#lae writes

[laelior]

The Weight of the World

To: Master Operations Chief (ret.) Margaret Shepard

This letter is to inform you that your granddaughter, Lieutenant Commander Bethany Shepard, was presumed killed in action following the destruction of the SSV Normandy by unknown enemy forces on December 5, 2183. 

Lieutenant Commander Shepard’s service with the Alliance was an example to us all and her heroic actions in service both to Earth and the Citadel Council will never be forgotten. 

At this time, we are unable to publicly announce details related to the destruction of the SSV Normandy. At such a time when we are able, rest assured that the Alliance will lay Lieutenant Commander Shepard to rest with full military honors.

Please accept my sincerest condolences for your loss.

Adm. Steven HackettAlliance 5th Fleet Command

Anderson sat in the back of his skycar, numbly rehearsing the words of the letter in his hands over the neatly-folded Alliance flag and Alliance-stamped urn in his lap. God, for such a small jar it must have weighed a ton. Nevermind that it was empty.

His eyes continually wandered to the shallow, formulaic words on the flimsy paper in his hands, hoping that somehow they’d magically rearrange themselves into something less weighty than the gravitational pull of a whole damn planet before the skycar touched down.

Hackett had already sent nineteen letters just like the one in his hands to nineteen different addresses. Letters addressed to Preslies, Dravens, Tanakas and so forth. Letters only confirming what the rumor mill had already been circulating for months. Letters delivered by NCOs and junior officers with black bands around their arms as a thin show of solidarity for their losses. It had been tempting to pass this particular letter off to someone else, too, but some things just had to be done.

“We’re almost there, sir,” the driver said.

The skycar gently touched down on the street next to a neat little house with an immaculately maintained garden. Even in the dead of winter the hedges were neatly trimmed and the flower beds were freshly mulched.

The driver went out to ring the doorbell while Anderson slowly gathered himself for the news he had to deliver.

The woman who came out to the front porch to greet him after a moment was smaller than he expected. He’d never met her before, but Peggy Shepard was a legend in her own right. One of the founding mothers of the Alliance non-commissioned officer’s corp and one of the best damn sniper instructors the service ever had. Hell, her 500-meter longshot record had stood for nearly forty years and had only been broken a few years ago by Lieutenant Coats.

And she didn’t need a letter to tell her why he was here. That was obvious from the hard, steely look in her eyes that flicked to his uniform, the flag tucked under one arm, and the black band around the other. Her eyes lingered on the captain’s stars on his lapel and her hand twitched at her side, fighting the reflexive urge to salute. Old habits died hard, and habits drilled in by a lifetime of military discipline were harder to kill than most. When she looked him right in the eye, though, Anderson had to fight the urge to flinch.

Throughout his military career, Anderson had faced more threats than he cared to count, from the petty political rivalries that riddled the service right up to Saren himself. And just then he would have rather faced down Sovereign itself if it meant getting away from the look in her eyes.

She was no stranger to this ritual. A casual glimpse at the Shepard family tree told him how many of its branches had been pruned like this. But that never meant it was easy to be the bearer of this particular news.

“Ma’am,” he intoned formally. Formalities were good. They were safe. He held up the folded flag and offered it to her with both hands. But before he could so much as open his mouth to say the words that were the next part of the ritual, she held up a hand and drew in a shaky breath.

“It’s true, isn’t it? What they’ve been saying?” She asked quietly. No need to ask what they were saying.

Anderson could only nod stiffly. “I’m afraid so, ma’am.”

She quietly accepted the flag, taking the weight from him and hugging it closely to her chest. 

“The Alliance offers its sincerest condolences for your loss,” he intoned, getting back to the words of the ritual. “If there’s anything we can do for you….” He trailed off. There was nothing the Alliance could do for her that would remotely make up for the magnitude of her loss, and there was no point pretending otherwise. 

She nodded in acknowledgement of the harsh, unspoken truth that passed between them.

“I need to make arrangements,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, before turning back into her house and letting the door slam shut behind her. The large wooden door closed with a resounding thud that made him flinch with its finality. He set the urn and the letter down on the porch table next to the door and went back to the car, his duty thus discharged.

If it was a tragedy for a parent to bury their child, then it was an utter goddamn travesty for a grandparent to lower their grandchild’s casket into the ground.

The driver cleared his throat, cutting across the uncomfortable silence that filled the car. “Where to next, sir?”

