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amywritesthings · 2 years

Text

about you. (cassian x you)

Pairing: Cassian Andor x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.6K

Summary: You are a rebel spy working as an escort at Canto Bight's cliffside casino. When Luthen cannot meet you for an intel exchange on New Year's Eve, he sends his best asset. Never in your wildest dreams did you think that meant you'd reunite with your former childhood best friend, Cassian Andor.

Warnings: New Year's Eve, Spy Thriller, Escort Service, Romantic Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Reunions, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Mentions of Sex Work, Wall Pinning, New Year's Eve Kiss

A/N: Happy New Year, everyone! I had a fun holiday one shot idea and wanted to try my hand at writing Cassian Andor. I am wishing you all a happy & healthy new year, and I can't wait to continue writing in 2023.

( Read on AO3 )

Canto Bight is always bustling at New Year’s Eve.

It’s why Luthen Rael has shown up on your doorstep for the first time in months. In his not-so subtle way, the man requests (see: demands) that you float back to your old haunt, the one within the glittering halls of their monument cliffside casino, and do what you do you best: entertain as a partner experience escort for the rich and powerful.

The partner experience operation has been your designation from the very beginning of this rebellious calling. Your contribution to the rebellion, as he claims, is valuable — because the whispers in the night by decorated Imperials that feel safe in your company are priceless.

Whispers bring intel, and not even gold is as priceless as Imperial intel.

Luthen claims he knew of your potential the moment he laid eyes on you in a seedy dive bar on an Outer Rim moon. The little lamb far from her home planet Ferrix, looking fearful yet enraged all the same; starved, but most importantly willing to do anything to take down the Empire one domino at a time.

It was the type of spunk the older man needed in a claustrophobic world.

So you struck a deal: under trained supervision, you would run the casino circuits and red districts — never quite getting close enough to sleeping with the enemy (who knew the Empire thrived on humiliation and edging?) but enough to drug them, learn from them, then report back to him for the next move.

Rinse and repeat for six successful years.

And right now, you were supposed to be done. Find a small shack in the middle of nowhere knowing you did your part in the small but mighty agenda. Perhaps, eventually, you would find a way to make peace with your past and your present.

Then Luthen fucking Rael shows up at the stoop of said shack only six months later with a new opportunity.

A new strategy on the chess board.

(The rebellion, as he so candidly puts it, is never final.)

“Did you hear about what’s going on with Life Day this year on Canto Bight?” Luthen grunts, opting to stand by the doorway rather than a seat at your makeshift kitchen table.

You drop down unceremoniously with your arms at your sides. You know — and you know he knows — there is a blaster taped on the belly of the steel table should this be an unpleasant visit.

“You mean the Wookie holiday?”

“Hmm,” Luthen sounds, caught between a yes and a no. “Supposed to be the Wookie holiday, but it seems the Empire has allowed the casino a profitable chance to participate until the new year.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” you muse in return, surveying him. “When you say profitable, you mean—”

“Everyone who is anyone will be visiting.” Luthen never makes any sudden movements; always trapped sounding bored with this life he leads. It’s also a tactic not to play his cards too far from his chest. “They’ll be running the gambit for paid time off.”

Smile bland, you nod once. “Which is code for… you need someone on the inside.”

“For the season,” he agrees, shifting his weight. “A gift to the faces who may have missed you.”

“Missed me?”

“I hear about the Diamond quite a lot.”

Their precious Diamond.

Maker, that nickname always made your skin crawl.

You huff, rubbing your nose with the back of your thumb. “Flattery gets you nowhere with me, Luthen, you know that.”

He takes a pause, small eyes observing everything that you do. Updating a mental database logging your quirks and your discomfort to cipher for a later date — that’s all he’s ever done, study and download people, and he’s done so without error yet.

(It’s why he’s never been caught.)

“It isn’t flattery,” he finally says. “It’s an opportunity.”

To do everything we couldn’t the first time, is what he really implies.

It’s feeding an addiction no amount of dead fascists will be able to quench.

“And how do I tell them why I want the job back after I quit?”

“Your mother was very ill. You needed to help with her expenses,” Luthen fabricates from thin air. “It was easiest to part ways without the low note on your record. But the credits have dried up, and their clientele will be thankful of the casino’s decision to allow you back on the floor.”

It’s your turn to pause — to study. He gives away nothing. You lean forward to rest your elbows on the tops of your thighs.

“You think that’ll work?”

“You’ll sell it,” is all he gives back like you’ve already said yes.

You’re supposed to be out.

(Do you want to be out?)

No.

No, you don’t.

Getting the job back at the casino as a specialized escort is easy. The difficulty lies in remembering how to fall into old, subtle habits when all you want to do is cause chaos. Staying engaged while chatting up Imperial scum as they spittle in their expensive liquors and moan about the woes of their occupations and agenda can only go on for so long.

Yet you laugh with the rest of them once they’re kissing your feet and your hands, because everyone in this rebellion has a part to play.

(Our loveliest of diamonds, back to see us once again.)

Luthen, of course, never leaves you to your own devices for long. Gifting a hefty sum of credits and a bag of dissolvable sedatives every time he passes through Canto Bight as his alter ego is about as noble as the illusive man gets.

You fill small briefcases with voice memos and holovideos of nightly conversations, drunken manifestos and slippery plans.

It works.

By some miracle, you have never been caught.

New Year’s Eve is filled to the brim with Imperial guards enjoying time off from their grueling schedules. Some of the higher commanding officers already have their arms draped over people inviting them to a great time. Others chase after the debauchery promised by scantily clad creatures inviting them into the halls and out of their money.

You? Have a booking in advance: a high-ranking officer, but not within the Inner Circle.

According to Luther, he’s a valuable asset double-crossing their superiors.

A plant.

You are to deliver the intel to him under Luthen’s command and trust.

(Ironic. You always believed Luthen trusted no one.)

At the final half hour of the year’s end, you round the corner from the main entertainment room and down the hallway towards the private event spaces. A multitude of sounds are muffled by the doors — some good, some not so. Your focus is set on the twelfth door where your officer awaits, and suddenly you feel nervous all over again.

Meeting one of Luthen’s other operatives feels all too daunting.

After a moment, you place your code into the code box by the door and wait for the durasteel to slide, revealing the plush crimson meeting space. It's staged with a convenient king-sized bed and a vanity for refreshment, inviting comfort and suggesting the obvious.

What greets you as the door opens — a silhouette at the edge of the bed, dressed in Imperial formals — is not what you envisioned.

The man’s hair is what you notice first: disheveled brown locks are combed back neatly, smoothed by gel to keep the unruliness at bay. The jacket’s shoulders are a little too pointed, as if he’s not grown into his uniform quite yet — or like he’d stolen it on his way into the venue. The lines on his faces aren’t new, but aren’t old. He’s tired — so fucking tired, but he sits taller the second the door opens.

The blank expression on his face is purposeful, almost doe-eyed, with a feigned, smug-like innocence only an Imperial officer would wear.

Then his gaze travels from your open-toed shoes, up your bodysuit dress of sequins, and locks onto your face.

Just like that, the façade is broken.

What once was blank now hardens, wholly confused, before the lines on his prominent brow smooth with recognition.

Cassian.

Of all the idiots in all the galaxy, Cassian Andor is dressed as an Imp in your meeting space on the eve of the new year.

And you thought, with this rebellion, that you’d seen everything.

While the officer in disguise is much older than what your memory recalls, you could never forget that face even if the Empire tried. The feeling of dirt under your fingernails, the scent of rubber burning, the spark of an electric charge from a stolen piece of property — it all floods back in a tidal wave, almost knocking you a step back into the hallway.

On Ferrix, Cassian Andor always ran around with different people — sometimes it was Bix when she wasn’t punished for entertaining teen scoundrels; sometimes it was other boys in scrappy brawls and mended machinery; most of the time, however, it was you.

Hand and hand, causing mayhem in the bright suns and the full moons. He'd shown you what it meant to stand up for yourself. To want what you want and not apologize for it. To be bold, even at the expense of disruption.

And then he’d pummel whatever wayward eye looked at you the wrong way.

Trouble.

Cassian Andor was so much trouble, and you were mad for it.

Your last memory of him is as vivid as the neon lights lining the ceiling: you're both sixteen years old and shoulder-to-shoulder on an inclined metal slab, staring up at the stars. He's wearing that jacket from his father and hasn't combed his hair in days. You're lost in telling him about your dreams of a better tomorrow, of one day leaving Ferrix for good and making a difference in the vastness of the galaxy despite how small you feel. He laughs, a hum more than anything else, and takes your hand in his.

You're too afraid to squeeze back.

Having Cassian poke fun of the idea of doing much of anything in the galaxy never felt like he mocked you for wanting to try. More than anything, his laugh was one of envy: he couldn’t afford dreams, so you dreamt for the both of you. He couldn’t handle intimacy, so you were satisfied with resting your hand in his the entire night.

Nothing was said. Nothing had changed.

He gave what he could, and you understood.

Childhood friendship has a funny way of feeling that simple.

Cassian, however, never truly chose to change with you. He never truly chose anyone, not really, not when he had so much to give — to his mother, to his scrapyard confidantes, to Bix.

You fit somewhere in the chapters of his life, but Cassian Andor could never tell you which ones. He could not, and would not, promise someone tomorrow.

An unfinished book.

You never did tell him where you were going after hitching a ride on that stock transport to get the hell out of Ferrix for good. Not a single holocard or a note.

Just… gone, into the galaxy, to dream.

Now he sits in front of you at the edge of your meeting space bed, threatening to ruin your calculated cover in one-fell swoop.

Before Cassian can implode your operation, you turn on the mask: with a bright smile and squared shoulders, you gesture to the plush furniture of the room. “Is it to your liking, Mr. —?”

You trail off on your question to give him a chance to speak.

Cassian blinks a few times, only to remember himself.

“Raoul,” he blurts without dismissing his accent, eyes widening with an unspoken question: what are you doing here? “Sargeant Murl Raoul.”

Maker, you haven’t heard that voice in so long.

It’s deeper now. Rusty. Scratched.

“Sargeant,” you correct pleasantly, taking a step into the bedroom to toe the perimeter. Cassian pulls the geometric gray hat clear from his head, balling it in his fist, but you raise a palm at the hip when his mouth opens: don’t.

He listens, pressing his lips together with purpose.

“I asked if this room was to your liking," you repeat.

Cassian struggles with an answer, studying you with concern. You hate it. You hated it back on Ferrix when he tried to play protector, and a decade and a half apart doesn’t dilute the emotion.

Your brows rise, and he clears his throat. “I— yes, I am quite comfortable.”

“Good,” you conclude with a small nod. “Now before I join you and get more comfortable, do you have any questions for me?”

“More comfortable?” he asks a little too fast, so you recover with a glide of your hand along your sparkling thigh.

“Can’t do much when I’m in this old thing,” you coo, that stage performer voice now sounding so phony to your ears with a known audience. “Shouldn’t take long.”

Cassian runs the tip of his tongue along the seam off his lips, shifting his seat on the mattress. “I suppose I could ask how… uh, how long have you been doing… this?”

You don’t know if he’s asking about the escort arrangement or the Informant position, which further complicates the game. The odds of Cassian showing up on Canto Bight should be slim. Cassian wearing an Imperial outfit on his own ought to be slim to none.

But appearing in your private meeting space, fake alias and all?

Your blood runs cold with truth between the lines.

(Luthen never does anything by accident.)

This meeting — reuniting Cassian and yourself — is his test, a judgment call, but you refuse to let Luthen win the game with this surprise hand.

“Years,” you answer honestly, to both.

You continue to face him as you skirt around the left side of the sparkling vanity, not taking any chances with your former friend. Your manicured fingers glide along the mirror’s back, searching for the planted Imperial wire.

(Not only are they cruel, but perverted in their efforts to catch spies.)

“So then you are... experienced?” The question comes out rougher than you believe he intends. Gruff, like he’s embarrassed to even ask.

(The question almost — almost — makes your face burn.)

“If you’re worried that you won’t have a good time, Sergeant, then I promise they sent you to me for a reason. I’m going to take great care of you.”

Cassian’s expression darkens at this as he rises to his feet with purpose.

You rip the microphone from the back of the mirror, holding the device between your index and middle finger for show.

This stops him from moving ahead, eyes locked on the microphone before flickering back to you. You shake your head.

I said don’t.

He nods once, and you take the microphone between your hands. With two clicks, the wire cover pops open, displaying a multitude of tiny wires. You fidget between two, pulling, until the red eye at the center of the device dissolves into black.

