdin Quay for the twenty-second through the twenty-fourth, returning on the twenty-fifth, and he even had the forethought to call down to Altius and Ostium to verify that he could safely kidnap Nyx on those days before letting his head fall to his desk with a sigh.

A vacation actually sounded rather nice.

The morning of the twenty-first started much the same as usual, with Cor and Nyx moving around each other as they got ready for work. Nyx totally got a grope or two in while Cor managed to corner Nyx for a quick make-out session by the door before they left, so it was a good start to the day. Work was the same as usual, he was still wrapping up end-of-year evaluations, and what felt like half the office was out on holiday vacations of their own. Lunch was a boring premade salad, which did nothing to fill him up as he continued to slog through his paperwork.

“Happy Solstice, Cor, got any plans for the evening?” Monica said, her voice chipper and pleasant, and Cor hadn’t even noticed the door open.

Stupid paperwork.

“Nothing I know of for tonight,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll be gone, though, so call me only if it’s an emergency.”

Monica waved away his concerns, then turned to leave. “Have a wonderful trip, marshal, you two deserve some time to yourselves.” The woman was gone before he could even reply, and he returned to his paperwork. A knock on the doorframe a few minutes later drew his attention, and he looked up to see Nyx leaning against it, a rucksack thrown over a shoulder.

What?

“Hey gorgeous, shut that down, we’ve got places to be,” Nyx announced, and Cor went into auto-pilot, saving what he was working on and wrapping everything up without a single word. He joined the Glaive at the door a minute later, Nyx hooking an arm around his and leading them from the Crownsguard offices and to the elevators in silence. It wasn’t until they were walking out of the Citadel did Nyx finally huff out a laugh. “Not even a question as to where we are going?”

Cor shrugged, nodding to the guardsmen they passed as they walked towards the gates. “I trust you, Nyx.”

Nyx actually flushed slightly, then leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek (Cor ignored the scandalized cough from Guardsman Fortis.) “You know just what to say, don’t you?”

By the time they did the second transfer on the subway, Cor was quite certain where they were headed, but he continued to keep his mouth shut as he leaned against the small space to the side of the door, Nyx tucked right against him as they travelled on. It was nice. As they pulled up to the closest station to Little Galahd, Nyx patted his side and turned towards the door.

“Time to go.”

The station was definitely more crowded than he had seen it in the past, but Cor didn’t think a thing of it; it was the solstice, after all, people were travelling.

Then they reached above ground.

“Welcome to a proper Winter Solstice celebration, Cor, Galahd-style,” Nyx said with a grin, and Cor spun slowly in place as he admired the bright decorations adorning the buildings, then watched the spinning dancers clad in clearly significant costumes move to the vibrant music that filled the area; his nose took in a delightful mix of scents both sweet and savory, and his stomach rumbled audible despite itself. Oops. Nyx laughed, before leaning in and giving him a quick kiss before taking Cor’s hand in his. “Let’s go find you some food first, I bet you just had one of those boring salad things for lunch-”

Nyx pulled him over to a street vendor, buying him a sweet drink that made his muscles unwind and his mind relax in minutes, and Cor found himself smiling as Nyx sat him down at a restaurant a block down the road from the drink vendor.

“Ah, I think I should have fed you before getting you that,” Nyx snorted, before he signalled for a waiter. “Of all the people I ever suspected of being lightweights, you weren't even on the list.” Cor hummed, not bothering to dignify that with a response. He wasn’t a lightweight.

The meal was excellent, and Cor was able to enjoy the rest of the festivities with a clearer head as they traveled around; they bumped into several of the Glaives, including Altius and Ostium, but they just wished them a happy solstice before continuing on their way.

“You don’t want to stay with them?” Cor asked, but Nyx shook his head.

“This is a night for us, Cor,” Nyx said, his expression sweet as he pulled them into the dancing crowd. Cor wasn’t a horrible dancer, but he didn’t know the steps; thankfully, Nyx didn’t even wince as Cor tried to figure them out as they went, and they were both laughing as they staggered away a few songs later.

“That could have gone worse, I suppose,” Cor commented, leaning in and giving Nyx a kiss with a heady grin. Nyx wrapped his arms around Cor’s neck and deepened the kiss, which Cor was entirely on board with. After they separated, Nyx took a small box out of the bag he had been carrying and handed it over with a smile.

“Happy Solstice, babe.”

