#Iris who just wants somewhere to belong above all else

[butchratchettruther]

Thinking about my ocs again

[carewyncromwell]

Hey hey hey, Cinderella AU time again at last! Sorry to have left y’all on a cliffhanger last time, so I think it’d be kindest if we just jump right in!

Previous part is here -- full tag is here -- Katriona Cassiopeia “KC” (pictured above with McNully in a dress based on this design 💙) belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!!

x~x~x~x

There was a very tense silence. 

Then Erika abruptly barreled over to Orion, seizing him roughly by the collar. 

“I knew I smelled a rat, when you first waltzed in here -- ” she snarled.

“Get the hell off of him!”

BAM.

Skye had hurled a punch right at Erika’s jaw. The violent move made Erika take a step back, but she didn’t release Orion -- instead, holding onto his collar with one hand, she proceeded to try to grab Skye. Soon the two were in a full on tustle, with Skye trying and failing to get Erika to let go of Orion. 

“Skye -- ” choked Orion in a very hushed, strained voice. “Lady Rath, please -- !”

“Erika, stop,” said KC sharply. She grabbed Erika’s arm and held it back. “This is no rational way to deal with this -- ”

But Erika seemed unmoved. “This man’s a Florentine royal who disguised himself as a Royaumanian peasant to get close to our Prince. There’s nothing to waffle over.”

Her eyes shot over to Carewyn harshly. “If anything, I’d say you should make sure she doesn’t run off too, for aiding and abetting him.”

Carewyn, who’d been too stunned to properly respond, straightened up abruptly. “What?”

“Don’t play innocent, Cromwell,” said Erika very coldly. “Looking up troop movements in your spare time? Meeting every other day with a Florentine spy? Lying to Prince Henri about where you were going before dashing off to the Florentine border? It’s pretty clear you were in on it all along.”

“No!”

Orion for the first time wrenched sharply in Erika’s grip. His face was unusually pale, his black eyes very wide and anxious. 

“She didn’t know,” said the Prince of Florence insistently. “She never knew -- it was solely my doing, all of it...”

“Just what a spy would say, to protect his co-conspirator,” Erika cut him off. 

Bill and Charlie, however, both swooped down around Carewyn, flanking her like bodyguards. 

“Carey is NOT his co-conspirator!” said Charlie, his arms wrapped around her neck in a protective side-hug. 

“And she wasn’t dashing off to the border,” said Bill, his voice much firmer and lower than Charlie’s, but no less righteously angry. “She was going to see her brother at the war front.”

Andre and KC both looked startled. 

“Brother...?” whispered Andre. 

He looked at Carewyn, but she avoided his eyes. 

“Carey’s older brother is a soldier in the Royaumanian army,” said Bill. “She hasn’t seen him since her grandfather sent him out nine years ago.”

KC looked from Bill to Carewyn, her eyebrows knitting together. “He’s a soldier? But...I’ve never seen the name ‘Cromwell’ on any of my records...”

“That’s why she decided to go!” said Charlie. “She couldn’t find Jacob in your records either...so it’s likely old Charles Cromwell made him enlist under another name or something.”

“Or he just died ages ago,” Erika said bluntly. 

Carewyn’s blue eyes abruptly flared. “No! My brother is out there somewhere!”

She turned to Andre, her eyes more imploring. 

“Andre...I’m sorry for having lied to you -- but I couldn’t afford to let Iris or anyone else in my family know I’m trying to make contact with Jacob, without Grandfather’s approval. And even if my brother’s alive...”

She glanced at Orion. Her blue eyes were welled up with pain, and she had to tear her gaze away, unable to show that much emotion openly. 

“...the War is getting worse. I don’t know what state my brother is in out there now, if the War is as bad as I’ve heard -- I can’t let Jacob suffer out there, not if I can do something to help him!”

“So you thought of sneaking into the Royaumanian army camp completely on your own without even having any means to protect yourself?” said KC, her gaze rather critical as she crossed her arms. “Carewyn, that was not smart.”

Andre too didn’t look happy. “You could’ve told me, Carewyn. I considered you my friend -- I trusted you. There was no reason for you to lie to me.”

Carewyn’s face grew a lot more stoic as she turned her face away, trying to hide the tumultuous emotions in her eyes. Bill, however, strode forward, stepping right between Andre and Carewyn. 

“I know it wasn’t right for Carey to lie, Andre,” Bill said, “but truly, do you think you would’ve been all right, knowing she was running off toward the battlefield?”

“No,” said Andre, “but I would’ve been happy to help!”

“So were we, and that’s exactly why she didn’t tell you,” Bill barked back. “Because she knew how dangerous it’d be out there for herself, and she didn’t want to put any of us in that danger too, especially you. Carey doesn’t ask for help -- she never has. She’s always done things herself, rather than trouble anyone else. She tried to convince Charlie and me to head back several times, when we caught up with her. She gave herself up to those bandits because she couldn’t bear the thought of us never being able to go home to our family again, just because we followed her.”

The eldest Weasley glanced at Orion still in Erika’s grip, his brown eyes narrowing. 

“I may not know what this man’s intentions were, manipulating Carey so that he could get at the royal family,” he said lowly, “but he’s telling the truth. Carey didn’t know he was a Florentine, let alone that he was their Prince.”

“He was telling the truth about a lot more than just that.”

McNully had climbed out of the coach and down into his wheelchair attached to the boot. Gripping the sides of his chair and giving them a sharp twist, he catapulted it off the boot and down to the ground so he could roll over to Orion’s side, facing Andre with a very solemn expression. 

“Your Highness, Orion told the bandits, ‘We do not come seeking trouble’ -- and it’s just as true in this instance. As much as Orion had to keep certain things under wraps, I know him well enough to know he didn’t lie so much as omit key details, and let you all fill in the blanks yourselves. I daresay a good 95% of everything he’s told you and Carewyn is true, if not more.”

Erika snorted. “Doubtful. I’ve never heard of an honest Florentine.”

“Don’t act all high-and-mighty, you -- !” started Skye. 

“Skye, please,” Orion whispered. 

His hands were still clasped in front of him and his voice was still brushed with anxiety, even as he took several deep breaths to try to calm his heart rate. 

“...Prince Henri, the reason I came today was to seek an audience with you,” he said seriously. “I fully intended to go to the castle gates and request a diplomatic meeting, before I saw you with KC and Lady Rath. My deception was only ever a means to that end -- diplomacy and peace. There was no malevolence meant.”

“If you’d wanted to discuss peace, you could have done it honestly,” said Andre, his arms crossed.

“He could have tried, but would you have listened?”

Everyone turned to look at Carewyn. Her voice was low and she couldn’t make eye contact with anyone -- her gaze instead floated just over Andre’s shoulder -- but she sounded firmer than before, more like her usual self. 

“If he had approached the King under his true name, can you really say that your father would’ve accepted an audience with him?” she challenged Andre. “Naturally your father would’ve never allowed you to speak to him -- but would he even have spoken to Prince Cosimo VII? Would any of us have?”

Something uncomfortable flickered through Andre’s expression, robbing it of some of its righteous anger. 

Carewyn broke away from Charlie and Bill, striding right up to stand between Andre and Orion in rather the same protective way Bill had for her. 

“If Orion had come under his real name, we would’ve never danced with him at the Winter Festival,” she said. “Bill and Charlie’s family would’ve never invited him to stay for dinner. KC would’ve never told him that Charlie and I had been gone longer than expected. Badeea would’ve never invited him to sit with us by the bank while she painted. I...never would’ve accepted his help...nor would I likely have helped him.”

Was that shame, in her face? It was hard to say, for it was a shadow that disappeared very quickly. 

“I’m sure we’ve all been judged by what our names are and what families we were born into, but you especially should know full well what that’s like,” said Carewyn, her voice suddenly full of fiery conviction, “considering that from the moment we first met, you actively tried to discourage me from calling you by your real name!”

Andre flinched.

“Carewyn...” he murmured, taken aback by her passion, but Carewyn cut him off. 

“Orion met me last night to tell me that his father was a high-ranking officer who planned to attack the enemy forces with a strategy that could destroy many lives. That’s why I’m here now. I thought his father was in the Royaumanian army, but now it’s clear that he meant to warn us that his own army -- the Florentine army -- means to attack us. Yet Orion came to warn me anyway -- and beyond that, he said how much he disapproved of the strategy and wanted peace.”

Andre’s eyes narrowed upon her face. “Carewyn, he lied to you about who he was. How can you believe anything else he told you might be true?”

“Because good people can still make mistakes!” Carewyn shot back. 

Her voice betrayed a flare-up of emotion, and it made her go very quiet. Then after a moment, she took a deep breath. 

“People make mistakes -- fathers, mothers -- 

People make mistakes,

Holding to their own -- thinking they’re alone.

Honor the mistakes everybody makes, one another’s terrible mistakes...

They could still be right -- they could still be good.

You decide what’s right -- you decide what’s good --

Just remember...

Someone is on your side -- someone else is not.

While we’re seeing our side, maybe we forgot

They are not alone...no one is alone...”

The familiar words seemed to make all of the anger in the air ebb away. Skye looked from McNully to Orion, stunned. Erika, although her face remained as distrustful and hard as ever, felt her grip on Orion’s collar slacking. Orion himself, however, could do nothing but stare at Carewyn over Erika’s arm, his black eyes storms of emotion. 

Andre closed his eyes, his expression becoming more troubled. 

“Andre,” Carewyn said more softly, “I told Orion that if he believed peace between Florence and Royaume was possible that he should talk to you about it. Clearly he took that advice...even while knowing how badly you’d probably react. Even without bringing any soldiers to protect him. And he put himself on the line by coming out here with you to help me. Is that truly the mark of an evil man?”

Andre slowly opened his eyes. His gaze swept from Carewyn up onto Orion behind her. Despite himself, the Prince of Florence couldn’t keep the pained, yet adoring emotions out of his midnight-black eyes as he stared at Carewyn -- like a man who truly had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. 

The Prince of Royaume’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. Then, finally, he sighed. 

“...Erika, put him down.”

Erika looked up at Andre, faintly surprised. After a moment, however, she did so, though her eyes stayed on Orion beadily. 

“I do not approve of your methods, Prince Cosimo,” said Andre, drawing himself up to full height, “but you came seeking an audience with me, to discuss diplomacy. I shall grant it, but on my terms. I intend to accompany Carewyn to the Royaumanian camp straightaway -- should you wish to speak with me on our journey up, so be it.”

Both Carewyn and Orion reacted with surprise, but for completely different reasons. 