The room is blanketed with silence.

Now it’s just you and a ghost here.

“We’re clear,” you tell him after another beat, dropping the seductive aloofness in your tone.

Cassian’s shoulders drop a fraction of an inch. “That was fast.”

Your brow picks up that fraction, raising high. “You have to dismantle them fast."

“Let me take a look at it,” Cassian replies, tossing the hat twisted in his hands to the mattress. "Are you certain it's off?"

“Positive,” you say, sheltering the item closer to your chest. “You don't need to look at it. Easy to disable and reassemble at a moment’s notice, so I’ll turn it back on when you depart.”

“What about lost footage?”

“Chalk it up as faulty equipment they’re too stubborn to replace in a shithole like this.”

Cassian mulls over your answer, taking a cautious few steps forward to observe the small device in your hand. “Imperial-grade wires are tough to work with. A five-second warning doesn’t give many people time to disable the alarm,” he informs in a whispered afterthought. “Where did you learn to do that?”

In your bones, you know it’s a trick question.

Fifteen-something years of reuniting in a moment like this comes with immense drawbacks. When he asks, it is not out of curiosity — it is out of the desire to see if you are truly you.

(Because he remembers your face, too.)

“On Ferrix,” you reply.

He gives no reaction, continuing to deadpan. “Where on Ferrix?”

“You want me to remember from that long ago?” you laugh, placing the microphone on the vanity’s surface and following up with a thick blue cloth to drape over top of it.

“Humor me,” he reasons, flexing his leather-clad fingers at his sides. Now that he doesn’t have a distraction, Cassian doesn’t stop looking at your face.

(The same intensity as the boy without dreams.)

“The old Slavyard. There was that one incredibly rainy month when those prim and proper freaks—”

“—installed the spyware on the back door in the middle of the night,” he interrupts, finishing the story with a misplaced awe under his breath. “You played lookout while I disabled the devices.”

You don’t answer, not really, as you offer a half-hearted smile. “Say what you want about that place, but you learn a lot of things when you watch restless boys who never know when to stop getting in trouble.”

The return smile is small and fleeting, but the corner of Cassian’s lip upticks. His brows knit together, contemplating before a huff of a laugh exits. “Not a very good lookout, then, if you were so busy watching me.”

“You never got caught, though, did you?” you joke.

You swear he almost laughs.

The silence settles at your ankles and rises with each passing second, encompassing you both in a shroud of possibilities: pleasantries are nice, but the popping of bottles and shouts of celebration passing by your room brings you both back to a reality where you’re playing pretend.

Cassian huffs once more, running a hand down his face and around his neck before dropping it in a gesture towards you. “He cannot be serious.”

He.

You catch that pronoun with intrigue and tilt your chin.

“Serious about what? Who’s ‘he’?”

His voice softens, shrinking in size, as he nears half a step closer and into your bubble. “Don’t tell me it’s you.” You maintain eye contact — maintain dominance of this situation — and stay in place. “When he said to wait…”

“...for the Informer, you didn’t think you’d run into a ghost?” you finish, and he’s polite enough not to nod. “He only told me the person he was sending in his stead was one of his best assets. This reunion isn’t my doing.”

“No,” Cassian agrees, low and certain. “It isn’t.”

Because Luthen knows.

Luthen knows, and that’s dangerous in and of itself: his little lamb on Ferrix knew his most trusted asset long before the mastermind was in the picture, and this sabotage is meant to figure you out.

(To figure you both out for his own gain: to make sure you were both up for the task, history aside.)

Your jaw clenches as you nod with assertion, mindful of the train of your body-tight dress when you shift around Cassian to create some space. He turns his torso, following.

“Did he force you to do this?” When you pause in your steps to quirk a brow, he struggles with verbalizing what this means. “Entertaining these low lives while they piss their credits away.”

“Very strong words for someone dressed as an Imp.”

He completely ignores you, hyper in his budding rage. “Because if anyone has touched you—”

“No one’s forcing me to do anything, Cass,” you reply, hateful that the former nickname leaves your lips so fluidly; as if no time has passed. “We’re all cogs working for the same machine.”

“That doesn’t mean he should be having you do this on your own,” the man argues. “He’s not even on the planet, for fuck’s sake. This is dangerous work.”

“You keep saying this or that, but you’re not really asking the real question.” Your nose scrunches, maliciously playful. “I don’t fuck them. It’s pretend, Cassian. My honor is intact.”

Cassian squints with a scoff. “That isn’t what I meant—”

“It isn’t?” you challenge.

“No,” he responds just as fast and just as intense. A smirk plays on your lips, slow and growing. “Fuck whoever you’d like to fuck. One or a dozen, I don’t care, but not them. They don’t deserve you.”

“And who does?”

“I don’t know, but not Luthen or the pieces of shit out there or anyone on this planet.”

“Not even you, right?”

He stares down at you, hard. You snort in disbelief.

“I never thought I’d see the day where Cassian Andor is jealous of a body count, but I guess stranger things have happened for both of us.”

Cassian’s jaw sets, nostrils flaring with an anger he refuses to bury completely. He searches your face, lost on a response, before sharply inhaling through his nose.

“I need information on your regulars.”

Ah.

No more games.

You roll your eyes, absently waving him off as you turn to walk towards the crate-like nightstand. “I have the files on a drive.”

No more games, or so you thought — Cassian follows close behind. “Drives are easily corruptible or lost or stolen. You could just tell me.”

Your hand hovers on the drawer when you turn your chin to look at him. “Yeah, sure, let me just… tell you about a mission I’ve spent years finessing so you can get the details wrong when you relay with Luthen.”

“Do you think so little of my memory skills?” he says and it’s a joke, but it teeters on the edge of an argument.

Just like old times.

You don’t need this type of deja vu before the new year.

“Whisper down the lane only goes so far,” you answer, turning back to the drawer in front of you. Your hand lifts the edge of the bottom plate, removing a small box from the center of the hidden compartment.

You only pause when you feel his presence right behind you as soft puffs of air tickle the back of your exposed neck.

He says nothing, not at first, in this proximity. Then a syllable sounds:

“Why?”

The question is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it whisper. His voice flutters along your skin, causing a shiver down your spine. Deep down you know he’s not asking about the drive or your distaste for his preferred method of relay. Why — the one word you hoped to never face.

If you concentrate hard enough, you can smell the scent of his cologne.

It smells nothing like Cassian.

You stay focused on a miniscule dot on the wall, too afraid to turn around.

“We can’t do this here,” you murmur, barely audible in return.

“I paid for the hour,” he replies. “If I were to leave ten minutes into your company, then there would be questions.”

(He’s right. As much as you hate it, your former friend is right.)

You raise your chin to the ceiling, closing your eyes. Contemplating. Seeking anything, everything, to say to avoid what’s to come.

You open your mouth to speak, but Cassian gets there first.

“I looked for you.” A vulnerable statement from an impenetrable man. His chin leans forward, the warmth of him spreading to your aura. “In dozens of quadrants—”

“Cassian.”

“—and about a hundred planets—”

“Stop.”

“—but you left nothing.” The final word emphasizes with raw emotion, causing your throat to swell. His gloved hand rests on your tricep, but you turn to finally face him. The closeness of him is a surprise — piercing brown eyes meet yours with mere centimeters between noses. “No note, no goodbye, no telling where you might have headed. Nothing.”

Frowning, you don’t realize that you’re shaking your head. The lines on his face are too distracting. He is distracting.

“You were never supposed to see me again.”

“And I never understood why.” He steps forward. You step back. When you think he won’t advance, he continues to step once, twice, until the third lands your back to the corner of the room. “So I am asking — now — while I can still have you: why?”

While I can still have you. You know the implication isn’t there, not truly, but your heart aches for it. The tension makes you feel so small, as if you’re eighteen and flying all over again.

You’re supposed to be over this; over him.

“I had to start new,” you answer after a considerable pause, forcing yourself to look him in the eye in what little space is held between you. “I was always going to leave Ferrix.”

“I knew that,” he argues softly. “I was never going to deter you from—”

“No. No, you were never going to,” you agree, nodding. “But you were always off and on the planet, doing what you had to for everyone else. If I didn’t cut Ferrix out of my life, then I wonder if I would have had the same fate as my parents or my friends: getting stuck there. And not just getting stuck, but waiting.”

“Waiting?” Cassian asks with confusion, brows knit.

You relax against the wall with a humorless laugh. “How did you not see it? The way I always waited for you.” Anxious, you turn your cheek to check the main door as you mull over your next few words. “I would have waited my whole life for you.”

The air in the room shifts.

Although he remains in your peripheral vision, the man stays staring at you without a discernible expression. The gravity of what you’re admitting drags lower, lower, until he says something that forces you to look at him head-on:

“I thought you were indifferent to me.”

Your eyes widen. “Indifferent?”

Cassian nods, short and quick. “You had all these big plans. I listened for hours. Not one of them involved me.”

“Because I didn’t think you’d want to be a part of those plans.”

“Maybe I didn’t think I couldn’t make a difference, not in a… rebellion, though the irony is not lost on me now,” he admits with a huff of a laugh, “but I wanted to be a part of you. I didn’t care what it was, so long as I still had you.”

You stare at him as he stares back at you, totally dumbfounded with this brand new information. Cassian swallows thickly, shifting his weight yet again from one leg to another. The loud party continues outside of your room, drowning these confessions in the excitement for a nearing midnight.

You had all these big plans.

Memories warp at a second’s notice as your brain tries to understand what he’s laid at your altar.

Not one of them involved me.

He shouldn’t be saying this.

He shouldn’t be saying any of this.

Closing your eyes to find a pause in your racing thoughts, you try — try to find where perhaps this is fabricated, designed to see if you’re easily swayed by the past that you so desperately let die in this rebellion.

Slowly, your eyelids flutter open. Cassian is watching with something close to concern.

(Something, maybe, closer to fear.)

You gently shake your head. “This is a test.”

“I know.”

“Luthen did this—”

“Fuck Luthen,” he breathes out, eyes dropping to stare at your lips, and your heartbeat quickens.

His brows meet in the middle, concentrated yet lost — as if he’s back on Ferrix, scrawny and scrappy and calculating the gravity of the risk should he decide to steal or trespass —

Or do something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Cassian.”

Your voice is gentle with a warning. His eyes do not raise, but he does answer.

“What?”

“You have that look on your face.”

“I have a look?”

“When you’re contemplating doing something stupid? Yes.”

He snorts, amused. “You remember what that looks like after fifteen years?”

“It's very hard to forget it.”

He mulls the moment over, flickering his attention back up to your eyes and nodding.

“You’re right. I am thinking of doing something stupid.”

“How stupid?”

“Incredibly.”

A beat passes.

Finally he blinks up to your eyes, searching for an answer to a question he hasn’t asked yet. You wait, just as you’ve always waited, to hear his voice.

“It’s almost midnight,” he says, flexing the leather gloved hand at his side. “I should go.”

Everything sinks.

The crowd outside grows louder as people depart from their private rooms to celebrate in the middle of the casino. Everyone begins the unison countdown of the final minute until the new year rings out.

The device in your hand grows heavy — a reminder of why he’s here in the first place, what Luthen will be looking for, yet your arm cannot rise to give it over.

(A few more minutes and he’ll be gone.)

To find a reason to keep him here with you would be selfish.

Instead of protesting, you nod.

“Yeah. You should go.”

He nods, too, and his throat bobs with a swallow.

Outside your door, their laughter and shouts reach a collective ten, nine, eight, seven…

Yet he doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

Six, five, four, three…

“Cass?”

Two.

Cassian speaks with broken finality, rushed and wanting. “I can't go without—”

You beat him to it.

Canto Bight’s cliffside casino roars with excitement of the new year while you grab the lapel of his Imperial uniform, dragging him in as he simultaneously launches his lips to yours.

The force of him smacks your head into the wall, but the stars behind your eyes aren’t from impact. It’s from the way he presses his mouth to yours, desperate to pour years of frustration and wonder into a long-awaited kiss. You whimper into it, eager to dissolve any space between you.

Cassian Andor cages your head into the palms of his gloved hands, holding you with a tenderness and strength only he can have. He groans into your mouth when he tastes you, tongue dragging along your lower lip — the neediness of it is enough to make your knees give out.

Except he drops his hands to your shoulders and spins you, pressing your chest into the wall. Using your hands to balance yourself, Cassian wastes not a second more to place his hands over yours, pinning you in place.