“Norfolk,” he said, picking the closest Alliance base he could think of off-hand. The car began its ascent, leaving the view of the Shepard household behind.  “Drop me off at the officer’s club, and tell them to have a glass of Ardbeg 16 ready, no ice.”

Something to wash away the ashy taste of having been the one to send Peggy Shepard’s granddaughter to her empty grave.

[hikkokoro]

Someone pointed out that in almost every SAMS/LAES thumbnail, Sun is the punching bag

Man, he cant get a break..

[notokbutthriving]

so uhh-

@starheirxero y'know your idea about the eldritch astrals?

[starheirxero]

Have you seen "Lunar is flustered around Gemini" yet? :D

YES I HAVE AND IT'S EVERYTHING TO MEEEEEE

The "crushing and figuring feelings out" stage in a ship is genuinely the cutest and most entertaining part of a ship to me and that episode was FULL OF IT!!!!!

I was especially fond of the lil, "I like you." [confused, polite Gemini silence.] "Romantically." "Oh!" IT WAS SO SWYWTWUAGQUAGSJD

I am hoping wishing PRAYING that they will At Least have some sort of undefined/queerplatonic swag. I desperately desperately DESPERATELYYYYY want them to be a thing. and even if they aren't I'm so happy that these 3 have reached the eyes of the public and I will always be here to be insane about them <3

[forcedhesitation]

I love that the bg3 guys are all written to have this intense adoration of karlach and lae’zel’s abilities to absolutely eviscerate their enemies. they’ve all got the same taste in women, which is “she could gut the big scary man chasing me, and then princess carry me to safety in her blood spattered arms.” and I respect and relate to that, as a bisexual man myself.

[des-no9]

E - 2.5k Lae'zel/Tav Lae'zel tries to deal with losing Vlaakith, her identity, the istik she was falling for. Vanquish, her guilt and everything else.

You are nothing. Tries to scrub again, but Vanquish stops her. Peels away her hands, the cloth to hers. “You’re bleeding.” Matter of fact as Vanquish shifts herself in-front of the mirror, the only reflection left the one in her eyes. “I know.”

[n1ghtwarden]

also i will say minth's dialogue/writing is pretty inconsistent. she says all servants of gods are victims and wind up dead yet supports shadow and lae becoming 'chosen' of their gods and also supports durge becoming full slayer even after saying she'd kill them if they lose control. which ok sure she's a power hungry hypocrite. but. these are also ppl she cares abt and is loyal to.

w lae especially she comments on their similarities and vlaak/lolth parallels - so i don't think , in lae's case at least, minth would be for 'submitting' to vlaak. shadow and shar? i don't think she cares enough and for all she knows aylin is some rando in a cage. she DEFINITELY appreciates the power aylin the sword of selune can wield; but in the moment? she'd be siding with shadow.

[neopronouns-in-action]

Neopronouns in Action #072: A Rumor Grows Like Weed

because I had a funny dream last night. post 1, post 2

Neopronouns: sun/sun/sunself, and lae/laer/laerself, which follow the same rules as it/its/itself

Replace it with sun or lae Replace its with suns or laer Replace itself with sunself or laerself

EX:

"It is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as it gets a fence set up around its yard so the puppy can go outside without it having to walk it. Its uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he's letting it use, since it lost its. It's going to buy toys and train the puppy itself."

Becomes:

"Sun is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as sun gets a fence set up around suns yard so the puppy can go outside without sun having to walk it. Suns uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he's letting sun use, since sun lost suns. Sun's going to buy toys and train the puppy sunself."

or

"Lae is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as lae gets a fence set up around laer yard so the puppy can go outside without lae having to walk it. Laer uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he's letting lae use, since lae lost laer. Lae's going to buy toys and train the puppy laerself."

= = =

sun/suns/sunself lae/laer/laerself

Xanthoxalus let sunself fall back into suns favorite armchair, too exasperated to even try to hide suns annoyance.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Sun demanded, “I don’t grow weed! Why do you think if you ask me again I’ll change my answer?!”

Cordon smiled, only a little bit sheepish. Not sheepish enough. Lae stood there in laer neon orange waders and black sweater, hands behind laer back, hiding the handful of cash lae’d just tried to bribe Xanthoxalus with to buy pot sun literally didn’t have.

“Well…” Cordan said obnoxiously,“Are you sure you don’t have any? Maybe hidden in a closet somewhere?”

Sun was really, really, really having to resist the urge to summon suns greenbriar vines to form a halo of thorn vines around sun to scare lae away. Or maybe pick lae up and throw lae out entirely.

