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beautifulterriblequeen · 3 years ago

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The Thief and the Tinker, Part 3: I See Fire

part 2

Part 3

Viren: Well how do you suggest we get him out?

Claudia: *grins, brandishes marshmallow on toasting fork* Unharmed is just another kind of harmed

Viren: Claudia no

Claudia: Claudia YES

I See Fire

Angst rating: 9/10

Viren is clever enough not to take the Silvergrove on alone, no matter how badly he wants Ethari to make him a magic key. Aaravos could be cooking in that pod for a while longer, but Viren still has a trustworthy and badass ally at his side.

Oh yeah, it's Claudia Time again!

Claudia is a powerful and imaginative dark mage, and she has the tainted Sun staff. So, you're the magefam, and you've made it to Xadia, to the edges of the Moonshadow Forest. And all you need to do to get the power of your dreams is to threaten one soft craftsman. But how do you find one specific Moonshadow elf in a hidden Moonshadow village somewhere in the middle of a giant spooky magical forest?

You burn him out.

Credit once again to@random-fandom-ramble for reminding me of this forest fire headcanon, because it fits so well. and so I don't get all the blame for this one, lol

Because see, that's not ordinary fire. Oh, no. That's dark magic fire. We've seen that before. It leaves permanent scars. Remember Sol Regem's eyes?

That's going to be the landscape when Claudia's fire gets through with the Moonshadow elves' home. Where I live on the US West Coast, they name forest fires, and if they combine, they get called complexes. So maybe we can name this fire the Dark Tragedy Complex? Because I do have to wonder... you could start a dark magic forest fire easily with a tainted Sun staff, but how do you put it out?

Two things are going to happen if these events should unfold. One is angsty. The other is also angsty but then amazing.

Firstly, Viren is going to get what he wants. He'll find Ethari, whose tree burned down :(. He'll show him the coins, and he'll offer a trade. Build what he wants and make it work, and Ethari can have his family back, uncoined and free.

And Ethari will say yes.

He'll say yes no matter what anyone else tries to persuade him to do, and I hope they do try, because see: Ethari has to make it look good. He has to make it look like he's all in on Viren's plan, to Viren. Even if that means turning his back on his people in their time of greatest need.

Secondly, the Moonshadow elves are going to be collectively homeless and bereft, hungry, injured, terrified, angry. They will have nowhere to go. They will be a people without a home. And no one else in Xadia will help them. Maybe they're too terrified to hide Ethari's people in case doing so brings Viren down on them, too. We've seen how ordinary elves flee in terror from dark magic. Maybe they're all fighting other issues, too. Viren knows all about stretching resources too far during times of crisis. Whatever the case, there will be no welcome anywhere in Xadia for the Moonshadow elves of the Moonshadow Forest.

But here's where it gets amazing. Because one hand will reach out. One small hand, from across the border. Good King Ezran will stand up on the seat of his throne and say, "You can stay here. I have forests. You're tired, you're hungry. You need medicine. Let me help."

And I'm gonna cry like a little baby.

How many cycles does this break, how many circles does it complete? Moonshadow elves used to live in Katolis before the border was created. When humans were under threat of total annihilation, the Moonshadow leader's daughter spoke up and asked for mercy. That mercy came in the form of land reassignment, and the Moonshadow elves had to give up their ancestral home, their Nexus, and travel east across the new Border. But that mercy got paired with justice, and the life-loving Moon Druids probably had to swear some kind of blood promise to keep an eye on the humans forevermore, and to kill any individuals who got out of hand, as if their sins were the Moonshadows' responsibility now.

That's got to breed a little resentment, a little superiority. "Look what we sacrificed for you, and this is how you act. Ungrateful." And maybe that was partially Luna Tenebris's goal: to hold to her vision of justice, she had to make the elves who shared her arcanum feel a little resentment. Moonshadows love life, but we can't have them being too soft to keep Xadia safe from dark mages, now, can we? I will never stop cackling over dragon politics okay, never

But the Moonshadow elves never figured on King Ezran. A soft boy who refused to let his father's assassination harden his heart, because every life is genuinely important to him. I've seen headcanons for Ezran getting the Sun, Earth, Ocean, and Stars arcanum. How about Moon, too? Because this is very Ethari of him, and if these stories of Viren's plan and the Moonshadow elves' displacement were actually to happen in tandem, the contrast between Ezran's soft choice and Ethari's hard one would be mindblowing.

Ezran completes the circle by inviting the Moonshadow elves to return to Katolis, to their ancestral home. They left long ago, paying the price for an act of mercy, but they were welcomed back by the mercy of humans, repaid after a thousand years, repaid in the face of tragedy. Tragedy on all sides. Tragedy Ezran wants to stop from happening, by being brave and caring and soft, and by being the first to break this thousand-year cycle between Katolis and the Moonshadow elves.

Rayla is his friend. And these are her people. It won't matter what they've done, only that they need help in a time of great desperation. And of course he'll help them. He's Ezran, and he's Katolis's greatest treasure.

Oh, what's that you say? Inviting the Moonshadow elves to settle in Katolis again would make it easier for Rayla to live with Callum in the future? Oh gosh, how about that? What a deal. *smug matchmaker noises*

And once the Moonshadow elves understand that they're safe and begin to trust Ezran--which could happen very quickly, because saving a Moonshadow elf's life when you didn't need to is a really fast way to prove you're trustworthy--maybe Ezran will be encouraged to take the next step toward peace, and eventually other elves and dragons will come to meet together to talk it over. And Ez will offer them jelly tarts, which they will love.

Back to Ethari, because we're not done with him yet. Ethari is soft, but he isn't weak. He won't be a willing pawn for Viren. He loves Runaan to the point of invention, and his devotion is more constant than the moon itself. He'll agree to do what Viren says, and he'll be Very Sad. But his spirit is in no way broken. Viren bribing him with the coins containing his family will only have the opposite effect. It'll give Ethari something to fight for.

We could get Focused Chaos Ethari. We could get Angery Trickster Ethari. We could get Rules, What Rules? Ethari. Let him try to steal the coins, try to break them, try to kill Viren, and be stymied at every turn, until he settles and seems cowed. And then all he does is craft his way out of the problem. What if we are gifted with Iron Man Ethari, who pretends to build a fake Key for Viren, but meanwhile he's really building a coinbuster with whatever he can get his hands on - primal stones, magically imbued gemstones, stolen artifacts, his own arcanum, his own reputation as the Master Craftsman of the Silvergrove. He'll use almost- almost - anything, to stop Viren and free his family.

Ethari may have to choose between those two things, though. And he's a hero, deep down, just like his family, just like his daughter. If he has to choose, he'll choose to stop Viren and save Xadia. He'll pay the same price as his family has if he must.

He'd let Viren think he was motivated purely by wanting his family back, but Ethari is far too steeped in the illusion and sacrifice for that to be all there is to his motives. It's a so-close-and-yet-so-far thing, how he and Viren almost embody the same ideals. Almost. Ethari would take one look at Viren, who just burnt down his whole Forest, he'd see the biggest threat in Xadia, and he'd say anything to get a chance to stop this juggernaut of destruction from getting his hands on whatever that ultimate power really is, locked behind that missing key. If he has to abandon his people and bawl his eyes out to convince Viren he's in, then he will.

And Viren wouldn't make it easy for him. He knows clever when he sees it. He went through all this trouble to persuade Ethari to work with him. He would need to keep Ethari as off-balance as possible to ensure that he keeps working as he should.

Angsty jewelry, anyone: Viren giving Ethari his husband in pendant form to remind him what he's working for, when Viren and Ethari both know full well that only dark magic can open the hellcoins. Ethari wearing another pendant of his love, except it's not a metaphor this time. It's literally his love, in a coin around his neck.

Viren would know that Ethari would have to stay close to Viren of his own free will if he ever hoped to free Runaan. And making people bind themselves to you is a big power flex. Remember that TDP stream future-season teaser note about Bait being in a creepy restraint in a future season?

This card is written on in all-caps, so that really could be "Bait" or "bait," or--knowing this show--both. Viren's been using Runaan as bait for Ethari all along. Putting his coin in a dark magic pendant casing for Ethari to wear would be a great parallel for that. Oh god. Oh man.

Maybe he'll stab the coin's scary casing right through that circle on Ethari's chest, right over his heart, make that Iron Man reference really obvious. Ethari also losing his shirt at some point, for angsty Viren-related reasons? It's more likely than you think. I mean... Ethari is literally involved in both forms of forging at this point. Shirt's gotta come off for uhhhh work reasons. And because he's hot. Because of all the forging. I mean how else are we finally going to discover what his markings look like

I mentioned that I liked god-tier villains, right? Yeah, this is amazing. I haven't wanted to die and ascend over an idea for quite a while, but Ethari vs Viren in a drawn-out battle of wills would kill me in the best way. Especially since, while it looks like they're essentially fighting for who gets Runaan, they're truly fighting a much larger battle with much higher stakes. They're fighting for the future itself. It's an epic struggle between the Narrative of Strength and the Narrative of Love. And we've seen what happens, over and over, when the Narrative of Strength gets to call the shots.

On a meta note: If Runaan and Ethari's story arc isn't a love letter from one trauma survivor to another, and on a broader scope to all survivors who see it, I don't know what is. Sometimes life just chews us up and spits us out and we can't stop it and it breaks us. But sometimes we can reach out and grasp the chance to help each other, even after that, even when it hurts a lot, because we know what it means to be loved, and to love, and to want a safer future for each other and for people we'll never meet. The future is worth standing together for, helping each other back up for, fighting side by side for, even if you can't see how it'll end, or even how to begin. We are stronger together, and sometimes we need to fight for our "together" before we can fight for anything else. And that's worth it, every time.

This is glorious, it's beautiful, it's tragic, it's amazing, it makes me want to dance, it makes me want to scream into the void, it makes me want to slap someone with a semi truck. No, someone specific, don't worry, and he super deserves it.

Because Ethari is going to win. He was always going to win. He's soft, and he's clever, and he hasn't forgotten what love means. It's what he's fighting for. Not power, not control. Love. He doesn't want to dictate Runaan's future, or anyone else's. He just wants his husband--and everyone else--to have one at all.

So he's going to win.

What beating Viren looks like, I can't guess yet. TDP is no stranger to angst, so there will probably be a high cost involved in thwarting the dark mage. Maybe not everyone can be rescued from the coins. Maybe Ethari will lose his life, or his soul, or his vision, or something else really angsty. Viren could even kill him and resurrect him as a smoky craftsman, or a zombie craftsman, or something equally biddable but horrible. The only thing I'm sure of is that Ethari would never willingly make a working Key of Aaravos Ethari as long as there's a chance Viren could possess it. But I do believe that if he gets the right opportunity while he's busy saving the world from Viren's dark intentions, he'll break his husband's hellcoin open somehow and set him free, even if he has to smile at the devil to do it.

part 4

#tdp #tdp theory #tdp speculation #tdp parallels #viren #ethari #laindrin #runaan #moonshadow elves #moonshadow assassins #hopepunk #tdp angst #heavy angst #tw trauma

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trixcuomo · 4 years ago

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Spellblade Sunthraze

After several awkward tries with his character, I finally rolled Sunthraze as a Spellblade (that is actually a Death Knight OOC). I’m pretty durned excited about it.

Farstrider. Blood Knight. Now, Spellblade.

Sunthraze held his sword out, raised it at his reflection in the mirror. The heavy, tassled curtains were shuttered. Only a slice of peach sunshine ebbed along the red embroidery, so no hope of anyone’s eyes falling upon this. The Blood Elf man smirked.

At the periphery of Sunthraze’s vision he could see his other hand, in dark blue glove. Faint flecks of silver, then white, hovered near his fist. Sunthraze opened his fingers, flexed them. Claws of frost, so many particles of icy magic, twinned with his fingertips and pointed with curiosity as he did, then with menace. And he could feel the potential of the powerful spell he called, welling up in his body. It forced him to recognize how fragile and mortal he was, how brief. Compared to him, the magic could get so violent and destructive.

Now, Sunthraze brought his hand over the dull metal blade.

“Like dragon’s breath…”

He was amazed that mages, people like Kael’thas Sunstrider, could feel this way in one moment, and then get on with their lives, brush their teeth, eat a sandwich—alright, so not in that order—then go off and play with their dog, or lose a bet on a Hawkstrider race. But any moment after that, it could happen at any time. They’d need to draw on the magic again, to defend body, hearth and country.

Sunthraze felt a mix of joy and something else he couldn’t explain to himself that unnerved him, seeing the frost magic willingly obey every subtle movement of his gloved hand. Perhaps because anything could happen now. And whether he succeeded or failed, most would at the least find out that he tried. It would get blown wide open, that he went so far as to even attempt it. So wild, that he’d dared. Then, he drew an anxious breath and knew the other, more unsettling feeling. Yes, anything could happen to him if he executed this wrong. Dread.

Sunthraze checked again that he was watching himself, his whole form in the mirror while blade and ice spell were at the ready. Then, strike. He slashed up, then struck down again. The freezing spell was still shimmering along the sword, obedient. But yet again, it reminded him of laying a finger over the trigger of a shotgun, the unease that all you needed to do was squeeze but you’d better dare not shoot at the wrong moment. And aim first, you fool, for sun’s sake!

The country boy in him knew that, though there might be an enemy bearing down on him, there was never any need to rush it. Sunthraze met his own steel gaze in the mirror, brought his arm around again with the right speed, the right power, let it loose.

Ice blasted so explosively at the mirror that it shattered, but soon froze tight in place. White frost filled the seams and spread, like a spider’s web with a mind of its own. Branches of ice covered over one another and formed crystals.

“Ha!”

Then he kicked out and came around again, slashing anew. The subtle cold weather around his body rushed into a howling gale and brought forth a slash of snow, marring his own careful spell-work from before with a kind of care-free graffiti.

“Sunthraze!”

He stiffened up. “I know I locked that door.”

Trixany was ontop of him now, her shoulder butting into his head almost. She was much taller. “You’re a Death Knight!”

“What the—no! After all we went through in Outland and with Kael’thas, you think I’d go and do a thing like that?”

“You sure?”

“Oh by the gods and all the magics—you think I wouldn’t remember dying? That I’d get that wrong somehow?”

“But that’s a helluva lot of ice?”

She walked over, her greaves nearly slipped in the ice.

“Wait—you don’t have gloves on. That stuff is seriously cold, Trix.”

Trixany paused before her bare brown hand touched the ice slick covering the mirror on the wall. “Well if this isn’t the power of a Death Knight… how are you doing this?”

Sunthraze looked over the blade in his hand, humming even now with cool, blue magic. “I taught myself to be a Spellblade. You can’t exactly go to the academy to learn all that anymore, can you? And, as a Nexite, picking up other people’s spells, it’s what we do. Right?”

“Not like this. Never like this, Sunthraze. Lady Liadrin will lose her mind that you’ve done this. All on your own? The Convocation of Silvermoon never sanctioned any new Spellblades to be trained. They must have their reasons.”

“It’s because the runestones are damaged, if they survive. And the sanctums haven’t been able to do their jobs since the Scourge came—”

“You are a fool. You’ve always been such an idiot about these kinds of things. Here we are again, you and your big ego. You making another grab for more power. Yeah we were all zealous Blood Knights once, and some bad habits are hard to break--"

"Like you taking down Haris Pilton to get notoriety at any cost? She's not exactly an enemy Fel Reaver, Trix." He rolled his eyes, "Never was."

"That's debatable. But you’re going to fail and fall flat on your face with this one, Sunthraze. If the sanctums can’t channel the ley lines properly and if the Convocation won’t even sanction anyone trying to… harness those powers for themselves? What the fel makes you think you can do it, all on your own?”

“I did find one mentor. A good one. Anyway, none of that stuff matters when I’ve clearly found a way to do it. I just succeeded, you saw!”

“You succeed by practicing in dark rooms with the curtains closed. Afraid for anyone to judge what you’re doing. That also means nobody can assess whether you’ve done it right. And who is this mentor that is completely fine with you training up in this way? You’re both big, foolish fools, then.”

“…Koltira Deathweaver.”

Trixany smacked her forehead.

“What? What!”

“You’re not a Spellblade then, obviously! You’re fresh meat for some weird Death Knight to reap your soul when you’re ripe for the picking. How did you even meet Koltira anyways?”

“…Ghostlands mission. It’s sorta cool, he and I have a ton in common.”

Trixany attempted to get away from Sunthraze, but he kept following her from room to room at the Nexus headquarters, talking ecstatically about his new wonderful bromance with Koltira himself.

“And Koltira says Spellblades could even do this thing where the ice becomes a—”

“For the last time, you are not a Spellblade!” Trixany threw her hands up in the air.

“Then what was that awesome thing I did back there. Huh! Huh?”

Trixany finally gave in and simply ran from her crazy ex.

“… It was literally cool! Haha—do you get it?”

#sunthraze

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royallyprincesslilly · 5 years ago

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Title: Love, Maybe? {33}**

Chris Evans X Reader OFC Vixen Giovanni

Warning: Cursing, Plot, Fluff, Angst, NSFW 😁

Word Count: 10.3K 😳

Summary: After a night of drunkenness you wake up next to warm, hot as hell body, a migraine and no memory of the night before. When you come to realize that the hot body belongs to none other than Hollywood’s golden boy Chris Evans you freak out. As events unfold you become even more panicked to find out you got married in your drunken haze. What else is there to do but get it annulled, right? Before walking away, you share one more night of molten kisses and passion. Three years later you are still living with the repercussions of your brash decisions, but the surprises don’t stop there. The past has a way of coming back and have you questioning is this fate that you’ve been running from, hell could it have been love, maybe?

Note: Y’all said 10.3K was not a problem. Prove it, let’s see how many of y’all read it all. LOL. Hope you guys like it, you deserve it. 🙃😏

Italic texts is an inner Vixen thought. Bold Italic texts is an inner Chris thought.

**Slightly Edited/Proofread**

***Interactive***

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 33: Ready?

-Vixen-

“Hello, earth to Vixen!”

You shook your head and noticed your friends and Nexus staring at you. You’d zoned out—again. You’d lost track of how many times your mind drifted.

“Hey, yeah.”

“Hey, yeah? What the hell was that? where were you just now?”

You shook your head and rubbed your forehead. “It was nothing. where were we?”

They looked at you as if you’d grown a second head. “We were talking about how fine your baby daddy is,” Angie blurted out.

“Oh boy, here we go.”

“Yes, here we go. To think your disappearance act that night in Vegas was more than you being a workaholic choosing work over fun. You were off getting your back blow—wait, can he blow backs? He is white.” They all laughed, and you took the opportunity to take a long sip of your half and half iced tea lemonade. You really didn’t want to divulge any details about your sex life. You almost laughed because it had been years since you’d gotten any sort of blowing out of your back.

“You’re quiet. Oh my god, white boy can lay pipe Vixen?” Jia’s tone was full of shock, and it matched the bugged-out eyes of all your friends.

“Why do you look so surprised? Have you guys heard the rumors about him over the years? I can pull them up right now,” Drea added as she took up her phone and scrolled.

You were suddenly filled with dread as well as a strange level of curiosity. Over the years, you purposely stayed away from a lot of fodder that surrounded him. You couldn’t stay away from the movies and everything about that part of it, but anything personal you kept away from like the plague.

“Okay, so for the last threeish years, he’s been a little quiet, but there have been girls. Jessie that was a fling that lasted a few months, but she told anyone that would listen about him being her ideal guy. She even talked about the sex said he was the best she’d ever had. Sarah, not much info on that one, but she’s pretty. There are rumors about a string of flings that he’s kept pretty low key, and one named Lita, they had been together most recent a few weeks ago,” she finished.

“Wow, he’s a whore.”

“Every saint had a past, and every sinner has a future. I don’t think we should judge him based on tabloid fodder,” Nexus voiced. She looked at you, giving you a stern eye that said ignore it.

“Saint, sinner, doesn’t matter to me. I am just trying to get some deets on how Captain America’s stroke game is,” Angie clarified.

“Guys. It was years ago, who remembers that far back?”

“If it were good dick, I’d remember it on my death bed and tell all you hoes about it,” Drea chimed.

You shook your head and looked around the restaurant you were at. It screamed authentic Boston. It screamed lowkey but didn’t gimp on modern luxuries. The wooden tables looked like fine red cedar; the glass top roof gave the space an airy and warm glow thanks to the afternoon sun, and the scattered potted plants gave the restaurant great pops of color. Looking around at the faces of the diners you could tell they were enjoying the food as well as the ambiance of the place and that made you like it even more.

“Vixen!”

You looked at them. You’d once again drifted off. Only this time, it wasn’t to thoughts of Chris it was to thoughts of a restaurateur. If it wasn’t one, it was the other.

“Sorry I got lost. This place is great.”

“Could you stay present and not drift off to work land?” You rolled your eyes at Joan. She should have been the one to get it; she was the one who’d gone to culinary school with you. She did the same thing all the time. That was one of the reasons you got along well; she knew what you were going through.

“I would stay present if you all weren’t so damn nosy about what kind of dick game my kid’s father has,” you blurted out, the stress of everything was compressing on you.

“Let’s get off the topic of dick,” Nexus suggested.

“We will, she just has to admit one thing,” Angie began.

“What Ang?”

“You know and remember what kind of dick game he has.” You smiled though you tried not to. This wasn’t a smiling matter. You’d always worried about the day they found out who Ella’s dad was. You worried because you knew they would be like this.

“Fine. I know and remember—kind of the kind of dick game he has. What I will not do is talk about it.”

The four of them booed you while you and Nexus laughed. Your phone chimed in your bag, and you dug for it. Your first thought was something was wrong with Ella. This was the first time Chris was left with her. Your parents were close by, but for the most part Ella was his responsibility. When you looked at the screen you saw a message from Kassius.

MSG Kassius: Second wave of publicity starts in a few days. The first batch of pictures we took will suffice for now, but soon we need to do reshoots to push that ASAP. When will you be back in LA?

MSG: A few more days. Four tops. I’m still dealing with a few things.

MSG Kassius: Okay. If it works, I can set up for you to get reshoots in Boston. The team can be out there in twenty-four hours and get it done in one afternoon.

MSG: Yeah, that actually can work. I don’t want to hold the timeline up anymore.

MSG Kassius: It’s fine, Vixen. We are right on schedule. The team has been doing excellent promo work, and I hear lots of whispers and interest in you. I think you are about to blast off fame wise.

Your heart sunk a little. You hadn’t thought about fame when you decided on all of this. Fame was not what you were after. In San Francisco, you’d passed up on huge partnerships because the idea of fame was terrifying especially with Ella and your situation then. Now your situation was much more precarious. You didn’t know if fame was the best thing.

MSG Kassius: I’ve been getting calls from the head bosses at Food Network.