“We should have — opened with a fight,” he murmurs breathlessly into your ear, kissing your earlobe before bringing it into his mouth.

You bite back a moan, dropping your forehead to the wall. “If I'd known you wanted to kiss me after all this time, Cass, then I would have — gone straight past a fight and went for it.”

He chuckles behind you, letting go of your earlobe to travel kisses down the side of your neck.

“There is a lot I wanted to do back then, but I was too chickenshit to try it.”

The imagery of a lot burns into the back of your skull.

“And now?” you ask, but it’s wavered.

Cassian slows down, but his lips remain against the crook of your neck. You mourn the loss of speed, pushing your hips back to connect with his.

A hand shoots down to still your waist as his thumb runs soothing strokes into the skintight dress.

“Not here,” he decides, but it isn’t regretful. It’s determined. “When I see you again—”

“When?” you interrupt.

“When,” he enforces, squeezing your waist, “I see you again, I’ll do what I’ve been too chickenshit to do and it won’t be under a watchful eye.”

When I see you again.

You smile small, delirious in the haze of him.

“Is that a promise?”

“As good as I can make one,” he responds in earnest, turning to leave a small kiss on your cheek. “You’re not losing me so easily this time.”

And you believe him.

Misunderstandings, miscommunications — all of that hardship to end up here, of all places.

You have so much to learn.

(He has so much to hear.)

Even if this was Luthen’s doing, even if this was a test of faith, you cannot find a reason to care. Not when your lips still tingle with the kiss you’d only dreamt about your entire life.

Reaching for his arm, you gently bring his free hand to yours and place the small drive in the middle of his palm. Cassian’s chin drops to observe the tiny metal, jaw setting to its unreadable clench.

Because at the end of the night, you both still have jobs to do.

A new year.

(A new horizon.)

“Until next time,” you say, removing your hand from his.

Cassian curls his fingers over the drive, shoving the small device in his coat pocket. He flexes and raises his hand to bring it up to your cheek, cradling your face once more as he leans in for one final kiss. This time it’s softer. Timid.

The closest Cassian Andor can ever get to a promise.

He pulls away, nose to nose, and mirrors in reply.

“Until next time.”

#andor #cassian andor #cassian andor x reader #cassian andor x you #cassian andor x female reader #cassian andor x f!reader #andor tv #andor tv series #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars #andor fanfiction #cassian andor fanfiction #luthen rael #female reader #reader insert #new years eve #about you #amywritesthings

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swan-orpheus · 2 years

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Definitely felt the symbolism in Luthen, whose extreme competence we’ve witnessed all throughout the show not to mention his martial prowess last episode, spending this episode merely observing as the fires of Rebellion sparked on yet another planet. As the light rose. He went there intending to act, but in the end he quietly admired, still an orchestrator in the shadows, in the literal shadow of his hood, drinking in the words of the eulogy, seeing what he had helped to create whether he realized it or not because of Aldhani and the hope that it gave to Maarva Andor, That desire to fight, to stand up, to TRY as we hear Nemik’s voice say. Luthen lives in darkness in order to give other people light.

Luthen wasn’t really there to kill Cassian, not really, though he consciously thought so. He was there to have his faith restored, the faith he hadn’t even realized was faltering, that was tested with his unplanned confession to Lonni Jung and showed signs of breaking when he told Saw that he was no longer sure about sacrificing Anto Kreegyr... to be gifted the light that he so assiduously denies himself every day that he draws breath for the cause.

And then the last shot that we see of Luthen Rael this season is of him smiling at Cassian. A real smile amidst all of the fake ones that we’ve glimpsed on him and on other people all season long. He asks Cassian on a sigh, “What game is this?” because he is all about games. all of the time. He has to be. But not today.

“No game. Kill me. Or take me in.”

Cassian is the sun in his sunless space offering him another possibility.

And Luthen Rael smiled.

#star wars #andor #andor spoilers #luthen rael #cassian andor #maarva andor #the theme of light and darkness #hope and hopelessness #still not sure how to feel about that line #the implication that if Maarva had not taken him in #it would have been the same as killing him or leaving him to die #so i wonder if that means that Keri is truly dead

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dapurinthos · 1 month

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@charmwasjess out here six-sentence sunday wednesday-ing me:

in-text writing: (aka the actual next chapter finally letting me bully it into shape)

Grievous, Grievous, Grievous, the Force sings to me, now that it knows I know. It has two items for me to pick from, hidden behind its back. In one hand, I have a gift. The Force pirouettes, smearing reality into an impressionist painting. In one hand, I have a knife. It turns, end over end, a coin tossed by fate itself, shattering light against the inside of my eyelids in phosphenes that burst like bubbles, rainbow-shining floating free above a sink full of dish soap, where the knife hides in the water, waiting for my unsuspecting hand to grasp it by the blade.

actual last sentences written: (bless scrivener's 'notes' panel)

it’s finally me and you, and you and me, just us, and your friend Steve to:

it’s finally him me and you, and you them and me, just all of us, and your friend steve SHEEV to:

I need to be somewhere else where it’s not him (Sifo) and you (Dooku), and them (Hawk-Bat Clan) and me, all of us (S, D, HBC, Sha, Rael, Adi, Ilfre), and your friend Sheev.

i tell you the gleam in my eyes when i realized i could do that sentence was definitely a

moment. thank you, gymnastics steve from the olympics, and whoever made that tiktok with the garfunkel & oates.

#keeping up with the skywalkers #galaxies far far away may be closer than they appear

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avirael · 22 days

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The City of Strangeness & Wonders

A’viloh hated the cold. The icy air and the biting wind were still some of his worst enemies, even their arrival in Ishgard couldn’t change that. But more than he hated the weather, he was fascinated by this strange unfamiliar city.

After their journey here from Camp Dragonhead, all the way to the Gates of Judgement and then still across the incredibly long bridge that connected the city to the mainland of Coerthas, A’viloh wouldn’t have minded to spent the rest of the day doing nothing but sitting in front of a fireplace at cozy and beautiful Fortemps manor. But then Haurchefant had offered to show them the city and it had all sounded so interesting that the coldness outside was quickly forgotten again.

Oh, and what a wonderful city Ishgard was! A’viloh had heard stories from Rael and Alphinaud, who had read about it, and from Haurchefant too, but none of them had been really enough to describe how impressive this place truly was. Just like in Ul’dah the whole city was built out of stone but still it looked entirely different. Somehow lighter and more fragile. Everything here seemed to stretch itself towards the sky, tall towers and spires as well as steep roofs and elaborate decorations.

Maybe it was a little more gloomy than Ul’dah. Compared to the desert city with its colorful canvases and warm sandstone, this place looked mostly pale and cold in comparison. White snow and grey stones, it was beautiful but also a little sad somehow. A’viloh wondered what this city had looked like before the Calamity had condemned Coerthas to eternal winter. He imagined the fountains unfrozen and the almost empty plant beds with lots of flowers. It must have looked so wonderful back then.

There were so many wonderful places and things Haurchefant showed them that afternoon. The giant statue of Halone in the grand cathedral with it’s beautiful stained glass windows, the markets where all kinds of stores offered elegant goods as well as wonderfully smelling food and beverages and of course the Holy Stables where the noble families trained and bred their chocobos - including a special dark-feathered kind A’viloh had never seen before. Everything seemed so new and interesting to him that he almost forgot that they were only here because they had nowhere else left to go.

Lord Fortemp, Haurchefant’s father, was incredibly kind to them too. He gave them luxurious rooms more comfortable than anywhere A’viloh had ever lived, gifted them fancy new clothes and had a lavish welcoming dinner prepared for them that evening. But while everyone enjoyed themselves a lot, A’viloh couldn’t help but notice the sour expression on Rael’s face. Sure Rael almost always wore a scowl on their face but this felt more disgruntled than usual and A’viloh doubted that it was just because the servants had (unsuccessfully) tried to make Rael wear a dress for dinner.

“It was just a long day.”, they said with that same sour face when A’viloh later asked them if anything was wrong. He couldn’t tell whether or not that was the truth, but even if it wasn’t, A’viloh knew he wouldn’t be able to pry any information out of the viera when they weren’t going to give it willingly. He had tried multiple times before. About Rael‘s family, their home, viera and their habits in general. It was useless. If Rael didn’t want to speak about something, they simply didn’t.

The next few days were a strange mixture of turbulent and exiting visits across the city as well as calm and cozy moments at Fortemp manor. Lord Fortemp did what he could to make their arrival here in Ishgard as smooth and easy for them but it was especially Haurchefant who used every given opportunity to make them feel more comfortable aside from all the formalities and facts that were new to them. He offered entirely useless but nice information about people and happenings and showed them places that had no great importance but were pretty nonetheless. He kept them company when everybody else seemed too busy and entertained them with stories. This he did for all of them, Rael and A’viloh as much as Tataru and Alphinaud, but still A’viloh didn’t fail to notice that the Elezen seemed to especially enjoy his company. His smile always a little brighter, his voice always a tiny bit softer. Yes, he noticed it, he wasn’t blind or deaf after all. Haurchefant was a great friend, a good person and A’viloh liked spending time with him but as much as the Elezen’s obvious interest flattered him, he honestly didn’t know how to feel about this. All he knew was that he was grateful for so much kindness and also for the fact that he didn’t have to spent all this time alone in some comfortable but yet unfamiliar house while the cold wind howled outside and everybody else was busy with work or research while he felt like there was nothing useful for him to do.

It had also been in one of these daily moments, at a late dinner the whole family and their guests shared, that Alphinaud brought up the topic of paying them back somehow for the generous offer to stay at their home. At first Lord Fortemp had seemed reluctant about accepting their help but had quickly admitted that he could indeed use support regarding his sons and their duties. Both young men were a lot different compared to their half-brother, A’viloh had quickly noticed that much already, and while Emmanellain had reacted all too euphoric about the idea, his older brother Artoirel had quite indignantly stated that he didn’t need help with his tasks, especially not from their honoured guest. The way he had said honoured however had more felt like an insult to A’viloh, full of contempt and arrogance, the same way U’khuba had always spoken his name whenever he had been forced to work with A’viloh.

He had tried not to let that one remark get him down but it certainly hadn’t made him feel better and neither did it help his mood that their first destination, Falcon’s Nest in the Western Highlands of Coerthas, seemed even colder and more desolate than Camp Dragonhead.

“We could split up.”, Rael offered. “There is no reason for both of us to go there and this way you can help Emmanellain with his task in the Sea of Clouds. I heard it is quite cold there too but also very pretty and a lot greener. No snow, I promise.”

It had been a kind offer but A’viloh didn’t like the idea of leaving Rael alone or rather being left alone by them. “No, let’s go together. It’s not fair to only pick the nice tasks and I think you must have enough of all the snow by now too.”

The viera made a face somewhere between a grimace and a smirk. “A little…”

“See?”, A’viloh continued and smiled at them. “Together we will get the work in Coerthas done a lot faster and then we can both have a vacation at Camp Cloudtop.”

Rael crossed their arms in front of their chest and raised and eyebrow. “You know it is still work and not a vacation, right?”

“Can’t it be both?”, the Miqo’te retorted with a shrug, which made Rael shake their head. “We will see...”

A’viloh nodded. “I still can’t believe a place like that really exists! Flying islands in the sky!”

“It will probably be just like Nym, I assume.”, Rael explained. “Highly de- and over-aspected crystals making some rocks float…”

“Oh, don’t you dare to make it sound boring before we are there yet!”, A’viloh scolded. “Besides, anything is better than all this snow!”

“That is true.”, Rael agreed and smiled at him.

#ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14 #ffxiv writing #ffxiv screenshots #ff14 screenshots #ffxiv gpose #gpose #Aviloh Tia #Rael Hyskaris #I forgot I wanted to post this before the September Writing Challenge starts but guess what I of course forgot 🙈#so here it is!#and now so will start brainstorming about the word steer…

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count-doodoo · 10 months

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dooku: jedi lost: part 4: liveblog part 2

this is the scene @charmwasjess was posting about and despite having already read it on her blog it kind of jump scared me. (this whole BOOK kind of jump scared me with the feels.)