Cor opened the box to discover a candle, and blinked at Nyx, who plucked it out of the box before summoning up a lick of flame to light it before swapping out the box in Cor’s hands with the lit candle.

“It’s traditional, Cor; we are thanking the year for its blessings while welcoming the new one,” Nyx said, before meeting Cor’s eyes directly and waving his arm, indicating everything. “It’s been a good year, hasn’t it?”

Cor didn’t even hesitate, nodding as he watched most of the people light their own candles before turning back to Nyx, wrapping an arm around the shorter man’s waist.

“Thank you, Nyx. This is a wonderful gift.”

A few hours later saw them ensconced in Altius’s apartment (Nyx had borrowed it,) the two settling down into bed (Cor was careful to only have one more of those delightful drinks, and thusly didn’t need to be poured into bed.)

“So where are we going tomorrow?” Nyx said with a smirk, and Cor groaned.

None of those damn Glaives could keep a secret.

--------

Galdin Quay was amazing. Minus eating and other biological necessities, they didn’t get out of bed for two days straight. Cor couldn’t remember the last time he had been able to do anything like that in general, and certainly not with anyone else. It was heavenly.

“We should do this more often, Cor,” Nyx commented as he ran a hand down Cor’s side, and Cor sighed happily as he shifted and gathered the man into his arms, tucking his face into the side of Nyx’s neck with a little smile.

“Definitely.”

[theeurekaproject]

Mortuus Reginae

“I will never understand your insatiable desire for attention.” “I will never understand your propensity for completely unnecessary insults.” “It’s just banter. You’re oversensitive.” “Banter is tasteless.” “Who are you, the Imperatrix of Eleutheria?” “Yes.”

Andromeda groaned. “Fine. I surrender. I still don’t get why all of this is needed, though.” Acidalia’s landing had been as theatrical and overly dramatic as she could possibly make it; the Revelation’s white exterior glimmered in Base Alpha’s fluorescent lighting like a beacon that screamed I’m Acidalia Cipher, come and get me. That ship had top-notch cloaking systems, but the extravagant flamboyance and beauty of its design made them kind of moot; sure, enemy ships couldn’t track it from a distance, but anyone with eyes could see the massive white mansion-with-an-engine hovering in front of them. If Acidalia had gotten ambushed and murdered on her way back from her impromptu journey to Mars, Andromeda wouldn’t have been the least bit sympathetic.

Then again, she wasn’t too sympathetic of Acidalia on a day-to-day basis, anyway—but Acidalia didn’t to know that. It was really better for her and everyone else if the Imperatrix Ceasarina continued to think of Andromeda as her right-hand-man, and honestly, there was no harm in that; they were on the same side, and they were brilliant leaders with levels of genius the rest of the movement could hardly hope to aspire to. If them getting along meant that Andromeda had to continue to pretend that she actually enjoyed spending time with this insufferable, melodramatic, over-glorified princess with more money than God, then so be it. She’d met worse people before.

Still, she grated her teeth a little bit as Acidalia’s face came into her field of vision. Maybe it was Andromeda’s high-definition cybernetic eye that made Acidalia look more annoying than she actually was… or maybe it was just her obnoxious, holier-than-thou personality.

Well, her absence had been nice while it lasted.

Acidalia was dressed in a long, sweeping dress intricate enough to be a wedding gown, because of course she was. If marriage was still a thing in Eleutheria, she’d have looked exactly like a bride. A delicate, sheer veil was draped over her perfectly-curled hair—a symbol of mourning that wouldn’t be obvious to anyone who didn’t know her intimately enough to understand that she was exactly the type to still use mourning veils, but only when they were bleached white enough to match her style. Andromeda almost wanted to ask what the point of a bleached-white mourning veil was—didn’t its brightness kind of defeat the purpose?—but she already knew the answer; like everything else Acidalia ever did, it was for the aesthetic.

“You look absolutely ridiculous,” she snapped, motioning to the veil. She realized suddenly that it was topped by a pearlescent quartz tiara studded with diamond flowers, and mentally facepalmed.

“My brother is dead,” Acidalia said cooly. Next to her, David Seren shot Andromeda an ugly glare. She’d have told him to stuff a sock in it if his daughter wasn’t standing right next to him.

“Then I guess we’re on even footing,” Andromeda shrugged.

Acidalia’s expression didn’t even change. “You never had any brothers,” she said.

