Armand/Daniel post canon, based on one line that I expanded for pure self gratification.
Armand and Daniel Molloy were out hunting alone in the gentle warm rain.
“Wait.” Daniel said when they reached the river.
Armand turned slowly, his beautiful face a blank canvas.
“I don’t hate you.” Daniel said carefully before the shadow of a lopsided smile animated his face. He looked terribly young and Armand was reminded of the boy he chased across the world. “I never could.”
“Daniel.” Armand said flatly. “You don’t have to say it. I’m not a fool.” He began to turn away.
Daniel reached out and caught his hand with his own. Surprised, Armand turned back and studied his fledgling’s face. Not for the first time Armand noted the cruelty of the Dark Gift. By saving the one he loved he had lost the deep understanding that had existed between them for over a decade.
“You don’t get it Boss.” Daniel said, and he laughed. “You don’t need to read my thoughts to know what I’m feeling.” He squeezed Armand’s hand and brought it to his chest where Armand could feel the faint thrum of his heartbeat.
Hesitantly, as though he was in a dream he was afraid to wake up from Armand laced his fingers with Daniel’s.
“I love you Armand.” Daniel said as ruby colored tears collected in his eyes. “I never stopped. Even when I was crazy I always knew. That’s why it hurt so much.”
Armand felt wetness in his eyes and touched his own face and his fingers came away scarlet.
“Beloved…” Armand said as he reached to cradle Daniels head. Forehead to forehead they trembled. “Can we really be as we were?”
“No.” Daniel said. “But we can be together. We can make a new future. I don’t want to live forever unless I can be with you.” He smiled.
“Nor I.” Armand said and for once the world was quiet.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 2/2
Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Will Byers/Mike Wheeler
Characters: Will Byers, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Joyce Byers
Additional Tags: others are present but barely, Vecna Possessing Will Byers, Mike's Monologue, Childhood Friends, Getting Together, First Kiss, Will Byers Can't Catch a Break, POV Will Byers, unreliable narrator will byers, Mama's Boy Will Byers, Fluff and Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort
Summary:
"I feel like my life started that day we found you in the woods."
Somewhere in the pizza shop a clock chimes, but who even cares about something as inconsequential as time when his world feels like it’s coming to an end.
Hey! Hope you’ve been having a great week! Could I please request #6 for Sarah and Bucky?
hi cait! thank you so much for the ask! my week was… interesting, to put it mildly. work was so bad i almost quit twice lmao but! i survived and am still gainfully employed and can feed myself lol
as requested:
6. “I love to hear your voice, even if you’re so far away.”
Sarah snakes an arm out of the tangle of blankets and fumbles for her phone. Despite being mostly unconscious, she manages to press the answer button before the call gets diverted to voicemail. She mumbles, “Mmmm ‘lo?” into the receiver, eyes fluttering shut despite her best efforts to open them.
“Hey, doll,” Bucky’s voice pours over her ears like honeyed bourbon and she burrows into her pillow, smiling softly.
“Hi, baby. Miss you.”
His voice gets low, the way it does when it’s just them and the moonlight and skin on skin. “That so? What do you miss about me?”
Her throaty chuckle turns into a yawn that she isn’t successful at smothering.
“Aw shit, you were sleeping, weren’t you? What time is it over there? I’m sor—”
“Oh no, don’t apologize—I love to hear your voice, even if you’re so far away. And calling me way too early in the morning.”
“Way too far,” he agrees and sighs into the phone. “Bed feels all wrong without you next to me. Stealing my blankets… snoring and drooling on my pillow all night...”
“James Buchanan Barnes! I do not snore!”
“If you say so, doll,” he laughs lightly.
She’s overtaken by another yawn as she asks him why he called.
He lets out an embarrassed grumble and she can picture the way he must be ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck before he says, “I just needed to hear your voice again. ‘S been too long. And our mission just got a lot more complicated.”
Sarah groans at the realization she’s staring down the barrel of even more cold nights in an empty bed, more dinners without him at the head of the table. “I’m gettin’ real sick of these bad guys.”
“You ‘n me both.” He pauses for a moment then exhales and says regretfully, “I should probably let you get back to sleep.”
“Could you, um, if you wanted to, stay on the line with me until I fall asleep?”
“‘Course I can, doll,” his voice takes on the same pitch he uses when one of the boys has a monster under their beds.
She tries to keep her eyes open as he tells her in that impossibly soft voice all the things they’re going to do together and as a family when he gets home. But it’s a losing battle.
When she wakes a few hours later, she sees a text from him:
The amazing @doberaptor's Medical Engineer clone OC, Lucky Dog, has utterly captured my heart; so much so that we've been co-writing a fluffy slice-of-life fic to introduce readers to Lucky and his found-family on Etheria (post-S5).
A Smol Favor
Originally the POV was reader-insert, but now the titular Smol is a... whole thing of her own. The Tol + Smol dynamic is food for my fluff-loving soul, and the whole thing is ridiculously, panderingly, weapons-grade cute, because dammit, Lucky needed some fluff in his angst-tank of a life.
Needless to say, there is arts.
Height chart for your convenience. Yes, spoiler alert, she can get *even smoller.* Because I have absolutely zero shame and I want to draw tiny cutefluffs held in big spacebat hands.
Hello friend!! I got seized by the spirit of the season and decided to write this today <3 It’s an archives polycule AU where everything is nice and everyone’s happy, but it’s specifically focused on Jon/Tim. I hope that’s okay!!
“Are you sure you don’t want to help me?”
Jon nodded, a serene smile on his face. “Yes.”
“Not even the tiniest bit?”
“Not even that.”
“Could be fun! All that snow-”
“Tim.” Jon was giving him his most unimpressed glare. “Look at me. Do I look like I want to shovel snow?” It was true. Jon was currently wrapped in their two fluffiest blankets, sitting in front of a fire Tim had started and sipping from a mug of tea, a book in his other hand. He looked cozy and warm and all the things Tim wanted to be right now if he hadn’t announced that as a ‘good boyfriend,’ he should clear the driveway for when Martin and Sasha arrive. They’d woken up this morning to see the ground blanketed in a thick layer of white, the storm that Tim had insisted ‘would just pass through’ had evidently decided to stay the night. Tim wanted to make sure they didn’t have any trouble coming up. Unfortunately, he announced this right as he wrapped Jon up, and Jon was not moving any time soon.
