#might slow down with drabbles for the rest of the week and focus on chapters

[ahatintimepieces]

Stars and Gray Skies

Fit in another request for the night! @toxic-lavender requested “You are my sunshine” and I finally got something for it. Hope this is along the lines of what you’re looking for! Please enjoy!

“Do you miss her?”

Snatcher turned the page of his book, refusing to look down at child craning her head back as she perched in his lap.

“The deal was, if you were going to be a nuisance, you would be a silent nuisance.”

“But do you?” Hattie leaned back into his chest.

He ignored her.

“Do you?” She reached up and waved her hand in front of his eyes. “Do you? Do you? Do you?”

“Kid,” he huffed, taking her hand and pushing it away. “Stop.” Sighing, he finally met her wide eyes. “Miss who?”

He knew who she was going to say before she said it, of course. How couldn’t he?

“Vanessa.”

The name still sent involuntary shivers down his spine.

Readjusting his position so she couldn’t notice his tremble, he closed the book and poofed it away with a snap of his talons. He propped an elbow—or the approximation of one—on the armrest and leaned into his talon.

“Why do you care?” His grin stretched up his face.

“We’re contractual BFFs!” Hattie scooted around, sitting crisscross applesauce on his lap. “We’re supposed talk about things.”

“Things?” Snatcher repeated tiredly, hoping if he put off answering her question long enough, she would forget about it.

“Things that make us happy or sad.” Hattie shrugged.

“Oh yeah?” Snatcher lowered his voice, a mischievous look on his features. “That sounds like information I can use for blackmail!” Or the Death Wish Contracts he gave her. “Well then, BFF, what makes you sad?”

“Stars,” she answered, picking at a stray fuzz on her boot.

“What?” His mouth dropped, his smile faltering. He hadn’t expected her to actually answer. She sounded genuine too. Why on Earth would stars make an alien sad?

“I remember this one time,” Hattie began, bouncing her knees, “that Bow and I, back home—”

“Bow?”

“My friend! She wears a big cute bow,” Hattie explained, “but anyway, we were stargazing one night before we got our assignments. We saw a shooting star and I wished for adventure and she wished for a challenge. We thought we would get to fly together but…” Hattie sighed, “her assignment was to learn how to build and maintain engines while mine was a piloting mission.”

“So…” Snatcher raised his brow, “Wishes coming true made you sad? Not stars?” He plucked her hat off of her head and ruffled her hair before placing it back, “You gotta be wary of the good old monkey’s paw!”

“The what?” Hattie wrinkled her nose and took off her hat. She placed it in her lap as she fixed her messed up hair.

“Short story. Bit above your reading age.” Snatcher smirked.

“Hmm,” Hattie hummed thoughtfully before hugging her hat to her chest. “It wasn’t just the wishes, but the fact that, because of them, we were separated and had to do different jobs.”

“And stars remind you of that?”

“Sort of. I also once got caught in the gravitational pull of a star that turned into a black hole.”

She said it so casually he thought she was joking at first. They stared at each other as he waited for the punchline. When it didn’t come, he shook his head in disbelief.

“You did not.”

“Did to!” Hattie blew a raspberry before laughing. “It was scary, but I got away! It actually happened a little bit before I got stuck here.”

“You actually almost died in a black hole?” Snatcher clasped his talons together, frowning.

“Yeah,” her voice got small. “I… It was so dark there. I was scared I’d never see the sunlight again, or constellations, or Bow.”

He pictured this kid, tiny and who trembled when he had first caught her in his trap, escaping a black hole all on her own. It wasn’t hard to imagine her accomplishing such a feat. It was hard to see the sorrow that had settled on her features, recalling how alone she had been. With something flickering in his chest, he started to reach out. But she bounced on his lap, looking up with smile, and he recoiled, scowling.

“Okay! Your turn! Do you miss Vanessa?” She asked. On the surface, she seemed as cheerful as she could be, but the ghost who once upon a time lived a life wearing smiles constantly, he could pick up on the slight hint of clouds threatening to obscure the light of her countenance in an instant.

He let out a heavy sigh, caving.

“Alright, alright, give me a second.” He glanced away, thinking. “Gray skies.”

He peeked at her slightly confused look, but she remained silent, patiently waiting for him to elaborate.

“I remember gray skies cleared when she laughed. I remember when I was at law school, her letters brought with them warmth and sunshine. But then… her letters stopped, and the gray skies remained.” He rubbed the back of his neck, scratching at his shadowy fluff.

