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The Queen negotiates her terms with Thrawn for her return back to Batonn. She feels pressure for her people to produce an heir and continue the line of succession for Batonn.
Masterlist , Part 14
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
She knocked on his office door.
"Come in," he said.
She came in. She was dressed. She had been awake since the fifth hour. She had been thinking since the fourth.
He was at his desk. He was always at his desk.
"I want to talk to you about something, the thing I mentioned at the reception.”
He looked up. The assessment. The cataloguing. "Sit down," he said.
"It’s about Batonn, I want to go back,” She sat. She folded her hands in her lap
The silence was immediate and had a specific quality.
"For how long?" he asked. His voice was even. She had learned to hear what was inside his evenness.
"Four weeks. Possibly five, depending on what I find when I get there."
"What you find," he repeated.
"I have governance obligations that have been managed remotely since I’ve been Queen," she said. " I need to be present. In person. On the ground. I need to see what is actually happening rather than the version of what is happening that reaches me here."
He leaned back in his chair, a small adjustment, the slight release of posture that she had come to associate with him transitioning from the formal mode to something marginally less armored. He looked at her across the desk and she looked back and between them was the specific silence of two very careful people holding a conversation that had more layers than its surface.
"Duration," he said. "Fourteen days. Not a day longer."
"Fourteen days is not enough time to…"
"Fourteen days," he said. "If the visit produces outcomes that warrant an extension, we discuss the extension before the fourteenth day. Not on it."
She breathed. "Fourteen days."
"The itinerary," he said, "is submitted to me ten days before departure. Every visit, every meeting, every location. If something is not on the itinerary, you do not go to it."
"And if something develops that wasn't anticipated? Governance work is not always anticipatable."
"If something develops that was not anticipated," he said, "you contact me before you respond to it. Not after."
"Contact you how? If I am on Batonn and you are…"
"There will be a comm channel established specifically for the visit. Encrypted. Direct to me. You use it."
She breathed. "Alright."
"Security arrangements," he said. "My choice."
"Within reason.”
"Not within reason," he said. "My choice. Non-negotiable."
She huffed. "Alright."
"Eight officers. Imperial assignment. They travel with you, they are present at all meetings, they report to me."
"Eight?" she nearly yelled. "Eight officers in every clan meeting and every provincial…"
"Eight."
"Eight officers in every meeting and every provincial…The clans will not speak freely with eight Imperial officers in the room. The purpose of going is to…"
"The purpose of going," he said, with the evenness that meant he had thought about this before she arrived and had a response prepared, "is for you to be seen on Batonn. To perform the governance function that your visible presence serves. Eight officers do not prevent that."
"They prevent the other half of it," she said.
He looked at her.
She looked at him.
"Okay what about four? Four officers. Outside the room for clan meetings. Present for anything that is administrative or public. Four."
"Four," he said. "Present at all times. If I receive a report that they have been asked to wait outside a room…"
"You won't, because I will structure the meetings so that their presence is not in the room. That is not the same as asking them to leave. I will not ask them to leave."
"That," he said at last, "is a precise enough distinction."
"I have had practice.”
There was a brief silence before he spoke again.
"Communications. All external communications from Batonn are copied to my office. Standard monitoring protocol."
"Alright."
“Any meeting with a clan lord that is not on the approved itinerary requires advance notification to me. Twenty-four hours in advance. Not after the fact"
"And if a clan lord arrives unannounced," she said.
"Then you contact me before the meeting begins," he said. "Not during. Not after. Before."
She thought about Irtur at the tea room in the lower levels, the chip on the table between them, the Coruscant morning moving past the windows. She thought about the camps in the northern territories and her people that were suffering.
"The camps," she said. "If the itinerary includes the northern territories."
"If the northern territories are on the itinerary," he said, "the security attachment is eight officers. Not four. The northern territories are an active labor site with contractor overseers under existing ISB monitoring. I will not send you there with four officers."
"Okay fine, eight officers for the northern territories. Four for everything else."
"Agreed," he said.
"One more thing," she said.
He waited.
"Tannian," she said. "I want Tannian to be given leave so that he can come with me. He hasn't been home. Since the conscription. He hasn't been back to Batonn since they took him. I want him to come.”
He was quiet for a long moment. She waited and did not fill the silence. She had learned that filling his silences cost her more than sitting in them.