“You only have one shovel,” Jon pointed out, snuggling deeper into the blankets. “There’s no point in my standing out there if I’m not going to help.”
“Moral support!”
Jon heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes. “I’ll watch you from the window. You don’t want me to get cold, do you?” Jon wasn’t above a little guilt trip and Tim was the one who bundled him all up. It would be a shame to destroy all of that hard work, especially when the finished product was so damn cute. “Or you could just stay in with me-”
Tim groaned dramatically, winding a scarf around his neck with a flourish. “No, it’s fine. I think we’ve established I’m the good boyfriend, and you’re the lazy one.”
“I prefer practical.”
So now here he was, both sweating and freezing (the worst combination, objectively), making little progress on the driveway while Jon sat by the fire, cozy and warm and cute and very pleased with himself. It made Tim want to scowl and also squish Jon to his chest and never let him go, a fairly normal occurrence.
This wouldn’t be an issue if everyone had come to the cabin at once. Tim had managed to lure Jon away by promising him control of the radio on the ride up, as well as an hour-long detour to the farm that had the horses Jon liked to talk to in very serious tones. Sasha was all about efficiency and wasn’t as indulgent as he was, so she was going to leave a few hours after them with Martin to keep her company. Martin would never allow one of them to feel lonely, though he did look put out at the thought of not being able to watch Jon with the horses. Tim promised to take lots of pictures. In the end, it was probably for the best- Martin had a tendency towards overpacking even for a weekend trip, so this would be a roomier arrangement. But then a surprise storm hit, delaying the two until the next morning. And Tim was going to make sure they had an easy time of it, if he had anything to say about it.
But it was so cold, and he’d slipped twice already, though his falls were cushioned by the snow. On both occasions he saw Jon burrowing his head into the blanket, trying to hide laughter. And Jon needed to stop- well, he needed to stop being Jon and enticing him to come back in. He kept tilting his head in the way he always did when there was an interesting passage in his book, and yawning and blinking like a tired cat, even nodding off a few times, only brought back by a shake of his head. Was he doing this on purpose? Was it all a part of his master plan to leave the driveway un-shoveled and keep Tim all to himself? Terrible, dastardly man.
The last straw came when he was tired and aching, about half-way done. Jon had shuffled out of the room, blanket around his shoulder like a cape. He came back a few minutes later with two mugs of tea and something under his arm. He moved close to the window, setting the mugs down very purposefully, and tucking a bottle out from under his arm, pouring a rather liberal amount of whatever was in it into the mugs. Tim saw the beginnings of a smirk on his face and he dropped the shovel on the porch, stamping his way inside an exaggerated sigh.
“Fine, fine! You’ve seduced me from my work, my small cabin-dwelling siren,” Jon dodged the forehead kiss, Tim had yet to shed all of his cold, wet outdoor gear. “Hope you’re happy.”
“Very.” Jon settled back onto the couch with a little smile, opening up the blanket for Tim to join. “You weren’t getting much done, Tim. You spent most of your time staring.”
“You were being distracting!” He threw the coat into the corner, not caring about the mess so much as getting warm. He took the mug gingerly in his hands, walking over and burrowing into the blanket, Jon melting into his side. Jon was an icicle in almost all circumstances, but a few hours in front of a fire and nestled in blankets seem to have done him good; the man was like his own personal heater. He took a sip and almost choked at the way it burned his throat. “Jesus, what did you put in here?”
“Vodka,” Jon mumbled, tucking his face into Tim’s shoulder. “Only a little.” Jon’s flushed face and half-lidded eyes said otherwise.
“Have you been drinking all this time?”
“Hnnn...maybe.” It was only noon. Tim opened his mouth to chastise him before thinking better. Well, we’ve done worse. “Catch up.”
Tim took another sip, still cringing at the taste. “I can’t get blasted like you are, pal. I’ve still got work to do.”
Jon shook his head against Tim’s arm. “Just stay here. It’s supposed to snow later, anyway.”
Tim paused. “Wait, what?”
“Yeah, this afternoon.” Jon let out a yawn, closing his eyes. “Gonna undo all your hard work.”
“How long have you known that?” Tim stared down at him, a bit irritated as Jon only shrugged.
“Dunno. An hour, maybe?” He peeked his head up, looking out from under his eyelashes. Damn him. “But I liked watchin’ you work.”
Well, Tim couldn’t fault him for that. He ruffled Jon’s hair, ignoring the petulant whine it earned him. “You’re a little devil, you know that?”
“Mhm,” he mumbled drowsily, climbing right into his lap and throwing his arms around Tim’s neck. Well, that’s nice. “And I’m here to warm you up.” Tim wouldn’t say no to that.
It had been a while since it was just the two of them- don’t get him wrong, Tim loved the time any of them got to spend together, as tearing Jon away from his work was nigh on impossible. But sometimes it was nice to be alone, the two of them in front of roaring fire with alcohol coursing through their system and the sky growing ever-grayer in the background. He took a generous sip of Jon’s hideously doctored beverage and sunk deeper into the cushions, giving Jon a squeeze.
“Alright, you win. They’ll have to deal with a snowy driveway. They should’ve come up earlier, anyway.” He’d see them soon, it was fine. Till then, he would exhaust their liquor stash and thoroughly enjoy the warm, tipsy Jon in his arms. The man laid there quietly for a bit, warm and content, before he pulled back to meet Tim’s eyes with a look of deep offense.
“Can’t believe Sasha didn’t want to see the horses. Horses, Tim!”
You Matter to Me (A Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure Short Story)
A security breach of the alchemy lab results in a daring decision that has consequences for Varian.
Set after Eugene and Rapunzel are married, Varian has explored, learned, and returned to Corona as the Royal Engineer/Alchemist and Cassandra has completed her personal quests and returned to serve Corona as a member of the guard.