“Andre, you don’t have to do that -- ” Carewyn started. 

“No,” said Orion firmly, trying to keep his voice level despite his urgency, “you and Carewyn must not go anywhere near the war front. It is no place for you, nor anyone -- ”

Andre held up a hand to stop both of them. 

“I’ve made up my mind. If my country’s army is threatened, then I’m obligated to intervene, as their Prince. And besides...”

His eyes landed on Carewyn, growing a bit softer. 

“...I’ll need to know where your brother is positioned, if I’m going to know which battalion to reassign to guard the palace.”

Carewyn straightened up sharply. Andre beamed. 

“Your family needn’t know that Jacob and his battalion were repositioned,” he said almost smugly, “nor that it was for any particular reason. If nothing else...I’m certain your brother would be beneficial to castle security, if he knows you’re working there.”

Carewyn stared at Andre, hardly able to comprehend what she was hearing. 

He wanted to bring Jacob home. He wanted to give them a place in the castle together -- he was willing to do it covertly, so that Charles wouldn’t try to punish either of them...

“Andre...”

Her heart suddenly felt overfull. She had to cover her face in both hands to try to hold in her emotions. It took her a solid minute before she’d forced back her tears enough to remove her hands from her face, and when she did, she immediately strode forward and threw her arms around Andre in a full hug. 

“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear, her voice very choked and soft. “Thank you.”

Andre’s eyes melted with warmth and fondness and he brought his arms around her in return, squeezing gently before holding her at arm’s length. 

“I hope your brother’s as good of a fashion template as you, Carewyn,” he said with a brighter smile. 

Carewyn couldn’t help but give a choked laugh. “I’m afraid Jacob’s a disaster when it comes to clothes, but...oh, you’ll love him, Andre, I know you will...”

Orion’s expression was still very tense when McNully reached out and took hold of his arm. 

“Orion, I get why you don’t want to go near the war front,” he said seriously, “and obviously you shouldn’t be going into their camp at all yourself...but this is your chance, to talk things over with Prince Henri. We have to get a peaceful road mapped out fast, if we want to convince your father not to use my strategy...”

“Your strategy?” repeated KC, her eyes narrowing critically. 

Everyone turned to McNully. 

“A war strategist strategizes, it’s part of the job description,” McNully said, unabashed. “Though for the record, I intended for it to simply help us capture an army’s worth of war prisoners, not kill everybody.”

“Unlike a certain army who keeps shifting their cannons every day so they can blow up everyone they can without even looking their opponents in the face,” said Skye rather coldly. 

KC crossed her arms. “The goal was to aim for your stores of ammunition, not your soldiers.”

McNully did a double take. 

“Wait -- so you’re the one who came up with that strategy?!” he said. He whirled on Orion, looking incredulous and almost angry. “You made friends with Royaume’s new military strategist and you didn’t tell me!?”

“It must have slipped my mind,” said Orion serenely, but his black eyes betrayed a glint of mischief. “Yes, I remember now...you were remarking about how whoever made that strategy for the Royaumanian army had to be a genius...”

Skye snorted in amusement. “‘Remark?’ He ranted about it to me long before telling you, Orion -- McNully was so mad that he was fumbling over his statistics...”

“I fumbled once,” McNully said irritably. “My statistics were therefore 99.9% accurate in that conversation.”

Amazingly, even despite all the tension that had been between them, Andre and the Weasleys found themselves snorting with laughter. Carewyn even had to bite her lip to hold in her own amusement. 

KC raised an eyebrow at McNully, her lips spreading into a smirk. “Well, I guess I can thank you for appreciating my ‘genius,’ at least, Mr....?”

“Murphy McNully,” said McNully at once. Even though he was smiling, though, there was some irritation in his face. “Just called ‘McNully.’ And the name of my opponent in military strategy would be...?”

“Lady Katriona Cassiopeia,” she answered with just as cool of a smile. “Just called ‘KC.’”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” said McNully, but there was definitely a charge of competitive lightning that crackled between them as they stared each other down.

Andre, for his part, was actually smiling mischievously as he moved to remove his horse from the front of Orion’s black coach. “Well, KC, perhaps while we’re escorting Carewyn, you and Mr. -- rather, McNully can have a discussion of your own.”

Both McNully and KC looked taken aback. 

“What?” said KC.

“I would love to talk to Florence’s chief strategist about the in’s and out’s of military protocol, but...well, I just don’t know enough about it myself,” said Andre innocently, though his eyes and voice were much too sassy to be convincing. “So you can do so on my behalf. After all, you are much more versed in these things.”

When KC tried to argue, Andre cut her off with a simple “That’s an order,” and climbed back up on his horse.

“Come on, Carewyn -- let’s get your, Charlie’s and Bill’s horses and be off. We don’t have much time.”

“Wait.”

Everyone looked at Orion. His face was still very pale as he stared at Carewyn.

“If you’re determined to go out there,” he said at last, “then you’ll need some way to protect yourselves from harm.”

He freed one of his own black mares from the front of the coach and climbed on its back.

“Follow me -- Carewyn and I have a friend who I know can help us.”

Once Bill, Charlie, Erika, and Carewyn were all back on their horses again, Orion led the group out of the woods. Skye drove the coach with KC’s steed as well as her own black horse, for McNully would have to ride inside it, and KC (following Andre’s directions) rode with him. Inside the coach, McNully -- perhaps to try to bolster his own slightly hurt ego -- challenged KC to a game of chess to pass the time. Carewyn could hear them bantering over their match on their way up. 

“Well, well! Moving a pawn rather than your Queen -- that’s 99% unexpected.”

“What’s the other remaining 1%?”

“Margin of error.”

“Well, I assure you -- this was not an error.”

“I think I’ll take my chances anyway.”

Andre, meanwhile, rode on his own horse beside Orion a good ways ahead of the others to talk privately. Erika, Charlie, Bill, Carewyn, and Skye all watched them from a distance -- they couldn’t hear what the two Princes were saying, but their discussion appeared very serious. Andre’s posture was oddly stiff and guarded, and Orion’s looked oddly submissive and detached. 

Then, very abruptly, Andre actually started to laugh. The sound startled everyone, Erika most of all.

“What?” said Erika. “What’s so funny?”

Orion looked back at them with a small wry smile. “Merely shoes, my lady.”

“Shoes?” repeated Erika, bewildered.

“Don’t bother questioning it,” Skye sighed tiredly from her spot in the driver’s seat as Orion faced forward again and continued his conversation with Andre. “Orion never stays focused on one thing whenever he’s talking to somebody -- be glad he didn’t randomly start talking about swallows and the color green...”

“Those were brought up too, actually,” Andre said loudly over his shoulder.

He flashed Carewyn an amused look, and Carewyn couldn’t help but smile a bit in return. It really sounded like they were finding common ground...

As the Princes both turned away, though, Carewyn’s smile slid off her face.

Princes...yes. That’s what they both were. All this time she’d thought that Orion might be a magician, or that he might’ve been like her mother and been born into wealth but trying to distance himself from his family -- or even that he was a bit like her, in the way that he’d lived in poverty but now lived in a home that was wealthy. Never had she thought that, in truth, he was the Prince of her country’s mortal enemy...

She knew she should be frightened by this -- betrayed and hurt. But everything she’d said to Andre was true. Instead of feeling distrustful and resentful of Orion, all she could do was feel worse about herself. Orion had lied to her because he was a Prince -- a royal with the humility of a peasant and a wise and gentle heart who wanted nothing more than to bring peace to their countries...who was willing to put himself in harm’s way to do it, who befriended her and the people around her regardless of their ancestry and the War that dictated they should be enemies...

And Carewyn? She’d lied to him because she was nothing but a maidservant. Worse still, she was the penniless, lying, pretentious commoner ward of Charles Cromwell -- a pathetic child who’d sold her soul to her grandfather, stupidly thinking that he’d treat her and Jacob like family, only for him to rip her and Jacob apart and send Jacob off to a War where he would suffer day after day with no chance of reprieve. A prisoner...someone who was chained to Charles’s will for the rest of her life, as penance for her mistake.

When Orion’s lie was revealed, it only served to make Carewyn admire him more. When hers was...Carewyn knew that it would only serve to turn him away. 

“Carey?”

Carewyn looked up. Bill had come up alongside her, his brown eyes very soft with concern. 

“Are you okay?” he murmured. 

Carewyn gave him a smile. “Yes...I’m all right.”

She couldn’t hold his gaze long, so she looked up toward the Princes again.

“...I just hope...they can come together. That’s all.”

Bill looked up at them too, frowning slightly. “Mm...”

Carewyn didn’t have the heart to tell Bill what she was thinking, especially not with Erika, Skye, Charlie, Andre, and Orion all within earshot. She knew he’d tell her that if Orion really cared about her, he’d forgive her for lying...but...

He shouldn’t want to forgive me, Carewyn thought. He shouldn’t be content with what I am. Not when he deserves so much more. 

The memory of the last time she saw Jacob, of him hugging her tightly rippled over her mind. 

“My Wyn -- my sweet Wyn -- ”

Jacob was the only person who Carewyn knew for a fact would always love her, no matter what she did. He’d always been flawed beyond reason, but she never ever had to doubt that. Jacob had helped raise her, and she in return had looked out for him just as much. They were each the one person who they could always depend on...and Carewyn knew Jacob would forgive anything she might have done, however horrible it was or how terrible and pathetic of a person she’d become...

Carewyn closed her eyes, trying to force back her tears. 

Jacob...I need you. I need you here so much.

Maybe she’d be strong enough to accept that she could never be what Orion needed, if she could at least be in her brother’s arms again...

Orion led the others to a beautiful, but perfectly empty valley, perfect for stargazing. Just about everyone was baffled and suspicious, especially when Orion started calling out for a Baroness. It was only when a woman with a pointed black hat with a familiar-looking golden eagle on her shoulder and a beautiful manor appeared seemingly out of nothing that they all understood. 

“Magic,” breathed Andre, his eyes very wide.

Carewyn, however, climbed off her horse and greeted McGonagall warmly. “Baroness -- it’s so good to see you again.”

She reached out a hand to stroke the golden eagle’s feathers, and the bird almost seemed to smile wryly. 

McGonagall actually seemed somewhat surprised by how fair her reaction was. “It’s good to see you as well...”

She held her arm aloft, letting the eagle take off back into the air and toward the manor, and glanced at Orion, her narrowed eyes clearly questioning. “I was not expecting to see either of you again so soon.”

Orion climbed off his own horse, looking very grave. 