"I will make a request through the naval command," he said. "I cannot guarantee it will be granted."
He set the stylus down. He looked at her across the desk with the reading quality fully present, and she held his gaze with the composure she had been building since before he had known her name, and the office was quiet with the specific quiet of a moment that had not finished arriving.
She hid her hand behind her gown, attempting to cover up her tremor.
"I want to be precise," he said, "about what happens if the terms are not honored."
She waited and did not fill the silence. She had learned that filling his silences cost her more than sitting in them.
"We have negotiated," he said, "because negotiation produces outcomes that are more durable than imposition. You have asked for four officers instead of eight and I have agreed because your reasoning was sound. You have asked for Tannian's leave and I will pursue it because the request is not unreasonable. I have agreed to these things because I believe you will honor what you have committed to. That belief is not unconditional."
She shot him a look.
"If the itinerary is submitted and then not followed," he said, "the visit ends. Immediately. You return to Coruscant on the day I determine, not the last day we agreed upon."
"I understand," she said.
"If the comm channel is not used when it is required to be used," he said, "there will not be a second visit. Not in six months. Not in a year. The authorization will not be renewed."
She looked at him.
"If a meeting occurs that was not on the itinerary and was not reported to me in advance, the security attachment for every subsequent visit, if subsequent visits are authorized, will be eight officers. In the room. For every meeting. Without exception."
She breathed through the specific impact of that particular consequence, because he had chosen it with precision, because he knew that eight officers in the room was the one that cost her the most.He had identified the consequence that was not punitive for its own sake but was structurally devastating to her actual objectives. Of course he had.
"And," he said, with the evenness that had not varied once during the entire list, "if I determine that the visit has been used to conduct operations that were not disclosed to me, that fall outside the parameters of the governance function, that represent a use of the access I have provided for purposes I was not informed of…"
He stopped.
She waited.
He looked at her with the red eyes that were reading her face with the complete attention of a man who was saying something and watching to see if it landed with the full weight he intended it to carry.
"Then we will have a different conversation," he said. "One that is considerably less collaborative than this one."
The office was very quiet.
She understood the threat completely.
"I understand the terms," she said.
He picked up the stylus.
He made a notation on the datapad.
"The itinerary," he said, without looking up. "Ten days."
"Ten days," she agreed.
She left.
The corridor outside his office felt longer than it had when she entered it.The door closed behind her with a quiet, final sound, and she did not look back.
Four officers. Eight in the north.
A comm channel.
An itinerary.
A leash.
Her hand tightened slightly at her side, the tremor returning now that she was no longer in front of him, no longer required to hold it perfectly still under observation.
she had already learned what the Empire did when collaboration ended.
Cold floors.
White light that never dimmed.
The sound of her own breathing when she tried not to make any.
It rose into her memory without permission.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
The promenade level was quieter than the Senate district, but not by much. Light spilled in long panes across polished floors, and the low hum of Coruscant’s endless motion pressed faintly through the glass. Uiona walked beside her, just half a step behind, watching her with the same look she had been using all week.
“You’re doing it again,” Uiona said.
(Y/N) didn’t look at her. “Doing what?”
“Counting people. Replaying conversations in your head like they’re going to rearrange themselves if you stare at them long enough.”
“I am aware of my surroundings, is that a sin?”
“No, it is not.”
(Y/N) exhaled softly. “He gave me terms.”
“Yes, I gathered that.”
“And consequences.”
“Also gathered.” Uiona said “And you’re assuming the worst version of that word.”
“I’m preparing for it.”
Uiona opened her mouth to respond—
Then stopped.
Her attention shifted past (Y/N)’s shoulder.
(Y/N) noticed immediately. Of course she did.
“What,” she said under her breath.
“Don’t react yet,” Uiona murmured.
Too late. (Y/N) had already registered them.
A small cluster of women near the far railing. Well-dressed. Precise. The kind of effortless polish that came from never having had to fight for position.
Senior officers’ wives.
They hadn’t noticed (Y/N) looking yet.
But they were speaking.
And they were looking.
“…that’s her,” one of them said, not nearly as quietly as she thought she was.
“The one from the Outer Rim?” another asked.
“Batonn,” the first said. “Technically a queen, apparently.”
A soft laugh.
“Apparently,” a third echoed. “Strange how the Empire collects these things.”