Inspired by CJeanne's/OriginalDisneyDescendants absolutely beautiful work here on Tumblr (not sure it’s around anymore), she graciously allowed me to run away with my own story. This is pure hurt/comfort FLUFF, my people. My happy place, my M.O., my zone.
**AND NOW THERE IS ART by @lizpotentielle!
“What did he take?!” Cassandra shouted, dodging the ornate vase launched at her head, nearly careening into the wall of royal portraits when the move shifted her balance but did not account for her speed.
“Uh...I’m not sure, exactly!”
“What did he take?!” Cassandra shouted, dodging the ornate vase launched at her head, nearly careening into the wall of royal portraits when the move shifted her balance but did not account for her speed.
“Uh...I’m not sure, exactly!”
Ahead of her, his long legs giving him an advantage, Varian lunged toward the Soporian thief and very nearly made an impressive tackle, but the body-check inadvertently shoved their target through the door leading down to the dungeons and aided his escape.
Cassandra sprinted past and Varian scrambled to his feet to join her.
“We can catch him when he hits the cells!” she huffed, concentrating on skipping steps without twisting an ankle.
“Not if he beats us to the sewage outlet; it’s how he got in. It will already be open,” Varian panted just behind her, and they hit the bottom to find that indeed, the doors leading through the main thoroughfare of the dungeon were all hanging wide open, providing the bandit a clear path.
With a straight and unhindered shot, Cassandra pulled the bolas from her belt and hurled them towards the Soporian’s legs with a grunt. It was enough to make contact and wrap around the man’s ankles, sending him pitching forward. He writhed impressively mid-air to skid across the floor on his shoulder, the glass vial he had stolen skittering from his pouch and across the bricks, out of his reach. Varian pounded past him, dodging the swipe of his arms and making it to the end of the hall to shove the wooden door closed and block his exit.
Cassandra breathed with relief when, panting heavily, he stooped to scoop up the vial and inspect it. Because Varian had interrupted his heist, the vial likely wasn’t what the thief intended to make off with, but Cassandra knew that any number of the alchemical compounds Varian held in his main lab could be potentially serious or deadly in the wrong hands - the negative rumors and town talk that would create buzz in the neighboring kingdoms almost as much so.
Best to keep these things quiet. And most definitely out of the wrong hands.
Cassandra placed her knee between the Soporian’s shoulder blades to finish rolling him onto his stomach, reaching for his free arm to pull behind him, when he suddenly flipped onto his back and had her by a fistful of tunic and a dagger blade to her throat.
Varian’s cry of warning was swallowed with a gasp. The edge of the blade was close enough that her skin prickled and she froze, daring to make eye-contact. Cold, brown eyes - so dark they were nearly black - narrowed with malice and she sat back as the thief used his impressive core strength to right himself, the knife never wavering from its precarious position against her jugular. Even had she been wearing her armor, her neck would have still been exposed. She made a mental note to rectify that if she was so lucky, her jaw clenching when he drew his legs close enough toward himself to reach down and release the bolas around his feet.
“I was warned about you and your skill, my dear,” the thief breathed silkily, leaning in close enough that Cassandra could smell his breath and sweat. It was repulsive. He was rising smoothly to his feet and guiding her with him, a cruel twist to his mouth as she felt the cold metal press against her skin. She held her breath and stood, his free arm unnervingly blocking a counter-attack to his midsection.
She chanced a glance at Varian. He looked slightly horrified, but surprisingly calm, and stock-still. She knew his mind was racing with calculations and weighing his options. She tried to shake her head to warn him not to do anything, but a nick at her neck and her stronger arm wrenching painfully behind her made her stop. The muscle in Varian’s jaw clenched and he made a move to reach inside his vest.
“Ah-ah,” the thief warned, “You keep your hands where I can see them, pretty boy. And unless you plan on accompanying me, just hand that tube over, and I’ll let this little wench go.”
Varian’s eyebrow shot up at the insult and something dangerous flashed in his eyes that Cassandra recalled from long ago, and then it was gone, replaced with a resolve that she decided in an instant she did not like one bit better - just as he threw his head back and swallowed the entire contents of the vial.
“Well, can’t say it will do much for you now…” he responded dryly, suppressing a shudder, both Cassandra and her captor gaping in shock.
“It might if I slice you open and siphon what drains from your guts…” the Soporian snarled, just before he drew back and head-butted Cassandra in a rage.
Spots and stars exploded from the contact and she felt herself tossed to the ground as the man lunged forward, swinging. There was a whoosh and the clang of iron as a cell door slammed shut. Cassandra shook her head and squinted, wincing at the sound as Varian locked himself safely inside and away from the blade. His eyes darted to hers and back again, assessing that she had not yet recovered from the blow.
“Wow, that’s exceedingly graphic. You Soporians are so violent,” he quipped, keeping the focus on him. “How about ‘no’? I rather like my guts where they are, thanks.”
“They said you had a smart mouth, you little traitor. Didn’t know when to shut up. Perhaps I should just let you keep talking and at least garner the satisfaction of watching what it does to you.”
And he did sound just a little too eager for that, Cassandra thought, blinking widely and trying to focus on Varian. The alchemist almost looked bored, his shoulders dropping with a long-suffering sigh.
“Absolutely nothing,” he responded.
“What nonsense is this?”
“Do you even know what you took?”
There was just the briefest of pauses. “Yes. It was Belladonna.”
“Or you grabbed bimberrry juice,” Varian rolled his eyes. “Tell me, did you actually see ‘belladonna’ or did you just snatch a vial marked with a letter ‘B’ on it, because that’s all you could read?”
The Soporian’s eyes were practically bulging and all he could do was splutter, and Cassandra felt her stomach unclench. She wanted to laugh. Instead, she felt for the hilt of her sword.
“Yeah, that’s what I figured.”
The sound of metal releasing from its sheath as Cassandra brandished her own blade grabbed their attention then, and with one last glare and clang on the iron bars of Varian’s safety cage, the Soporian bolted down the corridor toward the sewage grates.
Cassandra lunged after him, but halted abruptly, rushing back to the closed cell. She was patting down her pockets and looking around frantically on the floor, but the keys were nowhere to be found. She looked up to find Varian dangling the keyring over his index finger. When had he snagged those?