Sun pushed the urge down, and said instead, flatly, “Are you going to buy the Lucifer-damned spinach or not?”

Cordan pouted. “Of course I am, what do you take me for? But are you sure you won’t sell me any w—”

Sun cut lae off with a snappy, “Winged sumac? Oh sure, I’ve got plenty of that! You’re just in time to harvest the fruit, too, I’ve got one in a three gallon bucket that’s all ready for transplanting.”

Sun glared daggers directly into laer eyes, daring lae to finish the rest of laer original question.

For a few more seconds, Cordan held out, staring back, but laer resolve began to visibly weaken, and finally, hanging laer head, lae said in defeat, “Yes, plantspeaker, I would love a winged sumac too.”

“And what about some swamp milkweed? And sunchokes? Or canna lilies? You know your husband and older wife are always asking after my mashed cannas, now you’ll be able to grow them yourself! I’ll even include the recipe card, and a vial of my special spice blend.” Sun was smiling now, thoroughly enjoying sunself for turning the encounter back on Cordan, who was starting to look nervous. Good. This was the third time lae’d come to suns shop pretending to want to actually buy plants only to insist that Xanthoxalus had some secret stash of marijuana plants hidden somewhere that sun was just neglecting to share with anyone else.

(Sarcasm) Because sun was definitely the sort of person to not share with suns community. Which was why sun was constantly sharing recipes, food, and other plant products with the rest of town. (end sarcasm).

“Well, I know Tabula wanted some milkweed to start attracting the monarchs...and Uchenna was just admiring your cannas the other week...and…” lae trailed off, hesitating.

Xanthoxalus was waiting for lae to ask for weed again. If lae did, sun was not going to hold back with the thorny vines.

But lae was safe for now, because lae just said, almost shyly, “Do you have any persimmons left?

Sun smiled, with actual cheerfulness this time instead of malice, thinking of the multiple trees waiting for suns go-ahead to finish ripening their fruits. “Oh yes.” Sun said, “I was hoping you’d ask that!”

“And are you sure you don’t have --”

“Don’t you finish that sentence!”

[bitchesgate3]

I will always be in favor of playersexuality. Until the day game designers have more nuanced understandings of sexuality.

Game designers still only understand flamboyant gay, mean lesbian, slutty bisexual, and quirky queer. Any identities not those are not even recognized. And any complex characterizations are only afforded to "normal" straight characters.

While Larian gave us a step in the right direction, they are still coming from the above framework and trying to reiterate upon that. And you have to understand that framework in order to recognize why their implementation is still somewhat shallow while still being the best offered compared to other games in the genre.

In the past, every time I encountered a woman in a romanceable video game who correctly represents my own experience of bisexual/pansexual identity, she was only romanceable by male characters.

These are women who have tough exteriors on a spectrum of "bitchy femme", a midpoint of "aloof androgynous", to "tough masc". All points that are gnc in some way, but all are women who also have a soft interior that is interpreted as conventionally feminine.

Game designers interpret these two traits (outward gnc and inner softness) as a nullification to heterosexual woman. Time and time again. Falling into the stereotype of being a woman for a man to tame.

Will they ever understand? Or do people as a whole just don't understand the many ways bisexuality can take shape?

[laelior]

The scars are no longer there, but they still ache.

Late at night, sometimes, when the cabin lights are  off and the environmental systems are just a quiet hum against the hull. When she’s just grasping at the first strands of sleep.

That’s when she absently rubs her thumb across the ache that wells up in her left leg, or the twinge on her forehead. Simple acts that had once been habit. Only to startle to full wakefullness when her fingers encounter only smooth skin.

Phantom pains, Chakwas had called it the one time she’d brought them up. The pain felt in a limb that’s no longer there. 

But phantom pains are for what has been taken, not what has been given. A new body, one that has none of the memories she’s earned. Something perfect and smooth like she’s never, ever been. A freshly pressed uniform for a solider to step into on command.

That’s all.

Just another weapon with the serial numbers filed off.

[myersobsession]

Kid! michael myers x Kid! oc/sona

note: THE DEMONS!! THEY GOT ME RAGGHHHHHHH--!! I CAN'T CONTAIN IT.. I WROTE ABOUT THEM.. MY BABIES!!!!! also, the pacing might be rlly bad sorry,,, but we die like real men! RAGH!

summary: right before his incarceration for killing his older sister, judith myers, younger michael find himself sitting outside his home unbothered by everything. only staring at the girl next door, and thinking about her on the drive to the sanitarium.