“Marrying her was… strategic,” one said. “Though I suppose refinement can be taught.”
“Can it?”
Another laugh.
Uiona went very still beside her.
(Y/N) didn’t move.
Didn’t react.
Didn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing anything land.
She turned slightly, as if she had just now noticed them.
And then she walked forward.
Uiona followed.
The conversation at the railing shifted immediately, the tone smoothing, sharpening into something socially acceptable.
“Lady Thrawn,” the woman at the center of the group said as (Y/N) approached. She smiled. It did not reach her eyes. “What a pleasure.”
(Y/N) inclined her head slightly.
“Is it?”
The woman’s smile held. Barely.
“I am Commander Lirv’s wife,” she said. “We haven’t had the opportunity to speak properly.”
“No,” (Y/N) said. “We haven’t.”
“And how are you finding life after marriage?”
There it was.
The question that wasn’t a question.
The curiosity wrapped in politeness.
“Efficient,” she said.
A flicker of confusion.
“I see,” the woman said. “That sounds… rather clinical.”
“It is,” (Y/N) replied.
One of the other women shifted slightly, watching more closely now.
“And Coruscant?” the wife continued. “Has it been an adjustment?”
“Yes.”
“In what way?”
(Y/N) tilted her head just slightly.
“I find,” she said, “that the volume of conversation here does not always correlate with the value of what is being said.”
Uiona looked down. Just slightly.
The wife’s smile thinned.
“I suppose the Outer Rim has a different standard.”
“It does,” (Y/N) said.
“And what is that?”
(Y/N) let the silence stretch just long enough to be intentional.
“We tend to say things directly,” she said. “Rather than… around them.”
The woman’s expression held, but only just.
“How refreshing,” she said.
“Yes,” (Y/N) replied. “It is.”
“Well,” the wife said after a moment, “I do hope you continue to… acclimate.”
“I’m sure I will,” she said. “Though I suspect the greater challenge will be for others to adjust.”
“Enjoy your evening,” she said.
Then she turned.
Uiona followed immediately.
They walked in silence for several steps before Uiona let out a quiet breath.
“…well,” she said.
(Y/N) didn’t slow.
“You were polite,” Uiona added.
“I was accurate ,” (Y/N) said.
“And that last part?”
“That was polite,” she said.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
The holo connected at the fourteenth hour.
She was at her desk when the projector resolved. Six figures, blue-white and slightly compressed by the distance, arranged in the rough configuration of people who had not yet decided how formally they were treating this gathering.
She recognized them all before the resolution fully sharpened.
Lord Kaelor Virex, at the center, because Virex always positioned himself at the center of things without appearing to have done so deliberately.
Lord Raal Veyruun, standing rather than sitting, which was his preference in these gatherings.
Lady Maelin Sereth, seated, with the particular quality of stillness she brought to rooms such as these.
Lord Vorun Draxil, to the left.
Lord Halvek Torvek, beside him, with the expression he had been wearing at every gathering since the consolidation,
And at the far right of the projection, Lord Rhyss.
She looked at him for a moment before she spoke. He had not come to the wedding. He had not sent a representative to the wedding. He had not responded to the third communication she had sent through Irtur's channels after the highland winter storms had cleared the eastern reaches enough for reliable transit, but he was here now.
"My lords," she said. "My lady." She looked at Rhyss directly, and let the directness be its own acknowledgment. "Lord Rhyss. I am glad you could join us. The last gathering was quieter for your absence."
"Your Majesty," he said. His voice was the measured version. Not warm, not cold. "I was persuaded that attendance was preferable to the alternative."
"Then we are all here," she said. "Good."
Irtur, visible at the edge of the projection rather than its center.
She opened with the eastern province road construction update
"I should note," she added after thirty minutes of speaking, "that Governor Restos has recently expanded the funding allocation to the Batonn Defense Force. The force operates under his command rather than mine. The expansion covers two additional garrison postings in the western territories and a provision increase to the contractor security detachments in the northern extraction zone."
The room did what it did when something landed in it that required a moment before anyone was willing to be the first to speak.
Kaelor Virex spoke first, which was also predictable.
"The contractor security detachments," he said. The word detachments with the quality of someone pressing a bruise to confirm it was still there. "Armed."
"Yes," she said.
"By Restos."
"Through the sector administration funding mechanism," she said. "Authorized. Documented."