She choked out a laugh. “ Why do you keep bimberry juice in your lab?”
He shrugged. “For medicine. Makes it taste better.”
“Oh. So it was really just bimberry juice?”
“No, it was belladonna.”
“ WHAT ?”
“Cassandra. That low-life is getting away.”
“We have to get you out of there.”
“Go catch your man.”
“What - no! Open the door. We have no idea what that stuff will do to you!”
“I’m pretty sure I have a good idea.”
“I am going to kill you.”
Varian tilted his head, a wistful, amused expression crossing his features. He shook his head. “Sorry, but I’m not going to need your assistance this time around, Cassie.”
Her eyes widened with realization and she gripped the handle, rattling it furiously.
“ Varian . This isn’t funny. Please tell me you have some kind of antidote.”
He smiled, but the beat of silence was too long. “Of course.”
Cassandra’s stomach dropped like lead. “ VARIAN. OPEN THE DOOR -- ”
With a huff of a chuckle, Varian stepped forward and through the bars pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, stunning her momentarily speechless in its acceptance. “He’s getting away, Cass. Let me handle the science stuff. You catch the bad guy so he can answer for this. Go on, now.”
She was horrified and angry and... scared ...which made her angrier, still, and she whipped around with a howl of fury intended just as much for the fleeing criminal as the maddening man she was leaving behind to potentially die a slow death.
Corona did not see a lot of high crime; the populace had nearly as infamous a reputation for squelching suspicious activity as the kingdom guard. When the infrequent circumstances arose, however, the reaction was generally well-executed and swift. Today’s heist was no exception, but it had created quite a stir. The chase had resulted in Cassandra pursuing the Soporian interloper through the drainage tunnels below the dungeons and out the spillway into the moat, a sure test of her endurance, before gaining enough ground to make him change course right into the trap Eugene and his guard had waiting.
And then it was over.
Cassandra had been anxious to report to the Captain, but he’d taken one good look at her, pulled a face, and insisted she shower first. He might also have alerted her best friend and Princess to her need for a good meal and in the meantime paid his own visit to the newly occupied dungeons to question their captive. She was begrudgingly grateful for the respite.
Now, as lamps were being lit and the sun dipped low on the horizon, Cassandra finished giving Eugene her version of the events and he scribbled notes in his parchment book about as furiously as she recounted them. He had grown so very efficient in his role and Cassandra could not help but be impressed - they squabbled to the point of aggravation sometimes, but she knew he took the role seriously and worked hard. She had often dreamed of holding that position. However, even as Eugene carefully closed the book he was writing in, his fingers lingering over the cover that reeked of Rapunzel’s handiwork with a small smile, Cassandra found she did not harbor ill will or even any resentment. She’d made her choices. The fact that she has been able to return to Corona and work her way into duty at all was rewarding, and the capture they made today proved once again that she was capable and Eugene’s faith in her was justified. But with the recounting of that chase and how she wound up jumping into the muck after their criminal, she was freshly reminded that she had left another man behind. That was not a decision she could commend, no matter how logical it was. No matter how confused it left her.
She blinked and looked up. Cassandra wasn’t sure how long she had been silent, mulling it all over again.
Eugene leveled her with a penetrating gaze before standing from behind the desk. He was disconcertingly adept at reading her. “C’mon,” he barked, and just like that Captain Fitzherbert was put away and he was “Eugene” once again. “Rapunzel was getting Varian a change of clothes. Let’s go check on him.”
Cassandra tensed, but knowing Raps had been with him and Eugene had procured his statement of events earlier as well...that had to mean Varian was fine and nothing untoward happened as a result of his daring strategy earlier. Her shoulders relaxed marginally and she cleared her throat, rising to follow him from the room. “How...how is he?”
Eugene snorted as he opened the door, sweeping his arm toward the threshold in a polite motion to usher her through first. “Been puking his guts up all afternoon, but whatever that nasty stuff was that he concocted and choked down seemed to do the trick.” He shuddered and grimaced. “Did you see that stuff? I’ve seen Shorty consume more appetizing sludge than that black tar-slime he mixed up. But...I guess if you’re poisoned, you’re not too worried about the taste, eh?”
Cassandra felt her jaw clench, ire returning as they walked down the hall toward the infirmary. She could see Rapunzel hovering at the door and as they neared, a bundle of clothes clutched in the princess’ hands. “Since he was foolhardy enough to do it to himself instead of oh, I don’t know , smashing the bottle on the bricks, I’d say that’s what he gets.”
Beside her, Cassandra could practically feel the dubious eyebrow Euguene was lifting. “A split-second to take a single course of action and save the Kingdom’s face - oh! and you,” he unnervingly summarized, and she just knew he was wearing that smug, all-knowing expression on his face as they came to a halt, muttering a “Yeah, it scared the hell out of me, too.”
Eugene bent to kiss his wife on the cheek. Worn thin by her concern (not that she’d admit it openly), Cassandra glowered at him and rather unceremoniously snatched the garments from Rapunzel’s grasp, continuing on for the infirmary door.
Rapunzel stammered, unsettled, and reached out to halt her progress into the room. “Cass - I don’t think now is a good time -”
“Ah, Sunshine? Why don’t we just let Cassandra go on in.”
“But Eugene -” the princess hissed, even as the Captain of the Guard began to wrestle her away.
“Trust me.”
And God bless Eugene as he tugged on her arm and Rapunzel fell silent. Cassandra yanked the door open and stalked into the softly-lit antechamber, marching across the floor toward the only partitioned area that held anyone at the moment, on a mission to give Varian a piece of her mind for the worry she’d been fighting all afternoon -
And was halted at the edge of the make-shift curtain by the unmistakable sound of retching.
It took a moment for her to compose herself before she took a step forward to peer around the curtain where Healer O'Shea, a kindly man with silvering strawberry-blond hair, was positioned in front of an obviously still very ill alchemist. The doctor glanced up at her briefly, one eyebrow arched in silent query. He was bracing Varian with a gentle hand to the shoulder and supporting a basin as Varian’s whole body strained forward with a round of horrible, empty gurgles that made Cassandra cringe. Finally, he coughed and spit with a pained gasp.