YES. YES I DID. OMFG THESE BOYS. DOOKSY IS MY ROMAN EMPIRE (am i doing that right)

THIS IS SO SOFT THEY'RE SO GENTLE WITH EACH OTHER??????? sifo APOLOGIZES??? AND THEN DOOKU APOLOGIZES???? what is this, self awareness in the star wars universe???

this is hitting me unexpectedly hard in the former gifted kid feels? the sense of i-don't-belong because you are a fucking /nerd/ with no social ability? hits me where i live. (yes yes i was somewhat of a not like other girls girl. blech)

also, it feels very in the with dark rendezvous, which i have not actually read yet, but which i have acquired feels for through osmosis. (the "the temple is a tight fit" bit)

I AM SO SOFT FOR THESE IDIOT ASSHOLE BOYS. DOOKU KNOWS HE'S DIFFICULT!!! SIFO LOVES HIM!!!!! THEY ARE MY PRECIOUS BLORBOS

sifo i love you and i love your faith in dooku but actually we need to knock the ego down a few pegs. let's leave it at "strived to be the best". BUT ALSO I LOVE THEM AND I LOVE HOW MUCH THEY LOVE EACH OTHER.

I???? SPEECHLESS. I HAVE NO WORDS. I JUST--

[deep breaths]

WHAT IF I DON'T WANT TO BE SHAPED

this guy is SUCH a rebel idealist and despite his love for rules i 100% don't think he's the kind who wants to be shaped. he wants his own agency.

fuck i don't appreciate how much this is making me relate to dooku HELP.

FEAR NOT SIFO. RAEL AND QUIGS WILL KICK HIS ASS.

ALSO NOOOOOO DON'T SUGGEST RULING THE GALAXY

this scene is SO SOFT AND CUTE and yet there's these undertones that are like,,,, the galaxy is gonna be ruined in the fallout of their friendship,,, I AM FERAL

(tbc)

#dooku #star wars #dooku jedi lost spoilers #dooku jedi lost #djl liveblog

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beatrice-otter · 8 months

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Festivids is live!

As usual, there are a LOT of really good vids, go check them out!

Here are some ones I liked:

The Only Way to See Fandom: Amaury Guichon - Fandom Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: Fanvids, Baking, Chocolate, Pastries, The Artistic Process Summary:

What you feel like, planning a sky.

A fanvid of Amaury Guichon (the chocolate guy).

Lonely Day Fandom: Andor (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Cassian Andor, Maarva Andor, Bix Caleen, Mon Mothma, Vel Sartha, Luthen Rael, Kino Loy, Cinta Kaz, Dedra Meero, Arvel Skeen, Karis Nemik, Brasso the Ferrixian (Star Wars), Syril Karn, Kleya Marki Additional Tags: Fanvids, Angst, Rebellion, Depictions of Police, Family, authoritarianism, Comrades in Arms, Embedded Video, Physical Triggers, brief shot of auditory torture, ends hopefully Summary:

From the loneliest day, new growth springs. Oppression sows the seeds of its own destruction. Featuring the whole Andor cast of characters but mainly focused on Cassian.

Come Forth Now Fandom: Andor (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Cassian Andor, Luthen Rael, Bix Caleen, Maarva Andor, Brasso the Ferrixian (Star Wars), Vel Sartha, Cinta Kaz, Arvel Skeen, Kleya Marki, Mon Mothma, Kino Loy, Karis Nemik, Taramyn Barcona, Clem Andor, Syril Karn, Ruescott Melshi Additional Tags: Rebellion, Hope, some explosions, Police images, Family, Friendship, Fanvids, Embedded Video Summary:

And this is all we need And this is where we start This is the day we greet This is the day, no other

Boys Keep Swinging Fandom: As You Like It - Shakespeare Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Rosalind | Ganymede (As You Like It) Additional Tags: Fanvids, Embedded Video, Crossdressing, Genderbending, Queer Themes Summary:

When you're a boy Other boys check you out You get a girl These are your favorite things When you're a boy

Drink You Sober Fandom: Bound (1996) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Corky/Violet (Bound) Summary:

'I want to feel you'

We Can Be Anything Fandom: Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Evelyn Wang, Joy Wang | Jobu Tupaki, Waymond Wang

How to make a perfect Hanukkah movie… Fandom: Hallmark Movies - Fandom, Hitched for the Holidays (2012), Double Holiday (2019), Mistletoe & Menorahs (2019), Love Lights Hanukkah! (2020), Eight Gifts of Hanukkah (2021), Hanukkah on Rye (2022) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: Fanvids, Hanukkah Summary:

…(according to the Hallmark Channel)

Oh No Not Now [Fanvid] Fandom: Philadelphia Story (1940) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Macaulay Connor/C.K. Dexter Haven/Tracy Lord, Macaulay Connor/C.K. Dexter Haven, Macaulay Connor/Tracy Lord, Macaulay Connor/Elizabeth Imbrie, C.K. Dexter Haven/Tracy Lord, C.K. Dexter Haven/Elizabeth Imbrie Summary:

What do I do with this?

The Hunted Fandom: Prey (2022) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Characters: Naru (Prey 2022), Sarii (Prey 2022), Feral Predator (Prey 2022), Bear (Prey 2022) Additional Tags: Action, Hunters & Hunting, Animal Death, Animal Attack Summary:

The hunter becomes the hunted.

[vid] out with a bang Fandom: Robin and Marian (1976), Robin Hood - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Maid Marian/Robin Hood, Little John/Maid Marian/Robin Hood Characters: Maid Marian, Robin Hood, Little John, Sheriff of Nottingham Additional Tags: Fanvids, Embedded Video, Character Study, Canonical Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Summary:

I'm way to young to lie here forever, I'm way too old to try, so whatever...

A Marian character study.

magnetic [VID] Fandom: Romeo+Juliet (1996) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Mercutio (Romeo and Juliet) Additional Tags: gender feelings, Fighting Feelings, your crush keeps falling in love with girls feelings, honestly vidding this made me want enemies to lovers fic for mercutio and tybalt, let's skip the sad ending and just be angry together, Fanvids Summary:

Mercutio's been magnetic since he was a baby.

Trust+Fall Fandom: Romeo+Juliet (1996), Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Juliet Capulet/Romeo Montague Additional Tags: Romcom turned tragedy, Self-Harm, Suicide, Physical Triggers, Depictions of Police Summary:

Juliet met an awesome guy at a big party her parents threw and fell instantly in love! With a meet-cute like that, what could go wrong? (Turns out: literally everything.)

VID: I'm That Queer Fandom: Janelle Monáe Music Videos, Janelle Monae (Musician) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Jane (Dirty Computer), Cindi Mayweather Additional Tags: Physical Triggers, Fast cutting, flashing lights, Glitch effects, Queerphobia, Depictions of Police, Fanvids Summary:

A fanvid of some of Janelle Monáe's Music Videos, focusing on their Cindi Mayweather and Jane characters.

Physical triggers: extensive fast cutting, extensive glitch effects, flashing lights. Other warnings: authoritarian state, queerphobia, depictions of police.

#fanvid #vid recs #janelle monae #andor #romeo and juliet

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zwy01 · 1 year

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Jia doodles!!!

Doodles of my noblesse oc from my Millennium AU, Jia Ru! She is the second child of Kei Ru and Claudia Tradio, and the younger sister of Luzia Tradio.

Jia’s hobby is sparring and she likes to train for strength just as much as her father Kei does. She loves her musclehead Ba very very much, and inherits his incredibly burly build. Smashes bedrock like styrofoam.

1. Jia painting!!! She has messy white hair just like Kei. She leaves her bangs as is and keeps the rest in two braids on either sides of her head. Her hair accessories were gifts from her mother Claudia; she cherishes them very much and wears them everyday. Though Jia is so powerful if she turns her head just a little too quickly her braids might slap someone unconscious. Free nap time. Oopsie, sorry hehe. You shouldn’t stare at her for too long not because she minds; she actually doesn’t. Instead to her prolonged eye contact means an invitation to spar so if you’re not ready for an unforgiving workout session, mayybe move on lol.

2. Jia side profile! She loves to spend time in the Ru territory’s bamboo forest. The breeze is nice and cool, and she loves her heritage.

3. The moment lil’ Jia gets her hair accessories from her mother Claudia! Jia’s hair is naturally messy and Kei doesn’t really know how to style hair either, so her hair just flies everywhere. Jia is curious about her mother’s hairstyle, and mommy Claudia gets an idea. She had always wanted to give her second daughter a gift but she never knew what to give, until now! Jia is super happy. Her parents are amused. Claudia promptly teaches Kei how to style their bab’s hair.

4. Kei is stoic and dense. Very very dense. He doesn’t really express love in the conventional way, maybe just one or two nicknames in private, but that’s it. No matter what, Jia knows he loves her, and Kei knows she loves him. He gets super flustered and confused as to what to do when his daughter pulls him into a massive hug. He rarely hugs back and in return just “praises” her but she knows what it really means. Cmon just say those three words Kei. They share a close relationship throughout their entire lives.

5. Jia likes Alois hoooooooo. Alois is the firstborn of the entire nextgen cast and being the shy and reserved boy he was, he spent a lot of time with the Clan Leaders before his peers were born. Specifically, he liked hanging out with Kei because Kei doesn’t talk much and he’s a good person. Alois feels relaxed around him and visits the Ru manor often. He especially enjoys the company of the Ru tigers, and routinely visits and takes care of them even after becoming an adult. Jia is curious about this random dude and accompanies him in her home. Gradually she begins to realize how caring, delicate and beautiful he is and falls for him. She’s usually loud and blunt but around him, she’s super shy. Girl is totally in love. Probably even already imagining their beautiful red and silver haired kids together (lol). Holddd up girl. Right now she doesn’t know that Luzia also likes him, and that he likes Luzia. She will find out one day and it’s gonna be quite chaotic. But at the moment muscle girl is happy with just hanging with him. Though she can’t seem to hear anything but her own heartbeats. Dammit, who’s rolling the drums at this hour.

6. Jia is kinda… dense. In a dumb way. People go “huh?” when they learn that she and Raegyn Kertia, son of Rael Kertia and Regis K. Landegre, are actually good friends. Because Raegyn doesn’t hang out with nobodies. He’s a picky extrovert, because he’s a smartass and being super smart means he finds most company to be dull and boring, and manipulating people with his charm is always easy. So in order for him to genuinely enjoy hanging out with someone, they have to be completely immune to his manipulation either by being super smart/just as smart as him, or…. by being SO dumb his smartassing just doesn’t work. Jia is… clearly not the first type. But their unusual friendship just so happened and they always have a lot to talk about. Jia is always so flattered because Raegyn “compliments” her so often. Ehh maybe try to analyze it just a bit more? Maybe asking too much from her one active brain cell tho. Lol.

#noblesse #manhwa #myart #fanart #oc #ocs #original character #millennium au #jia ru #kei ru #claudia tradio #alois elenor #raegyn kertia #jia has 1 brain cell and all it wants to do is fight

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indecisive-v · 1 year

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some writing since my drawing brain cells don't wanna cooperate

making the move from world of magic to arcane odyssey in the perspective of my second save file character

His entire world, swallowed by a light more blinding than what he could ever try to conjure. All of it, gone in a literal flash, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

He was devastated enough when he was just a trainee watching his home city get nearly laid to waste by magical explosions. He could only imagine how anyone else with their eyes open was feeling.

Noel Marshall, knight of Summer Hold, couldn't do anything to protect it then, and couldn't do anything to protect it now. The boy didn't even have a chance to get back at those explosion mages before it all ended.

...

Well, that's that, he supposes. Not much he can do about it now. How pathetic of him.

The world's over. Noel's life is over.

So why...

Why is he still even conscious?

Noel shifts. His movements are met with the coarse feeling of sand. The sounds of thunder and shoreline waves reach his ears. He's on a beach. A beach that he's fairly sure should have just been vaporized.

He lifts himself up from the sand and rubs his eyes to get a better look around. It seems he's on some island in the middle of nowhere, and the rain surrounding it has drenched him. Is the afterlife supposed to be a wet, rainy island? If so, he's not sure what part of the afterlife this is. Purgatory, maybe. It's too merciful for hell, and too lacking for heaven. Still, he was expecting the middle place to just be an empty, emotionless void of boredom or something. Perhaps it's personalized.

He turns to the sea behind him, just to be completely sure there isn't by any chance a boat there to pick him up. There is indeed no boat in sight, save for some little rowboats on the shore.

No way is he going to try rowing out in this weather.

Noel almost turns back to the island, wanting to still do something, but his barely-visible reflection in the water manages to catch his eye.

At least, he's pretty sure that's supposed to be his reflection.