Virex looked at the man to his right. The look between two men who have been thinking the same thing and are confirming they have been thinking it simultaneously.
"Then we move," Virex said. He said it with the flatness of a decision already made, "We have the western access routes. If we coordinate the timing with the supplier convoy gap, we can hit the contractor residential block before the security expansion is operational and…"
"This is not something we address with violence," she said.
Virex looked at her with the look of a man who had expected this and was not going to pretend he hadn't expected it.
"Then how else do we address it, our gracious Imperial Queen?"
The projection was quiet.
Lady Sereth looked at the space between Virex and the holo connection and did not fill it. Veyruun was still. Draxil was watching (Y/N) with the expression of a man waiting to see what she did with it.
Rhyss, at the far right of the projection, was watching Kaelor Virex.
"By building something they cannot dismantle without dismantling themselves."
"With what?" Virex said. "With reports? With formal submissions to the cultural ministry? With attendance at imperial receptions?"
"With position," she said. "Which is what I am acquiring. With access, which I am acquiring. With information, which I am—"
"You are married to the man who took our planet!" Virex yelled, slamming his hand on the table.
"Yes," she said. "I am. Reluctantly, may I add."
"And you are telling us to wait. While Restos expands the force that is holding our people in those camps. While the extraction continues. While my clan's children…"
"I know," she said.
"You keep saying that," he said. "I know. I know. You know all of it and you sit in your imperial apartment and you attend their functions and you wear their ring and you are telling me …again …to wait."
"Kaelor." Irtur's voice, from the edge of the projection. Quiet.
Something passed between them.
"If we strike the contractor block," she said, quietly, "Restos files emergency authorization for a full garrison expansion. The ISB designates the eastern reaches as an active insurgency zone. The camps in the northern territories are reclassified as security facilities, and the conditions in them become significantly worse. The people who are there now, the families that are there, they pay for it. Not Restos. Not the contractors. The people in the camps."
She looked at Virex.
"I am not asking you to wait indefinitely," she said. "I am asking you to wait until what I am building is sufficient to remove the need for what you are describing."
It was Lord Draxil who spoke next, and the shift in his tone was slight but real.
"Speaking of what you are building," Draxil said. With the pleasantness of someone deploying pleasantness as a delivery mechanism for something that was not pleasant. "The line of succession."
She had known this was coming. She had known it since the wedding. She had known it, if she was being accurate with herself, since the moment the Emperor had said the word household in the throne room with the yellow patience of him.
"The line of succession to Batonn," Draxil continued, "runs through the Geronh blood. This has been established for four centuries. Your brothers have been stripped of their titles. Which means the succession question is, at this point, pressing."
She said nothing.
"The Queen must have an heir," Torvek said. Directly. Without Draxil's wrapping. "That is not an Imperial question. That is a Batonnese one."
"We are aware," Lady Sereth said, with the tone of a woman who had been waiting to moderate this portion of the conversation and was now doing so, "that the Queen's domestic circumstances are her own. But the line of succession to Batonn is not only her own. It is the clan's. It is the people's. And the question of who follows her…"
"I will not bow to the spawn of Thrawn."
The voice was Torvek's.
He said it the way people said the thing they had been holding through everything else, as though the sentence had been waiting behind his teeth for months and had found the moment.
Irtur, at the edge of the projection, was looking at Torvek with the expression of a man who had known this was coming and had not known how to prevent it and was now watching it arrive.
"Nor will I," Rhyss said. Quiet. From the far right.
She looked at Rhyss.
He met her gaze.
"I came to this gathering," he said. "I am here. That is what I was willing to give. But I will not , I cannot ask my people to accept a Thrawn heir to the Batonnese throne. The man commanded the siege. The man took what we…The people will not accept it."
"He is right," Irtur said.
She looked at him.
Irtur looked back with the eyes of a man who was being honest with her because he had decided that honesty was the only thing available to him in this moment.
"Not yet," he said. "Perhaps not for a long time. Perhaps not ever, by some of them. The name. The uniform. What it represents. You can ask them to receive you as their queen because you are their queen and you have been their queen through everything. But you cannot ask them , not now, not in this climate , to accept a child of Thrawn's line as their future sovereign. The grief is too recent. The occupation is ongoing. A Geronh-Thrawn heir on the Batonnese throne—" He stopped. "It would need to be a Geronh heir. The child of the Queen. Not the child of the Grand Admiral."