“I remember I loved her. And she loved me,” he continued. “Once, she called me her sunshine after I painted a picture of the moon.” It had made him so happy, to feel like he could offer the same comfort she gave him.

“You’ve showed me the storybook,” he sighed, “so you know about the cellar.”

He remembered the horrible things she had spat at him, while he was chained. She had yelled about how he loved another. He hadn’t. And she screamed how he had shattered her heart. He hadn’t meant to.

He spared a glance upward, meeting Hattie’s eyes.

“I might miss the times that felt like—” like sunshine, “—but I know I can’t go back,” he finished in fragments. “I guess… gray skies are my stars.”

Hattie held his gaze for a moment before crawling forward and wrapping her small arms around him, resting her head against his fluff.

“Kid! What—”

“Snatcher, I have a confession,” she whispered into his mane.

“What, Kiddo?”

“It’s not really stars that make me sad, it’s all the ways they remind me that eventually I’ll always have to say goodbye.”

The shadow froze.

He thought about grey skies, and how colorless the cellar and chains had been. He thought about the white snow and shadows in the trees. He thought about the first nights braving the blizzard as a wandering ghost, fading and sleeping in the cold only to wake up to an absence in his arms.

He thought about Hattie, the bright kid who shone like sunlight, leaving to go home.

He thought about the contracts he kept making, trying to get her to stay.

“I also have a confession,” Snatcher admitted, “I think I was just talking about goodbyes when I said gray skies, too.”

“We’ll always be best friends, though, right?” Her voice was so quiet, he almost didn’t hear. “Like me and Bow?”

Hesitating for only a moment, he finally returned her hug.

“You did write forever into the contract, Brat,” he teased. “So, I guess so.”

She nodded, tightening her hold.

They both dreaded the thought of goodbyes.

“For every star that falls,” Snatcher began, patting her back before she pulled away, “a new one lights up the night sky.”

Though small, a genuine smile found its way onto her features.

“And no matter how cloudy it gets, the sun is still there,” she added. He smirked and flicked her hat, nearly knocking it off her head.

“Hey!” She leaned back to grab it, laughing.

“Now, don’t you have some of my minions to torment, or something?” He cleared his throat, summoning his book back.

“Will you read to me later,” she asked, jumping off of his tail.

“Only if you can complete another contract,” he said, knowing he would read for her whether she did or not.

“I’ll tell you when I’m ready!” She called, before running off to play. Eyes on his book, he smirked, listening to her call out to the subconites.

They both dreaded the thought of goodbyes. But for now, it wasn’t time to part just yet. For now, they both still had a reason to smile.

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Chapter 8 is finally finished and boi was it a fight. Thank you again for proofreading @haro-whumps <3 and for anyone else who might wonder, the dish Paxton is cooking in this drabble is a traditional polish dish called Zupa Mleczna

Tag list: @albino-whumpee @orchidscript  @finder-of-rings  @haro-whumps

CW: mentioned past abuse, institutionalized slavery, boxboy universe typical slavery, aftermath of conditioning, fucked up headspace of whumpee 

The week had simultaneously stretched into an endless expanse of getting to know someone new, and flown by like the flutter of eyelashes.

Paxton’s box had caught dust, halfway forgotten in the attic by now, and Paxton had grown used to sleeping wrapped in warmth, when he was particularly lucky even in his master’s arms, and he savored every second of it.

Life in the shared flat never ceased to amaze Paxton, every new day leaving him less scared, rather eager to learn more about his new master, this new world. He cherished every newly revealed facet of Amal as he tried to assemble them into something comprehensible, piecing together the most wondrous and complex puzzle he’d ever seen.

In those last days for example, Paxton had discovered that Amal drank his tea piping hot, risking to burn his tongue rather than waiting for it to cool. He seemed to be like that with most things, always in a rush to reach his end goal as quickly as possible. The only times Amal could be patient was while creating something or when he was with Paxton.

Amal also tended to snack half the dinner ingredients, getting full before dinner was even ready but eating a portion nonetheless. Maybe, Paxton had thought, it’s because Amal often forgoes eating for hours, so absorbed in his work projects he seemingly forgets he exists in a physical body at all. Perfectly still and focused, his only movements pencil strokes over paper while he works on new tattoo designs. At certain points he would suddenly jump up, run to the bathroom, and raid the kitchen to gorge himself on all the snacks and leftovers he could find.