It doesn't look quite like him. His hair is as stringy-looking as always, tied in its usual ponytail, but its copper brown color has been replaced with black. At first, he assumes it's just the lighting, but then he sees the rest of himself. His eyes have gone from moonlit blue to sunny gold- ironic, given his gift of Sunlight Magic- and there's a large scar now stretching across his face. His clothes are in tatters, but that part isn't nearly as much of a surprise compared to everything else. Then again, he was supposed to be wearing armor, so...

What in the...?

"Rael, you're awake.... I thought you'd be out for a few more days."

Who-

Noel whirls around. Facing him is a pale, dark-haired man in similar ragged clothes. The knight looks around- there isn't anyone else the man could be referring to when he says "Rael". It's just the two of them on this island. Perhaps the man simply misheard for forgot part of Noel's name. It's only two letters off, after all.

"It's Noel," he corrects him. The man raises an eyebrow. Must be awfully confident in what he thought Noel's name was.

"Did the experiments mess with your brain, or are you just joking around?" the man asks.

Experiments?

"What experiments? Am I supposed to know you?"

"Huh, are you serious?" the man's confusion evolves into genuine shock. "The two of us barely got out of there alive, and now you have memory loss... I can't believe it."

Memory loss? Noel's sure his memories are perfectly in tact. You don't just forget your tragic backstory or the sight of the world ending overnight. You don't forget those things ever, for that matter. He racks his brain for this man's name. M... Mor... Morden. That's it. Where would they have met before, though? Morden's name is all Noel can recall about him.

"We were being held captive in a remote location," Morden explains, "and they performed magic experiments on us. We saw people die every day... but I guess you don't remember that."

Ah. So much for not forgetting one's tragic backstory. Still, the events in his head weren't connecting. The world was engulfed in pure white, and then... he got captured and experimented on? How? And by who...?

Noel simply lowers his head. He failed so hard at protecting others that he even forgot they existed, huh. "I'm... sorry," he says. As if his pride isn't damaged enough.

Morden shakes his head. "It's not your fault..." But it feels like it is- "...we did the best we could." But it wasn't enough- "It's a shame that Tucker couldn't make it," He even forgot the names of the deceased- "but at least he's had a proper burial."

Noel shakes under the guilt, but remains silent. He doesn't remember what happened, so what right does he have to talk about it as if he did?

"Anyway, we're free now. You still remember how to use magic, right?" Noel nods at that. Morden continues. "Since we're magic-users, we'll make it far in this world. We just need to meet the right people. You can take one of the rowboats and go wherever you want. I'm going to go back to Tucker's grave for a bit-" he gestures towards a grassy part of the island; must be where the grave is- "I need to think some things over."

Noel looks around, then back at Morden. "Where do I even go?" he asks.

"I don't know..." Morden responds. "You're hungry, aren't you? Maybe you should go to Redwake, it's a port to the east of here. They might have food for you, and being there may help you remember some things from your past as well. Maybe we'll see each other again, Rael." He didn't correct himself. "Until then, farewe-"

"I told you, it's Noel."

Morden pauses. "Could've sworn it was always Rael, but sure. Farewell, Noel, and I wish you good fortune."

Morden turns back towards Tucker's grave, leaving Noel (Rael?) on the shore. He goes back to looking at himself in the water.

A new (but similar) face. A new (but similar) name. Morden even said he was still a magic user, but for all Noel knows he could have a completely different magic type now. Only one way to find out.

He holds his hand out, trying to summon the familiar, magical light he had always used. Sure enough, light steadily pours forth from his hand, forming into a little ball. At least that part's the same. He's relieved that he doesn't have to learn to use an entirely new element. There's just one problem.

The light he's holding isn't golden sunlight.

It's soft, blue moonlight.

What happened? Did the magic experiments or that end-of-the-world light give Noel some kind of color blindness? That wouldn't explain why Morden had called him Rael. It was so close to his name, like how his appearance had the same outline but the colors were all wrong. He had the same magic, but a different variant. It was like he was Noel Marshall, but slightly to the left. Is that what magic experiments do to you? Morden didn't seem to be having the same problems.

Was Marshall even his last name anymore? It was his family's pride- proof of their descension from a powerful warrior of Summer Hold's history.

Noel turns away from the water and runs towards where Morden went. The man is still contemplating, and Noel can see the grave he stands by now. He slows down and gives the grave an apologetic nod before looking at Morden.

"You haven't left yet?" Morden asks him.

"I just want to know one more thing," Noel answers.

"I don't know everything about what happened, but... alright. Ask away."

"My name. If it isn't Noel, what is it? My full name, I mean. First and last."

Morden hesitates. Forgetting your own name is stupid, I know. Just answer already... please.

"Rael Ordius. That's what you introduced yourself as when we first met."

Ordius. He wonders what that name could mean. Maybe it's the obvious answer- "order". Maybe it didn't matter and "Rael Ordius" was just some cover name he came up with only for his stupid, amnesiac self to blow it. What did matter, though, was the fact that he apparently had a whole new name that others in this life knew him by.

This life.

A new life.

With a different name and face.

Had he been reincarnated? Had he forgotten the entirety of his current life while retaining the memories of his previous one?

If so, then this world knew of no Noel Marshall, knight of Summer Hold. It only knew Rael Ordius, a subject and escapee of deadly magic experiments. Noel had died long ago in the blast of some sort of massive magic bomb.

He couldn't protect himself, he couldn't protect his old home, and he couldn't protect his old world. But he was in the middle of trying to gain the power to do so before that world was destroyed. Maybe this was his second chance. Granted, he was already failing, considering Morden told him he had already seen so many die in this life too, but surely now...

...The only thing he can do is light the path ahead of him.

in-universe explanation for what happened: world of magic being shut down and turned into arcane odyssey was perceived as the world getting erased and recreated; noel marshall died in the erasure and was reincarnated as rael ordius. so he's sort of right but if we put the events on a chronological timeline there's some jeremy bearimy shit going on there

real life explanation: i made noel on a whim bc i just wanted to try light magic but then i got attached but i still didn't like the name he got or his half-assed design so i changed them when ao released 👍

i like to think that although his name, legally speaking, is now rael ordius, he still introduces himself as noel for the sake of not getting attention from anyone who might have been involved in the magic experiments (and also because of course he's just more used to it)

noel's "tragic backstory" with the explosion mages was a thing that happened to me while playing world of magic; i was chilling in summer hold when some negative rep explosion mage players came in and blew the place up, killing multiple npcs whose last names were marshall in the process, and since i was still low level i couldn't really do anything unless i wanted to get my ass blown up. so yes noel's family died while he helplessly watched and some random players out there are part of my oc lore

rael also has his own history with his locked-away memories but that's for another time

#roblox #arcane odyssey #world of magic #writing #forgive me if any part of this seems a little messy i kinda just wanted to get the brain juices flowing

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metataxy · 2 years

Text

I share my dreams with ghosts, #4

Summary: The man who calls himself Luthen Rael was a Jedi once. This is how he survives Order 66, and what comes after.

Not posting to AO3 until I figure out where this is going!

Warnings: Language, misogyny and speciesism due to shitty Imperials.

Part 1 here , Part 2, Part 3

Occasionally, the business interests of Luthen Rael (both legitimate and less so) lead him to negotiate with the Hutt Empire or the cartels. Given his reputation for brokering fair deals without bloodshed, he’s become a favourite intermediary for museums and private collectors looking to acquire or ransom valuable pieces from black market sellers. The confidentiality of these arrangements is ideal for trading in other commodities, like weapons, information, refugees.

Today, Quinlan brazened through the front doors of his shop with a new shopping list. The Kiffar has shaved his head and grown a beard, slipped in contacts to hide his Fallen eyes. He’s dressed himself with the poor taste of the nouveau riche, swaggering in badly tailored spidersilk robes and high heels, a string of kybers flashing round his neck. Palpatine had started a fashion trend. Once it was known that those in the Emperor’s favour wore kyber, everyone was wearing kyber. Or at least, what they’d swear on the Force was kyber. Never before had there been such a demand for high-quality imitations. Everyone, from the Moffs’ trophy wives down to the middling rich, seemed to have a Kyber, complete with an improbable biography of the Jedi who’d owned them, and a sufficiently bloody tale of how they’d been executed.

There were two benefits to this: First, no one doubted Rael when he claimed to be out of stock of kyber and unable to find more. All the reputable dealers were out of stock of kyber. And second: Jedi could openly wear kyber among the wealthy without incurring anything more dangerous than envy. Ironically, it was the safest way for Quinlan to move these last remains of their brethren.

But he hasn’t come today to pass these stones into his safekeeping. He has a more valuable and dangerous resource for Rael to acquire.

After they have settled into the backroom, and Quinlan has tested the integrity of Rael’s shields, he lays it out.

“You’ll be going to Hutt Space and buying the indenture of a student along with the items I’ve listed here,” Quin passes the datapad along to him.

Rael scans the inventory and its destinations, including one Kleya Marki, human female, 17, midway through university education, five languages, and blinks. He’s grown accustomed to the traffic of sentients, but they’ve always been routed elsewhere. “Is it wise to move people through the shop?” he asks Quinlan, guessing that this was to become another front of the underground.

Quinlan grins. “Oh, we’re not moving people through the shop. Luthen Rael is acquiring a mistress.”

“A teenager? In this shop?” Rael stares at Quinlan. He remembers all his Master’s lectures on how use of the Dark Side seemed to frequently entail some form of cognitive decline or executive dysfunction.

“Yup,” Quinlan smacks his lips around the syllable. “Teenager makes perfect sense. Luthen Rael is a reformed ephebophile. Alderaani society will love it. Her age makes it a scandal, but the cost of her contract and your willingness to teach her a real trade makes it a charitable act. Besides, you’ll eventually fall in love and marry her—or at least will her your estate. Love story for the ages.”

“And why in the Force would I fucking well do that?” Rael demands, waiting to hear the logic that surely must be behind this request.

Quinlan smiles. “Because Kleya Marki has the magic touch?” he leers and lifts his gloved hands to wiggle his fingers, and Rael is half a moment from slapping him when he understands.

“A psychometric?”

“More sensitive than I am, even. The Educorps archaeologists practically breed them. There’s whole families with the gift. Every time the Council gets—got one of us that couldn’t adjust to the Temple creche, they shipped them out to those families.” Quinlan’s expression turns wistful. “I’ve stayed with them a few times. It was amazing. Brand-new bedding and cutlery for visiting psychometrics. No tasting the memory of yesterday’s meals on caf forks. And I met a guy there,” Quin’s gaze turns dreamy. “I can’t even describe the sex—”

“Please don’t.” Rael considers everything Quin has just said. “The Council’s always wanted more psychometrics. I can’t believe the Educorps held back so many.”

“Correction,” Quin says flatly. “The Council has always wanted functional psychometrics. You realize not every Sensitive is mentally or physically suited to be a Knight, right?” he asks rhetorically. “Psychometry is one of those things with a higher risk of crazy. They prefer to raise their own kids. Every so often, one got called to the Knighthood and came to Temple as an Initiate, but mostly? They stuck to themselves.”

“So how did one get in Hutt Space?”

“Bunch of them were already collaborating with Hutt personnel on a dig. When they heard Kenobi’s warning and the bounties started airing, they brokered terms with the Hutts. Hutt Empire owns their service and any wealth accruing from that service for twenty years, with the optional extension on fulfillment of those terms. During that time, the indenture cannot bought or traded except by willing agreement of both parties, and any children born to a Jedi parent during that time stay with the parents and enjoy the same protections and freedoms.”

“And the Hutts hate Palpatine.”

“And the Hutts hate Palpatine,” Quinlan agreed. “Thank the Force he’s such a xenophobic tool. Most of them are worried His Wrinkles will declare war on Hutt Space, and that he might have enough firepower to win it. And all of them know exactly how useful even untrained Sensitives are for predicting the stock market and running a gambling den. My contacts tell me their Council drooled when the proposal was made.” He made a disgusted face. “They keep sending slave girls to try to seduce them. They’re hoping we’ll ‘accept their assistance in repopulating’.”

He’s heard worse. The memory of the creche rises up in him: the peace of it, the smell of talcum powder and baby shampoo, the thrum of a dozen small minds soft with sleep. If Palpatine would hurry up and die, he’d happily offer his own assistance to refilling the cradles Skywalker had emptied.

“Why this Kleya Marki?”

Quinlan shrugged. “She’s functional, or close enough to it that you couldn’t tell otherwise. Smart. Her gift’s powerful but not disabling.”

“And she never volunteered for the front?” In the last months of the war, they’d been promoting the younger, abler Corpsmen as Commanders.

