#'impeccable mustache' would be enough for me

[foolbehavior]

They need to get some of these guys updated tag lines...

[rauferes]

What is a man when he is of no use to anyone?

Rook finds Emmrich hunched over his writing table, pale-faced and sweating. Far more damning: his hair is neatly brushed, his mustache tidy, but far from his usual impeccable standards.

"Right," Rook says, eying him. "I may not be a healer, but walk me through this. What are you doing out of bed?"

Emmrich flashes them what would be a dazzling smile if it wasn't quite so tight around the edges.

"Correspondence is of paramount importance, my dear. In these dire times, our connections will doubtless be what save us."

"Right," Rook says again, drawing out the word. "And it couldn't wait a few days for you to get better because...?"

Emmrich's smile crumples.

"Yes, well," Emmrich says, staring at Rook's eyebrow and not their eyes, "It's already been a week that I've been off missions! I've a hearty constitution. There's no sense in malingering."

Rook doesn't bother saying anything, looking pointedly at where Emmrich leans heavily against his desk, despite his typical good posture.

"I'm putting you back to bed, Professor," Rook says.

"Emmrich," he corrects automatically, but it's in the smallest voice Rook has ever heard him use. He clears his throat. "Have you, ah, any questions regarding the Fade that need answering? I'd be happy to discuss any new developments—"

Rook hauls Emmrich to his feet and says firmly, "Bed."

"Oh! Thank you, but I can manage perfectly... well..."

Emmrich subsides as Rook does not let him go, delivering him to his (embarrassingly unmade) bed personally. He sits on the edge, ghastly paleness warring with an ashamed flush.

"And stay there," Rook says, good-natured.

Emmrich, uncharacteristically, does not respond as he stretches out.

If he is perhaps... lonely... well. It's only to be expected. Who would want to be around a man of so little use, who could provide nothing they wish to have—

The flutter of papers and the clink of an inkwell interrupts his thoughts. Rook has brought a random assortment of the paper from his desktop to his night table, with a smooth plank of wood that he can prop over his knees to write on.

"...thank you, Rook," Emmrich says, and even he's not sure what his tone means.

Rook just nods and leaves.

Emmrich dips his pen, and tries to convince himself that letters will be enough—that the ghostly words of others, nothing more than a trace of ink on papers that have long since relinquished the heat of the hand that wrote them, would satisfy the sharp and stabbing ache that lives just behind his ribs.

It must be enough. It will be, after all, all that he will receive.

[jennaispunk]

Love in a Bar

Summary: Jack's childhood best friend comes to work at his bar. What happens when the feelings he's tried to hide for so long come to the surface?

Pairing: Honky Tonk Cowboy Bar Owner!Jack Daniels x OFC Sadie (aka Dusty)

Rating: T

Word Count: 5k

Tags/Warnings: fluff, language, kissing, Jack is a menace, friends to lovers, idiots in love, AU where Jack is the owner of a country bar. Jack uses pet names (sugar).

A/N: this was written for @kedsandtubesocks Wild Ride Challenge. I chose cowboy bar owner!

Jack with the trope: childhood friends and was given the moodboard used in the header. This is my first Jack Daniels fic and I'm excited to share it. The title is shared with a song by Ryan Hurd. I felt like it just fit the vibe of the story. Enjoy!

Dividers and banners by me.

“Were your ears burnin’, sugar? I was just talking ‘bout you!” Jack called out from behind the bar.

It was always different being in the bar at this time of day. The 90 minutes between happy hour and the DJ setting up was the slowest part of the day. The few regulars were scattered between the bar, booths and tables. The jukebox played country music in the background, quiet enough to still have a conversation but loud enough to recognize the song if you were listening. The place didn’t have quite the same vibe as it did under the neon lights. Deep brown scuff marks scarred the wood floor and the bar top seemed almost lackluster in the daylight.

Jack was chatting with one of the regulars, Charlie: an older man who came in after work every day for a drink before it got too crowded.

Sadie greets Charlie with a soft smile and a gentle rub of his shoulder. He was always quick with a smile and a compliment that was borderline flirty, so much like her grandfather.

“I was just telling Charlie here how you’re the best barrel racer in all of Texas…and the prettiest one, too.”

Her smirk widens as she looks at Jack. He’s handsome, and he always has been. The black Stetson set perfectly on his dark mane; his impeccably trimmed mustache over slightly pouty lips; and his left brow cocked so smugly as he stares back at her. Sometimes all she sees when she looks at him is the nineteen-year-old boy who wiped away her tears the day she left home for college.

“I don’t barrel race anymore, Jack. I haven’t in a long time.”

Her eyes gloss over a bit as she thinks about those days. She loved barrel racing, it was her life…until the universe had other plans. Her family needed her more than she needed to live her dream. She went to college like a good girl, on an partial academic scholarship, to get a business management/marketing degree and manage the family ranch that was near failing.

“I know, Dusty. But I can’t resist braggin’ on ya a bit. You were damn good, and besides, Ol’ Charlie here likes hearin’ stories ‘bout ya.”

She scoffs at that nickname, even though she secretly loves it. He’s called her ‘Dusty’ since she was eight years old. It started as a joke because her jeans were always dirty from riding her horse so often and learning to race, but it stuck, and he rarely called her anything else.

“You just like braggin’ period, cowboy.” she teases.

She knew he wouldn’t deny it. Jack was never shy about talking anything up. He was confident; some would call it cocky, but Jack knew who he was and wasn’t ashamed.

His laugh echoed through the sparsely occupied bar. He loved how she always went back at him. She never let him get away with anything. He grabbed his chest, his large hand covering his heart under his white t-shirt.

“You wound me, sugar,” he teases back.

Her eyes crinkle as she laughs. The dramatic display never fails to make her smile.

“That’ll be the day.”

She throws out that quote from one of his favorite movies and winks at him.

“Hope you brought your waders, Charlie.”

Another smile for Charlie and she saunters to the back of the bar to help prep for the evening rush.

The Friday night rush was in full swing. The typical crowd of college students and young professions made for an interesting mix, but it worked. There was something comforting about the glow of the neon, the perfect mix of light and shadow.

She’s not sure how she got roped into helping out at the bar on the weekends. It was just supposed to be a temporary thing, just until Jack could hire someone, but here she was, slinging drinks and wiping down the bar top.

There was no way she would have said no. He was her best friend, the one that held her when her grandfather passed away and cheered the loudest at her college graduation. He was also the man she’d been in love with for as long as she could remember.

Jack’s motive for asking her to help out at the bar was more than a little selfish. He wanted her close. Ever since she came back to town, he had been looking for an excuse to see her more. Her families’ ranch was thriving with her at the helm, and he could use the help with the bar. It needed new life, a way to keep people coming back. Jack knew how charming he was, but even he could admit when he needed a hand.

His eyes focused in on her as she leaned over the bar as a customer shouted his drink order. He swallowed hard as his gaze drifted over the curve of her ass, and he was sure he saw a sliver of her little pink panties peeking out over the waistband of her jeans. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. For as long as he could remember, he’d felt that way. He’d always been in love with her. He just never knew how to say it.

“Hey, Dusty!”

His voice carries over the din, but she’d recognize it anywhere. The two of them were so connected, always had been. From the day they met, they were two peas in a pod. She was the only one who called him out on his bullshit and gave as good as she got.

Everything was always so easy with him. No matter how much time or distance had been between them, the two of them just fell right back into the old routine like they’d never been apart.

Jack smirks at her as she works her way toward him. Even in jeans and a t-shirt, she still manages to take his breath away.

“What’s up?”

She shoves her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, rocking back on the heels of her chestnut brown cowboy boots.

Jack lays his large hand on her shoulder and points toward a group of younger guys, most likely a bunch of college boys from A&M. They’re laughing and joking with each other, checking out the girls in the bar and drinking beer.

“See those boys over there, sugar? They seem to think they can ride ol’ Ferdinand better’n you. Now, I told ‘em they’re full of shit; but the taller one disagrees and will put up 150 bucks that says he can stay on longer than you.”

She shakes her head as he grins at her. Jack could never resist a bet.

“I suppose you took that bet.”

“Hell yeah, I did. That young buck’s a cocky son of a bitch and I’m more’n happy to take his money.”

The corner of her mouth lifts to a smirk as she rolls her eyes.

“Takes one to know one.” she teases.

Jack holds his belly as he laughs. Confidence is his middle name.

“It’s not cocky if you can back it up, sugar.”

She reaches up to pluck his hand from her shoulder and sighs.

“I’m the one who has to back it up this time.”

It’s not that she minded taking a cocky little boy down a notch. She’s been doing that all her life. Horse riding is a man’s world, and she grew up having to prove to the rodeo cowboys that she wasn’t just a dumb little buckle bunny. She minded was that it wasn’t her idea.

His lower lip juts out in a pout, his puppy dog eyes on full display. He knows she’s powerless against that look. He’s been using it on her for years.

“Please, sugar? For me?”

She took a deep breath. It had been a few months since she last rode, but she could never resist that look.

“Alright.” she sighs.

She glances over at the group of guys one last time, sizing them up. There isn’t a single one of them that looks like they know how to ride. This should be easy. Her index finger pokes into Jack’s broad chest.

“You owe me.”

Jack chuckles and looks down at her small finger pressed against his chest. He liked when she got feisty. It reminded him of that young girl who would square up to a 6-foot-2 cowboy and threaten to punch him in the face when he tried to get handsy with her. She was never one to back down from a challenge.

“Anything you want.”

She smirks at him. She would have a lot of fun when it came time to collect that debt.

After sizing up her competition, they decide to let you go first, being a lady and all. She jumps onto the bull, wrapping the small fingers of her right hand around the rope. She gives a slight nod to Randy, and he pushes a button.

The bull slowly lurches forward, and her thighs squeeze against the sides. The trick is to stay loose and move with it, get too tense and you slide right off.

Her left hand flies up for balance as the bull moves faster. Her hips roll with the bull, fluid and loose. She can’t deny how sexy she feels up here. A small crowd gathers, and she smiles to herself. It felt good to be up here again, showing off her skills.

The bull picks up speed, tossing her back then forward. She focuses her eyes on a single spot on the wall, clenching her core muscles. She catches the briefest glimpse of Jack watching from behind the bar as she’s whipped around once again. It breaks her concentration for a split second and her ass slips to the side. She quickly rights herself in the saddle. She shakes her head to clear her mind; just a bit longer and there’s no way this kid can beat her.

The next wicked spin nearly throws her from her seat, but she squeezes her thighs and hangs for another few seconds before she falls off.

She slides from the bull with a confident smirk. That wasn’t the longest she’d ever stayed on Ferdinand, but it was a lot longer than most. There is no way this cocky college kid has a chance to hang on that long.

The kid scoffs at her as he puffs out his chest. He brushes past her, hops on the bull and nods at Randy.

The bull stirs to life, and the kid gives a decent try but gets tossed within a minute.

Her hand flies to her mouth to keep from laughing. A weird sense of pride fills her chest as the kid picks himself off the mat and stalks his way back to his buddies, scowling with wounded pride.

“Wooo, sugar.” Jack purrs from behind her. “You still got it.”

He’d forgotten just how damn sexy she looked when she was riding. It wasn’t just the way her body moved, the confidence she radiated from on top of that bull made his heart pound and his cock half hard.

She turns to him with a smirk still on her face. Being on that bull made her feel alive again in a way she hadn’t in a long time.

“Go collect your money, cowboy. I’ll be sure to collect on that debt later.”

She spins on her heel, her caramel blonde hair flipping over her shoulder with the movement. The sway of her hips is a bit more exaggerated as she heads back to the bar.

The way Jack looked at her after riding that bull had been on her mind all week. There was always a flirting look in those deep brown eyes, but there was more to it that night. If she didn’t know any better, she would have sworn it was like he was seeing her for the first time. Her heart raced at the possibility that it meant something, but she won’t be to be the one to crack first. He was going to be the one to make the first move.

It was her idea to offer line dancing lessons on Friday nights, right after happy hour. She missed being out on the dance floor almost as much as she missed barrel racing, and Jack agreed it would be a good way to get some new customers into the bar.

“I’m calling in that favor you owe me.”

Her elbows rest against the wood, leaning her chest over the bar toward Jack. She knows he might be unhappy with her request, but he owes her.

The corner of Jack’s mouth lifts into a cocky smirk and he leans in toward her, pushing his Stetson back from his forehead.

“Lay it on me, Dusty.”

There’s a good chance he’s going to refuse. She smiles at him and bites her lip.

“I need to practice my two-step for tomorrow’s line dancing lesson. And you're going to help me.”

Jack’s eyes go wide. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He hasn’t danced in a long time.

“Aww, sugar, you know I don’t dance in public. Think of something else, anything else.”

Her nose wrinkles. He knows how to dance. The two of them used to dance all the time; he was an excellent dancer. She never had a better two-step partner.

“I’m not asking you to dance in front of customers. Just you and me.”

“You owe me, Jack. It’s just one dance. I won’t tell anyone…please?”

She’s not above pouting to get what she wants and her lower lip juts out.

“It’ll be just like old times. Like when you used to sneak me into Stubby’s before I turned eighteen.”

Her eyes soften as she waits for his answer.

Jack chuckles. Those days feel like yesterday. He bribed the bartender to look the other way and the two of them would dance until closing time and then he’d take her home, boosting her up so she could sneak back in her bedroom window.

He couldn’t resist those pretty doe eyes looking back at him. There wasn’t anyone else here, the rest of the staff had already gone home. What could one dance hurt?

“Alright. One dance.”

She almost leaps over the bar to hug him. She knew he would eventually give in, but she thought it would take a bit more convincing.

Her fingers scroll the song list on the jukebox, searching for the perfect song. She choses an oldie but a goodie, one the two of them had danced to before. The opening notes to “Neon Moon” flow through the speakers.

“Come on, cowboy. Let’s see if you still got it.”

‘When the sun goes down on my side of town

That lonesome feeling comes to my door…’

The wait for him to meet her in the middle of the dance floor feels like an eternity. Her breathing picks up as he’s finally in front of her, his large hand extending toward her with his palm facing the ceiling.

She can barely hear the music over her heart pounding in her ears. Her hand slips easily into his. He’s so warm and his rough, calloused skin feels good against her smooth skin.

“Hold on to your boots, sugar.” he teases.

He tugs on her hand and pulls her close. The smell of leather, cigarette smoke and aftershave fills her nostrils. It was a comforting and safe smell. It smelled like home. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to be in his arms, how close he held her when they danced together. It made her head spin.

Her breath catches in her throat as he starts with a spin. He leads her around the floor with graceful, confident steps.

Quick quick slow slow; quick quick slow slow…

It’s like the two of them had been doing this dance for years. In a way, they had been dancing together for years. They both had been dancing around their feelings for a long time, neither one of them willing to voice the obvious.

He spins her in one direction, then the other as they make a circle around the floor, their bodies remembering the steps as if no time had passed. By the time the first chorus hits, she wasn’t in the bar anymore. She was in the barn on her parents’ ranch, her boombox sitting on a bale of hay. She could smell the earthy scent of the horses as Jack put his arms around her for the very first time and taught her to dance.

The next time he spins her around, he pulls her even closer and there’s a sliver of space between them. The warmth of his body radiates through his shirt into hers. His heartbeat thrums against her chest. It’s so tempting to lean in and kiss his beautiful neck. She wonders how he would react if she just gave into the urge.

They stood in the center of the dance floor as the song ended, frozen in this moment that was a lifetime in the making. Neither one of them want to be the first to let go; to be the one to break the spell.

That cocky, crooked grin she’s sure has gotten him laid more times than she cares to think about spreads across his lips. The bar is quiet, save the slight hum from the overhead lights. He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

His tongue darts out and licks his lips. Damn, she looks so gorgeous in his arms, as if she always belonged there. This is his chance. The timing couldn’t be more prefect. He swallows hard and slowly leans down. His breath ghosts against her lips and her eyes flutter closed.

“Oh, fuck.”

A male voice snaps them out of the moment and the two of them apart like two teenagers busted by their parents.

“Christ, Bubba.” Jack groans. “What the hell are ya doing back here? I thought everyone went home already.”

Bubba grins sheepishly and shrugs his shoulders, trying not to smile.

“Sorry, boss. Got halfway home and realized I left my phone.”

Jack sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. It figures someone would interrupt just as he was about to make his move after years of loving her in silence.

Her bottom lip finds its way between her teeth as Bubba collects his phone. It almost happened. The kiss she’d been dreaming of for years was seconds away, and now the moment was gone. What would have happened without the interruption?

Jack smiles sheepishly. The moment had vanished like the smoke from a lit cigarette. Should he grab her now and kiss her like he wanted to? He can’t bring himself to move. He’s frozen in place, terrified that he’s reading too much into the dance, and he looks away.

“We should get going too, sugar…it’s gettin’ late.”

Her heart sank into the pit of her stomach. It was too good to be true. He never wanted her before, although he could have had her a thousand times before with a single word. She clears her throat and takes another step back from him. Maybe it’s time she finally got over him. It was silly of her to think they would ever be more than friends.

“You’re right. It’s late.”

Ever since that dance they shared last week, Jack can’t think about anything else. She fit so perfectly in his arms, as if she always belonged there. He could still smell the vanilla and berries on her skin; he could still see the way her eyes sparkled in the neon light.

He should have kissed her right then and there. Instead of being a coward, he should have told her how he felt. He’d been in love with her for as long as he could remember, but it never seemed like the right time to confess.

Watching her flirt with the same guy for the last week was almost more than he could take. The idea of her with anyone else made him crazy. They had seen each other with someone else before, but this time was different.

She hadn’t expected Brandon to keep coming back, but he’d been here every night. He was a nice guy and part of her felt bad that she was using him to get over Jack, but what else was she supposed to do? She couldn’t keep pining after Jack when there was someone right in front of her that made it so obvious that he was interested. How did that saying go? The best way to get over someone was to get under someone else? It wasn’t the healthiest way to deal with her feelings, but that was a future Sadie problem.

Jack clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. He couldn’t watch her smile and laugh with some other guy when she should be with him. He stalked over to the table, his boots clicking against the ground with his heavy steps. Without a second thought, he grabs her arm and jerks her toward him.

“We need to talk…now.” Jack growled.

She rips her arm free from his grasp and glares at him; her stare icy and unblinking. How dare he interrupt her conversation? He’d made it clear that he wasn’t interested.

“I’m a little busy at the moment. Can it wait?”

Her head tilts to the side and her hands rest on her hips. Her nostrils flare as she waits for his answer. Did he think she would give in that easy?

“No.”

Jack drew himself up to his full height. He wasn’t playing games. The two of them were going to talk, and he didn’t care if she wanted to or not.

Her sigh disappered into the din. The look in Jack’s eyes told her he wouldn’t back down. She stood up straighter, mimicking his posture.

“Fine.”

She made her apologies to Brandon and followed Jack to his office. Her blood pressure rose with every step. If he wanted a fight, he was going to get one.

She scoffed as Jack stepped to the side and motioned for her to step inside first. She shot daggers at him and paused for a second before stepping through the doorway. Was it childish? It sure was, but she was so mad that she didn’t care.

Her index finger jabbed into his chest as he turned around.

“What the hell is your problem, cowboy? I was in the middle of a conversation.” she snaps.

He blinked a single time and pushed her hand away.

“Im tryin’ to keep you from makin’ a mistake. Throwing yourself at a man ain’t your style, sugar. It don’t become you.”

Her eyes narrowed, and before she could stop herself, her right hand flew at Jack’s cheek.

His hand shoots out and circled her wrist in a tight grip. His eyes widen before narrowing into slits. She had been pissed at him before, but she had never tried to hit him in all the years he’d known her.

“Whoa there, sugar. Take a breath. Ain’t no reason to go off half-cocked.”

Her chest heaves up and down and she tries to yank her hand from his grasp. He only holds on tighter, and it hurt.

“Let go of me.” She spits through gritted teeth.

“I’m not lettin’ go until you simmer down and listen to me.”

Something flashes in his eyes for the briefest moment, and then it’s gone. It’s hard to put a name to what she saw. It may have been her imagination, but it’s enough to make her relax in his grip.

“Good girl.”

He loosens his grip, and she jerks her wrist free, rubbing it gently.

“You wanna explain why you dragged me in here?”

Jack rubs the back of his neck. His eyes soften as he looks at her.

“What’s going on with you, Dusty? You usually don’t flirt like that.”

Unshed tears prick at her eyes and her voice cracks. She didn’t expect to be called out like that.

“Is it so hard for you to believe that there’s a man that actually likes me?”

Her cheeks flushed pink as she tries to hold back her anger and her hurt.

“It’s not that at all. You’re a beautiful girl. I bet every guy in this place would kill for a shot with you.”

“Are you jealous?”

Jack scoffs and smirks.

“I’m trying to watch out for you.”

Her jaw twitches, and her fists clench at her sides. How dare he accuse her of acting like that?

“Why are you so worried about it? We’re not even together.”

She’s right, and there’s no point in denying it. It was time to put up or shut up.

“Dusty-”

“Don’t!” She hissed. “You don’t run my life, Jack! I’m capable of making my own decisions and I deserve to be happy. I deserve the chance to find-”

“Sadie!” he shouted.

The use of her given name stopped her tirade. Her jaw went slack as she tried to catch her breath.

“Will you shut up for once and listen to me tell you how I’ve been in love with you for fifteen years?”

“W-what?”

Her entire world turned upside down. The man she had loved for her entire life was finally admitting he felt the same. This must be a dream. Any second she was going to wake up and everything would be back to the way it was.

“It’s been you all along. I just never knew how to tell ya.”

Jack smiles; his eyes pleading with her to believe him. He slowly reaches out and takes her hand in his, squeezing gently.