Again, your eyes bugged out.

“Food Network? Holy shit!”

MSG: Food Network? As in cooking shows Food Network?

MSG Kassius: Yeah. One of the executives saw you at Culinary Expo said you did a cooking segment and loved it. He says you have something. I wasn’t going to tell you until they requested a meet, but cat’s out the bag.

You couldn’t believe your eyes. Someone at Food Network saw your segment at the expo and was now in talks for god knows what.

MSG Kassius: I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything about it. As for the team and the reshoots, how about the day after tomorrow?

MSG: Yeah, I’ll confirm before then.

MSG Kassius: All right, thank you. Get back to it.

You were so stunned you weren’t even hearing your friends.

“What is going on with you?”

“That was Kassius, the guy I’m working with. He just told me there was an Executive from Food Network that was at the expo, and they saw my segment and liked it, so now there may be talks about something.”

They all squealed and clapped bringing all the eyes in the restaurant to you. Your smile was so broad that it almost matched how big your embarrassment was. They swarmed you with hugs and congratulations and even more questions about what it meant. You had no answer. You didn’t know.

After another hour at the restaurant, the six of you were now checking out the types of shopping the area had. You found a few things for Ella and thought about finding a new outfit, but you didn’t know how you’d explain it to them. You knew they wouldn’t just leave it as you wanting to get a new outfit, they would badger and press and be invasive, and you didn’t have any more mental space. You were processing a lot.

In a few hours, you were going on a date with your daughter’s father, who happened to be your ex-husband. This date was happening years after you’d met, slept together, had a child together, and divorced. You wanted to laugh at the mere thought of your entire situation. You’d jumped over every step and went right to the endzone. Now it felt like you were backtracking to dot your I’s.

You didn’t know what you were doing. You always knew what you were doing—always. You were in unchartered territory, and you knew it. Once you realized you were still attracted to him, you’d entered unchartered territory. You didn’t know precisely how to be or what to say. You just knew you had an overwhelming desire to jump his bones.

Before you knew it, you and Nexus were at their hotel helping them pack up so they could get to the airport. As you watched them dance around and act ridiculous you were grateful for each of them. Yeah, they drove you absolutely bat shit crazy, and they were loud and often times hella uncensored to the point of embarrassment, but they had good hearts and were always there when you needed them. You were born with one sister, but you’d discovered four more.

At the airport, the goodbye was short and sweet. You thought you’d get away without one of them giving their unwarranted advice, but you were wrong. Joan was the one to turn back to give you one last hug. It was a hug that lasted a little longer.

“You have a beautiful brain that loves to overthink and loves to ignore and avoid. It’s part of your charm. You also have a beautiful heart; it’s big and kind and broken. You can’t live with a cold heart Vix. You can’t live by shutting people out and never letting anyone in. All you have to do is let the right one in.”

When she pulled back and looked at you, there was an “ah-ha” moment between you. You knew she’d caught the nature of yours and Chris’ relationship, knew she’d picked up on whatever was drifting around the two of you whenever you were near each other. In the glance that lasted a few moments the two of you understood each other. She walked off to catch up to everyone else, and you and Nexus got into the car and headed back to the house.

When you walked inside, you expected to see chaos, but it was all quiet. As you walked around the house looking for Chris and Ella every expectation was not met. You expected to see nothing but mess, hear nothing but screams or cries, but every turn you didn’t find that. You were met by more quiet and calm. When you got to the back you expected to see them in the pool, but they were not in the pool. You walked further into the yard and saw Chris and Anthony playing with Ella. Both of the masculine men were wearing brightly colored princess costumes. You and Nexus stopped in your tracks and looked at each other with your jaws dropped.

Anthony wore a yellow Belle costume with full-on Burnett wig. He was sitting at table decked out with teacups, flowers, pastries, and a few other items.

“What the hell--,” Nexus began.

Chris was walking around the table dressed as Rapunzel, but the one from Tangled. He also wore a wig, but it was blond and ridiculously long, so long he had the braid wrapped around his arm. He was serving tea to Ella, who was dressed as Ariel but wore items of Tiana’s as well. From the distance you stood, all you could hear was the high pitched voices of Anthony and Chris as they chattered along with Ella. You looked to Nexus again, who had her phone out and was filming the entire thing. The smile on her face was huge.

“I’m gonna marry him.”

Your head snapped to her again. Nexus never brought up the “M” word. She always said she was not the marrying kind. This was a first, and you knew she meant it. You’d be surprised if their relationship didn’t lead there at some point. They were extraordinarily compatible and similar. Half of you marveled that after such little time someone could know something so important. It was as if their hearts recognized each other the minute they met, and everything was pulling them together. You almost laughed as the thought popped into your head that if you and Chris had done things differently then maybe Nex and Anthony may have already been married.

The closer you got, the more you could hear.

“Oh, princess Ariel Tiana, this tea is just delightful,” Chris informed in a high-pitched tone that you were sure was supposed to resemble a woman’s voice.

“I have to agree with our dear friend Rapunzel, can I call you rap girl? Your name is so long,” Anthony responded in his own high-pitched voice. He was sitting to the side of the chair with one shoulder poked out ad his head angled up. It screamed attitude.

“Of course, rap has a nice ring to it.

“Thank you, sis,” Anthony finished.

Ella nodded her head and took a sip from the cup.

“Goo tea sis.”

You and Nexus busted out laughing, unable to hold it any longer. The “sis” took you out. All eyes went to the two of you. It was then you noticed the two men had very badly done makeup on. Chris had pink and purple glittery eyeshadow on that matched the deep purple blush that was applied to the high points of his cheekbone and bright pink lipstick. It all went very well with the outfit he wore. Antony, on the other hand, had yellow eyeshadow on with bright red blush to his cheeks and the same bright red lipstick. It made you and Nexus laugh even harder.

“Mama!” Ella ran over to you just as you stooped down to meet her and hug her. You then noticed her makeup. She had on glittery green eyeshadow with a peachish colored blush to her cheeks and soft pink lipstick. It wasn’t bad, though none of the colors looked good together.

“Wow, princess. You look—wow.”

“Who did this to you, Ella?” Ella pointed to Anthony who batted his eyelashes quickly.

“I did a marvelous job,” he informed in the same high-pitched voice. Nexus smiled again. Ella led you to the table with your pinky in her hand. It gave you the chance to take in Chris’ outfit fully.

“Tea too mama, tee-tee,” Ella ordered.

“Yes, please do join us for a spot of tea,” Chris pressed. You smiled and sat down adjacent to him as Nexus sat next to Anthony.

“My goodness, I feel like we’re underdressed for the occasion, Vix.”

You snorted then pinched your lips.

“I feel it too Nex.”

“Fiddle-dee, we understand don’t we princess Ariel Tiana. Not everyone can be as fashionably amazing as we are,” Anthony quipped.

Looking at Nexus’ face, you knew she was head over heels, no way of getting up in love with that man. Your eyes turned to Chris to find him already watching you. Your face heated, feeling a little self-conscious.

“Tea sis.” Ella said again, holding out two cups, one to you and the other to Nexus. All of you busted out laughing at the same time.

For the next thirty minutes, you enjoyed teatime. You watched Ella’s interactions with Chris and took notice of how perfect it all seemed. She didn’t hesitate to touch him or to smile at him, and he looked more comfortable as well. You loved watching them interact. It was quickly becoming your most favorite thing. Your eyes dropped to his lips, and you mentally corrected yourself.

“Second favorite thing.”

Soon you were sitting and watching Ella just twirl around the yard. She looked happy and carefree, and it warmed your heart.

“What’re you thinking?” You looked to Chris, whose eyes were already on you.

“Uh—nothing, just she looks so happy and carefree. I think she loves it here.”

He smiled and nodded. “Well, she’s always welcome here. Her room is always prepped.”

You looked down at the table and snorted. “Who did this to you?”

“She did.” You examined his face again.

“You don’t like it?” You laughed, then nodded.

“I love it. The purple and glitter really bring out the blue in your eyes.”

Chris nodded and then shook his head. “Go on laugh it up. If I were a less secure man I’d be very self-conscious right now.”

“So you’re secure wearing the prettiest Rapunzel get up I’ve ever seen and makeup to match?”

“Absolutely, my little girl wanted to play princess tea party costumes and all, and I was not going to disappoint.” You smiled again. He had no sense of toxic male masculinity, and it was yet another thing to like about him.

“How was your day?”

“It was good. Got some food, did a little shopping, and took my friends to the airport.”

“Maybe I’ll get another opportunity to get to know them better. They seem like great women.”

You nodded again and wondered if he always knew the right thing to say.

“Da-da, come ance.”

“Go, dance, and frolic in the grass princess Rapunzel,” you teased.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Chris responded in his high-pitched woman’s voice as he got up and skipped over to Ella.

“That is the worst woman’s voice I’ve ever heard, by the way.” Chris turned back and stuck his tongue out at you then began skipping and dancing with Ella. You couldn’t handle watching any more, so you stood and walked back to the house. As you walked inside you saw Anthony and Nexus whispering and giggling together in the kitchen. She never giggled.

Once you made it to your door, there was one single long stem lavender rose taped to the door. Your steps slowed as you got closer. Standing in front of the door, you took it and took a whiff. The fragrance was strong but soft all at once, and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. You bit your bottom lip and opened the door still lost in the flower. When you turned around you nearly dropped everything. There was a huge bouquet that housed pink, white and purple roses were wrapped around a few layers of soft white tulle lying across your bed.

“Oh my god.”

Slowly you walked to them. Each step felt like your legs were filled with lead. Once you made it to the side of your bed your fingers traced the tulle and then the delicate soft petals of the roses. They were beautiful.

You perched on the edge of your bed, then bent to smell them and moaned. No matter how detached you were, you couldn’t ignore that flowers still gave you that warm and fuzzy feeling. You noticed you didn’t feel like this when Zack gave you flowers. You felt nothing then. That acknowledgment made your nerves rise.

You saw the note sticking out from between two buds. Once you opened it, you read it’s contents.

Vixen,

There was a conversation we had all those years ago that plays in my head often. I asked you what your favorite flowers were, and you said you didn’t have one, but you were a sucker for roses only if they weren’t red. You mentioned red roses were so typical and the only thing men ever thought to give. You said you liked the unconventional choice rather than the predictable one. That alone told me a lot about you. It said you preferred sincerity over intentional shows, you would rather a plain and simple expression over something fake and extravagant. You only needed the sentiment to be evident and real. I can do that. There are many ways to give you the world. I’ll see you at five at the gazebo.

-Chris-

Your heart was racing. You began to wonder if he’d always been this charming. Thinking back to those years ago, you quickly found your answer. This had always been him. He’d just become more devastatingly so.