Halloween, 1963, October 31st

It was rather abnormal for a six-year-old boy to be roaming outside at night. He walked towards the window, his footfall distorted by the marshy wet grass beneath him, letting out an occasional squelch.

"We are alone aren't we?" A masculine voice could be heard from within the Myers' living room.

"Mmh, Michael's around someplace." Another voice could be heard, a feminine one. He couldn't mistake it for anyone else, it was definitely his sister.

He watched them continue their intimate acts until her boyfriend picked up the clown mask that matched with his costume and tease Judith with it. She giggled, pushing him back jokingly. "Pfft, take off that thing!"

He ignored her, and stood up abruptly. Looking down at his partner, he smirked. "Let's go upstairs."

The girl was quick to comply and with that, the two ran upstairs, turning off the lights in the living room.

Michael walked to the entrance of his house, Judith's room lit-up, then suddenly the lights were turned off.

He tugged on the door knob, entering his home. He looked around for a second- checking if the coast was clear. He walked past the living room, then the dining room, and towards the kitchen. He looked around for a knife.

His eyes scanned the room, looking at the knife block. He grabbed one of the blades, a subtle sound could be heard. He looked at it curiously before exiting the room, his footsteps causing a creak from time to time.

But no one was around to hear.

He was in the living room when Daniel came down the stairs. He watched the older boy tug down his shirt before looking back towards his sister.

"Can you come over tomorrow?"

"Sure."

And with that, Daniel was quick to make his way out the door, and into the cold night. He could hear Judith walking back to her room, giggling to herself. Her footsteps resounded over the second floor of their home. He decided now was the perfect time to strike.

He made his way up the stairs, each step he took he made sure was quiet. He looked over at his bedroom, the door was opened since his room was connected to Judith's. He walked steadily to the doorway, stopping to look down at the mask that lay in front of him.

He bent down to pick it up, carefully placing it on his face. He continued his pursuit once more, again having to stop at Judith's doorway. He could hear her humming a lullaby to herself whilst she brushed her hair. He watched her as she was completely oblivious to his presence.

He walked closer, and closer. Until it was close enough. He'd make himself known to her now. He gripped his knife in hand, but wasn't quite expecting for Judith to turn around just yet.

The blonde felt that something was behind her, so she looked back to confirm her senses. She was right, her little brother stood before her, knife in hand and a clown mask resting upon his face, successfully hiding any sort of emotion he held. Looking at him in confusion and a hint of disgust, she covered herself and shouted at him.

"Michael!" She hoped that he would leave, since she caught him red handed. She never liked it when her brother was snooping around her room, and when he wasn't, he was always on his own drawing freakish things, or outside. It truly confused her how odd of a kid Michael was.

But her thoughts were immediately cut short when she saw him raise the knife he'd been holding. Her eyes widened and before she knew it, the blade met her stomach. She fell off of her vanity chair, stumbling back, but could hardly move with the searing pain in her abdomen disturbing her. Michael slightly bent down so he could reach her, he didn't know what drove him, but he felt incredibly enraged at the moment.

Maybe it was the voices he had been hearing lately. It was encouraging him to kill his sister, and all those around him. He was angry, but his face didn't show it. It was entirely blank. The only thing that gave away his anger was how aggressive his movement was.

Completely hostile.

He kept lunging for Judith, the poor girl grunting and moaning from the pain she was met with. He stabbed her over and over, until she finally collapsed. Her head met the ground with a thud, and everything went silent..

He killed his own sister.

And felt nothing.

He stared at her for a second, before walking back downstairs. It was eerily quiet in the house now. Not the same silence as it was before, it felt empty. Like there was no one here. Almost as if his family had gone on some field trip, leaving their home for a few days.

He opened the front door, still carrying the weapon with him. He was met with the cold autumn air and saw a car pull up into the driveway. Suddenly, he froze up. Not out of fear, but because everything had randomly become white noise to him. Like the world was on pause. He clenched his knife harder to the point his knuckles were turning white.

He heard the engine come to a complete halt as two familiar figures exited from within the car. His parents. He stood his ground nonetheless, staring straight ahead. Everything seemed like a blur.

He heard the footsteps getting closer and closer, and suddenly his mask was yanked off of his face, he flinched upon the impact. His hair getting in his eyes, poking at him.

"..Michael? What happened?!" His father gasped. His mother crossed her arms and looked at him, clearly disturbed and disgusted. She was judging him, he could feel it, but he just stared straight ahead. He could feel their glares piercing him, many questions running through their mind. Peter looked at him once more, grabbing his son by the shoulders and demanding for him to respond.