If anyone would have told her this would happen, she would have laughed at them. She thought she was firmly in the friend zone, and she had learned to be content with that.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Jack shrugs his shoulders. His calloused thumb rubs over her knuckles.

“Cause I’m a dumb ol’ cowboy who was too scared to admit what’s been on my heart for a long time and you were too stubborn to notice.”

A humorless laugh escaped her lips. How could they both have been so oblivious? They both had spent way too long being scared of ruining their friendship that they couldn’t see what was right in front of them.

“You couldn’t see how I felt about you? I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember, Jack. I always thought you only saw me as a friend, that little girl running around in dusted up jeans.”

Jack reached out and let his hand linger on her cheek. The weight lifted from his chest.

“You were always more than a friend. You’re my best girl.”

She opens her mouth to speak, and he silences her with a kiss. His lips slant against hers, his soft tongue pushing past her lips. Her eyes flutter closed as she kisses him back. The reality is better than any fantasy and her breath catches in her throat.

Jack pulls her even closer and deepens the kiss All those years of pushing down his feelings for her, of telling himself that she deserved better than him, are nothing but a distant memory now.

His large hands snake down her sides to her hips and he squeezes, not hard, just enough so she knows he’s there. His hands push at the hem of her shirt, and he lifts her, placing her on top of his desk.

Her arms wrap around his neck and pull him even closer. The heat of their bodies mingle as they lose themselves in the kiss. The muffled sounds of the bar fade away as the kiss becomes more passionate. Her fingers find their way into his jet black hair, tugging gently. Their tongues dance in a way that she’s only dreamed of, and a breathless moan escapes her lips.

Jack grabs her ass and pulls her to the edge of the desk. His groin grinds against her heat, and she moves her hips to meet his. He’s wanted to do this for as long as he can remember. He wanted to drown in her. She’s always been his, even if he was too stubborn to admit it. His kisses became more insistent, his hands groping and kneading her flesh.

She holds onto him tighter. Now that she finally has him the way she always wanted, she’s not letting go. She won’t give him the chance to take it back.

A loud bang on the door jolts the two of them apart. A soft sigh leaves her, and her head falls to his shoulder. Another damn interruption. Was anyone ever going to leave them alone?

“Uh, boss, we got a little situation going on out here.”

Jack groaned and chuckled quietly. He cupped the back of her head, holding her close to him. He just wanted a few more moments of this before he had to go put out another fire.

“Yeah… I’ll be out in a sec.”

She lifts her head to look at him. Her eyes search his, looking for any sign that this was real. She needed to know that he didn’t get just caught up in the heat of the moment.

“Did that really just happen?”

He nods and clears his throat. This was as real as it gets. He was tired of running from his feelings, denying himself the thing he desired most in this world.

“I shoulda done that a long time ago.”

Another knock, this time more tentative, floats through the office.

“In a minute!” he barks.

There’s silence on the other side of the door. It’s clear they got the message.

“We’ll pick this back up later.”

A crooked smirk plays on his lips as his index finger tilts her chin upward.

“I’m not done with you yet, sugar.” he purrs. “Not by a long shot.”

[genjyoandgojyoandhakkai]

Interview Notes

Read on AO3 or below!

~900 more words about The CROWS of ANTIVA.

Ft. Viago, Teia, and mentions of Excel functions.

😝

The ICU season was critical to ANTIVA’s success. Fostering a safe and ethical workplace while minimizing legal risks was paramount to the smooth function of any business. Naturally, Viago wanted to ensure operations ran flawlessly—he had requested daily updates on completions.

Once he received the raw data, he would merge it with HR reports, categorizing them by manager, department, and job family. Visualizations and charts would be generated and emailed to the XCOM team by lunchtime daily, starting Tuesday. Caterina Dellamorte and the C-Suite would not be disappointed in either the completion rate or the presentation of Viago’s pet project.

Speaking of lunchtime...

It was 11:36 AM, and Viago was not happy. The Rookie and Arthik had taken so long finding him a desk that he’d sent a strongly worded email to the entire team about productivity—an email Arthik had seen, responded to, and then dutifully returned to his desk, as was expected.

Now, Viago sat logged into the ANTIVA learning management system, glaring at a page displaying the names of the ten diligent employees who had already begun their training.

Among them were Caterina and her son, Lucanis Dellamorte—as was only right. L. Dellamorte was the best corporate negotiator ANTIVA employed, executing every task to perfection. Viago would have looked up to him, but the man was too short for that. A pity. In another life, they might have been friends.

He shook off the thought and focused on mission-critical items. 147 names throbbed at him from the “Not Started” section.

“It’s been three hours. What is taking them so long? The deadline is next Friday,” Viago muttered into his mustache. “More people should have started. At this rate, we won’t achieve 80% by Wednesday.”

Arthik knocked on the door. “Hey, boss, I’m sending the Rookie for lunch. He did all right with the coffee, eh?”

“Hmph,” Viago replied, leaning an elbow on his mouse pad. “This Aydenne doesn’t look like he can afford lunch for nine people. Give him my corporate card. I’ll allow you both an extra thirty minutes after lunch to show him how to submit an expense report. And Arthik?”

“Yup?” Arthik’s voice was muffled; he was already digging through his locked desk drawer for Viago’s gold card.

“If he submits the expense report incorrectly, I’ll be deducting the amount from your next check.”

Arthik straightened up and gave a salute. “You got it, boss.”

Was that sarcasm in his voice? No. Arthik was too loyal for that. He knew better than to risk getting busted back to answering phones at the front desk over something like this.

Viago hit refresh on his browser and was gratified to see another name move from “Not Started” to “In Progress.”

“Are you busy?”

The sound of that voice made him sit ramrod straight in his chair, both feet firmly on the floor. He’d already been sitting that way, but now there was intention behind it.

Andarateia Cantori—or Teia to her friends (of whom Viago sometimes counted)—Human Optimization & Talent, Director, leaned against his doorframe. She wore an impeccably tailored white pantsuit that set off her rich ochre skin, and the curls that rioted down her slender shoulders were the perfect balance of chaos and professionalism. Her lipstick was bright red, a shade that wasn’t easy for just anyone to wear, but Teia’s lips looked—

Viago swallowed hard and thought about advanced IF(OR) use cases.

Teia smiled, seeming to know exactly what Viago was (not) thinking about. “How is your new hire settling in?” she asked.

Viago made a noise somewhere between buh and chhhaa and leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling. He knew exactly who had hired Aydenne de Riva, and he and Teia played a dangerous game.

He couldn’t get enough of it.

“Is it possible for me to see the interview notes?” he asked noncommittally.

“Hmm. I brought them with me, but I need to take them - and myself - back to my desk soon,” Teia warned, producing a manila folder from behind her back.

Viago held out an imperious hand. Teia smiled slyly and placed the folder on the desk beneath his monitor, then took a seat in the chair by the door.

“Tch,” Viago said, reaching across his keyboard and nudging the pencil cup out of the way to avoid knocking everything over.

Ignoring the brilliance of Teia’s smirk, he flipped open the folder.

Aydenne de Riva 952 Dock Town Rd…

“Unfortunate,” Viago commented.

“Where someone lives is legally not allowed to affect the hiring process,” Teia reminded him in a heavy tone.

Teia could practically read his mind, and if he thought about that for too long, he’d need to take an extra bathroom break.

He didn’t have time for that today.

“BATNA skills, MESO simulations, complex implementation and project management… I suppose the Rookie’s - ahem - Aydenne’s base skillset meets the requirements,” Viago said grudgingly.

“Naturally. And my notes?” Teia prompted.

Across the top of the second page in Teia’s flowery, precise writing were two questions:

COMPARABLE SKILLS? WILLING TO SIGN NDA?

Stars were written next to each.

“This isn’t—”

“—Flip to the last page,” Teia said, a little impatiently.

Viago flipped.

Specializing in proprietary workforce optimization protocols and Risk Mitigation Analysis!!

No further reading was required.

When he glanced up, one of Teia’s perfect eyebrows was quirked triumphantly.

“Fine,” Viago huffed. “Aydenne de Riva’s CROW contract is accepted.”

“Good,” Teia said. “I knew it would be. I have to go, but I’ll ping you later to see how things are going.”

Viago was so satisfied he forgot to ask Teia when he should expect her message.

[brandstifter-sys]

Parlay

@dukexietyweek 2025 Day 5 - Fantasy/Royalty +Ocean

Word Count: 1337 (Ao3)

Rating: T+

Characters: Remus, Virgil

Warnings/Content: ftm!Remus, selkie!Virgil, sex mention, torture mention, trafficking mention, threats mention

Captain Remus is a fun loving brat running from his past. Of course, that past just so happens to bring him to the hottest seal-man he's ever had the pleasure of imprisoning (temporarily)

---

Freedom was a rare commodity for anyone, especially a royal. No one knew that better than Remus. That's why he chose to run away, why he chose to earn the respect and fear people gave him. He fought tooth and nail to become the captain of this crew, and no one would take that title away from him while he was alive.

He knew he was a force to be reckoned with, a strong fighter with extensive skills and no fear. If swashbuckling wasn't on the table, he could talk his way out of anything, mainly by sounding deranged and a little horny. And if all else failed, he could lean on his good looks and appeal—who could resist a stout short king with long, tied back hair and an impeccable (fake) mustache?

“Captain,” a scruffy, old, peg-legged sailor said as he hobbled to the wheel. Remus glanced at him and then the navigator, a young woman who knew too much about the stars. They had to travel south to avoid the royal blockade and he was going to make sure that they went unnoticed. He would not be captured or worse, taken back to the capital as some reward token.

“The prisoner is awake,” the old sailor said and leaned against the mast, sore and out of breath. Now that was news!

“Ten degrees port. I'll be back in an hour to adjust,” Remus said and strutted his way down to the main deck. It wasn't often his crew took on prisoners—hostages, sure, but no one who could be a threat. And this guy stupidly attacked all on his own for no obvious reason! Remus was giddy about the prospect of torturing the information he needed out of the prisoner—mind games and flashing his chesticles, and then the painful stuff.

He grabbed a lantern and descended into the belly of his ship. The violent screams and rattling chains against the salt-stained wood were certainly loud enough to make him think someone was enjoying tormenting their prisoner, probably not in a fun way, but when he stepped into the brig, the only person there was trapped behind iron bars.

In the dim light, Remus couldn't help but admire the person. He had long dark hair and piercing purple eyes that could hypnotize a weaker pirate. He was bare save for a ratty pair of pants and the cuffs around his wrists that pinned him to the wall. His strong arms were straining in a vain attempt to break free, and Remus was sorely tempted to run his tongue over them and his muscular torso.

“A c��l tona!” the prisoner snarled and spat at the captain.

“I don't know what that means, but I'm assuming you just called me a sexy little baby!” Remus jeered, “And you're right! I am!”

“Dickhead!” the prisoner growled, “Let me go!”

“Now that's not very nice! Even if I let you go, you'll just try to kill me and my crew! And then you'll never find your pelt!” Remus jeered and leaned against the bars, fluttering his lashes.

“I'm not becoming a slave to a grimy bastard like you!” the selkie snapped, bearing his sharp, trident-like teeth.

“No? But you were being sent off to become a concubine for the soon-to-be king!” Remus gasped with mock innocence.

“What?!” the selkie yelled, more offended by the prospect of being married off than the idea that this imp was trying to annoy him.

“Isn't that why your queen sent you? To form an alliance with the birdbrain?”

“I'm not going anywhere near the Phoenix Prince and if you even think of sending me to him I will rip your throat open and throw you to the orcas!”

“Kinky! But I don't even know your name!” Remus jeered, “You can call me Remus.”

“Unlock the chains, Remus.”

“Tell me what to call you first,” Remus teased and entered the cell.

“Virgil.”

“Ooh!” Remus giggled and pulled his keys from his belt, “Now that's a name I’d love to scream in bed!”

“I'll kill you before you can force me into that. I'm not some pathetic human man you can use and throw away,” Virgil hissed. Remus decided not to acknowledge that remark, if only to keep his thoughts in check. He unlocked the chains, fully expecting Virgil would run to find his pelt and leave.

“Ack!”

Remus found himself pinned to the wall by the neck with his feet dangling over the floor. Virgil was glaring at him with the most lethal gaze—it was enough to make Remus shiver and blush.

“Now, you're going to take me to where you hid the princess and your bullshit crew will hand her over or I get to have my fun,” Virgil said and reached for Remus' belt.

Remus was stunned. Was this hot man about to take off his pants? Did he know that Remus had different parts than most guys? Was this seal man just as aroused as him?

Virgil snatched Remus' dagger and held the blade to Remus' throat. If Remus wasn't aroused before, he certainly was then!

“You need to explain what you mean by fun, because I am getting the wrong idea!”

“I'll turn you into chum. So release her.”

“Why? Why do you want the princess? What are you going to do with—?” Remus asked, only for the knife to press into his throat more. Virgil was not messing around.

“Negotiations. If Prince Roman won't stop you pirate bastards from trafficking my kin, she might be willing to help,” he explained coldly.

“My brother has zero control over outlaws!” Remus giggled, “There's no way he could help, even if he wanted to!”

“You're—”

“Remus. Captain Remus of the Kraken’s Booty, the most influential pirate bastard on the seas, and a royal pain in the ass—unless you want me to experience that instead, I’m more than willing,” Remus cut him off, “And you're the first selkie I ever captured!”

“Foc!” Virgil snapped and dropped Remus on his ass. He tossed the dagger aside and ran his hands over his face. This cute brat was the person he was looking for—and he wasn't a hostage! How was he supposed to face his queen now? He had one job and it was ruined!

Remus huffed and got to his feet. He was not pleased that his life wasn't in danger anymore—this selkie was hitting all the right buttons to make him weak in the knees.

“Why so upset?” Remus cooed and wrapped his arms around Virgil’s waist, “I can still help you and put a stop to the trafficking—and you can help me too.”

Virgil went rigid as Remus ran his hands over his fuzzy abs.

“What do you want?” Virgil bristled and dared glance at Remus. He regretted it as soon as their eyes met. The little imp was far too adorable to resist. He had to be part siren with his unnatural allure.

“To make you want me! I love a man who can kick my ass and threaten me with a good time! Do you know how hard it is to find someone like that? Much less someone who's hot as hell!”

Virgil was beet red and trembling. This bratty imp was feeling him up and he actually liked being held at knife point. Those deft fingers were curling in his body hair, tickling poor Virgil in the sultriest way. He was seriously considering sticking around anyway, since he couldn't face the queen without having a ton of explaining to do, but the electric touch was making it all the more appealing.

And then those hands cupped his firm, beefy pecs, kneading them appreciatively.

All bets were off and he hoisted Remus up, slamming him against the wall so he was eye level.

“You're gonna regret this,” he growled and leaned in. Remus wondered if he would, right before Virgil captured his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip.

Remus wouldn't regret a damn thing.

[quartzhearted]

[ 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 ] :  receiver  notices  sender  looking  at  them  longingly. (( he’s sizing you morion, do you take his challange? Spar buddy search 2 ))

Surely him? He looked strong and big enough. Hmm…Though on its own that did not indicate any real strength that beorc could possess. This he knew. After all, Altina had not the biggest nor tallest of beorc, yet her might and use of blades had been enough to match his.

Still, Dheginsea wonders if that man could really survive a proper blow from him without being inches away from death.

fresh off the tail of an axe class, morion decides to practice his axe throwing (running a few rounds with the students tends to remind him of things he's been slacking on). he's relegated to using tiny training axes instead of the hulking mass of metal that his tomahawk is, but he's training more for the accuracy anyways.

he starts from a standard distance between himself and the dummy targets---ten paces, just the bare minimum for range training. a few satisfactory tosses has him step back a few paces, then a few paces more; there comes a point where he's way too out of range for it to be reasonable, but that's not stopping him.

with a particularly good throw and an impeccable battle roar for good measure, morion throws a training axe from almost outside of the training grounds. his aim is true but his strength was excessive; as a result, the axe punctures through the dummy and continues onward until it hits the stone wall backing the targets. oops.

scratching his head, morion returns to collect his axes from various parts of the ground---some in the dirt, some in the dummy, and the recent one that cracked against the wall. this was nice and all, but it was also somewhat boring. stationary dummies were easy to hit. it would be nicer to practice against something that actually moved.

and it's when he has that thought that morion picks up on a feeling of being watched. a quick scan around the training grounds shows him an older-looking man---perhaps around his age?---watching him from a place he hadn't noticed earlier. the man has a spectacular mustache, pointed ears, and a... tattoo? certainly nothing like the people he's seen in brodia... or anywhere else, for that matter. with how stocky he looks, surely that guy has some strength to back up the style of that 'stache.

"hey, you! over there!" morion calls with a brilliant yet challenging smirk. "i see you watchin' me. why don't ya come on down and help me out with some trainin'? i think it'd do us both some good!"

[pascaloverx]

As It Was

Chapter Four

previous chapter next chapter

Summary: Team meeting with intriguing moments between James Barnes and Melisa.

Warnings: Future use of physical violence, possible strong language, and upcoming adult content. Minors are advised not to read or engage with this story.

Entering the cabin, I find Sam Wilson, Yelena Belova, and Wanda Maximoff standing in front of two monitors in the middle of the cabin. Sam seems to be analyzing Barnes and me, almost as if he can suspect that something is going on between us. As Barnes' best friend and our wedding godfather, he always made it clear that our divorce was a mistake. Dave, on the other hand, has always been in favor of the divorce and spent the entire way giving Barnes dirty looks. Dave is the best friend that college life gave me, so he has this theory that I deserve much more than James Buchanan Barnes can offer.

"Nice to see you're still in the habit of getting involved in situations you can't handle on your own, Barnes," Yelena says as she leans against the chair near the monitors. Wanda, who is sitting in the chair, nudges her.

"Missed you too, Belova. How was the honeymoon?" Barnes replies as he helps me take off my coat. It seems we're being cordial with each other, skirting around years of romantic and sexual frustration. Fun times.

"It was great, by the way. Thanks a lot for not showing up at your best friend's wedding and making her abandon an undercover mission to come clean up your mess.” Yelena seems upset with Barnes, which I can't blame her for. After the divorce, Mr. Handsome over there thought it would be a great idea to disappear from the friend circle and bury himself in work.

"I didn't force you to come here, Belova. God knows no one would blame you for not wanting to get involved in this. Actually, I wouldn't blame any of you." Barnes says as we all sit in the middle of the cabin, feeling the discomfort of this moment.

"If you're done with the reunion moment, I'd like to point out that regardless of our feelings for Barnes now, him being imprisoned or dead for a crime he didn't commit won't make anyone happy." I decide to interject, sensing the beginning of an unproductive argument. There's no time to waste.

"Melisa is right. First, we save the guy, then we can condemn him for being a neglectful friend. I hope everyone agrees with me because I have an idea on how to gather evidence that Killian and Barnes aren't partners." Dave speaks as he sits in the chair next to Wanda's.

"As everyone in this room probably knows, Killian is known for being a major smuggler who loves selling information that would jeopardize the security of this country. He's also known for having a highly uncontrollable temper when he feels he's being double-crossed. Just ask his last partner, who, after striking a deal with an agent, was found with one ear less. We can't underestimate him for a moment." Sam speaks as we stare at the central monitor showing images of Killian, along with information about him. His real name isn't Killian, but he chose that name when he entered the criminal life. Little is known about him because he's powerful enough to erase all traces of his childhood. It's estimated that he's nearly forty years old. He's part of a group of people whose families were killed or ruined by the government. We have some photos of him, and I must say he looks extremely dangerous and attractive. Impeccable muscles and face, eyes almost like a type of ice blue. Clean-shaven with a predominant mustache. Officially, I pity whoever has to get close to him to spy on him. Along with his photos and information, we also have images of Killian's former accomplice, and let's just say he won't need the rest of his ear.

"In my way here, I found out that our favorite criminal here is dealing some weapons and information in Las Vegas. After a bit of digging, I found out he owns one of the most famous nightclubs there. Not just for its popularity but for the deals that go down inside. He's staying at the Ocean Dry Hotel, which is near the Kill of the Night Club. Guess who managed to hack into the hotel's system and secure suites on the same floor as our target?" Dave says, clearly proud of himself. Dave has always been an exceptional hacker, and thanks to the time I convinced Barnes to get him out of what would've been a stint in jail, he's been a nearly exemplary citizen.

"The plan here would be for someone to, I don't know, seduce Killian and wiretap him?" Wanda says as she watches the images of Killian attentively. Yelena and she exchange comments, details they probably don't want curious people like me to hear.

"More specifically, we need someone who fits Mr. Killian's type and can wiretap him to gather information that clears Barnes and finds the real culprit. I can handle the wiretapping part and even download data from Killian's notebook or computer. But unfortunately, he usually gets involved with regular, attractive yet straightforward women. Ironically, the fatally sensual type triggers an alarm for him. And he enjoys small challenges, so I recommend someone who's committed, even if it's falsely." Dave replies, smiling. He seems to have a plan in mind as he looks at me. I already know I'm in trouble.

"Yelena and Wanda are more qualified for this mission than I will be in years, no matter how much you look at me like that." I speak, looking at Dave and then seeking some support by glancing at Yelena and Wanda. Unfortunately, they look at me as if they're going to let me down. How could they think I could handle this?

"Unfortunately, Meli, your best friend and I are in the middle of a secret mission. If any of us are caught doing this, it would be disastrous."  Yelena approaches me, and I just shake my head, seeking understanding in anyone's eyes here, including my ex's. He seems to be the only one who understands how badly I can mess up this situation. It's not because I don't know how to defend myself or shoot someone if necessary. It's because the man I have to seduce is literally a professional at lying, killing, and torturing people. How can I even believe I'll fool him? 