"Those are the same child," she said.
"They do not have to be received as the same child," Irtur said. "Politically. In the framing. What the people choose to emphasize about the heir's lineage is not fixed. But it requires careful cultivation over a very long time. And it requires… it requires that the child be understood as yours first. As Batonn's first. Not as his."
The room was quiet.
She looked at the projection. At the faces of the clan lords who had come, and the faces of the ones who had almost not come, and the specific quality of all of them waiting to see what she did with what had just been said.
"An heir who carries Geronh blood and a Geronh name," Draxil said slowly. "Who is raised with the traditions. Who knows the mountains. Who speaks the highland form as their first language. This is not impossible. It requires time and it requires , cultivation. As Lord Irtur says."
"And what does Lord Irtur say," Virex asked, "about the Grand Admiral's role in this cultivation?"
The question was not precisely for Irtur. It was for her.
She held the question.
"I will address the succession question," she said. "In time. With the care it requires. I am asking you to trust that I understand what is at stake."
"We know you understand," Virex said. "That has never been the question."
"Then what is?"
"Whether understanding is sufficient," he said. "When your husband commands the force that is holding our people."
"Send me the documentation on the security expansion," she said. "All of it. Whatever channels you have in the western territories. I want the full picture before the sector administration files its quarterly review."
One by one, they inclined their heads. Even Virex, after a moment.
Even Rhyss.
She closed the connection herself, and was careful about how she did it.
That night she couldn’t sleep, she woke up at the second hour.
Not the surfacing she had developed in the facility. This was different. This was the kind of waking that came after the dream was already over and what remained was not the image of it but the residue.
She lay still.
The room was dark. His side was empty, the sheets cool. The thin line of light was under the workspace door in the corridor.
She looked at the ceiling.
I will not bow to the spawn of Thrawn.
She had known. She had known before Torvek had said it, before Rhyss had confirmed it, before Irtur had looked at her with the honest eyes and said the people will not accept it. She had known since the Emperor had said household and children and coordinates. She had known since she had stood in the bridal suite in the Batonnese white and thought: I am going to walk through this door and become something I have not yet been given the language for.
She turned onto her side.
She was a married woman. This was a fact she had not been allowing herself to sit with for the past several months, not because it was a painful fact, but because it was a fact that arrived with other facts attached to it.
A child.
She had put the thought in the sealed room immediately and had not opened the door.
It was open now.
A child who would be both of them and neither of them and Batonn's and the Empire's and the clan lords' question and the Emperor's calculation and the political inheritance of everything that had been constructed around two people who had not chosen each other and had chosen how to tolerate each other anyway, and that child would not choose either, and the world they were born into would have been built before they arrived in it, and whether the clan lords bowed to them would depend on decisions made in this year and the years after it by people who were still in the process of becoming who they would be.
A Geronh heir. Batonn's first. Not as his.
I will not bow to the spawn of Thrawn.
The word had been chosen deliberately, she was certain of that. Torvek did not say things accidentally. Spawn. Not child. Not heir. Spawn. The specific word that came from a place of grief so deep it had become something less articulate and more true, the word that said: I cannot receive this, not yet, not while the wound is still open.
She understood Torvek.
She looked at the workspace light under the door.
She thought about Irtur saying: Not yet. Perhaps not for a long time. She thought about the word cultivation. She thought about the specific work of cultivating something in soil that was still raw, that had not yet healed enough to hold the seed, that needed more time and more tending before it could receive what was being planted in it.
She thought: I do not know how much time there is.
The deployment was in twenty days. When Thrawn left for Lothal, she would go to Batonn. She would see the northern territories. She would see the camps. She would carry what she saw back to Coruscant and she would use it.
And then she would come back to this room.
A child who knows the mountains. Who speaks the highland form as their first language. Who is understood as yours first. As Batonn's first.
She pressed her palm flat against the empty side of the bed.
The sheets were cool.
She did not open the workspace door. She did not get up. She lay in the dark and she thought about all of it.
Batonn will always stand.
She had said it. Uiona had said it. Her father had built his entire reign on the truth of it.
Her son will one day say it.