“That’s it, lad. I think you’ve just about got it all out - and then some. This should be slowing down, now,” the physician murmured with approval. “Let’s try a little bit of ginger tea this time around, see if we can settle that stomach and start getting you rehydrated.”
Varian, if he registered what was said, did not outwardly respond. In fact, he seemed unaware of anyone standing there at all. Chalky white and panting for air, he was slumped over a bolster wedged between his arms and his stomach - the only thing that seemed to be holding him upright on the edge of the cot. Cassandra nodded, subdued, as the healer dipped his head in silent excusal, leaving her alone with Varian and feeling exposed. Whatever she was expecting after speaking with Euguene, it wasn’t this.
He looked... dreadful.
And just like that, she felt her anger dissipate. If it was even truly anger, to begin with.
“I’d rather you not see me like this…”
It was such a low rasp she wasn’t sure she heard it. But a few moments later, Varian mustered the strength to lift his head, the hint of a smirk in his voice, “Unless you came to make good on your offer? You’ve got your sword, right?”
Cassandra let out the breath she didn’t even realize she was holding, stepping closer. “You must be joking!”
“Only - mm, only half -” he grunted, then went positively ashen with a small groan and barely managed to find the basin beside him as his stomach heaved again.
If she thought it was bad mere moments earlier, Cassandra was certain Varian’s insides were trying to claw themselves out, now. His grip was white-knuckled and desperate as he fought through it, bringing absolutely nothing up, his stomach completely devoid of even the thick and tarry-looking charcoal Eugene said he had been bringing up for hours. Cassandra found herself reaching out to awkwardly pat at the shirt plastered to his back. He was hot to the touch and she could feel the muscles coiling angrily beneath her hand; it had to hurt.
Varian folded over the pillow again, trembling from exertion, and she managed to grab the bin from him before it could clatter to the floor. “Please, jus’...” then his head was in his hands and he gave up trying to talk. She wasn’t sure if he was begging for her to leave or for it to just be over.
Cassandra felt utterly inept; maybe it would be best to just leave the change of clothes for him and excuse herself quietly. He was a mess and she did not know what to do. She would have wanted to be left alone in this sort of scenario, but then, Varian was nothing like her. He was tenderhearted and tactile and...this was definitely Rapunzel’s department. The healer had disappeared to make the tea - naturally, she thought, setting the garments she held down on the bed. She hadn’t planned to stay, for goodness sake, and in no way would have agreed to play nursemaid. Sure, she and Varian certainly shared a level of comfortable camaraderie with one another; there had been the occasional long conversation when neither could sleep, mutual royal projects or endeavors, one exceedingly rare late night at the Snuggly Duckling when they’d both imbibed a bit too much and had chatted and giggled all the way back to the castle on Fidela. She looked back at the miserable man beside her and remembered leaving him behind in the dungeons. While not as powerful as fear, guilt was a fair motivator. Cassandra would be the first to admit she was no good at the “soft stuff”, but she realized that she wanted to try for him.
She chewed thoughtfully on her lip, searching the room and wracking her brain, then her eyes landed on the washstand against the wall. Quietly, she stepped over to it and pulled on the silver levers, letting the water run hot before filling a large basin from a stack of them on the side. She absently wriggled her fingers under the stream, as she almost always had since her return to Corona, marveling at what Varian had done with all the pipes and his huge fancy boiler mechanism, smiling faintly at a memory - and was quickly reminded of the man across the room. Cassandra threw a few of the folded rags over her shoulder and slowly returned to the bed as the healer arrived with a small cup of warm, pale liquid.
“Just a sip or two at first,” he told her and relegated the task by handing the cup off to her once she set her wares down on the bedside table. She stood there, gaping at the doctor’s back as he traipsed over to his desk and resisted the urge to tell him this was his job. She was beginning to smell a conspiracy.
“Hey, you still with me?” she asked gently, prodding Varian to sit up and relinquish his hold on the massacred cushion beneath his arms.
His breathing was a little easier and with a pang, she hoped he hadn’t dozed off. She picked up the tea and held it before him. It looked inoffensive enough and smelled pleasantly of meadowsweet, but Varian grunted with disapproval, turning a nasty shade of pale and green when she pressed the cup to his lips. Stubbornly, she waited him out until he finally took a few sips.
“There. Not so bad?” she murmured.
He managed a noncommittal noise in reply.
Cassandra went back to chewing on her lip, wondering how long it would take for the tea to come back up, if it was going to. “I bet you have some ideas on how to improve on the formula,” she finally added with forced brightness, and set it down, her smile fading when he said nothing.
Yeah, he was in pretty bad shape. She watched him drag in a deep breath, releasing it heavily. “You gonna be sick again?”
He seemed to be taking inventory. “No…” he swallowed hard, “...not yet,” he finally whispered, still breathless.
“Uh...Raps brought you some fresh clothes…” she offered quietly, but it just sounded silly when he could barely even hold his own head up. She frowned, and then pursed her lips in frustration. Why was this so hard?
Time for a purely practical decision. He needed help, and she ...could help with this.
“What’r y’doin?” Varian slurred, sounding agitated and batting altogether uselessly at her when she reached for his shirt. “Cass -”
“Hey, hey! It’s alright,” she soothed, enclosing his wrist in her small hand, waiting for him to look at her. He swayed against her and the magnitude of what she was asking wasn’t lost on her. Suddenly, her gracelessness no longer mattered. “Can I...Can I help you with this?”
His eyes, dull and bruised, slid closed. To her dismay, a small tear trickled from the outer corner and he nodded. He was exhausted.
Though she knew he couldn’t see it, she smiled with much more confidence than she felt. Maybe he wouldn’t hear it, either. She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Okay. It’s okay, Varian. You’ll feel better soon.”
She pulled the sweat-dampened shirt over his head carefully, steadying him as his chin dipped toward his chest. She tried not to, but could not help but notice that his shoulders were peppered with a similar smattering of freckles as his face. It absolutely did not soften her smile. She turned to the bowl on the table to drop in the rags, swirling them around in the hot water to warm them up. “You know, what you did today...that was really stupid, Var.”