Paxton had made it a point to cook whenever Amal got ‘in the zone’ as Miss Meryem had jokingly called it, and even if his master had told him he didn’t have to, Paxton thought that he wanted to. Especially when it meant he could watch Amal munch away with that grateful, delighted expression of his, whenever Paxton prepared some tea or food.

Even Mister Finnegan had grown fond of Paxton, and had started  dragging him up to the attic, teaching him all about the plants overwintering there, waiting for their replanting in spring. Or how to bind winter wreaths from twigs and dried berries. Mister Finnegan had been surprised, the first time, how quickly Paxton had learned, and had praised him so much his face was still flushed red as they climbed down the attic ladder some time later.

In moments like these, Paxton wished he could still read and absorb all the precious information from the plant care guide Mister Finnegan had given to him. He longed for a time where his head didn’t explode with pain whenever he squinted at writing for too long. For when he wouldn’t get catapulted to the limits of his body, or worse, the borders of his own mind. Pain reduced him to a prisoner of bone and flesh, misfiring neurons became his jailer. 

                         --

Paxton poured noodles into warm milk with a soft sigh, careful not to burn them. A strangely familiar smell filled the kitchen while he cooked, cinnamon and sweetness anchored him in the here and now. Snowflakes danced beyond the kitchen window, crystals of cold sending phantom shivers down his spine. Paxton unrolled the soft green sleeves of his wool-sweater, letting them cover his scarred hands, soothing itchy skin, gentle like a caress. Warmth bloomed in his heart, with every slow stir of the wooden spoon, creating ripples in the milk.

What did it matter if he couldn’t read anymore? He still had his intuition, could still find parts of himself in tastes and smells and muscle memories. No, with his master’s permission to experiment, ‘or go crazy in the kitchen’ as Amal had put it, he didn’t need books, or to learn new things. The only things that mattered were that he remained good for his master, cooked things his master would enjoy, cleaned satisfactorily, (which was easy enough with such lenient masters in such a small flat), and  kept his master happy. Which was the easiest part of them all, since Amal seemed to delight in everything Paxton did. Even if he just lied on the couch, curled under blankets he couldn’t ever truly earn. But the rules were different here and Paxton’s heart began to buzz whenever he saw his master, not only with anxiety but with a warmth he thought he’d lost in an ice-cold white room. 

Satisfied with the noodle’s consistency, Paxton stirred in cinnamon and sugar, turned down the heat and started to pull bowls from the shelves as his master suddenly burst into the room, some kind of oversized smartphone clutched in one hand and a pleased grin plastered on his face.

“Paxton.” ,he said beaming.

The sudden intrusion of his cooking space made Paxton flinch, despite himself.  

Even though Amal was often buzzing around him, trying to help while he worked, it still set Paxton on edge, feeling utterly improper. A Boxboy receiving help from his master, inconveniencing him with undignified tasks like cleaning or cooking, was unforgivable! Sometimes Paxton even found himself wishing for Amal to be stricter. Yearning to just be punished by him, to be shown his place instead of being constantly overwhelmed by this kindness he didn’t even deserve.

Something must have given his unease away. His master’s grin softened into a sheepish smile as he sat down, slowly, gently placing the smartphone-like device on the table.

“Hey. Hi.” Amal’s voice grew soft, sounding almost shy and Paxton couldn’t help but return Amal’s smile. His lips and heart and body reacted all on their own around Amal. Separated from his desire to act appropriately, to be a good pet that could serve his master without breaking down crying every other day or stealing all his master’s blankets at night.

“Hi…. Uhm, welcome back… sir.”

Paxton watched his master bite back a protest at the title, allowing him to use it like he’d promised.

“I came up with something for your reading… problem.”

Turning off the stovetop, Paxton turned around, hoping the hurried steps to his master’s side wouldn’t give his eagerness away.

The way Amal’s eyes glimmered up at him, crinkling with his smile, told Paxton he’d seen right through him. Like he always did.

Paxton looked down with warming cheeks, his stockinged feet shuffling over the polished kitchen floor. “And what, uhm, what… would that be? Sir?”

A bright grin lit Amal’s face up as he brought  the device to life with the press of a tiny button. “Tadaa. A friend gave me this tablet. Like, super cheap.” His master’s grin stretched even wider, and Paxton wondered for a second if his cheeks didn’t hurt. “And it has google voice search.”

He perked up. The term sounded vaguely familiar but he couldn’t quiete place it. “Voice search?”