“And now you don’t, either. See?” The see? at the end was unnecessary, but being patronizing felt good, and Andromeda had no time for this type of sentimental bullshit. Acidalia may as well have weighted herself down with six feet of black crape like the widows of old. Leave it to the Imperatrix to turn the death of a seventeen-year-old—who was, naturally, in no way special in any sense of the word when his relationship to Acidalia was removed from the picture—into a whole big elaborate production combined with a fashion statement.

Acidalia’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You know that witnessing a sibling’s death and being born an only child are two objectively different things, Praetor.”

Andromeda groaned internally at the use of her title, which Acidalia only used when she was trying to be quietly passive-aggressive. It carried the same weight as a parent referring to their child by her first, middle, and caste name all at the same time, and she had a sudden flashback of hearing someone yell Andromeda Amalura, Labora! and knowing she was in trouble. When most people called her a Praetor, she felt powerful—it was the highest military rank anyone in the Revolution could achieve, and she was quite proud of it—but Acidalia managed to make it seem infantilizing, and perhaps the most infuriating thing was that Andromeda responding to it would only make her look more childish.

“Everyone here has lost someone,” she said, hoping she was coming across as stern instead of angry. “You know how many seventeen-year-old boys die on a daily basis? T wasn’t special.”

“Every person’s life is special,” David Seren said with faux-fatherly wisdom.

Andromeda rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’m so very sorry for not dropping everything to mourn some random kid who was exactly as special as every other random kid who ever dropped dead. It’s almost like I don’t place any extra value on his life just because he was related to a powerful woman… or I thought that’s what you wanted? Unless nepotism is acceptable now.” “I never said that. Stop putting words in my mouth—“ “She’s right, David,” Acidalia interrupted, sighing. “More people are going to die if we don’t start coming back from this, and none of those soldiers’ lives are inherently more valuable than T’s was. If he were still alive, he never would have wanted more boys being sent off to their doom because the leadership couldn’t get its lives together.” David’s expression softened, but he still didn’t look entirely too pleased with Andromeda, who decided not to dignify him with a response. She could not possibly care less about the opinions of a random Martian farmer—or secretary of agriculture, whatever the hell that was—when it came to her relationship with Acidalia and her job. “Okay,” she said briskly. “Now that we’ve got that conversation over with, we should probably focus on the imminent military threats, which are much more important to me personally than the death of a guy whose body we can’t even recover. Anyone else agree?” “Yes,” Acidalia said, “but you don’t have to be so crass about it.” “More like you don’t have to be an asshole about it,” murmured a random girl Andromeda had never met before in her life. She was about to retort, but Acidalia said softly, “she’s just being pragmatic, Athena.” “Why do you defend her?” David asked.

“Because her heart’s in the right place, and she’s a military genius.” Andromeda smiled. That’s more like it.

“Can’t argue with that,” David said, “but—“ “No buts,” Andromeda interrupted. “We’re going to the Scorpio. Move.”

***

The Scorpio was the exact opposite of the Revelation in every way, and that was just how Andromeda liked it.

It always astounded her how this military ship—a ship that was pretty much held together with duct tape, no less—managed to be more welcoming and human than the most expensive cruiser the entirety of the solar system had to offer. The Scorpio was a monument to Andromeda’s achievements, but it was organic, living, full of humanity—not some stiff white statue dedicated to short-lived Imperial beauty. She loved it like she’d love her own child—if she liked children, which she didn’t—and she felt that the affection was well-deserved; this ship had seen so many battles and bore so many scars on its steely black hull that it practically warranted its own Purple Heart.

Acidalia, of course, didn’t see it that way. She hated the Scorpio, but she was too infuriatingly polite to say so, and Andromeda didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

As they crossed the threshold of the ship, Andromeda felt everything in the left side of her body settle. Her cybernetics liked this place, and they had enough of a mind of their own that Andromeda thought it best to keep them happy. Human or otherwise, she was more than ready to grant rights to the systems that controlled her labored breathing and the pulse of her overworked heart (hearts? She’d lost track of her organs years ago—they were too numerous and fickle for her to remember any of them, anyway.) The mechanical half of her brain emitted a surge of dopamine, or something like it, in the same way a cat purred in contentment, and Andromeda’s organic mind had to agree with it—the Scorpio was home.