“Oh dear god, I beg you help me keep my panties on tonight.”

~~~~~~~~

-That Night-

You didn’t want anyone to know, neither of you did. You had an early dinner with your family, Chris and Anthony. Neither you or Chris ate or spoke; you were so wrapped up in your thoughts you just rolled it around your plate. Thankfully because of Anthony’s presence, you were not the topic of conversation; it was instead Anthony and Nexus. Then you allowed Chris to tuck Ella in while you began getting ready.

You did and undid your hair more times than you could count and changed way more than you should have. It was annoying. You were never like this. By the time it was almost five you stared at yourself again and took a few deep breaths. With your shoes in your hand you walked out your room and downstairs, hoping no one saw you. Just as you were about to be home free you saw Anthony and Nexus cuddled up beside the pool. You froze and tried to think of another route. Before you could move Anthony was the one to see you. He smiled and nodded then fanned you along while he distracted Nexus. You scurried across the deck and then the backyard toward where the gazebo was.

As you approached, you saw Chris standing there with his back to you. From behind he looked delicious. The closer you got, he must have felt your presence; he turned around and froze just watching you approach. You smiled, and the look on his face was like someone had kicked him in his gut.

“Hi. Am I late?”

Chris didn’t speak; he just stared at you for a long while. Then he shook his head as if he’d just zoned out or something.

“Sorry, um—no, I think you’re right on time.” You smiled and watched him hold out another purple rose. Smiling, you took the flower.

“Thank you; it’s beautiful. I love it, and the ones upstairs.” Chris smiled, and the two of you stood there, staring at each other. Chris cleared his throat and took a breath.

“Shall we?” he motioned to two bikes, one blue and the other pink.

“Are those bikes?”

“They are. Tell me you remember how to ride.”

“I’m willing to try to remember.”

You shook your head at your dirty thought and smiled. “Sure. It’s been over ten years, at least.”

“Same for me, but we’re not going too far, and the truck isn’t the best mode of transportation there.”

You looked over yourself at the dress you wore then to the bike and shook off the worry. You were actually getting a little excited.

“All right.” You approached the bike and dropped your heels in the basket then lifted your leg. “Don’t look.”

Chris snorted and looked away and climbed on his bike. You sighed once you were finally on it.

“All right, follow me.” Chris peddled off, and you followed close behind into the forest.

As you rode, he pointed things out and teased you for the way you peddled trying to keep your legs together. The more he teased you, the more you got in touch with your tomboy self and pushed impropriety to the side and enjoyed the ride. You stood on the peddles and enjoyed the carefreeness you felt. After you’d been riding for about eight minutes, the house was no longer in sight. Chris went into a different part of the woods than you’d ever been and cautioned you to be careful.

After another ten or so minutes, you pulled up beside a stopped Chris. “Why’d you stop?”

“We’re here.” You looked where he was, and your jaw dropped.

You’d made it to a lake, but it was not just any lake. There was a long walk path that was decked out with lanterns. It began at the shore and went out over the water for several feet. At the end of the way, there was a tiny cabin that was decked out It was decked out with twinkling tree lights that had it competing with the amazing backdrop of nothing but wilderness and the reflection of the lowering sun and the sky.

“Oh my god.” You pressed your palm to your stomach and tried to steady the butterflies that were rampantly causing havoc on your nerves. You didn’t know how long you stood there just frozen. A plethora of possibilities and outcomes ran through your mind.

“Are you okay?” Chris’ voice brought you out of your head and back into the present. You looked at him, and for the first time you didn’t have any words. That was new for you. Staring in his eyes your mouth went dry, and you felt your body drift to him. Quickly you pulled back and cleared your throat.

“Ye—yeah.”

“Okay. This is where we leave these and go on foot.”

“On foot? Down that?” You nudged your head to the steep dune before you.

“Yeah. Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Chris assured as he leaned the bikes against a tree and waited for you to take your heels and clutch from the basket of yours. You looked down to see his held out hand. “Ready?”

You felt like it was a loaded question, felt like it didn’t just mean ready to go down the dune or walk across that walk path. You felt it asked if you were ready for what came now? Were you ready for what came next? Were you ready for whatever happened tonight and any other night or day beyond? You didn’t know if you were, but you also knew that everything had been leading here. Fate was on your ass, and that bitch was saying your move.

-Chris-

With your hand in his, he took it slow leading you down the dune. He was glad you weren’t wearing heels because you may have twisted your ankle. Though the heels looked to go perfectly with the dress, he liked you barefoot, liked you looking carefree and down to earth rather than fully put together. He remembered he loved the way you looked that first morning he woke up to you. Your hair was a mess, mascara and eyeshadow smudged, lipstick smeared across your cheek and naked. He honestly thought you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen on spot. When you put on his shirt and paced the room, that was the first time he’d had a strange feeling in his chest. You squealed, and he saw you about to fall, without thinking about it; he scooped you off your feet and carried you the rest of the way.

Once at the shore, he looked at you to find your eyes already on him, and you were breathing hard as if you’d run a marathon. “What?”

Your Adam’s apple bobbed, then you cleared your throat and looked away as he let you down.

“Nothing, just—I didn’t ehm—expect you to be so—strong.”

He smiled and tried to prevent the blush he knew was creeping up his neck.

“Well, I am Captain America.” You laughed, and the tension was immediately broken up.

“Good one.” He began the walk to the boardwalk with you following behind.

As you walked, he felt you lagging behind. When he looked back, you were looking around at the lanterns and the water and every so often the cabin ahead. Your expression was concealed so he was having a hard time piecing together what you were thinking. It was a miracle he was able to pull this off especially since what he wanted to be done in the time span was what some would call impossible. He made it happen though, another perk of being Chris Evans. As he looked at the cabin, he had no regrets. You deserved nothing less.

“What is this place?”

“It came with the property. Remember I told you the lake was the selling point for me? Well, on the lake there was this old decrepit cabin, and I restored it. I don’t use it really. I always found it interesting it was kind of in the middle of the lake rather than at the shore. There were so many possible places I could take you tonight, but this was my number one choice.” He stopped in front of the door as did you. You looked around your feet and saw the lavender moss floating above the water, then you looked up at the lit trees, and in the glow of the light you looked at him.

“It’s beautiful.” He smiled and nodded, then opened the door and stepped over the threshold. Slowly you walked in and gasped. He watched your face as a few emotions passed across them, but you didn’t speak. Just when he began to think he’d missed the mark here and went way over the top, you rubbed your forehead.

“Well fuck!”

“I’m sorry, what?”

You blew out a breath and looked to him.

“Well, you just made it that much more difficult not to sleep with you.”

He could have been knocked over with a breeze, and he was sure his expression showed it.

“Wow.”

You laughed, it began small but got louder and much freer, it was almost obnoxiously loud, but it was contagious. Soon the two of you were laughing together as if you hadn’t just said you would possibly sleep with him. He motioned for you to take a seat, obliging him you walked around and sat on one of the cushions on the floor behind the table. He followed suit but took up the bottle of wine that was off to the side in an ice bucket.

“Wine?”

Nodding, you continued to look around as he filled your glass. He couldn’t help wondering what you were thinking, couldn’t help replaying your words from mere seconds ago. He knew you were kidding, but did he know you were kidding.

“She was probably being truthful.”

“Since I know you didn’t have dinner, I know you’re hungry.”

“Starving, Evans. Feed me, please.” He laughed as he went into the insulated bags that were in the corner. He took out container after container filled with appetizers, salad, main course, and extras.

“My God, where did all this come from?”

“One of my favorite restaurants in Boston. Everything they make is good. I’ve had everything on the menu.”

“Did you get everything on the menu?”

“Maybe. I know you love tacos and burritos and nachos and all the os, and spaghetti but I got to thinking what else do you like so. Voila, we’re having a bit of everything.”

When he was done, there were easily twenty containers that decorated the table. You snorted and laughed loudly again.

“Wow, that’s one way to get answers.”

“All right. So over here are appetizers, these are salads, and here are all the entrees. Pick what’s first.”

You ran your fingers over the tops of a few containers he’d shown were appetizers, then pointed to one that was furthest away. Opening it, he held it out to you. Your face lit up as you took up a piece up with your fingers. He smiled, loving you didn’t bother with utensils.

“What is it?”

He looked at the lid and read the table.

“Lettuce cups, they’re filled with oyster and pickled vegetables with a chipotle sauce.”

You bit it chewed then nodded your approval.

“Not bad.”

“Is it a like or nah?”

“Eh—I’m not big on oysters. I’ll cook them, but eating them is another thing.”

“They say oysters are an aphrodisiac.” He had no idea why that came out, but your amusement was evident.

“They do say that. Have at it, tell me if you agree.”

He ate his lettuce cup with you watching him. After a few seconds, he felt no different.

“Guess not,” he answered. You scoffed but didn’t look convinced. He picked the next container and read its contents.

“Crab cocktail.”

“Yay, I love crab,” you chirped as you took one and happily gobbled it down.

“I like crab too, any seafood really.” You took another while pointing to the next container.

“Avocado salad.”

“Another favorite, I love eating and cooking with Avocado,” you informed.

You ate a few forkfuls of the salad, as did he. The two of you went back and forth picking different containers then enjoying the different types of foods. There was a wide variety, seafood, various meats, textures, and flavors. You heartily ate and didn’t seem to care how you ate or how much you ate. He hated when women ate like they weren’t hungry all for the benefit of men. You didn’t care what he thought, and he was grateful for it.

After almost an hour, all the containers had been opened and consumed, and you sat there, sipping your glass of wine laughing at his jokes.

“No lie, ask Scott, that is exactly how it happened.”

You pinched your lips and slapped your hand over your mouth to quiet the snort that escaped you.

“Sounds like the perfect situation to scare you straight.”

He laughed and nodded. “I was scared for a long time.” You laughed louder, and he just sat there nodding.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh at you, just—wow.”

“No, by all means, I was an idiot kid.” You smiled and finished your glass.

“Have room for dessert?”

“Oh my god, Chris are you trying to get me fat? This was easily twenty-five hundred calories, not including those two bottles of wine.”

“I never took you as a woman who counted calories.”

“Oh, what woman did you take me as then?”

He shrugged and smiled to himself and took another sip from his glass.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit, that little smirk spoke volumes. Go on, tell me.”

He shrugged again, then finished the glass. “I don’t know, maybe one who did what she wanted when she wanted no matter what.” You shimmied your shoulders as you made a face as if you were thinking.

“Well--,” you stretched out. “I wouldn’t say you’re right, and I wouldn’t say you’re wrong,” you answered.

“So you are that woman then.”

“When I want to be.”

“Well, Vixen. Do you want to be; here right now?”

It was a question with double meaning. He was curious how you’d respond. He watched your tongue slowly dance across your bottom lip before you sucked it into your mouth.

“Dessert it is.”

With a smile, he stood and cleared the containers away, putting them in the trash bag in the corner. He walked around to you, held his hands out and waited for you to take it. He didn’t have to wait long before you placed your smaller hands within his larger ones. He led you out the cabin down the boardwalk, but only halfway, then he stopped.

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” Your eyes bugged out as confusion knitted your brows together. You looked at him incredulously.

“What?”

“Do you trust me?”

“What? Why? What are you about to do?”

“Give you dessert, but you have to trust me.”

You stared at him, and he could see the ill trust shining through your eyes, you looked conflicted as if you wanted to say something, but something held you back.

“Trust is a funny thing with me, Chris,” you began. He nodded, fully understanding what you meant and how you felt.

“I understand completely. So I’ll modify, tonight, do you trust me?” You gazed into his eyes for a few moments then nodded your head. He had to earn your trust; he knew it.

“Okay, thank you.” He sat at the edge of the boardwalk and slid into the waiting canoe. It was a fluid motion for him; he’d done it tens of times. When he turned to you, your eyes were as wide as saucers. He held his hand out to you.

“What the fuck?”

Laughing, he steadied the vessel and waited for you to take his hand. After almost a minute you took it.

“Do what I just did, I’ll do the rest.”

“Oh my god, are you going to pull me into the lake, Chris?”

“No, I promise.” You took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the boardwalk just as he did. Just as he was about to take over, you stiffened and held your other hand out to his chest.

“Wait.” Stopping, he looked at you.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to fall in.”

“You can swim, it’s no big deal either way.”

“No big deal? Chris, this took hours to accomplish,” you explained, gesturing to your figure from head to toe. “If I fall in, it’ll be ruined.” He smiled. It was sweet you’d put so much effort into the way you looked tonight, and it was sweet you even wanted to.

“As I said, no big deal. You’ll still be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met in my life.”

The air became thick, and the moment heavy. You sighed softly then took his other hand, quickly he pulled you into the canoe pressing you against his body as his arms engulfed you. Your soft gasp was cut short by the force of how your bodies met. Slowly you looked up into his eyes, and he had to fight the urge to kiss you. He brushed the back of his hand across your cheek then cupped your jaw.

“Dessert better be mind blowing.” He smiled, nodded, and set you on one of the benches in the canoe. He untied the rope and pushed off from the boardwalk.

“I promise it’ll be to die for.”

He rowed further out to the lake. The setting sun cast a warm glow in the water, and you just marveled at it.

“Wow. How the hell do you leave this?”

“It’s hard, especially when I think what’s waiting for me back in LA. The only comfort is knowing I will be back. I spend maybe three to four months in LA, usually when working; otherwise, I’m here—home.”

Your eyes fell to his, and that is where they stayed while he continued to row the boat. As you rowed in silence just enjoying the sounds of the paddle hitting the water and pushing through it and the trees rustling in the gentle breeze he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. Underneath the sunset here in the lake close to his home he’d never wanted to keep things the same as much as right now. If he could he’d press this moment, sealing it forever.

When he stopped, he took the two containers from underneath his bench and held one out to you. When you opened it you smiled widely.

“You look like you’re a cheesecake woman,” he theorized. You nodded.

“I am. How’d you know?”

“I remember the two of us buying and finishing an entire cheesecake after we got married.”

You looked down and took a piece of the cake and began eating. “You then called room service for apple pie and drizzled a diabetic shock amount of caramel sauce all over it,” you added. He cut into his dessert and held up the forkful of apple pie drizzled with caramel. You snorted and laughed.

“Some things never change,” he voiced.

The two of you ate in silence for a few moments.

“How long did it take for all of it to come back?”

“About a week,” he informed. You nodded.

“A few days for me.”

“You know as far as weddings go, I think it was a good one,” he admitted. The two of you sat in silence and thought back to the night.

“Eh—I guess it was all right.” You smiled at him, and it was a smile that hid so much. He pulled out the bottle of wine and poured a glass for you then himself.

“What should we drink too?”

He thought for a moment, then looked to the sky and smirked.

“Sunsets.”

“Sunsets?” He nodded.

“I see sunsets as a sign of the beginning of something new. A lot of people see it as an ending, but I see an opportunity to start something fresh, new—something better.”

You looked at him from underneath your eyelids, and you looked just like how Ariel did with Eric.

“So—sunsets.”

“Sunsets,” he repeated. Your glasses clinked together then you drank still peering at each other.

After enjoying the final remnants of the setting sun, the lake turned dark. The only light was that of the lanterns on the boardwalk and those in the trees that framed the cabin. It was more than enough to see you clearly.

“Remember what you said in LA when your parents found out about Ella and me? You said you hid Ella because you were hurt.”

Your eyes dropped.

“What did you mean by that?”

“Let’s not go there, Chris. Let’s just—stay present.”

“My mom always says that you can’t move forward until you address the past. I want to move forward, Vixen. Any way we can.”

You studied him for a few long moments, then took a deep breath and let it out.

“Uuugh. Um--,” you stuttered.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Fine, yes. It is so easy in situations as those for someone to get hurt. Did I get hurt? Maybe—yes.

He nodded and toyed with his glass. You averted your eyes and looked around the lake. The tension between you rose. As he looked at you, his mind went back to the last night with you. Somehow it felt like full circle. He went over every detail then he saw it. The one thing he’d regretted this entire time. The one thing he’d been running from facing.

“Vixen, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Your face was blank as you took another sip from your glass, the cheesecake was long gone.

“I was the world’s biggest and worst asshole three years ago.” You were lowering the glass from your lips when he said the words, but you lifted it again and finished the drink on one breath.

“I said something to you--.” Your voice interrupted him “

“Chris, you don’t--.”

“Yes, I do. Please.” You reached for the bottle and refilled your glass then took another sip.

“I said something to you that I am ashamed of, something that I have run from and deeply regretted every day for the last three years. I don’t even know where to start to--,” he sighed, closed his eyes, and tried to find the words he’d wished he’d been brave enough to say before.

“The guy I was then—” he shook his head remembering all his younger antics. “I was a dick. I was self-absorbed, I knew women wanted me and would do just about anything for a taste of the lifestyle I’d been thrown into, and I let it get to me. I fell in that lifestyle headfirst. I became the douche brothers tell their sisters to stay away from. I slept around--a lot. I woke up to a different woman every week. I lived for the next party, the next pretty face, and the next movie. It was always about what was next. Settling down, sticking with one person was a nightmare then, I didn’t think I was ready. There was still too much I thought I wanted to do.” He took a breath; your eyes were on him, but he couldn’t read you. It was like you’d shut down and become android like.

“I saw you that night, and you froze me, no lie. I didn’t expect that or everything else that happened that night. I didn’t expect the effortless conversation or the smooth way we grooved together. I didn’t expect to tell you everything I did, or feel so good with you, so effortless. The night at my house was great. It is easily one of the best nights of my life. What I said to you was wrong on so many levels, it was insensitive, disrespectful, rude and a bunch of other words I’m going to let you fill in. I didn’t think how it would make you feel, how it came across, how it sounded, I didn’t think at all. I’m sorry, Vixen. I am very sorry.”

You didn’t speak or look away from him. He wasn’t sure you’d respond, and he intended to give you all the time you needed to process. As a few seconds, turned to a minute and a minute to a minute and a half, then two, he began to lose his nerve.

“The insanely ridiculous thing is that what I said couldn’t have been further from the truth. I didn’t even realize it until I came back out of the bathroom and saw you were gone. It hit me that I was an idiot,” he rushed out.

Silence fell between you again, and this time, he decided he wouldn’t speak again until you did. A soft melodious hum sounded, he looked down and saw your finger slowly rotating the rim of the glass. He remembered you doing this the night you met. He showed you his secret talent, and you showed him this. You switched fingers to your pinky, and the sound became higher pitched but still beautiful.

Suddenly you stopped then sighed.

“Okay.”

“O—okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. I’m done holding on to that. Thank you for apologizing.”

“I am so sorry. Can you forgive me?”

You hesitated for a moment then spoke. “I forgive you.” Feeling as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, he smiled. It was a smile you returned.

Slowly but surely, his body drifted to yours, and unless he was crazy yours drifted to his as well.

“I have something I have to tell you,” he began with a whisper.

“What?”

Your faces continued to drift closer and closer. As he opened his mouth to tell you about the marriage, one of the ores fell into the water. You tried to reach for it but leaned a little too quickly, and the canoe rocked. In the blink of an eye, you screeched and tumbled over into the lake. When you came up your eyes were huge.

“Oh my god! Chris! I told you my ass would fall in. Look!”

He didn’t mean to laugh, but he did, and it wasn’t a small one either. It was a gut-busting one. Your jaw dropped.

“Oh my god, are you laughing at me!?”

He shook his head as he tried to catch his breath, but every time he tried to stop laughing, a fresh wave began. You screeched and slapped the water. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing. Come on let me help you.” He reached over for your hand. You pulled him into the lake headfirst. When he reemerged you were cackling and not even trying to hide it.

“Wow, that was petty.”

“Then call me queen petty because that was funny.” You laughed some more as he came closer and splashed you in the face with a big wave of water. Your shocked expression made him laugh until you pushed your own wave of water in his face. That began the water fight. You each splashed, screamed, laughed and played in the water. He felt like a kid again, felt like he had no care in the world. Slowly the two of you stopped splashing. He drifted closer and brushed back your hair from your forehead.

“See, told you,” he began.

“Told me what?”

“You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” You smiled small at first, but it spread across your face until you hid it behind your hand.

“Whatever, Evans.”

The two of you swam back to the boardwalk. Once there, he hoisted himself up and onto the wood, then he reached into the water for you.

“Come on. It’s warmer inside.” He led the way back to the cabin. Once inside, he closed the door and went for the small solar-powered space heater he kept in there until he brought over one of the blankets and wrapped it around you.

When the two of you sat in front of the heater, you offered him some of the blanket. Soon you were huddled together sitting in silence. It wasn’t an awkward one either. It felt as natural as breathing.

“Why did you stay at your house if you saw that night everywhere?”

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He wondered if he could be this open with you. Half of him wanted to, but the other half was afraid. He knew he was in love with you, knew he wanted you without a doubt, but your feelings were still unknown. He didn’t know if he could be this vulnerable, then have you pull away.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you added.

“In the beginning, I used it as a way to punish myself. I knew I’d messed up and regretted it. As time went on and years did I used it as a way to remember,” he admitted.

“Remember what?” He looked at you and skimmed your face.

“You—us.” Your eyes met his, and he knew this was the moment that would dictate everything moving forward. He decided to go for it. Closing the space between you, his lips met yours for a soft peck which turned into another, then another until it turned into a timid kiss, one he could feel your hesitation in.

“We can’t,” you whispered in the middle of the kiss. His forehead pressed to yours.

“Why not?” He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek and your jaw. He loved your skin.

“Because Ella. Our daughter.” Your eyes were closed.

“So it’s not because you don’t want to? Don’t want me?”

He had to know once and for all.

“Do you want me?” Your counter question had him pulling back but only a little, and enough to look into your eyes. His hand cupped your cheek, making you look at him.

“Vixen, you know I want you. How can I not? Jesus, I’ve wanted you for three years.”

The shock on your face was evident. Your lips crashed to his taking lead of a passion-filled kiss, one that stole almost every ounce of his control leaving him with only a tiny sliver. As he was about to deepen the kiss you pulled back.

“Mmm, No. God, Chris. There is a difference between wanting me and wanting this from me,” you expressed. He knew what you meant.

“I know there is. I know the difference. I don’t want this Vixen. I want you.”

Needing you to take the lead, he waited. When your lips met, the kiss was a soft, sensual rapture. Slowly your lips danced, teasing one another, daring each other to let go and have everything they wanted. He didn’t want to think about anything else, not what he should do, or shouldn’t do, not the future. He just wanted to think about you and him right now.

The kiss intensified, and your moan was the first to escape between you. It coaxed his free until the two of you were moaning and relishing in the feel of the beginning of your desire for each other. After several long minutes you slowly fell to your back atop the blankets and stared up at him. He held his breath afraid you’d pull away; instead you grabbed his shirt and pulled him on top of you to continue the kiss. That was what he needed for his confidence to take flight. His hand gripped your calf and slid up your leg to the hem of the wet dress.

“You’re shaking,” you whispered. His embarrassment shone on him with his blush. He looked down to his hands that were, in fact shaking.

“I am.”

“Are you cold?” He shook his head, then met your eyes.

“No, not cold.” The moment stretched with you staring at him. He wondered if you understood. You raised his hand to your lips and placed a soft kiss across his knuckles. Using the same hand, he caressed your cheek, down to your jaw, then chin. Using his thumb to softly rub across your bottom lip, he then dipped it inside. You kissed his thumb and never took your eyes off his.

“God, she drives me crazy.”

Your lips met again, but the heat he felt inward crept out as he took control of the frenzied kiss. When he felt your legs part for him he comfortably settled between them and pressed himself against you. You gasped and angled your head back, giving him the leeway he needed to taste your skin. He kissed, licked and sucked your neck as his hand found yours to entwine with. You pulled your hand away to grip the hem of his shirt and pull it up over his head. The material dropped to the wooden floor with a wet “splat.”

Your hands were on his chest in seconds, and you slowly took him in. He sat up and allowed you to get your fill. Slowly your hands roamed across his chest, down his abdomen and back again.

“Is it the way you remember?” You smirked and shook your head.

“A lot has changed.” He smiled then lowered to kiss you again. You had lips that needed kissing and kissing often. Your hands at his waist surprised him. When he felt you undoing his belt and pants he nearly lost it. Until this morning, this was just a dream or a nightmare of his. He’d envisioned this so many times over the years, and every time he thought of it he wanted it, but he didn’t feel as if he deserved it.

Your small hands began to urgently pull at his pants. Lifting off his knees he helped you get them off. Once they were at his thighs he broke the kiss, stood, and pulled them off kicking them to the side. You gazed up at him with half lazy eyes, and he’d never wanted anyone more.

“Come here.” You sat up as he dropped to his knees and claimed his lips. You rolled him onto his back and sat on his need. His groan was more forceful than he intended, and it rivaled your moan. Just like that, his need for your rose exponentially. His hands gripped your back then trailed to your hips. Once there he squeezed and got lost in the feel of your full hips in his hands.