“Yes. Yes, come here.” Amal scooted over, shoving the tablet under Paxtons nose as soon as he’d sat down. His master leaned closer and his small body pressed up against Paxton, green curls tickling his chin as Amal rambled, his face flushed with excitement.

 “Here see, I already set it up so that only the symbols are visible. There’s no writing if you don’t go in the menu. So the important apps first. This is the Netflix symbol. Netflix is awesome because you can-“

Amal rested his elbow on Paxton’s thigh as he explained the virtues of streaming platforms and Paxton’s head blanked.  His master was so close and small and warm and smelled so so good and Paxton was utterly unable to concentrate on the tiny screen symbols for a moment.

Focus! Focus! Focus! Master said this is important.

“Okay but what’s probably the most useful for you is youtube.”

Paxton watched him tap on the small red icon and big pictures with little texts under them popped up. Thumbnails, as master called them. If Paxton squinted a bit he could ignore the letters enough to evade a new impending headache.

“There are tutorials and documentaries  and video essays for basically everything you could wish for. You just have to press the little microphone and hold it while you ask.”

“Uhm, ask- ask what, Sir?” All this new information made Paxton’s head spin.

“Uh, I don’t know,” his master confessed as he scooted back with a bashful smile and Paxton swallowed a frustrated whine. The leg master had just leaned on felt suddenly, terribly cold. He wanted master to nuzzle back against him and continue to explain new things to him in this adorably excited way of his.

Stupid, stupid Pet. You messed up and now master is just going to leave and never show you anything he likes ever again because you’re too stupid to understand it. You useless-

“Anything that interests you I guess. Hm let’s see, something other than cooking maybe.”

Paxton’s heart sank. Was it not good that he liked to cook? Master always said he didn’t have to but-

Amal waved his hands apologetically “Not that there is anything wrong with cooking.”

His master had seen right through him. Again.

“But maybe we could search for more things you like?”

You’re a pet now. What you want is irrelevant 626.

Paxton gave an insecure little nod and Amal pressed the little microphone symbol with a smile as he demanded,. “Funny cat videos.”

Sure enough, thumbnails with cute little kittens plopped up just as his master had ordered. His voice had been direct but warm. Firm. Paxton really liked to hear his master order for something, and the hope that he would maybe at some point talk to him like that sent a pleasant shiver down his spine, right to- His leg twitched as he took the tablet from his master’s hands.

“I- I want to- to try.”

“Go ahead then.” A smile tinted his master’s voice but still, this could count as an order. Right?

Unsure, Paxton pressed the microphone symbol. “Uhm, could you, you please show me how to bind flower wreaths. Please?”

Unlike when his master did it, no thumbnails appeared. He stared at the thick black letters in confusion. He must have done something wrong and the letters were meant to punish his failure. Paxton could already feel the impending headache throb behind his eyes. He wanted to endure it, to force himself and look at those letters of damnation, but Amal took the tablet from him.

Now he must have messed it up.

Fearing for the worst Paxton glanced down at his master.  Amal’s eyebrows were drawn together and the corners of his mouth twitched as teeth dug hard into his bottom lip. White sunken into pink flesh.

Surely this was it. The moment of punishment had finally come. Even his master’s patience must have reached its limits after Paxton messed up such a simple order.

Bracing for the impact he froze as his master doubled over snorting.

“Oh god you’re so cute, you know that?!”

Paxton’s mouth opened and closed like a fish stranded on land. His head spun the same way it did when he had been choked for too long. Cute? He?! Had his master ever really looked at him?! “Wha- wha- wha- what?”

Amal swiped a little tear from his eye, as he grinned up at him, still giggling. “You can’t literally formulate a whole question, you know?! Just use buzzwords or the search engine gets confused.”

That wasn’t the only thing that was confused right now.

“Buzzwords, Sir?”

“Yeah.” Amal nodded. “Like: flower wreathes tutorial.”

“But, but,” Paxton gasped, flushing red like the soft new leather collar he had chosen in a tiny salacious shop with his master yesterday. “That would, would be utterly impolite.” His voice dropped into a whisper. “I behave improperly enough as it is.”

“Hey.” Amal’s hand came up and cupped his cheek, turning Paxton’s head gently to face him. He melted into the tender caress, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he willed himself to meet his master’s soft smile. “You’re perfect, okay?! And besides, it’s impossible to be impolite to a computer program. So would you try again? For me?”