“Take your shoes off,” she called to the crowd behind her. (Why were there so many people here? she wondered. Acidalia and David, of course, and David’s teenage daughter—but who had invited two Scientias, a mutant cantrix, and a random AX-class to this meeting?) Nonetheless, they all complied, even Acidalia—who, Andromeda noticed with annoyance, was wearing ridiculously tall high-heeled shoes that probably cost more than this entire base. She zoomed in on one of them with her left eye and saw diamond fire flickering in the center of each tiny gemstone—yep, those shoes were definitely worth somewhere in the millions to billions of dollars. And Acidalia had just casually tossed them to the side like they were $10 clearance pumps she bought from a department store. Of course she did—if a single jewel broke, she could have a dozen new pairs made for her by tomorrow, each more diamond-studded and more valuable than the last.

“You seem frustrated,” Acidalia said, deliberately non-confrontationally.

“Yeah, well, I’d like to get this show on the road before all of Terra gets invaded by blue alien fish people,” Andromeda replied pointedly. She couldn’t do much, not when Acidalia was mourning a brother and dressed like an overgrown flower girl—anything Andromeda could possibly say would make her look like an asshole. If there was anything Acidalia excelled at, it was delicate, verbal manipulation, and she would have everyone convinced she was the victim within thirty seconds of being insulted. So Andromeda had to speak like a military commander who was worried about her movement instead of an irritated peer who didn’t like the notion of spending millions of credits on shoes, and nobody would judge Acidalia at all. Such is life—or, as Acidalia herself would have said, c’est la vie (because of course she spoke fluent Francogallicus, a language that had been dead for over ten centuries. Again, aesthetic.)

Andromeda shook her head, trying to clear it. She was a Praetor, above all—and that meant that, unlike the Imperatrix, she actually had to do things other than flee from danger and look pretty on camera. She couldn’t afford to be thinking like this any more than Acidalia could afford to grieve for her dead family. There was danger in the upper atmosphere and work to be done, and rationality and logic had to rise above anger and resentment, at least until the threat was gone.  

She sat at the head of the table and pressed the big metal button at the center, changing the windows from translucent to opaque. The Scorpio was one of the most technologically advanced starships in the galaxy, and she could easily replace every mechanical switch with sleek holographics, but there was something visceral and satisfying about physically changing things with her fists, and exposed wires and motherboards scared her guests more than plastic and glass ever could. At the clicking sound of the button, the Cantator jumped, and Andromeda felt a wave of sympathy for her—she’d been like that once, too, in another lifetime.

Acidalia sat at her right hand side and David at her left, and that probably meant something, etiquette-wise, but Andromeda had no idea what it was. The others arranged themselves around the three seats of power awkwardly, like they’d never been in this type of situation before—save for Cressida Seren, who sat right next to her father with an air of arrogance and immediately started examining her fingernails in the universal sign of “I’m bored.” Andromeda surveyed them all from left to right: a very clean-cut looking Scientia with short ombré gray hair and understated makeup, a significantly more disheveled Scientia with a bored smirk, a frightened and clearly genetically modified Cantator, and a soldier boy with tears in his eyes. “First order of business,” she said, “who are these people?” “David Seren, Cressida Seren, Carina, Athena, Lyra, and Ace,” Acidalia said, rattling off the names like an Auctor teacher would say words on a spelling test. “David is the Secretary of Agriculture on Mars, quite obviously, and Cressida is his daughter. Athena and Carina are both astrophysicists who risked their lives to warn me about the assassination attempt staged by Cassiopeia. Lyra is a new recruit who accompanied Ace to Mars as a plan to safeguard him from Alestra, and Ace is my late brother’s best friend, who saved me at the coronation. Each one of these people deserves to be commended for their bravery—they’re risking everything they’ve ever known just by being around me.”

Andromeda looked at them again. None of them looked particularly brave, and she was about 75 percent sure that Athena had stolen good sticking out of her pockets. Cressida was already scrolling through a Martian social networking website on her metadit, clearly not paying attention to anything that was being said, and Carina was rubbing the back of her neck like she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. There was a decent chance that Acidalia had simply taken a personal liking to them and exaggerated their backstories for their sakes, but Andromeda decided not to question that—after all, these six strangers were the only people on the planet who knew Acidalia was alive, and that would be supremely important later.

“Okay,” Andromeda huffed. “I’m assuming you’re all trustworthy, right?” It really didn’t matter if they weren’t—this meeting wasn’t exactly a secret. Acidalia nodded, though she did glance quickly at Athena’s overflowing pockets and shot Andromeda a look that said, leave it be.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Andromeda continued. “So, second order of business: we might be getting invaded by aliens.”