“Baroness, I come to ask for your assistance. Carewyn and her companions plan to go into the Royaumanian camp, so as to locate Carewyn’s missing brother.”

“Into the camp?” repeated McGonagall, looking almost stricken. 

She turned to Carewyn. 

“That is far from wise -- the Florentine army has already started making moves to attack. You must stay far away from that place.”

“What?!” just about everyone said, horrified. Orion, the only one who didn’t cry out, had abruptly lost all the color in his face.  

“B-but the strategy can’t be ready to go already!” stammered McNully. “Putting the troops in their positions without anyone noticing would take at least two full nights -- attempting it without everyone being in their proper place decreases its effectiveness by a good 38%!”

“Effectively or not, they have started the attack all the same,” said McGonagall. She looked from Orion to Carewyn. “I cannot in good conscience let you go out there, in the midst of all those explosions -- ”

“But their strategy aims to wipe out the entire Royaumanian army!” said Andre. “I cannot stand by and let that happen!”

He immediately flicked his reins and prepared to charge off, but Erika abruptly blocked his path on her own horse. 

“You dying out there too would only make everything worse,” she told him sharply. 

“So I should just let all of my men die, in my stead?” Andre demanded. 

He tried to ride around her, but Erika blocked him again. 

“No, we just need to be smart about this,” Erika shot him down very firmly. “I understand you want to help, and I agree with you -- but if you died out there on the battlefield, that would escalate the fighting, not end it. Just look at what happened when we took out Florence’s first Prince. And didn’t you say you were open to talking about peace with Prince Cosimo? If you want to chuck that out the window, fine, but don’t do it without understanding that’s what you’re doing.”

Erika looked from Andre to Orion. Her face was as stony as ever, but not as mistrustful as before. Andre, still looking frustrated, nonetheless seemed to accept that she was right. 

“McNully,” said Erika, “it’s your strategy the Florentines are using. What do you say?”

Everybody turned to McNully. Florence’s chief strategist crossed his arms, leaning back on the seat of the coach thoughtfully. 

“The ‘noose’ I developed would have significant breaks, if it was attempted without the proper preparation,” he said slowly. “The plan was to prevent anyone from getting in or out, so that the Royaumanian army would be unable to get reinforcements or supplies. That would then become a siege that would force them to surrender. With holes in the Florentine lines, though, the Royaumanian army could slip out and, worse, maybe even break our army up into smaller pieces.”

“Therefore making your army even more vulnerable,” finished KC, her eyebrows furrowing. “The fractures would go into all-out war and probably lose all sense of cohesion, which would make it harder to gather the troops back together and stop the fighting...”

McNully nodded shakily. “Casualties and injuries would be high -- anywhere between 40-58%."

Skye’s face had gone as white as a sheet. “But -- but if we lose half our army...!”

She looked at Orion in alarm. Orion knew what she was thinking. King Cosimo had said that this most recent line of reinforcements was the last defense Florence had, unless he wanted to draft all citizens 18 and older, regardless of rank or health. 

“Such devastation on both sides would make peace near to impossible,” murmured Orion. His hands were clasped together very tightly in front of him as he turned back to McGonagall. “Baroness, please -- isn’t there any spell you could cast that might soothe the ire of our armies?”

The Baroness looked upon Orion with a solemn expression. “To cast any spell, I would have to leave my home to the mercy of the armies’ mines and cannon fire. I’m sorry...but I cannot do that.”

“Then I will.”

A tanned young man with a pointed nose, very sharp eyes, and a bandaged arm strode into the room. He glanced at Carewyn, and she gave a light start -- those eyes seemed...

The young man then looked at McGonagall. 

“I’ll craft and cast the proper shield around them, to protect them from the cannon fire,” he said firmly. “Then the Princes could run to their respective sides and convince the armies to stop fighting.”

McGonagall’s eyebrows furrowed. “Talbott, your concentration would be sorely tested in a war zone. One flicker in your concentration would require you to recast the spell all over again -- at which time it might be too late to do so.”

“It may already be too late for us to prevent those casualties at all,” said Talbott, undaunted. “We’ve watched the War go on for years -- I know protecting our home is important, but this protects our home and the country it occupies. And since you’re the only one who can keep the illusions up here for any decent length of time, I have to be the one to cast this spell.”

McGonagall and Talbott stared each other down for a moment. 

“You feel very strongly about this,” McGonagall said dryly.

Talbott glanced at Carewyn, his oddly eagle-like eyes flickering with a wry kind of humor as his hand rested on his bandaged arm. “...Well, I do have a debt to repay.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened in realization. Then her eyes softened. 

“Thank you,” she murmured. 

“Very well, then,” said McGonagall grimly. “Take your time crafting the shield, my young apprentice -- remember to be very specific in the terms set. All of a spell’s terms must be met, in order for it to work properly.”

[un-petit-sanctuaire]

Call Your Name

Fandom: Attack on Titan | Shingeki No Kyojin

Pairing: Levi x Petra (rivetra)

Genre: Angst

Rating: General

Word Count: 1400+

Summary: Levi took some time of his day to visit Petra’s family... and Petra.

Disclaimer: The characters and the world of AoT belong to Hajime Isayama. I only borrowed them and added some elements according to my imagination.

Author's Note: This fic was inspired by Hiroyuki Sawano's song, Call Your Name, one of the OST of Attack on Titan. I hope you guys enjoy reading it, as much as I enjoy pouring my emotions to it. ;_; Please excuse any grammar mistake (or point it out, if you don't mind!) as English is not my first language. Sorry if it's rusty, I hadn't written in a while. I'd really appreciate your feedbacks so that I could write better in the future! Last but not least, happy reading. <3

(p.s.: if you could, try reading this fic while listening to Call Your Name for extra feels)

______________________________

She lost her brother months ago

His picture on the wall

And it reminds me

When she brings me coffee, her smile

I wish I could be with her 'til my last day

He found himself walking into the living room of a small, quaint house. The fireplace was burning low, casting warmth around the room. Across him stood a slightly wrinkly man with shaggy brown hair, looking weary and somewhat nervous. However, the man flashed a kind smile before he spoke softly,

“We’re honored to welcome you back in our home, Captain Levi. Please, have a seat.”

A woman walked in, carrying a tray of teacups and cookies, and placed them on the table. Her ginger hair was falling behind her back, reminding him of the girl he had once hand-picked as one of his Special Operations Squad members. It happened years ago, yet it felt like yesterday. Like he had just applauded her for her skills yesterday, just fought in battles together with her and his other comrades yesterday, just saw her bringing his favorite coffee into his office yesterday,

just told her parents of her passing yesterday...

“Thank you, Mr and Mrs Ral,” Levi Ackerman finally spoke after what felt like a long silence in his head. “But I couldn’t stay long. I’m only here to give you this.”

He put down a big box he brought with him on the floor. Mr and Mrs Ral glanced at each other apprehensively before making their way towards the box and opening it. He could see that they were shaking, but they didn’t utter any word as they found the things inside: books, clothes, some other personal stuff belonging to her. There was a vase of dried iris, her favorite flower. He knew because he often caught her tending to the bushes on the headquaters' yard on their peaceful days.

Her voice was ringing in his ears and the words she spoke back then were repeating themselves clearly,

“Once everything is over, these iris bushes will grow beautifully, Captain! You’ll see! I’ll always come back to take care of them!”

That was how she had always been. She always cared for others. For her closest friends, for her comrades, for her subordinates... for her captain.

But he couldn’t take care of her in her last moments.

He couldn’t save her.

She said she gave all her love to me

We dreamt a new life

Some place to be at peace

But things changed, suddenly

I lost my dreams in this disaster

“Those are what left of her things that we could retrieve,” he said hoarsely. “... I’m really sorry.”

He could barely hear his own voice. It was as if something was choking him as he saw her parents lay their hands on the stuff inside the box, tears brimming in their eyes.

“Oh, no, no,” Mrs Ral walked towards him and took his hand in her palms. Despite her gentle tone, he could see the pain in her watery eyes. “Please, don’t be sorry... We’re grateful for this. Our Petra... she would love to have these things back in her bedroom. Thank you for bringing some parts of her home, Captain Levi.”

Some parts, he thought. Only some parts got home. She didn’t get home.

Perhaps this was a mistake. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come here and brought Petra’s old stuff with him. He only reminded her parents of the pain and agony that they felt for losing their daughter all over again. And above all those, he reminded himself of his own pain. Of the incredible person Petra Ral was once. Of the shoulder-length, ginger-haired girl who now was so out of reach.

He felt the pair of Mr Ral’s arms embracing him into a hug. “Thank you so much, Captain,” the man whispered in his ears, fighting the tears, “for—looking after her all this time. She—”

Mr Ral began sobbing and had to pull away. Mrs Ral slowly patted her husband’s back, trying to calm him down. But Levi just stood there, frozen, his feet glued to the floor. He wanted to say something, to tell them the amazing things Petra did while she was doing her duty—but no words escaped his lips. Oh, what had he done to this family? After years without her presence, her parents must’ve missed her so much.

And so did he.

People called him humanity’s strongest soldier. But what good would it be if he couldn’t even use his strength to protect his friends, to protect her?

I'm crying

Missing my lover

I don't have the power

On my side forever

He decided to leave the Ral’s house sooner than he thought. Mr and Mrs Ral were trying to convince him to stay for dinner, but he couldn’t bear looking at their crestfallen expression every time they talked about her. He had to excuse himself and told them he needed to return to his office.

But before then, he had to make a stop somewhere.

Despite hundreds of graves, the cemetery that evening was quiet and almost empty. There were some people in a distance, mourning over a tombstone he couldn’t recognize. He ignored them as he walked in alone. On his hands was now a bouquet of iris that he had bought on the market as he passed through on his way here. Yes, iris, her favorite flowers. He almost wished he kept the flowers to himself so he would have something to remind him of her. He even nearly, shamelessly, asked Mr and Mrs Ral if he could take one of her things as a memento. He didn't, though. Perhaps he hoped that they would just read his mind and willingly give something of hers to him.

He stopped and kneeled down at one particular tombstone with ‘Petra Ral’ engraved on it. He stared at the name for a few seconds before laying down the bouquet of iris next to the other bouquets he had left on his previous visits. He knew there wasn’t any body buried underneath, yet he felt that this was one of the places he could be closest to her.

His hand unconsciously touched the engraved name as he leaned closer. As if something was stuck in his throat, he suddenly felt out of breath. He could feel his cheeks were starting to get wet. Was he crying? Was he, after everything he had been through, actually not the strongest soldier, not as strong as everyone called him?