"One moment, are you all forgetting that we're talking about Melisa Harrison, the woman whose romantic resume consists of a failed marriage and almost no other experience?" I take it upon myself to state what's as obvious to me as the fact that the sun rises in the east.

"It's too risky to put her in action like this. Killian is known for not being tolerant, and it's not fair for her to risk herself for me." Bucky says, his arms crossed, while Sam looks at him as if he really wants to agree with his old partner. I miss the times when Sam used to come over on weekends, watching the game with Barnes while I let him test his culinary skills in our kitchen.

"As beautiful as it is for you two to join forces and arrive at the natural conclusion that our beloved Melisa isn't the ideal person for the mission, she's perfect. Not to mention, I'll be there with her. You should be more concerned about the fact that I'm not sure if I can be a convincing straight guy. No offense, darling." Dave looks at me as if he wants to say, "I'm sorry, my dear, but you have to accept what fate throws your way." I've known this man for at least ten years, so it's not the first time he has irritated me like this.

"I'm not offended, I just want to make it clear to all of you that you didn't even dare to mention it because you know I'll accept this for obvious reasons. So, rest assured, if something goes wrong, I'll be the most talkative hostage the world has ever seen."  I really wish they felt sorry for me, or at least that Dave had a bit more sympathy in his eyes. But in this line of work, there's no room for pity or hesitation. We have to face the challenges head-on, no matter how difficult they may be.

"Now that we've established that Dave and Melisa are going to Vegas, maybe we should bring someone who knows how to handle a gun along. Plus, this person can pretend to be Melisa's love interest and thus capture the target's attention. As you all know, Killian has a thing for taken women." Sam says, while I find it interesting that he has a long history of quick affairs with committed women and that Dave is so competent that he made a whole dossier about Killian.

"I know someone who might be a good partner for this mission. That would leave Sam available to look after Bucky." I say. It looks like I'm going to have Steve Rogers as my partner.

"How do you know he won't rat us out if you suggest this madness to him?" Now Yelena says this with a certain concern in her voice. I must admit there's a huge risk in involving a man I don't know as well in this story, but I feel that the honorable Mr. Rogers won't let me down on this one.

"You'll have to trust me, just as I trust that you wouldn't send me on a mission that put my life at risk. Are we clear?"  I've just started this life of espionage, and I'm already feeling confident about leading our next steps.

"I like it when you get bossy; it shows him who's in charge. So, once we're back from Las Vegas, we'll gather again and collect the necessary information to move forward with our little adventure to save Barnes's reputation. And I don't need to remind you that if any trace of him surfaces, I need to be informed. You're all dismissed.”   Dave says, and everyone seems to understand that it's time to leave, which means everyone else will be gone, and I'll be left with him. Specifically with him.  Yelena heads toward the exit, accompanied by Wanda, who mutters something in my ear as she's leaving, along the lines of, "Next time, I promise she'll be in a better mood," and I just nod in agreement. Sam and I came to the conclusion that if he's going to babysit Barnes, he would need at least this night to sort his things out and have a solo moment. I agreed because I know I'm not the only one struggling with Bucky's return to our lives. I mean, Yelena is pissed because she sided with Barnes during the divorce, and then he vanished from her life like he was running away. Sam is bothered because he was Barnes's partner, and even that didn't stop him from disappearing from his life. Interestingly enough, Dave was surprisingly chill about the whole situation, almost as if he had been waiting for a Mission Impossible-style meeting his whole life. He's not a big fan of Barnes, but he seems fine with having to take the risk with me in this whole story. At the end of the night, it's just Barnes and me in the cabin. Dave said he'll wait for me to contact Rogers to pack his bags. I only realized I was alone with my ex when I saw Dave walking out the door. Whose idea was it to leave me here to keep him company right after the conversation we had earlier?

"I'll make two things clear: I don't want to discuss what we were talking about in the forest, and I don't want to debate my involvement in this mess. Got it?" I'm loving my new attitude. Maybe I'll have to use all this confidence in the coming weeks. Bucky smiles as he looks at me, his eyes slightly narrowed.

"In fact, I'd like to practice some techniques that will be useful for when you're risking your life for your ex who definitely doesn't deserve it."  Now it's my turn to smile. He looks cute when he admits he doesn't deserve something he actually does. Our relationship may have deteriorated, but not enough for me to believe he doesn't deserve help.

"I don't know if you're aware, but I had self-defense classes throughout my adolescence into a good portion of my adult life. Not to mention, I know how to defend myself, you know. Our best dates were at shooting ranges. So, what do you think you have to teach me?" This doubt has always lingered, even though he's been careful not to show it to me. Whether I like it or not, Bucky's lack of confidence in me has shaken my self-esteem. 

"Seducing a powerful criminal isn't the same as seducing me. You weren't deceiving me when we were together; there was no reason to lie or deceive. It's not the same with Killian. There, you'll have to lie all the time."  Now, this seems like a joke. Does he seriously doubt my ability to lie? I've been lying my way through the past few days, even to myself.

"Do you think that in two years of dating and three years of marriage, I never lied or deceived you?"  I guess his confidence in our marriage is shaken now, little does he know I'm lying again. Rarely have I ever had to lie in our relationship.

"What moments did you lie to me?" Good question Barnes, but I'll change the subject as soon as I can.

"Moments that you probably would have preferred me to lie to you, believe me, love. Now, let's grab some pajamas and bedding." Subject change successfully executed, a tactic my father taught me years ago: change the subject when the current topic doesn't suit you.

"Come here, just a second..." Bucky takes my waist as if pulling me into a dance, and I lose my breath for a few seconds. Our faces are so close that the most natural reflex I have is to look at his lips. That's when I understand what I have to do. I'm going to use this opportunity to teach my ex a lesson and, at the same time, practice my seductive skills. I run my right hand down his face, gently. He seems to enjoy my touch; his eyes close slowly as I stroke his cheek. I kiss him, aiming to be fierce yet patient at the same time. He responds to the kiss, pulling me closer to the countertop near the kitchen. I feel that leaning on the countertop will give me more stability. James seems to understand that. I touch his hair, trying to bring us even closer, while my personal space is completely invaded by James Barnes. I lose myself in him, while he's lost in me. That's what I'm feeling. I sit on the countertop without breaking the kiss. However, we have to interrupt the kiss slightly as he guides me to sit on the countertop. My legs wrap around Barnes' waist, and I finally take the initiative to hold onto Barnes' neck. That's when I realize I should stop. It didn't feel right. So, I push Barnes away and get off the countertop. He seems to be too confused. Well, not just confused, but that's the most assertive way to describe how he appears. 

"I think it's clear now that I can seduce someone without your help. Perhaps we can continue this on another occasion, but for now, let's forget what happened here and go to bed." I turn, heading towards the bedroom, with Barnes following me, murmuring things like: "But why?" or "Can't we pick up where we left off?"

"If you come to bed with me, I promise to let what happened go," he says. I smiled as I found a pajama that fits him and bed sheets, knowing for sure he's sleeping on the couch tonight.

"Sleep well, Barnes. I need to rest too because tomorrow I have to convince the world out there that I have no idea where you are, all while convincing Rogers to help us. So go to sleep and try not to commit any crimes while I am sleeping." And so I go to sleep, trying to convince myself that what I just did wasn't a complete act of insane madness.

[ladytabletop]

1d10 silly merchant ideas please

Bells are sewn into the seams of all their clothing. "It gets your attention, doesn't it?" they ask with a wink. Their wares are flashy, maybe even gaudy, but the make is impeccable.

There is a badger sitting behind the booth. It wears a small pointy red hat. It doesn't speak, but if you try to take goods without paying, or haggle too low, it lets out a snarl and reaches its claws toward you.

The merchant in a wheelchair pulls a small rickshaw full of polearms behind them. They move at a speed that snaps the banner at the back of their cart taut. "Spears two for one deal!" It proclaims.

The shop at first appears deserted, its shelves mostly bare. A gnome pops into existence on a high shelf. "One moment, one moment!" he waves his hand to dismiss a spell. The shop's appearance flickers to a lush greenhouse, an icy refuge, and finally a stocked shop.

Their mustache is distracting - it's at least four times as wide as their face and price tags dangle from it. "They are for charms!" they assure you. "Would you care for a demonstration?"

A sign by the roadside points straight up. "Magical Goods", it reads. Sure enough, a small tent hovers fifty feet up with no visible means of access. A woman sticks her head out and beckons you with a grin.

"If you can catch me, you can buy from my shop!" the merchant shouts as they sprint past you, a heavy pack on their back.

"Psst." A voice hisses from the shadows. "Quality goods, freshly important. Down here." A manhole cover is shoved aside and the man drops down the shaft.

"One price, one draw." The merchant is garbed in rags with a bag of holding in front of them. "Reach in and see what you get. No returns, no exchanges."

"Mail-order only." The hooded figure speaks sternly. "Pick an item from the catalogue, pay up front. Delivery guaranteed in the month."

all d10 lists

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

NETFLIX PERSUASION LIVE REACTION

Okay, so far not so bad

*Anne drinks wine from the bottle, "single and thriving*... nevermind.

I say, What an oddly proportioned bed!

This is a lovely room... for, say a cottage.

Isn't the point of Anne that she doesn't have any hope of Wentworth? Isn't that what this whole thing is about?

Wait I'm sorry I didn't see what Mrs clay was saying there I was busy staring at her... wayward figure

Anne did you wake up in a daze that your put your blouse on the OUTSIDE of your dress?

I like these Crofts.

I wouldn't even mind the fourth wall breaking, if this dialogue was anything Anne Elliot would ever say.

Is that a shift?

If this was TRYING to be Tumblr Dialogue absurdist Jane Austen I would LOVE the empath line, but it's not trying to be that so I can't.

I'm struggling because I hate this scene of her with the wine bottle at the window but she's wearing a shift under those stays and that butters many parsnips for me.

Your hair is also suitability... appropriate *her hair looks like she just rolled out of bed*

That is... too big to be Uppercross Grange. This is as bad as the House Inflation in Emma.

Could we have cast someone [as Wentworth] who actually has a jaw please? Just once?

Oh look a brief glimpse of actual dialogue!

"Charles wanted to marry me first!" WHO IS THIS WINE AUNT?

Hilarious that Charles hasn't even like talked to Anne in this version?

I need to roll that back, because I must not have any occasion to miss this terrible dialogue -- my sister

*laughing at the blackbeard line*

This is not dance music

Wow do you have enough mascara on?

Oh I see she finally decided to put her hair up

Self-care! The words "self-care" just... *pounds chair arm* CAPPUCCINO! --my sister (fun-fact, the cappuccinos we know today were first known to exist IN ITALY, in the 1930's)

The height difference between Mary and Charles here is about the difference between Alice and Jasper in the Twilight books

This guy would make a better Edward Ferrars

Shifts but no bonnets...

The location cards on this movie out here in your face like the new covers for the Twilight books

What is with them and casting my sisters babies as Harvill? First Joseph Mawle now Edward Bluemel

Take a drink every time Anne takes a drink

Can we stop casting musicians as Austen heros?

"You've never had trouble speaking for yourself." Ummm

Ah yes schmoozing, prostrating oneself before the superiority of woman, very attractive

The only thing Henry Golding would be good for in my estimation is playing Sulu by that ship has sailed. He's too mustache twirly for anything else

I want Anne's green redingote

I just wanna say "hes a ten--I never trust a ten" has the same flavor as "my mother's oft repeated warning echoes in my ears: never trust a man who can dance" from Fifty Shades of Grey. Even if that line wasn't in the movie the association is enough to make me cackle like a fish wife.

I love how Anne always has a hangover in the morning

Richard E. Grant is just such a perfect Sir Walter

Okay for what this is, Dakota Johnson is actually doing a fine job

This is one of those Period dramas where all the awful characters are dressed impeccably well in things that you want to wear SO BADLY and the character you're supposed to "relate to" is dressed like a slovenly peasant, because the people making the film think that tasteful and intricate clothing is bougie and ostentatious. Like bitch you don't understand what ostentatious was in 1816.

The Octopussy speech... I... *downs whole glass of dry Vermouth*

Bitch what quiet dignity? You put jam on your lip!

I like everything about this version except for the leads, her costumes and the dialogue

He just does not cut a fine figure in his uniform. He's not dashing.

Is this concert in the daytime????

THOSE GLOVES ARE FISHNET

Why does that dress not fit

Put a feather in her hair and she'd look like a whore

Here we've all been bemoaning Dakota Johnson when the worst thing about this adaptation is what they've done to Wentworth.

I'm changing it from taking a drink every time Anne does to "every time Anne is a total wino"

Edward Bluemel is such a wonderful Harvill.

"The Universe" is invoked so many times here because we're allergic to religion

Bath Marathon? BATH MARATHON!

Guys the problem is I'm not moved at all. I feel nothing. At all.

What is this music?

Oh look a wedding! That's different

Why is Mr Elliot even in this version?

If he was a better Wentworth I would be really enjoying this wedding day sextant scene

My sister: *slurring because we've had a lot of prosecco* did she just wink.

Afterthoughts

Not Enough of the crofts

I'm VERY dissapointed that this petty bitch wino version of Anne didn't get to go off about Dick Musgrove. Which just proves that this is an adaptation of the Cliff Notes and not the actual book.

[dual-domination]

I posted 662 times in 2022

97 posts created (15%)

565 posts reblogged (85%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@the-marron

@huntress1013

@jaimebluesq

@zhu-yilong-laying-on-things

@pangzi

I tagged 591 of my posts in 2022

Only 11% of my posts had no tags

#guardian - 78 posts

#dmbj - 71 posts

#zhu yilong - 71 posts

#zhao yunlan - 65 posts

#mdzs - 61 posts

#wu xie - 50 posts

#bai yu - 42 posts

#shen wei - 42 posts

#nie mingjue - 42 posts

#the untamed - 37 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#i just wouldn't take xiexie to the desert island bc if he and zyl are there i'm going to stay alone.... if you know what i mean jksjkskjs

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I am so sorry, but you two made my day. Literally made me giggle like a teenager. Thank you so much. OK, new ask.

Pairing: Lan XiChen x Jiang Wanyin

AU : The frazzled babysitter

You're welcome! It's my pleasure to serve the humor and comedy 😆

So here we go again:

Little menaces

Xichen tried to not give up. Coffee and energetic drinks weren't working anymore. He wondered why his didi and his (twice?) brother-in-law got cute sweet children like a-Yuan and tiny romantic Zizhen, meanwhile he got Jingyi and a-Ling. Just one of them was enough to make him keep the two eyes very open, but the two, together… a true nightmare. A-Ling would fight over his jiujiu's attention - against Jingyi AND against Xichen. And Jingyi would fight back because… well, because he was who he was: the less Lan of all Lans. 

LXC: Sometimes I wonder if there's any chance of Jingyi being actually a Nie changed at birth…

JC: Sometimes I wonder HOW Wei Wuxian managed to raise such a calm son while a-jie's child is… this full-time upset baby Peacock…

JL: A-Ling is not a peacock! 

JC: Your dad is a Peacock, and so are you.

JL: Mean jiujiu!

LXC: Wanyin, making them cry won't help…

JC: Helps me to get my revenge for what they've done to us.

LXC: They're just small babies… we have to love them.

JC: I love my peacock nephew. 

JL: A-Ling is going to tell everything to xiaoshushu!

JC: Just like you, he's not a big thing. 

LJY: Jin Ling is a coward!

JL: And you are what??

LJY: I'm a fucking badass NIE!

Next time they'd have to babysit, Jingyi definitely would stay with Mingjue and a-Yao, even at risk of learning at least five more bad words and cursing to Lan Qiren's horror.

47 notes - Posted August 10, 2022

#4

Now that my husband loves Mo Dao Zu Shi, I can send him stuff I find on Tumblr. So I sent this one for him...

And he sent it back to me and told me he fixed it:

He doesn't want to be a Lan anymore. He wants to be a Nie, have a respectable mustache and qi-deviate like man.

He says: The Mustache is Canon.

93 notes - Posted July 8, 2022

#3

POV: Meng Yao never left Qinghe

Part 1:

* MY, immersed in business papers. *

NMJ: What are you doing?

MY: Long-term investments.

NMJ: For what?

MY: For good reasons.

NMJ: I was not consulted. 

MY: War is your business, investments are mine.

NMJ: Shall I remind you who Qinghe Nie Sect belongs to?

MY and NHS looking at each other from opposite sides of the room.

NHS: Da-ge, shall I remind you who you belong to?

NMJ: I sense a conspiracy here…

( @novas-grimoire I blame that tweet... and my obsession in Nieyao fix-it stuff)

97 notes - Posted July 2, 2022

#2

It's been a while since my hand tremors returned and it's been rare for me to feel like painting - especially since I've lost a lot of motivation since Traditional Art has become underrated in light of digital art.

But then this wonderful Guardian fic by @the-marron left me overly emotional and I can't get out of my head everything I felt while reading.

So, Marron, a quick painting of someone who wished he had the talent to convey your impeccable writing on a canvas, but really just has a lot of feelings.

Fun fact: it's the first time in over twenty years of being part of fandoms that I've tried to paint something for someone else's fic.

You can find this little literary treasure here:

When I walk past the mountain peak, it doesn't speak

(It took a lot of courage to post this 😅)

140 notes - Posted August 31, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

See the full post

467 notes - Posted June 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[masterofrecords]

Angstober day 12: Eyes

Lie, Lie, Truth

“A marvelous deal, isn’t it?” Joel almost sang, leading his freshest customer out of the restaurant and handing him his coat, a picture of a gentleman. Joel had paid for them both, of course – with the money stolen from another patron – and the man was almost hooked. The naivety of some businessmen even in such a big city astonished Joel sometimes, but he wasn’t complaining so long as it provided a living for him and his family.

A deep look in the man’s eyes to seal the deal, a tiny hypnotic nudge in the right direction – maybe an overkill, but better to be safe than sorry. Once the advance payment was secured, Joel bid his victim goodbye and went his own merry way, discarding the disguise as soon as he was out of sight.

That mustache had been flashy but uncomfortable.

Joel lit up his pipe unhurriedly and blew out fragrant smoke as he watched the nearly full moon. He was running out of tobacco – Joel made a mental note to write to his brother to ask if he could still get any more from the fey world. It would truly be a loss if the gateway had fully closed; as much as Joel thrived in the world of humans, some things still couldn’t compare.

His eyes flickered, getting used to the darker street, and Joel idly wondered if any of the passers by could tell how his appearance was slipping – on some nights it was more tempting than usual to let the fur grow out, to tear his fangs into someone’s throat and achieve victory not with diplomacy, but with brute strength.

Of course, his best weapons were not claws or fangs, but his silver tongue and blue eyes – a dash of magic weaved through them both. But a fox would never stop being a predator, and a fey would never stop causing mischief – some instincts ran deeper than the persona he had carefully crafted for himself.

His last appointment for the night, he was fashionably late to. This one required a particular air of mystery to it, after all – and Joel was nothing if not meticulous.

“Lord Stapleton, thank you for your patience,” he bowed with the elegance of the high-bred aristocrat that he’d never been. “Apologies, I was held up on other business.”

“If what you’re saying is true, then it is more than worth a little inconvenience. Do you have the document with you?”

Joel did. He’d spent a whole week making a believable enough forgery, after all – there was no forgetting the most crucial item in this con. As Stapleton inspected it and tried to confirm its authenticity, Joel allowed himself to relax. This was the time to appear bored; slightly offended even. They were two gentlemen, surely they could believe each other’s word?

Out of the corner of his eye though, he still kept watching Stapleton, noting his reactions.

It went smoothly after that. This time, Joel’s eyes were pure honesty as he accepted the “old” scroll back and negotiated the price.

“You better not be fooling me, Lord Silverline,” Stapleton said suddenly as they were about to go their separate ways. “I’d be very upset if you were.”

Joel’s eyes widened in fake offense and worry, “Lord Stapleton, how could I!”

His gaze crossed with Stapleton’s heavy one, and for a moment he wondered if he’d missed some crucial detail to the con, but surely that was impossible. He’d been doing this for too long to make mistakes, his character was impeccable and he knew for sure the forgery had no flaws. Even when Stapleton arrived at the location and found nothing, he could feign innocence and tell Stapleton that century-old documents were hardly the most reliable. It wasn’t Joel’s – Lord Silverline’s – fault.

Despite all the self-reassurance, Joel left the alleyway slightly disturbed. There was no calling the deal back now, but he worried. For a moment Joel wondered if he could visit Mari so she could soothe his worries, but at this time of night, she was probably still entertaining clients.

Instead of going to the brothel to wait for her, Joel went home. She’d already done her part here, and had her hands full with their little son – he felt it would have been unfair to bother her with more probably groundless worry.

He thought he caught a glimpse of someone following him, and knew it was the right decision. Whether it was paranoia or real danger, Joel quickened his steps and slipped into the inconspicuous flat, knowing he’d be moving out the next morning once the streets were sufficiently busy.

He looked in the mirror, watching the bright blue reflected in the misty surface. Mari had often said that she loved his eyes, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she had seen them on his true form. Perhaps this was the time?

The thrill of potential danger spurred him on, and he truly thought about the idea he had only distantly entertained before.

Joel sat down at his desk and dipped the quill in the inkwell. There was only one person he’d trust to keep track of his most precious belongings and to keep an eye on Mari and Thomas if something went wrong – so he wrote to his brother, joking and reassuring him, and desperately trying not to let the nerves show.

Dante would know, of course. Dante was the only person Joel couldn’t lie to, another fox, another trickster. Dante would know and would tell Joel to stop being stupid, stop running cons and stop running from his family, and then Joel would have enough courage to tell Mari the truth, all of it, for the first time.