It was not fair. How could he ever deny his master if he asked like this?! Now it dawned on Paxton why Amal didn’t use any form of punishment or disciplinary measures. His master simply didn’t need to, with his dark big eyes blinking up at him like this, his full lips curved into an encouraging smile. Paxton knew he would cut his own hands open without hesitation if Amal would wish for it, so what was ignoring his training to always remain polite compared to that?!

Taking a deep breath he whispered, “Flower wreaths tutorial,” and just like his master had promised it worked. Amal rubbed soft circles in his back as pictures of artfully arranged flowers appeared on the screen. “See? I told you you’re perfect.”

Buzzing under his master’s praise, Paxton felt his own words vibrate in his chest, shatter some invisible barriere with the force of the first brick thrown June 28, 1969. A grin revealed a flash of white teeth as he whispered, “I did it.”

.

[wolfandwild]

27 and Varian with Auri O:)

Don’t think I don’t see you all trying to get me to give away Varian/Auriana baby spoilers. I’m onto you.

For clarity, the prompt I’m responding to is:

#27: “I’m pregnant.”

And yes, it’s tiny bit more than a drabble. I can’t write short things (sorry not sorry). Set roughly a month after Chapter 8/9 of Lion’s Challenge. Mild spoilers for both chapters. Enjoy!

Varian slid backwards in the dirt, his eyes narrowed and his muscles taut as he carefully considered his opponent. Across the arena, Auriana eyed him with a similar intensity, her movements precise and vigilant as she waited for him to charge. Varian had drilled her hard on her sword forms all morning, and had now decided to test her progress with a friendly duel.

They had already traded a few preliminary blows, and were now circling one another warily as they prepared to re-engage. What Auriana lacked in physicality, she more than made up for in battle sense, and Varian was immensely proud of how well she taken to the blade. Today, however she seemed unusually sluggish, and she was slow to react as Varian suddenly leapt at her with his wooden practice sword raised for a powerful overhead strike.

Auriana managed to turn the blow, if only barely, and she kicked up a spray of dirt as she to spun to the side. Varian did not give her much of a chance to recover, aiming a lightning fast thrust at her right side. Auriana twisted her blade down to parry the blow, but once again Varian noted that her response was not as quick as he would have expected. Good enough to beat an average swordsman, perhaps, but not good enough to beat the King.

Varian watched Auriana closely as they fell a fast-paced, rhythmic dance; testing her balance with a series of swift, precise strikes. He was pleased to note the quality of her form, though her movements grew steadily more sluggish, and after a few minutes fighting, she forcefully disengaged and staggered back several feet across the arena. She was breathing heavily, and she suddenly doubled over at the waist as she fought to catch her breath.

It was strange to see her so out of sorts, and Varian was instantly concerned. While she would never be his equal in size or strength, she never usually had any problems matching him for stamina.

“Are you alright?” he called, lifting his sword above his head to indicate a pause in the duel.

“Oh, I’m fine,” she replied quickly, standing up to her full height and waving him off with a flick of her wrist. “Khadgar and I were working very hard this week. You know what kind of toll magic can take, I’m probably just a bit run down. Maybe I’m getting sick, too, or… I don’t know…”

She snorted.

“I’m pregnant.”

Varian saw Auriana’s lips move as she made to add something else, but he could no longer focus on a word she was saying. A dull roar sounded in his ears, and he felt as discombobulated as if someone had hit hard on the side of the head. A child? With her? His heart leapt with joy and excitement - and not a small bit of terror - when he abruptly realised that he had spent the better part of the morning slashing at Auriana with a wooden sword and throwing her bodily into the dirt.

“What the hell are you thinking?!” he demanded, his stomach twisting with fear and guilt. “You shouldn’t be out here, wrestling around with me!”

He threw his weapon into the ground, point first, and descended upon her in a storm of anxiety.

“Varian…”

“Are you alright? Did I hurt you? Light, Auriana, talk to me. Are you well?”

“Well, I’m trying to, Varian, but…”

“You look a little pale, are you feeling faint?” he asked worriedly, his eyes raking over her from head to toe.

Had she always been that skinny? Should she have already begun showing? It had been so long since Tiffin had been pregnant with Anduin that Varian honestly couldn’t remember…

“Are you eating enough? I noticed you didn’t finish your dinner last night,” he growled.

“Please, just stop for a second and listen…”

“You shouldn’t be standing out in the sun,” he resolved firmly. “We should get you back to the Keep, perhaps you ought to lie down…”

“Varian!”