His fingers brushed her name on the tombstone. Lord, he would kill to be in her arms right now. To have her by his side.

Petra, are you there?

Oh, where is my lover?

And I got no power

I'm standing alone, no way

Calling out your name

If life was normal—if life could happen according to his will, perhaps he was sitting in the headquarters now, laughing with his comrades. Laughing with her. No, they probably wouldn’t be soldiers. There would be no Survey Corps. No battles. No war. No titans. And then he might just be a normal man living a normal life. There would be every possibility to see his friends grow old together with him. To see himself surrounded by his closest ones. Perhaps he would even get married and start his own little family... Who knows?

Yet there he was, alone, silently crying over an empty grave.

“Petra...”

Could he save her if he acted fast enough? If there was another universe, could he be with her? Would he be given a second chance to hold her, to spend every minute he has with her? To keep her safe from the harm in this world? To be in peace together? Could they become—something else?

“Petra... Please....”

He didn’t know what he was pleading for. Perhaps he wanted her to come back, to tell him everything would be okay. But he knew it was just wishful thinking. Everything that he thought of was too good to be true. Life was a mess, and Petra was already gone. There was no use to cry like this. It wouldn’t bring her back. It wouldn’t bring everyone back. Even if there was another life, it wouldn’t guarantee that they would be safe. That she would be safe.

Everyone he loved got taken away from him.

Perhaps that’s just how it is.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn’t know how long he had been crying before he pulled his hands from the cold tombstone. Eventually, he stood up, straightening his shirt and tightened his coat.

After giving the tombstone a last glance, Levi Ackerman then began walking away, out of the cemetery and into the cold night.

I’ll see you soon, Petra.

We don't know what is wrong tonight

Everybody's got no place to hide

No one's left and there's no one to go on

All I know is my life is gone

________________________________

[cherrywoes]

— six

— angel dust.

OIKAWA WAS A DEVIL. The more you thought about it, the more it made sense—his peculiar behavior, the way he would appear more than human at times, how he knew so much about the world despite not being much older than you at the time. You could have slapped yourself for missing it in the first place. It had been so obvious—so why, then, hadn’t you noticed to begin with?

After he’d kissed you, he’d been roughly yanked back by the man who had stood beside you near the ring. You weren’t able to make even a peep, your emotions overwhelming you: anger, curiosity, relief that Oikawa wasn’t dead like you’d thought, and finally, settling on betrayal—betrayal that he hadn’t told you he was a devil when he’d had the chance.

“What do you think you’re doing, Shittykawa?!” The abrupt use of his name and a strong epithet in one sentence had you reeling. He was clearly someone close to him, another devil by the looks of it, and seemed to hold some sway over Oikawa because he had the nerve to look embarrassed about it when he realized what he’d done. “You can’t just randomly kiss someone with angel dust in your system! You idiot, what if you’d poisoned her?!”

Oh, so that was the issue. You glanced at the blood running from his nose again, tainted with that silvery gray powder, and tentatively touched your fingers to your face. Dried blood stuck to your face like a second skin, along with the odd substance of that dust; not grainy, but enough of a texture to feel like loose, silky sand. You rubbed it between your fingers curiously and watched it fall to the concrete floor in shimmering flakes.

“Sorry.” Oikawa’s voice was older, but still held the same sing-song notes, just in a different tune. He was looking at you now, a look of apology on his face; sincere, although it looked bizarre on his face, as if it didn’t quite belong there, or if he wasn’t used to it. His friend looked like he’d been slapped in the face with a pan and left reeling. “Did you inhale any of it, [Name]?”

He did remember you, then, and it wasn’t just a fluke like you’d thought. It warmed your chest for a moment, that he recalled who you were, and then you were warmed by a different emotion: fury. He seemed to detect the rapid fluctuation in your mood, stiffening up and gauging you with new eyes as if he was sizing up someone far more dangerous than he was. Devils had the unique ability to sense emotions, you’d read, and manipulate them for their own gain, the opposite of angels, who sensed them and enhanced the positive ones. You only assumed that Oikawa was sampling your mood to sense your reaction to him.

“No.” You didn’t feel much else except the smear on your cheek from here his nose had pressed into your skin. There wasn’t any powder on your mouth either, just the faint tingling from where he’d brutally kissed you. “I don’t think so.”

His friend watched the interaction between the both of you with hyper focus. His face was contorted into one of extreme confusion and dawning suspicion, overlaid with a curiosity that needed to be sated. He looked to you then, those severe eyes narrowed in contemplation. “You should still get checked. Even the smallest particles could wreak havoc on human lungs.”

You recognized it for what it was—a way to keep you and Oikawa in the same room, technically alone, all for this devil’s curiosity and a need for answers.

“Okay.” You watched Oikawa visibly deflate in relief at your agreement; maybe not so much curiosity and answers, then. “I guess it would be easier to get it done here than pay the angels at the hospital.”

The hospitals were generally run by angels, at least in Eden. While their healing miracles were enough to cure stage two cancer, their magic was expensive—at least to human consumers. For devils, it was virtually unobtainable, ranking somewhere in the millions of dollars for a simple checkup. Kiyoko had told you that the devils had their own underground medical service, far cheaper and more convenient for humans, and that they only requested a favor in return, usually small things like to ferry a message between demon lords or play delivery human for a week depending on the severity of the wound or illness.

You wondered if you would owe someone a favor now.

Oikawa caught the look on your face, somehow ascertaining where your thoughts were going—or perhaps telling you what he thought you were worrying about. “You won’t owe anyone anything, [Name]. It’s fine.”

He was so… different from what you remembered. The same, but different; as if you’d walked into an alternate reality where everything was the same, but so changed from what you knew. You had to wonder what had happened to him in the years after you’d been adopted; obviously nothing good, judging by the tattoos on his body and the subtle scars raised underneath the ink.

“If you do, this idiot will just take it.” The friend thumped Oikawa on the shoulder, although it was hesitant. The devil didn’t seem to care, his gaze entirely focused on you. “Come on. I’m sure you’re starting to feel the angel dust take hold.”

He did look unsteady on his feet. Not only that, his pupils were starting to go wide, nearly obliterating the brown of his iris, and his fingers were twitching erratically against his leg. Your concern took precedence over your anger for a moment, watching him reach for his friend to support him  when he stumbled.

You followed them to the back of the building. The crowd was already thinning out so you were able to make it through fairly easily without worrying about the safety of your wallet or poor feet. A medic met the three of you halfway, looking harried, and escorted you to a room sectioned off with curtains to hide the other injured from view.

You sat down in a plastic chair across from a bed laid over with white sheets and a cheap cotton pillow that had been stained with old blood and virtually given up on. Oikawa sprawled out on it moments later, groaning when his muscles seized up in an effort to fight off the angel dust in his system. You wanted to reach over and comfort him, if only because he looked like he was in so much pain, but his friend stepping into the room and standing beside your chair stopped you from doing so. You knotted your fingers in your lap, twisting them every time Oikawa hissed at a particularly painful muscle spasm.

“Iwaizumi, how much do you think he inhaled?” The medic spoke to his friend, who you now knew was Iwaizumi—the same Iwaizumi that Lev had been talking about?—while simultaneously peeling open Oikawa’s eyes to check his pupils. He waved a flashlight over them several times, clucking his tongue. “Minimal response.”

“I’m not sure; probably enough to inhibit his body’s motor controls. It didn’t seem to affect him earlier.”

The medic scoffed. “He was running on adrenaline. Now he’s paying the consequences; I don’t have enough mandrake root to cancel out the purifying effects. He needs to let his devil take care of it.”

“No.” Iwaizumi’s voice and Oikawa’s overlapped, with Oikawa going on,”It’s too dangerous. If [Name] gets hurt—”

“Then your human form will die and you will be sent back to hell,” the medic stated bluntly. “I’d think your options are pretty obvious.”

“Oikawa,” you said, drawing his attention before another muscle spasm could render him mute. “It’s okay. I’ll just step out and—”

His irises bled over red before you could finish.

You watched in awe and slight fear as horns curled up from his head in wisps of char black smoke, four sets of them, each one framing his head and curving upward in a wicked rendition of a crown. They were black, darker than you could comprehend, with deep grooves in them that glowed red and gold, like the embers of a fire. The heat emanating off of him was oppressive, pressing down on your shoulders like stones, and you could feel your legs sweating and sticking to the chair.

“There,” the medic sighed in relief,”now, he should be perfectly fine—”

Oikawa leaned over the bed and, seemingly unable to control it, threw up silvery blood all over your feet, particles of angel dust shining under the artificial light. He slumped back in the bed, unresponsive,  the horns dissolving away into a mist above his head.

“Uh…” Iwaizumi inched away from you when the blood crept too close to his shoes. “I’m sure he didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted, keeping your feet as still as possible. You couldn’t even be mad at him for it; you’d caught the slight panic in his eyes before he was leaning over the edge of the bed, vomiting up almost a bucket’s worth of blood on the floor and your feet. “I don’t blame him. Could I get a towel though? And maybe a shower?”

You felt gross, like you needed to scald every part of your body before you felt clean again.

“Yeah. Uh, we’ll just take Oikawa back to his place and you can shower there, since it’s his fault.” Iwaizumi couldn’t get out of the room fast enough, edging back towards the curtain and keeping an uncertain eye on the pool of blood at your feet. “Be right back.”

With the combined effort of yourself and the medic, you managed to clean up most of the blood besides the odd chalky stain on the floor from the angel dust, which the medic told you was common residue from demons stomach acid. Your shoes, however, were ruined, and you were stuck walking barefoot to Oikawa’s home while Iwaizumi carried him on his back.

The walk was quiet, as you’d expected it to be, but you didn’t expect the awkwardness that came with it. Iwaizumi always seemed on the verge of asking you something, looking at you out of the corner of his eye and then away again, grinding his teeth in frustration.

You had a hunch about what he was going to ask and said, reassuringly,”It’s okay, you can say whatever you wanted to ask me. It looks like it’s bothering you.”

“It’s not…” He sighed and shifted Oikawa’s weight on his back. “I’m not bothered. I’m confused. You… You’re obviously someone from his past. I just don’t understand who you are, or what you have to do with… him.”

“What do you mean?” He was confusing you now. “I’m not sure I…”

“Forget it.” Iwaizumi shook his head. “We’re here, anyway. Let’s get inside and get him to bed.”