(And Dante knew, but the post office had never been very reliable. By the time Dante knew, Joel had been dead for nearly two weeks.)

-----

Ugghhh. I had such high hopes for this one, but it ended up being a mess. I realized way too late that it was more prelude to the angst than actual angst, then tried to make it currently angsty, and the whole thing just spiraled. But whatever, I might come back to it one day, for now it’s done.

All my angstober is here!

[aquietwritingcorner]

Writers Month Day 2: Cold/Coffee Word Count: 2203 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: G/K Characters: Major Miles, Olivier Mira Armstrong, Captain Buccaneer Warning: NA Summary: Ephraim Miles has been transferred to Fort Briggs, and is more than a little unsure of his position there. Notes: I know that the idea of Miles being married and having a wife is due to an early fan translation and not the official translations of the manga, but I find it fun to play with! AO3 || ff.net

 _________________________________

 Cold/Coffee

 Whoever had told Ephraim Miles that Fort Briggs was cold had been wrong. Fort Briggs was colder than the underside of an ice cube. He had never felt a cold as deep as this, which, he supposed was part of the reason he was here. Miles was under no illusions as to why he had been transferred not only to the north, but specifically to Fort Briggs.

It was because of his Ishvalan blood. It was because he was a risk to the military. It was because they were suspicious that he could be a traitor to the military in favor of Ishval. (Could he be sure that they were wrong? Even he wasn’t sure.)

He had settled his wife and daughter in a home in North City. It wasn’t much, but it was what they could find at the time. People weren’t as willing to rent or sell to him when they saw his looks. It had been difficult. Karissa was going to look for them a better home while he was gone. She was a smart, strong, shrewd woman, and Miles has confidence in her abilities. He trusted her judgement. She would be alright. His daughter would be alright.

He just hoped that he would be alright.

Miles squinted and looked out at the frozen ground beyond him He had been dropped by the transport at the beginning of the road that led to the fort. Apparently, he was to walk the rest of the way. Well, so be it. It wasn’t as if complaining about it would make any difference. Shouldering his pack, Miles began the journey.

The wind cut through him as he walked, freezing him down to his bones. He distracted himself by going over what he knew about his new posting and his new commander. Fort Briggs was, basically, a giant wall that stretched from mountain to mountain in one of the more passable areas of the Briggs Mountains. For about five miles or so beyond it, the land was contested between Drachma and Amestris. Both countries claimed it. Neither had been quite willing to start a war over it. Both had people on it. There were regularly skirmishes on it.

The fort was currently under the command of Brigadier General Olivier Mira Armstrong. She had been in command of it for the past three years. Within those past three years the fort had gone from being regarded as little more then cannon fodder that would allow time for an alert to be raised and Northern Command to be mobilized to a force that would hold its own and beyond, giving no quarter, leaving no weakness, and using Northern Command as their back up.

The change could be laid at the feet of General Armstrong. She was one of Amestris’s elites, blonde haired, blue eyed, and, according to rumor, ruthless and cold. She came from a noble family, a wealthy family, who could trace its roots back to the founding of Amestris. Her family had a strong military tradition. She, herself, had been a member of special operations units, worked undercover missions, led troops in the west, and was successful in all that she did.

…Which made Miles wonder just what she was doing up here.

That wasn’t really his concern, though. He knew why he was here, and why she was here wasn’t important. What was more pressing to him, was what she would think of him. He had been sent to be her adjunct, and that meant that they would need a good sense of trust. And that was where his concern came in. She was a pure-blooded Amestrian with a pedigree that was impeccable. He was a mixed-breed mongrel with obvious roots of an enemy the military was fighting. He couldn’t discount the possibility that she would look at him, sneer, and immediately dismiss him.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

He could only deal with scenarios that could be for so long. He had braced himself for the worst and spent the rest of the time focusing on the landscape around him. He had been warned to stick to the road, and so he did. There was snow everywhere. It was an icy landscape, although, he noticed, not a barren one.  There were enclaves of trees dotting the landscape, and here and there he could see animals or the traces of where animals had been. The land itself had small dips and rolls in it, hard to see in the pure whiteness of the ground around them. They left him with the uncomfortable feeling that he was being watched, followed, and to be honest, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was.

It took him a few of hours of slogging through the snow to arrive at Fort Briggs. Learning to move through it had been tricky at first, but it really wasn’t that different then sand, once he got the hang of it, at least as far as the slickness of it. The difference was that in some places his footsteps sunk down in the snow as he walked. He quickly learned how to look for the places in the snow that looked either packed down or iced over enough that he wouldn’t sink. By the time he arrived at the fort, he was exhausted, sweaty, and absolutely freezing.

The fort itself was the most imposing building that he had ever seen. It had looked big when he got his first glimpse of it. It had grown larger and larger, rising to impossible heights. But more imposing than that was the woman who was waiting on one of the landings of the Fort.

She stood there, her hair down, her coat open, both blowing in the wind. A sheathed sword was in her hand, the sheath resting on her shoulder, and he had the distinct impression that she knew how to use it well. Her full lips were pursed, scowling, and her blue eyes pierced him, somehow colder than even the snow that was pelting his face. Behind her stood a hulking giant of a man, black hair in a mohawk that ended in a braid, a thin mustache, and a look that immediately told Miles where his loyalty lied

“We expected you sooner, Major,” her voice rang out, and command in it was clear. This was a woman used to commanding people and having orders followed. Her eyes swept over him.

Miles immediately saluted. “Apologies, General,” he said. He offered up no excuses or reasons for his apparently late arrival. He had none, and she didn’t think that this woman would accept them anyway.

For a moment, she said nothing, then just snorted and turned away. “Buccaneer! He’s all yours.”

“Yes, General, sir!” the hulking man said. He grinned down at Miles even as General Armstrong walked away. Somehow, Miles was not reassured. “Welcome to Fort Briggs, Cub,” he said. “Let’s see how fast you learn.”

Fort Briggs, Miles quickly learned over the next few weeks, was brutal. The rule of the land was survival, and the force driving everything was General Armstrong’s iron will. She was a terrifying woman, and he had barely had any interactions with her yet. He couldn’t figure out if that was because she rejected him as her adjunct, which meant that he shouldn’t count on staying here for long, or if she was just waiting for him to get through with his training period.

Miles had learned from Buccaneer that everyone who arrived at Briggs went through a six-week training period. It taught them the dangers of the mountains, of the winter, and the workings of the fort. Survival skills were heavily emphasized, as was an intimate knowledge of the fort. General Armstrong insisted that everyone know how the fort functioned so that in emergencies anyone could step up. According to Buccaneer—who wasn’t a bad fellow, just a little rough around the edges, and demanding in his requirements—even the general had gone through the same training when she arrived. It wasn’t an order then, though. She had chosen it herself, so that she would be able to understand and command effectively.

Miles could respect that.

However, the woman was still confusing to him. She clearly commanded the loyalty of her troops, almost to a fault. The men were both terrified and in awe of her. The only bad things anyone had to say about her were actually compliments from them, or things that they just brushed off, as one did a minor inconvenience.

She still had barely done more than glance his way.

Today, though, as he trudged back inside the fort, he stopped short in surprise. General Armstrong was standing there, looking over the troops as they came back in. Her eyes immediately darted to Buccaneer, who was being helped in by Stodds and Worshel, even as Lieutenant Jamin was speaking quickly to her. Her eyes met Miles’s for a moment, and he felt as if he were being assessed. Then the moment passed, and he was seeing to the rest of the patrol coming in and she was issuing orders.

The fort was locked down tightly. Everyone went on alert. Northern Command was contacted and anyone coming was ordered back. No unnecessary communications were permitted. It was standard procedure after a patrol was attacked by a Drachman patrol. Miles stayed up most of the night, writing his report on the incident and checking up on Buccaneer, who, Doc assured him, would be fine. He took his turn on the top of the fort during the coldest hours before daybreak. Aside from feeling as if he were freezing his sideburns off, nothing happened, and when he was relieved of duty, he gratefully came back inside. He was barely a dozen steps in, however, when he was suddenly stopped.

“Major.” He blinked, looking over at General Armstrong. She stood there, as if she had been waiting on him. “Walk with me.”

All he really wanted to do was find something warm to drink and go to bed, but all he said was “Yes, sir,” and followed her.

For a few moments, they walked in silence.

“Buccaneer told me what happened out there,” she said. She glanced at him. “He was rather complimentary of the way you took command.”

“Very kind of him, sir,” Miles commented back, non-committally.

She hummed. “Your training period is almost up,” she said. “You were assigned here to be my adjunct. But I don’t take commands on assignments in my fort from anyone.”

Miles just gave a neutral sounding noise. Here’s where it came. She was going to dismiss him or reduce his role. At least if he worked in the lower levels he’d be warmer. He hoped Karissa hadn’t put in an offer on that house yet.

“Instead,” she continued, “I wait until the training period is over, look at the data and recommendations, and then make the assignments from there. Just because Command thinks someone will work in a position doesn’t mean it holds true here at Briggs.”

That, Miles had to agree, was probably true. Briggs was definitely its own ecosystem, and there was no way that Command could accurately assign people to it.

“However, based upon your performances and Buccaneer’s recommendation, I have already made my decision on you.” She paused. “For the last week of your general training, after you finish, you will report to me for your training in how to be my second in command.”

Not expecting that, Miles’s feet stuttered, not exactly tripping, but definitely not a steady gait. “Sir?” he said, questioning.

She didn’t miss a beat. “You’ve proven yourself capable from the beginning. When you first arrived, you were late. It was because you were not provided with the proper equipment. Your coat was substandard, and you were not given snowshoes as you should have been. And yet you persevered and gave no excuse for your tardiness. It was ignorance on your part, I know, but your determination was still impressive. You approached every ounce of training with focus and attention, learning the workings of the Fort as well as survival here in Briggs quickly and without complaint. You’ve proven that you are intelligent and think on your feet. You are capable of accomplishing tasks even without the right tools.”

She pushed open a door, and gestured for him to follow her, continuing to talk. “You are exactly the kind of man we need here at Briggs, and the kind I need at my right hand. It will be a demanding job, but you are up to the task.”

They were in her office now, he realized, and she was waiting on something from him. There was, really, only one thing that he could say to that. He saluted. “Sir, it would be an honor.”

One side of her lips tipped up, as if she had been expecting this. “Good.” She turned away for a moment, and then faced him again, holding out a cup of coffee to him. “Let’s discuss your new duties.”

Miles took the cup, letting its warmth spread out on his hands. Maybe, just maybe, this was going to be a better posting than he thought.

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 33

Fandom: Marvel 

Summary: Based on “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​

[Somewhere in a universe far, far away…] 

There was a soft brush of fabric on the polished floor that accompanied the approaching steps of leather shoes. Frigga stopped a little to Heimdall's left. 

"What do your golden eyes see, my friend?" 

"They see many things, my queen." 

Bifrost glimmered in the million colors under their feet. Lines and flashes passed faster than the human eye could see. The sword that was the key to every way, waited in Heimdall's hands.

"What do you see of my troubled sons?" 

"They are both learning through new experiences." 

Frigga sighed. "Which usually means they’ve gotten in even more trouble. Tell me, what is it this time?" 

Heimdall stood tall on the dais, the armor forged in ancient times by the hands of legends half forgotten by time still impeccable. The worlds moved before his eyes, with no secrets hidden from the gaze of the All-Watcher. 

"They are faring well, my queen. Even Loki." 

"I had hoped that banishment to Earth would be a better choice than the dungeons." Frigga's hand clutched the gown over her heart. "What did he do this time?" 

A smile ghosted on the lips of the All-Watcher. "It appears that he's made friends. Quite close ones, I dare say." 

"Oh, dear," Freya repeated in a completely different tone. A wicked light played in her eyes. "Do tell, my friend." 

*

[The same universe, a little closer] 

Life in big cities bears a certain strain on everyone's minds. Despite what the newspapers, thirsty for anything and everything worthy and unworthy of filling the pages with, would like you to believe, life had always been difficult. 

Time is always lacking, and money is never enough, and no matter how much you strain your brain, it just sometimes happens that you might not remember about the things stored at the very back of your tiny shop, tucked cozily into the corner of a very calm street. 

"Well," the man said. "I had no idea that I still had those in the freezers. I could've sworn that I have cleaned them before the winter and left nothing except for the packed broccoli. It must be your lucky day, my boy." 

The boy indeed felt very lucky. It was not everyday that one could be sent out to fetch ice cream for a living god in the middle of winter. 

"Have a nice day, sir!" he called on his way out. 

The chilly breeze bit into his cheeks, warmed up in the comforting interior of the grocery. Snow shined on the few surfaces not yet stamped on. The sidewalk Peter chose was a slippery trap that only his spider senses got him through unscathed. 

Loki sensed his coming, and looked over his shoulder at the approaching boy. His other arm was currently wrapped around your shoulders, tucking you closer into him. Peter tried his best not to stare too openly, but couldn't stop the grin from splitting his face. He sat on the other side of the god, the bench icy cold. 

"Thank you, my boy." The god took the ice cream with obvious delight. It had been your idea to spend the few hours before Peter's totally-not-a-date trying out the goods New York had to offer. At first, Loki had snickered at the suggestion of trying out whatever ice cream was available in the middle of winter, but after a few interesting flavors were discovered, Loki apologized. There was an almost disturbing variety of flavors Loki couldn't even imagine existing. 

"You're welcome, Mr. Mischief. I'm sure there would be a bigger choice if it was summer. I always go to that one vendor two streets away from my house, because he has this special recipe that absolutely blows my taste buds away every time." 

"Sounds intriguing." Loki's mind conjured the last time his taste buds had been blown away. If he recalled that unfortunate event correctly, it had something to do with pizza and a bet. "But I think I'll pass for now." 

The look of pure adoration in the boy's eyes hadn’t  perished. 

"I still can't believe you won't get sick after having so many," you said, and watched Loki devour the caramel. 

"It must be nice to be a god," Peter sighed. "You have awesome superpowers, get to do what you want and they even make action figures of you…" 

Loki frowned. "The what?" 

Peter blanched. He started fumbling with his jacket and 'accidentally' looked at his watch. "Oh, I think I’ve gotta go, it's getting so late and I don't want to make MJ wait—" 

Loki reached out and fixed the hair Peter had been nervously fighting with for the past few hours they'd all spent outside. "Don't forget the ring, boy." 

"Thank you!" 

The boy was beaming on his way out of the park. 

"I'm never washing my hair again." 

The totally-not-a-date that was steadily approaching was something Peter wasn't sure he was ready for. So many things could go wrong—and he had already imagined most of them. It wasn't as if he couldn't sleep all night thinking about it, he just… Was busy. Thinking. 

Peter straightened the jacket that was in absolutely no need of straightening. His hand moved to his hair, but he stopped it halfway with a smile. It'd  been touched by the hand of god, so it was as good as it could ever get. 

On his way out of the park the three of you had been resting in for a while, Peter's mind was in a strange disarray of thoughts. However, he was still capable of noticing the interesting new graffiti decorating the Avengers' statues set up in the middle of the park. Whoever decided to redecorate them this time, certainly had a pair of skillful hands. The wild mustache covering half of Iron Man's face looked almost lifelike. 

Loki and you watched the boy leave, nervousness apparent in his every too-stiff step. 

"They grow up so fast," you sighed, leaning further into Loki. 

He nodded. His finger circled lazily around your shoulder, drawing spiralling patterns. Loki turned his head toward the memorial statues raised in the central part of the park. People took pictures in front of them, posing and smiling as they milled around. Those were the heroes, after all. Saviors of the day. 

Loki added a mustache to another statue. 

You noticed and eased a giggle. "They're going to be so pissed." 

"My very soul aches at that thought. What a terrible crime." 

The patterns changed as you shifted slightly. The presence on his shoulder was warm and softened by the fabric of clothes that kept the winter frost from you. 

"I thought using magic in this world was difficult." 

"It is.There's a lot more focus required to make it work than I'm used to. It's nothing dramatic, though. I've heard of worlds where the trickle of magic is even more strained, to the point where it barely exists at all." 

"Do you miss them? The other worlds, I mean. Like Asgard." 

The patterns changed again. They slowed down, became more deliberate. 

"Sometimes," was the honest answer and the one he gave after careful consideration. 

"Will you leave, then?" 

Loki looked down at his wrist, where a thin band of metal used to reside, blocking every and all effort he might take against leaving Earth or using magic in any form. It was no longer there, which meant, although it would be extremely difficult to conduct, Loki could technically leave. 

The only obstacle was that it was no longer his priority. 

"I've never been one to sit aimlessly on my ass for too long, and especially not when and where I had been forced to do so. I think I could name more than a few places I'd like to pay a visit," he admitted, putting his cheek on the top of your head. His throat bobbed slightly. "The only problem is that I just recently found out how terribly boring touring alone might be. It's a real wonder why anyone bothers to do so anymore, and," he swallowed, "I think I could use some company." 

Loki cursed himself for putting his head on top of yours, and blocking the view of your face. Especially as he still didn't get any answer. His heart jumped into his throat, making it difficult to breathe. 

"...I mean, I know it's still so early, and that's okay if you feel overwhelmed or unsure and I won't force you into anything more than you're willing to do—” 

Loki's rumbles were cut short when you finally moved to look up at him. The wild gleam in your eyes and a wicked smile so similar to his struck him dumb. 

"You'd never be able to leave this planet without me." 

A choked breath, so similar to a whispered name ghosted over his lips. "Of course I wouldn't. What would be the fun in that?"

*

[The galaxy, elsewhere] 

"Oh, dear," the queen broke the biscuit in half with perfect manners. Barely any crumbs dared to ruin the fragile dessert. "I guess he really is experiencing something new." 

Heimdall sipped the tea. Servants at the queen's quarters left them with a small table full of goods of the highest sort. The warm breeze played with the curtains with the subtle shimmer of gold. The trees rustled on the wind, losing old leaves to it. 

"He's also plotting an escape," Heimdall added. His helmet laid on his knee. 

Frigga waved the biscuit in a gesture that had very little to do with manners. "That sounds more like him." 

The softest hint of a smile graced her features. 

"I wonder what will become of him. Maybe it's in my nature as a mother, but no matter how much I try, I can't help but continue to worry about him, even after all these years." 

"I swore to keep an eye on him, and I will." Heimdall put a hand to his heart. There was no smile on his face, only seriousness as he recalled an oath he'd never break. 

"Thank you, my friend."

[airquietworks]

Lost at the Summit (IzuOcha) (Part 1)

Summary: Ochako and Izuku have just announced their retirement and are ready for their final days as professional heroes. But as Izuku soaks up the spotlight, Ochako finds her retirement largely ignored. She questions whether she truly did enough as a hero. But with some help from unexpected places, Izuku reminds her that her rescues left their mark. 

------------------------- Part 2, Part 3 Chapter 1: Ghost

 “Are you ready for this?”

It was a question that should not have made her falter. Ochako had steeled herself for this moment for weeks. Planning, anticipating, rehearsing for every question that could come. She spent countless hours agonizing over this culmination of everything she was and ever had been. “Nope. Still not.” How could she possibly be ready for the end? For the first death knell? To fall from the stars back to Earth? To leave everything she had worked so hard for? How could she be ready for the death of Uravity? How could she be prepared to watch her own hero fall?

"Are you ready for this?"

It was a question that should not have made her falter. Ochako had steeled herself for this moment for weeks. Planning, anticipating, rehearsing for every question that could come. She spent countless hours agonizing over this culmination of everything she was and ever had been.

"Nope. Still not."

How could she possibly be ready for the end? For the first death knell? To fall from the stars back to Earth? To leave everything she had worked so hard for?

How could she be ready for the death of Uravity? How could she be prepared to watch her own hero fall?

"Me neither," the hero in question, still bearing the name she gave him, replied with a sheepish smile. "But I guess there's nothing more we can do about it. Just have to take the plunge."

He had changed so much over the years, and yet his smile remained the same. At 57, Izuku still looked incredible, his physique holding up impeccably well, despite the odd wrinkle on his face, slightly greying hair, and the many scars across his body beneath that costume. Age was creeping up on him, but he was still Deku, however much he was wearing down.

He was holding up a lot better than she was.

"Guess so," Ochako replied. She breathed out a deep sigh and reached out to grasp his hand. It was weathered, but as always, felt right to hold. "Together then?"

"Together to face the world." He squeezed her hand in reply and put on his trademark heroic smile.

"And everything else," Uravity said with a beaming grin as the two stepped forward, partners through it all.

The rapid clicking of camera shutters as they took the stage with a wave was as bracing as ever. They were far more robust than usual today, the reporters eager to capture the rare joint press conference between the iconic husband-and-wife duo. It was only the second time they had done this; the last one had been 35 years ago when they had announced they were starting their hero agency. That attracted less than half the eyes peering at them now.

They each took one of the prepared seats at the table, emblazoned with their agency's star-filled logo. Aides had everything prepared in advance for them: microphones, water, and a wide berth. Absolutely professional.

"Thank you all for coming," Deku began, his smile unfaltering. "It's wonderful to see you all."

"We're truly grateful for your coverage," Uravity said, meeting the eyes of many of the reporters in the room. "We could not do what we do without you."

Charm the press as much as possible before unleashing the storm. That was the plan.

"It truly is a wonderful time for our world." Izuku picked it up, launching into the buildup to their proper announcement. "We have a time of unparalleled peace. I am proud to be part of an incredible generation of heroes that have helped bring crime to a standstill. I am also supportive of the efforts of our governments to address villainy at the root, and slowly move back from relying on professional heroes."

The next generation might be the last, they both knew. They were okay with that. The cycle of violence needed to stop eventually. They had pushed where they could to help bring about real, societal change.

"It is because of the current state of the world that we feel comfortable doing this," Izuku continued, his face suddenly becoming far stonier.