Quinlan snorted. “C’mon. You’ve met Jedi who weren’t raised on Coruscant. Not everyone agreed with the wars. In fact, Ms. Marki’s opinion at age 14 was, and I quote, ‘that it was a stupid war fought with slaves and the galaxy better off if the damn Republic just let the Separatists go their own way.’”

In retrospect, the girl had been completely right.

“They did conscript her for the Shadows about a week before Kenobi took out Grievous, but then, well.” Quinlan shrugs. “Anyways, she’s prepared to help now, and you can’t tell me you don’t need the help.”

It had been difficult, trying to run the shop all on his own, and while he’d learnt some ways to compensate for losing the Force, there was no work-around for mind-reading.

“Fine,” he agrees. “But I hope that girl’s ready for what she’s walking into.”

Quinlan grins. “Don’t worry, old man. I briefed her on all your annoying habits.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The cost of Kleya Marki’s indenture is staggering, and still, she’s worth every credit.

When he meets her, she’s wearing a close-fitting grey skirt and blazer, with heels. Her dark hair is bound up. The professional attire does nothing to detract from the interest of the Hutt accompanying her. The great slug accompanying her eyes her with almost as much longing as the cases of credits Rael’s carried with him. He almost seems regretful when Rael finally names a price he can’t refuse for her contract.

Rael hasn’t interacted with many psychometrics, but still, Kleya is not what he expects. Quinlan wears gloves when possible to minimize the risk of touching someone’s memories. Kleya doesn’t. Her hands are always bare. She touches the controls of his ship, door handles, light switches, as casually as he does. She ignores his growing tension as she picks up his whiskey and pours him a glass, or his alarm as she borrows his well-used holopad to search their business inventory.

Finally, he offers to get her gloves.

“No thanks.” She doesn’t even lift her eyes from her readings on pre-lightspeed Core civilizations to acknowledge him.

He’s not sure how to respond. In the past month, she hasn’t mentioned anything about his memories, so a conversation about privacy and boundaries seems unnecessary. “If there’s anything you need for your psychometry,” he begins awkwardly, “in case it distracts you, let me know.”

She does lift her head now, expression baffled. “Okay?”

That is the end of it. Later Quinlan clarifies it for him.

“Do you need noise-cancelling headphones because you can hear?” the Kiffar asks rhetorically, sipping his wine from their private booth at the operahouse.

“No,” Rael responds automatically, “but you’re wearing the metaphorical equivalent right now.”

“Heh. Yeah,” Quinlan pauses for the soprano to finish a technically difficult section, then continues. “Again. Different bloodline, different abilities and tolerances. And I wasn’t raised with a dozen psychometrics.” He considers. “Some advice: if you want your privacy, you really should stop leaving your cognitive residue all over the house. Psychometrics don’t drop memories like that unless they want someone to read them. I mean, she knows you’re not psychometric, but it’s still—”

“—the equivalent of hearing someone babble random nonsense in the background?” Rael guesses.

Quinlan grins. “I was thinking more like living with a puppy that can’t be toilet-trained.”

Ouch.

Quinlan shrugs. “Meditate some more. Work on suppressing your emotional reactions. It’ll help with your shields in general, but it’ll also give her a ‘cleaner’ living space.”

Perhaps it is only an effect of her becoming more comfortable with her new environment, but in the following months, as he becomes more careful to modulate his feelings in the common rooms, she seems to become more relaxed.

For appearances’ sake, he sets her up in a room adjoining his on Coruscant and instructs the servants to begin cleaning out and refurbishing the suite across from his in Rael House. His ‘mother’ learns of it. She still has enough presence of mind to interrogate him on the subject. He has to say enough to worry her: no, he’s not getting married, yes, it’s an offworld girl he met through his ‘business’. He hates to cause her anxiety like this, but a few luncheons later, Menica Rael’s complaints confirm the rumour that her son is falling back into old habits. No one is surprised.

And yet, after meeting Ms. Marki, no one treats her with less than respect, despite her age.

Kleya Marki behaves with the self-assurance and maturity of a woman twice her age. Sly Moore enters the shop once, ostensibly lured by the promise of a Jedi artifact (real, this time, a dry doorstopper of a treatise that would do no worse in Palpatine’s collection than it had in the back of Rael’s closet). Kleya greets him, gets him refreshments.

He tries to grope her ass.

She twists his wrist the wrong way and smiles coolly.

“We are grateful for your business, Master Moore, but please refamiliarize yourself with our store policies,” she tells him, no-nonsense. “Do not touch wares on display.”

She releases his wrist a moment later and segues into a description of their latest imports. Moore, apparently shocked that an underling would dare rebuff him, sits mutely through her explanation and then complains to Rael. Rael stares back, unimpressed, until finally Moore seems to get the hint.

“You aren’t actually going to let her get away with that behaviour?”

Rael contemplates how he would kill this man. “Why not?” he asks idly and offers Moore a cigar. It’s the only acceptable way for a man of his stature to score a nicotine hit.

“You told me once that you’d never tolerate any uppity whores—” and Rael tunes out the vulgarity that follows. It ends with some lewd references to his cousin’s previous generosity regarding the time and affections of the ‘women’ he’d dated, and a piteous, “What ever happened to share and share alike?”

Rael puffs his cigar, contemplative, and breathes out the smoke. A shoot-out had been too clean a death for the man whose life he inhabits. “Fact is, Sly, I’m getting old.”

“Noooo,” Moore protests with faux sincerity.

“I am,” he insists. “I nearly died. Puts things into perspective,” Rael puffed, pleased with himself. His ‘near-death experience’ is such a helpful excuse for Luthen Rael’s change of heart. “I could buy whores ‘til I drop dead, but they don’t stick around to hold your hand in the hospital. And I need someone smart and reliable enough to handle the business if I’m ever incapacitated again.”

Sly looks skeptical, then seems to work it out in his mind. “Ohhh. Oh, ho, ho. Damn. So this bitch toughs it out with you, learns your business, and in return, you get exclusive pussy for life.”

“I’ll thank you not to talk that way about my business associate,” Rael tells him seriously.

Sly’s assessment wasn’t unlikely. You could buy anything in the flesh trade, and while contracts of that nature weren’t common, they weren’t uncommon either. Traders wouldn’t waste time or money to educate slaveborn stock, but equally, they wouldn’t waste money by selling talented or educated slaves for manual labour.

“Damn, okay. You going to what, marry her, get a half dozen Rael babies—”

“She’s fourteen,” Rael lies. “I’m going to enjoy my time with her, and then maybe in four or five years I’ll think about the rest.”

Coming from the lips of supposed flesh trafficker and confirmed ephebophile Luthen Rael, this is as good as a declaration of marriage. Sly Moore passes the word around that Rael’s gone straight. Kleya begins to receive nothing worse than disapproving looks from the matrons and sly innuendos from the odd being attracted to her.

And as the months pass, and Rael’s courtesies towards her show no signs of waning, his more conservative clientele begin to assess her with interest. Her polite answers to their seemingly casual questions are perfect. Yes, she is currently in school, Master Rael was generous enough to pay her tuition for an advanced degree in antiquity and ancient languages at the University of Coruscant. No, she does not believe she is nobility. She was slaveborn. The Hutts sometimes offer indenture for particularly skilled and intelligent slaves, if they think it will increase their productivity during the term of their service. No, she is not married, she tells an enquiring man, without the coquettish laughter most girls her age (and Kenobi) would add after such a confession. Her business with Master Rael keeps her much too occupied for other pursuits.

All these answers, with their ambiguities, tally up favourably for her in the public mind. She is a serious and brilliant young woman with ambitions of her own. The upper class of Coruscant cannot imagine a slaveborn girl to be able to converse with them on their level, and their collective biases fabricate limitless possibilities for her origins. Every awful party Rael attends, some drunken noble asks him if she doesn’t look a bit like that noble, whose second cousin once removed was killed by pirates, and what if those pirates actually sold that cousin into slavery and used him as breeding stock?

And at every party, Rael begins to use his meditative discipline less and less to suppress his disgust at the Emperor’s lapdogs, and more and more not to laugh at their stupidity. He nods gravely and suggests yes, Kleya does look a good deal like that person, and he actually enquires after possible connections on her behalf—because that is exactly what a nobleman jealous of his stature does, when trying to establish the legitimacy of a mistress he’s half-eyeing to wed.

As it turns out, Kleya doesn’t need any real similarity to the nobility to acquire connections, familial or otherwise. When she attends galas with Rael, she presents herself fresh-faced in modest dresses. The experienced invitees of these events can recognize professional escorts conversing playfully at the sides of their wealthy patrons, and lower-level bawds laughing too loudly over their champagne.

Kleya is neither.

Kleya has all the shy composure of a Chandrilan girl of the nobility approaching womanhood. In fact, more than one person mistakes her for it. She turns down from a Chandrilan boy, explaining she’s here tonight with someone already.

“Who?” he asks brazenly. “He can’t be more attractive than I am,” and he winks at her. Kleya does not blush, and her expression does not waver.

“In all the aspects significant to me, he is,” she says, and glances sideways at Rael. The boy takes a moment to get it. He must have mistaken Rael for Kleya’s father. He looks shocked, and a little affronted on Kleya’s behalf.

Rael likes him. He feels nauseous at the role he is playing.

The boy bows again to Kleya, then nods tersely to Rael. “Miss, Master Rael. An excellent evening.” He excuses himself with this rote response, but later, Rael sees him holding a whispered conference with some elderly ladies. The next person to ask Kleya’s company is a tall blonde girl of the Keto family. Of course, Luthen Rael, perverse as he is, can hardly deny the opportunity to watch his <i>assistant</i> amuse herself in the arms of another lovely young thing.

Serra Keto sweeps Kleya off to the matrons, who interrogate her with more genuine concern than any of the errant socialites who’d visited their shop. She reassures them that Master Rael is treating her perfectly well. They concur she must be too ashamed to discuss her circumstances, the poor dear, and dedicate themselves to ensuring she knows she can leave the situation at any time. In the following months, she receives more invitations than she can accept to luncheons, art openings, charity exhibitions. An elderly duchess—‘once a celebrated courtesan herself!’—plies her with unasked for advice on how to best manage her situation. A half dozen requests to purchase Kleya’s contract arrive from concerned parties. If Rael had purchased Kleya as an investment, he could have sold her indenture at a profit twenty times the initial cost.

The matrons are vocal in their dissatisfaction that Rael won’t sell, “Not,” in his words, “for any price.” Public opinion shifts, and polite society comes to agree with its crasser counterpart that yes, Luthen Rael is actually besotted with his assistant.

Rael’s mother learns of it and begins insisting that Kleya spend time with her. The insistence isn’t necessary. Kleya likes his mother.

She never says as much, but he can tell by how the girl always seems to be in the same room as her when they visit the House on Alderaan. How Kleya anticipates when she will be cold, gathering up shawls and warm socks for the old lady before Menica thinks to ask the servants. She rubs the old woman’s swollen feet for her and brings her tea. Come summer, Rael always finds them next to each other on the veranda swing, surrounded and covered by a multitude of tookas.

Rael House is not the Temple, and they are not Jedi, but sometimes, with these people, Rael feels like he has come home.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The source of much of Kleya’s composure, Rael learns, is her psychometry, supported by minor kleptomania and frequenting consignment shops.

His new assistant has the unique ability to slip on the personalities of other people together with their clothing. It’s a unique form of method acting only someone with her ability could employ. In fact, she confesses, before the wars and the advent of the Empire, she’d imagined a career in live theatre.

The idea of a Jedi working outside the Order surprises and interests Rael almost as much how the girl assembles her wardrobe.

He’d already raised one girl through adolescence, and he hadn’t expected to take any more interest in Kleya’s wardrobe than his late Padawan’s. Of course, Rael reflected, Nim had chosen most of her clothes from the positively dizzying selection of neutrals available for Jedi robes. Everything else had been leftovers from their missions, or gifts from Rael’s own Master.

When Kleya shops, she inevitably runs her fingers along the top of the rack, running through the sense memories of each garment. It is not a process without risk: as well as she controls her expressions, he can see her eyebrow tic when picks up a negative memory, and once, she pulls her hand from a silk tunic with a small stain at the edge as though burnt. When she finds something she likes though, she pulls it off the rack. She rubs the fabric between her fingers, as though luxuriating in the texture, or testing the thread count. She tries everything on for the sake of appearances, but it doesn’t matter if it fits. Any article that feels right, that had belonged to the kind of person Kleya aspires to model, goes to the tailor’s for resizing.