Iwaizumi led you up several flights of stairs to an apartment overlooking Eden’s ocean front and the buildings before it. It was dark and somewhat sterile, as if Oikawa wasn’t really living there but just existing; he had no photos on the walls besides a small frame next to his bed, which depicted a group of men and himself and Iwaizumi standing in front of the fence in the fight club. He pointed you towards the bathroom while he gathered clothes to change Oikawa into, saying to avoid using anything with green labels on it because it was hazardous for human consumption, and left you at your own devices.

You took your shower in relative peace, eyes darting over the fairly plain yet occupied bathroom. It was obvious a man lived here, except for the odd feminine touch here and there—plush towels, rugs, decorative cups for toothbrushes, and even a toilet seat cap. You assumed it was to make it more appealing to guests, except Oikawa didn’t seem the type to have ‘guests’ from the appearance of the rest of his apartment. You tactfully avoided looking at anything else and changed into the only other spare set of clothes you had, which was a plain t-shirt and gym shorts that you’d planned on working out in later.

When you were dressed and clean, smelling of Oikawa’s shampoo which was oddly mute and consisted of downplayed notes of mint and jasmine, you exited the bathroom to find Iwaizumi sprawled out on the couch while on his phone, leaving you to sit in the chair by the glass wall overlooking the sea. Oikawa still slumbered away, so you retrieved your phone from your bag and sat down. Iwaizumi didn’t say anything to you, so you responded to a few messages from your adopted parents and screened over some emails from your college about classes resuming soon.

When you were done, Oikawa still hadn’t moved and showed no sign of waking just yet. Before you knew it, comfortable in the soft leather chair and tired from the day’s excitement, you drifted off, unaware of Iwaizumi’s observant stare from across the room. 

                                               MASTERLIST.

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                                      taglist: @dancing-in-the-rain54​ @earphonekiyouka​ @lucyrocks86​ @lerawynnn (i think i missed someone ooops, but lmk if you want to be in the taglist) 

[ladyseaheart1668]

Endless Summer Book 4: Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 55)

Description: In the aftermath of her daughter’s birth, Alodia fights for her life. 

Tagging: @endlesshero1122 @feartheendlesssummer @mysteli @whatmcsaid @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @tigerbryn11​

Chapter 55: Inevitability

Alodia

I felt the static creeping in at the edges of my vision even as I heard the voices around me telling me to push. Michelle. Jake. A thousand ageless, sexless voices belonging to the generations of ghosts manifesting around me. Push. Find a breath somewhere in the suffocating fog, gather together the seeds of strength scattered across a barren landscape and plant them in my core, let my tears be rain to nourish the soil, and push against the determined life tearing me apart in her effort to be free. Then I feel her slip free, and her piercing shriek is like music. She is alive. Unto the world, I delivered the fruit of my womb, and she is free of my body. And when the fog envelops me, I don’t fight it anymore. I’ve earned my rest.

I can feel myself sinking. I can also feel myself buoyed out of freefall by countless arms that ease me gently to the ground.

...Alodia...my daughter…

Vaanu? Father? Is that you?

“Hey. heyheyheyheyhey…” Jake’s fierce whisper close to my face, the repeated syllable sending puffs of warm air over my skin. “Stay with me, Princess.”

Aren’t I here? Aren’t I here with him? Where am I? Where am I going? Sudden awareness of a chill at the back of my neck brings the world sharply into focus. Jake at my head, hunched over me. Estela cradling my feet on her lap. And Michelle beside me, a towel in her hands rubbing down the small, warm body on my chest.

“You’re doing so well, Alodia,” she tells me. “The hardest part is over, but you’re not quite done yet. Placenta should deliver in a few minutes. ...Are you okay if I leave you for a minute to check on Diego?”

“...Diego…? Is he…?”

“He’s injured his shoulder. I’ll take care of him until help arrives. Iris, monitor Alodia and the baby. Keep checking their vitals and sound the alarm if there’s any change.” I am aware of her placing my arms around the body on my chest. “...You hang onto your baby, Alodia.”

...My baby...my daughter…

...My daughter…

Oh, no...please, no...please, leave me alone… Drawing breath feels like trying to suck up ice-cream through a straw. I open my mouth, forcing out a word in a weak exhale.

“...Jake…”

“I’m here. I’m right here. I’m right here with you.”

His face is dim and fuzzy above me. But behind him, my father’s ghostly form is bright.

“Alodia. My sweet child…”

No! Jake, don’t leave me! Don’t let me go!

You’re not going anywhere, Princess! I won’t let you!

I’m sinking...

Caleb

I didn’t bother explaining to Ysa what was going on in that house. When we met up with her cousins and brothers, I only assured them that Dragonness and her people were taking care of it, and told them we were getting out of here. They didn’t protest. I don’t know if it’s because they agreed with me, or because they just saw there was no arguing with me, or because they were finally satisfied, or they were just cold and worn out and wanted to be back in the warm van. Unfortunately, when we reach the van, there’s one more obstacle to get past.

“Hi, Dragonness!” RJ calls cheerfully to the masked superhuman leaning casually against the van door. Her hands are folded low in front of her, one ankle crossed over the other. In anyone else, the pose would be non-threatening. But Dragonness isn’t anyone else. I’m pretty confident she doesn’t want to hurt me, but she can definitely keep me from leaving with minimal effort.

“...Thought you were back at the squat,” I say carefully. “...Those people need help.”

“The situation is under control.”

“Is everyone okay who we want to be okay?”

“...I don’t know yet. What I do know is that if you hadn’t have shown up when you did, the situation could have been a lot worse.”

“Didn’t seem like you were that far behind me.”

“In a situation like that, every second counts. ...You know who those people are to me.”

“Yeah. Kind of. I’m pretty sure I picked up the basics.” I pause for a second, trying to get a measure of her intentions. “...Listen, Dragonness...the kids are tired and cold. I’d like to find someplace to put ‘em up for the night, maybe get ‘em something to eat.”

“Let me level with you, Caleb. The authorities are going to be all over this whole thing, and I don’t see a way to keep your name out of it. Me and mine might lie, but I’m willing to bet your...former associates aren’t going to be so accommodating.”

“...So say you lost track of me.”

“I intend to. ...But I don’t want it to be true.”

“Pretty much a given now. Considering you could hold me here with your little finger, it’s really up to you to either let me go or turn me in.”

“...Or I take a third option.”

“What kind of third option?”

She takes a step away from the van. “...You trusted me before, Caleb. I am hoping you will trust me again. I don’t know what will happen in the morning. But I do know somewhere you and the kids can be safe for the night.”

Alodia

Consciousness comes in waves. Between the moments of lucidity there is darkness and silence, but it isn’t sleep. It’s like being shut up in a windowless room. I feel afraid in a distant sort of way. But I am also tired down to the marrow of my bones. Anxiety spikes in consciousness and bleeds out with the tide, leaving exhaustion in its wake. There’s a voice, calm and confident, and commanding my attention.

“My name is Ryan. I’m an EMT, and I’m here to help. Can you tell me your name?”

I hear myself answer, “Alodia…”

“Do you know where you are?”

“...There was a house...it was empty...we hid…”

The warmth on my chest had sunk beneath the threshold of my perception, but its sudden absence is jarring. I hear a tiny whimper and icy fear grips me.

River…

“It’s okay, Princess. She’s here. They’re just keeping her warm.” A painfully bright flash makes my eyes water. I try to close my eyes, but they’re being held open. I push at the hand on my forehead.

“You’re doing really well, Alodia. Can you tell me how you got hurt?”

I fell...I slipped in the dark and I fell down a hill…

I’ve slipped under water. The rushing sound fills my ears and drowns out the voices. I’m in the darkness again. Bone tired and riding a gentle current. Then, flashes of sound and color. Flickering red light. Pressure on my hand.

“...born 42 minutes ago, full term…”

Pain, just a nagging sensation in the background a moment ago, rapidly floods my senses, and I choke on a cry.

“I gotcha, Princess. Just stay with me. I’m right here.”

“Placenta delivered twenty-three minutes ago, apparently complete...laceration on the lower back showing signs of infection…”

I try to roll away from the pain, into the dark and silent waters. But I’m not alone there anymore.

“Alodia,” my father says softly.

No. I can’t go with him. I have to stay with Jake.

“...Fever is 104°...Let’s get a saline drip going. TKO.”

“It’s okay, Alodia.” My father is no longer the ghost I knew on the island. His face is human, the way it was when I saw him in a vision months ago, before I even knew I was pregnant. The fear that grips me at the sight of his face is colder and more visceral than anything I think I have felt before.

No...please. Please don’t take me. Don’t take me back…

“I will not take you back. I don’t have that power. But nor do I have the power to save you. Not on my own. But I may be able to help, if you allow me.” His hands seem to enfold mine. “Trust me, daughter. Please. You must trust me.”

Trust him. As if I have a choice in the matter. I’m terrified and exhausted. Too exhausted to fight. I want to go home. I want to be gathered up and sheltered in a loving embrace. I remember the warmth of Ramona Soto’s arms around me when I was a child, tainted by the distance that formed between us when she turned her back on her son. Sometimes Aunt Molly was tender, too. But she isn’t who my heart aches for now. There’s a word forming in my mind as I look up at the strange face of the long-dead man hovering over me in the darkness. It’s a word that was never mine. But I want to surrender to it. I want to wrap myself up in the word and all the tender love that comes with it.

...Dad...Daddy...I’m scared...

Michelle

Our traveling party has been significantly reduced from when we arrived at the abandoned house, but we still have two rented vehicles that need to be taken back to Northbridge. Sean and I take one, while Estela and Rebecca take the other. We should probably be going home to get some sleep. I think that’s where Estela is going once she drops Rebecca off at the hospital. Back to Quinn, back to her brother and the other Catalysts, back to get everyone up to speed and wait for any more news. No doubt they’ll all be at the hospital at some point in the morning. But I can’t go home just yet. Even if I technically can’t help in any way, I have to be at the hospital with my friends. I don’t even need to ask if Sean feels the same. When I ask him if we should go straight to the hospital, I know the answer even before he nods grimly.

We’re silent as he drives, though he does periodically reach over without taking his eyes off the road to put his hand over mine on the armrest between us. I don’t mind. I’m stewing in the knowledge that Jake--and the rest of us--could easily lose Alodia in the next few days. I find it hard to object to my husband reminding me that he’s alive beside me.

I don’t really notice that he’s slowed down until he pulls over and stops on the shoulder of the road.

“Sean? What’s wrong?” I glance at the dashboard, trying to discern if there’s a mechanical problem. Sean hesitates for a moment before spreading his fingers and pressing his palms into the steering wheel.

“Look...feel free to tell me to piss off and keep driving, but...I would really like to kiss you right now.”