This was it - her cue. With a deep breath, she uttered the words that would change the world forever.

"We're retiring."

The room shuddered with the energy of the statement. "No!" Someone cried, completely losing composure. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd followed swiftly by the whirring of more camera shutters.

"Now, we know it may be alarming," Deku said with a little more force, his tone shifting to exude calm. "And it won't be right away - we haven't settled on an exact date, but we figure it will be roughly six months. We've given it a lot of thought, and we feel the time is right. We aren't getting any younger, and it's time to leave things to the next generation."

"We've both been able to achieve everything we set out to do when we started." Ochako did her utmost to maintain her composure, but it was difficult as she reflected on everything: fighting villains, saving lives, overcoming it all by Deku's side. The memories of all the battles they fought together flashed rapidly through her mind, culminating at this moment.

She momentarily glanced sidelong at her husband, who was wearing a small smile but doing nothing to hide the tears at the edges of his eyes.

"I'm proud of the legacy we've left behind and all the people we've been able to help," she continued, swallowing back her own tears. "I think we can both comfortably say we can move on without regrets."

She stretched her arms out, leaning slightly back in her chair in an exaggerated motion.

"And finally, get a much-deserved tropical vacation."

That got the desired chuckle out of the room. Throwing out humour to put the media in a good mood; always a good tactic.

"We'll take some questions," Izuku said, causing the room to erupt with pushy reporters desperate to get quotes for their puff pieces.

He pointed to the front row at an older reporter with a thick, white mustache and glasses. "Rupert McGuire, National Hero News. Deku, you've been the number-one hero for so long now - you just surpassed All Might's record two months ago. When he retired, it left a massive void and led to a rise in villainy in our country. How concerned are you that your retirement might do the same?"

"Not at all," Deku replied with ease, maintaining a calm facade. It was always mesmerizing to watch him bat off difficult questions; he had gotten a lot better at it over the years, as he learned to push past his anxieties. "I imagine there might be a villain or two that sees this as an opportunity, but our society is protected by hundreds of incredible heroes, with more bright ones coming. Our country is in very capable hands."

Deku quickly pointed to another reporter, a middle-aged woman in the middle of the crowd.

"Hi, Sakura Ito, Japan Today. Deku, what would you say to the millions of people that look up to you, who are going to be hurt by your retirement?"

"I know it is a tough thing to face. I remember how bad it felt to see All Might get forced into retirement all those years ago." Deku's smile faltered for a moment, the wrinkles under his eyes growing more pronounced at the mention of his fallen idol.

Ochako acted quickly, reaching her hand out to squeeze his over the table. It seemed to snap him back to attention, and his eyes met hers, a grateful smile blossoming again on his face.

"I appreciate everybody who has supported me and cheered me on over these years. But all things must come to an end eventually. You can hang on to your memories of me, but make sure you're getting out there to be the best person you can be. And please, cheer on other heroes, too! I know there are quite a few underappreciated pros out there who could use a few more fans."

Ochako heard approving murmurs in the crowd, a few journalists scribbling into notepads or typing into laptops about the quotes. A telltale sign of a comment well-delivered.

"Hi, a question for Uravity!" A younger woman reporter near the back shouted out when Deku called on her, her short, dark hair frazzled and her glasses eschew. She looked nervous - and forgot to name herself or her station- but Ochako found it oddly endearing. She felt nostalgic for her own younger days, fighting through nerves in her first days as a pro.

"You've said before your husband has been your hero since you were in high school. How do you feel seeing him retire?"

She reeled slightly at the question, the first unexpected one of the bunch. It was a little odd - posing a question to her about him. It also was not something she had given much thought to, so mired in her own retirement and the immediate logistics of it all.

She chanced a glance over at him. He looked at her with a slight grimace, clearly unhappy to have had a question slip through their meticulous preparations.

But Ochako could always improvise in an unexpected situation.

"It's a little hard to think about him retiring. It hasn't completely sunk in yet, to be honest." She smiled gently out to the audience, radiating calm. "I suppose I will miss seeing him out there, doing all the incredible feats of heroism that I always knew he could."

Ochako drew her gaze back to her partner again, whose green eyes were focused intently on her, full of reverence. "But I fell in love with the man behind the costume, and I'm looking forward to spending more time with him, too."

She could practically hear the squeals of fans in the distance at that line, alongside the rapid typing. It was pretty good for something off the cuff, but it was true, too. They had given their lives towards helping the world and their families; now, they could give a little bit more time for themselves.

"I know I'm going to miss Uravity a lot," Deku said suddenly, forcing Ochako to snap back to look at him, his eyes suddenly staring at her with burning energy. "She's been such an incredible hero for so long; it's hard to imagine a world without her helping to lift it. I'm definitely sad she's retiring. But it'll be nice to get away and be together."

She beamed at him, placing a hand over her chest. Leave it to him to surprise her with something so heartfelt, even in a setting such as this. She knew it was going to be tough hearing more of that from people upset about her retirement, but she'd have to get through it.

But questions for her did not come after that. Nearly all of them were for Deku, the press far more interested in the loss of Japan's number-one hero.

"Deku, what is going to happen to your agency?" It was their agency.

"Question for Deku, where are you going to be going on your vacation?" It was their vacation.

"Deku, how have your kids reacted to this?" They were their children.

"Deku, what advice would you give to the aspiring heroes of today?" She could have given that advice, too.

"Uravity, how would you describe your husband's emotions as you've talked about retirement?" Why was she getting asked about him again?

She became bored eventually, sighing and leaning on her hand, not that the crowd before them took any notice. They had expected more questions for Deku, of course, but she did not think it would be this pronounced. By the time they got to the end, she realized the only questions she got had been to get her to talk about him, even if in the context of her feelings. She had never been a hero who cared much for the spotlight, but she had some pride as a professional who had consistently remained in the top-20, often breaking into the top-10 as well.

But it could not be helped. It was hard to shine standing next to a supernova, after all. She always knew that.

"That's all the time we have for today," Deku announced suddenly, snapping her from her melancholy. "But we'll see you around in the months to come. Thank you!"

The two got up in unison, bowing respectfully to their audience before walking backstage, conscious of more whirring camera shudders. They kept up appearances best they could until they were safely away from the prying eyes.

"Well, I guess that went alright," Izuku muttered as they made their way to the back exit of the building, a ride back home awaiting them outside. He glanced towards her as they walked, his lips curling downwards. "How are you feeling?

"I'm just glad it's over with." She groaned, remembering their staring eyes, rarely on her, but still expecting her to uphold a heroic image. "Though I hardly had to do much compared to you. I was starting to feel like I got Toru's invisibility.

He chuckled slightly at that. "I'm sorry about how that turned out. But you did really well when they did ask you a question! And at least we can be a bit more controlled with media appearances from here on out."

"Don't remind me that we'll have to do more of this," she said, giving him a playful bump with her shoulder. "I want at least a 48-hour grace period."

"We can check with our agents. It could be a little hard, though. It may not be possible to escape, with how everyone is going to react."

They stepped outside into the bright day, another swarm of cameras sounding in the distance, though the reporters were held back by a security line.

As they walked towards the sleek, dark vehicle that would carry them away, Izuku stepped in front of her. Under the bright sun, Ochako wondered if the cameras could see her walking in his shadow.

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

People bathed the city streets in Ochako's favourite shade of green, her husband's face plastered everywhere she looked.

She smiled as she waited in an alley, looking out over a fairly empty sidewalk. Across from her, she could see a simple convenience store with multiple posters hanging in its windows, Deku's green costume prominent, striking a heroic pose for the camera. Such images spread like wildfire throughout the city - both because people wanted to show their appreciation and stores wanted to cash in.

It did her heart good to witness. Deku had no lack of admiration or respect, but she was glad to see the world truly did love him, just like she did. Even as he ascended to number one, there was always a small part of himself nagging, doubting, wondering if he could truly match All Might and inspire people as he did. The near-mourning the city was in over his impending retirement would hopefully disavow him of those lingering fears.

She felt a low buzz in her helmet, indicating it was time to get into action. She stepped forward, projecting loudly.

"Stand aside, everyone; clear the way! Please, stand away from the street; a runaway vehicle is coming this way!" she shouted, stepping onto the very edge of the barren sidewalk.

The few pedestrians in the area responded, moving away from the road, but stopping to gawk at the heroic work about to take place, a few phones coming out of pockets.

"Don't worry; everything is going to be okay!" she shouted, flashing a thumbs-up.

She glanced toward a corner in her heads-up display on her visor, where a low timer was ticking down.

Their estimated time of arrival was five seconds.

A dark van sped through the streets, approaching her, making its way to the end of the city through side roads in an erratic pattern. It carried three bank robbers, fresh off a heist.

Three.

The van blared its horn to get people out of the way. The vehicle was not losing any speed, ready to run anyone down if necessary.

One.

She stepped forward to tag the runaway vehicle with her Quirk, timing it precisely so she could step back and forth very casually, without any substantive risk other than sore fingertips. With her Quirk triggered, the van lost traction on the road, its occupants screaming as it floated upwards, losing speed as the air dragged onto it.

Uravity shot wires out of her two gauntlets, which automatically wrapped their way around the sky-bound vehicle. With a quick jerk, she ended its forward momentum, yanking the van back towards the earth.

She carefully guided the vehicle back towards her, pulling until it was just above the ground. She peeked into the window to see a driver wearing a dark mask shaking, and someone else on the passenger side passed out from the rough jerk of her maneuver.

"Surrender peacefully, and I won't send you flying again," Uravity shouted forcefully, body tense, ready to move if the perpetrators attempted to flee.

"I give, I give!" a deep voice sounded from the driver, hands going up on instinct. The car's wheels kept spinning fruitlessly, stuck in mid-air.

Uravity quickly tapped a button at the side of her ear, communicating with mission control. "Vehicle stopped. Need some support and medical; one of them might have a concussion."

"Police on their way. Nicely done as always, Uravity."

Backup arrived before long, quickly helping her apprehend the villains and secure the stolen goods.

By the time she finished, the area had already cleared, nobody around to cheer her on and appreciate the flawless takedown. That is the way it went sometimes. With so many heroes doing incredible feats every day, the little stuff could get lost beneath the cracks. Every hero she knew had gone through that at some point or another.

Still, the streets felt a little lonely as she walked around and continued her patrol, keeping an eye out, awaiting any word of someone in need. She went largely unnoticed as she made her way around, the very occasional greeting doing little to counter the strange sense of isolation.

These were the last days of Uravity, but that had changed nothing about the world.

"...Deku once again amazed us today by taking down another destructive villain at the north side of the city."

A small crowd had gathered outside an electronics store where televisions in the window were playing the news, framed by more Deku posters. It had become a widespread tactic; even non-electronics stores might stick televisions in their displays, airing whatever snippets of Deku coverage they could to attract people to glance at their wares.

She stopped to watch as her husband stared down a burly, oversized villain. The foe punched downwards, breaking the concrete, tearing off a large chunk of it with his bare hands and throwing it at the statuesque Deku.

The camera could not track what happened next; Deku vanished, there was a blur, and the villain was face down in the ground, completely incapacitated. Deku stood victorious above him.

"He's so cool!" A small child in the crowd next to her shouted, jumping up and down.

"It's a real shame he's retiring so soon. What are we going to do without him?" A senior said from the back, shaking his head, frowning.

"He was the best hero there ever was. Even greater than All Might, I think."

"He's gonna go down in history!"

"I'm just glad no one was hurt," Deku's voice said suddenly, his face centred in the frame, a pleasant smile etched upon it. "It was a good group effort to keep the damage contained."

"Any words for your adoring fans upset about your retirement?" a reporter's voice asked.

"I've been touched by all the well-wishers lately," Deku replied calmly, scratching at his head. "But, I promise you'll all be in good hands!"

"Well, there you have it. The world's greatest hero still saving lives in his final days. Truly, we are watching the end of a legend. Back to you."

Uravity walked away as the crowd cheered, eating it up. She smiled wistfully, her own heart soaring at seeing her hero do so well and be so beloved.

Yes, soon they would reach the end of his legend. The name she had helped give him would be retired and move to the pages of the history books while they lived out their days in peace, hopefully. They would tell his story, and she was thankful for it. He deserved it.

She continued to walk, a ghost in the streets as people's attention focused on their descending idol.

Nobody would care much as she ended her hero days. That was fine. She had done everything she wanted to as a hero. She could be content. Her story would stay with her family and friends. She could be okay with that.

Couldn't she?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- AN: Written for the IzuOcha Discord Server Big Bang Event. Prompt: "Thank you for always saving me!" Thank you very much to Mal for editing this and for Xylveon for the incredible artwork provided for the fic. You can find it at https://twitter.com/Xylveon700/status/1294469669361840129,  Please leave a like and/or reblog if you enjoyed it ! ^_^

[cest-la-bee]

The King of Omashu

Long ago, 

merchants of the four nations lived together in harmony. 

Then, everything changed when the Avatar came back. 

Only the authorities and the might of the Fire Nation could stop him; 

but when my cabbages needed them most, they vanished. 

The fate of many cabbage carts came to pass as a bald, 

arrow-headed boy discovered them. His name was Avatar Aang. 

And although his airbending skills were great, 

he had a lot to learn at the cost of my business.

 But I believe that Aang changed the world.

CHAPTER 1:

“Curse this road,” the graying man muttered under his breath. He had stopped and was leaning against his cart, hunched over to catch his breath. Though the road itself was flat, it extended for what seemed like miles in front of him, teasing the welcome sight of his destination. The man was getting somewhat up in age, and a trek like this took a lot out of him. But when he thought of what profit lay ahead in Omashu, all notion of exhaustion faded. He wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt, which was ragged from travel, and tucked a tuft of peppered hair into his cap. After patting a head of cabbage near the top of the pile, he straightened, and, grabbing the handles of his wooden cart, made the rest of the journey to Omashu.

He stood on the road having finally made it to the end, and glanced off to either side at the deadly drop to the rock face below. Before him stood the walls to the city Omashu, large slabs of dusty, reddish rock that would only be opened by the earthbending guards that stood up ahead. Unluckily for him, they were scowling. He walked toward them cautiously, leaving his cart behind.

“State your purpose in Omashu.” The guard who had spoken stepped forward, a scowl still in place and eyes piercing.

“I’ve come to sell produce,” the man replied lightly. “I sell cabbages.” He then made a motion to his cart behind him.

“Ah, a cabbage merchant. I see.” The guard paused for a moment, his expression unchanging as he glanced over the merchant’s shoulder at the cart. The man shifted, uncomfortable in the silence and wondered if this was commonplace procedure. He’d never traveled to Omashu before, but no vendor or trader he’d talked to had mentioned any kind of trouble getting in. “All right then, cabbage merchant,” the guard boomed, startling him. “Let’s see them.”

“See…”

“The cabbages, old man.”

“Oh, yes! Of course.” He turned quickly and shuffled back to his cart. Just as he made his way around its corner and grabbed onto the wooden peg handles, he glanced up on a whim and caught the eye of an approaching stranger. 

The man was odd looking to say the least. He had a stack of white hair sitting atop his head and a taut band wound around the width of his forehead, which seemed to hold his crudely cut, bang-like, fringe in place. He had a mustache to match and used a smooth, thin walking stick. Despite the fact that his feet were bare, he hobbled forward at a much faster pace than was believable for a man as old as he appeared. Two kids followed behind him, clearly related by looks alone, wearing clothes much too heavy for the Earth Kingdom heat. It was hard to say where they were from, but it was plain to see they were well traveled like him as their clothes were covered in dust and what looked like animal fur. What an odd trio they made.

“Cabbage man,” the first guard barked, snapping him back to the present, “hurry up!”

He hoisted up the back of his cart and wheeled it over to the guards. He took care to set the back down gently so he wouldn’t disturb his cabbage pyramid, and then turned to face the men. “My cabbages are the finest you’ll find in all of the Earth Kingdom,” he proudly presented. “These were grown from my family’s farm. My wife and son worked hard on this season's harvest! Because of them, these are the freshest, most vibrant cabbages you’ll ever—”

“Fresh, huh? Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?” the merchant responded quizzically. He watched as the guard reached down and took a head of cabbage in his hands.

“I’m sure you’ve heard that recently there’s been an outbreak of cabbage slugs among farmers all over the Earth Kingdom.” The guard rolled the head over in his hands, examining it halfheartedly.

“Yes...”

“Then how can you be so sure your cabbages are fresh?” The guard met the man's eyes and held his gaze for a long time. The head of cabbage had stopped moving and was now gripped in the young man's meaty fingers.

“I...I checked them all myself. They’re clean, I swear.” But the guard just held his gaze and gripped the green head harder.

 “And why should I take your word for it?”

“Please. They’re clean, I swear,” the merchant pleaded with him. “Just let me pass. I need to sell in Omashu for my family—”

“You think anyone wants your rotten cabbage? What kind of slum do you think this is?” the guard exclaimed hotly. Then without another word he crushed the cabbage in his hand and stomped a foot to the ground. The older man gasped as the ground tilted beneath the wooden wheels of his stand, and when the guard pushed his arms out to one side, his produce cart was suddenly flung through the air, having been catapulted by a ramp that was now coming out of the earth. He watched, mouth hanging open in horror as his cart dived over the edge of the road to the cliff face below.

“No! My cabbages!” he screamed, running to peer over the edge. But it was no use. They bounced and scattered and broke apart, the leaves cascading to the bottom far below. He turned back to the gates, heartbroken for his lost vegetables, and saw that the first guard was no longer interested in him. The three strangers from earlier had finally made their way up to the gate and seemed to pause with an air of uncertainty before the first guard. He wished them luck with that man's foul mood and stood from the edge brushing himself off.

“You’re free to enter,” spoke another guard. This one seemed ashamed for the other’s actions and spoke with a gentle tone. “Welcome to Omashu.”

The merchant walked forward, hair seeming even more gray than before as if having been aged by the experience, and continued forward slumped under the weight of his recent tragedy. He nodded at the nicer guard as he passed through the first of three gates, and gave a last glance back before entering completely. He found himself catching a snippet of the conversation between the white-haired, old man and the guard.

“Settle down, old timer,” the guard waved him off, seeming a bit startled to say the least. “Just tell me who you are.”

“Names Bonzu...Pipinpadaloxicopolis...the Third,” the white-haired geezer was saying. “And these are my grandkids.”

“Hi, June Pipinpadaloxicopolis,” the girl said, stepping forward. The other boy, or rather grandson, stood back looking puzzled.

The gates closed behind the cabbage merchant before he could hear the rest. But he was sure now, after seeing them up close, that the geezer wasn’t an old man afterall, but a young boy wearing a comically bad wig. He was sure that if he couldn’t get his cabbages into the city, their disguise wouldn’t fool anyone.

“Hmph,” he muttered as his mind began to wander back to thoughts of cabbages. “What an odd trio, indeed.”

CHAPTER 2:

The cabbage merchant found himself in quite the predicament. He’d finally made it to Omashu, but, with his produce stand being somewhere at the bottom of the canyon that surrounded the city and his beautiful cabbage heads along with it, he found himself with nothing to sell nor anything to sell from. He felt for his coin purse tucked away in the deep pockets of his tattered canvas pants and fished it out. With only a half-baked plan in mind that had something to do with haggling down the price of a new cart, and maybe selling cantaloupe—that was where the money was at anyway—he started down the first of many winding, aisle-like streets of the city.

Omashu was built to look like a swirling pyramid. With the streets ascending through the markets, to modest family homes, and then the areas with wealthier mansions, until finally ending up at the very tippy top in the King's castle. King Bumi, the leader of Omashu and possibly the greatest earthbender of the time, was said to be an eccentric. He was known for his fondness of bad jokes, and otherwise batty appearance. People who’d seen him said one of his eyes stayed permanently closed and other wide open, which was rumored to be for no other reason than because he liked the asymmetrical look of it. Yet, regardless of the rumors, King Bumi seemed sound of mind enough that, despite the city’s overall look, it was impeccably organized and functional. 

The city was sectioned off into parts by giant sandy walls, the same rock as the rest of Omashu, that kept designated living and consumer areas separate. To an uninformed newcomer, this would make the city appear maze-like and confusing. But to anyone knowledgeable about Omashu’s most famous and arguably most important item for organized city-life, navigating was a breeze. And of course the cabbage merchant, having studied up on the city in preparation to sell there, belonged to the latter.

The man turned slowly in place, searching for something to clue him in. There! His eyes latched onto a couple crates of fruit being hauled into something that resembled a large, rectangular hamper made of earth. Or maybe more like a stone wagon without wheels. The wagon sat on an elevated chute, and when the men finished loading it they thrust their hands to the side and it shot along a path and high above their heads. When it reached the top it teetered between returning from where it came, and following the decline of the chute, but gravity won out. The wagon slid down the narrow pathway toward a more central location in the city and the cabbage man, taking that as his cue, kept his eyes up and trained on the moving fruit crates as he followed the crisscrossing map of the Omashu delivery system overhead. He would allow the speeding produce to guide him to a market hub.

He heard the cries of hawkers and peddlers before he could even reach the market square. Men and women alike shouted to be heard over each other, all offering their trinkets or freshly farmed veggies and fruits for sale. He felt comfortable in a place like this. Almost like he was home.

“Okay!” And he clapped his hands together, the coin purse jingling between them, “it’s time to find another cart.”

He walked slowly, weaving his way between food stalls and street performers while keeping a watchful eye out. Soon after, he saw a woman with a cantaloupe stall and was sorely tempted, but the cart itself was so intricately carved it was clear it had been passed down for generations. He knew with the meager change in his purse he could never afford to buy a cart so beautiful let alone more than three of the perfectly ripe cantaloupes that sat within. So he sighed and continued on, slightly dejected.