"Answer me, Michael!" He rose his voice, he suspected something horrible had happened while he and Edith were away. He looked into his child's eyes, for any reaction, any hint of a response. But was met with nothing. The boy only stared.

Peter had enough and stormed inside, angrily tapping the numbers on the telephone, calling the police.

Oh, what a surprise there'd be awaiting him and his wife upstairs.

Edith only looked at her middle child for a moment, disgust and confusion still evident on her face. "What is the meaning of this..?" She muttered, before walking towards the house. "I'm going to check on your sisters, Stay there." She announced from their porch, before stepping inside and heading up the stairs.

Michael was still staring. He wasn't ever paying attention to his parents, no- he was staring at something else. He sat outside his home unbothered. There was nothing here that interested him, there was no one that interested him.

Except for her.

He'd only ever seen her once before. He saw her at school. She'd sometimes sit near the sandbox that the Kindergarteners played in. Her hands would always be dirty, and she'd only ever play by herself.

He would watch her near the shrubs picking and pulling at the weeds and flowers while she'd hum lullabies, as her friends looked around for her.

He noticed that when the day was over, she was one of the last few kids to be picked up.

He was as well, since his parents would always be very late. So sometimes he stayed after school with a few other children.

He found her crying once, he didn't know why. But then again, he was incapable of understanding any emotion whatsoever.

He saw her being scolded by her mother harshly, for playing dirty during recess he assumed. He watched as the older woman gripped the girl's wrist harshly, and strode into their car, as the girl sobbed silently.

He remembered the look on her face before the car sped off. She was looking down, defeated. She only ever wanted to make something nice for her mother. But her efforts were never acknowledged.

That was one of the few memories he had, since everything is so uninteresting, it's a forgettable experience for him.

But right now, that same girl he was thinking of was looking right back at him. Her eyes were wide and it seemed she was lost in thought, like a deer in headlights. She held a self-made bouquet from the weeds and plants on her front yard.

She noticed him.

By now, the police and paramedics had arrived. He was taken by the arm and led into the back of the vehicle, from there, he could hear his mother crying and screaming for her daughter.

They just now found her body?

His father wouldn't even look at him. He imagined Cynthia was also awake from the blaring noises outside their home. Crying probably.

But he still stared at her. His eyes were so dead compared to hers, she had a type of glint in them, something he'd seen in the other kids his age. She looked back and tilted her head in confusion and shock. A taller, more feminine figure approached the ravenette and scooped her up into their arms, making the girl drop her bouquet instinctively. He saw her lips move for a second, probably speaking to the woman about him.

The girl lifted a finger and pointed towards the car window he was looking through, obviously directed towards him. Her mother whispered something to her before he saw her face contort into the expression of someone who was frightened of something. Frightened by him.

He knew then and there the woman was protecting her, keeping her away from him. Nobody's allowed to keep him away from something that piqued his interest. He watched her one final time before she was completely inside her house.

He turned his head towards the front window of the vehicle, the cops entering in just in time. They had just finished talking to his parents, about where he'll go, and how he'd be punished. One cop looked back at him, looking him up and down.

He heard him mutter something under his breath, subtly trying to start a conversation with his partner, trying not to attract his attention.

"This kid doesn't look like a killer.."

"You'd be surprised by the shit kids pull nowadays."

The officer hummed and gripped at the driver wheel. "Can't say you're not wrong." The car started to pick up the pace, and Michael glanced back at his house, now disappearing from view.

He looked at the window a majority of the time, the brush and trees couldn't be seen, it was black. Overcast by the moon's eerie glow.

He kept thinking about the girl. She was a grade below him, so he never saw her that much. When he did though, he observed whatever she did.

He knew she liked to draw. He'd sometimes see her drawing during recess in the "quiet" room, as the teachers called it. Most of the time she sat alone there, he never knew why.

But he had another memory of her crying.

This time though, it wasn't from her own mother. It was from her friends. A girl he recalled from his class who had red hair looked at her awkwardly. Sally. Her name was Sally. It was clear she didn't like the ravenette.

A boy with brown hair stood by the redhead, tugging at her sleeves, muttering something to her. It must've been to leave the younger girl behind, because the both of them walked off without a second thought.

They stopped walking when the brunette yelled from the other side of the playground, but not too far from where the girl stood.

"You can't play with us today, Mari! Me, Sally, and David are all gonna ask our teacher something, sorry!"