When your lips left his and trailed to his neck, your hips began rotating making his need pulsate even more. Your moan said you felt it, and the way your rotations picked up speed said you wanted more. His fingers found the zipper of your dress, and he slowly lowered it as he did, the material loosened on your body. You sat up bit your bottom lip then slipped the straps off your shoulders revealing your bare breasts to him for the first time in years. A stronger man would have laid there marveling at your beauty and whisper sweet nothings into your ear, but he was not strong anymore. He had you the woman of his dreams—and nightmares in his arms, and he was filled with more wants than he’d ever had in his life.

Sitting up, he cupped your breast and latched his mouth to one pert nipple. As he did you hugged his head to your chest and arched back. Your moans were like music to his ears, and the louder you got, the more he needed to hear them. Switching to the other he lapped at your flesh and moaned his pleasure. He rolled you onto your back and pressed your hands above your head. The new angle had your breasts poked out for him like they were offerings—offerings he happily accepted adding soft nibbles to your stiff peaks.

“Mmm, Chris!”

Slowly he kissed down the center of your body to your stomach, where he pulled the rest of your dress off. Once he made it to your pelvis he slowly pulled your underwear lower until he saw the tattoo he remembered, the tattoo that was part of his nightly haunting. He dropped a soft kiss to the design then pulled the remainder of the fabric from your body. With you fully bare before him, he thought you looked like a goddess.

He parted your legs and wasted no time dipping his tongue to your sex. At the first touch, you arched your back and gasped loudly. He’d intended to tease you and go slow, but your reaction made it impossible. His tongue had a mind of its own. He flicked and sucked at your bud getting lost in your taste. He was a thirsty man, and your juices were the only thing that could satiate him. With every pass his tongue made you writhed and moaned. When he sucked your flesh into his mouth your thighs clenched together, trapping his head where it was. Feeding off of your pleasure he sped his tongue. You were soon bucking and riding his mouth as your hands gripped his head.

“Fuck, Chris, yes, yes!” When he felt the gush of fluid into his mouth, he slurped at your skin and kept your sex firmly on his mouth though you tried to push his head away and pull yourself free. He wasn’t having it.

“Shit,” you stretched out as your body convulsed.

It was then he tore his lips from yours. When he looked down at you he watched you shake loving the way your breast jiggled and how hard you bit your lip. When your eyes met his, the fire he saw there matched every flame he felt within. He felt your hand grip his length as your eyes fell to his protruding need as it rested on your pubis. Your mouth fell open looking at the part of him he wondered if you had forgotten. He wondered often if you ever thought of him, of it, and touched yourself. Did you ever imagine him on top of you—inside of you.

You positioned him right at your opening, but both of you were frozen as if taking in the moment. He moved forward, intentionally nudging your wet bud with the tip of his dick. You moaned and rolled your eyes back. It was a beautiful sight, so beautiful he did it again and again. On the fourth buck of his hips, he slowly slid inside your heat. At the first touch your eyes flew open, latched onto his, and your mouth opened.

Every centimeter he slid in, he felt as if your body both accepted and rejected him. You were tighter than he remembered, and he nearly lost his mind because of it. After sinking halfway into you he pulled back to sink in again, feeding you more and more of him each dip. Once he was fully sheathed, you clung to him while your core squeezed him, sucking him in deeper.

“Fuck, Vixen!”

Of their own accord, his hips began a slow pace that quickly picked up, creating a steady rock that stretched you. Your moans egged him on and made him want more and more of you. The more he wanted, the faster his hips thrust, the faster his hips thrust, the deeper he plowed. It didn’t take long for your moans and grunts to compete against each other and bounce off the walls of the cabin. Your eyes locked onto his and held him captivated.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Dipping down, he kissed you as your bodies collided together taking everything the other offered and giving even more in return. When he felt you clench around him for the third time he almost claimed his release, but he wanted too much and didn’t want it to end. He wanted to stay nestled deep inside you for the rest of his life.

“Chris!” Your high-pitched moan brought him out of his head. Your hand latched onto his jaw. He kissed your palm and felt his release quickly approaching. The sight of your bodies connecting was enough to drive him mad. The way your body accepted him was a thing of beauty, and the way you responded to him was pure magic. It had never been like this with anyone—just you.

“Vixen!” That was his only warning as his release claimed him, and he released himself deep inside you. His body shook from the power of it. his grunts fell from him one after the other. Dropping his head onto your shoulder he could barely catch his breath. Holding you tightly, he rolled taking you with him allowing you to lay across his chest. Slowly your bodies stopped shaking, and your breathing evened out. Soon all there was to hear was just nature all around you, but he’d already pressed to memory the sound of you shouting his name as you came. It was a sound he was already addicted to, a sound he knew would haunt him, as would his love for you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#love maybe fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #Chris Evans X black reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic

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bigskydreaming · 5 years ago

Text

@elfysparkles88

#listen it's a universal problem#I love my mans Scott#everyone is always bagging on him WHY#Scott Summers#X-Men

Its because Scott Summers is inevitably compared and contrasted with those around him, and he has the great misfortune of running in the same circles as an all-star line up of like....just the absolutely most Ridiculous People to Ever Ridick.

We’re talking about a guy whose dad was abducted by aliens and from there went on to decide, welp, guess I gotta become a space pirate now, jaunty earring and all, no, shhh, shh, no, there are no alternatives, I gotta, no, I said no - SHUT IT, I SAID I GOTTA BE A SPACE PIRATE NOW ITS THE ONLY WAY. Oh btw, meet my fianceé. She’s an alien mercenary who is a little like a skunk but don’t call her that to her face or she’ll shoot you in yours. How’s that for swoonworthy, am I right, son?

We’re talking about a guy whose own son was a literal sixty year old Grumpy Old Man overburdened with world-weariness, wildly unnecessary shoulderpads and arthritic joints when Scott was barely hitting his third decade. With said son now randomly being a moody sixteen year old again, with a pet sentient sword he talks lovingly to, because apparently Nathan Summer’s take on teenage rebellion was to act out by being all LOL Fuck Time Travel Paradoxes and then rebelliously zooming around the space/time continuum while blasting a soundtrack of MCR probably, until he finally got a bead on his older self and shot himself in the face while being like “its not that I’m angry with you, I’m just disappointed” and look this is the part where your eyes are gonna wanna just glaze over so your brain can have a break, shhh, shh, don’t ask questions, just let it be, it happened, its a thing.

We’re talking about a guy whose brother rode a merry-go-round of “Am I a good guy this week or am I a bad guy because Reasons or sometimes Brainwashing or sometimes I Don’t Even Fucking Know, Look Don’t @ Me Bro, I Just Fucking Work Here, I’m Not In The Loop” for most of his twenties until dying in a fiery explosion only to inexplicably return years later as a coma patient who finally woke up one day and said “Whoa, just got back from tripping around the multiverse and boy do I have stories cuz apparently I’m the Nexus of All Realities, so hah, SUCK IT, big brother, and yes that is TOO a thing, shut up, LET ME HAVE THIS. Oh and also btw don’t spend a lot on your wedding gift for me and Lorna because I’m gonna leave her at the altar once I realize that I’m actually more in love with the random nurse lady who changed my bed pans while I was in a coma having a romantic rendezvouz with her in Paris in my brain courtesy of her psychic eight-year old kid trying to play matchmaker for her cuz like, she doesn’t date much apparently but its whatever, this is FINE, I have no objections. Ugh why are you looking at me like that Scott, no, I don’t need to “talk” with someone about everything I’ve ‘been through,’ ugh I’m HAPPY you asshole, god, why don’t you ever want me to just be HAPPY ugh you just have to control EVERYTHING with your over-bearing BS like “I am concerned your decision-making processes might be affected by all the people tampering with your decision-making processes over the years” like umm DID I ASK? No? I didn’t think so? YOU’RE NOT MY REAL DAD, SCOTT, UGH THAT DOES IT, IM RUNNING AWAY TO BE A SUPERVILLAIN AGAIN AND THIS TIME ITS TOTALLY YOUR FAULT, YOU’LL BE SORRY WHEN I CRY HAVOK AND LET LOOSE THE DOGS OF WAR THIS TIME FOR SURE, AND OMG FOR THE LAST TIME I KNOOOOOOW THAT’S NOT HOW ITS SPELLED, ITS ABOUT THE AESTHETIC SCOTT, ITS CALLED HAVING A SENSE OF STYLE, UGH, LET ME LIIIIIIIIIIIVE.”

We’re talking about a guy whose other little brother randomly showed up and started killing people one day being like “hahaha surprise, bet you all forgot about me, PS, I’m REALLY FUCKING MAD AT YOU ALL FOR FORGETTING ABOUT ME” because the world’s most powerful telepath made everyone forget about him and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day they all had once and this is fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine, this is normal. As is the way his newly discovered slash remembered slash resurrected slash recently returned from spending the last decade fucking around as a disembodied energy ghost on a rock up in Earth’s orbit little brother then decided the Earth just wasn’t big enough for the both of them, the both of them in this case meaning both him, singular, and his Angst, as a wholly separate and towering entity in its own right. So instead he fucked off to space and decided to conquer a vast alien empire and spend the next several years being their god-emperor or whatever until he got bored with that. And also he kinda sorta killed their dad for a bit but whatever, its fine, he got better, and then he also kinda sorta died for a bit himself but whatever, its fine, he got better, and there was that whole interstellar war between himself and the Inhumans but whatever that wasn’t even his FAULT, Scott, THEY STARTED IT, god, do you ever stop JUDGING ME AND MY LIFE CHOICES and PS I’m still mad at you for killing Xavier, you fucking asshole, not because you did it but because like, you KNOW I wanted to do it, I had a whole fucking villain monologue moment about it and everything, you were literally there, UGH WHY WON’T YOU LET ME HAVE NICE THINGS?!?! YOU ARE THE ENEMY OF FUN AND JOY AND HEY MAYBE YOU WERE THE REAL VILLAIN ALL ALONG, DID YOU EVER THINK OF THAT? HUH? MR. I’M THE BOSS, WAIT WHO’S THE BOSS? OH YEAH STILL ME, SCOTT, I’M THE BOSS, YOU GOTTA STOP BEING A SPACE EMPEROR GABE BECAUSE YOU CAN’T BE THE BOSS, ONLY I AM ALLOWED TO BE THE BOSS BECAUSE I’M THE BOSS AND I SAID SO AND YOU GOTTA DO WHAT I SAY OR I’LL TELL DAD.”

And that’s not even getting into how we’re also talking about a guy who basically ended up divorcing his first wife and suing for sole custody on the grounds of “Well, your Honor, she tried to sacrifice our son on a literal demonic altar in order to summon Hell to Earth to destroy everything just to get back at me after I left her. Yes, your Honor, I understand that is in fact Asshole Behavior, but there were extenuating circumtances, you see, the woman I left her for was my first love before her who I thought was dead. And also, she was literally my wife before my wife was. No, I don’t mean I was married before Maddie, I mean Jean was kinda pretty much already Maddie before Maddie was Maddie. Its this whole clone thing. Look, I’m just saying it was a complicated situation and I know I have my part to play in it, but I still stand by my conviction that trying to sell out our entire planet and species to the legions of Hell while using the innocent blood of our ten month old as the Golden Ticket to the Chocolate Factory was still a little over the top and not really the right way to handle it either. Also, I contend that I can provide a better home environment at the moment than someone who is insisting on being addressed as The Goblin Queen because what even is that, honestly, Your Honor, and also, she also brainwashed my brother into trying to kill me on her behalf, which to be fair does happen about every other month anyway, but still, like. Dick move, you know?”

And we’re also talking about a guy whose second wife who was kinda sorta his first wife but only in that It Ain’t Bigamy If Its A Clone Thing way....like, I mean. Its kinda hard NOT to come across as the bland one in the relationship when your second wife occasionally moonlights as the AirBnb of choice for a cosmic parakeet goddess of rebirth and fiery destruction who is pretty infamous for the ragers she hosts every time she pops into town for a visit, all smiles and (literal) sunbeams (of scorching lethality) and “Lol hey hot stuff, remember me?” As if someone who ate an alien civilization’s sun the last time she hit a Mood is like....really in danger of ever being “New phone, who dis?”ed. But that is neither here nor there, much like the sentients of Alpha Centauri Bumfuckville after she went all Goodnight Sun, Goodnight Moon, Goodnight Solar System on their corner of the galactic neighborhood, because.....tbh I don’t think she ever actually said “why” there. Its one of those things where if you don’t already KNOW why a cosmic parakeet goddess of rebirth and fiery destruction has decided its nighty-night time for this particular zipcode.....like.....that’s not really something you just ASK, y’know? Its....tacky, probably. Also, low on the self-preservation instincts, probably.

Plus we’re talking about a guy whose second marriage to Yet Another Woman It Probably Should Have Registered As A Bad Idea To PIss Off Like This ended in like....so, okay, this was a bit more His Bad than even Round One was, courtesy of a “Groundbreaking. Revolutionary. Show-stopping” reinterpretation of what was up until this point te much more ambiguous and metaphorically named “Mental Affair” concept. Though it must be said, Scotty always has skewed a bit more towards the literal minded in his personal approach to things, so, y’know. That tracks. But regardless, the pattern remains consistent here, as once again, its not always easy to register on peoples’ radar as anything other than the Plus One when your newest paramour prides herself on being both the entire planning committee AND star attraction of Victoria’s Secret (assuming that said Secret is Secret Aims at World Domination) Presents: A Renaissance Faire. But in an evil and also kinky way. Except now with sixty percent less evil on account of how Emma’s reformed these days, but not a hundred percent less evil because she’s not like, REFORMED reformed, cuz that would be boring, eww, could you imagine, no, you couldn’t, because she won’t let you and she can do that, she’s that good at telepathy and that bad at boundaries. Still the same amount of kinky as before though, but like. That’s just about Strong Branding. After all, at the end of the day Emma Frost is above all else, a good businesswoman.

But yes, she is also a big fan of the Aesthetic, with that aesthetic being Her Whims On Steroids because like they say, go big or go home, and Emma Frost does not believe in going home when she can simply acquire your home instead. Hate the game, not the player. She didn’t make the rules, she just came to win. Point being, its hard to follow up an act like Jean-Who-Is-Sometimes-Phoenix-And-Sometimes-Dark-Phoenix-And-Oh-Hell-She-Cant-Even-Keep-Track-So-How-Could-Anyone-Else-Really, but say what you will about Emma’s wardrobe, she’s more concerned with clothing herself in unapologetic take no prisoners ambition, and as such, her being the follow-up to Scott’s epic romance with his childhood sweetheart turned literal cosmic embodiment of fire and passion, like.....this was never a big checkmark in the con side of a pro and con list for Emma. It was more like oh, yes, hello there, Challenge Absolutely Fucking Accepted.

Which, y’know, all the points to House Frost for showing spine and boy howdy, that’s a spine alright.....but at the same time, going head to head with someone who is classified as a galactic threat when people are deliberately low-balling her, like, for no other reason than you’re bored and your manicure appointment isn’t for another couple hours.....like that’s the kind of thing where it has to be pointed out that there were possibly alternative options worth considering somewhere in between ‘having no spine’ and ‘spiting cosmic entity who can kill you with her brain by stealing her man and saying come at me bro because like....my spine, let me show you it.”

But again, just to reiterate the premise here.....our thesis here today is that Scott Summers Gets a Bad Rap For Being Bland or Boring or Not Standing Out, But In Reality The Issue Is Just That All The People He Knows Are Truly Ridiculous People.

In other words, Scott Summers is no more the Everyman of the X-Men than any of his Truly Ridiculous Friends and Family.

Because an actual everyman would have bounced out of that madhouse way the fuck back in Chapter One: In Which Things Just Got Ridiculous.

Cut to Scott Summers, in contrast: *looks around, purses lips, weighs options* Nah. This is fine.

See also:

His daughter, who didn’t so much arrive after the traditional nine months of waiting and preparing for a bundle of bouncing baby joy but instead just like...plopped back into the past as a full grown woman hailing from a dystopian future she was hellbent on preventing by any means necessary, even if that means had Scott frantically shouting RACHEL NO as she screamed RACHEL YES and sprinted straight at someone like Selene (a villain who has survived 17,000 years of pissing people off and making enemies of actual, literal gods) while thinking “oh yeah, I got this.”

(To be fair, she probably DID have it, or would have, if Logan hadn’t chosen that moment of all moments to have his once-centennial contemplation of “Wait, what if....murder is...NOT good?” Never underestimate the daughter of a cosmic goddess.)

Or see also also:

Scott’s original classmates, including Doctor Hank “I’m not an over-archiever, I’m just stress-eating because its lunchtime and I’ve only revolutionized two whole fields of scientific study so far today,” McCoy, Warren “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, hate me because I’m a billionaire, wait no, I’m just kidding don’t hate me at all hahaha I’m too sexy” Worthington III, and Bobby “I may look cute and unassuming and like my only priority in life is video games but sike, I too am a potentially cosmic level immortal being of nigh-unlimited power or at least I will be whenever I get around to tapping that potential like I’m currently tapping xy up down A + BBA like a boss, now shhh, don’t interrupt me while I’m kicking ass at Mario Kart I said I’ll GET TO THAT LATER, ugh, JEEZ, my priorities are FINE, Scott, like get off my back already, you’re not even my real dad” Drake.

In conclusion:

Scott Summers is valid, and there may be legions drinking his Hatorade, but make no mistake, its not that he’s Less Than, its that every single person in his social circle is just that damn Extra.

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amassingeffect · 6 years ago

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Ficlet Prompt Friday: Saudade - mReyder

@trajektoria asked for: Reyes sharing something personal with Scott? Bonus points for fluff and romance

Reyes had made a clean break of coming to Andromeda. He’d easily left behind his past and the heavy, crushing burden that would have trapped him. He’d given it all up for Andromeda, to come here and be somebody, to make something of himself. After his brief stint in the Alliance didn’t pan out, he had been looking for the chance. Any chance, really.

But here he was, nearly 600 years later, staring at a link that he had thought long severed. Just an innocent looking little package that he’d scanned to hell and back before bringing it in. Inside the package was a plain, polished ebony box. It was the embossed crest on the top of the box that really held his attention. Well, it looked embossed but it was painted on. Trompe l’oeil, as the French would say.

That one symbol brought up too many memories, some not so bitter while others weren’t as sweet as he wanted. But there was no denying the hollow feeling they left inside. It was something Reyes had through he had worked through on the Nexus before he left.

“Reyes?”

He nearly jumped, seeing Scott sitting up on the couch with a worried expression. He glanced back at the box in his hand, tightening his grip on it. It had been so long since he shed that damned name. He was Reyes Vidal now. Scott had understood about the whole Charlatan thing. This wouldn’t be so bad. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, but Scott was already peering at the box in his hand.

“Why do you have a box with the Hanasius family crest?”

“Funny, you ask,” Reyes tried for levity as he held out the box. Thank god his hand didn’t shake. “Because they were my family.”

For a moment, Scott just stared at him. Then, the laugh Scott gave was a little wild, and Reyes felt his stomach drop out but then Scott was shaking his head, and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Thank god we’re literally in another galaxy, otherwise, I think I’d have been hauled in like in one of those old mobster movies. So, who went to a lot of trouble to get this to you?”

The heady rush of relief that coursed through Reyes almost made him sick to his stomach. But he reached out and slowly opened the box. There was the creak of an actual hinge, smooth polished wood under his fingers and when the holopic flickered into view, it was the familiar eyes and face with a salt and pepper beard that made his vision blur.

“Entiendo. Conviertete en el rey que debes ser.”

The familiar burr of his father’s voice sharpened that hollow feeling inside into a pang. Reyes suddenly missed him more than he could even comprehend. Missed all those nights they spent in the study, talking. Or when they took little trips to his father’s hometown, the sun beating down overhead as they rode ponies. The sure advice from a man who married “far above his station” was always worth Reyes’ time. His father had fallen in love, reached for the stars and found the love of his life. Suddenly, Reyes found himself missing his mother too. For all the ways that they were complete strangers to each other, there was no denying she had left her mark on him. His pragmatic drive and a streak of ruthlessness tempered with intelligence and cunning… definitely not from his father. His brains came from his mother and his heart from his father.

“Hey, hey, Reyes,” Scott was murmuring softly, pulling him into a hug. “I’m not upset you didn’t tell me you’re a stupidly rich trust fund kid.”

That got a laugh out of him, and Reyes wiped at his eyes. Damn, he’d been crying more than he realised. He wiped at his eyes a few more times before shifting back a bit to look at Scott.

“I was <i>not</i> a trust fund kid.”

“I dunno,” Scott scratched at his chin in mock thoughtfulness. “I mean there’s rich and then there Hanasius rich. I mean, wasn’t there some news story about your grandfather buying a colony or two for shits and giggles before the Alliance program got rolling?”

Reyes grimaced. “That was their money. My mother made it clear that I had to toe the line before I’d even be considered to get my inheritance.”

“And?” Scott got more comfortable on the couch, pulling him in to get comfortable again.

Reyes didn’t fight it, settling his back against Scott. “Do I look like I toe any line but my own?”

Scott gave a laugh and his smile eased some of the heartache. “No, thank god. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Odalis Vidal,” Reyes reached forward, picking up the box, the holopic flickering a bit from the motion. “He took my mother’s name when he married her. Apparently it was a huge scandal at the time. But they loved each other. And here I am.”

“And here you are,” Scott agreed. “But now I’m really curious. Why leave it all behind?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I came here to be somebody. I just wanted to be somebody under my own terms. Not what nearly 400 years of family tradition said I should be.” Reyes was quiet for a moment. “That’s why I tried the Alliance. My last name was a bigger hindrance than help. Not suited for the front-line, despite having the aptitude for it. Piloting on supply routes, I was good at it, but it’s not what I wanted.”

“Hm,” Scott nodded his head. “Can’t have you getting killed and pissing off the family.”

“Exactly. So I changed my last name and dropped off the grid for a bit. It was amazing how many so called friends dropped me when I came back and wasn’t living up to the Hanasius name.”

“You know, this kinda explains why you didn’t want to tell me some things right off the bat,” Scott sounded serious now. “You were waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

All Reyes could do was shrug. Agreeing with that out loud made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. As if he should have had a little bit more faith in Scott. That was the problem with getting badly burned the first time around. Not to mention the second, third and fourth. It tended to leave one with thick skin, layers of protection and a very healthy skepticism about people and motivations.

It had been so different with Scott, as if he couldn’t help himself. So here he was peeling back the last few layers. There wasn’t anything else that Scott didn’t know now.

“You’re a million miles away tonight,” Scott murmured as he plucked the box from Reyes’ hand to rest it on the coffee table. “Want to come back?”

Reyes gave a quiet little laugh. “I miss them. My father especially. He would have thought this to be a grand adventure.”

“And your mother?”

“Risk analysis probably not in favour of coming. Sometimes, my dad could persuade her.”

Scott was quiet for a bit. “Do you think they would have liked me?”

“My father, absolutely. My mother…” Reyes trailed off.

“Risk analysis?” Scott quipped.

“Absolutely,” Reyes laughed. “And with your dad doing work with AI, she would have told me in no uncertain terms to never see you again.”

Scott gave a little sniff of offense. “Her loss.”

“Undoubtedly.” Reyes smiled as he turned to give Scott a quick kiss. “I just never expected to get something from my father ever again.”

“He cared enough to figure out where you were coming to and send this memento. I would have liked to meet him.”

In a perfect world, Reyes mused. Soctt was shifting, reaching for something in his pocket. A few moments later, Scott whispered softly,

“Close your eyes.”

“A surprise?”

“Hopefully. C’mon.”

Reyes rolled his eyes with a smile before he did so. He felt Scott take his hand and drop something cool on it. Then he gently curled Reyes’ fingers back over it. What struck Reyes as peculiar was the deep breath Scott took, with a little huff at the end as he was bracing himself.

“Okay, you can look.”

Scott drew his hand away, fingers trailing down over Reyes’ arm. For a moment, all Reyes did was look at his closed hand. It felt round, cool and had a pleasant weight on his palm. He unfurled his fingers, the black metal looking matte until Reyes tilted his hand and then like it was a ring of the night sky glimmering on his hand.

A ring.

He stared at it for a bit, brain trying to think of any possible explanation for this and only coming back to one. When he looked at Scott, he found the brunet nervously chewing on the corner of his lip.

“Scott, are you sure?” Reyes glanced back at the ring on his hand. “This is—”

“Marry me. Please.” Scott blurted out, a blush coming to his cheeks. “Oh fuck, I had something better but I can’t remember it now. I mean, I didn’t even plan on doing this now, but I couldn’t wait any more and —”

Reyes couldn’t hold that ring any tighter in his hand as he kissed Scott, leaning into him. Scott’s hands slid down his torso, settling on his waist, thumbs gently rubbing against the jut of hipbones. Never in his life, would Reyes ever get tired of the feeling of Scott’s stubble against his skin, those plush lips and just him. After a few minutes, he drew back, taking in Scott’s grin and the twinkle in those blue eyes.

“So… that’s a yes?”

Reyes raised a brow as he took the ring and slid it on before giving Scott a quick kiss. “Just say when and I’ll make it happen.”

Scott looked pleased for all of ten seconds before he frowned. “Uh, if Drack asks, just make something up.”

“Drack?” Now Reyes was confused.

“Yeah. Pretty sure if you tell him that I basically begged you to marry me, I’ll never hear the end of it. He gave me enough shit about that first Pathfinder meeting I ever held.”

“What were his words? Begging is an interesting strategy?” Reyes laughed as Scott groaned, giving him a wink. “That’s not how you should be begging, mi amor.”

“Oh, my apologies,” Scott licked his lips, looking at Reyes through his lashes. “Please enlighten me, sir.”

Reyes gave a slow smile as he leaned in to kiss Scott again.

#mass effect #mass effect: andromeda #mryder #reyes #reyes vidal #mreyder #ficlet prompt friday #fanfic #writing #trajektoria

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patrickcharlton-oshea-author · 7 years ago