“This is supposed to make me feel better?” he mumbled irritably, and she cringed.
Speaking of stupid…
“Sorry, that came out poorly,” she muttered, abashed, wringing out a rag and gently pressing it to the back of his neck. He jumped beneath the initial touch, then sagged with a mewl of relief that made her stomach feel funny. Cassandra swallowed and drew the washcloth along the sweep of his shoulders, concentrating on removing the clammy layers of sweat and salt down his back and arms.
“I mean,” she tried again, slowly, “It worked, but it wasn’t worth your life.”
Varian sighed. “Admittedly really dumb. I’ll do better next time.”
Cassandra paused then, rag dripping over the bowl as she reached out and snatched his bearded chin, lifting it so that he was looking at her. “No!” she replied, eyes wide with alarm. “Varian, do not scare me - us… ” She took a breath, recovering herself and dropped her tone.“Don’t scare us like that again.”
He blinked dazedly but held her gaze until she reached up to gently wash his face, ignoring that funny feeling that came again when his eyes fluttered closed and he trusted her to it. She placed the rag in his hand so that he could make a pass or two at his front, then helped him thread his arms into the clean shirt, lifting it over his head. His hair was sticking up in all different directions and she bit down on a giggle. The urge to tame it with her fingers was strong, but Cassandra busied herself with the teacup instead, steadying it when his hands shook and encouraging him to work on it some more.
It did seem to be helping. With the modicum of relief from his nausea and taking in some fluid, the tension was draining from his posture. He could no longer keep his eyes open. She took the empty cup and gave in to thread her fingers through his hair - purely under the pretense of smoothing it back into place - and he leaned more heavily against her. She thought she heard her name, the ghost of a whisper on his lips when he was suddenly dead weight in her arms.
“Varian?!” The alarm in her voice and the shattering of the teacup drew the attention of the healer, who was quick to rise from his notes and return to the bedside, helping her ease Varian’s limp form to the mattress.
Cassandra stood by with wide eyes as he took Varian’s wrist and measured the pulse with practiced ease, gently tilting Varian’s head toward the lantern on the table, pushing back his eyelids and watching the pupils react to the light. He then took a moment to remove the instrument around his neck, listening to the sound of Varian’s breath in his lungs, the rhythm of his heart.
“It’s all right,” he assured her, straightening and reaching to pull up the blanket. “He’s just finally passed out. No small wonder. Maybe he’ll be able to get some rest, now.”
Cassandra let out a shaky breath and pursed her lips together, swallowing hard. Relief washed over her with astonishing force and she blinked against her silly, watering eyes. Healer O’Shea was watching her carefully.
“You may stay a bit longer; make sure our winsome engineer is comfortable,” he murmured, skirting the foot of the cot and bending over with a crack of his back to pick up the broken pieces of the smashed cup from the floor. “But then, unless you wish me to remove you from Captain Fitzherbert’s active duty roster, you’ll let me give you a check-over and will retire to get some rest as well, hm?”
The tumult of the day’s emotions and weariness threatening to overwhelm her, all she could do was nod in agreement. She knew there was nothing she could do for Varian, but found herself at war with the decision to leave him - again . He did not budge in the least when she needlessly fussed over the blanket, resting her palm across his chest, reassured by the gentle thump of his heartbeat. Somewhere, sometime over the course of their friendship, she realized how very much she’d grown to care for him. In the quiet of the infirmary, now, she could admit how right Eugene’s earlier dig at her had been: today had scared the hell out of her.
“What are you doing to me, you big nerd?” she whispered incredulously.
Cassandra scoffed then, and rolled her eyes in exasperation, swiping at her eyes once more and shaking her head. The healer cleared his throat across the room. She straightened and followed his gesture to a new cot, but not before she took one last moment to return the kiss Varian had bestowed upon her from behind the cell door, her lips pressed tenderly to his forehead as she bid him a silent goodnight.
She did feel better, Cassandra admitted, after a few hours of sleep and some breakfast. Much to Eugene’s chagrin, she even reported for duty. The Captain, however, seemed assuaged by her reasoning that she needed the distraction and she accepted his compromise to take off after lunch.
She was returning from the kitchens (making her way through the Great Hall since a steady thundershower rendered the courtyard an undesirable path) when Cassandra caught the back of a familiar mop of black hair heading in that very direction - and likely to the old ammunitions holds that had been converted to his main lab, near the garden.
“Varian?” she called, both concerned to see him up and about when she’d left him very much unconscious the night before, and relieved.
He turned at the sound of her voice and smiled wanly, waiting for her to catch up to him. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” she narrowed her eyes. “You’re looking…better?” she offered unconvincingly, to which he chuckled sheepishly.
“Yeah, I know...I’m kind of a mess,” he muttered, gesturing to himself, and she was dismayed at how hoarse his voice sounded.
“You look pretty peaked, actually,” she revised. “Are you sure you should be out right now?”
“Released on my own recognizance,” he puffed, but quickly deflated under her stare. “Yeah, okay. So, released once I kept down some lunch,” he admitted. “I just wanted to give the lab a once over, make a few notes.”
“Right. Where we’d find you slumped over the workbench at dinner time because you lost track of the hour,” she chuckled at the indignant noise he made. “Varian, I know you. And, I know what you went through yesterday with that stuff - it could have killed you! May I remind you of the antidote you spent all afternoon and evening bringing up --”
“Okay, okay...keep pushing it, and you can see what I had for lunch, too,” Varian groused, looking decidedly uncomfortable and definitely too pale.
And darn it, she’d let her blunt mouth run away with her again. “See? All you need to be doing right now is taking it easy.”
She stepped behind him to take Varian by the shoulders and direct him toward the other end of the hall, toward the bath chambers. “THAT way. Go use those hot showers you made possible. If you still feel like you’ve got it in you to check your lab, then we’ll talk.”
He spluttered as she began pushing him across the floor, but she could tell he wasn’t putting up much resistance, physically. “I don’t have clean clothes…”
“I’ll bring you some. Go on.”
Varian planted his feet and glowered at her, but then his shoulders slumped in defeat. He threw a longing glance at the bath doors and looked back at her. “It....would feel nice…”
Cassandra smiled triumphantly. “Right?”