He learned her name then. Mari. She looked down at the ground, clearly saddened and upset. She must've known they were purposefully excluding her. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she walked somewhere else more desolate, hoping to be alone. Once she found the perfect spot, she allowed herself to cry when her friends left her sight.

But why did she care so much? Why was she so sensitive?

Who gives a shit about what other people think, anyways?

The trees and bushes around must've lessened because he could now see the moon fully. The car came to a sudden stop, and the officer spoke.

"Alright, we're here."

The other officer yawned, having taken a short nap from a long busy day. He rubbed his eyes, and looked towards the facility, still tired.

The first officer pushed the car door open, and opened the door for Michael, to which he responded with a glare.

"Get up, kid. You're gonna be here for a long, long time."

--

Everyone knew everyone in Haddonfield, but the entire lot of them hoped Michael Myers would become a parenthesis, forgotten, As most failures are.

Fifteen years later on that exact night, three teens, and a mechanic were reported dead.

He came home to Haddonfield.

[notokbutthriving]

Tsams/laes infection au but its the Astrals

[starheirxero]

I saw your post about Lunar hurting the same way the astral do, and I am obsessed!

I actually had a similar concept, and wanted to share it with you:

What if Lunar's shell cracks and breaks? For example, they lose half of their face.

However, instead of revealing metal and wires, stardust frantically pours out of their wound, trying to form a replacement for what is lost.

What if they are filled with stardust instead of oil? What if there's only divinity where metal is supposed to be?

ANON I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU THIS IS THIS IS SUCH A COOL MENTAL IMAGE YOU'VE GIVEN ME I'M GOING INSANE!!!!!!!!

[beedreamscape]

(Third instalment of me being obsessed with hair tending as a form of affection, but also background for some personal lore/fanon exploration. Laerryn/Loquatius. Pre-marriage. 2.4k words)

"Would you like some help, dear?"

Loquatius' not wearing shoes, rarely does at home despite the nice slippers Nydas gifted him, which is why she doesn't hear as he walks into the room.

Laerryn blinks and takes a moment to process his words, hair brush held still mid-pull. Yes, she did spend the night tangled in his arms and legs, yes, she tasted him, but the sight of him --- especially now with his honey-gold velvet robe falling over one shoulder, teacups on a silver tray, and hair ungroomed falling over his forehead --- never fails to leave her mesmerized.

He places the tray on the still messy bed and steps behind her where she sits before her vanity, placing one of the teacups before her amongst the mess of beauty products and jewelry, patting down the voluminous tangled mess the bed made of her hair. Well, the bed and Loquatius.

She lowers her hand from her hair with a half puff half chuckle. "What do you know about braiding?"

He gently takes the brush from her hand with a toothy smile. "I've been every type of person, you really think I didn't teach myself a few braiding techniques?"

She adjusts her posture to get more comfortable, knees to her chest. "Doesn't mean you know mine."

"I've looked at you enough hours to have it figured out. It'll kill the curls if I brush through, is that what you were planning?"

"Yes, I'll wash my hair tonight, don't worry. I'm just trying to get it controlled for work."

He acknowledges her words with a nod and so begins brushing, careful and dextrously enough to not pull much on her scalp without sacrificing speed, working his way up from her tips.

She looks at his focused face through the mirror, the tip of his silvery grey tongue poking from between his lips. "Tell me something, and don't lie."

He smiles. "It's not like I could."

"Have you turned into me before?"

The answer is instantaneous and his tone without shame. "Of course I have."

"Quay!" She laughs, scratching her knees.

"I have turned into you a few times before but only because I missed you and I wanted to bring you to memory, I didn't do anything inappropriate. I do it to every relevant person I meet, I keep an archive in case of... necessity, both mental and on paper."

It was almost out of necessity, he thinks. If she were ever to leave his sights forever, if she ever told him she didn't want to see him ever again, he couldn't possibly stand to live a life where he couldn't see her.

It took him some time until he was able to piece her together accurately, it started the first time she smiled at him and it became complete the fourth or fifth time they slept together completely naked, the night when neither of them slept and he spent the intervals between fucking, admiring her as she laid spent on the bed.

"What would you need to turn into me for?"

"No idea but I'm always prepared." He stops, sighs, and places deliberate kisses from the tip of her ear inwards. "You are an exceptionally beautiful woman," he whispers... in her voice.

She jumps in her seat. "What the actual fuck!? That's uncanny!" And he laughs back with his voice which, in the end, mingles with her laughter. "I hate that that turned me on a little."