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Death Becomes Him: An Age of Steam and Sorcery novel.

Chapter Five:

“Chirp, chirp!” Peter woke right where he'd drifted off last time, the sweet song of a distant bird greeting him. The perfect calm that enveloped the Garden of Tranquillity wrapped around him too. He lazily pulled on his socks and shoes as he let the other world drift away. He wouldn't be going back there for a while if he could help it. Standing up, he wandered through the arch at the end of the garden, marvelling at the ease with which this body moved. He was really getting the hang of being taller. Through the arch was a small wooden building, somewhat resembling a barn. Ambling through the open doorway, Peter was surprised to find another priestess waiting for him there. Scattered around the room were various crafting tools like a leatherworking bench and an anvil. Some were more obscure, things he had no name for. Continuing the barn theme, the entire far wall was open to the elements – benign though they were. “Welcome, Traveller. Before you are some of the many tools you'll encounter in our world. There are primary resource gathering tools like this pick here.” The small lady gestured to the item in question. Peter picked it up and hefted it once or twice. Whilst primary resource gathering could be a way of making some cash in the beginning, he remembered the ballad of John Henry his grandfather had sung him once. Henry had raced a steam jackhammer to dig through a mountain, and though he'd won, he'd died as soon as he'd finished. He placed the pick back where he'd found it. Anyone who thought that banging stones with sharpened bits of metal was fun had rocks in their head. “Perhaps I can interest you in woodworking then, Traveller?” She passed him a hatchet to try. After a few test swings Peter handed it back too. Chopping wood wasn't as unappealing as breaking rocks in the hot sun, but still wasn't his cup of tea. Now that's an idea... “How about herbs?” he asked. “Are there any specialist tools I'd need to make teas and such like?” “Here you are Traveller.” The priestess handed him a small copper sickle and directed him to a workbench covered in dried leaves. “You aren't locked into a profession, though. These are just an introduction and a gift to get you started. You may keep one tool when you move on. There are also secondary production tools, like this portable forge. It takes up several spaces in your inventory, but can be quite useful.” Swinging the sickle to feel its balance, Peter still browsed the rest of the items even though he'd pretty much made up his mind. He would often have a cup of tea of an evening while reading a book. This world seemed so realistic that being able to make his own here was an attractive prospect. He held out the tool in his hand. “I'd like this one, please.” “Then it is yours. Your next destination is the docks, just down the path.” She pointed out through the wide open side of the building. The path wended down a gentle slope towards a glittering ocean. A stone pier jutted out into the water and a small dinghy bobbed gently at dock. A final priestess stood where the pier met the land. Peter traipsed down to the edge of the water still swinging the sickle absentmindedly. He was still waving it around when he approached the priestess. “Sir! Would you please place that in your inventory?” she exclaimed. “Tools may not be weapons, but they can still hurt.” Peter coloured in embarrassment. “Uh. I'm not actually sure how to.” “Oh. You should have been told at the last station. It's on your left wrist. Your Traveller's Mark has a nexus point that will open an interdimensional pocket, colloquially known as your inventory. You can wear a sword belt, holster or bandoleer for easy access to items, but you have to bear their entire weight. Items in your inventory weigh only a fraction of what they normally do. They're also protected from any damage you may sustain.” Peter rolled up his left sleeve and looked at his Traveller's Mark. Other than the “nexus point”, which seemed to be the in game name for a button, there was little to see. Just his name and some meaningless three letter designators with the number one beside them. He guessed that they indicated his characteristics. More things to look up that he should have checked already. He tapped the inventory mark and it opened with a quiet tearing sound. Inside was a dark space with a faintly glowing grid, five squares on a side. He dropped the sickle into the space and it aligned itself with the grid, taking up two spaces. Tapping the mark again, it closed with a soft pop. “Now that you are prepared, Traveller, it is time for you to begin your true journey. Remember: every action in this world has a consequence. You effect not only your environment, but yourself as well. Safe journey, Traveller. May you find that which you seek.” With her last word she faded gently from view, leaving Peter with nothing but the lapping waves for company. Looking back over his shoulder, he found that the barn and it's occupant had similarly vanished, in their place was a golden wheat field swaying in the slight breeze. The calm scene didn't worry him; it was obviously just a way of indicating that his time in the garden was over. He clambered into the boat and waited. Sure enough, the sail unfurled itself and though the breeze clearly wasn't enough to propel the boat, it began to drift forward. Almost imperceptibly it accelerated, and soon the land behind was out of sight. The bright sun was directly overhead in an entirely blue sky. The lack of landmarks left Peter a little disoriented, but it was too peaceful to concern him greatly. He leaned back against the mast and enjoyed the feeling of speed, not worrying about when or where he'd arrive. However, arrive he did. A line off to his left thickened into a shoreline, yellowing into a beach with a green patch of woodlands behind it. A speck of darkness rapidly resolved itself into a dock like the one he'd just left and the boat curved around to meet it. It slowed itself until it scraped against the rock with a slight bump. Peter climbed out onto the pier, slightly disappointed that the trip was over so quickly. A grey brick path led from the foot of the dock over the grasslands to the left towards a village just visible on the horizon. A thin plume of white smoke indicated that it was probably inhabited. Off to his right, the fields ended sharply at the edge of a dark wood. It was the first time since he'd arrived in this world that he'd seen anything that didn't feel warm and inviting. In fact, the trees filled him with a sense of foreboding. That decided it for him, weaponless and fresh from the Garden of Tranquillity, he chose the village. At least for now. Looking around the fields as he walked along the path, he saw that they were dotted with bushes bearing berries, the occasional copse of trees and many small animals, some of the domesticated variety, some wild. Here and there other Travellers did epic battle with the dark and cunning Foxes, or vanquished the evil Weasels, and a few were collecting their mighty trophies of fleece from a Sheep. Well, maybe not. Peter wasn't certain how killing these creatures, or shearing a sheep, was justified but heroic adventures they were not. Peter chose to avoid them; he had no interest in interacting with random bunny murderers. Approaching the village, Peter was awed by the level of detail put into the world once more. A wooden palisade protected the villagers from attack, though what would be attacking them he could only guess. A large wooden gate that allowed entry and egress was guarded by two people in chainmail, and wielding halberds. From under the helmet of one peeked a pair of wolf-like ears. Peter struggled not to stare as he passed by. From their side, they barely gave him a glance. He obviously wouldn't be conquering the village by force of arms. Inside the walls, the path widened to a proper street, still of the same brick. A couple of side streets led off from the main thoroughfare before it widened even further into a town square. Tall lamp posts of brass lined the periphery, shining in the sunlight. The square was bounded by four large buildings, a mayor's house with a hall attached, a smithy, an inn and a tiny chapel with a small graveyard beside it. Peter did a double-take at the last, it was unusual to see a cemetery inside a town, let alone bordering the town square. He figured there must be some reason for it, but for now the ring of metal on metal drew him to the smithy. Crossing the square to where the wide open doors of the workshop welcomed everyone inside, Peter stood in amazement at the vast array of metallurgy on display. There were a few racks of copper, bronze and iron bladed weapons as you would expect from a smith in an adventuring area, but there was so much more than that. There were horseshoes and scythes, axes and hammers, even metal plates and cutlery. Along one wall stood several small brass and mahogany humanoids, their clockwork innards visible through the gaps in their shells. It really made him appreciate that a village smith was more than just a weapons maker. The smith himself was seated in the back of the building, in a corner lit only by the glow of the forge, passing a small bottle around a circle of older men. He looked up as Peter began to approach. “Ho, Traveller! We're having a meeting back here. Anything you need can be sorted by my apprentice, John.” Peter must have been completely wrapped up in his own world as he ogled the ironmongery on display, as he'd missed this “John” entirely. Which, as it happens, is a feat in and of itself as John was a very large young man. In fact, you could be forgiven for thinking someone had simply shaven a bear and given it a leather apron and a very large hammer. John was using said hammer to pound something either into or out of shape over an anvil. Peter wasn't sure which. In the interest of safety, Peter gave John a wide berth as he worked his way around until he was directly in front of the apprentice smith and essayed a small wave. John laid his hammer on the anvil and turned his attention to Peter. “What can Ah do fer yer?” the question came in a bassy rumble. Working with metal was a noisy business and it appeared that John no longer possessed an inside voice. “I'd like a weapon, please, something good for a beginner?” The man thought for a bit. “What are ye good wit? We got swords, knives and clubs. We alsa make stuff if'n yes c'n pay.” Peter blinked. Pay. He hadn't thought of that. “I haven't got any money yet, I've only just arrived. Could I borrow something and pay for it when I've earned some?” “Sorry little man. We gots to pay da bills too. Da' only lends to folks he trusts. Y'all could try da inn across da way. Dey's allus got jobs needin' doin'.” John picked up the hammer and gestured to the far side of the square. Peter marvelled at how effortlessly the massive weight was waved around. “Thank you, I'll do that.” Crossing the square back to the side he entered on he found himself on a wooden veranda with a few tables arranged on it. Passing around them he pulled open the door and was assaulted by heat, smell and music. As he entered the common room his nostrils filled with the scent of stale, spilled ale and sweaty bodies and for the first time since arriving found himself wishing for a slightly lesser amount of accuracy. Or at least that someone would crack a window. It must have shown on his face, because as he approached the bar the barmaid apologised immediately. “Sorry young sir, it's the Northmen, see? Those barbarians in their stinky furs, I'm surprised they've not chased my regulars away permanent like. They come in here every so often, drink every drop of our worst ale... well, I say drink, but really it's quaffing. It's kinda like drinking but only a third of the cup goes in your mouth. The rest ends up on your clothes and the floor.” She pulled a face that mirrored Peter's. “But Dave, who owns this place, says that we can't kick 'em out, cos their money is as good as anyone else's and they are the only ones who'll drink the apprentice brewer's product. We gets it super cheap, but these lot ask for it specifically. They drink it until they pass out, throw up or get tossed for being too rowdy. Sometimes all three at once.” The beleaguered maid shook her head. “Sorry to unload on you, sir. It's been a long day and looks to be a longer night. What can I get for you?” Peter's head was spinning from the heat and noise and was having trouble keeping up. He caught the question at the end, and thought for a moment. “I'm actually looking for work, miss. I need to make some coin or I'll be sleeping in the street tonight.” The barmaid pointed to the far wall where a noticeboard hung. Pieces of paper, cloth and, for some reason, a leaf were variously attached to the board with pins, small knives and in a particularly unusual case, a set of teeth. It was right next to the barbarians, so Peter didn't want to linger long so he quickly scanned the job offers before pulling down two, the leaf and one sheet of paper, and stepping outside to sit at one of the tables. He's just laid them on the table when the barmaid came out with a glass of liquid and placed it on the table too. “I needed a moment of peace, and you were the nicest person I've met this week. Have this, on the house. Just don't let Dave find out. My name's Rosie, by the way.” Rosie bobbed a curtsy and strode off to wipe down the other tables, despite their being already clean. Peter took a sip of the drink and found it to be an excellent lemonade. It fizzled on his tongue and was just the right amount of sweet and tang. He raised the glass to Rosie in salute, wondering if she could be a real player working for coin here. Her reactions were almost too lifelike to be a program. He tried to sneak a peek at her left arm, but couldn't get a good enough view to see if she had a Traveller's Mark. Rosie saw him looking at her and gave him a smile that was almost a grimace and went back inside with a sigh. “Better see what we have here,” he said to himself, picking up the leaf first. It had browned since being written on and the words were hard to make out. “Bovrn the Herbalist needs your help Traveller. Bring this leaflet and twenty raspberries to his shop for your reward. Leaflet. Heh.” Peter appreciated the pun. There was a basic map of the village with the shop's location marked with an X. Easy enough; he just had to find out where raspberries grew and what they looked like. The second notice was in a much more juvenile hand. “Please help. My puppy has run away and I can't find him. Mummy says she'll give a Traveller a whole gold coin to anyone who brings him home!” Again, there was a basic map to the owner's home. A gold piece didn't sound like much, but as his sum total so far was zero, it was infinitely more than what he had. Peter was still examining the notices and sipping the lemonade when Rosie came back out. “Well, are you going to accept the quests? They've been up for a while now; new Travellers aren't as common as they once were.” “Accept the quest? Isn't that what I did when I took the notice?” “No, young sir. To accept a quest issued by a citizen you press your thumb to this mark in the bottom corner here.” Rosie indicated a faint marking, a blank oval with filigree around it. “Thank you Rosie. Say, are you a Traveller yourself?” Rosie blanched. “My goodness, you are greener than a new twig. Tis a good thing you asked me and not someone more touchy about that. This town is a haven for retired Travellers. They’ve tired of the rough life and now wait for the final death living amongst the Citizens as equals. From what I've seen of some Travellers, it may be a kindness, that.” “Thanks Rosie, sorry if I offended you.” Peter apologised. “Wait, what do you mean, a kindness?” Now Rosie looked furtive. “I don't mean to speak out of turn, sir. It's just that some Travellers die many deaths. You see them walk out of the graveyard several times in a day, and they start to get this look in their eyes. Like maybe they should have stayed in the ground.” A light dawned on Peter. That's why the graveyard was in the centre of town! It was the local respawn point! Even he as a non-gamer had heard of these. Obviously in a game like this you couldn't face a Game Over screen every time you died, so you were reincarnated at a home location. Loss of items and progress were often mentioned as well, but he wasn't sure what the local rules were on that. He made up his mind to visit the chapel and enquire before setting off on his quests. “Thank you Rosie, I have nothing to offer but my appreciation, but you have that in spades.” Peter stood up and handed the glass to her. Pausing only to press his thumb to the indicated mark, which glowed briefly and made his left arm itch for some reason, he crossed the square again. The chapel itself wasn't exceptional, barely two stories tall. An open door up a short flight of stairs reminded him of his last experience with a staircase. He shook it off and ascended, passing into the cool darkness inside. The interior was reminiscent of the place he'd come into this world too, but on a much reduced scale. There were a few rows of pews, a small glowing fountain and tapestries between the stained glass windows. The tapestries depicted heroes completing somewhat lesser acts of heroism this time. Peter suspected they were local achievements; the slayer of a pony sized bunny may be a feat, but not a world-class one. Waiting for him by the font was a familiar habit-clothed figure. She turned her head to him as he strode up. “Greetings Traveller. How may I be of assistance today?” “Good day Sister. May I ask you a few questions?” Peter felt unnerved again; it was like being addressed by an empty set of clothes. “Certainly. We live to serve. What is it you would like to know?” “What happens when a Traveller dies? Rosie at the inn said they come out of the graveyard?” “Indeed they do. The rebirth process is not kind to a Traveller. It is best conducted underground in the crypts. When a Traveller's rebirth is complete they simply ring the bell in their coffin and one of our order assists with the disinterment. The newly reborn are weak and often fragile of disposition, so we offer a quiet place to sit or lie down and gather one's thoughts. Tea and biscuits are commonly served too. It has become rare to see the same Traveller twice in the same month, but we do have a fairly regular flow through the gates. Or, at least, we used to. Travellers have moved on to greener, or redder, pastures of late seeking greater adventure. There are but a few wandering our fields and assisting the citizens with their needs. Is there anything more?” Pondering all he'd just heard, Peter sat in a nearby pew. It was a lot to take in. Especially the part about respawning being 'unkind'. “Do I need to do anything? If I go to another town will I still be reborn here?” “Yes, Traveller. In order to bind your soul to this place, you must place your hands in the font beside me and speak the words.” She gestured to her left. Frowning in consternation, Peter wondered what words she could be referring to when a glint from the rim of the fountain caught his eye. Gold wording inlaid into the marble edge shined in a sunbeam from above. He slowly lowered his hands into the liquid up to his elbows and intoned, “With this sacrament I bind my soul to these waters, that I may return when the light of my life extinguishes.” The surface of the water flashed an incandescent pink for a moment, the radiance like staring at the sun. Peter tore his hands out of the water to cover his eyes until the glow faded. Blinking the afterimages away he rounded on the priestess. “Is that normal? Will that happen every time?” he shouted. Somehow the expressionless veil managed to look surprised. “Nay Traveller, that is the first time I've seen such a response from the font in a very long time. The goddess must have a plan for you. I will pray for you, for the last time she took an interest in a Traveller their life became... interesting?” “Interesting,” thought Peter, “does not bode well for me. There's an old saying about living in interesting times.” He offered a rather distracted farewell and left the chapel. Outside he took a moment to get his bearings and scratch the itch on his left arm. When it didn't subside he rolled up his sleeve to see what could be causing the sensation. Where he'd been scratching, his Traveller's Mark was fading in and out. He quickly ran his finger over the area, scrolling through the menu. It still felt weird having a tattoo that responded to touch, like a smartwatch under his skin that ran the length of his forearm. Below his name but above the numerical representation of his abilities was a new entry, Bind point: Averton. Peter hadn't seen any signs that announced the name of the village, but he assumed that was where he was. An arrow near his wrist blinked, pointing downward. Peter swiped his finger on his arm, pulling the sheet 'up'. Another new section had added itself to the sheet, titled Quests. The two jobs he'd accepted earlier were listed there, each with a mark labelled Guiding Light. Peter tapped the one for the herbalist's job and a line of little dots sprang up in his vision, leading from his feet out through the street he'd entered town via. They flickered in sequence, indicating he should follow them. Follow them he did, out through the gate and over the fields to a bush, where they formed a circle. “Well,” Peter said to the bush, “I'll bet you're a raspberry bush.” He declined to think about what talking to bushes said about his sanity. Instead, he got to work stripping it of every ripe berry, dropping them into his inventory. About every third one would squish in his fingers, wasting them. The seven berries he'd removed intact took up only a single grid square, and as he placed the last one in and closed it, the guiding lights lit up again headed to another bush not far away. Another thing Peter studiously avoided thinking about as he stripped the second bush was the irony that he'd only an hour or so before been dismissive of people performing this very sort of task. The second bush completely clean of ripe fruits and his fingers which were coated in raspberry juice starting to sting, Peter wandered over to the third bush. As he was walking, a thought came to him. He opened his inventory and pulled out the sickle. Holding the berry gently he sliced the stem with the tool. The berry separated neatly and he dropped it into the waiting inventory. Repeating the process with the next one, he found that he no longer had to fight the stems and didn't crush a single berry. With no wastage he collected the twentieth raspberry from this bush and much faster than the first two. He was just about to drop the sickle back into the waiting inventory when his arm began to itch again. Wondering what it could mean this time, he wasted no time in staining his shirt. Cursing, wiped his hands on the grass, then his pants, and then tried rolling up his sleeve again. Scrolling down past the initial character scores which still sat at one, a new entry titled Skills had popped up, with a skill named Herbalism and a value of 0.1%. “Ok,” Peter said, still talking to the bushes, and still not thinking about what that could mean, “Using the tool appropriate to the job earned me some skill points? Or was it just collecting the berries? I wonder what happens if I just collect them by hand?” For the next fifteen minutes, Peter ignored the blinking guides and stripped four more bushes and thoroughly coated his hands in raspberry juice. However, he earned himself another fifteen berries and another stain on his sleeve. And raised the skill to 0.2%. So, it will go up without the tool. Having stripped all the bushes nearby, he was forced to range a bit further. Wandering the fields until he found another raspberry bush he pulled out the sickle and got to work. No longer crushing every third berry, this bush was quickly denuded of its bounty, providing Peter with eleven berries in the bag but no skill raise yet. Meandering across the field trying to find a bush that still had something to offer. He finally found one at the far end of the field, near the woods. Whipping out the tool he got to work. A few moments later he was the proud owner of fifty two raspberries, two spilling over into a second inventory slot, and a shiny new 0.1% in Herbalism. Dropping the tool into its slot and closing the inventory with a satisfied smile, Peter turned to head back into town when he felt an excruciating pain in his calf. Trying to turn back around he found his leg didn't work the way it should and found himself on his knees staring into the face of a.. rabbit? Sort of? This rabbit was the size of a large dog and its fur was mottled with a putrescent green. Its muzzle was covered in red. Fuzzily Peter realised that it was blood. His blood. “No!” he cried out. “Why?” The pain in his leg tore through his mind. “This can’t be happening!” Then the monster leapt forward and with a crunch and a stabbing pain above his eye, he knew nothing more.

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bluesoilder4710 · 7 years ago

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Marco Week

Marco Week, pt 2 days 3, 4 and 6 you can find days 1 and 2 here , @marcoweek and this was betaed by @shockandlock who is absolutely great.

Marco Week 3. Love/Loss

He loved and Marco loved, and when he lost you, truly even the heavens despaired.

For a grave put down in earth, not yet wanting to take it, but bearing all the same

Loss, despair, an end, and end when no one ever knows how to say good bye

How everyone wishes they could have said goodbye

Goodbye for we will never meet again

Goodbye my love, your sorrow will be heard, though I wish for it not to be

Good bye and thank you for loving me

An end, a gravestone, an extinguished flame, something good is no more

And nothing now could ever come to any good

For he loved and he loved and he lost

The stars shined no more for him

The sun only reminding him of sorrow that came with the loss

A great burden of guilt, the screaming, the pain

Oh how he could not save him

He could not save him

But he loved and he loved, and he lost him

Marco Week 4. Birthday/Devil fruit

Marco in his short life has never celebrated his birthday. This may be because he has no idea what day it is, nor does he know how old he is. The passing of age and time are different for Marco than for normal humans, and sometimes different for even the gods. Marco just doesn't feel the passage of time. He decides not to go down toward the earth much, so Marco does not have a way to feel the time pass by him. A great many ages and years have passed since Marco reached Godhood, he decides not to dwell on it, time is an illusion anyway.

For a few, a few Marco holds dear, know the pull of time. They have felt it over the millennia, great bearers of knowledge that they are. They have been around the block enough to know that Marco is far older than he seems and far older than he believes. Yet he has never in any age, celebrated his birthday.

All the gods come from humans they are near them in more ways than many realize. all have celebrated birthdays, all have celebrated but Marco. Marco's siblings decided a day was in order, one day for Marco's birthday, everything would be taken care of that day Marco takes care of them, and now it was their turn.

For the most part the setup was going great. There were quite a few cakes and the decorations were no longer on fire. Stefan only chewed up half of everyone's shoes and part of everyone's costumes (and all of Ace's, its his fault for going as a steak) the music was good enough to sweep gods off their feet and into the seventh dimension (literally), and there was only most of (all) the Reshim alcohol in the punch (the type that made your teeth hurt, not to be confused with the one that turned your hair blue forever). Now all that they was needed was Marco, who of course wasn't anywhere to be found

He wasn't anywhere on the whale ship, and it was baffling that the normally concerned Marco, was nowhere near his brothers. This wouldn't be unusual if he wanted to have a break, but even then, his siblings would be able to find him. Yet now, not even Pops could, and they decided that the only place he could really be is down below to the world of humans and people.

When Thatch finally found Marco, it was near a tree, the very tree that had first given Marco his devil fruit, the very reason for his Godhood. The siblings choose this day because of this very reason, because of this very tree, the tree that Marco was mourning, mourning the loss of a tree bent with age and white as the bones of death, not a speck of life in its now whittled down bark. The first tree to treat Marco kindly, also the first to leave him, for Marco could not remember any others leaving him like this, to a realm he could not follow.

Thatch found Marco at the tree and knew. He knew that it was time, a time not to mourn, but to keep going and celebrate for a fruit now given, a kindness after sorrow. Now it was time for a celebration, a birthday.

Marco Week 6. War/Adventure

No adventure is complete without a war. That Marco knew, for he had seen and been on many adventures that involved a lot of near death experiences, terribly large armies, sometimes talking lions, stealing, and sleeping in the wild. Every prophecy that had to be completed or adventure that Marco went on ended in some type of war, or a full scale battle that lasted longer than everyone actually remembered. These wars made Marco very good at full scale battle and very good at making sure his companions survived. Marco didn't need to worry about them when crushing people's skulls.

The adventure that Marco was on now had quite a few battles already, but no big one yet. He was fairly certain nothing was even close to being over yet, and he was glad his companions were competent enough to have his back. Even if Marco was good enough to go on this quest alone, he preferred company and his fellow travelers needed experience of this quest.

Marco was just bandaging up someone new to questing, making sure to give some pointers on his fighting style as well.

"You have to watch your flank more, yoi. It'll be more important once we get to the war."

"What war? You keep talking about some war but how do you know there's going to be one?"