Worried and exhausted as I am, I can’t hold back a smile. “I wouldn’t mind a kiss right about now.”

We lean in and he takes my face in his hands as our mouths meet. I am a little surprised at how gentle he is being. I remember the way he kissed me for days after the showdown between Dragonness and Prescott, the fierce need in the way he pressed his mouth to mine. This is different. This is...more like the way he kissed me on our wedding day, just a few weeks ago. Tender. Loving. A kiss that makes me feel like we’re the only two people in the world.

“You’re kissing me like you love me,” I murmur.

“I do. I adore you. I don’t think I’ve ever been more in love with you than I am right now.”

“What makes you say that?”

He touches his forehead to mine. “...What I saw you do back there in that house…”

“Aww. Did seeing me delivering a baby make you sentimental?”

“Yeah. But it wasn’t just that. Alodia was sick. Diego was hurt. Alodia was having a baby. You were the only doctor there. But you were calm. You got help where you needed it. You made calm out of chaos.”

“...That’s my job, Sean. I’m a doctor. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t scared.”

“I know all that. Doesn’t make it less impressive. ...You’re a great doctor, Michelle. And hell, I’ll just say it: you’re my hero.”

I can’t help myself. I grin as I kiss him again. “You know, the only reason I’m not laughing at your corniness is because I know you mean it. Which just makes you more adorable.”

He keeps my face in his hands as he nuzzles my forehead with his. “...Do...do you think they’ll be okay?”

I swallow a bitter taste at the back of my throat. “...Diego should be fine, I think. The baby seems healthy. ...Alodia...it’s a little more uncertain.” I take his hands in mine, pulling back to meet his eyes in the light from the dashboard. “It will depend on how much the infection has spread, if it’s damaged any internal organs...whether there are any post-partum complications…”

He nods, squeezing my hands. “...I...guess we should get to the hospital. Be there for them.”

“Yeah…”

He releases my hands and turns his attention back to the car. He puts the gear shift back into drive and pulls away from the curb. We’re silent as he navigates the dark road ahead, and I don’t distract him by reaching over to stroke his arm or shoulder. But it doesn’t feel like we’re distant at all. Being beside him now, I feel as close to him as if I were in his arms without enough space between us for a hair to pass through.

Alodia

I don’t know how much time passes in the fog of light and noise and pain that I find myself dragged through. I am aware of things in bits and pieces. I don’t remember arriving at the hospital, but I find myself there, under harsh fluorescent lights, my nose assaulted by the sharp antiseptic odor. At some point, I realize River isn’t there, and I hear myself call out to her.

“It’s okay, Alodia,” Jake murmurs, his breath warm on my ear. “They’re just checking her over. They’ll bring her back to us soon.”

I’m cold. The air feels too close to my skin. I think I might be naked. I want to move to cover myself, but I am not sure where the surface is that’s supporting me, or whether I’m even upright or lying down. I do feel Jake’s arms around me, and I cling to him for dear life, even as I feel him gently manipulating my limbs.

“That’s it, Princess. Good girl. I gotcha. I’m right here.”

I open my eyes and find myself on a gurney, the filthy gray sweatshirt I had been wearing replaced by a thin hospital gown. Jake is still beside me, but now he’s wearing a mismatched set of scrubs. Pain flares in my spine, white-hot and intense enough to make my stomach turn. I hear myself make a noise like a wounded animal. I feel the pressure of Jake’s grip on my hand, and his cool fingers raking gently through my hair, soothing an intense itch that I hadn’t realized was there.

“Look at me, Alodia. Look at me.” His voice is gentle, but it brooks no argument. I force myself to meet his eyes. “That’s my girl. You’re doing great. Listen...this next part isn’t gonna be pleasant. You got a really nasty wound they gotta take care of, and you also had some tearing during delivery that they say is gonna need a couple stitches. They’re gonna numb you up so you won’t feel the worst of it, but that part ain’t gonna be a cakewalk, either.”

His words don’t help the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I feel my eyes burning. I’m scared. I’m so scared, and I’m so tired of being scared. It all must show on my face, because Jake’s mouth twists into a grimace as he brings my hand up to hold against the rough, days-old beard that darkens his cheek.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. But you can do this. I know you can. You’re the strongest, bravest person I’ve ever known.”

I can’t see my father just now, but I know he’s here. He’s hovering over me and Jake, equal parts a comforting, paternal presence and a frightening spectre I’m terrified has come to take me to whatever afterlife is waiting for me. I grip Jake’s hand.

“Don’t let me go.” My throat is so dry that it seems to chafe with the effort of speaking. The effort of drawing breath is rewarded with needling pain at scattered points on my torso. But Jake tightens his grip and bends to kiss my temple.

“I gotcha, Princess. I ain’t leaving.” The air around me shifts abruptly, and Jake’s grip on my hand tightens with anxiety. Something terrible is about to happen.

Sleep now, my daughter. It will be better if you sleep.

“Look at me, Alodia,” Jake says again. Again, I am compelled to obey, and I look into the depths of his clear blue eyes. “That’s it. Just keep your eyes on me. Don’t look anywhere else. Just look at me.”

But as the pain washes through me in a heady wave, I can’t help but break my gaze. I hear myself moan and Jake seems to press closer to me, even as the rest of the world is falling away again.

“I’m here. I’m here. I’m right here. Just stay with me…”

Grayson

My family has a luxury mountain cabin a little ways upstate. Dad hasn’t been there since Mom died, but once I was old enough to drive, I took over the upkeep and used it for my own private getaway. In college, I always had friends over to the cabin for spring break, and for summer parties. Tahira and Poppy were both frequent guests back then. I haven’t been back since before the gala that changed everything, but I keep it well maintained enough that when Tahira contacts me to ask if Caleb and his runaway children can stay there for a night, I don’t have any qualms about saying yes. Since everything is remotely connected, I am able to unlock the door and turn on the lights and the heat from my apartment. The local town doesn’t have a late-night grocery store, but I do put in an order for delivery from a nearby Chinese restaurant with instructions to leave it in the kitchen.

I don’t hear anything for a couple of hours, and in the meantime, I can’t sleep. I’m sitting up at my kitchen table with a mug of decaf when I hear the tapping at my balcony door. Tahira, in full Dragonness garb, waits for me on the balcony, squeezed into the shadow in the corner to avoid the beam of the outdoor lights. In a big city and a big apartment complex like this, one never knows who might be up late and watching, curious about who Dragonness is visiting at this hour. I flip off the outdoor light before I unlock the door and let her in.

I barely have the door open wide enough for her to slip through before she pounces on me, kissing furiously with her fingers raking through my hair. I push back, wrapping an arm around her waist as I stumble around to blindly push the door closed. I’ll worry about the latch in a minute. Right now, I am aware that my girlfriend is hovering an inch or so off the carpet as she presses her hips against me, one hand tugging at the belt of my bathrobe. My hands are at her back, groping for the mechanized clasp of her supersuit, but I resist tapping it just yet.

“Tahira… your wound. ...Is it safe to…?”

She hesitates, pulling back just a little. “I...think so…” But her feet sink into the carpet again as she presses her forehead to mine and reluctantly adds, “But maybe I should wait until a doctor clears me. I mean, it’s gotten a lot better...but I don’t know. I’ve never been stabbed before.”

I pull back enough to remove the mask from her eyes and brush the dark wisps of hair off her forehead. I lean in and kiss the spot between her eyebrows, then each eyelid in turn, the tip of her nose, and her mouth.

“...I missed you,” I murmur.

“I missed you, too. In case you couldn’t tell.”

I lace my fingers together at the small of her back. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Water?”

“How about a shower and a change of clothes?”

“I’m set up for that, too. Actually did a load of some of your stuff just yesterday.”

She snorts lightly. “I’ve got enough clothes here for a load? Might as well be living here.”

“...Might as well be,” I murmur. “...But that’s a discussion probably best saved for later. Did Caleb and the kids get settled in okay?”

“Yeah. Hopefully they’re still there in the morning. I don’t know what we’ll do if they aren’t. Don’t know what we’ll do if they are, either.”

“We’ll come up with something. I promise. You’re the Hero of Northbridge, and I’m the son of the city’s most powerful billionaire captain of industry. Between us, there have to be some strings we can pull to keep the kids together and Caleb out of prison.”

“You’re basically the head of Prescott Industries now,” she points out. “And you’ve got a lot more goodwill than your father. ...I’m honestly less worried about how we’re going to keep the kids together than I am about the whole Caleb situation. I don’t just want him out of prison, I want him on the right side of the law. And that’s going to take a lot of compromise.”

“We’ll figure it out. For now, you need to rest.”

She sighs, wrapping her arms around me and letting her head fall onto my shoulder. “...Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. ...For what?”

“For not asking why I care what happens to Caleb.”

I kiss her hair, letting my cheek rest against her head. “I don’t have to ask why, Tahira. Even if I don’t know. I trust your instincts. If you think he’s worth caring about, I believe it.”

“...I hope my instincts aren’t wrong about him. Because I have a feeling I can’t shake that we’re going to need him on our side in the future.”

Diego

My arrival at the hospital is a whirlwind of doctors and nurses asking questions, taking pulse, temperature, and blood pressure, and sticking me here and there to collect blood samples, place an IV for fluids, and pump painkillers into the space between my shoulder joint and my arm bone before they attempt to put the two back together.

Having my dislocated shoulder put back in its socket is not the most pleasant experience, but it’s also not as bad as I would have anticipated, especially once the painkillers set in. I feel a little heady, but there’s no violent wrenching motion to force it back into place like they show in the movies. It’s a lot more slow and gentle. Having Varyyn there to hold my good hand goes a long way, too. I really haven’t thanked Dax enough for his Christmas present.

I don’t exactly feel the bone slip back into place the moment it happens, but I do feel the pain start to ebb away almost immediately, and exhale with relief. The doctor smiles down at me.

“Think that did it. How do you feel?”

“Waaay the heck better,” I reply languidly.

“That’s what we like to hear. I’m just going to get a sling on you, and send a nurse to take you to your bed. We’re gonna keep you overnight, just for observation, but I’m optimistic you’ll be discharged tomorrow.” He pauses a moment, glancing at Varyyn. “I know you two live out-of-state. Do you have friends in the area who could put you up for a night or two after discharge? I don’t want you to have to rush your travel plans to get home.”

“We have a number of friends in the area,” Varyyn confirms. “And we certainly won’t be going home before Alodia and her baby are discharged as well.”