Almost ten minutes later, he’d done just about a full lap and was still empty handed, when a booming voice captured his attention. He made his way to a part of the square he’d skipped over, following the voice and its beautiful words that promised love, and safety, and happiness. The cabbage merchant could almost picture the person to whom the words belonged cradling him in their arms, and feeling entirely at peace. 

“Cabbages! Get those cabbages you crave! Cabbages a head, cabbages a bundle! Best cabbages in Omashu, get ‘em right here!”

The man who called out wasn’t quite what the cabbage merchant had expected, and definitely wasn’t his type. His clothes were a bit weathered and his inky black hair was covered with a thin layer of red dust. His skin bore a very distinct tan, the mark of a farmer, and he was young. Younger than the cabbage man by twenty-or-so years, in fact, and a child clung to his leg looking bored. Fantasies of being wrapped in the man's arms soon turned to fantasies of diving head first into an endless pool of cabbages. 

“Cabbages?” The merchant asked as he approached.

“Yes, sir,” the younger man responded, his deep voice still a tad loud. “You interested?”

“Might be. How much for the whole cart?”

The younger man’s eyes widened, looking about ready to pop out of his head with a mixture of excitement and relief. Then he looked at the old merchant again. He looked to the coin purse still clutched in the wizened man's hands, and down to the dirty clothes he wore. “It’s not enough, gramps.” And the man sadly motioned for him to move along.

“Please,” said the cabbage merchant, the word sticking in his throat. He unlatched the purse and dumped the contents onto the man's cart before him. Two gold and a handful of bronze pieces scattered onto the wood. “The guards destroyed my cart outside the gates, I have no other way to make money.” 

“Shame,” said the man as he looked down at the kid still latched to his leg. He wouldn’t meet the older man’s eyes.

“Please, from one cabbage seller to another.”

He looked up finally, but shook his head once more. “It’s not enough.”

In the following silence both kid and father watched as the old man nodded in understanding and began to scoop his money back into the purse. As he began to shuffle away the father looked down to his wide eyed kid and back up to the older man’s retreating back. He sighed. “Old man cabbage! Come, and bring your purse with you!”

CHAPTER 3:

Finally. Finally, there he stood with a new cabbage cart to call his own. At least, it would be his if he could sell all of the remaining inventory by the end of the day. The deal he’d made with the father, whose name he’d learned was Shangren, was simple enough, but proposed a challenge. He was to sell all of the cabbages in the cart so Shangren could spend the day with his wife and their kid, and at the end of the day his family would take the profit in exchange for their cart. He’d thought the deal was more than fair. In fact he’d thought it was naive of them to trust he would come back with their cart. Then again, no one ever suspected the elderly. Lucky for them, he was an honest old man and gratefully accepted their offer.

Now that he had the cart, he had to come up with a business plan. The cabbage merchant stroked the leafy, plant pile deep in thought and hoped to get some inspiration. He knew there was no way he’d sell all the produce before the day was up, so near to the gates. There were more people near the entrance to the city, sure, but they were cheap and thus prone to haggle. He’d have to make his way closer to the city’s center where the richer civilians lived, if he hoped to meet his end of the deal. Rich folks were more likely to buy in bulk.

Secure in his plan of action he palmed a head of cabbage and pressed it to his face. He rubbed it against his cheek and thanked all the gods—the cabbage one especially—for smiling down on him with good fortune. Then a great crash came from behind him.

He was almost knocked off his feet by the shudder from the delivery cart’s impact with the ground. And then he was almost knocked off his feet by the guards that pushed past him. They shoved him aside with excessive force only to surround the flattened vegetables and bits of wood that had once been his “almost” cabbage cart. “I must be cursed,” he moaned to himself as he clutched the cabbage still in his hands. An overwhelming sense of dread began to spread through his body. “I must be the most unlucky man in Omashu.” 

Three kids sat among the debris. At the sight of them his fear turned to a blustering anger, which he unleashed onto them with his next words. “My cabbages! You’re gonna pay for this!” He recognized two of the kids as the supposed brother and sister from outside of Omashu earlier. But it wasn’t until the third kid’s milky-white wig fell to pieces, exposing a small white lemur sitting atop a boy’s bald, tattooed head, that he recognized him for who he was. Who he truly was. An airbender, and the last of his kind.

The Avatar raised his head sheepishly, his eyes portraying an innocence that could only come from the likes of a child, and spoke to the guards before him. “Two cabbages, please?”

CHAPTER 4:

The walk up to King Bumi’s castle felt almost longer than the journey to Omashu, and even longer still because it was so quiet that he had time for his own thoughts.The cabbage merchant flitted back and forth between feelings of anger at the three trouble makers, and sorrow for the loss of yet another cart. The occasional feeling of fear slipped in, now and again, when he thought of what would become of him when Shangren found out. But then his anger would return in full force. By the time their group had reached the castle and were standing before the King in the throne room, the cabbage merchant was chafed and not just because of the walk.

The King sat in his throne looking only somewhat like the exaggerated rumors that spread about him. One of his eyes seemed to stay in a permanent squint, giving him the look that he was constantly scheming. He was missing both an upper and lower tooth on opposing sides of his mouth, and hair stuck out like tufts of straw from various areas of his face. On his chin was a snowy beard, and bunches of hair under each ear made fuzzy sideburns. Two more tufts poked out of the side of his hat. If the old cabbage merchant had been calmer, he might’ve thought it was funny how the young Avatar had almost resembled the King with his wig.

A guard stepped forward. He stood between the merchant and the trio of kids, and when he began to speak, the lemur that was still wrapped around the Avatar’s smooth head jumped up, clearly startled.

“Your majesty,” he said in a  tone that was measured and patient, “these juveniles were arrested for vandalism, traveling under false pretenses, and malicious destruction of cabbages.”

The old merchant sputtered in his anger, “Off with their heads! One for each head of cabbage—”

“Silence!” The guard cut him off with a sharp look and an ever sharper tongue. “Only the King can pass down judgement.” 

The merchant bit his tongue and waited for his due justice. No King, no matter how crazy, would let something so serious as the destruction of his own city slide. Not to mention the poor cabbages.

“What is your judgement, sire,” the guard inquired, seeming slightly less patient than before.

 The King took a slow, wheezy breath and finally spoke. “Throw them...a feast!”

The cabbage merchant nearly fainted from the heat of his white-hot rage.

Shortly afterwards, the three kids were escorted out of the room by guards, looking just as shocked as he felt. He stood there unsure if that had all really happened, and unsure of what he should do until the King began to make his way out of the throne room. The merchant stood to the side, allowing the crazy king to exit first before he made a move to find a way out of the castle himself. But, before the old king walked through the large double doors, he turned and with a glint in his eye tittered, “For your trouble.” King Bumi slid his bare, right foot along the ground before him, his left hand closely following the motion from behind. Across the room a mound of earth began to move toward him. It looked like a giant snake that was slithering right at the cabbage merchant, from under the ground. Once the head of the snake reached the cabbage man’s feet, the earth it was made from opened up and a stone wagon from the mail system revealed itself to him. The earth snake sunk back into the floor and the mail cart settled on the now flat surface.

He looked to the King confused. “What’s this?” The stone tub was filled with tied burlap sacks that looked suspiciously lumpy. The cabbage merchant worried if he should fear for his life.

“Cabbages, for your new cart,” King Bumi stated, turning away. “I’m afraid the cart itself isn’t ready yet, so I couldn’t surprise you with it right this minute. But if you can wait patiently, it will be done by the end of the day.”

The King gave a polite smile and looked at the merchant a long while. The cabbage man could only stare back in shock. It wasn’t until he found himself growing increasingly uncomfortable in the silence, that the old merchant realized the King was waiting for some kind of response from him.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he shot out, wanting to make up for his rudeness. The merchant was unused to acts of kindness. He’d become comfortable living in a world where each person was expected to take care of themselves, and no one else.  And he, in the face of such a kind and thoughtful gesture, had momentarily forgotten his manners.

King Bumi smiled, amused and turned away as he began to make his way out of the room once again. “Enjoy your time in my city. That will be thanks enough.” He waved as he stepped into the hallway and called over his shoulder, “You can wait for the cart at the entrance. And don’t worry about paying Shangren back. I’ve made sure he and his family are taken care of as well.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” the merchant replied quickly this time. He watched as the King’s green robes fluttered behind him, out of sight when he realized something. “Your Majesty,” he called after him. He was sure the King could no longer hear him but he didn’t dare to leave the throne room without his new cabbages. “Your Majesty, wait! How do you know about Shangren?”

It was true what they said about the King, he was mad.

CHAPTER 5:

For the rest of that day, and almost the entire day after, he sold his cabbages in peace. He had developed a new habit of flinching each time he heard the delivery wagons whiz by in the chutes overhead, but soon found himself used to the sound and the city. When he’d told Shangren the story of what had happened over tea the night of his first day in Omashu, the younger man had laughed at the cabbage merchant’s misfortune and his own good fortune. But he stayed in a state of disbelief when the older man insisted he had come across the Avatar.

“No,” he persisted stubbornly, “the Avatar’s been gone a hundred years. There are no more airbenders. It must’ve been a trick.” The merchant had insisted it wasn’t, but the other man hadn’t wanted to hear it. They’d soon said their goodbyes and departed the tea shop.

Late the next evening, after a long day of selling, the cabbage merchant leaned against his cart to rest. He was on his way down toward the city gates, and he stood wiping the sweat off his brow. After a moment, he sidled a few steps further down the path ahead of his new cart, to take in the sights of the city. He had been thinking to himself that one day he would bring his son to see Omashu, when the sound of splintering wood and a crash from behind him, made the ground shudder. He peeked over his shoulder knowing what he’d see before his eyes could process what lay in the wreckage: smashed green leaves, and the sheepish, regretful looks of the crazy King Bumi himself, and the Avatar. The words flew out of his mouth in a shriek, echoing through the walls of the city and to the far east of the Earth Kingdom. 

“My cabbages!” He was sure his cries could be heard all the way to the capitol.

[mimiplaysgames]

Beloved Memories, in Notes (Vol. VIII)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: K+ Word Count: 11,151

Summary: Aqua and Terra meet Ventus. It's all fine until they have to take care of him. After all, they're just teenagers who don't know what they're doing. Aqua is 14, Terra is almost 16.

Read on AO3

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day to @endlessember​! They requested: "I’ve always loved the idea of the way finder trio being a family especially with Terra and Aqua as Vens parents... so I was wondering if you could write something along those lines? It can be either AU or not (maybe you have something clever that could fit this into canon idk)." I chose the canon route. I finished this outline in... November 2018, right after you requested this as part of my celebration of 100 followers on Tumblr. Thank you so much for your patience, and for sticking by me for this long, it's amazing that you're still interested in my stories. Bless you for your support, it means so much. <333 I know that this was way out of my comfort zone, but I honestly had a blast writing this. It was a lot of fun and it's been a long time since a chapter has made me feel this way.

~*~*~*~

A Tale of Three

It shouldn’t be this unnerving to watch someone sleep.

The poor boy had been escorted into the academy by an old man - a Master with a funny name, someone Eraqus knew. After they put the boy to bed, they went off into the office to discuss business, and it left the castle quiet with no answers. 

“No progress?” Terra asked behind her. She’d been looking so hard for signs of consciousness - a twitch in the eyelid, some mumbling - that she didn’t hear him come in. 

This was looking more like a coma than anything. He was so still that she wondered if he was even dreaming. The sun beamed through his window, glowing up his already golden hair, but he was not bothered by it. It was more like watching someone in a coffin as opposed to being in bed.

She touched his forehead - ten times, already - to check for a fever, but he had none

Terra grunted. He felt bad about bombarding Ventus with so many questions, but the guilt was unnecessary.

He took a chair from across the room and sat down by her side, and they listened in silence. This boy was so young. 

The Master repeated in lectures that holding a Keyblade necessitated great responsibility, and Aqua never worried about that. She was always trustworthy

When she asked the Master what had happened to the boy, he only said,  This boy has torn his heart. 

Aqua lived her life believing she’d never come across such horror. Consequences of wielding a Keyblade seemed foreign, like there was no such thing as accidents.

Today, she witnessed different. 

“He’ll be okay,” Terra said when she never responded. He wasn’t even that confident, considering how he crossed his arms. “The Master thinks everything will work out.”

Right now, optimism just didn’t seem appropriate. 

Something echoed in the halls, but it wasn’t a round of voices. The sound of piano keys drifted into the room, too soft and distant to understand what story its song was trying to tell, and she leaned over to make sure she heard correctly. 

Terra gave her a look. She returned it. 

They jumped out of their chairs. There was only one piano in the entire academy, tucked in the corner of the ballroom. No one knew how to play it, so it stayed untouched and dusty. 

It never occurred to her that the piano would one day be a spectacle.

Glancing back at Ventus to see if anything changed (it didn’t), they left to see what the commotion was. They kept their steps light, and Terra led the way upstairs. 

They snuck into the upper floors of the ballroom, which overlooked the bottom for a grand view of the western mountains. It was one of the biggest halls in the castle though they’ve never held an event here. Otherwise, they used it as a training room, the delicate, tile floor scratched up with strikes of Keyblade metal. 

Terra and Aqua crouched behind the gold railing so they wouldn’t be noticed. 

Now they heard the melody in full. Solemn, contemplative, maybe a story about a horse who learned how to fly. She didn’t know the song, it was just the picture that came to her mind.

The eccentric bald man who brought Ventus had tuned it. Each of his keystrokes was impeccable, stringing keys together like he was sewing them. If the song was about a horse who flew, strums of the darker notes told a story of how it found itself lost in the underworld.

The old Keyblade Master slouched severely. When she first saw him, Aqua never imagined that he was able to fight anymore, let alone be able to have this kind of dexterity over the piano.

Eraqus stood nearby, and Aqua had never seen an expression on him like that before. He was always very well-groomed, and when he laughed, he did it calmly to maintain power over his breath.

Right now, Master Eraqus looked young and hopeful, listening to the song with his eyes closed, swaying gently enough that no one would have noticed unless they stared at him. 

The old man tripped on his fingers, one of them banging on a flat key that made the horse jump. “I have lost some of my touch,” he said, his voice raspy. 

If that was the case, he must have been amazing when he was younger. 

“Nonsense, it brought life back into the castle,” Eraqus said. “How I’ve missed the shows we used to host.”

“Seriously,” Terra whispered sharply, “how come we never bother to bring people here?”

The old man crossed his hands behind his back like he needed to support it. “It is rare that I tread paths with the piano nowadays. I had forgotten how much I valued time with it.

“I doubt that,” Eraqus chuckled. “You have spent far too many hours sitting on that bench to ever forget that you needed it, old friend.”=

Old friend. Eraqus used such a phrase to describe a person? Judging from the way Terra’s eyes bulged out of his sockets, it was a first for him, too. 

“It was a well-deserved reunion,” the old Master said, rubbing the keys like he was looking for dust. “Now I must take my leave.”

That felt off. 

It wasn’t that he was impolite - not at all. 

What rubbed Aqua strangely to the point that she decided  ‘eccentric’  was the right word to describe him was how he suddenly changed gears with an otherwise pleasant conversation. 

It was like he decided mid-sentence that he had enough of the mundane.

“Must you go now, Xehanort?”

Xehanort had his mind elsewhere, his eyes firing up like he had something to look forward to. 

“I had left an acquaintance with an abrupt exit, and he needs me.”

“... I suppose I can’t stop you, then.” Eraqus crossed his arms, reluctantly following.

“Eraqus, mind your tone. You will lose all your hair worrying, old friend.”

Old friend.

“Why not consider all that you’ve lost.”

Master Xehanort laughed, and Aqua wasn’t sure if he was genuinely amused or if he was offended. 

Terra and Aqua scurried out of their own exit to follow, down the stairs where they planned to peek around a corner and eavesdrop some more. 

But Terra ran a little too far, skidding on the tile and right into the hallway that left him standing in front of both Masters. 

This left them with no choice except to bow and present themselves with proper posture. 

“Your two star pupils, Eraqus?” Xehanort approached, and she could smell his age as he crept near. If he stood straight, he would have been as large of a man as their Master.

“My fine achievers, yes.” 

Those gold eyes didn’t give away what he was thinking. He took turns to study them, and at first Aqua expected that maybe he had some advice - words of wisdom that any Keyblade Master would want to give students. Some useful critique, or encouragement. At best, a tiny sparring session where they could learn from someone different. 

Xehanort patted one of Terra’s shoulders. “This one has much potential.”

Aqua never felt so invisible.

Terra stared wide-eyed. In an attempt to make up for his lack of manners, he stammered, “T-thank you, Master.” Then he bowed halfway, stuck somewhere between shock and nervousness and a need to please.

“Mind your presence,” Xehanort said, smacking Terra’s shoulder several times like he was too tired for a hug. “A Keyblade Master stands proudly. They do not wither, even in front of crippled old men.”

“Will you come back?” Eraqus kept himself composed, like the fact that his old friend leaving so soon (and abandoning a boy) wasn’t a bother. 

Aqua wouldn’t imagine why. If Terra was away for that long, she’d be really sad. 

“Perhaps for dinner?” Xehanort waved his arm with half a pound of enthusiasm and then went on his way, Terra completely forgotten.

It was abrupt. There wasn’t anything else fit to describe it.

Eraqus crossed his arms. His mind was nowhere near the castle. 

The tension in Terra’s shoulders slacked. “Master?”

Eraqus smirked. It was subtle under that enormous mustache, but it was solemn as well. 

“My students,” he said. “I have always taught you that power is born within the heart. It is what makes our Keyblades vigorous, our will to overcome darkness unbendable. We need our bodies to be strong in order to serve our hearts, and we need our hearts to be strong to serve greater purpose. We therefore rely on our minds to be strong to keep us oriented.”

He turned to face them. “And yet, what have I always said was the paradox of strength?”

It was an odd time to quiz them, yet he loved taking them by surprise anyway. They prepared their answers with suitable postures. 

“Strength alone is needed to walk the right path,” Terra started. They had just studied this last week. “Yet it falters easily to temptation.”

“Strength together is the only force that can stand ground against anything,” Aqua said. “Yet it can corrupt if not with right intention.”

“You need both to find balance where it lacks,” Terra finished.

“Very good.” Whatever troubled his mind threatened to spread across Eraqus’ face, even though they recited his lesson perfectly. “My star pupils, indeed.”

Aqua wanted to ask. 

She hesitated. He never really discussed his past with either of them, except for the rare slip up. She knew there was one other student who grew up with him. Judging from what she had just seen, she suspected something had happened between them, and it really hurt.

“Was he that other student?” Terra asked, and it relieved her. 

“Yes,” Eraqus said frankly. “And what you shall remember from today is the essence of forgiveness in maintaining that strength together.”

“Sir?”

“Terra… Aqua… It is terribly important that you continue to look out for each other’s best interests if you want to realize your dreams as Masters. One of you must be strong if the other makes a mistake. Stand by this philosophy, and life will reward you with an unbreakable bond that would empower your Keyblades and your fight against darkness.”

“Yes, sir,” they responded.

Master Eraqus sighed. The smile he wore faded away, though he carried himself with such intimidation that those who knew him would never notice the difference. 

But Aqua noticed. It left his eyes, first.

“I must admit,” Eraqus said quietly, “I am simply human. I have shown weakness in my own despair.”

Aqua squirmed in her feet. Her Master was strong. Always.

Terra was speechless.

“Come,” the Master said, switching his attitude back to his comfort zone: duty. “Master Xehanort was never a competent caretaker, and that boy needs our attention.”

That boy continued to sleep. Day after day, he was given a new glass of water that sat on his bedside table and never emptied.

They took turns watching over him: Eraqus in the morning to diagnose his condition for the day, Aqua to stay the longer hours and watch for signs of improvement, and Terra at night with his books to study, though he never opened them.

What that boy needed was a miracle, and Aqua called it one when he finally opened his bright, blue eyes.

~*~*~*~

Ventus wasn’t very responsive. 

Eraqus took a pen with a thin torchlight that shimmered different colors at its tip. He waved it, testing if Ventus would follow. “Ventus?”

He didn’t even respond to his name, blank eyes staring at Eraqus and yet never really noticing there was someone standing right in front of him. 

It was like Ventus had lost his soul somewhere, and was searching the room to find it.

“Master?” Aqua asked nervously. She had prayed for a miracle, and she wanted the stars to respond compassionately - not demand a cost for his consciousness.

The Master shushed her, and Terra this whole time must have held his breath, for he refused to move a millimeter. 

“Ventus?” he tried again. “Are you hungry?”

Still, no response, except for a blink. 

After a minute, Ventus finally registered that there was someone talking to him, and he cocked his head. 

“He certainly does not behave like a boy his age. This is most grave,” the Master grunted, turning off his tiny flashlight and rolling his neck back to stretch it. “I must seek out a colleague of mine. She refuses to name herself a witch, but she is gifted and will be able to nurse him back to health.”

The way the Master said that felt like it had finality, and suddenly the room weighed twice as heavy on Aqua’s shoulders. 

“A- Are you leaving now?” Terra shook.

“Yes.”

“How long will you be gone?”

Eraqus chuckled. He paid no attention to them, preparing a small clutch with some munny.  “There is no way to be certain. She is difficult to pin down and she, too, travels worlds. But I trust Ventus is in the right hands.”

By now, Eraqus was out the door, a Terra begging with his eyes following him.

“But Master, what can  we  do to help him?” he asked as though the Master had given Terra a stranger’s baby with a soiled diaper, and claimed it was his.

“Keep an eye on his behavior,” the Master said simply. “Provide for him what he needs. Nourishment, attention, and care.” It sounded like a simple list of instructions and yet there were so many questions. “And whatever you plan on doing for him, if he learns to walk again, do not, under  any circumstances, let him leave the castle.”