"Because yoi," Marco started, looking at the poor kid like it was obvious, "no adventure is complete without a war."

The kid wanted to look at Marco like he stuck his boat up the wrong creak, a hen with not enough eggs. He wanted to believe this wouldn't end in a war, wars were gruesome, bloody and he had fought in a few, there had been to many not to, but he wished never to do so again. But when he looked in Marco's eyes and saw something he didn't want to touch, didn't want to know about, he decided that yeah he needed to protect his flank more and yeah, there's going to be a war. He nodded to Marco and Marco just nodded back knowing he didn't fully understand yet but decided to believe him for now.

Three dragons, a con man, two pants-stealing gnomes and a meeting with the dead king later found Marco and his companions knee deep in corpses hacking away at an undead army trying to get the Orpheus Nexus.

These were one of the better wars Marco had been through, one of his adventures had ended in a war between the last of the Gu'dar and the elves of the water and Marco was sorely tempted to switch toward the Gu'dars side half way through; it was a very messy war. The corpse piles in this one Marco preferred to do without but what is to be has now become.

"Watch your flank, yoi!" Marco called, a reminder to his companion who almost got his face cleaved in two. He had a crazed look in his eyes and needed a shower more than Marco did, which was saying something considering Marco was the one who had to trudge through the waste lands.

"You-you-you we-we-w-were right!" Poor sod had developed a stutter after the fourth time everyone had gotten turned into tiny and much too cuddly animals. The trip into the third dimension and planet Diageo definitely didn't help.

"Of course yoi," Marco responded easily, his voice cutting through the putrid smell of burning flesh and the screaming of undead souls in agony.

"No adventure is complete without a war, yoi."

#marcoweek 2017 #marcoweek day 3 #marcoweek day 4 #marcoweek day 6 #Blues writing tag

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xxleondraxx · 8 years ago

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Last Hope of Dead Hearts (aka Unsanctioned Fraternization)

This fic revolves around Evfra and Maria Ryder. This chapter is SFW. This fic contains spoilers. This fic clocks in at 9,452 words. Enjoy.

Thank you to my beta readers:

@gdi-bucky @kiibster @knjyasu @malvinnia

And extra thanks to @knjyasu. She’s the one I’ve been bouncing ideas off of. If it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t have even thought about writing this. I probably wouldn’t have jumped on the Evfra train at all.

Chapter 1

Aya. Sovereign land of the angara. This place is beautiful, Ryder thought to herself as she leaned her arms against the railing of one of the balconies and looked outward. The view was stunning, and the setting sun was casting shadows that seemed to give everything a stunningly ethereal depth.

This is what home should’ve looked like, she thought, the idea threatening to cast a melancholy blanket over her enjoyment of the view and turn it bitter. She dipped her head down and rubbed her hands over her face. She’d been at this Pathfinder thing for months now. She’d managed to do some amazing things. Some things that some might think were impossible. Starting a terraforming engine on a planet so that it could again become livable? That was about as impossible as it got.

But it hadn’t made her job any easier. Most of the time she had no idea what she was doing. She felt like she was standing in a room with walls covered with buttons and pushing them with the hope something good would happen and she wouldn’t cause everything to come crashing down around her.

She didn’t even know how she’d managed to do as much as she had. She just knew that she couldn’t fail. It wasn’t an option. If she did…

Ryder took a deep breath through her nose then exhaled through her mouth in an attempt to beat down the thought. The hopes and dreams of the entire Initiative were riding on her shoulders. It was something she tried to not think about, afraid that the implications of the thought would crush her beneath its weight. How could one person be expected to handle all this? Sure, her team helped, but at the end of the day she had the distinct feeling that Jaal was the only one that actually believed in her.

Besides, they were the team. She was the Pathfinder. Everything they did in the field reflected directly back on her, not them. They had the easy job, mentally speaking. They had to follow, and she had to find the path for them.

“Ryder, did you hear the one about the deaf man that was hit by a train? Neither did he.”

Ryder snorted a laugh at SAM’s dry attempt at humor. “SAM, what the hell was that?”

“You needed a pick me up,” SAM replied. “I thought I would offer assistance.”

Ryder leaned her head against her fist as she continued to look out at the landscape. “Thanks, SAM. Was just thinking about the impossible task ahead of us.”

SAM was silent for a while before he spoke again. “Ryder, your father chose well when he picked you to succeed him,” SAM said. “Had Cora taken over, I do not think things would have gone as well. You are the one that started the Vault on Eos.”

“Oh, come on, SAM,” she replied. “That was all you.”

“I could not have reached the consoles by myself,” SAM replied. “You had the courage to throw yourself into the unknown without thought for your own safety to help others. Cora does not take such leaps.”

Ryder didn’t say anything as she listened to the AI.

“Being a Pathfinder takes more than planning. One must be able to improvise at a moment’s notice. To change plans, or to go in with nothing but a goal. Meeting the angara was not planned. While first contact was anticipated, only simple guidelines could be drafted for such an event. It is through your will and determination that the angara are now allies and not foes. You saved the scientists on Havarl. You saved the Moshae. The angara look to you as a symbol of what an alliance with the Nexus could be. They trust you, even if they do not fully trust the Nexus.

“I do not believe Cora could have accomplished this the way you have. She is not mentally prepared for a leadership role. She continues to search for someone in a place of leadership that has a plan she can follow. Your father knew this. I believe that is why he chose you.”

Ryder smiled and hummed a little. Having SAM in her head was like having her own personal motivational coach sometimes. “Thank you, SAM,” she said.

“Of course, Pathfinder. Remember that you are doing a good job,” SAM replied, going silent again.

He was so quiet most times that Ryder often forgot that SAM was always there.

And that he was usually right.

Things were absolutely difficult right now. Nothing had gone according to Initiative plan. Hell, even the person that had created the Andromeda Initiative was dead. But nothing was impossible. She’d already done several impossible things in the short time since she’d become the Pathfinder.

Saving the scientists on Havarl hadn’t been easy. Freeing them, yes, but the act of getting to them, not so much. Between the Roekaar, the wildlife and the plants it seemed like everything on that planet except for the rocks wanted to kill them. Even so, she’d managed to get her team to the scientists and get them out safe and unharmed.

And saving the Moshae was one of the most dangerous things she’d been through since coming to Andromeda that didn’t involve her being ripped out of a crashing shuttle and having her helmet smashed open. Even so, she’d managed to get her team through that, too, and get the Moshae back to Aya.

It hadn’t been easy, and the angara wouldn’t have been able to do it by themselves. Despite her lack of training and the difficulty of her position, she’d overcome the odds. Like she’d told Evfra during their vid call, she got shit done.

Ryder’s head popped up off her hand when a thought hit her. Evfra! For hours she’d been walking around the city. Talking to people, learning things, taking in the view and even sampling local food and drink. She'd had a startling number of angara extremely curious about touching her hair and skin and examining her hands. She’d been occupied at all times since stepping through the gates to the city.

With everything that’d been going on she’d yet to make her way to Resistance HQ. She needed to go there anyway to get a copy of the angaran laws regarding war from the arbiter.

Ryder pushed away from the railing and looked around. The first time she’d been to resistance HQ she’d gone a different way than this. However the layout of the city seemed pretty simple. If she just walked in the opposite direction of the docks she knew she’d get there eventually.

And right she was. She hadn’t had to walk far before she recognized the building. With all its solar umbrellas and beautiful green glass windows, it was an easily recognizable building. Plus the two armed and armored angara sporting resistance colors stationed outside the door gave it away. Though they wore helmets she could feel their eyes on her as she walked toward the stairs to the building and she didn’t miss the way one of them hefted his rifle up slightly as she walked past.

Head high, Maria, she told herself as she walked past the guards. You saved the Moshae. You’ve earned the right to be here. She entered the building, unsure of the reception she would get there. Many of the citizens of Aya around the docks, market and tavetaan had been grateful to her or shocked that she had managed to save the Moshae.

But this wasn’t the market. This was Resistance HQ. These people had seen the worst of the kett. Even if they weren’t an official military, they were soldiers. Fighters. They had more reason than any to be weary of aliens. They had seen what aliens could do to them. What they did do to them every day.

She expected dirty looks. Sidelong glances. Mistrust.

She opened the door and stepped into the HQ. She was barely three steps inside before most of the angara in her line of sight turned and looked at her.

Their bright eyes spoke volumes as she walked past them. Mistrust nearly buried completely under cautious optimism. That’s what she saw from them, and it was more than she was expecting. She was even more surprised when one, who looked to be an older male, walked up and thanked her for saving the Moshae.

She paused to get the angaran laws of war from the arbiter and thanked him. Lord I’ve got a lot of reading ahead of me, she thought as she tucked the data pad away and turned toward the familiar door. Behind it was the command center for the entire angaran Resistance.

And in there, was their leader.

Evfra De Tershaav. Thus far she’d only spoken to him twice: Once when they first landed on Aya and again after she’d helped the scientists on Havarl. He was a stern man if she’d ever known one. Whereas Jaal was friendly, open and loved a good joke, Evfra was analytical. Calculating. She saw it in his eyes the first time she’d met him. The gears in his head were ever turning. No doubt while he’d been talking to her he’d also been planning troop movements and going over reports he’d read earlier in the day.

He came off hard and cold unlike Jaal, who was always friendly and warm. Jaal was a kitten compared to Evfra’s falcon-like demeanor. But like there was more to a falcon than a set of sharp talons and piercing, predatory eyes, there was more to Evfra.

The first meeting with him he’d been sympathetic to the plight of her people. He’d even seemed upset, or perhaps slightly disturbed, that he couldn’t help. But he’d also been on edge. He hadn’t wanted her there. He’d wanted her to turn around and forget she’d ever seen Aya.

But after she’d saved the scientists on Havarl, his tone had changed. She’d shown that she could give selflessly to help his people. His voice still had that same dull, uninterested tone but his words were enough. And revealing she had an AI, and that SAM was a part of her, had impressed him quite possibly more than anything else had. There was trust there now. Jaal had confirmed as much.

But trust was a fickle thing. Hard to earn and easy to lose. She couldn’t let herself become complacent. If her people were going to live peacefully with the angara she needed to keep the trust going. Like it or not she’d become a representative for the entire Initiative in Andromeda. The angara would look to her for the measure of her people.

Now her job was proving to the angara, and especially to Evfra, that she and the Nexus were worthy of continued trust. And part of maintaining trust was maintaining contact. It wouldn’t look good if she left Aya without talking to him.

Ryder squared her shoulders and steeled herself. From what Jaal had been telling her about him, Evfra was a man that inspired either fear or respect in everyone around him. She’d gotten that feeling from him during their first meeting. His eyes were so intense they no doubt made people squirm in place until they looked away and ceded dominance to him.

But his eyes were no match for the piercing, judgmental gaze of her father and she’d been toe to toe with that man more times than she could count. Besides, the Ryders were genetically stubborn with a penchant for giving no quarter.

She walked through the door, her eyes immediately going to the table at the far end. A large male angara was standing there, but beyond his bulk she recognized Evfra. She walked into the room, the unknown angara’s voice coming to her ear.

“The kett are angry. Or at least the archon is,” he unknown male said.

“More than usual?” Evfra’s voice. She’d recognize it anywhere. “About what, specifically?” he asked, clearly wanting to get to the point.

“Definitely about the Moshae being rescued. They’re still using adaptive encryption, but from what I can tell, things are ugly. Someone will be sacrificed to this anger at this rate."

“Good. Fewer kett to deal with,” Evfra replied simply.

The angara inclined his head to Evfra. He turned around and started to walk away but jolted to a stop when he saw Ryder, as though her sudden presence had startled him.

Which it probably had. She doubted an average day at Resistance HQ included having a pink-haired human show up in the command center unannounced.

She smiled at the angara. “Lovely sunsets here on Aya,” she said as she stepped past him, earning a baffled look from the confused angara.

Evfra's eyes were locked on Ryder as she moved closer, analyzing her every move. He’d been watching her since she walked into the room. The woman moved with confidence. Fluidity. She moved like she belonged here.

He wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed or impressed by her bravado. She certainly didn’t carry herself like the rest of her crew of aliens. The other female human rubbed him the wrong way. There was something about her. Like she was hiding something. He didn’t like that. And the male human reminded him of Jaal; too friendly. Talked too much.

But this one… there was something different about this one. Something… visceral. Commanding. A little arrogant.

Not too much unlike himself.

And she was honest. During their vid call she didn’t have to tell him about her AI. And even if she did, she hadn’t needed to let him know that it was physically connected to her. From Jaal’s reports he'd learned that this AI, this SAM as the aliens called it, was directly attached to her brain in some form or another.

She could have kept that all to herself in the vid call. But she hadn't. And she hadn’t backed down from him in the entirety of the conversation. Never gave him the impression that she was bowing or trying to pacify him with what she said.

“Pathfinder,” he said as she moved to stand on the other side of his desk.

“Commander,” she replied, taking in his imposing stature. He stood with his arms crossed over his broad chest, leaning back slightly as he stared at her pointedly. Watching her every move.

Calculating. His cold blue eyes said it all. The two hadn’t interacted much. He was still trying to get a feel for her. Suss out what she was really like. Figure out what made her tick. She felt like she was tip-toeing a razor thin line of trust with him. But she wouldn’t let it daunt her or color the way she acted around him. Despite what he might think, she wasn’t just putting on a show to get him to trust her. Her actions reflected who she was, and her actions had gained his trust.

She just needed to remind herself of that. Just be you.

“I expect you to take good care of Jaal out there,” Evfra said. His voice was calm and smooth on the surface, though under it she could feel a warning.

“I have from the first day,” Ryder replied. “I’m sure he’ll continue to return the favor.”

“Don’t worry about him. You saved the Moshae,” he said. His tone turned up at that, sounding almost as if he were in awe of the fact that she had saved Moshae Sjefa. “That earned his loyalty.” Evfra sighed and shook his head slightly. “Still wrapping my head around what you found at the kett facility. That… ‘exaltation’.” He growled the last word. She could practically hear the revulsion in his tone, as though the word was bitter and bit his tongue like sour bile. But at the same time, he sounded tired. Like he’d been tossing the idea around in his mind all day, trying to figure it out. To make some sense of it all.

She could only imagine his thoughts on it. She’d heard other angara talking about it already. Most were horrified that they’d been killing their own kind. But they were just enacting the command of another. Evfra was the one that had been sending them out to kill the kett for years. Not only that, but whole Resistance cells had been captured by the kett in the past. Likely to be exalted.

She had no doubt that these thoughts had crossed his mind.

“There’s a human saying: ‘Knowledge is power’. The more we understand about the kett, the easier it’ll be to hurt them,” Ryder said unfalteringly.

“The more I know, the more I want to hurt them,” Evfra growled in agreement as fire snapped behind his blue eyes. He sounded ready to pick up a rifle and taste kett blood. And she couldn’t blame him.

“What happened in that place was beyond disgusting,” she replied. In her mind she could still hear the angara’s distressed, gurgled cries. Still hear the sound of bone snapping and cracking as his body spasmed and turned black as pitch. Turning him into something different. Something monstrous.

A husk of his former self.

Now that she thought about it, it was eerily similar to something from back in the Milky Way.

“Believe it or not, I can empathize,” Ryder said.

Evfra furrowed his brow at that. He couldn’t believe the nerve of this human. “How could you possibly be able to do that?” Evfra growled. “Have you ever seen your people turned into monsters that fight for their captors?”

“Yes, actually. Back in the Milky Way when I was serving with the Alliance.”

Evfra cocked his head a little in confusion. "What alliance?"

"The Alliance was the name for the human military," she replied. "I served in the Peacekeeping corps as a recon specialist for a few years."

Evfra let out a little grunt at that. Unlike the other female human, he wouldn't have pegged Ryder as former military. Though her previous position of a recon specialist interested him. That could be useful moving forward, and it was certainly good skill set for her current position as Pathfinder.

"I did a lot of work scouting prothean ruins for traps and other dangers. If it came up clear they brought in the researches and we kept them safe from any future danger."

"What were these 'prothean ruins'?" Evfra asked.

"Basically the Milky Way equivalent to the remnant ruins here, except fifty thousand years old instead of a few hundred. Also remarkably harder to understand. But going back to the original topic, there were these things called the geth, this race of AI. Somehow they got their hands on these things the Alliance started calling 'dragon teeth'. The geth would take humans, usually alive, and impale them right through the middle on these spikes. Then it would... change them somehow. Replace a bunch of their flesh and nerves with tech. When the transformation was done they'd get off the spikes and attack anything that wasn't them or the geth. Big difference between exaltation and the dragon teeth is you could still tell the husks had been human. Could still see their individual faces. With the kett they at least don't look like angara anymore."

"And you saw this happen yourself?" Evfra asked. What she was describing sounded horrific. He was already having a hard time imagining exaltation. These dragon teeth sounded horrendous in their own rights.

"Once," Ryder replied. "There was blood everywhere. I'll never forget the sound of the spike going through that guy's body. I didn't sleep well for months after that. It would've been one thing if the guy had been dead when they impaled him or if he died fast, but he was alive. And he died slow. Now we have the kett and exaltation, and I saw that too. Same idea behind both; take your enemy and turn them against each other in the most complete and terrible way."

Evfra stared at Ryder contemplatively, no words passing between them.

Ryder couldn't help but notice the way Evfra's eyes darted about this way and that as he stared down at her. It was almost like he didn't know where to look. What facial feature to focus on while she spoke. And it wasn't just Evfra. She noticed that most of the angara she spoke to did the same thing. She wondered if they did that while talking to other angara or if it was because they didn't know what to look at on a human while having a conversation. What was considered polite or correct? Without knowing the 'etiquette' behind where to look perhaps they just bounced their eyes from one facial feature to the next to avoid offense.

"Seems like you might understand exaltation better than we do," he finally said.

"Not really," Ryder replied truthfully. "Point wasn't to prove I know more than you. Just to show that humans might have more in common with the angara than it might seem."

It certainly seems that way, Evfra thought. He shifted his weight a bit onto his other leg. "Why are you here?" he asked. He still had no idea why she'd shown up here without being asked.

"That depends on what you mean by 'here', because that could mean several things, all with a different answer."

Evfra almost smirked at that.

Almost.

"Why are you in this room?" he asked more specifically.

"I know Jaal gave you a mission report about what happened with the Moshae, but I thought I'd come by and see if you wanted any additional information."

"Why would I want that from you?" he asked.

"Because he might be one of yours, but while on that mission he was under my command," Ryder replied firmly. "So from one commander to another I thought I'd do you the courtesy of offering a second report."

Evfra grunted a bit at that. He had to admit; he liked how this human's mind worked. He hadn't known what to expect her answer to be, but it wasn't that. "Jaal's report was enough," he said.

"Well, barring that, if you have the time could I ask you a few things? Pick your brain a little."

Evfra frowned. "Do what?" he asked, sounding confused and perhaps a little disturbed.

"Sorry. Idiom," Ryder said, pinching the bridge of her nose. I've really gotta stop doing that. "Just means ask some questions and get some answers," she clarified, looking back at him.

"Depends on what you're asking."

"Well you've been fighting the kett for a long time. I could use some advice."

Evfra furrowed his brow a bit and eyed her wearily. "You're war's different from ours," he said after a few terse moments, as though questioning why she would ask that in the first place.

"Maybe, but war is war and it doesn't change the fact that we're fighting an enemy we aren't prepared to fight."

"Wouldn't matter if you were," he said matter-of-factly. "The kett aren't a conventional enemy."

"Any information you could give me helps," Ryder replied. "The fights might be different but a kett is still a kett."

"True enough," Evfra said, his voice sounding dull and uninterested. "Ask away."

"Alright. Do you have any idea where the kett came from? Where their homeworld might be?" she asked. Square one. Maybe knowing where they came from would help find a weakness.

"Each of our colonies heard a different story. I doubt any were true. 'They came from far away'. That's all we know," Evfra replied simply.

"Ever try to follow a kett ship? See where it goes?" she asked. Though she had a feeling she knew the answer to that already.

"Of course we did," he replied as though insulted she thought they were stupid enough to have not tried that, his eyes flaring. He paused and took a breath. "Wherever 'home' is, they don't visit," he finished, his tone even and dull once again.

"Alright. Then do the kett have a favorite strategy? Something we can exploit?"

"They switch tactics constantly. Almost capricious about it.” Evfra took in a breath tinged with the strange rasp or purr that all angara seemed to poses when they spoke and breathed. “Makes them unpredictable.”

Ryder couldn't help but think he sounded almost… impressed. Not that she could blame him. He was a tactician, after all. An enemy that changed tactics so often that he couldn't keep up? You didn't have to like the kett to respect that.

"They aren't gods. They must have some weakness," Ryder said. She needed something. Anything.

"They're vulnerable to brute force. That's enough."

Shoot them dead, she thought to herself. That's a pretty damn human view of the situation. But after asking about if the angara had tried to follow a kett ship and his reaction to it, she wasn't about to offend him again by saying that aloud. True though it may be.

"Ok. Is there something they care about that can be used against them?"

Evfra shrugged. "Slaves. Resources. Power. Same as any conqueror," he replied as drolly as if he were prattling off a list from the top of his head.

He's either being deliberately unhelpful or he doesn't know. There has to be more to it than that. "There's no way the kett are that cut and dry. You didn't see the exaltation process. They treat it like religion. Called their facility a church and acted like they were giving the angara a blessed gift."

Evfra noticeably bristled at that. He furrowed his brow and stood up straighter, taking a few steps closer to the desk that separated the two of them and leering down at her. "They convert us against our will. That's not religion. It's genocide," he growled angrily with a bitter laugh, his words practically making him bare his teeth at her. The bridge of his nose furrowed in distaste as his eyes glared daggers at her.

Ryder could nearly feel the anger and aura of danger radiating from him. He looked about ready to strike something and it made her wonder if the angaran commander had a temper or if he was just putting on a show. His eyes had even stopped flitting this way and that and were now solely focused on her eyes. Like he was trying to stare straight into her. Make her scared or uncomfortable.

She wouldn't be shocked if it was a little of both, but if he wanted to scare her he'd have to try much harder. She took a step closer and returned his glare unwaveringly, standing firm with her arms crossed over her ribs. Try harder, commander. I don't back down easily.

Evfra eyed Ryder judiciously. She hadn't shrunk away. If anything she was blatantly staring him down, waiting for him to make the next move.

This human was full of surprises.

When he saw something off out of the corner of his eye Evfra turned his head. One of the comm officers was staring at the two of them. Evfra pinned the man with a menacing glare. The officer's eyes went wide before he quickly turned away to face his screen, his head lowered.

Evfra looked back at Ryder once more. She has guts, he thought, relaxing his posture a bit and leaning back, still staring at her. A look was usually all he needed to give someone to get them back in line and remind them who was in charge. But not her. She stared into his eyes unfalteringly, refusing to back down. Challenging him with her defiance.

Paaran was one of the only other people he knew that could stand up to him like that.

“Every culture has its purpose. Theirs is to take whatever they want,” he said bitterly.

Ryder eased the tension in her shoulders when Evfra relaxed back into his usual stance, but the implication of his words hung heavy between them like a thick stage curtain. It seemed to her like he wasn't just talking about the kett with his last statement. A glance between the lines suggested he was still on edge about the Initiative. He hadn't outright said it, but she knew passive aggression when she heard it.

She knew Evfra trusted her. Jaal had said so himself and Evfra may as well have said it too. If he didn't, there was no way he'd let her and her crew walk around Aya without armed escorts like the first time she had entered the city. Even though she was still fairly sure he didn't like her.

But the Initiative as a whole was a different matter. Evfra was smart. He'd be able to see better than most that she and her crew weren't representative of everyone in the Initiative. He knew her. He didn't know Tann or Addison.

And when the day came that he inevitably met their acquaintance she could only hope that they didn't completely destroy relations with the Resistance with their respective glory hounding and pretentiously superior attitudes.

"Is it too much for me to hope that the Initiative is making a good impression?" she asked.

"'The Initiative'," Evfra parroted back with a curt laugh as though the very thought was a cosmic joke. "Sounds so unthreatening. Like a city planner meeting," he said, his voice sarcastic and accusatory.

Ryder shrugged nonchalantly. "That's kind of what it's meant to be." She raised a brow when she saw Evfra actually roll his eyes at that.

"City planners don't walk around in battle armor with rifles on their shoulder," he retorted.

"Depends on the city," Ryder replied dryly. "You didn't see the Terminus systems back in the Milky Way. If you weren't walking around with at least a pistol on your hip, something was wrong with you. But I digress. Point is, we traveled through dark space to make a better life here than what we left behind."

Evfra leaned forward and leered down at her. "That's what invaders always say. At first."

"We're not invaders. We're settlers."