When he continued to look uncertain, she could tell he was at war with something he felt he needed to do and what he wanted to do. She frowned and reached out to touch his elbow, lowering her voice. “Hey. What’s got you so determined to push yourself right now?”
He was silent for a moment, then met her eyes. “I really should make some notes. I - I need a way to better track, and secure, my inventory,” he answered ruefully. “Yesterday was a reminder of the real danger in some of the work I do, and how imperative it is to protect the kingdom’s assets - both from misuse and misconstruction.”
While the solemnity of his response was reassuring, Cassandra couldn’t help but think Varian had completely overlooked another important aspect of the “kingdom’s assets” - his own well-being.
Security detail was one of her specialties, not his, and before she could second-guess herself, she suggested, “How about you get that shower, take a load off and rest. You could...tell me what’s going on in that big brain of yours, and I could write the notes down for you.”
Varian’s expression shifted so swiftly to surprise that Cassandra found herself back-pedaling in case she’d offered too much.
“I mean if you - if I -” she rolled her eyes with irritation at her bumbling and huffed, feeling her cheeks burn. “If you trusted me to.”
Varian’s eyes softened and the smile he gave her made her stomach do that weird thing again. His voice dropped. “Of course I trust you,” he reassured her, and then it was his turn to look embarrassed. He reached up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “It’s just...you’ve done a lot already, you know? And this doesn’t really matter all that much to…”
“It matters to you.”
“Well, yes.”
“Then it matters to me.”
Varian blinked, confounded. “Wow, Cass - that was almost….touching. Eugene would ask if you hurt yourself.”
“GO,” she growled good-naturedly, punching him lightly in the arm.
Varian flinched playfully and wobbled, off-balance, but even as Cassandra steadied him with an apology, he only chuckled and assured her he was fine, at last giving in to her suggestion and plodding off to the bath chambers.
She had been right, too, after hurrying back with clean clothes from his chambers - while the hot water and steam had brought back some color to his face, it had also left him rather loose-limbed and, if possible, wearier. She took him by the arm and steered him toward the steps of the garden tower, prodding him along like a drunken villager to his rooms. They were cold and felt damp with all the rain, so she set to starting some kindling in the grate of the bedchamber to chase the chill away as Varian kicked off his boots then crawled into his bed and collapsed with a groan. The flames soon took hold and, after placing some larger logs, Cassandra glanced over her shoulder. Varian hadn’t moved.
Thunder rumbled outside and a gust of wind splattered rain more heavily against the window, but the chill was dissipating and heat was spreading out into the room, now. Cassandra poked at the logs for something to do, hoping that if she gave him enough time, Varian would drift off to sleep and actually rest. It would certainly do him a world of good. Her eyes wandered over the eclectic arrangement of artifacts and trinkets on the mantle; some of them she recognized, but others she did not. She tilted her head quizzically at a glass urn, filled with what looked like a marbled mixture of ash and sand, labeled with nothing more than sketched flames.
“Go ahead, open it,” Varian spoke drowsily. “Spread some of it across the fire.”
Cassandra threw him a wry, “why are you still awake?” look, but reached up to gingerly remove the jar, setting the lid on the mantle’s ledge. She pulled out a scoop of the fine granules and studied them more closely. They sparkled slightly in the light of the flames and she found herself curious, scattering them across the expanse of the grate. The powder sparked and popped, surprising her, but then the flames were suddenly awash with changing color, blazing from jewel-toned blues and greens to bright oranges and pinks.
“What is it?” she breathed, delighted as the flames continued a steady burn of flickering color.
“Just a mix I’m still trying to get right,” he replied, but she could hear the surprise in his voice at her interest. “Potassium and copper chloride, lithium chloride...some alum. Sugar and salt.”
Cassandra shook her head fondly at his list of mostly unknown, scientific ingredients, still mesmerized. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yes, it is,” he responded groggily, but she could feel his eyes on her, instead.
Cassandra felt her cheeks redden and she offered him a small smile, uncharacteristically self-conscious with the attention. She felt warm all over. “How are you feeling?” she asked finally, replacing the jar and coming to stand at the bedside.
Varian shrugged half-heartedly. “Eh. Head hurts a little, but it’s not too bad.”
Translation: enough for him to mention it, though. Cassandra frowned, tugging the covers from beneath him and pulling them up to his chest. She stepped over to his desk and plucked the blanket from the chair. It was obviously one Rapunzel had knitted for him, large and heavy and very soft, its colors mirroring that of Ruddiger’s fur. It...smelled faintly like Varian. She wrapped it around her shoulders and then, after a moment’s consideration, rummaged in the armoire for an extra pillow and situated herself beside him on the bed with a quill and one of the parchment books he kept on the table. Varian wriggled under the blankets and finally settled on his side, snuggled surprisingly - and comfortably, she realized - close to her hip.
“Okay, first things first,” she began, and Varian craned his neck to look up at her. “You need a better lock. Maybe more than one. And lock it every time you leave...even for just a few minutes.”
Varian hummed in agreement, nodding against the pillow. “I should talk with Xavier.”
“Noted. How often do you check inventory?”
“I…” Varian frowned. “Not enough,” he admitted ruefully.
“It seems redundant much of the time, I know,” Cassandra responded patiently, adding to the page, “Especially if you’re the only one in there and you’ve not left all day...but, I recommend it. Sometimes you catch discrepancies. We do the same with armor and munitions.”
“Makes sense,” Varian yawned.
Cassandra’s mouth twitched and she glanced down at him. “Line of sight,” she added quietly.
“What about it?” he asked, fighting to open his eyes again.
“We should rearrange your workspace so that your back isn’t to the door. So that you always have a line of sight when someone comes in.”
“I hadn’t thought of that...that’s a good idea.”
“We should also add a sentry. I’ll talk with Eugene about it.” She scribbled down a few more notes and he yawned again. “I think that’s enough for us to start with,” she assured him, leaning over and whispering, “Get some rest.”
“...Cass, could you….?” Varian stopped himself short, his cheeks turning pink as he burrowed into the pillow.
