Let's not get lost in the dark blue
But darling if we do, just find me and I'll find you
But darling if we do, just find me and I'll find you
Carlo’s furious little fist has migrated from feather to the fabric at Remi’s collar, gripping with startling strength, and the Bastion adjusts him instinctively, cradling the newborn closer so the curve of his body and the sweep of his wing form a small bastion within the storm.
Ronin’s whisper about trouble draws something fragile and incandescent across the bond, and Remi’s answering breath catches halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Oh, without question," he manages, voice unsteady but warm, glancing between Carlo and Calan as though already bracing himself for some future mischief they have not yet earned.
Ronin's admission land heavy and bright all at once, and Remi looks up sharply, seaglass eyes glassy in a way the rain cannot disguise. "I know what you mean," he exhales, the sentence nearly breaking apart under the weight of it. There is a flicker of guilt that passes through him, sharp and fleeting, because they had not had this with any of their other children, and it feels almost like a betrayal to savour it the way he wants to. And yet he does savour it, helplessly, fiercely, pressing a soft kiss into damp curls that are far too small to be called that, breathing in the scent of rain and newborn skin as if he might anchor the memory there forever.
His gaze drifts briefly to the wilting sprout, its leaves already bowing, purpose fulfilled, and something tender and grateful moves through him in response before lifting his gaze back to Ronin, brows gently raised. "Shall we?"
Ronin’s whisper about trouble draws something fragile and incandescent across the bond, and Remi’s answering breath catches halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Oh, without question," he manages, voice unsteady but warm, glancing between Carlo and Calan as though already bracing himself for some future mischief they have not yet earned.
Ronin's admission land heavy and bright all at once, and Remi looks up sharply, seaglass eyes glassy in a way the rain cannot disguise. "I know what you mean," he exhales, the sentence nearly breaking apart under the weight of it. There is a flicker of guilt that passes through him, sharp and fleeting, because they had not had this with any of their other children, and it feels almost like a betrayal to savour it the way he wants to. And yet he does savour it, helplessly, fiercely, pressing a soft kiss into damp curls that are far too small to be called that, breathing in the scent of rain and newborn skin as if he might anchor the memory there forever.
His gaze drifts briefly to the wilting sprout, its leaves already bowing, purpose fulfilled, and something tender and grateful moves through him in response before lifting his gaze back to Ronin, brows gently raised. "Shall we?"
the bastion
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