If that news surprised Acidalia at all, she didn’t show it, but everyone else around the table jumped—save for Cressida, who had transitioned from Martian social media to a cheap mobile game with lots of flashing lights and obnoxious noises. “What do you mean?” David asked.

“I mean that the interstellar mermaid gladiator people who have been orbiting our planet for decades have finally made landfall,” Andromeda said. “Look.” She pulled up a map of Appalachia City and pointed to a glowing dot that hovered somewhere around the Imperial District. “That ship isn’t Terran or Martian, and the signals I’m getting from it are showing me that it belongs to the Mira.” “How many are there?” Acidalia asked, concerned. “Just the one, but that could change. We’ve been on even footing for a while, but now that our army is fighting itself, I think they’ve found the chinks in our armor. This might be their opportunity to land.”

“Well, have they deployed any weapons?” Acidalia asked, “or done anything to indicate they want to harm us?”

“They’re Mira, of course they want to harm us.” “But they wouldn’t have sent just one ship if that were the case, would they?” Acidalia tilted her head in a pointed way, not exactly self-satisfied but close to it, and a surge of anger shot through Andromeda’s body again. She was so infuriatingly good at being eruditely snobby without making herself snobby at all, and it bothered Andromeda because she knew damn well that her level of politesse was simply not high enough to counter Acidalia’s. It didn’t matter what she thought or said or did, every conversation she could possibly have with the Imperatrix Ceasarina would wind up making her look like an imbecile and Acidalia like an eloquent space queen.

“We don’t know,” Andromeda said, gritting her teeth. “They sent us a message, but I don’t trust it.” “Play it for me,” Acidalia said.

“It’s written. Like an email.” Andromeda pulled it up anyway and handed it off to Acidalia, who read it quietly for a few minutes. It was nothing remarkable—mostly it was an extraordinarily generic statement about wanting to meet with an Eleutherian diplomat, the type of thing any sovereign would send to another leader in the hopes of forging some kind of political relationship. If it hadn’t come from an alien civilization Terra had been in a war of attrition with for the past God-knows-how-long, it wouldn’t have rung any alarm bells.

“Well,” Acidalia said, “they definitely know just what to say. This entire letter is written in Roman Latin too, did you notice that?” Andomeda hadn’t noticed that, but now that she was looking right at the words, it was obvious—the grammar was perfect. Eleutherian Latin didn’t even bother with any sort of grammar as long as the speaker could get their point across, but Roman Latin was fancy and full of itself, with complex systems of declensions and phonemes and other linguistic words she could only half-remember. Not even the Imperials spoke in Roman Latin outside of very, very formal events, none of which Andromeda was privy to, and even then it was purely ceremonial—nobody actually put effort into speaking in that archaic dialect of a dead language. And yet, the Mira had put in all that effort.

“How would they even know what ancient Romans spoke like, anyway?” Athena asked, voicing what Andromeda was thinking. “Nobody even talks to the Mira. The cultural exchange between us is like, zilch.”

“Well, it’s not quite zero,” Acidalia replied, “as we do know some things about them… namely that they’re significantly weaker than us physically, and also much more aggressive, it seems. But that’s all stereotypical and based on the experiences of a few men. They don’t like to take prisoners and they most certainly don’t like to be prisoners, so contact has been limited, to say the least. I do wonder why, out of all things, they would choose to learn an extremely antiquated form of Latin. Perhaps it’s for the sake of getting our attention?”

“If they wanted attention, why are they just sitting there quietly?” Andromeda pointed out. “I think they’re trying to lure either you or Alestra there, and then kill you. I mean, think about it: they have the perfect opportunity now. Eleutheria is tearing itself to pieces, you and your mother are both desperate to get the upper hand, and they’ve managed to breech our defenses, land in our capitol city, and bring a whole ship with them—not just a tiny fighter. If they want to occupy Terra, this is a good time. All they have to do is bring in their army and clear us out, and that starts with the leadership.” Acidalia frowned. “You may be right.”

“Aren’t I always?” David rolled his eyes. “I think you’re being a little pessimistic here. They aren’t doing anything just yet—I think they might genuinely want to talk to us. If they want Acidalia dead, why haven’t they hunted her down already?” “Because she’s in one of the most secure places on the planet? Not even the Nova have access to this base, and they’re just as Terran as we are. The Mira are aliens. How could they possibly find it?” Andromeda said. “They’re just waiting for Acidalia to come out of the woodworks.” “Doesn’t the entire planet think Acidalia’s already dead?” David asked.