“Alodia is our friend who came in with us,” I explain when it’s clear the name doesn’t ring a bell with the doctor. “Or probably a little before us. Alodia Chandler. She had a newborn baby. A little girl. ...She was hurt. A cut on her back that got infected.”

The doctor’s eyes flicker with a brief spark of recognition, and he nods. “Ahh. Of course. I remember her coming in.”

“Do you know where she is?” I ask anxiously. “Do you know if she’s okay?”

“I haven’t heard anything since she came in. But she and the baby would have been taken up to the mother and baby unit.”

“Would I be able to see her?”  

“Right now, you would be better off getting some rest.”

“That’ll be easier if I know what’s going on with my friend,” I point out. The doctor nods, reaching out to pat my good shoulder.

“Tell you what. As soon as I’m done here, I’ll see what I can find out. It’s quite likely she’s not ready for visitors herself yet, but would it help if I could get you an update?”

“Yeah, it would. Thanks.”

The doctor’s assurance is enough to keep me satisfied for a little while. I don’t badger the orderly who comes to take me to my room. It’s early morning by now, and the sunlight is streaming through the window. The orderly draws the curtains as I settle into bed. Varyyn sits down in a chair beside me and takes my good hand. When the orderly leaves, I roll my head to look at him.

“You’ll be more comfortable in the bed, you know.”

“...Is that permitted?”

I shrug. “Don’t know. At the moment, I don’t really care. If it’s not, we’ll stop when they tell us we have to stop. And I really want you to hold me right now.”

“I’m not very much inclined to argue. I want to hold you.”

He slips off his shoes and lies down beside me, holding me gently. I let my head rest on his shoulder. I feel safe in his arms. For a while, I can almost pretend that he and I are back in our bed in California. But I think the truth of where we really are and what’s really happening is pretty inescapable, because the dreams that take over once I’ve drifted off are anything but safe and peaceful. I wake up with every muscle in my body cramping around my thumping heart and the fading image of angry wasps droning around me. My own sharp gasp is already a vague memory as Varyyn’s soft lips brush my forehead and cheek.

“Shhh. You’re safe, my darling. I’m here.”

The sun is still up, but the light isn’t streaming through the window anymore. “How...how long was I…?”

“Only a few hours, my love.”

“Hours…? But...Allie. What did…?”

“The staff could not say much. But Sean and Michelle spoke to Jake. River is well and healthy. She is in a room with her parents.”

I want to smile at the thought. But the fact that Varyyn started with River’s condition is enough to tell me that her mother isn’t as well and healthy as she is. “Varyyn…”

Varyyn knows what I want him to tell me. He sighs, kissing my forehead. “Alodia’s wound has been treated. The tearing she sustained during delivery has been stitched. The infection is being treated with antibiotics. But...it is simply too early to tell if she will be alright.”

I gulp against the choking sensation in the back of my throat, biting my lip in an effort not to let out the anguished howl I can feel clawing its way up from my chest. I can’t stop the tears from dripping down my cheeks, but I am not going to wail like a banshee in the middle of a hospital.

“I should have gone for help,” I whisper when I can speak again. “I shouldn’t have waited. I should have gone when I knew she was sick…”

“That would have meant leaving her alone with enemies in pursuit when she could not defend herself. You did the best you could in an impossible situation.”

“She might die, Varyyn. River might never know her mother. Jake might lose his wife again…”

Varyyn kisses my cheek. “Diego, everyone knows how much you love her. No one doubts that you did everything in your power to protect her as best you could.”

I roll away from him as best as my injured shoulder will allow. I feel him withdraw just a little, feel his hesitation, and guilt pricks at me. He’s right. In my heart I know he’s right. But that knowledge isn’t enough to cut through the fear that encases me.

“...It won’t matter if she dies,” I say after a protracted silence. “...If she dies, it won’t matter how much I love her or if I did everything I could. She’ll still be dead.”

“Perhaps not. Not right away.” He hesitantly strokes my hair, and when I don’t pull away, he continues. “...But don’t bury her before she is gone. Hold onto hope as long as we have it.”

Alodia

I know that I am a ghost. But I don’t care. I’m home on La Huerta. The place where I was born. And for a moment, that is all I need. But then I see my friends. Jake, Sean, Craig, and Estela. All four are battered and bruised. Estela’s expression is stoically grim, but I know her well enough to see fear in her dark eyes. Sean and Craig are doing a worse job of hiding their anxiety, though they still seem to be holding it together. I guess they think they have to for Jake. Jake’s face is breaking my heart. He’s not crying just now, but his eyes are swollen and rimmed in red, and his face is splotched red with tears. He looks down as he walks, hunched and shaking like a terrified little boy.

Across from them are Diego, Varyyn, Michelle, and Raj. Diego breathes shallowly as he regards the other foursome.

“Where is Allie?” he asks, his voice low and trembling.

Sean answers the question, even though Diego is looking at Jake. Jake raises his eyes to meet Diego’s hard gaze, and there is guilt there. I don’t hear Sean explaining. But I know what he’s saying. They don’t know where I am. I fell from the chopper and they haven’t found me yet. Diego’s fear and grief burn into anger and he flies at Jake.

“You were supposed to take care of her! You let her die!”

Jake doesn’t fight back. He barely flinches to protect himself. Varyyn grabs his lover to hold him back.

“Diego! Diego, stop! She isn’t dead!”

I am, though. I want to tell Varyyn that I am. ...But I’m not. I’m standing at the Threshold, staring numbly down at the eleven graves. I look down at my hands. Wrinkled and papery, speckled with liver spots. But both of them flesh. I’m not the Endless. The Endless is in front of me.

“This is where we’re always going to end up,” she says mournfully. “This is the fate I cannot protect you from. It may be tomorrow, or it may be ninety years from now. But you will always live to see the last one die.”

“...They were protecting me.” I raise my eyes to meet her face. “...That’s what I’ve been seeing in my dreams. I watched them die to protect me.”

“You will always live to see the last one die.” She reaches out to cup my cheek in her good hand. “...Unless you die first…”

I can still feel her bony fingers against my cheek, but I am no longer at the Threshold. I recognize this place. I have danced on this stage for years. This is the stage at the performing arts center where my dance school’s showcases, workshops, and recitals have been held since I was a four-year-old ballerina, feeling like a princess in my shimmering purple tutu with a plastic tiara bobby-pinned to my head. It is familiar, but somehow wrong. Distorted. I shouldn’t be here, waiting in the wings like this. I haven’t been a student in years. I don’t know my choreography. I am in sweatpants, without dance shoes or stage makeup, and my hair is a tangled mess. And I am pregnant. I am sure of it. What other explanation could there be for the potbelly pushing against the waistband of my sweatpants, and the movement behind my navel? But even that feels wrong. Vague memories tell me that I am nearly ready to give birth, but my belly feels too small. The child’s movements are sharp and erratic.

But ready or not, I am pushed onto the stage. Harsh white lights turn the audience into a faceless dark sea that swims beyond the polished lip of the apron. Music floats up from beneath my feet. The Doll Dance. This is the Doll Dance. I have to push.

I don’t have time to question. My Catalysts are rushing in to surround me, all cradling shapeless bundles as they move through something that vaguely resembles the Doll Dance. I lie down on my back and open my legs.

“The doll is almost here!” Michelle sings from between my knees. Diego giggles, flitting between Jake and me, tapping us in turn.

“Daddy Ballerina, Mommy Ballerina!” He laughs wildly, and taps his own head. “Skinny Ballerina!”

Jake laughs with him, and taps my nose. “Princess Ballerina!” Then he and Diego laugh together, the sound morphing into a shrieking cackle as I feel a sudden emptiness in my belly.

“Baby Ballerina!” Michelle crows.

“Where is she?!” I hear myself cry. “Where is River?”

I can’t find her. I am on my feet, rushing around the stage, searching for the baby that was just torn bloodlessly out of me. The Catalysts plié right and left, shading their eyes as they search the darkness of the house.

“Where is River?” They sing in one voice. “Where is River?”

I can’t find her. I can’t find my baby.

“Oh me, oh my! Oh me, oh my!” The Catalysts jump from first position to second, scrubbing at their eyes.

I leap off the stage, into the house. I know where my baby is. The doors at the back of the house are open, and I can see the swaddled bundle in a cone of light at the end of the aisle. I scoop her up, and I feel my heart sink. The cloying face of a plastic baby doll peers up at me with unblinking eyes of blue glass, chubby plastic cheeks tinged red, lips permanently parted in a toothless, saccharine smile...

I’m going to be sick. No sooner have I realized this than there is a bowl under my jaw, and an unfamiliar pair of arms wrapped around my chest from behind, holding me upright. I want to fight their grip, but painful spasms wrenching through my midsection distract me from any potential escape attempts. A sour-tasting wave of liquid fire bubbles up my throat and sloshes out from between my lips.

“You’re okay, Princess. Just let it all up.”

“J-Jake…?” I croak weakly, barely able to raise my eyes to his face before another acid wave splashes into the bowl.

“Shhhhh. I’m right here. Everything’s okay.”

Everything is clearly not okay. But I don’t have the strength to worry about more than emptying my stomach right now. When that’s done, I sink limply back onto the pillow, shivering as Jake dabs at my forehead with a sponge.

“Here…” I open my eyes as I feel something poking at my lips and find a straw. “Have a little water.”

I obediently close my lips around the straw and take a few cautious sips as I take stock of myself. I hurt. That much I realize right away. My back and between my legs are the worst of it, but most of me aches like I had every muscle in my body clenched at the same time. I know where I am, even before I realize that the unfamiliar arms that held me up belong to a nurse. A few gaps aside, I know what happened before I arrived at the hospital. But there is an image in my mind of a plastic doll swaddled in my arms.

“R-River...Jake, where…?”

“She’s here, Princess.” I hear his voice catch, and I manage to look up at him to see a shaky smile on his lips. “...She’s perfect…”

“C-can I see her?”

“Of course. Doctor says you might even be able to feed her later if you were up to it.”

Jake looks somewhere to his side, and I crane my neck to follow his gaze. I can just about make out the bassinet at the end of the room, and the nurse bending over to carefully collect the yellow-swaddled contents. For a moment, my stomach lurches again. I’m not entirely convinced that the nurse is not about to hand me a plastic doll. But then the bundle squirms and whimpers. The nurse passes the bundle to Jake, who gently places our daughter beside me on the bed, keeping his hands on her for support.