He nuzzles behind her ear. "We can have a little fun someday."

Her eyes are wide as her head swings to look at him. "Seriously?"

"Yes." And pulls back, straightening up.

She laughs even louder but Laerryn, who is very far from being a shy person, can't help hiding her heated cheeks behind her hands.

"I love you, Loquatius."

And he can't gauge the weight she places in her words but it's irrelevant to his heartbeat that skyrockets in a blink of an eye or his face that glows like a nightlight which she wouldn't have noticed so fast had he not fallen silent so suddenly.

A sigh falls from her lips. This man, who spent that previous and several other nights loving her down to the bone, blushes at the playful confession of her affection and Laerryn can't help the surge of butterflies just below her lungs.

"Quay," she calls to get him to look at her. There's a hit of wicked satisfaction in her smile as their eyes meet. "I mean it."

He licks his lips before looking back at the work at hand. "I know."

She reaches back and nips his hip. "I love you, silly goose."

He both winces and laughs. "Oh, my... Thanks, that woke me up. Don't say that ever again."

She raises a finger. "Then don't force me to say it!"

He grabs her shoulder and sets her straight. "Stop moving or I'll take longer!"

It's hard to sit still while pondering the possibility and technicalities of banging him as herself --- How would he taste and smell then? How would he moan? It'd have the potential of being awkward, but she's just the right amount of narcissistic to make it work.

"Am I an easy or hard person to turn into?"

"Well, no shift is technically hard unless the person has too many little details, scars, beauty marks, facial hair distribution, or hair that is... something, or tattoos, I can never reproduce those perfectly."

He considers for a second, stressing on a specially tangled section.

"No, I lied, any species too far-fetched is a struggle. Eisfuura? Dragonborns? There's a pattern, a precision to the texture and disposition of feathers... As for humanoid standards, you're easy because I'm familiar with every inch of you."

She regards the concept, tracing her jawline while observing her reflection in the mirror. Of all her face, she's particularly fond of her eyes, deep set, sharp edges, and golden irises, most times she puts her makeup to work on accentuating them.

She knows she's good-looking given the technicalities of symmetry and convention, but when she stops now, thinking of herself through the lens of Loquatius' eyes, it's as if she never really stopped to look at herself too deeply. He can be whoever he wants, she'll have to sit with this face, mostly unchanged, for dozens maybe hundreds of years to come.

And yet he chooses her, solely her, again and again.

He gathers her hair in a bunch having finished untangling it and takes a deep breath before tackling the mess of her vanity in search of clips and a hair band.

"How do your siblings look like?" He asks in a fit of curiosity and his inability to remain silent.

She sighs and tries bringing them to memory. She doesn't think of her family very frequently and definitely doesn't see them as often as she did around thirty years ago which wasn't that often even then. She has all fond emotions towards them and a collection of good memories, but she was the one who flew the furthest away from the nest. They all stayed back in Domunas while she followed her place of birth and destined home as it traverses the world.

She never called any aspect of her life a product of destiny.

Then she met Loquatius.

But now she thinks of them as if looking through a photo. Through, not at, because within the second all pieces would move and change and shift.

"We look quite a bit different, I'd say. Izar looks like my mom, his skin is imperceptibly lighter than mine but his hair curls more. Golden eyes, big mouth, not just lips. About the same height as me. He's often frowning for some reason but I often heard how people thought him handsome."

He starts braiding, first, the side braids she likes to sport extended to the back of her head, converging to a point.

"He's the one that's married, right?"

"Ten years now. She's a sorcerer."

He almost laughs at her tone of poorly concealed disdain. "Nieces and nephews?"

"Not that I know of."

"Aw." Which makes her laugh, she tries weighing her feelings on the scene of little toddlers calling her aunt and it comes inconclusive, it would be an every seven years occasion either way. Quay's giggling when she refocuses on him. "I like children...! Sporadically. I'm sorry, darling, go on."

"Me..." She looks at her reflection once more, smiling now. "I'm a pretty good mixture. I got dad's features, the eyes, nose, lips, but the overall shape is hers. Dad was very tall and mighty, very handsome with dark skin and even darker hair." She smiles with her teeth which she rarely does. "It was unnaturally black like tiny kinky threads of obsidian, made the gold in the eyes pop out. He was an extremely magical person."

His hand stops at the crook of her neck. "Darling..."

He's not smiling anymore when she lifts her eyes. "What?"

"You never told me your father..."

"Oh... it never came up."