Oh, right, Andromeda thought. Shit. With the Imperatrix sitting right here in front of her, she’d completely forgotten the fact that Alestra had announced the demise of her daughter to the entire planet just a few hours ago.

Acidalia sighed. “Do we know how much the Mira know? Because that could change everything. If they think I’m dead, then they wouldn’t be trying to kill me, and they’re not after Andromeda, either, because they have no idea she exists.” “Don’t know she exists?” David said incredulously. “Isn’t she like your equivalent of a general?”

“Yes, and I am a very, very, very secretive general,” Andromeda replied. “If a job is well-done, people won’t even realize that it was done in the first place. You know how many ‘accidental’ deaths were a result of me?” Her mechanical arm sprang to life, LEDs blinking like sleep-clouded eyes, and she flexed her hand to show off the metal. “I’ve got built in tasers and brass knuckles, plus a cybernetically reenforced steel skeleton. I’m about seven times stronger than the average man, and just as fast. I can beat someone to a bloody pulp and be gone before anyone saw me, and in case I need a little more subtlety than what a cyborg soldier can offer, I have the whole damn Revolution underneath me—including the spies. I can do whatever I want and nobody has to know.”

David looked nervous. “Great,” he said, sounding forced. “That’s… cool.”

“And,” Acidalia continued, “they have no reason to want anyone else dead, either. I mean, they could be targeting Alestra, but again, why wouldn’t they just kill her? We know she’s not buried in some hidden Nova base—she was giving a speech about my ‘unavoidable and tragic accidental death’ a couple of hours ago, and she was standing right on the palace balcony. Surely they could have killed her then if they wanted to really cause chaos.”

“There’s still Mars,” David said. “What about Arlen Tycho?” “Do you really think they give a shit about Mars?” Andromeda laughed. “Come on, man. It’s Mars. Not even Martians care about Mars. Besides, we all know the presidents are all doomed. Didn’t the last guy die in office after he was rude to Alestra in public?” “Last four,” Acidalia corrected. “And their vice presidents shortly thereafter. I believe President Tycho was… President pro tempore of the Senate? He was third or fourth in line; my mother murdered all of his predecessors.”

“Jesus,” Athena huffed. “I never imagined the bureaucracy could be so exciting.”

Before David could respond to that, Acidalia effortlessly inserted herself back into the conversation, interrupting so fluidly that it didn’t feel like she was interrupting at all. “Either way,” she said, “I think we’ve come to the conclusion that they don’t want to kill us. I think we should send a diplomat.” “Or we could nuke them to death and forget the whole thing,” Andromeda shrugged.

Acidalia practically gasped. “Have you gone mad? That’s what landed us in this war in the first place.”

“What?!” Andromeda snapped. “It’s an effective display of power, at the very least. It’ll show them we mean business. And, for the record, they have committed a crime—they’e trespassing on Imperial territory without permission.”

“That is absolutely 100% not a nuke-worthy crime,” David said, as if Andromeda would ever care about his opinion at all.

“I just think that sending a diplomat to this is dangerous and ridiculous,” Andromeda said. “Who knows what they want? It’s an eat-or-be-eaten world out there, literally. They kill us or we kill them.” “Not everything has to come down to that,” Acidalia replied. “But I do agree that this is a mine field. This situation that calls for civility and grace, not nuclear bombs and indiscriminate murder. So, if we do send a diplomat, I propose that I go myself.”