Those were Eraqus’ only words of advice for Aqua and Terra. He shut the entrance doors, and all that was left was the grinding in Terra’s jaws.

“We’ll be fine,” Aqua said, and finally, Terra breathed.

“He acts like it’s supposed to be easy,” Terra grunted, making his way back to the bedroom where Ventus stared at the wall, his legs still well-tucked under the bedsheets like he had no interest in moving around.

Terra scratched the back of his head. “What’s his name, again?”

“Ventus.”

At the sound of his name, he turned to her. His eyes were blank but curious, maybe even a little confused. She didn’t get the impression that it was his name that caught his attention but the simple fact that she spoke. 

Terra held a grip in his own hair as he mumbled. The longer he did so, the more his eyes furrowed like whatever he was concentrating on was a really difficult subject to grasp.

“You ok?”

“Vennnnnn…” Terra cleared his throat. “Veni- Vantis.” He tisked when he gave up.

“It’s not that hard.”

“How about we just call you Ven?” he asked, leaning over with his hands on his knees. “Would you like that?”

Ventus didn’t smile back, but he awed at Terra’s smile like it was new to him. 

“It’s cute,” Aqua said, also smiling at Ven. “I’m Aqua.”

“I’m Terra.” He pointed to himself.

Ven glanced at each, back and forth, like their grins were overwhelming. 

“Are you hungry, Ven?” Terra asked.

“He has to be,” Aqua said.

“Then what do we feed him?”

“Food.”

“Don’t be a smart - Okay, let’s go get him food.”

That seemed easy enough. They’d cook and clean up together, and in no time, the Master would be back to decide the best course of action. 

But when they started to walk away, Ven’s eyes trailed them. He wasn’t adept in expressing emotion and yet…

“He’s so cute,” Aqua whispered.

“He looks so sad,” Terra said.

“... I don’t feel comfortable leaving him all by himself.”

“Yeah, let’s not.”

“Okay here’s the plan,” Aqua said, her voice louder and ready to take command. “I’ll go make his food and you watch him.”

Terra scowled. “No way. I’m not owing you a chore debt.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re supposed to be splitting all of our chores evenly, remember? It was a blood oath.”

“It wasn’t a blood oath.” She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe he’d forget something so easy to remember. “It was a spit oath.”

“Either way, I’m not falling for the idea that watching him is equal to you actually laboring in the kitchen.” 

He had a point. 

“Okay, I’ll cook and you clean,” she said. “No argument.”

“Or…” He gripped her arms before she turned over her shoulder, a smirk wrestling with his lips and a glint shining in his eye. “ I’ll  go to the kitchen and make some soup… I should make him tea, anyway.  You clean up after me. Then we’re even. Okay?”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Just make sure to flavor the soup.”

Ven managed to overlap his hands together, like he was waiting for someone to tell him what to do.

“Terra can be such a child sometimes,” Aqua said when she sat down next to him.

Ven didn’t respond. He looked at her eyes, her smile, his own hands, like he was never taught how to speak.

She really hated seeing him like this. 

“You really hurt yourself, didn’t you?” She wanted to keep up appearances, and give him a friendly environment to feel safe in…

But it was so hard to keep smiling when he behaved this way. 

His hair was still plastered and uneven. Without a hairbrush ready, she took to her fingers, bringing smoothness to the crown of his head, parting his hair asymmetrically for style. 

“Very dignified,” she said when she finished. She rummaged through the bedside table and the dresser for a hand mirror, showing him the result. 

He didn’t have much of an opinion - not that she expected one. But he was interested in her hand. He weakly reached out, squinting his eyes like he’d never seen fingers before. 

He hesitated.

“It’s okay,” she said, opening her palm out.

He pressed his hand against hers, like they were measuring them. He was so much younger than her but his was more calloused, despite the extensive training she's had. Maybe he spent most of his time outside and playing with his hands. His skin was also dry - cracks of discoloration lived in between his knuckles. He must have come from a very dry and dusty climate. 

Ven let go of her, and spaced out like she didn’t exist. 

It must have been the sound of footsteps approaching and the humid smell of herbal soup that got his attention. 

“Lunch time,” Terra said. He tried too hard to be perky, waving a tray with pizzazz. On it was a bowl of soup proudly steaming with various aromas, and a child’s mug of tea. 

He placed the tray on the bed, right over Ven’s legs. “There’s saint’s wort for the heavy heart,” Terra explained when he handed Ven the mug. “And basil for mental clarity. But don’t worry, I’ve masked their flavors.”

Ven took it slow, testing the temperature on his lips before taking a sip. 

His face scrunched up like he had tasted something sour, his eyes as wrinkled as a cabbage. He was too sweet of a boy to shove it back forcefully, and instead offered it back.

But Terra was dejected. “He didn’t like it?” 

“I’ll take it,” Aqua said. Even if it wasn’t for her, it was senseless to deny Terra’s divine teas. He blended peppermint and spearmint for the base flavors, suppressing the basil without removing its presence which gave it just the right kick, and a hint of vanilla to make it sweeter. 

Terra eyed his soup - a thick, murky broth with meat and potato chunks, accompanied by floating peppers and other vegetables. “Try this instead,” he said, offering the spoon. “It’s good for your body.” He beat his chest with his fist. “It’ll help you grow strong.”

Ven trusted. He picked up a spoonful, slurping the contents in. 

He sniffled. His nose turned red and he took huge exhales in between his chews, carefully smacking his lips as he churned the meat into his mouth.

“What did you put in it?” Aqua asked. She grabbed the spoon from Ven and took a sip herself.

Her nose burned. Her eyes watered. Her throat angered.

“What do you think of it?” asked Terra.

He took her advice too much to heart. “It’s…”  Spicy. “Decent.” 

Terra’s laugh was breathy, and she nearly smacked him on the shoulder. 

Ven reached with both hands for the spoon so he could drink more. No matter how spicy it was for him - there were times where his breaths almost sounded like sobs when his eyes became glassy - he kept swallowing. 

“It reminds me,” Terra said softly, watching Ven eat, “of when Kain broke his leg.”

Aqua gave him her full attention.

Much of Terra’s childhood before the Land of Departure was isolated. When he talked about the orphanage, he always did so with a seriousness that told Aqua he really trusted her to keep these memories safe for him. 

But this time, he spoke with a calm smile on his face. 

“He had a cast,” Terra said. “We wrote our signatures on it and… We skipped rocks with it.”

“Excuse me?”

“We did,” Terra laughed. Ven kept eating, and it pleased Terra more, even though the boy looked like he was suffering. “We would toss pebbles onto his cast to see which ones bounced the furthest.” 

“That’s…”  Barbaric. Aqua scoffed.

Terra was far away, but he wasn’t. There was a child-like excitement to his eyes, hands reaching over to mess with Ven’s hair, spiking it up. “Do you like this better, Ven?”

It had been a long time since she made Terra smile this much. 

She grew up with a friendly Terra, but with age came reflection, and sometimes he took that too far. When he smiled with her, it was with gravity. 

With Ven, it was a beam of light. 

Maybe it was just the excitement of someone new. It wasn’t Ven’s fault - if anything, he looked like he needed a friend, too. 

“What do you think happened to him?” Aqua asked.

“Hard to say…” Terra sighed. “Do you think he committed one of the forbidden acts?”

“No…” she drawled. “He’s too innocent.”

“Maybe he was curious.” Terra shrugged with one shoulder. “Maybe he turned his Keyblade against his own heart to see what would happen.”

Aqua pursed her lips. She was never interested in doing such things, and the fact that Terra even mentioned it made her worried. 

Ven smacked his lips a little more, breaths seeping out of each while he savored the last spicy bits of potato. 

“I hope we can help him feel better,” she said. 

Terra stayed silent. There was no telling if they were capable of accomplishing that.

Their wave of melancholy had an obvious effect on Ven, who stopped chewing and eyed them inquisitively.

“Well,” Aqua said, needing to change the subject and do something to take her mind off of this. She stood up. “I’ll clean the kitchen now.”

“Already did.” 

She had half a mind to smack him across the back of the head. “Terra, that’s cheating.” 

“Now you owe me a chore debt.” 

Terra was pleased with himself, Aqua had no choice but to sit back down, and Ven stared at his spoon when he was finished, 

~*~*~*~

It was an ebb and flow.

They took turns between staying with him and running a never ending list of errands: the painting frames needed dusting; the tiles to be mopped; breakfast, lunch, and dinner to be prepared, cooked, and served (only for the dishes to need washing). If not any of that, then they took to the gardens: the flowers thirsted for water, the strawberries were ripe for picking, and the autumnal sprouts had to be saved from weeds.

Yet no matter how many teas Terra brewed, each with its own custom flavor, Ven didn’t like them. Using potions to heal Ven could get dangerous without surveillance, so those were out of the question. 

Terra and Aqua sparred and continued their studies at night, when Ven was asleep. If they woke up early enough, they could spend some leisure time together - playing a game of chess, or simply to talk, like they would do if they weren’t taking so much time apart. 

But when Ven started to walk, their time escaped them like they never had it to begin with.

“Aqua!”

Terra’s call bounced down the halls one morning, and Aqua heard it in the kitchen. At first she ran - it was faster than instinct - and yet she had to come back to settle the stove down and remove the batter or else she’d waste it on burnt pancakes. 

Ven wasn’t in his room. A shocked Terra just stood there with no explanation. 

They split up and took laps around the academy: the eastern wing, where the bedrooms were; the back entrance, which led to the gardens; the attic, where the Master kept ancient relics and untamed weapons; the front entrance, which actually worried Aqua because there were many cliffs outside where he could pummel to his doom; and the kitchen, which wasn’t safe. Period. 

Aqua finally found him just outside the Master’s door. He looked like a normal boy, walking around like he wasn’t terribly ill.  

“Not in there!” she exclaimed. 

She held him by the shoulder. “There’s lots of souvenirs and artifacts the Master keeps in there. Some of them are sharp.”

He didn’t understand.

“Come on.” She took his hand. “We just want you to be safe.”

What a life to keep tabs on him at all times.

Ven would watch Aqua bake her cookies, which took her longer than normal because she had to stop him from touching all sorts of hot appliances. 

Ven would watch Terra polish old statues, who had to make sure Ven stayed far enough away not to come near, and yet close enough to keep a firm eye on. 

When he was with one of them, the other would fill their time with practicing their forms with their Keyblades, or reading one of their mandatory textbooks. 

Alone. Aqua now sparred alone, and she worried she would fall behind because of it. 

Aqua and Terra’s tradition of studying together at night would also be sacrificed - they’d be so exhausted after the day was over that they’d go immediately to bed.

Ven improved… slowly. He learned to point at orange juice when he wanted it, to hop on one foot, and to dress himself into his pajamas. 

And yet after all this time, Ven still wouldn’t speak. Aqua sometimes wished the Master would come home soon and give them proper guidance. Maybe they were doing something wrong. 

But it all became worth it, soon enough.

Aqua prepared breakfast: waffles with strawberries for herself and Ven, and a plate of sausages with olives and crushed chickpeas for Terra. 

They had a routine: Terra placed plates on the table and Aqua filled them with food. 

Instead of taking his seat at the table, Ven leaned on it and watched them. “Hi!” he said. 

They gasped. She heard correctly.

Both of them huddled over him, and Aqua forgot that food would cool if left unattended. 

“Hi, Ven,” Aqua said, sniffling. It had been a long time since she cried, probably when she was nine years old. She had never expected it to happen again.

“Hi!” Ven said to Aqua, staring at her tears.

“Hi, Ven,” Terra said softly. His breathy laughs began to break, and he swallowed back his weeps. He ruffled through Ven’s hair hard enough to ruin his coif.

“Hi!” Ven said to Terra.

“We’re so glad you’re feeling better,” Aqua said, also taking a hand to his head. 

“Hi!” He said it louder this time, like he wasn’t being heard.

“Is that the only word you know?” she asked.

“Hi!”

She and Terra shared glances. From the way Terra chuckled through his nose, he was relieved. 

~*~*~*~

If Aqua desperately needed a break, she’d sit in the library with a huge book titled Recipes for a Stronger Keybearer, which wasn’t mandatory but she considered it vital for her own development. 

The library was perfect for a quiet repose. Even though the book was interesting, a nap was well-deserved and Aqua found it difficult to sneak one in otherwise.

That didn’t last, either. 

One night, Terra paid a visit with Ven trailing closely behind him. 

“Aqua, watch this.”

She inhaled sharply when she heard him, shaking her head awake. “What is it?” she mumbled.

Terra crossed his arms and he had a goofy grin on his face.

Her heart fluttered to see it, but she kept her expression firm. That wasn’t what she was supposed to be feeling - she was supposed to be happy that Terra was this excited.

But her heart also dropped to see it. She couldn’t even recall if they even had a conversation to themselves yesterday, and if they did, what they talked about. 

Terra quieted his laughter. “Watch, watch,” he whispered. 

He took a few steps, pretending he wasn’t scheming.

Ven blinked at first, then followed.

Then Terra stopped.

Ven ran into him. 

Terra walked again, and Ven followed. 

Terra stopped. Ven crashed. 

Aqua had to snort at the sight. It was so cute - so damn cute that her chest crushed itself. It was unbecoming of a Keybearer to be so swayed by emotion, but she refused to fight it. “You’re so smart, Ven,” she cooed, skipping over to hug him around the shoulders. 

Even if all Ven could do was stare at her with those big, blue eyes and a blank expression, it made her smile.

“Hi,” he said quietly. 

Suddenly, she was perked up and awake.

And Terra was here. What perfect timing, they could all do something together in those last twenty minutes before bedtime. 

“You know what I’ve been reading?” she asked Terra. She held the book’s cover up for him to read. Anything that would help him get better at wielding his Keyblade was right up his alley, especially if it was good food. 

“That looks interesting-” 

Ven tugged on Terra’s pants by the waist.

“Okay, okay,” Terra said, petting Ven on the head. “Sorry, Aqua, I guess he’s tired-”

Ven tugged again, and pointed to the window, whimpering.

The library’s windows were theaters in their own right. As tall as monuments, they were a gateway to the outside, and it was (almost) as if they were standing right outside. 

It was a clear night, and they had a front seat view at the stars. 

Without waiting for Terra, Ven hurried and pressed his face against the glass to stare up.

So she wasn’t going to have any time with Terra. That was fine. Tending to Ven was more important, anyway. 

“Aren’t they nice?” Terra asked, who failed miserably at pulling Ven’s attention away.

Aqua took Ven’s other side, kneeling over so she could speak to him more directly. “Isn’t that one the prettiest?” she asked, pointing a finger against a glass plate at the largest star from this side of the mountains.

Ven pressed his palms against the window, as if he wanted to touch it. “Hi,” he said. Whether to them or to the star, it was hard to tell. 

Whatever joy Terra had with him had ran away from his face. “Sometimes I wonder if we’ll never help him heal. He never wants to smile.” Stating that truth hurt Aqua in the heart. “I just want to know what he’s thinking…”

Aqua pouted. Such interest in the stars had to account for something, some proof that he was slowly getting better and wanted more out of life, right?

She smiled at Ven, who only gave her a passing glance. He was still precious. “All we can do,” she said, gently brushing through his hair, “is accept him for who he is.”

Terra nodded firmly, willing his frown into a smile. “We’ll show you the stars on the other side of the castle, Ven,” he said softly. “They’re just as cool, you’ll like them.” 

Ven yawned, pressing his forehead against the glass and closing his eyes.

“See,” Terra said, chuckling through his nose. “I knew you were tired.” He grabbed Ven’s hand -  the signal that it was time to move. Ven promptly complied and kept close. 

“I guess…” Aqua started, making her way back to her book. Would it be a surprise if she didn’t get any pleasure out of reading her book, now that she’d be alone? “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yep.” Terra took Ven on their way out of the library. “Good night.”

The first three sentences on the open page blurred together and Aqua couldn’t recall what any of them said. She could actually just spend those last minutes of the night with them, instead.

Well, she shouldn’t really interrupt bedtime, and Terra was very protective of the chores he shared with her, holding on to her debt for the day he needed it. 

But she had enough silence to last a week, and she had no Terra in her life like she used to, and to grasp what little she had left, Aqua couldn’t help herself.

Following them was the easiest choice she had made in a while.

Ven’s door was wide open, its only light shining down the hallway as all of the other bedrooms, hers and Terra’s included, were vacant. 

Hiding behind the wall, she peeked inside. 

Ven sat on the bed, tucking his knees in. He gazed out at the stars, leaning his entire weight on the marble windowsill to the point that he would fall over if there wasn’t a window in his way. Terra tossed toys aside - stuffed animals, wooden blocks, plastic cars, blankets, and all sorts of trinkets from random worlds that used to belong to him. Pretty soon, she expected the Master to give the same courtesy and get Ven new things from the worlds he visited. 

“Gotta make the bed,” Terra said, pulling Ven from his armpits. 

He flung Ven around, in circles, fast enough to make Ven’s feet pick up in the momentum, like he was flying, whirling like an umbrella caught in a storm.

It was only Terra that laughed, but if Ven didn’t like it, he’d whimper. 

If anything, Aqua’s heart thumped at the sight. Terra was always strong, so picking up a boy half his weight was no big deal. The way he interacted with Ven was sweet and courteous, something she admired and respected.

But it was the laughter that hit her the hardest. She didn’t realize how much she missed it. 

“Okay,” Terra said, slowing to a stop. “That’s enough.”

He landed Ven by the table, and went on to make the bed (poorly, he rushed it). 

Aqua finally stepped through. “Can I hang out?”

“If it’s not intruding on your personal time.” Terra measured the bedsheet with the comforter, aligning the two. He was surprised to see her, and he gave her a half-smirk. Even that made her draw heat to her ears.

“It’s not.” 

Ven rummaged through his drawers, pulling out paper and jars of paint. Finger painting had become his favorite pastime, and despite Aqua offering numerous paint brushes to encourage such an interest, he refused all of them. 

“Then you are welcome in my presence,” Terra said, lazily layering the sheets onto the bed. 

She sat next to Ven, watching him twist the jars open. 

Before he started… “Ven,” she said, “can you draw me a picture of where you’re from?”

“That’s a good idea.” Terra left the bed and the rest of the mess, looking over Ven’s shoulder. 

“Hi,” Ven said. It wasn’t inquisitive, it wasn’t confused. The way he said it made him sound content, even if he can’t smile, like a zombie who loved art. 

“Yes, hi,” Aqua said, running a light hand through his hair. She tapped at the blank page. “Can you do that for me?”

Ven took a moment to stare at the blank page. He opened a jar of rusty orange, and dipped his finger in, making huge sweeps across the bottom of the page.

His finished painting was very basic: a mass of orange and brown, with a tall plateau in the background. 

In fact, Terra stammered, like he expected there to be more. 

Aqua looked hard. It offered no other clues. “It looks like a desert.”

Terra cocked his head. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Where are the houses?”

“... It’s creepy.”

“There aren’t any people around, either.”

Terra sighed. “Maybe he doesn’t remember them.”

Her heart sank. 

“I’m glad you found us, Ven,” she said, giving him a smile that he didn’t return.

“Hi.” 

She sighed, too. She was about to ask if he could draw his old friends, but she didn’t want to make him upset. Eraqus only took children who had no family left, and despite that it had been years since she arrived, she had to be in a specific mood to be able to talk about her parents. She probably already exhausted all of her strength talking about them with Terra. 

“Come on, Ven,” she said sweetly. His eyebrows curled up, like he was lost and was waiting for someone to find him. She got the gut-wrenching feeling that his painting made him upset. It was the way he hung his head. “Let’s wash up.”

She guided him by his elbow to the washroom.

“Do you think we could take him out?” Terra asked before they reached the door.

“What do you mean?”

“Outside.” 

She stopped. Ven stopped as well, looking up at her with his hands in the air as though he wasn’t allowed to wash his wands. “The Master said we shouldn’t take him outside.”

“It’s not like we’re letting him explore the woods. The gardens are safe.” Terra leaned onto one of the chairs, one hand on his hip. “We’ll keep watch over him.”

“But the Master-”

“Do you actually think,” Terra frowned, “it’s good for him to be locked inside the castle at all hours?”

Aqua paused. She wanted to say that if the Master thought Ven should stay in the castle, then it was for good reason… But  what reason? 

“I want him to enjoy himself,” Terra said quietly, looking over at the lonely picture on the table. A thought passed through Aqua’s mind that they should trash it. “We can each hold his hand so he doesn’t wander off.”

If they were both holding on to him, then surely…

“Okay.” 

She placed a hand behind Ven’s shoulder to continue on their way.

“Hey.” Terra was skeptical, both hands leaning back on the chair now. “He knows how to wash his hands.” 

She rolled her eyes - she honestly had more dignity than that. “He still needs supervision.”

Terra clicked his tongue. “It doesn’t count as payment.”

“Of course it won’t. I don’t cheat.” She pointed her nose up at him. 

She led Ven to the sink. He was taught to scrub in between his fingers, and to focus under his fingernails. When he was finished, she pointed to her own cheek - there was a spot of paint left on his, and he turned the water on again to finish the job. 

Only when Ven put on a clean shirt did Terra take his left hand and Aqua his right. They walked him to the back entrance of the castle, where golden gates designed with grape and vine filigree were kept locked. 

Two lamps marked the outside entrance to the gardens, which were split in two by a concrete pathway that stopped at the fields beyond, where evergreen trees cloaked the horizon. It was a clear night, with gentle winds blowing. 

“It’s a little nippy,” Aqua said, checking on Ven to see if he was shivering. He wasn’t, but she adjusted his shirt to cover his chest properly anyway (it already was, she was being paranoid).

“Let’s stop here,” Terra said, taking a seat onto the steps the led down into the flower bed.