Cassandra set aside the parchment book and quill, brow furrowed. She tried to surmise what he could possibly have wanted or needed that would embarrass him so after everything he’d been through. Tentatively, she reached out to comb her fingers through the long fringe at his forehead and he sighed as if he had been waiting for exactly that... oh. When she’d done it for him the night before, he’d finally relaxed enough to let unconsciousness claim him. She could not help but smile now as it seemed to work again. He really was a tactile creature.
“How’s that?” she asked, her thumb circling gently at his temple.
“Mmm.”
“Mmm?”
There was barely a grunt, but he seemed to nestle in just a little bit closer. She sighed and sank into a more comfortable position, allowing her eyes to close for a respite. Just a brief one, she compromised with the part of herself that railed against the domesticity of the whole thing. The rain continued to patter at the window and it was warm, cozy, and... nice , she decided, with Varian tucked against her side and breathing deeply. She would slip out once Varian was asleep. Her fingers continued threading through his hair and he hadn’t stirred in the slightest. As she began to drift off, herself, Cassandra had one last thought before the morning sun would finally wake her hours later: that Euguene’s ridiculous grooming habits had worn off on Varian and she now had the perfect dig that would drive Eugene bonkers.
Summary: Tyler can’t stand to be around Y/N ... for a few different reasons.
Pairing: Tyler x Reader
Word Count:
Warnings: FWP. (Fluff without plot. Is that a thing? It is now.)
The laugh that both made Tyler’s heart quicken and irritated the hell out of him could be heard down the hall before he even finished his coffee. He braced himself for her presence, taking a seat in a chair on the soundboard side of the recording studio.
Y/N had a bottle of water in her hand, and the producer, Ben, was smiling as they walked in together. One of them had said something funny, apparently, but, despite her bright smile and the way her eyes twinkled in the studio lights, Tyler felt annoyed.
“So nice of you to join us this morning,” he grumbled as he sipped at his coffee.
Ben rolled his eyes. “Give her a break, man. I had her in the office with me, looking at some stuff for her new project. Finish your coffee, we’ll get started and hopefully wrap this up today.”
Y/N and Tyler exchanged a glance; maybe their bickering had gotten a teensy bit out of control. When they first met a few months ago, after being approached to write and record a song for the summer’s big blockbuster movie, sparks had flown immediately — and not in the good way. It was a miracle they had managed to write the song at all, though it probably wouldn’t have happened if Ben hadn’t been around to mediate their constant arguing.
The crazy thing was, there were nice moments, too. When the song finally came together and the movie execs gave it the go ahead, they had hugged excitedly and gone out to celebrate, without arguing. There were some radio interviews, and even one of Tyler’s shows when she had shown up as a surprise guest and they had performed the song to see how an audience would react. They had celebrated with cheers and more hugs when it went over well. But, for some reason, those moments were few and far between.
“You made it here this morning, then spaced out?” Y/N commented, breaking him from his thoughts.
Tyler downed what was left of his coffee, held back his comment for Ben’s sake, and went into the studio with her. He picked up his ukulele while she took a seat on the stool and secured a headset over her ears.
“No, don’t worry, I’ll get my own,” he scoffed.
“I can still hear you.”
“Good. I meant for you to hear me.”
Y/N rolled her eyes. “You know, for once, could we just try to have a productive day without your snide remarks? We probably could have done this in one day if you didn’t have to comment on everything I did yesterday. I’m a professional too, you know. I know what I’m doing in the studio, and this isn’t the first time I’ve written a song, either.”
Tyler looked over at her, surprised to see the hurt look on her face. He had accepted this love/hate relationship as just the way it was between them, but — were those tears in her eyes?
Tyler cleared his throat and set his ukulele back on its stand. He waved to get Ben’s attention, and asked the producer to give them a moment.
“Uh, yeah, I’ll just, uh, grab some more coffee,” Ben spoke into the speaker before making a quick getaway away from the soundboard.
Tyler turned back to Y/N. Her headset was rested on her shoulders and she was trying to wipe at her eyes without smearing her makeup, or letting him know that she was crying.
“Hey,” Tyler said softly, pulling up a stool next to her, “Y/N, I’m sorry. I guess I always thought we had this back and forth, and sometimes things were good and sometimes we argue, and … and that’s just how things were. I never meant to hurt your feelings.”
She sniffled and apologized for getting upset. “I was sort of projecting then, but maybe it was everything at once, too. When Ben and I were talking — I had told him a while back that I wanted to do all the writing for my next album, but he told me today that the studio turned down the few songs I demo’d. Then yesterday didn’t go great, and today is already not going great …”
Tyler mentally slapped himself. Of course, he hadn’t known any of that, but he hadn’t meant to kick her when she was down, either.
“You are an amazing songwriter. I know because I spent a good week writing this song with you, and your ideas are amazing, Y/N. You’re amazing.”
She chuckled through her tears. “Don’t butter me up now, Tyler. I know you can’t stand me for the most part.”
He drew in a deep breath and reached up to wipe her tears away. “That’s not entirely true.”
She sniffled again. “It’s not?”
“No,” he said softly. “You’re beautiful. You’re talented. You’re funny. And you put up with my cranky, sarcastic self. Up until today, you’ve taken everything I’ve thrown at you and you either come right back or you ignore me. Not everyone does that.”
“You are kind of cranky,” Y/N smirked.
Tyler laughed. He licked his lips and continued. “The first time I saw you, I thought — wow. So, this is what it’s like to find that person that makes you think maybe, just maybe, love at first sight is a real thing.”
“I thought our good moments were for show or something. Figured you thought I was some spoiled diva studio, and that’s where most of your cranky sarcasm came from.”
Tyler shook his head. “No, Y/N. I know you’re way more than that. What do you say we record this song, and tonight, I’ll take you out?”
“I mean, I think you owe me at least that much for making me cry.”
His smile faded for a moment, until he realized she was kidding. His hands pushed the hair out of her face before cupping her cheeks, the pads of his thumbs wiping away the last of her tears.
“From now on, no hate,” Tyler promised. “Just love.”
Y/N grinned, agreeing that sounded like an excellent idea a second before Tyler’s lips pressed against her own.