A chorus of questions acme from the rest of the table. “You can’t do that,” David said. “It’s too risky, and we need you.” “But it’s a power play, and it gets them on our side,” Acidalia argued. “Look at it this way. They’re currently staring at a war-torn city on a planet they’ve thought of as backwards and barbaric for the past few centuries at the very least. They don’t see a noble cause fighting against tyrannical overlords; they see two equally bad warring factions killing each other in a brutal and bloody civil war. But if we could get them to see us as friends and my mother as the enemy, two things happen: one, this war of attrition might end and they’ll stop trying to hurt Terra, and two, we gain someone on our side, backing us up. But imagine what would happen if my mother got to them first. Either she kills them all and makes them angrier than ever, and all of Eleutheria falls to pieces because divided we fall, or she gains an ally. Both are bad.” David groaned. “I hate that you’re right about this." “And,” Acidalia continued, “if I go myself, that immediately shows them that Alestra—and, by extension, the Nova—is duplicitous, manipulative, and all-around untrustworthy. What better way to showcase that than by proving that they lied about the death of an enemy leader? The Mira aren’t dumb, and I’m sure they’ve had their suspicions for a while, but this will confirm them. And, hopefully, we can make them sympathetic to us. But it’s going to take an expert politician to navigate this, which is why I propose that I go. Not to sound arrogant, but—" Andromeda started playing white noise in her ears and promptly stopped paying attention. Whatever Acidalia was about to say after that but was not worth listening to—she’d learned that much. Listening to her talk about how good at politics she was was could bore any sane human being to tears, and it was especially grating to Andromeda, who had to put up with it almost constantly. She waited until Acidalia’s sparkly red lips stopped moving, then returned to the conversation, hoping nobody had noticed her brief vacation from having to listen to the Imperatrix talk. Honestly, though, even if they had, she wouldn’t care.

“I still think this is inordinately risky,” David said. “Even if they’re benevolent towards Acidalia, and that’s a big if,  what if they also just genuinely want our planet for their own? It’s not like we can do anything now when the whole Earth is divided in two.”

“We can still nuke them,” Andromeda said again. Next to her, Acidalia rolled her eyes in annoyance. “What?” Andromeda asked. “Got any better solutions?”

“Yes. Diplomacy.”

“And what if they kill you?” “The planet already thinks I’m dead. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me. It matters to the Revolution.”

“You’ll get over it.” “The scientists won’t.” Acidalia sighed, looking very overburdened, and stared off into the distance—or, at least, she tried to. It would have come across as less spacey if she wasn’t looking blankly at the Scorpio’s opaque windows. “That’s true,” she admitted, her voice soft. “But they could learn.” “They won’t learn without someone to teach them,” Andromeda said, hoping she looked more enthusiastic than she felt. She had seen this type of thing before in dozens of people; one person died and suddenly everyone was borderline suicidal. Acidalia, for all her high-and-mighty queenliness, was not as immune to grief as she thought she was.

“You are right,” Acidalia said, “but they aren’t going to kill me. I’ll go, and I’ll take a guard and an entourage. It would look suspicious if I showed up alone, anyway—I want them to see me as a legitimate leader ousted from the palace, not a bastard rebel out for blood because my pure-bred little sister is getting the throne. Why doesn’t David come with me?” David sat up straight as a board, looking panicked. “What? Me?!” “You’re much physically stronger than I am,” Acidalia said, “and I can’t exactly bring anyone else, seeing as no one has any idea I’m alive. I suppose I could reveal myself now, but I’d rather stay silent and make a big show of it later—that way, if I should die before the victory comes, nobody will have known I was alive to begin with. As it stands, I’m a martyr and the Revolution is mourning me—they’ll fight harder than they ever have before, because it’s personal this time, and they’re angry. So guards are out of the question..” “But its been years since I was in the army,” David stammered. “I’m not as tough as Andromeda, and I’m not a real a politician like you.” Andromeda snorted. “You’re the minister of farming on a planet known for its farms, how is that not political?” “Secretary of agriculture,” Acidalia corrected. “But she’s right; you are a politician.” “In name only! Mars is a meritocracy built around a computer program created a thousand years ago by some religious fanatics; the only reason I ever got power to begin with was because the whole internet thought my baby daughter was cute and that drove up my social points so much that my boss named me as his successor, and then my boss got shot and here I am. It was all just luck! Besides, nobody in the Martian government does any actual work—the Algorithm runs everything, we all just stand there and look handsome.” Beads of sweat poured down from his curly hair into his unshaven stubble, and Andromeda wondered not for the first time where Acidalia was even finding these people. David Seren was like a bad one-credit-store, off-brand version of someone respectable—what help could he possibly be? And it wasn’t like anyone else here would be useful, either—both of the Scientias seemed absolutely clueless, Cressida was still playing on her phone, and Lyra and Ace looked too sad to serve any real purpose.