"You don't have to talk about it."

She waves it off. "Don't worry, it's been a long time since he passed. He was already an old elf when he met my mom. He's the reason I got so interested in the engineering of magic."

"And what about the younger ones?"

"The twins look like him, decidedly, except for the most striking features, the eyes and the height. Coily hair, really dark skin, perked up ears, slender. Warvely's hair is so long and puffy, she does works of art with it since she was very young, she's a kindred spirit to you in that aspect."

"What about the boy?"

"Keeps it close to the scalp. He's an aberration in that aspect. We're all very meticulous with our appearance and he's... a mess. Or was the last time I saw him. They're young elves, it's all I have to say." She bites her lip and tries to observe what Loquatius' doing without moving too much as he starts braiding the other side of her head. "Not to sound narcissistic, but I think we're a pretty good-looking bunch."

He laughs heartily. "I have no doubts about that. I can't wait to meet them next time we land."

"Please, do not tell them I said that. I need to humble them, not feed their ego."

"I've no doubts you're the humblest of the pack."

She reaches back to the hand he has in her hair and skims her palm up to his elbow. "It's your fault, you spoil me."

"Guilty. Well, I'm especially excited to meet your mom. A runecrafter... if you're unbearable as an abjurist, I can't imagine how much of a brainiac she must be. I wanna see the kind of woman that births Laerryn Coramar."

"I probably came out her with a fist stretched out."

"That sounds... painful."

She puffs. "I... can't believe I'm saying this, but she'll love you. You're the perfect amount of flourish and charm to satisfy her, she's as extroverted as you. Which I inherited none of."

"Well, you were precisely the right amount of extroverted to get with me, and that's excellent by my standards." A smirk curls on the corner of his lips all of a sudden. "And how will you introduce me to her, huh?"

She shrugs. "That depends on how you'll behave until the next replenishment."

"Oh, I promise I'll be good to you."

And as the conversation fizzles out, she occupies herself with her makeup as she has already showered off the remnants of the night before, emanating a soapy scent of violets. She opts for the familiarity of her palette of metallic eyeshadows and dark brown lipstick, every now and then catching Loquatius' eyes watching her before sharing a smile.

Now with both sides braided to her scalp, he takes the loose extension of it and unites it into a single chunky braid. He ties the end with a small dark hairband and decorates the top braids with hair clips of tiny golden flowers that, as he takes a step back, look like specks of gold.

He places both hands on her shoulder and leans down, watching as she brushes her eyebrows into place. "You didn't finish your tea, now it'll smudge your lipstick."

She purses her lips and swirls the teacup. "It must be cold by now anyway."

"So is mine." They just look at each other in silence and Laerryn decides that this, this moment, every single one of those slow mundane moments she's spent with him matters, being near him simply breathing the same air matters. He smiles, brushes the back of his fingers against her cheek, and she has to clench her jaw to keep herself from kissing him. "So, did I do a good job?"

He takes a curved table mirror and holds it up so she can see the back. She doesn't even dare to touch it, for a second considers never again touching her hair, keeping the work of his hands forever there whenever someone asked she'd tell them it was Loquatius who put it together, who took half an hour of his day to focus solely on her.

But then if she did he wouldn't be able to bury his fingers in and she quickly discards her reverie.

"Your hair is a full thick blessing, there's so much we could do with it."

"We?"

"Didn't you like my job here?"

"Of course I did, it's beautiful. Would you want to help me with my hair again in the future?"

"Of course, whenever our schedules allow us, I will love to do it again. Maybe you could show me the hairdos you like most or that you always wanted to try, if you have any you haven't tried at 138."

"Oh, trust me, there are many."

"So it's decided. There's a beauty catalogue Zenith used to publish, it's been out of publication for a while now, but I kept a few of them for inspiration. I bring it here and we can flip through the hair section of it."

And, for reasons he doesn't understand, she bursts out laughing, full of joy and levity, before turning around and wrapping her arms around him.

She pulls back her head without unwrapping her arms. "Quay, Quay, only you to get me to do things like that. Meeting my family, flipping through beauty magazines, tea trays in the morning. I'm a grown woman, I'm an Architect to be... but I guess I'm also a fool."

The kiss he places on her painted lips is cloud soft. "Don't worry, darling, all your secrets are safe with me."

[featherpcnned]

I offer u a fox child that is the last of her race and comes from farther in the galaxy than you can comprehend.

[vacantvisage]

a scene i've been tearing my hair out trying to write a little nicer finally came together