The only time he’s seen her visibly unhappy is when she’s had to put back a visibly used garment. For her purposes, some of the best clothes have been worn until they’re little more than the memory of a garment. But Luthen Rael’s mistress would never buy threadbare clothes, Luthen Rael’s mistress can just barely explain her purchases at consignment shops as another means of procuring eclectic goods unavailable elsewhere. So, mostly, she puts them back, or slips them into her purse in the changeroom, because Kleya Marki is a thief.

It takes Luthen Rael a few months to realize this, because Kleya is careful, and because her skill rivals anything he learnt as a Shadow. He only notices because they spend so much time in each other’s company. They attend a gala: months later, the patterned cloth he’d seen around the neck of a senator’s wife trims the cuffs and hem of her blouse. They visit the home of the Hapan ambassador, who dresses all her husbands in the same robes of bespoke spidersilk. A few weeks later, he finds intimates in the same damning cloth heaped in the laundry. A moff asks if he’d forgotten his knit scarf at their shop, a few weeks later, Kleya has a new pair of socks in the same soft red wool.

Between Kleya’s thefts and her psychometry, selecting a tailor had itself been a nightmare. Not only did they need someone capable of discretion, but someone with the right personality. The wrong tailor could spoil the cloth with their own psychic residue simply in handling it. Kleya used to fit her own clothing, but her not inconsiderable skills were still not on par with the expectations of their social milieu. Garment after garment had been spoiled with traces of frustration and unwanted flashes of the craftsmen’s private lives before they’d found their current tailor, Madam Chamb.

The pacific Mon Cal matron wore gloves for most of the tailoring process to keep her hands from drying and chafing on the cloth. As Imperial bias against non-humans had driven most of her clientele off-world, she’d been ecstatic to receive their patronage. For his part, after Kleya had rejected half the tailors in the district, Rael would have happily compensated her at twice her hourly rate. He settled for telling everyone who asked that his assistant had finally found someone who suited her. Kleya’s reputation for being particular and Madam Chamb’s skill were recommendation enough: soon, even the bigots had to see their tailor. Madam Chamb had been able to expand her shop and hire on her niece and nephew.

And if Kleya occasionally brings in the oddest garments and asks Chamb to transform them into a new piece for her, well. She enjoys the challenge.

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Notes:

(1) Some of concepts around how psychometry informs Quinlan Vos’s preferences has been inspired by Blue_Sunshine’s epic fanfic ‘The Desert Storm’, which I HIGHLY recommend you read. The plot and character dynamics and development are gorgeous and very satisfying. Also: more Quinlan!

(2) Just in general, I love seeing more speculation on how neurodiversity intersects with Force Sensitivity. I mean: we have people with attributes not shared by most of the population, but how does that affect them--especially the ones who aren’t Knights? Blue_Sunshine does a good job of showing neurodiverse/disabled Jedi. Also, GallusRostroMegalus’ flashfic

#Star Wars #Andor #Luthen Rael #Quinlan Vos #Jedi #psychometry #Kleya Marki #neurodiversity

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bnuuywol · 1 year

Text

From the Life and Journals of Phoenyx Eldritch

Aight here we go, I’m finally gonna bite the bullet and post the fics I’ve written about my WoL. This post is gonna be the first in a series of interconnected works that I wrote during the course of my time playing through for the first time, as well as pieces of the timeline I’ll go back to fill in later. I’ll be separating each chunk of chapters by expansion, which also means some things will be out of order as I haven’t written everything in my brain yet (sweats in I barely wrote anything for A Realm Reborn or Stormblood oops). Right now I’m still waiting on my invite email to AO3, but once I receive it they’ll be posted both here and there.

Now, onto the first chapter in PART I: A REALM REBORN!

I hope y’all like childhood trauma 👉😅👉

CONTENT WARNINGS: Gender dysphoria, misgendering

PART I: A REALM REBORN

Chapter One

Nineteen years predating the Seventh Umbral Calamity, a new brood of Viera kits were born in the Veena village of Akusos. The cycle of breeding came and went like clockwork for the Viera who lived there. After all, with the Garleans waging war just outside their borders and the ability, or lack thereof, of their men to survive in the unforgiving wilderness at the base of the Skatay Range, they found themselves needing to replenish their numbers often in order to survive. Among these children was an odd kit who would one day come to be known as Phen.

Their mother only bore the one child. Rael, her name was. She had only recently come of age to participate in the breeding cycle, and even so her priorities often seemed to lie elsewhere. She was one of the most skilled hunters in their village, constantly venturing out into the forest to procure prey for her peoples’ survival. Even pregnancy didn’t stop her in this plight. It was this very reason that the child’s father, Kir, sought Rael when the time came. A Wood Warder since the age of fourteen, like all other males of their kind, he spent the vast majority of his days in the forests as a protector. He’d known Rael since they were both kits themselves, having been born roughly around the same breeding cycle. He had always admired her kindness, her fearlessness. The two found themselves drawn together the moment they were able. Warriors at their core exchanging a passion that ventured far beyond their responsibilities for Akusos.

This fearlessness, passion, and edge of reckless disregard they both possessed would be passed down to their child, but neither would live long enough to see it. A Garlean ambush came at no surprise, but this one came dangerously close to the village itself. Kir performed his duties to the best of his abilities, but not his efforts nor the efforts of other Warders in the surrounding area could drive the Garleans away from Akusos. There were far too many of them, brandishing suits of magitek that could cut down their most skilled fighters in an instant. Rael led a party of the village’s most skilled hunters out into the field in order to drive the invaders out by force. Their success met with a heavy cost. Neither Rael nor Kir returned from the ordeal. Knowing the behavior of their lineage, the village elder, a woman named Dava, decided that taking their child under her personal care would be for the best.

And Phen never knew any different. Their mother died when they were only three years old. The decade that had passed since then held a deeper grip on their memories. Not that they imagined things would have been easier had she survived. Throughout their life they were met with nothing but scolding and disappointment from Dava. It had always been “don’t.” Don’t ask questions like that. Don’t wander outside the village by yourself. Don’t touch those weapons. Don’t speak about that gift of yours. Don’t grow too attached to being a Wood Warder. Don’t question the Green Word.

But they were cursed with an insatiable curiosity. No matter how many times they were told no, they did it again anyway. That reckless behavior made it so Dava kept them separate from the other kits, raising them in isolation lest their misguided ways infect the other young ones. Every effort she made to teach them the proper ways of the Veena clan backfired. Of course, it was in part that very isolation that made them crave answers. Phen didn’t understand the prospect of simply accepting certain things at truth without being told why. Dava always shut them down whenever they prodded at a subject that she did not want them to know about at that age. She just told herself that the kit would settle down as they got older, that puberty would hit and their gender would provide them with a purpose and all of this would just go away.

How wrong she was.

Phen appeared to be growing into a lovely young woman, much to Dava’s relief and the kit’s dismay. Dava immediately got to work preparing the thirteen year old for her new responsibilities as a woman of Akusos. Surely the prospect of training as a hunter would appeal to the child’s tendency towards the same behavior as her mother. But what Dava found was only further resistance.

When her puberty started, Phen felt like she was living in a waking nightmare. Her body was rebelling against her. There had to be some sort of mistake. From what she knew and felt of the two genders, she had always resonated with the males of their race. Everything about being told she was female felt… wrong. Feeling the tenderness in her chest often brought her to tears. Her facial features remaining soft and absent of angles, her waist curving into an hourglass, the idea that she would one day be expected to bear children? Phen couldn’t believe this was happening to her.

She, no… he would not surrender to this reality. Phen knew who he was, he was not about to let Dava decide for him. He just needed to gather the courage to say something. And one day after training, he approached the elder.

“Dava, if you could spare a moment, there’s something I wish to discuss.” Phen requested before returning to his room, his head bowed to show his respect.

“Make it quick, Phen. You know I have little patience to answer questions about things that do not concern you.” Dava responded sharply, hardly looking up from the task that presently occupied her.

“Of course. I…” Anxiety swirled in his chest, but he raised his gaze and steeled himself for the worst. “I’ve been giving it some thought, and I was wondering if when next the Wood Warders return, I could go with them and begin training to become one.” Phen’s request was immediately met with a seething silence. Dava closed her book and stood, approaching the kit with a dangerous glare.

“You know full well that women are not permitted to become Wood Warders. The Green Word forbids it.”

“I know, but… I don’t really feel that I am… a woman, I mean. I understand that the developments my body is going through would make it seem as such, but… it doesn’t feel right.”

“What on earth could you possibly mean by such a claim?”

“I mean exactly what I’m saying.” Desperate to be understood, he threw caution to the wind and let emotion take over. “Everything about it feels wrong, like I’m a prisoner in my own skin. Puberty be damned, I am a man, not a woman!”

“Watch your tongue, kit! Need I remind you that it was by the goodness of my heart that you were given a home after the passing of your mother? And now you would stand here and insult her memory, insult our very way of life. Rael would be ashamed of who you grew up to be.”

“But why is what I say so wrong? Why is what I ask to do so wrong? My father died in the name of protecting Akusos, he devoted his life to the protection of our village, of our forests. He took upon him the lonely duty of the Wood Warder with pride and honor. All I have ever wanted was to follow in his footsteps. To protect the land as he did. And now, because you all decide who I am for me, I will not be allowed to do so?”

“What you want, Phen, is any excuse to go off into the outside world! That’s all you have ever wanted, to be rid of this place. Is that not so?”

Phen opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, his face twisting with confliction. He shoved down the dysphoria induced by Dava’s choice to ignore what he shared about his gender and tried to fully consider the question posed to him. “I…” His voice faltered. He pressed his eyes shut, his chest heavy with the reality that she was right. With a deep sigh, he opened his eyes and brought them back to hers. “Can you blame me? All my life you have kept me sheltered away, able to experience nothing but the four walls of our home. Does it truly surprise you that I now look to the stars and yearn for the freedom to know more than that?”

Dava crossed her arms, greatly disappointed by what this kit became despite her best efforts to prevent it. She shook her head, her eyes daggers upon the child. “Then go.”

Phen’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry?”

“I hereby exile you from the village of Akusos. Leave now, and do not return.”

“Dava—” His voice swelled with panic.

“My decision is final. You have spat in the face of the Green Word for the last time, kit. The wilderness will decide your fate now.”

The Warders all knew better than to aid the young kit that had entered the forests that evening. The circumstances by which the, what appeared to their eyes to be female, child came to be in the wilderness could only mean one thing: the elder had exiled the kit, and deemed them Veena no longer. For a mercy, Phen had been allowed to keep the bow and quiver of arrows he had begun training with, but nothing else. After the initial shock and panic from Dava’s decision had passed, he made his preparations swiftly. Believing he had nothing further to lose, he broke into the storehouses and acquired the gear given only to the men of their tribe before they went out into the forest. If he were to be sent out into the world, likely to his death, he would do so with dignity, unbound by the clothing expected of someone assigned female.

That first night proved particularly difficult. The cold bit through even the armor on his forearms and legs, his exposed midriff numb and bright red with irritation as the unforgiving winds tore against his body. But despite the tips of his fingers feeling as though they might break off, he used a partial cave and a haphazardly built wall of snow to shelter himself through the night. When he awoke, it felt like he had frozen in place, his body wracked with profuse shaking. It probably would have been easier to simply lay there and die, but something inside him wouldn’t allow that. A fire burned in his chest and told him that this world held more for him than to freeze to death as a child. And with that determination, he found the strength to pull himself up off the ground.

Phen spent nine years in that forest, watching Warders from afar, teaching himself the lay of the land, teaching himself how to survive. Though he stumbled through the first couple of years, surviving mostly on luck, he was quick to pick up the skills he needed in order to survive. Hunting, building fires, finding shelter, looting supplies off the bodies of fallen Garlean soldiers, as well as those of Dalmascans and Nagxians who fled into the woods hoping to escape the invaders only to face the unforgiving cold and beasts. Every once in a while he’d find particularly useful supplies off the bodies of ‘adventurers.’ In particular, he once found a gold encrusted vial with a strange blue liquid within it, deciding to keep it in case it held any value.

The more he found himself encountering adventurers, either alive or dead, the more intrigued he became by the concept. Phen would sometimes spend his evenings spying on their camps, hearing their stories about adventures in far away lands that they regaled one another to pass the time. Tales regarding a place called Eorzea caught his attention in particular. People spoke of a great tragedy striking the land, the Calamity, they called it. How many people were in need of aid to rebuild, to gain protection from bandits and ruffians, to find some sort of peace after the red moon Dalamud broke apart and released a ferocious dragon, Bahamut. The more he heard about the place, the more he felt drawn to it. Especially the deserts of Thanalan. How he yearned to free himself from this cold wasteland at the base of the mountains and explore such a place.