Varian cut off abruptly as he felt something in his catch in his throat, and he clapped a hand to his neck. It felt as if there were a ball of air trapped somewhere in his windpipe, and try he might, he could not make a sound. It was then that he noticed that Auriana’s hands and eyes were ablaze with power, and he realised that she must have used her magic to somehow render him silent.

“Varian,” she repeated softly. “Can I talk now?”

He nodded mutely, and a moment later he felt the pressure in his throat release as Auriana cancelled her spell. The glow about her eyes and hands faded, and she folded her arms uncomfortably across her chest.

“I… that was… supposed to be a joke.”

She winced.

“A very… very… bad joke,” she added, looking stricken. “I’m so sorry…”

Varian frowned, and his heartbeat slowed to a crawl. He was suddenly very conscious of the fact that they were still standing in the middle of the arena, and there were most certainly several soldiers and guardsmen who had noticed his outburst.

“So. You’re not… are you?”

“No,” Auriana said simply, with a firm shake of her head.

“Are you sure?” Varian pressed. “You have been unusually tired of late…”

“About as sure as I can be,” she confirmed.

“Oh.”

Varian pulled irritably at the long tail of his hair, though his annoyance was not directed at Auriana. Rather, he was ashamed of his own frantic reaction, and the way he had barely even stopped for a second to listen to her speak.

Why would she even want to bear your children, a nasty voice in the back of his mind whispered, When your first instinct upon hearing the news is to shout at her?

“Varian…”

“It’s fine,” he said gruffly.

“No, it’s not…” Auriana murmured, her blue eyes soft. “It was a thoughtless comment, and I apologise.”

She glanced pointedly downwards, and Varian followed her gaze to see his own hand splayed protectively across the taut muscles of her lower stomach. He hadn’t even remembered reaching for her. He stepped away.

“Sorry,” he grunted, the back of his neck going hot.

Auriana bit her lip, and she looked incredibly small as she stared up at him with wide eyes.  

“I know we haven’t really talked about this, but… is… i-is this something that you want?”

“Maybe,” he admitted.

He swallowed.

“What about you? Would you ever consider….?”

Varian trailed off, and left the question hanging unasked in the air between them. It was not the ideal location for such an important conversation, admittedly - and he had no intention of forcing Auriana into a position that she found uncomfortable - but he could not deny that he was very interested in her response.

“I… I don’t know,” she said finally, after some very serious consideration. “But what I do know is that if we were to have a child… I would consider myself the luckiest woman in the world to have you as my protector.”

Auriana’s forehead creased in a nervous grimace, as if she were afraid that Varian would be angered by her answer, but nothing could be further than the truth. He appreciated her honesty, and as much as he would have been overjoyed to learn that she was carrying his child, there was nothing more important to him than her happiness and safety.

“Are we alright?” she asked worriedly.“Of course. We’re never anything less.”

To emphasise his point, Varian pulled her into his arms, and rested his chin on the top of her head. He was not usually one to show his affection so openly; or when standing in the middle of Stormwind arena, no less; but in this case, he felt an exception was justified. Auriana needed his reassurance, and he was more than happy to hold her close for as long as she wanted.

They remained standing silently in one another’s arms for quite some time, when Varian felt a brief frisson run down his back as Auriana’s hold on his chest abruptly tightened. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, he felt his limbs seize as he was gripped by some powerful, invisible force. He went briefly weightless, and a mere second later he found himself lying flat on his back on the ground; staring up at the serene visage of his wife. His fierce, beautiful, indomitable wife.

“I win,” she declared.

It was a peace offering, he knew; her strange little way of making sure that nothing had changed between them. A slightly bruising peace offering, perhaps, but one that Varian intended to accept.

“You didn’t win, you cheated,” he snarled, leaning his head back in the dirt and closing his eyes.

“Technically, we never formally finished the duel,” Auriana pointed out.

“That’s not what I’m disputing. You used magic. Cheater.”

It was a common point of contention between them when duelling, and one that had resulted in more than a few playful arguments. Auriana was mostly able to refrain from using her magic to tip the scales of their fights in her favour, but sometimes she couldn’t resist.

“At least I’m not the the one sitting on my arse in the dirt,” she countered, her lips curling in a triumphant smirk.

Varian tried his best to look genuinely affronted, but it was a difficult thing. Auriana’s ferocity and will to win was one of the things he loved most about her, and her challenging, gamesome spirit was making it very hard not to smile.