They held Ven tightly, and when he sat down with him, they didn’t let go. 

“Look, Ven,” Terra said, pointing up into the sky. 

It took a moment for Ven to look up since he was mesmerized by towers of speedwell flowers and strawberry vines.

But when he followed, a loud “Woooohhhh” left his lips.

And he smiled. He laughed. He laughed harder as he leaned back to look for the stars that disappeared behind the castle, and to the left to find more stars beyond the mountains. There wasn’t a way to count all of them. 

Aqua cried for the second time, when that was something she promised never to do again. Exchanging a hand for the one that held Ven’s, she wrapped her free arm around his shoulders and listened to him giggle, felt him hop in excitement under her weight. 

A stronger arm held over her and Terra’s head rested on hers, while a young boy shook their hands so they could pay attention and look up, too.

~*~*~*~

The next morning, Ven woke up with a cough.

He also had a runny nose and a fever. Aqua tucked him under fleece blankets up to his chin for the chills. 

Terra went straight to work in the kitchen, mixing lemongrass and sage into his chicken broth for the symptoms. He refused help from Aqua. 

Aqua knew what he was doing to himself. “It’s not your fault, Terra.”

Terra didn’t reply. He continued to stir with his ladle. 

“I can slice some oranges for him-”

“Aqua, I said I’ll handle it.” He glanced at her. “I’m not adding to your chore debt, don’t worry.”

“That has nothing to do with anything.” She pursed her lips. Sometimes when Terra got upset, he needed space - a lot of it - but she already spent so much time away from him. She watched the meat boil from over his shoulder. “Would it make you feel better if I didn’t say, I told you so?”

He smirked. “You have every right.”

“It is good to be right.” She fiddled with her nails, and he smiled. Good. “But I still won’t say it.”

“I got what I wanted, so I’ve already said it to myself.” He added more pepper. 

“We all get sick. It was going to happen anyway.”

“...There’s still more for me to do,” Terra said with a low voice. “I have to make amends.”

She highly doubted that Ven would be the kind of boy to blame Terra for this, but she let it go. 

Terra asked her to stay by Ven’s side for the time being. She spent the entire day with Ven - Terra would check in every now and then, taking laps between the kitchen and the library as he continued to look up herbs for common colds that he could sneak into food, and even magical ingredients that could speed up the process. 

By night, Terra had visited the bedroom only five times for ten minute sessions. Aqua found it hard to believe that researching tea would swallow this much time but Terra liked to be thorough. 

Ven took to folding paper in his hands into disfigured halves when he finished his third bowl of soup and got bored of other toys. 

Terra came in, this time with sacks filled with bed pillows and couch pillows and throw pillows, some plain, others embroidered. 

“We’re building a pillow fort,” he announced.

He left and came back with blankets, clothespins, string, and broken broomsticks. Ven watched on as they went to work hanging and pinning the sheets around his bed, making a deep, tall cave.

“Lights?” Aqua asked as they pinned the last of them. 

“Got it covered,” Terra said, a triumphant smile on his face.

Coming back with a lamp and a cardboard box, he announced the pillow fort was ready. 

They crawled onto Ven’s bed and pinned the open side of the blankets to a close. With the lit lamp, Terra covered it with the cardboard box, which had several holes cut into it. 

A slew of five-pointed stars covered the entire fort. They were symmetrical and slick, as though Terra took the time to sandpaper his carved art.

It made Ven happy, especially since he was able to run his hand against the fabric and trace their shapes, one by one. 

Aqua was warm - not just from sitting under so many blankets, but from the gesture. Terra always had a big heart, even though he was too reclusive to show it. He was sensitive, and yes, he took things too personally sometimes, but that was part of his charm. 

If anyone had harmed someone he was close to, he’d feel their pain and take it personal with them.

Building a pillow fort was the sort of thing Terra would do when she fell sick, too. She still had the custom cardboard box he carved for her when he was eleven. 

“This is beautiful, Terra,” she said softly. 

Terra hugged his knee tightly and bowed his head. 

“I didn’t mean to make you sick,” he said, watching Ven jab at a star, totally forgetting they were even there. “I’m so sorry, Ven.”

Ven looked at him with a toothy smile. “I’m so sorry, Ven,” he parroted, sounding happy like he didn’t fully understand what it meant.

Aqua was strong enough to hold back the tears this time.

~*~*~*~

The moment she was jerked awake from a dream she didn’t remember, she knew it was going to be an unusual day. 

“Terra,” she spit. “What do you want?”

“I need your help.”

She sprung up, throwing her legs over the bed. “What happened to Ven?”

“Nothing, he’s not awake yet.” Terra shrugged and turned over to leave. 

“Ugh,” she groaned, slugging over her feet to follow. “Then… why?”

“We got a message from the Master.” He didn’t look back but hurried into his own bedroom, throwing himself onto the floor to grab his clean clothes and stuff them into his bottom dresser drawer. “He’s coming.”

Aqua sighed. “Thank goodness.” Then she perked up. “I can’t wait for him to see Ven’s progress.” Then she worried. “Oh no, he’ll notice he’s sick.”

“Yeah, that’s-” Terra looked over his shoulder, and found one sock. “It’ll be fine. But I need you to help me clean.”

She scoffed. “Seriously? Feeding Ven is so much more important.”

“He’s not awake yet.” Terra gesticulated like he was begging. “You owe me a chore debt, don’t forget that.”

“And this is your idea of a brilliant payment?”

“Aqua.”

She exhaled through her nose and brought herself down on her knees. She wondered if Terra liked to annoy her just because he thought it was funny. 

The way he was overstuffing his drawer made her eyebrow twitch - they were all going to get wrinkled. Instead of helping him pick up anything else, she folded everything he put away. 

“Why is this an emergency?” she asked with the sarcasm she wanted to slap him with. 

“My nanny is coming.”

She stopped folding. “You had a nanny?”

Terra chuckled, crawling around the carpet to grab more random pieces of clothing, handing her two pairs of briefs. “Before you came, yeah. The Master wasn’t going to leave me all alone in a castle when I was six.”

“She’s the witch who’s going to perform miracles on Ven?” Aqua pulled out the matching sock which was hidden behind a roll of shirts.

“Yep.” Terra watched the window. For what sign, she didn’t know.

“If it’s so important to have your room clean,” she said, opening a drawer he just closed to fold the clothes he threw in there, “why didn’t you plan for it ahead of time?”

She heard him gasp. The wind outside was picking up speed, pushing against the windows. “She’s here,” he said, scurrying on his feet and racing out of his room. “We should wake up Ven and get him ready.”

It would have left his bedroom half messy but Aqua considered her debt paid. 

They found him sneezing to the point that his mucus ran down to his lips, and Aqua cleaned him up with a tissue. Terra scuffled to throw random toys into a chest, even though some of them belonged on the shelf - anything to make it look cleaner. Ven didn’t have a fever anymore, and Terra guided him to stand up. 

Aqua was going to ask what kind of nanny were they expecting, only to hear two voices approaching.

“We will of course accommodate you with the most extravagant room we can offer.” That was the Master’s voice. “Right next to the boy’s room.”

He and his guest didn’t bother to stop in the lounge or the dining room to wind down, instead they came straight here. Upon entering, the woman took a slow, condescending look around the chaos of a bedroom. The most remarkable thing about her was her black boater hat, adorned in flowers. She had incredibly perfect posture, pinned up in a long petticoat, and she parted her feet wide enough to look like it hurt. This woman must have traveled a lot: in one hand was a huge carpet bag, and in the other was an umbrella. 

“Terra,” said the woman, “how lovely it is to see you again.” She spoke kindly… yet not too casual or inviting. Aqua had the immediate impression that this woman, however warm, was not to be messed with.

“Ms. Poppins.” Terra bowed. 

“Aqua,” the Master said. “This is Mary Poppins, she will be taking care of Ventus until he is clear of his illness.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Aqua said, also bowing. 

“Very cordial, you’ve raised them well, Eraqus.” Mary Poppins left her bag and umbrella on the desk to remove her hat and scarf. 

The Master stepped forward, inspecting Ven closely. “Everything went smoothly, I presume?” Terra and Aqua threw the quickest glances at each other as they could. “How are you, Ventus?”

Ven sneezed. “I’m so sorry, Ven,” he said, wiping his nose with his forearm.

“Pardon?”

Aqua jittered. She hated lying, and hated the fact that she was getting better at it. “W-we opened the windows for him one night to give him some fresh air.” She rolled her lips inward. “That was a bad idea, we’re sorry.”

Terra struggled to hide a smirk, and Aqua really wanted to step on his foot for being such a bad influence on her. 

The Master didn’t seem concerned about it, petting through Ven’s hair. “‘Tis a seasonal thing. I am happy to hear that Ventus is speaking at least.”

“I’m so sorry, Ven,” said Ven again, louder this time.

“Eraqus,” Mary Poppins said, tisking at Ven’s condition and taking a measuring tape with her. “All this time, I believed you were exaggerating, yet I was so suspicious of myself for even considering that of you.”

The Master chuckled, giving her space. “I am ever the serious one.”

“To a fault.” She measured Ven with the tape from crown to foot. “Don’t slouch.”

Ven grabbed the tape. “Hi.”

“Now, Ventus,” she said firmly. “A respectable young gentleman keeps his hands to himself.”

“Ven,” he said, drawing his hand back. “I’m so sorry, Ven.”

Plucking the tape with her thumb, she read: “Sweet-natured, yet disturbed and shocked. Unable to recall where he is. Broken-hearted.” 

There was no way a measuring tape told her this. What in the world…?

Ms. Poppins tisked, shaking her head. “Terrible condition, this will not do.” Turning to the Master, she nodded. “I will stay until he grows a proper notch.”

“It is much appreciated.” Eraqus wrapped his arms across each other. “Terra, Aqua, thank you for looking after Ven. Your hard work has shown excellent progress, and I am confident Ms. Poppins will be able to lead him to proper health.”

“Sir.” They bowed. 

The Master rubbed his beard. “You may now be dismissed. Please focus on your training for today. I have been wary of being away without supervising your work for this long.”

“Master?” Aqua asked, lagging behind while Terra immediately followed orders. “Will Ven stay with us?”

Eraqus paused at his mustache. Mary Poppins was already uncorking an unlabeled medicinal bottle and preparing a spoon. 

“Of course he will,” the Master said. “Granted he will completely recover, I aim to train him as a Keyblade wielder.”

It brought Aqua some relief, yet it did little for the unease left in her stomach. It meant she had to give Ven away to others to be looked after. It meant not knowing what he was doing, or if his coughing got better, or where he was at all hours.

Mary Poppins poured medicine onto the spoon, and Ven didn’t even reject it. He treated Terra’s teas worse. 

“You’ve heard the Master,” Mary Poppins said after a second too long of Aqua staying in her place. She corked her bottle. “You are welcome to visit when you are finished, but you’ll get nowhere dawdling all day. Spit spot.” 

The authority in her voice kicked Aqua into speed as she hurried out to the ballroom.

But Terra wasn’t very interested in sparring, either. He barely put effort into it, letting his mind wander in between stances and quick duels - especially when they got too repetitive. They were so mindless about their work that they didn’t even scar the gold floor tiles this time. 

“Let’s focus,” Aqua said. “If we finish what we need to do faster, we can make sure Ven’s okay.”

“Hm?” Terra rested Earthshaker on his shoulder and a hand on his hip. “Ven’s definitely going to be okay. I’m not worried about that - it’s just weird being away from him.”

Aqua let her smile fall. “... I am,” she said quietly.

“Don’t be.” Terra’s smile was just like she was used to: sincere, but timid. Nothing like what he was showing when they were hanging out with Ven. “Ms. Poppins… has her ways.” 

“What kind of witch is she?”

“Don’t call her that. She’ll deny it.” He scoffed. “She’s a prim and proper lady, and she won’t make you forget that.”

“But she’s good at what she does?”

“Definitely.” Terra let his smile soften. “I hated it when the Master left, but she always made it better. We went on so many adventures in the castle.”

That was hard for Aqua to believe - and not just because she couldn’t imagine a prim and proper lady getting her dress dirty. They had addressed each other so formally, like she was just as much of a Master as Eraqus or Xehanort that Terra needed to show obedience to.

Terra read her expression well. “She’s a bit strict and old-fashioned, but you’ll see,” he said like it was a good enough explanation.

“Ah.” Aqua leaned Rainfell onto the floor. “That’s why the Master gets along with her.”

Terra snorted.

They were finally allowed to see Ven later that night - but only after the Master sat them down for three excruciating tests. Aqua performed poorly in one because she didn’t have Terra as a sparring partner, and Terra failed two because he was too busy to read his mandatory textbooks.

The Master promised not to count any of it against them, and they would have re-testing done in the upcoming weeks.

~*~*~*~

“He likes the stars, Ms. Poppins,” Terra said when they found her sitting on a rocking chair with yarn and a crochet needle on her lap.

It was a bit disappointing to see that she completely tore down the pillow fort they had made.

Ven paced around his room attempting to snap his fingers, and Aqua didn’t understand why or how he learned how to do that.

“Very well.” Ms. Poppins looked down on her handiwork before getting distracted. “Ven, kindly sit yourself in bed, please. You can diddle-daddle once you are better.”

Instead of listening to her, Ven leaned on her armrest, tilting his head at the sight of yarn. “Hi.”

She exhaled through her nose as though snorting was beneath her. “I shall teach you to address your peers properly, soon enough.”

“Ms. Poppins,” Terra said, “he’s okay to walk around, right?” 

“Terra,” she warned, with a glint of mischief in her eyes, “mind your intentions.”

He smirked. “I do. I’m responsible.”

She let go of her work to open up her arms, Ven picking up one of the tails of yarn. 

If she didn’t believe Terra, Aqua couldn’t blame her. 

She didn’t know Ms. Poppins well. Aqua didn’t have a clue how to approach the subject, and she found herself with both her fists to her chest. “We haven’t been with him all day. Can we spend some time with him, please?” 

Ms. Poppins watched Ven untangle all of her progress, to the point where she would have to crochet from scratch. “I suppose that’s alright. You can take him but he needs to be back in bed before the hour. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Terra said, gently pulling knots of yarn woven over Ven’s fingers. 

“Be sure to follow the stars on your way out,” Ms. Poppins said as they left.

Which left a chill up Aqua’s spine, stiffening the ends of her hairs. Did she know somehow?

That had to be impossible. 

“What did she mean by that?” she asked Terra, taking Ven down the largest hallway that would eventually lead them to the center of the castle. The further they walked, the darker the hallways became, with barely a lit lantern to light their way. It was as if someone turned off all the lights.

Terra scoffed at the sight of Aqua’s worry. “I told you not to think too hard about it. She always means well.”

He stopped, holding his free hand to his chin as Ven pulled on his other. “Usually there’s some pretty awesome surprises. Maybe we should find a good place to stargaze?”

“She said to follow the stars, though.”

“Like constellations?” Terra snapped his fingers, which mesmerized Ven’s attention. “Maybe the north star. We should go to the north side of the castle.” 

Aqua didn’t quite hear that last part. Right past Terra’s shoulder was a glowing light that twinkled up against the wall, riding it up.

“What is that?” she said.

Ven gasped and charged with such a force that he slipped off their grip. He touched it, and it burst into a cascade of shining lights that hit the floor and spread outward. 

The floor darkened to a navy blue, and the lights continued to split into halves, until they formed an arrangement that covered the entire hallway, snuffing out the last lanterns as they traveled. 

She heard a soft laugh. Terra’s. “Stars.”

“She’s so cool,” Aqua said, touching a cluster of lights by her feet and watching them thrust outward. 

“I knew you would say that.”

They followed, hopping on clusters of stars until they exploded in all sorts of directions. If Aqua swiped her hand upward on the wall, they would spread across the ceiling. 

When they approached the stairs, the stars would clump together and take the shape of steps so they wouldn’t mistake them and tumble down. 

It was like adventuring in deep space. 

They traveled from a nebula in the entrance hall, where they searched for hidden stars...

… All the way to the meteor shower that rained in the ballroom, trying to catch them before they disappeared into the tiles. 

The only room that stayed the same was the Master’s office, where he obsessed over papers on his desk and trusted one lamp to light his way. To Aqua, it looked like he was reading in outer space, yet he never noticed.

By the time they made it back around to the bedrooms, the stars they first activated had formed their own galaxy, and they spent what little time they had left to name each one. Ven named each of his as “Ven.”

~*~*~*~

Aqua was just about to turn off her bedside lamp when the door knocked. 

Terra let himself in and shut it behind him. He had a piece of paper. “You should see what Ven painted.”

Sitting on her bed, he handed it over. Finger paints of very rough outlines of human figures - one blue, one short one that was green, and one tall one that was orange - took the space on the bottom. Above them was an uneven mess of dark blue with white fingerprints that made up the stars.

Aqua was too tired to really giggle but the painting made it easier for her. “It’s us.” She hid her face behind it. “It’s like the one you made me a long time ago, remember?”

“Shut up.” He looked away from her and buried his face in his hand.

“I still have it.”

“Of course you do.” He squirmed, grabbing his thighs. “You should keep this one, then. Keep them together.”

She let it rest on her lap. “It’s going to be nice… to have a new student.”

“I can’t wait to see what his Keyblade looks like.”

“Or what he can do with it.”

Terra leaned back. “He’s so small, but he’s tough.”

Aqua took one more look at the painting, then placed it on her bedside table. “He’s brave, too.”

She started to snuggle into her bed, digging herself into her bedsheets. She expected Terra to get the hint and turn off the lights for her when he left.

But he joined her instead.

“What are you doing?” she asked. 

He made himself comfortable and laid on his side to face her. He had a sheepish smile on his face, and he fiddled with his hands under the sheet. His voice trembled the slightest when he said it, but what he meant reached his eyes: “I’ve missed you.”

The tips of her ears flared up. Soon enough, her cheeks would burn red so she saved face by dragging her sheets up to her nose. Her heart pounded, which wasn’t helping. 

Sleeping in each other’s beds used to be the norm when they were little, a long time ago.

“Really?” she said.

The way she was behaving made him a little uncomfortable. As if to mimic her, he pulled the sheets to rest right under his chin, packing on blankets in between their bodies as though they were doing something they shouldn’t be doing. 

“Yeah.” He tried to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s been a long time since we really talked.”

Aqua thought all this time things were changing forever. It seemed like all the grown ups she ever had a chance to talk to had lost their best friends, so now it was her time. It was a part of life, and whatever came their way, she had to accept it.

With or without Ven, it wasn’t like they could talk like they used to anymore, anyway.

It was a few months ago that she kissed Terra for the first time. 

She didn’t mean much by it. At least she didn’t think.

It really embarrassed him, though. When she sought him out to talk about it, all he did was shrug a shoulder and said You’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met, Aqua, and stared at a book he wasn’t actually reading. 

Like it was all a joke to him.

They never spoke about it since.

“I felt the same,” she whispered.

If it comforted him, she didn’t know. “Can I stay here for a while?”

She blushed. 

Hard. 

She kept it hidden behind fabric, so he wouldn’t see. “Mm, sure.” Whatever she was feeling, she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. It made her excited, and yet it was too overwhelming to define.

This was the worst time to be thinking about that kiss.

“But we are a little old for sleepovers, don’t you think?” she added, trying to stall this insane rush of thoughts.

“I guess so.” He was disappointed. 

“You can stay tonight.” She rolled over her shoulder to face away from him.  

“Thanks.” There was rustling and movement behind her. More space opened up between them, and he flicked the light switch off before settling. “Good night,” he chirped. 

All night, she stayed cemented to her side of the bed. Terra laid on his back, his hands interlaced on his chest, and he never moved either. 

She fell asleep expecting to crawl around him in the morning.

But she was alone when she woke up. 

The first person she greeted was none other than Ven, who was waiting for her in the dining room. Terra sat on the floor right by his side. 

“Hi!” Ven’s voice echoed in the enormous metal pot he wore on his head. 

Terra burst into laughter. “He loved it so much, I had to give it to him.”

“Ven?” Aqua pulled up from the rim, peeking under. Ven’s eyes glistened in the dark. 

“I’m so sorry, Ven,” said Ven. 

“I’m sorry for you, too.” She heaved with breath at the sight, changing silent looks of sheer hysteria with Terra as Ven banged on his own pot, the sound of clanging echoing. 

The door to the dining room slammed. “Look lively, children,” Ms. Poppins said. She kept her hands crossed over her waist and headed straight for the kitchen, adorning an apron. “The Master is coming.” 

Terra and Aqua immediately sprung, lifting Ven by the elbows so he could follow suit. With the Master here, Ven had a long way to go with learning how to pay respects. 

“Ven,” Ms. Poppins scoffed. “Such behavior. Take that out of your head, please.”

He slowly followed orders and let the pot hang in his hands, a sad frown on his face.

“Ms. Poppins,” Aqua called, watching the nanny command appliances in the kitchen telepathically. The teapot brewed without notice, and the eggs in the saucepan fried with just a glance. “Thank you for the trip last night. It was wonderful.”

Mary Poppins looked shocked. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” She left Aqua gaping to tend to the flour.

Terra shrugged at before letting his smile reach his eyes. He loved it when he was right. 

“Told you,” he said.

“Think you’re so clever?” she shot back.

“Of course he is,” Ms. Poppins said, and Aqua squirmed at the thought she was being overheard. “I remember to the word what his measurement read when I first met him.”

Terra hesitated to say something, like he was bracing for impact.

“Diligent, sensitive,” Ms. Poppins, recited from memory, motioning to Ven to help her prepare plates though he didn’t understand. “Cheeky. Keeps a messy room and lies about cleaning his room.”

Aqua snorted.

She kept ‘I told you’ to herself, but just this one last time.