One day, the circumstances seemed to align in a most harmonious fashion. A party of adventurers hailing from Eorzea was passing through the forest in pursuit of the mountains of the Skatay Range, with intent on exploring the Burn just beyond them. Phen caught an intriguing conversation about a vial not unlike the one he had acquired a few years past. Fantasia, they called it. They were, of course, speaking of how much value the substance held in the marketplaces, their intention to sell it to line their coin purses. But all that information was lost on Phen once he heard what it could do: using magic to change the user’s entire body as they pleased, including their physical gender. His ears perked and eyes widened with this information. From his vantage point, he pulled the vial from his pocket. The answer to his struggles living with the body given to him at birth… could it have been this close for all these years? Only one way to find out. Phen opened the vial, and with his heart’s desire at the forefront of his mind, downed its contents. An odd sensation filled his being, as if his skin were rippling across the bone. Overwhelmed by it, he soon lost consciousness.

When he came to, Phen found himself surrounded by that selfsame group of adventurers. He inhaled sharply, pulling the dagger from its sheath at his back and rising to one knee, brandishing the blade in front of him in defense. The first thing he noticed was the… weight, for lack of a better word, between his legs. Then the lack thereof around his chest, as well as an overall different sensation regarding his center of gravity. Had it… worked?

“Be at ease, lad. We found ya passed out with a pack of coyotes circling around. Thought it best to not let ya become their lunch.” A gruff voice pierced his ears. He turned to find a heavily scarred Roegadyn man with his arms crossed, emerald green eyes staring down at him. Phen’s gaze followed from him to a dark-skinned Elezen woman, a teal haired Miqo'te man, and then back to the Roegadyn.

“I…” He began responding, immediately taken aback by the sound of his own voice. Between the vastly different physical sensations he felt, the deepening of his voice, and the stranger’s immediate and correct assumption that he was, in fact, male all but confirmed it. Fantasia had done its work. “Thank you.” He finished, easing into the fact that this was now the voice he possessed. As shocking as hearing it had been, it felt right.

The Roegadyn man held out a hand and smiled. Phen sheathed his dagger and took it, graciously accepting the help to rise to his feet. “Name’s Haldryss. That there is Catane,” he gestured towards the Elezen, “and L’lev,” his gaze shifted towards the Miqo’te. “What might you be called, lad?”

Phen opened his mouth, then hesitated and shut it. If this were to be his first steps towards starting a new life outside of this place, his new identity in possession of a body that matched his soul, he would need a new name. Not one given to him by the elder of a people who despised him. He recalled a creature from a tome he’d found on a Nagxian some time ago, a creature who embodied rebirth with its ability to set itself aflame and start life anew. “Phoenyx.” He responded. “Phoenyx Eldritch.”

#ffxiv #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxiv wol #warrior of light oc #viera wol #transmasc wol #ffxiv rp #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy xiv fanfiction #wol oc #phoenyx eldritch #pre-arr #my writing #gonna go hide now lol haven't posted about my ocs since my tumblr rp days #cw gender dysphoria #cw misgendering

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amythesailor · 1 year

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hello sorry to bother but could you tell me where can i find the longish male hair in this post???https://www.tumblr.com/amythesailor/728535081644425216/blisstival-300-follower-gift?source=share thanku :)

Hi dear anon!

You are not bothering me. I am glad to help you.It is a beautiful hair from the @simandy and the name of the hair is Rael.

You can find it here

#wcif #wcif friendly

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avirael · 8 days

Text

FFxivWrite 2024

Day 15 - Kindness (Free Day)

“Haurchefant!”, A’viloh yelled as he noticed the Elezen at the lower end of the staircase while looking down into the entrance hall. Quickly he followed him downstairs. “Rael told me you were looking for me.”

“Right.”, he said with a bright smile. “And here you are! I have to admit when you weren’t home yet when I arrived back home from the Congregation earlier, I was a little worried something might have happened to you on your way home.”

“Oh! No, I’m fine! I just brought Chloé to the stables and walked a bit through the city.”, the Miqo’te explained. “I am sorry if I caused you to worry.”

“No, it’s alright. I should have known you could take care of yourself after this impressive show of strength today.”, Haurchefant chuckled.

“Well... then let me use this opportunity to thank you once again for such a wonderful gift and also for your support and cheering me on like this.”, A’viloh said and smiled at the Elezen. “I wouldn’t have been able to do this without your and Rael’s help.”

But Haurchefant shook his head. “I’m sure you would have anyway. And it of course goes without saying that I should support such a good friend as you are.”

“I don’t think it’s that obvious.”, the Miqo’te pondered. “At least I am not taking it for granted. Also that you spent so much time with me the last few weeks. First at Camp Dragonhead, when I wasn’t feeling well, and now here. Your kindness helped me a lot in this strange city.”

Haurchefant laughed slightly and A’viloh realised what he had said. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to insult your home of course. Ishgard is beautiful, as is this house. Very comfortable in fact… but still… it’s so unfamiliar for me. And some days I feel horribly lost and lonely.”

“That’s only understandable…”, Haurchefant offered reassuringly. “But I am glad to hear I could help you. I only wish for you to be happy. After everything you’ve done for all of us, you certainly deserve it.”

“I don’t know…”, A’viloh said and the sadness still lingered on his face. “I am not as special as all of you make it sound sometimes…”

“Of course you are!”, Haurchefant protested but A’viloh just shrugged. For a moment the Elezen seemed to think, then he exclaimed, “Oh! I know something that might cheer you up! Have you ever seen northern lights?”

“Have I ever seen what?”, A’viloh replied in confusion.

“Oh, splendid!”, Haurchefants beamed and asked a servant to fetch their coats. “I think you would love the northern lights, come one!”

Too puzzled to protest A’viloh followed him to the door, where a servants already handed the Elezen their coats. Quickly Haurchefant put on his own coat before helping A’viloh into his and then opened the door for him.

“Thank you.”, the Miqo’te whispered. “But where are we going?”

“Only to the pavilion.”, Haurchefant explained. “Don’t worry, you won’t freeze! There should be a fire. I can’t promise that we will see any northern lights though. It is rare for them to be visible from the city, but at least the sky is clear enough to see the stars tonight, so there is a chance...”

So far the night sky had mostly been hidden by clouds since they arrived here in Ishgard. At least the stars had never been so clear and shining as they were this night.

A’viloh found it strange how the stars over such a far-away and cold city could remind him of the night sky in the desert. The constellations were slightly different of course but the sea of glimmering lights was just as infinite and beautiful as he remembered.

There in fact was a small fire lit in a crozier inside the little pavilion at the side of Fortemps manor. The tiny building had been positioned so you could overlook some of the rooftops of Ishgard and also have a free view at the snowy mountains and the night sky above.

Since A’viloh had forgotten his gloves he stretched out his hands to warm them at the fire. Meanwhile Haurchefant stepped closer towards the lookout over the city and let his eyes scan the sky.

“There!”, he suddenly exclaimed and raised an arm to point at the sky. “It’s not much, but look, there in the distance!”

Curiously A’viloh looked up and followed with his gaze where the Elezen pointed. At first he couldn’t see anything but after a moment he caught sight of the faint, green glowing whirls in the sky. He gasped and hurried to Haurchefants side, leaning onto the banister of the pavilion to get a better look at this curious, beautiful appearance. For a few moment he just wordlessly started to the sky, his eyes shining brighter with wonder than the stars in the sky.

“This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen…”, he whispered.

“Truly…”, Haurchefant replied but it wasn’t the sky he looked at. “There it is again, that pretty smile of yours.”

Startled A’viloh turned his eyes to Haurchefant who looked back at him smiling fondly.

Carefully the Elezen rested one hand on A’viloh’s and although it surprised the Miqo’te he didn’t pull it away. He wasn’t sure what this was but it felt comfortable. So often he felt horribly lost and hopeless and lonely but not when Haurchefant was around. His courage and cheerfulness were so contagious.

Tentatively the Elezen raised his other hand to caress A’viloh’s cheek and A’viloh couldn’t help but lean into the warmth he provided.

“I like you, A’viloh.”, Haurchefant confessed quietly and a little hesitantly the Miqo’te replied. “I like you too…”

He didn’t know if he really meant it the same way as him. But maybe this was enough for now.

“I would like to kiss you…”, the Elezen whispered almost silently and although it wasn’t a question it sounded like one.

What does it matter anymore?, A’viloh asked himself and nodded barely visible. Maybe I can be happy after all…

But he knew it felt wrong even before Haurchefants had leant down to him, about to close the distance between them.

He wanted to try, he wished it felt different but —

Wordlessly he raised a hand to the Elezen’s lips and turned away. Why did this feel so wrong all of a sudden? Why couldn’t he just he happy?

“I’m so sorry”, he whispered. “I can’t…”

Carefully he glimpsed to Haurchefant who looked so confused.

“There is someone else…”, A’viloh explained without really knowing anymore who it was he was talking about. But did it really matter? The result was the same. “There was, I mean… He is gone…”

“I am sorry…”, Haurchefant offered but A’viloh shook his head.

“No, I should be sorry.”, he repeated and evaded Haurchefants eyes with a sad expression on his face. “I’ve given you false hope. But I thought I could…”

“It’s alright.”, Haurchefant said softly and instead took A’viloh’s hand and pressed a light kiss to his knuckles. ”You really don’t need to explain yourself to me. And no need for such a sad face. Wasn’t this a wonderful evening until now?”

“It was.”, A’viloh agreed and smiled as he noticed the Elezen was still smiling at him too.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”, Haurchefant asked but A’viloh didn’t want to ruin the mood a second time. “Maybe another time…”

The Elezen reassuringly put a hand on his shoulder.

“Fine. But you can always talk to me if you want. You are a friend, A’viloh, and you will always be, no matter what.”

A’viloh felt so silly for rejecting someone as kind as Haurchefant. He was such an unconditional, wonderful friend. He himself on the other hand…

“I just wished I could be such a good friend for others as you are…”, the Miqo’te admitted and looked to the ground.

This seemed to surprise Haurchefant. “What makes you think you are not?”

Sharply A’viloh laughed. “Oh, only their faces when they look at me. Lately all I do is cause them to worry. Have you looked at Rael recently? Ever since we fled, every time I talk to them, they seem more and more troubled and withdrawn and I cannot tell why…”

“Hmmm…”, Haurchefant tilted his head in thought. “Rael certainly seems like something is bothering them and indeed they were worried about you. But are you sure this change is your fault? Do you think I should try to talk to them instead?”

“If Rael doesn’t talk to me, I doubt they will talk to you…”, A’viloh explained with a sigh. “If I just could so something to cheer them up…”

“Why don’t you?”, Haurchefant asked. “Certainly there is something Rael likes that would make them happy?”

“Books?”, A’viloh offered but didn’t sound convinced.

“I think there’s more than enough in our library already…”

“Magic and potions? But what do I know about that?”

“Isn’t Rael already studying with the astrologians? But maybe they would like to talk about it… what else?”

“Nature? Yes! And animals!”

“Ah! That’s something we can work with!”, Haurchefant exclaimed. “Sit down! I’ll pull the fire a bit closer. I’m sure we can figure something out….”

#FFxivWrite2024 #FFxivWrite #ffxiv writing #ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14 #Aviloh Tia #Haha I have so much to say about this one...#Leave it to A'vi to turn someone down and then immediately dump his worries on him... XD #Luckily this is Haurchefant!#Btw I think I really toned down his whole flirtyness a bit since I dont remember the german translation being as extreme #and I also think A'vi would find him a bit creepy otherwise maybe XD #Idk maybe you think that a bit too ooc but the haurchefant thing was intended to have an effect on A'vi character development so I keep it!#development for the better in the end I think...maybe...I hope... :D #but its too soon for me to ramble about that #maybe I will really make a full textpost out of my notes regarding A'vi's feeling now for everybody's better understanding...#anyway!#Look at him! Why is he this cute???#How could I blame anyone for wanting to kiss this cute miqo??? XD #So now that you have read this piece can you see him mimicking haurchefants cheerfullness in the thing i wrote for the Stable prompt?#they made this plan and he is so excited about it and the idea that he might finally be able to give some of the support and kindness back #another random thought regarding Haurchefant: that height difference would be hilarious :D

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