As long as you have her, he thought, you have everything you’ll ever need.

He opened his eyes, and saw Auriana standing above him with her hand extended, ready to help him back to his feet. She grinned.

“Best two out of three?”

[pikapeppa]

Sloane Kelly Appreciation Week: More than a second

Full disclosure and honesty: I am Reyder trash. I let Reyes’s sniper shoot Sloane down and did not even bat an eye. But then I read Uprising... and I gotta say, I feel for Sloane a bit more. I recently wrote the following Sloane/Kaetus oneshot/drabble as part of a chapter about Keema and Reyes. So here it is: a Reyder fan’s tribute to Sloane and Kaetus!

“For the last fucking time, no, we aren’t taking any angara recruits right now. They’re an unknown entity, for fuck’s sake. We don’t have the time or resources to focus on that right now. Understood?”

Sloane Kelly waited for her recruiter’s confirmation, then ended the call abruptly and slumped back in her chair. Kadara was certainly a step up from the Nexus, but it came with its own rotten can of worms.

The kett were almost the least of the problems. Kett were easy to deal with. They were a clear and obvious enemy, so there was only one solution: complete annihilation.

When Sloane and her people had arrived in the Govorkam system to discover one alien species who sought only to kill and abduct members of the second species, she’d actually been relieved. It had been so long since Sloane had dealt with a clear-cut, black-and-white problem that she’d jumped wholeheartedly into eliminating the kett. Unsurprisingly, many of Sloane’s exiles had seemed to feel the same way, enthusiastically taking out kett after kett with a relish that would be concerning if they hadn’t all just spent some three-odd months trapped in a slowly dying tin can filled with rapidly dwindling food supplies.

The angara, now: they were the more tricky problem. Not that the people were a problem per se; they were certainly civilized, as much as any Milky Way species (and arguably more so than some). But Sloane just could not find it in herself to respect them.

Cognitively, Sloane knew it was wrong to blame the victim. She didn’t know the whole history behind the conflict between these angara and the kett. But she just couldn’t understand how the angara could be cowed by the kett. The Nexus rebels had been slaughtered and then abandoned by their own people. It was hard to fight your own fucking people. The kett, on the other hand, were complete strangers who shot before talking. In Sloane’s opinion, this was by no means a difficult problem. But the confusion among those idiotic, wishy-washy angaran administrators…

Sloane’s lip curled involuntarily with contempt. She refused to deal with that kind of bureaucratic bullshit again. She was finished with the slow, laborious council decisions, the hemming and hawing. Sloane was only interested in doing what needed to be done to ensure the security and safety of her people. And now that the immediate kett crisis was over, the secondary - and more long-term - crisis of surviving and thriving on this hellhole of a planet was paramount… and in particular, sustaining her Outcasts for the long-term.

As her people’s ranks grew, Sloane would need to find ways to sustain their needs. The tax she’d imposed on the residents of the Port was working out quite well so far, and if most of those credits ended up in her people’s pockets, or supporting the development of Milky Way businesses, well… it was the price the residents had to pay for security and safety. There was nothing to be done about that. But as more exiles clamoured to join Sloane’s circle, and more residents were kicked out for not being able to afford the fees, Sloane knew she’d have to find an alternative source of income for her people sooner than later.

Suddenly, her omni-tool sounded. One of Sloane’s krogan guards was calling from just outside the door. “What?” she answered impatiently.

“Some turian wants to talk to you,” grunted the guard. “Says he knows you from the Milky Way-”

“Just let me in. She won’t thank you for wasting her time.” An irate flanged voice interrupted the guard… a flanged voice that Sloane knew better than any other, and hadn’t expected to ever hear again.

Kaetus.

“Let him in.” Sloane was on her feet and striding towards the door without thinking about it. Before she reached the door, it opened and there he was, in the flesh. His posture was tall and proud, and he was as handsome as the day they had left the Milky Way - the day she’d closed the lid on his cryopod and watched his eyes drift shut with sleep.

Sloane was not one for big displays of emotion, but her heart seemed to swell in her chest and push its way up towards her throat as she reached out her hand. “Kaetus. It’s damn good to see you,” she said.

Kaetus nodded once and took her hand in a firm shake. “You too. When I heard you got kicked off the Nexus, I came as soon as I could.”

Sloane took her time removing her hand from his. “We didn’t get kicked off. We chose to leave. It was either that or stasis, can you fucking believe it?”