"Of course," he replied as he returned to his usual stance, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Ryder knew a dead end when she saw one. There wasn't a thing she could say to change Evfra's mind about the Initiative. He was a man of action, not words. Anyone could say anything, but not everyone could prove what they said with their actions.

A change of subject, then. She still had other inquiries anyway.

"Well then, moving on. Is the Resistance all the angara have in terms of fighting strength? No official military?" Ryder asked. Perhaps talking about Evfra's cause would settle him down a little. He looked irritated.

Then again, that could just be his face.

Evfra grunted a little. "Lost our fleets and armies decades ago. Kett, mostly. The rest fell to... internal strife. We kept fighting but our civilians were disorganized. Poorly supplied. Leaderless. Decades of aimless defiance got us nowhere."

"Until you came along," she said.

"I had to make the Resistance real," Evfra replied, determination in his voice and eyes. "My people needed to know that they had a force that could protect them from the kett. That there was hope."

Ryder could tell from his tone and the way he held himself how proud and determined he was when it came to the Resistance. Despite his cold exterior, this was a man that cared deeply about his people.

From talking to Jaal, she'd learned a few things about Evfra. According to him, his commander was a man of single-minded dedication to the Resistance. He'd raised the Resistance up out of nothing after the kett had taken his entire family away from him. It was an idea she could understand herself. Though she hadn't chosen to be the Pathfinder, like Evfra had chosen to raise the Resistance up out of the muck, had it not been for the death of her father and near loss of her brother she wasn't sure she would have ever found the strength to do everything she did.

For them, for their memory, she would fight until her last breath to keep the Initiative from dying.

Then again, that was Jaal's take on Evfra. "How'd you end up in charge of the whole Resistance?" she asked.

"Nothing left to lose," Evfra replied solemnly, the shine fading from his eyes, leaving them dead and hollow. "My family was rounded up into a kett slave camp. Last contact I had with any of them was ten years ago."

Ryder's heart clenched at the tone Evfra's voice had taken. He sounded... sad. Almost lost.

So it's true, she thought. Jaal had told her as much himself, but hearing Evfra say it was different. His choice to isolate himself, to command and never befriend, made perfect sense now. She could see it in his eyes. The loss of his family had ripped out part of his soul. Like as not Evfra refused to get close to anybody as a way to protect himself from the pain of having someone he cared about die.

Like Jaal had said, it was just his way.

Her heart ached for the man before her, but she didn't let it show. She didn't want Evfra to mistake her sympathy for pity. In all honesty she wanted to hug him and tell him it would all be okay, but she had a sneaking suspicion that she and her crew would be forcibly thrown off Aya if she attempted that.

"It's possible that they could still be alive somewhere," Ryder said. If he'd never found their bodies there was always the possibility. Though it could also be possible that his entire family had been turned into kett long ago. Then possibly killed in fights with the very Resistance that Evfra commanded.

"Didn't figure you for an optimist," Evfra replied. He sounded resigned. Like he'd accepted long ago that his family was dead and he didn't want to think about it any other way.

"Really?" Ryder asked with a chuckle. "I left everything I knew to come here and make a better life than what I had. If that isn't optimistic, I don't know what is."

Evfra grunted. "Suppose that's true."

"So what success have you had against the kett?" Ryder asked, deciding to steer the conversation toward something a little less heavy than the possible eradication of the Tershaav family.

"Enemy casualties are up 600% in three years," Evfra replied as though he'd rehearsed and recited that same line time and time again. "But that's just a number. What it means is more important. Every time we destroy a facility, take out a warship, we give our people hope," he continued, his voice going from bland to passionate.

"Maybe we can bolster those numbers," Ryder said. "You're not fighting alone anymore after all."

Evfra looked her up and down, pausing for a few moments as he examined her with a critical eye. He had to admit that Ryder was far more capable than he initially gave her credit for. He knew she had the potential to change things. He trusted her, but only just.

It was the rest of this 'Initiative' of hers that he didn't trust. He knew what Ryder's motive for helping them was. But he didn't know the Initiative. All he knew was what Ryder said they wanted. But she was just one of thousands. And according to all reports she wasn't one of the leaders. She was the one the leaders dispatched.

Though from what he'd seen of her he had the distinct feeling that she wasn't one to just follow blindly. She had her set of principles and she followed them. He'd seen her kind before. In the Resistance personalities like her rose through the ranks and into positions of leadership faster than any other.

"We'll see," he finally said tentatively.

Should've seen that coming. "If it isn't hush-hush, could you tell me how the Resistance is organized?"

"Loosely," Evfra replied with a small shrug. "We operate in cells. Independent strike teams have better odds. If the kett capture a cell, it doesn't compromise the rest," he said, his tone taking on an ever so slightly lighter tone and sounding less bland than usual.

Ryder nodded. "Smart. Was that your idea?"

"Yes."

"Hm." Ryder glanced to her side when she saw movement, but it was just an angara passing a data pad along to one of the comm officers. She noticed that at Resistance HQ, everyone wore the same colors. Gray, black and teal. But that wasn't the only armor she'd seen around the city. She'd seen others walking around fully armed and armored that didn't sport the same colors as everyone else at HQ.

"I've seen armed people walking around the city, but they weren't sporting the same colors as everyone here. I take it they aren't Resistance?" she asked, looking back at Evfra.

"Aya police" Evfra replied with a distasteful sneer. "Purely ornamental. Gives us the appearance of civilization."

Ryder could tell by his tone and the way his nose crinkled that his last sentence was not his own words. "I take it you don't think they're necessary."

"If things go bad, the Resistance will handle it," he said simply.

"Wouldn't that technically be up to Governor Paaran?" she asked.

Evfra grunted angrily in response and gave her one of the most impressive scowls she'd ever seen in her life. She was half surprised that his face didn't collapse in on itself.

His words also gave her the feeling that he and Paaran had a bit of a love/hate relationship. From what Paaran had told her already the two of them rarely agreed on policy and how the city should be run. They bickered and debated frequently, but she said that at a minimum they respected each other. At least from Paaran's point of view.

"Seems to be a little tension between you and Paaran. I already know what she thinks of you, but what do you think of her?" Ryder asked.

"She governs Aya. Not the Resistance," Evfra replied, standing a little taller. It wasn't exactly the answer she was looking for, but it was telling nonetheless. Evfra likely had all sorts of people think that he and the Resistance were on Paaran's leash. He wanted to draw a line in the sand on the matter. Make sure she knew who was in charge of what.

"Way to avoid the question. Is there some kind of history between you two?" Ryder asked. It felt like there should be more to it than what she'd learned about them so far.

"I can always count on Paaran to offer a... spirited argument," Evfra replied

Ryder raised her brow at the sudden suggestive tone that had entered his voice. Not quite breathy, but not quite normal. Oh yeah. There was something between the two of them other than arguments regarding policy. Though from the sound of his voice, she didn't have a doubt in her mind that the debates sometimes got a little... heated.

But knowing what she knew about Evfra, she didn't suspect any complicated emotions were fostered between the two of them. She wasn't sure about in angaran culture, but in human culture it wasn't unheard of for two people in positions of power to get together now and again to... alleviate stress.

"Sounds like you respect her," Ryder said, deciding not to open the can of worms that could be asking Evfra if he was giving it to the governor of Aya.

Evfra couldn't help but wonder what was going through that human's head when he saw a sly grin spread across her face. "She holds her own," he said, choosing to ignore it. "Not many people do."

Against me. He didn't say it, but he didn't have to. Ryder could see it on his face and hear it in his words. A man of respect and fear. That was who Evfra was. It would make sense for him to respect anyone with the backbone to stand up to him. Something that was probably difficult for most.

No one would deny that Evfra had a powerful presence. There was something about him that seemed inherently dangerous. He oozed strength and command from every last part of his body. And there was a lot of body there. Evfra was a mountain of an angara; tall in stature and broad through the chest and shoulders. He stood with absolute confidence and his eyes were sharp and hard as steel.

Evfra was an alpha male if Ryder had ever seen one. He could probably make a krogan warlord back down with a look alone, the long scars on his face only adding to his air of danger and mystery.

The hairs on the back of Ryder's neck stood on end when she felt a sudden stirring in her loins as she mused on the powerful atmosphere and physical build of the angaran commander. Nope! Shut that shit down right now, she thought to herself. Now wasn't the time for that. Never was the time for that. Especially not in relation to Evfra.

Ok. Time to get my mind off that. Next question. Uh.... "So, what's your story, Evfra?" she asked. She didn't expect to get anything out of him by asking that. He was a closed-off and isolated man. Granted he had told her that his family had been taken, but he'd offered no details. Perhaps he'd only said it to begin with because it was a matter of public knowledge.

Evfra squared his shoulders and looked down at her pointedly. "You're not getting my personnel file," he said bluntly. It seemed like he had just slammed a wall down on the particular topic of conversation before it had really even started.

Jaal was right. He really does try and keep people away, Ryder thought. He'd shut that down so fast it nearly made her head spin. Still, that just made her want to see if she could push the subject a little further. "I'd just like to know a little about who I'm going to be working with," she replied, trying to make her tone passive and a little apologetic without coming across as meek.

Evfra let out a strange rumble, his face turning dark. Uncrossing his arms he stood to his full height and started to walk around the side of his desk without breaking eye contact with her. He hadn't been bouncing his eyes like he had been earlier. He kept his eyes squarely on hers, like he was trying to burn two holes directly into her skull.

"You want to know what it's like being me?" he growled as he rounded the edge of the desk and stalked toward her. He stopped in front of her, crossing his arms again and leering down at her.

Ryder had to crane her head to look up at him. Standing tall as he was she was only eye level with what would be the collar bone on a human. He was testing her again. He had been this entire conversation. Trying to see if he could do something to make her back down. The rest of his attempts had failed, but before the desk had been between them. Neither could touch the other over the desk.

So he was trying something new. Getting in close. Showing her how small she was compared to him. Trying to smother her will with his own.

Ryder locked her jaw stubbornly and stared up into his icy eyes, returning his glare tit for tat. Despite probably weighing the equivalent of two of her and being as large and imposing as he was, she felt no fear. Only a strange sort of exhilaration at his nearness. She felt small with him looming over her, but it only made her want to stand firm and defiant.

"I wake up every morning to fight a war. I send people to kill, and die." He cocked his head the slightest bit. "If I'm lucky, there are more dead kett than Resistance when I go to sleep."

"That's a hell of a burden," Ryder replied, her voice cool and collected.

"I'm sure you would know all about it," he scoffed.

Ryder furrowed her brow at his poisonously sarcastic tone. It rubbed her just the wrong way. She struggled every day with her own responsibilities and she'd be damned if she was written off so easily.

"You think you're the only one with those problems?" she growled. Frowning up at him she stepped closer until she was almost literally toe to toe with him. She was so close she could smell his exotic scent and feel his breath on her face as he glared down at her.

The pair were so intent on their battle of wills they didn't notice that everyone in the command center had stopped what they were doing to turn and watch them. Several angara had even walked into the room to watch, passing concerned glances between each other.

"Over 100,000 people joined the Initiative. Five arks. Five Pathfinders. Nothing panned out the way it was supposed to. The golden worlds we found are dead or dying. All the arks are separated. The people that are here are either still in stasis or facing starvation. Being the only Pathfinder the Nexus has right now, it lands squarely on my shoulders to save everyone from starvation, start massive terraforming engines to make these dying worlds livable, find decent locations for outposts so we don't die floating in space, and go out and find our 80,000 missing people before they starve, crash and die against the scourge, or get captured by the kett.

"I didn't even train for the basic role of Pathfinder, not to mention the rest of it. This was all dropped in my lap when my father, the only parent I had left, died so that I didn't have to."

Evfra's brow twitched at the fury and pain in her eyes when she spoke of her father. He knew that pain all too well.

"Every day I wake up I dread the email that says our only functional outpost was attacked and everyone's dead because I didn't do good enough at a job I'm learning how to do as I go. You at the very least send out people that are combatants. They know they may never come home. My word can send dozens of civilians walking straight into a death trap. And unlike your people, we can't retreat. We're here permanently. And if I fail and nobody can find any of the other Pathfinders, if they're still even alive, then I just killed 100,000 people, nearly all of whom didn't sign up to die. Everyone in the Initiative did the exact opposite. They signed on to live.

"And now, on top of all of that, I'm helping your people fight the kett with the hope that your people can help my people not die on some backwater planet on in the black void of space. You think your job is stressful? At least you aren't trying to single-handedly prove to the entirety of a new species that your people are worth trusting."

Evfra continued to stare down at her, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. She hadn't backed down. She hadn't so much as flinched when he moved closer to her. He thought some of her bravado merely stemmed from there being a desk that separated him from getting too close to her. But, not for the first time, he had been wrong about her.

She had no fear. Not of the kett, and certainly not of him. He examined her closely, his eyes searching her face. There was something about this alien. She was young. Her eyes still burned with hope and fire. And she was at least somewhat brash and arrogant.

Ever so slightly, Evfra's face and posture relaxed. "You have spirit and spit, Ryder. I'll give you that much. Not unlike me at your age." Her words and the way she had spoken, with passion and anger.... He'd never thought of her position like that. In fact he never really thought about her position at all. With everything going on in his own day to day that he needed to take care of and oversee he hardly spared any time to think about her. But he was thinking now.

She was... fascinating. And compelling in a way that she should not be to him. Evfra clenched his jaw at the thought. There was something about her. Something that almost... called to him.

He didn't like it.

“Enough personal discussion,” he growled, sounding uncomfortable. He moved back a couple steps. "Did you need something else?"

He called me by my name, not my title, and backed away first. That means something. Respect, maybe, Ryder thought to herself. Her own posture relaxed, letting the tension out of her shoulders. She tried to find some emotion on his face, but he betrayed nothing of what he might be feeling. His features were stoic once again, as though chiseled from stone.

"Yes, actually," she said when a thought came to her. "Is there a med bay or clinic around here?"

"Yes. Why?" Evfra asked, his voice sounding distant and disinterested once more.

"You want me to take good care of Jaal? Then I need information about angaran physiology that I can send back to our doctor on the Tempest. If he takes a hit while under my command I need to make sure Lexi is able to patch him up."

"Go out the door then to the left, down both sets of stairs. It'll be the large door in front of you," Evfra replied.

"Alright. I'll let you get back to work," Ryder said.

"Good," Evfra grunted in response.

Ryder inclined her head to the large angara before turning to leave, noticing as a couple of the angara in the room quickly turned away. She smirked to herself. No doubt they had been anxiously watching she and Evfra's confrontation, waiting to see what would happen. It had to have been quite the sight: A small, pink-haired alien squaring off with their commander.

She wondered if any of them had placed bets on what was going to happen. The idea almost made her laugh even as she could feel Evfra's eyes on her back as she walked away.

---

Darkness. It was all Evfra could see as he laid in bed that night, string up blankly at the ceiling with dull, tired eyes. But he couldn't sleep. He'd tried for hours but his mind wouldn't silence itself. Thoughts bounced around the inside of his skull like bullets on a battlefield, keeping him from the sweet embrace of rest.

He rubbed his hands over his face, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes until bright starbursts of color flashed behind his eyelids. What Ryder had found out about exaltation haunted his mind.

His people. That which he fought for, turned into the very enemy he fought to protect them from.

But that wasn't what tormented him and kept him from sleep. A kett was a kett. It didn't matter if they used to be angara. They weren't anymore. He still had to fight them.

But his family....

His heart seized in pain at the thought of his family, everyone he had ever loved and cared for, being turned into kett. The very idea chilled his insides and made his guts feel as though they were filled with rocks.

He took a deep breath and held it in for a few moments before letting it back out, trying to calm his frayed nerves and racing heart. He'd been thinking about this since Jaal had given him his mission report. But he'd refused to dwell on the idea while he was working. Too much was at stake for him to let his mind wander.

But now everything was quiet and he was alone with his thoughts. Too alone. And they filled his head like a rampaging river that swept all away before it.

He flexed his jaw, clenching and unclenching his teeth as he tried to beat the thoughts into silent submission. He took another steadying breath, feeling his shoulders trembling with tension and stress. But he couldn't calm down. In the darkness behind his eyelids all he could see were the faces of his family warping into kett.

After losing his family he'd poured everything he had into the Resistance. He funneled his pain and rage into strength and made the Resistance a force to be reckoned with. He didn't want anyone to face the loss that he had. He wanted the kett to pay for all the families they had ripped apart, and save any angara he could from their fiendish clutches.

During the first major raid he'd led against a kett slave camp, he'd been hoping to find his family among the rescued angara. After they'd all been freed he'd searched among them for days while each and every one of them was identified and their families contacted.

But by the time every angara had been returned home, not a single Tershaav had been among them. After he and the Resistance liberated a few more camps with no signs of his family, he'd given up all hope of ever finding them.

Evfra thought back to Jaals' report. In it he'd stated that the angara he'd seen looked like they wanted to be there. That some of them had refused to leave when the Resistance team tried to get them all out. No sane angara would want that. The kett had turned their minds against them. He knew from medical reports and her own statements that Moshae Sjefa had been viciously tortured, and the kett had managed to nearly wipe out her immune system.

As much as one would want to think differently, it wasn't difficult to break a person's mind and make them think and act the way you wanted them to. Evfra had no doubt that that is what the kett had done to the angara in that facility.

Who was to say they hadn't been doing that to every angara they ever took captive?

To his own family.

Dead was better.

Evfra grit his teeth until his jaw hurt. For years he'd hoped that his family was alive somewhere. That he would find them and save them some day. But at the same time he had accepted that they were most likely dead and that he would never see them again. Now he hoped they were dead. The other option....

Evfra growled low and deep in his chest. If they were alive, they had likely been turned into kett if they hadn't been years ago. And if they hadn't been turned into kett, they were likely being tortured. Experimented on.

His eyes stung as a single hot, angry tear rolled from the corner of his eye and down the side of his face. The kett would pay for this. For everything. He would make them wish they had never come here. For every drop of angaran blood they spilled he would create a river of theirs.

He had to do better. He had to make the Resistance better. The stakes for liberating slave camps were now astronomically higher. Every angara they could free denied the kett a new soldier, but it would be difficult to get more cells off whatever they were doing and focused on the slave camps. He didn't have the manpower. Recruitment was down and the selfish idiots on Kadara refused to cooperate, choosing instead to wallow in chaos and cheap booze. He had to do something. Had to find a way.

Evfra lowered his hands and let out a shaking breath. He'd had enough restless nights filled with unending thoughts to know when he wouldn't be getting any sleep. And this time, the thoughts were more painful than he wanted to deal with.

Tossing the blankets to the side Evfra sat up and swung his legs off the side of the bed. He needed to get his mind off of it all. The only way he knew how to do that was to keep himself busy.

Tired but unable to sleep he dressed for the day and left for Resistance HQ. He'd get an early start on his morning backlog before anyone else showed up. With any luck it would be enough to keep his mind off the possible fate of his lost family.

Note from the author:

I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter of this fic. I put out some previous posts saying that there would be some Evfra fluff/smut and this will get there eventually. However it felt weird to me to just dive right into such subject matter without building up their relationship first. With Jaal in Temptation on the Tempest it was easy because his romance is established in game.

But Evfra is a different story. He isn't a romance option at all so diving straight into cuddling and sex just felt... weird. So this will be a far more fleshed out story than Temptation on the Tempest. It is going to be longer and will contain more detail while the relationship between Maria and Evfra grows.

I hope that you can all be patient while I write this. Unlike the Jaal fic this one takes much more in-game research. Evfra is a subtle and complicated character. Because this fic is longer it is going to contain in-game content changed to suit the needs of the fic.

The skeleton of chapter 2 is in the works. The skeleton phase includes playing the game and taking notes as I go along. Writing down events and doing partially detailed dialog and situations to be fleshed out later for the chapter itself. It's an intricate process that eventually leads up to something like what you just read.

Thank you to everyone that reads and supports this. You are all wonderful and amazing people. I would love to see comments as much as possible. Hearing feedback such as what parts were your favorite helps keep me driven to write more.

If you want to talk about the fic, feel free to message me. I swear I'm actually a nice, approachable person xD If you have questions about Maria and Evfra, feel free to send me asks. I will answer all I get :3

#evfra #evfra de tershaav #ryder #sis!ryder #maria ryder #pathfinder #fanfic #fanfiction #evfra x ryder #mass effect #mass effect andromeda #MEA #MEA spoilers #sfw #Last Hope of Dead Hearts #(aka Unsanctioned Fraternization)#LHODH #aya #angara

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lafaiette · 8 years ago

Text

Under Stars

I feel like there were some scenes missing in the game, such as Ryder talking about their LI to their sibling or even introducing them to each other. So the first fic of this series is about the latter! More will come later.

The title comes from the awesome ending song of the game, "Under Stars" by AURORA.

Also on AO3

In which Jaal meets Scott Ryder, brother of his Darling One, still trapped in his comatose state.

“Would you like to meet my brother?”

She asks the question with hope mixed to anxiety, as if she almost expects him to say no.

What Jaal feels is incredible joy, followed by gratefulness. He feels flattered, honored, and hurries to tell her so, grabbing her hand and placing it against his chest, holding it there.

“My Darling One!” His eyes shine with enthusiasm and he gives her a loud, full kiss that leaves her cheeks adorably red.

Then he remembers Scott’s actual conditions and he calms down a bit, asking softly: “How is he?”

“Harry said he is recovering quickly, but he still needs time.” Ryder – Chloe, Jaal corrects himself – looks down, sadness replacing the relief and happiness that appeared in her eyes when Jaal accepted her offer.

He makes a low sound and rests his forehead on hers, smiling when she looks up at him again and smiles back.

“If he is as strong and stubborn as you, he will awaken in no time.” he says and that causes her to chuckle and nod.

Her sadness goes away and Jaal breathes better. He doesn’t like seeing her sad; only joy and smiles should be on his Darling One’s lovely face.

“You were able to talk to him thanks to SAM, last time.” he recalls as he puts on his Rofjinn that he neatly folded and left on her bed.

“Yes, but it still took a toll on him.” she explains, busy with her shoes that she refuses to wear when she is in her quarters, far from responsibilities and vidcalls. She stops, looking at his Rofjinn, then giggles and helps him smooth a corner of it and buckle the last clasps.

Jaal’s cheeks grow hotter at that and Chloe knows him well enough now to see when he’s blushing; she smiles smugly at him, presses a playful peck on the scar on his face and continues placidly, pretending to ignore the fire in his eyes and his own smile: “I’d like to hear his voice again and introduce you to him in a better way, but Harry and SAM said we shouldn’t use our implants to communicate again.”

“That would be the most advisable course of action, Chloe.” SAM confirms and Jaal could swear there is a hint of sorrow in his modulated voice. “Scott is still weak and interacting with the outside world, even via implants, would be a strenuous activity for his body.”

“It is alright. Even if he cannot hear me, I will never stop telling him how wonderful and special his sister is.”

He cradles her face in his large hands and rubs his thumbs on her cheeks, watching as her previous playfulness turns into that sweet, delicate look she has only for him, her eyes – so full of love - brighter than the stars shining over Havarl, richer than the deep waters of Aya, more beautiful than anything Jaal ever saw in his war-filled life.

“I… I told him about us, although he still couldn’t hear me then.” she admits, resting her hands on his chest, right where his heart is. “And then I thought you should really meet him, since you are now part of the Ryder family too.” She grins at him, remembering what they consider it to be their first date, the visit to his family house.

“You introduced me to your family, after all! It’s only fair I do the same with mine.” She smirks and glances affectionately at where SAM’s holographic figure is. “Although you already met one of its members.”

A short pause, then SAM replies: “Thank you, Chloe.”

Jaal didn’t know AI could sound so emotional.

Again, he is overwhelmed by that great feeling of gratification and love that she provokes in him; the fact that she wants him to meet the only (human) member of her family left, the most precious thread to her old home that she has, leaves him unable to speak and think coherently.

It’s such a big honor that he doesn’t quite know how to react, so he follows the angaran way: a wide, bright smile and a tight hug followed by a kiss, so loud and wet that Chloe giggles through it and later comments that probably everyone on the Tempest heard them.

She doesn’t look bothered by it. On the contrary, she is more open than ever now and she calls him “sweetheart”, “love”, and “darling” in front of everyone just as much as he does, even when they are on the Nexus.