She looked at the ceiling until the second hour became the third, and then she closed her eyes and waited for the morning, where she started writing an itinerary and a prayer to her planet’s goddess.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Photographs of Tsar Nicholas II and family go on show at Science Museum in London. The images were captured by Herbert Galloway Stuart, an English tutor to the nephews of Tsar Nicholas II, between 1908 and 1916. They were unearthed by chance at the National Science and Media Museum in Bradford
Tsar Nicolas II and family at St Petersburg, 1915.
Children of the Imperial family at Gatchina Palace, outside St Petersburg
Boating at Gatchina Palace!
Lunch during a hunting trip with Tsar Nicholas II.
Hiii I was wondering if you could do a heagan oneshot/imagine on there new Netflix series and how life is going for them
ways to the heart
pairing: prince harry x “reader/oc” x meghan markle
summary: the door cracks open, softly squeaking. "are you watching him sleep again?" when colette turns, meghan is standing at the door, holding two plates. on them are pastries, both of them unfamiliar to colette, which means meghan is experimenting again.
warnings: fluff, only ooc if you know the royalty’s but y’all don’t so haha 😛, probably not what the request asked for but i liked it anyway, LOWERCASE INTENDED
word count: 593.
note: i kinda wrote this lonnnng before this request came in so i’m like 90% sure when i wrote this, lilibet and archie weren’t born yet so let’s just say they’re being babysat 🤗 comments/ requests are open! also, i feel like this is kinda not what you asked for, just give me a couple of days and i’ll come out with another one :))
important: i do not allow my work to be copied, republished, translated, or reproduced. please do not use this story on wattpad or on other platforms. respect the author's work <33
it was on days like these, they often don't get to sleep in and just enjoy each other's company. it was usually, always one of them was off doing dukely or dutchly things.
but with the documentary having just come out, it was harder to do things as simple as this nowadays.
waking up, colette stretches her hands towards the headboard, reveling in the way her muscles tense and liquify under her skin. meghan's side of the bed is empty, but there is a neon pink post-it stuck to the headboard above it, two little hearts scribbled on them.
the sight of it makes colette smile. It's not like she doesn't know where meghan is - she's downstairs, puttering around in the kitchen, baking pastries, batch after batch until the smell of it floats upstairs and wakes harry.
turning to her other side, colette just looks at him for a moment. harry is still asleep, his face peaceful. he is star-fished out on the bed, his limbs sprawled out, partially tangled in the blankets.
reaching across, colette swipes a strand of hair from harry's face. carefully, she lets her fingers drift across harry's skin, tracing the tattoos. the dragon perching on his shoulder, the tail wrapped around harry's biceps. the universe trailing down his spine, planets and suns and meteors scattered in the galaxy of harry's skin. the deer on his thigh, the antlers stretching across his hip. freckles splattered all across.
colette can't help but think of harry as a masterpiece. he is both the artist and the art, his skin a canvas for self-expression. the three of them know what it means to rebuild yourself, to grow beyond what other people have cut out for them. harry's skin is a map of his heart on the outside.
as if he can hear colette think about him, harry stirs softly, his brow crinkling. "time to get up?"
his voice is sleepy, and collete can't help but smile at him. "not yet. go back to sleep.” the only response she gets is a hum, and a husband trying to wriggle deeper into her blankets.
the door cracks open, softly squeaking. "are you watching him sleep again?"
when colette turns, meghan is standing at the door, holding two plates. on them are pastries, both of them unfamiliar to colette, which means meghan is experimenting again.
meghan in the mornings is a sight to behold. her hair is tied back, but some strands fall out, framing her face like she's a renaissance portrait. she carries herself with such a grace that still makes colette's heart flutter, watching meghan be so herself.
colette shrugs cheekily, leaning against the headboard. "he just looks so cute when sleeping."
grinning, meghan presses a kiss to her forehead, the smell of powdered sugar washing over colette. "fair enough."
she hands colette one of the plates, setting the other aside. the pastry is warm in colette's hand, the smell of cinnamon drifting up from it. if harry's heart is tattooed on his skin, meghan's heart is baked into her pastries. meghan loves them both so much. "thank you, meggy."
meghan beams at her, forever cheerful about her pastry creations, and colette simply has to kiss her. unsurprisingly, colette also tastes like powdered sugar and cinnamon.
"now eat your pastry! I need opinions!"
─────────────────────────
i hope this oneshot is good! i feel like i'm sorta a natural at writing poly simply because of my other books but i also so like- so scared when i got the request but then i was like- nah, i got this.