Kaetus shook his head. “I didn’t know what to believe at first. When I woke up on Elaaden with two krogan staring down at me, I thought I was having a cryosleep-induced nightmare. The krogan said-”

“Wait,” Sloane interrupted in confusion. “What do you mean, the krogan? You… You didn’t come from the Nexus? What... what happened to Ark Natanus?”

Kaetus’ mandibles lifted slightly in an expression of confusion. “I have no idea. I woke up on a sandy wasteland. There were damaged cryopods all over the place. I think the krogan who found me were collecting salvage. I thought they were going to kill me.”

“Why didn’t they?” Sloane wondered in confusion. Unfortunately, old grudges didn’t wear off even after 600 years, and there wasn’t much love lost between the krogan and the turians.

Kaetus gave a small sardonic laugh. “I think they could tell that I had no idea what in the spirits was going on. They brought me back to their settlement. New Tuchanka, it’s called.” He chuckled again. “A fitting name for a roasting-hot desert planet. But it’s actually pretty impressive. Nakmor Morda’s doing a good job out there.”

Sloane shook her head in amazement. “Fucking Morda. I’m surprised she didn’t eat you.” In spite of herself, Sloane was impressed. Wish we could take some lessons from the krogan. I wonder if ever…

She shook her head, discarding the idea for now. “How did you get from… Elaaden, you said? How did you get from wherever the fuck that is to here?”

Kaetus spread his hands helplessly. “I escaped New Tuchanka. Younger krogan can be hot-headed and careless, you know how it is. I basically hitchhiked all the way from New Tuchanka to the Elaaden Port, then paid for passage on a ship. I used about two-thirds of my credits to get here, but… here I am,” he finished, his hands dropping to his sides. “By the way, you might be interested to hear that Nakmor Kesh joined the council on the Nexus. I overheard some of Morda’s people talking about it.”

Sloane eyebrows leapt high on her forehead. Sloane would never forgive Kesh for allowing Tann to wake the krogan battlemaster, but she would be lying if she denied that Kesh was the most levelheaded person on the Nexus. “No fucking way. Tann stonewalled her the entire time I was there.”

Kaetus gave another brisk nod of confirmation. “But I didn’t come just to pass on news of the Nexus.” He took a step closer to her. “You know you can count on me, Sloane. I’m here to help you in any way I can.”

That ball of emotion swelled again in her throat, and she had to swallow hard to push down the urge to press herself against his tall and rangy form. Instead, she nodded briskly and gestured for him to follow her back to her chair. “Fantastic. I can use someone reliable and trustworthy.”

Kaetus followed her up the dais. “As it turns out, I heard something on the lift that might help. There’s a doctor, Ryota Nakamoto, who seems to have discovered an antibiotic that grows naturally on this planet. It sounds like he needs resources to refine the formulation and ensure that it works, but that might help offset the drain on medical resources at least.”

Sloane sat in her chair, one foot cocked up on the seat, and rested her elbow casually on her knee as she looked up at him. “Yeah, okay. It’s not exactly food and water, but medicine is helpful, no doubt. Put him in touch with me, will you? Maybe we can set him up somewhere. A lab or something. What do scientists need for their research?”

“We’ll find out. I’ll set up a time for him to meet with you,” Kaetus replied briskly. Sloane coolly nodded her thanks, but she was rapidly losing her battle to remain impartial with him. She had always felt more at home with the turians and krogan than with her own species; she wasn’t the type to tippy-toe around people’s feelings or to mince her words, and most humans didn’t appreciate that kind of bluntness. But Sloane had never felt more at home with anyone than with Kaetus.

Kaetus’ gaze slid over her face, and he seemed to see something in her bichromatic eyes that she was unable to hide, because he slowly approached her and placed his hands on the arms of her chair, leaning down with his face near enough to hers that she could see the brilliant corona of hazel in his irises. “I was afraid I would never see you again,” he told her bluntly. “You know that I’m not just here to be your second, right?”

Sloane took a deep breath, and for the first time in what felt like months, she smiled. “I know. You’re a big softie,” she teased gently. He chuckled deep in his throat, then traced the scarring on her lip and jaw with a gentle talon. “We have some catching up to do,” he murmured, then tilted his head to kiss her.

Sloane gave in and wrapped her arms around his neck, savouring the slightly rough feel of the skin at the base of his crest. Sloane would always get shit done; it was just her way. But with Kaetus at her side, it suddenly didn’t feel like such a chore.