He knows it’s a great deal for humans, to be so open with their emotions and relationships in public.

To be honest, it seems it’s a big deal for all the aliens coming from the Milky Way, especially turians and salarians, who often look at him and Chloe with surprise, mixed to confusion and sometimes annoyance, every time they walk through the Nexus hand in hand.

Or perhaps it’s simply because of him: he is the alien, according to them, so it must be strange to see him and a fellow human from their same galaxy stroll around while sharing sweet stares and kisses.

But he isn’t ashamed of their relationship – he would announce it through the comms of the Initiative base if he could - and he is incredibly relieved that she isn’t either. It fills his heart with a sensation akin to bliss, a flutter of suns that burn in him whenever she kisses his cheek or squeeze his hand or calls him “love”.

When he is with her, it’s like he is standing under the stars, a veil of light and sparkles that covers him like a mantle, a warm blanket of space dust, and nothing bad can ever come from that: only love and joy and peace, a gift from the stars themselves, a reminder that not all arrivals are bad, that beyond the endless vastness of the sky there are also kindness, beauty, and wisdom.

A new home, he thinks as the Tempest softly lands on the docking bay of the Nexus and Kallo and Suvi wave at them as they head out.

Chloe is nervous and she readily tells him so: not because he is finally going to see her brother – even if he is in a comatose state -, but because that’s exactly what the problem is. His comatose state, that deep, medically induced sleep that prevents him from sharing her experiences, traveling with them on the Tempest, living his life as he dreamed to do before the departure from the Milky Way.

SAM, calm and collected as always, offers reassurance about Scott’s conditions and Jaal gets the impression that happens fairly often; he frowns, ashamed he didn’t see the signs before, and offers comfort in his own way, holding tightly her hand and sending light electricals impulses through her skin.

Chloe snorts, ticklish, and elbows him, but never lets his hand go.

“He is going to wake up soon.” Jaal promises her, even though he isn’t a doctor, even though he doesn’t actually know the details about Scott’s conditions. But he stills feels it is true, he believes it, and Chloe does too.

SAM agrees as well and Jaal is sure to hear gratefulness in his tone as the AI says: “Mr. Ama Darav is right. There is no need to worry.”

He wonders for a moment what role SAM fills in this little family – uncle? Cousin? Brother? -, then Chloe steals all his attention with her words, touch, and voice.

They don’t let anyone take this moment from them. They know she will have to go talk with Tann and the others soon, that there are many people she needs to meet, many duties and tasks she needs to perform.

He feels guilty: he wants to take off some of that weight from her shoulders, but he is not a Pathfinder, he is not even human or part of the Initiative. He can only be there to support her, give her advice, be sure she is safe from any danger, eats, drinks, rests, and has fun.

“Jaal, that is already too much.” she told him once, after he talked to her about this.

“How could it be, my love?” he replied and he knew his guilt and sorrow were transparent on his face, because she sighed fondly and stroked his cheek – the scarred one -, saying: “Jaal. You help me immensely just by being here with me.”

“I will always be with you.”

Another promise he knows will come true and she knew that too, because she blushed, smiled, and cuddled into his arms.

That memory causes a mild electromagnetic surge in his body and she feels it through her hand; she squeals and he gasps, horrified, but before he can apologize and check her hand for any wound or burn, she starts laughing and kisses him, arms wrapped around his neck.

They are on the tram, on their way to the Cryo Bay, alone: Jaal wraps his arms around her, feels the soft, but toned skin under her shirt, and the curious bumps on her chest – Liam told him they are called breasts – are pressed against him.

Their kisses are always sweet, sometimes languid, often deep with a lot of tongue, but there is a certain innocence to them that is born out of their inexperience: he only ever got and gave one kiss, so long ago, and Chloe never even did that, at least until they kissed in his room.

When he learned that was her first kiss, he apologized for half an hour straight, cursing himself for choosing such a bland, silly, embarrassing place and way to ask her to be together.

“It should have been more poetic.” he lamented, mortified, almost on the verge of tears, but Chloe hugged him and held him, saying softly, the stars outside the Tempest reflected in her beautiful, alien eyes: “It was. What’s more poetic than becoming part of your boyfriend’s past and family?”

This kiss in the tram isn’t much different from the many others they shared before, but Jaal realizes they are reaching that stage of a relationship where things can only go two different ways: either remain as they are or proceed further, into that mysterious territory where bodies meet and souls are laid bare as well.

He still hasn’t gotten the courage to ask her what she would like to do – no matter what she chooses, he would be immensely happy all the same.

But should she be happy and willing to become one with him physically too, he would need to be prepared, know everything about the human body, to avoid her any discomfort and pain.

He believes she would like to enter such a stage with him, if the way she kisses him and touches him is anything to go by, but he doesn’t dare assume, so he will wait until he has gathered more courage to ask her and the moment is right.

Making out – that’s how humans call it – in a tram heading to the Cryo Bay where his brother is sleeping in a coma surely isn’t the right way to initiate this conversation, but her lips are so soft and the little moans that escape her mouth whenever his bioelectricity flows through her send sparkles of love and pleasure through his heart and body.

The tram is slowing down and Jaal forces himself to gently pull away; her cheeks are flushed red, her smiling lips are shiny with saliva, and there is a dreamy glint in her half-lidded eyes.

He groans and goes back to kissing her, broad hands moving to the small of her back.

“Darling One.” he breathes, nuzzling her cheek after breaking the kiss. “I adore you.”

“I adore you too, Jaal.” she says, her smile softer, eyes as clear as the sky of Aya.

He wonders if the sky of Earth was like that too.

The door of the tram opens just as they pull away from each other and they get out, ignoring the curious stares they get from the humans boarding the tram.

Hand in hand once again, they walk down the stairs, the white space of the Cryo Bay laying open in front of them, just through the door, a welcoming, but also somewhat cold sight.

People are supposed to be asleep only for a certain amount of time, Jaal thinks. So much can happen in just one second, so many things can be missed in a single moment. Six-hundred years are already too many.

Chloe seems to think the same as they enter the room and her eyes move to the only body laying down on one of the beds.

The doctors and the rest of the staff of the Hyperion stare at Jaal, mostly because he is a new, unexpected sight on the human Ark.

Everything here feels and looks different to him: from the beds to the colors – the Resistance infirmary on Aya looks much warmer -, from the machines and equipment to the screens and scans.

But among that slight unfamiliarity, he glimpses something that he knows well too, even though it shouldn’t be: Chloe’s same hair color and nose, resting on a white bed.

“Scott.” she calls softly, before exchanging a look with Harry, the doctor standing near the bed.

“Hello, Chloe.” the man greets her, putting his datapad aside. “No changes, I’m afraid. But his conditions are stable and his brain activity is as good as ever.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She smiles and the doctor smiles too, before looking at Jaal, head slightly tilted sideways.

“And your friend is…?”

“Jaal Ama Darav.” Jaal responds, keeping his voice low. He knows his usual booming tone would be badly appreciated in such a place. Infirmaries, no matter the species, are places of rest and comfort.

He knows he should add something to his name. The reason why he is here or perhaps his role on Chloe’s ship – Jaal Ama Darav, angaran envoy? Jaal Ama Darav, member of the angaran Resistance?

What he most wants to reveal is his role in Chloe’s life.

He glances at her for a second, mouth opening without letting any sound out, but she comes to his help and her words ignite an unquenchable flame in his heart.

“He is my boyfriend.” One of the human words for taoshay. His chest swells with pride and joy. “I wanted him to meet Scott.”

Harry looks admirably unfazed by the news; his lips curl into another smile, genuine affection and respect in his eyes, and he says: “I see. I’m happy to meet you, Jaal. I’m sure Scott will be too.”

Jaal smiles back and thinks this human is a good man. He already likes him and he feels the urge to clasps his arm or pat his back, but he holds himself back, not wanting to embarrass him or Chloe.

Harry nods at her and Jaal and goes away – “I’ll give you a moment, then.” -, moving to the other side of the room to take care of another patient who just got out of cryo.

Scott looks paler than Chloe or perhaps it’s the bright light that makes him look like that, but Jaal can’t help but think about the snow-white flowers that grow on Havarl, whose frail, delicate petals can be broken by the faintest of winds, whose life lasts only a few days, a perennial cycle of death and rebirth.

He pushes that morbid thought out of his mind and takes the chair that Chloe offers him; she sits at his side and together they look at her sleeping brother, at his chest slowly moving up and down, at the slight twitch of his brow that indicates he’s dreaming.

“Hi, Scott.” Chloe starts, reaching out for one of his hands on his chest. “This is Jaal. Jaal Ama Darav.” A smile splits her face in half. “He is my boyfriend. Don’t freak out, he is the best man in this galaxy. You’ll love him.”

Jaal laughs, blushing hard, and takes her hand, holding it on his thigh. He clears his throat, looking at the familiar face of Scott and tries to speak.

It’s difficult to talk to someone who cannot reply and probably even hear what he’s saying.

Angara never talks without a reason and when they speak to someone they always send their message across loud and clear; there are intention and meaning behind their words and to just pronounce them without receiving a reaction makes Jaal feel nervous, as if there is no real communication with the other member of the conversation.

Even when they want to stay silent, angara announce it before doing so and the others around them know how to act and react. Here, Scott is trapped in his silence and Jaal’s words cannot reach him, like a signal sent through the stars never really arriving anywhere, forever traveling through space without someone to catch it.

But, he suddenly realizes, someone is here: Scott, even if he cannot hear and answer, and Chloe, who can hear everything.

She is the stars which will bring his message home, which will guard it through its journey through space, until Scott can finally hear it. She is, after all, his twin, his specular image, another half of him. She is partially made of his same stardust.

“Hello, Scott.” Jaal starts and he hears Chloe let out a relieved sigh. She probably feared she had put him in an embarrassing situation and he squeezes her hand to let her know everything is alright.

“It’s an honor to meet you, brother of my Darling One.” he continues, moving his other hand and resting it upon the man’s shoulder. “Chloe told me many things about you! You were born a few minutes after her and your favorite color is green, because that’s what your favorite story character liked to wear.”

Chloe lets out a tiny giggle and Jaal grins.

“You will have to tell me a lot about your sister once you wake up. She refuses to reveal her embarrassing secrets to me, even after I showed her mine.” He shoots her a pointed look, pretending to be offended.

He fails terribly, he knows that, because Chloe giggles harder and shakes her head at him.

“They were not embarrassing, Jaal.”

“I know.” He grins and looks at Scott again. “I’ll show them to you too. You are family now.” He pauses, then starts again: “My true mother and siblings will want to meet you. You know, Teviint, one of my sisters, is an amazing woman. You might like her.”

“Jaal. Are you seriously trying to matchmake our siblings?” Chloe sounds astounded, but in a good, amused way.

He smiles innocently, already imagining their joined families.

“Maybe?” He turns back to Scott. “Lathoul is a great man and warrior too. He would treat you well.”

“Jaal.”

He gasps, a sudden thought coming to mind.

“I want to know how Chloe was like when she was little.”

“I can tell you that!” she protests, laughing and smacking his arm. “I even have pictures!”

“You, my love, are a biased source.” Jaal smiles smugly, pinching her hand. “I know you would only show me the pics you consider the best, ignoring the rest.”

“The rest is a terrible collection of me with snot on my nose and messy hair sticking out in all directions.”

“So? I love that too. That is part of who you are as well.” He brings her hand to his chest, momentarily forgetting about Scott, and saying with all the sincerity in the universe: “I love everything about you.”

Chloe splutters and blushes, hiding her face against his shoulder. He laughs, the sound echoing in the vast room, and many turn to look at them, surprised by that noise that surely isn’t heard often there, at least not so loudly.

“Ah! I apologize!” Jaal babbles, hoping nobody will ask them to leave the Cryo Bay, but Chloe is smiling and her blush has spread to her neck.

“You are adorable.” she says, making him smile happily, then she turns to her sleeping brother: “Just so you know, he is always like this. So prepare for a lot of genuine, heartfelt compliments.”

Scott doesn’t answer, but Jaal knows he will someday. Soon.

He watches his Darling One talk, her smile wide and bright, her composure relaxed as she leans onto him and slides her arm under his. Jaal brushes his cheek against her hair, enjoying its texture and scent, and he often intervenes in the one-sided conversation, which now feels natural, as if Scott can really hear them thanks to some magical intervention, even though he knows it’s not true.

They talk about simple, small stuff; the fact that Alec Ryder is dead and Chloe is the new Pathfinder is a secret, but Scott knows about the busted Golden Worlds, so they feel relaxed and tranquil enough to talk about those.

Their efforts are giving good results and hope is growing in Heleus. Even if Scott cannot hear them, it just feels right to inform him.

They spend more than an hour there, until SAM informs them that Tann is looking for the Pathfinder after learning of her presence on the station.

With a sigh, Chloe stands up, followed by Jaal; she squeezes her brother’s hand and gently places it back on his chest, murmuring: “See you later, little bro.”

Jaal stares down at the pale human for a long time. He likes to think of him as his brother-in-law and tries to imagine what his reaction will be, after learning of his sister’s relationship with him.

From what Chloe told him, he is fairly sure it will be good.

His respect and affection for the young man grow, even though this is only their first encounter and their peculiar conversation was rather short.

After a moment of hesitation, he leans down and wraps his arms around the still, warm body, slightly lifting him from the bed. Chloe and SAM don’t protest, so he guesses it’s alright and that he isn’t putting the young man in danger.

He gently lies Scott back onto the bed, pats his shoulder and says: “We will come back soon, brother.” A short pause, then: “I will take care of Chloe, I swear it to you.”

That’s his third most important promise and there in the Cryo Bay, hand in hand with his Darling One under a sea of stars, Jaal knows Scott believes him too, because there is the faintest hint of a smile on his dreaming face.

#mass effect #me:a #jaal ama darav #jaal #jaalryder #lafaiette's fic #My Chloe Ryder isn't actually customized #I chose the default/Sara look for her #but changed her name into Chloe because Sara is my little cousin's name and it would have been too weird to hear it in the game #especially during romantic scenes #The default look really grew on me by the way ; v ;#English isn't my first language so I apologize for any typo and mistake! It's also 4AM here right now so I should probably head to bed. ;_;

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An evolutionary biologist takes on the absurd bodies of superheroes

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An evolutionary biologist takes on the absurd bodies of superheroes

Evolutionary biologist Shane Campbell-Staton loves reading comic books almost as much as he loves studying unusual animals. Now he’s combining his twin passions in a new podcast, The Biology of Superheroes, co-hosted by fellow geek Arien Darby. The podcast uses comic book characters to explore big ideas in science and technology. Campbell-Staton recently sat down with Nexus Media to talk about his new project, his favorite superheroes and his ongoing research into the ways climate change is driving evolution. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

You have a podcast where you talk about the biology of superheroes. Which superheroes?

We try to take characters from the comic book universe, not just superheroes, but also other figures of science fiction — dinosaurs, robots, giant monsters. We use them as archetypes to explore the place where fact meets fiction.

Let’s talk about Spider-Man, the subject of your first two podcasts.

Arguably, the thing that separates Peter Parker from other superheroes in the comic book universe is that he uses these webs. These webs are a huge part of his persona. And Spider-Man doesn’t produce spider silk in the way that a spider would. He has to engineer it.

So, the first question in that scenario is, “What would he use as inspiration?” Obviously, there is a huge diversity of spiders in the world. If you’re trying to develop a tool, you want go out into the real world and see how animals have come up with extreme solutions to solve similar problems. This is a really valid and popular means for scientists to wrap their heads around problems that are presented in the real world. It’s called bio-inspired engineering.

When we’re considering Spider-Man, one question is, “Can spider webs actually accomplish what we see in the comic books?” If we look at the biomechanics of silks, the answer turns out to be “yes.” Spider silks are extremely strong and very versatile. The drag line of spider silk, pound for pound, is stronger than steel. If you scale that up to the size of the webs that Spider-Man is producing, they could very easily support his body weight and help him catch bad guys.

How about the Flash?

One of the central plot lines for the Flash is his ability to move between parallel universes. You have numerous parallel worlds that are vibrating at slightly different frequencies, and you have slightly different versions of superheroes and other characters in these different universes. They never meet each other and they never see each other because they are vibrating at different frequencies. The Flash is able to vibrate from one universe into another universe, allowing him to explore the entire DC Comics multiverse.

If we follow the Flash on his adventures, not only do you see the same species on most of these parallel Earths — you see humans, for instance — you also see different variations of the same individuals popping up across each of these Earths. Thinking about the multiverse invites the question, “If you have four and half billion years of evolution playing out independently on each of these Earths, and you get almost the exact same result each time, what does that say about the process of evolution?”

This is a classic question in evolutionary biology: if you replay the tape of evolution, do you get the same result over and over again? This is a question that people have been chasing for decades. In some cases, in the real world, we see that the answer is “yes.” If presented with the same environmental challenges, natural selection drives independently evolving lineages down very similar trajectories.

On the other hand, there are one-off events, oddities like the duck-billed platypus. It has a bill and a beaver tail it uses to navigate through the water and locate crayfish and crustaceans and things like that. There are a lot of animals that live in very similar habitats and have very similar lifestyles, but none of them look anything like the platypus.

The DC multiverse is the ultimate biology experiment.

Exactly. In the real world, we only have one Earth, but there are ways that scientists in the real world can study repeatability. In some cases, they study islands, which act as independent universes. In other cases, they look at bacteria evolving in petri dishes. A lab full of petri dishes represents a multiverse. You can give independently evolving lineages of bacteria the same challenge to see if they find the same solutions. It’s not as cool as traversing the DC multiverse like the Flash, but very similar techniques are being used to explore the repeatability of evolution in the real world.

How did you get into comic books?

I actually got into comic books pretty late in life, when I was a graduate student doing my PhD at Harvard. In the process of writing my dissertation, I started to get pretty stressed. I needed something that was intellectual candy, something to get my mind off the rigors of academia.

I remember I was walking through Harvard Square one evening, and I passed this underground comic book shop, and in the window, I saw this comic book. It was Superman vs. Muhammad Ali. It had this really big classic cover where Muhammad Ali was facing off with Superman, and they both had boxing gloves on, and I thought, “I have to see how this ends.” Superman and Muhammad Ali face off in a room that has red-sun radiation, which basically makes Superman human, and Muhammad Ali whips his butt really thoroughly. That was the first comic book I ever bought, and it got me hooked.

I went back to the store and got a few different comic books, and that was my guilty pleasure while writing my dissertation. As I was reading comic books, I started to come up with all these really weird questions. A certain scenario would present itself in a comic book, and I would wonder about the biology behind it. This became so persistent that I taught a small course at Harvard on the biology of superheroes. We talked about Batman. We talked about Ironman. We talked about zombies. We talked about the Flash and a few other comic book characters. A lot of the undergrads came away from that course having learned a lot of the classic ideas that they would have learned in an intro bio course. That’s what spawned the podcast.

I’ll be an assistant professor at UCLA starting in July, and that’s actually the first course that I’m going to be teaching at UCLA. We’re talking about everything from evolution and physiology to brain machine interfacing and artificial intelligence.

You study how animals adapt to climate change. Do you talk about climate change in your podcast?

In our last episode, we talked about Jurassic Park and resurrecting ancient species. Obviously, this is a really fun topic to talk about. I interviewed Beth Shapiro, a geneticist who focuses on conservation genetics and the genomes of ancient species, and we talked about whether it’s possible to get DNA from dinosaurs and how we go from getting genes from an extinct species to creating a living, breathing animal. That’s all really fun to think about, but the last question is “Why would we do this?”

If we’re not going to resurrect ancient dinosaurs and have fun eating cotton candy watching them do their thing, why would we invest so much in this technology? Well, it turns out that that same technology is being used right now to help conserve species that are on the verge of extinction and potentially bring back species that have been driven extinct by human activity.

We just got news that the last male northern white rhinoceros died. Obviously, we have species like the dodo bird and the passenger pigeon and the black-footed ferret, which is on the verge of extinction. That brings up the idea of genetic rescue. The ability to tinker with the genomes of a species and reintroduce improved versions of those genomes into wild populations to help them recover — that same technology would be required to bring back a wooly mammoth.

What species do you focus on in your research?

I’m a herpetologist by heart, so I work mostly on reptiles and amphibians. A lot of my recent work is studying how changes in climate affect the form and function of wild populations. I published a paper last year looking at the effects of the polar vortex storms that swept the Southeast in the winter of 2013 to 2014. The polar vortex is a pattern of Arctic air that spirals around our poles. As the planet warms, the poles are warming faster than mid-latitudes, which causes that pattern to become more wavy, and it sends these periodic bouts of polar air to mid-latitudes. Here, in North America, it causes these extreme cold events.

It just so happened that in late 2013, I was studying the evolution of cold tolerance in this one reptile species, the green anole lizard, which is native to the United States, but its ancestors come from Cuba, which is very warm and thermally stable. So I had data on cold tolerance in these populations. I had data on gene expression.

So, I took advantage of this particular event to ask, “In the survivors of this storm, do we see any signature of natural selection taking place?” And the answer, in this case, was “yes.” We saw that in the southern part of species range, the survivors of the storm were significantly more cold-tolerant than the population was before the storm.

So much of the talk about climate change is that it’s happening so fast that plants and animals can’t adapt, so it’s surprising to hear that you see that change in such a short period of time.

I think this is something that we are increasingly coming to understand. When we think about contemporary evolution, this is a field that is only a couple of decades old. Now, we’re starting to see an uptick in the number of people who are focused on trying to understand how human perturbations to the environment are not only affecting ecology and extinction, gene flow and species distribution, but also the process of evolution. And we are starting to see evidence that animals around the world are adapting.

Jason Munshi-South is doing work in New York City looking at mice that are adapted to urban environments, and he’s seeing very strong signatures of selection in diet. Mice that are living in cities are eating a lot of the junk food that people leave around, while their cousins in more natural habitats are eating grasses and seeds and insects and that sort of thing. In response, the genes that are involved in digestive processes seem to be diverging between cities and natural habitats.

Pollution is also a factor. Andrew Whitehead’s group has been studying pollution adaptation in small fish called killifish. He’s shown that these animals have colonized these very polluted waters several different times, and we see these repeated signatures of selection in parts of the genome that help them to cope with the deleterious effects of being in these polluted waters.

That feels like cause for some small measure of cautious optimism.

I think it’s easy, when you hear that things are adaptively evolving, to think that things are going to be okay, but we still don’t really know. Because the thing is, when we talk about natural selection, that comes at a cost: death. When you have an extreme pressure that has a large death toll, the individuals who are left behind are better adapted, but in the meantime, all of this genetic variation that would have been in the population gets lost because everything is driven down this one specific trajectory.

In the case of the polar vortex storm, what happens if it’s a drought next time? Or a heat wave? Lineages that may have been better adapted for those types of events may be lost now. We just don’t know. There is lot more data that needs to be gathered to understand how the different types of selective pressures — from extreme weather events to urbanization to pollution—play out over longer periods of time to determine who survives, who dies, and how that translates into extinction and speciation and other important biological processes.

So, who are your favorite superheroes?

It’s funny because I think most of my favorite superheroes are actually scientists. Spider-Man, obviously, is a favorite of mine. Peter Parker is one of the most brilliant minds in the Marvel universe. Bruce Banner — I love me some Hulk. He’s one of my go-to characters. Batman is obviously classic. There is just so much to that character, so much depth and history. He’s got a dark side that you don’t see in many other characters.

As we move along with the podcast, we’ll continue to think about aliens and giant monsters and robots and artificial intelligence and all of these fantastical ideas, and explore the science behind them. I think it’s really important to bring these conversations to the real world. We’re being thrown so much information from all over the place. It’s not necessarily all from reputable sources. If we can go through this mental exercise of separating fact from fiction when it comes to these fantastical ideas like comic book superheroes, maybe that will help us to better discern fact from fiction when it comes to the more serious issues, like climate change.

Jeremy Deaton writes for Nexus Media, a syndicated newswire covering climate, energy, policy, art and culture. You can follow him @deaton_jeremy.

Written By Jeremy Deaton

#Environment

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