Fucking fantastic. We’re supposed to be meeting aliens and this is the team we have? When Andromeda was sixteen, she’d escaped from a jail cell with a crack team made up of four stim addicts and three separate men who had been arrested for public indecency, and every single person in that little cohort still managed to be more competent than any of the supposedly high-ranking, important officials standing around blankly right now. Andromeda had never felt smarter—probably because her IQ drove the mean of the people in this room up by at least ten points. She couldn’t possibly let all of these morons go off to meet the Mira alone—with her luck, they’d all manage to stumble into the path of an asteroid or fall off a cliff or meet some other hilariously unlikely and horrible fate, because the universe just didn’t seem to like them very much.

“You know what?” Andromeda said. “Fine. Fine. We’ll go talk to the Mira, and David can stay on the ship and wait and see if they want a Martian representative before he gets off. And we can bring this disphit—“ she gestured to Ace—“because one immune is better than nothing. As for the rest of you, do what you want—just be quiet about it. And I’m coming.”

“You?” Acidalia asked, alarmed. “We can’t have the both of us go; it’s far too risky. We’re putting all of our eggs in one basket, and there is no designated survivor or line of succession here. They think I’m already dead, but you—you’re one of the biggest assets we have, we can’t lose you and me both.” “Well, if I don’t go, all of you are going to get your asses kicked,” Andromeda snapped. “I mean, look at you. Acidalia, you’re an excellent shot, but you’re a twig. You got all cut up just from Ace trying to protect you—imagine what you’d look like if someone really wanted to hurt you. And these other people are, what, Scientias? Cantatores? They’re not made for fighting. The only physically strong people here are Ace and David, and even David might be pushing it a little with that dadbod. You need someone to smash those blue fuckers’ skulls in if things get dangerous.”

“I have smashed plenty of skulls in throughout the course of my life, for the record,” Acidalia said, “but if you’d like to accompany me, I have no real qualms with that. I’m just concerned that both of us will—“ “‘Both of us die? Anyone who wants me dead will have to fight me first.” Andromeda flexed her metal arm. “No offense, but carbon nantoubule bones and steel muscle are a little harder to break than weak-ass myoblast fibers covering osteoporotic calcium bones.” “I am not osteoporotic, my ancestors were just accustomed to lower gravity—“ “Doesn’t matter, the point has been made.” Andromeda leant back and put her feet up on the table, partially to establish her dominance in the room and partially to show off her fancy new 3D-printed, custom-made metal prosthetics. Noir-black titanium alloys just seemed so much more intimidating than pasty pale flesh and blood, and they were prettier than the brusied, burnt skin that used to cover her body. “I’m going with you.” Acidalia looked like she wanted to protest, but she didn’t. Instead, she swallowed her words and looked down at the holographic pinpoint representing the starship, examining it with uncomfortable closeness. “We should leave soon,” she said finally, “before they assume we aren’t coming. I’ll draft a response to their letter.” “Sounds good,” Andromeda said. “And as for the rest of you people, do what you want. Nobody here cares if you live or die, so you’re free to make your own decisions.”

Ace and the girls at the table looked at each other, semi-alarmed, as Andromeda strode away. It must be freeing, she thought, to live like that—to be a teenager with no real connections to anybody and no responsibilities. She’d never had the luxury of freedom; her entire life had just been falling from one type of slavery into another. Being a wage slave to the Revolution was better than being an actual slave to the Eleutherian government, but it still wasn’t true freedom the way she’d always envisioned it—she was still trapped here, forever working. Serving the state and serving a master were not entirely different things, especially when she still had to put up with people as dumb as David Seren and as infuriating as Acidalia Cipher. And sure, this job allowed her to use her strategic mind a little more, but what was even the point if she wasn’t allowed to play with her favorite toys? Nuclear bombs were horrific and useful, and they seemed about as appropriate a response to an alien landing as anything else.

But Acidalia said no, and that meant no.

Andromeda tried not to think about her as she stormed off down the landing ramps. Acidalia would get her dues someday, when she tried to fix some problem with friendly diplomacy but her enemies brought guns to a knife fight. Then she’d be sorry—sorry that she hadn’t listened to Andromeda, the military genius who’d won every war she’d ever fought, and sorry that she’d been so inordinately idealistic about war, where everything is fair and the victors make the only rules long after the fight has ended. Andromeda played with fire, but she did it well; Acidalia just sat there surrounded by gasoline and matches, wondering what she should do.

Whatever. There was a time for diplomatic relations and a time for mushroom clouds, and Andromeda would be getting her way soon. If there was anything her life had taught her, it was that there are some situations where violence is the only answer—and if this war continued on the trajectory it was heading towards, it would be time for mushroom clouds very soon.