The chubby face that peeks out from a cocoon of yellow blanket and a pink crocheted hat is no plastic doll’s face. She’s been cleaned since she was born, but her little face is still rosy over a warm complexion. Above a pudgy little chin, tiny pink lips are drawn into a pout that shows off their perfect cupid’s bow. Her round little nose wrinkles as if she smells something foul and her eyes are puffy around the edges. But then her eyes open, blue as sapphires, and her gaze cuts through the feverish haze the clouds my head. I carefully place a shaking hand on her chest, stroking her lightly through the blanket.

“Hello, River Skye McKenzie,” I murmur. I feel the corners of my mouth lifting into a feeble smile. “Aren’t you the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen…”

“She’s an angel,” Jake agrees. “Here, take a look at this.” He gently pulls off her little crocheted cap, revealing a fine layer of downy chestnut hair. I bite my lip, feeling tears pooling in my eyes.

“...How did we live so long without her?”

“The same way we lived without each other: incompletely.”

I raise my eyes to his face. Something cold has begun to thread through my veins. “...Jake...is she real?”

Jake’s expression falters just for a moment. “Of course she’s real, Princess.”

“I...I think I was dreaming. ...I found my baby, but she was just a doll…”

Jake’s face softens as he brings up a hand to stroke my hair. “It was just a dream.”

“...I’m afraid of my dreams. I’m afraid to go to sleep again. I’m afraid that when I wake up, she will be gone…”

“I won’t let her disappear.”

“...What if you’re gone, too?”

He presses his lips to my forehead, holding them there for a long moment. Long enough for me to realize how much his breath is shaking. When he pulls back to smile at me, his eyes sparkle.

“Then I’ll fight until I’m at your side again. Isn’t that what we do, Princess? They pull us apart, and we fight like hell until we’re back together?”

Even heady with fever as I still am, I hear the catch of desperation in his voice, the pleading note under his fierce words. He is as scared as I am. He is scared that he is watching me fade. He is scared that he’s watching me die.

...I will live to see the last one die. Unless I die first.

Aleister

How to describe the moment when I see my wife descending Castor’s boarding stairs. I hear myself speak her name, but it comes out as a gasp as I start toward her. The moment her foot hits the tarmac, she breaks into a run, arms outstretched. We meet in a small collision, arms closing around one another in vise-like grips. I feel my throat tighten as I rest my cheek on the top of her head, savoring the familiar texture of her narrow braids on my skin, and the sweet scent of her honeysuckle lotion. It has not been two days since last I saw her, but it feels like a lifetime. From the strength of her grip, I can tell she feels the same.

“...You didn’t bring Reggie…?” she asks after a moment.

“He’s at home with Estela and Quinn. I am fairly certain that looking after him is all that is keeping Estela from getting herself arrested for disorderly conduct by marching down to the police station to threaten those cunts who attacked Alodia and Diego at the abandoned house.”

I feel Grace pause for a moment. “...That’s strong language for you, honey.”

“...Can we agree that I am justified under the circumstances?”

“Absolutely. ...How are they?”

“Diego has a dislocated shoulder, but he should heal. Thus far, it also seems that the baby is well and healthy. Alodia is being treated, but it is simply too soon to know how she will respond.”

“...I think she will be fine,” Grace says decidedly. “She knows how much she’s needed. She won’t let a little infection beat her.”

“I sincerely hope you are right.” I keep an arm over her shoulders as I begin to steer us toward the car. “...I don’t suppose you learned anything of interest from your mother? Anything about where Father was planning to take them, or what he intended to do with them? Even if...when...Alodia recovers, this is far from over.”

“...I did learn a few things,” she confirms, though she waits until we are in the car to continue. “She has reason to believe Rourke has a base in the Greek Islands. Specifically Ithaca.”

I can’t help rolling my eyes. “Of course it would be Ithaca,” I mutter.

“But that’s not all. Aleister, I think Yvonne is alive.”

Jake

The minutes and hours melt into each other while my wife is sick. The world tunnels and fills with static at the edges. All I can focus on is her. My princess. My princess and the little angel in the bassinet at the foot of her bed. I almost never don’t have one of them in my arms. Except when Rebecca or Michelle or my mother force me to get some sleep on the couch. I don’t generally fight them on it. One of the advantages to Alodia being in a maternity suite is that the couch is in the same room, a feature that surely exists for anxious partners waiting out a long labor.

I don’t know exactly when my mother and father arrived with Alodia’s aunt and uncle, Diego’s parents, and Raj. I know it was sometime after Alodia gave River her first feeding. It was mostly successful. Lots of pillows and my hands helped to keep River safe and supported, even with her mother feeling as weak as she is. I helped the nurse bathe her in a process that seemed like a compromise between a sponge bath in bed and a full shower, with Alodia seated on the shower seat while I helped wipe her down and rub dry shampoo into her hair. By the time that was done, the fever seemed to have sapped her strength again because I almost had to carry her back to bed. By the time her bandage had been changed, she’d slipped back into a fitful sleep. She hadn’t awakened yet when the anxious faces of our families appeared in the doorway.

I don’t really like all our folks being here. I don’t like the way Alodia’s aunt and uncle are hovering over her bed like loving parents, kissing her hands and stroking her hair. I like it even less when Diego’s parents do it--especially because I know from Raj that they’ve been decidedly cool to their own son since meeting his husband. I don’t even like the way my own parents are hovering right now, trying to help me with River. I don’t want help with River. Not yet. I don’t really want anyone but me and Alodia touching her right now. Somehow, letting someone else change her diaper or rock her to sleep makes me feel like I’m letting Alodia’s nightmares come true. Like somehow letting someone else touch her will turn her into the doll Alodia dreamed she was.

...I know it’s irrational. Especially because I don’t feel the same fear when one of the Catalysts offers their help. Knowing that it’s irrational doesn’t stop me from feeling the fear. A part of me feels guilty for it. But the fear holds on.

At some point after drifting into a doze on the couch, I hear familiar voices over my head. I’m not sure if I’m mostly awake or if I’m deep asleep and dreaming when I hear them, but I know the voices, and their words are clear.  

“If the worst happens,” Diego says softly, “...will he have it in him to look after her?”

“Of course he will,” Rebecca replies. “He’ll need her more than ever.”

“...I watched my best friend grow up knowing she wasn’t wanted by the people who were raising her. People who took her in because they didn’t want to lose the last piece of her mother that they had. ...I don’t want to watch the same thing happen to her daughter.”

“Diego. Trust me. If the worst happens, River will be what keeps him alive.”

By the time I come fully awake, Diego and Rebecca are gone, replaced by Molly and Rob. Both Alodia and River are asleep. Molly sits at Alodia’s bedside stroking her arm, while Rob stares stoically out the window with his arms folded. Both of them melt into the scenery as I approach my wife and take hold of her hand. No matter how many people are around us, when I hold her hand, it’s just me and her. I sink into the chair, gripping her hand in both of mine and kissing her fingers.

“Stay with me, Princess,” I whisper. My chest is tight. I feel like it’s been tight for ages. I feel like I’ll never breathe free again, but I know I will if only she gets better. “You’re doing great, Alodia. Just hold on. Just keep fighting. Please...I...I can’t lose you again…”

“No one is going to lose Alodia,” Rob mutters. The reminder of his presence sends irritation threading through me, but I let it go.

“She’s a fighter,” Molly agrees. “She always has been.”

“She’s going to bury us all,” Rob adds with conviction. Now I properly grimace. It’s all I can do not to deck him. Instead, I press my lips hard to my wife’s fingertips, screwing my eyes shut as I exhale to a count of ten.

“Do me a favor,” I growl without looking at him. “Never say that in front of me, or her, or any of our friends.”

“...I...what? ...Why?”

“...If you’d been on the island, you’d understand. You just gotta trust me on this one.” I give Alodia’s hand another kiss and stand up, moving to gaze down at my daughter, sleeping peacefully in her bassinet. I reach down to stroke the back of her tiny hand, soft and delicate as a rose petal.

I’ll never leave you, Angel. It’s a silent promise, but I mean it with all my heart. No matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you.

Slowly, though, the cloud of fear and uncertainty hanging over my family begins to dissipate as modern medicine starts to do its job. Alodia’s fever starts to dwindle. And three days after the birth of our child, it breaks.

[imjustthemechanic]

The Price of a Soul

Part 1/? - Agent Russel Part 2/? - The Letter Part 3/? - Miss Lake Part 4/? - The Stewardess Part 5/? - An Assassination Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - Face to Face Part 8/? - Deals, Details, and Other Devils Part 9/? - Baggage Part 10/? - Private Funding Part 11/? - Just Passing Through Part 12/? - Party of Four Part 13/? - Resolute Part 14/? - The Wreck Part 15/? - Body Snatchers Part 16/? - Out of the Frying Pan Part 17/? - A Miracle Part 18/? - A Matter of Circumstance Part 19/? - Nome Part 20/? - The Future Part 21/? - A Hero’s Welcome Part 22/? - Up to Speed Part 23/? - Expect Further Delays Part 24/? - The Welcome Wagon Part 25/? - Fugitives Part 26/? - A Reluctant Accomplice Part 27/? - Deja Vu

Well, well, well, what’s this?  Peggy doing the exact same thing she just got arrested for?

-

Agent Russel returned to the Automat the next day and sat down at his booth, drumming his fingers on the table and looking around nervously.  It was so obvious that Peggy sent Angie over to discreetly ask if he thought he’d been followed.  From her vantage point behind the counter, she saw him shake his head.  Only then did she and Kay come to join him.

“What did she say?” asked Peggy.

Russel took out the page Kay had given him to give her, and shook his head.  “She didn’t even look at it.  She was, uh… I told her I had a message for her, and she immediately asked if it were from Peggy.”

Peggy didn’t have to ask – she knew those had been Dottie’s exact words.  Russel himself didn’t call her ‘Peggy’, but she knew Dottie did.

“Does she know where I am?” Peggy asked cautiously.

“I don’t know… I don’t think so,” said Russel.  “We haven’t told her much.  But she said to tell you that if anybody’s making deals it’ll be her setting the terms.”

Peggy hadn’t been expecting that.  She glanced at Kay, who also appeared puzzled.  “And what are those?”

“She says she’s willing to rescind her testimony and claim it was coerced,” Russel said, “she’ll even say Jack Thompson beat her up if you want her to.  But you have to get her out of jail and get her in contact with somebody she will specify.  If you try anything funny, she’ll get back in contact with Thompson and Masters.”

Peggy and Kay exchanged another look.  Not at all what they’d had in mind… but was it something they could work with?

Kay seemed to think so.  “In that case,” she said, “we’re gonna need one more favour from you.  Don’t worry, it’s nothing illegal.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Russel said.

“We need you to come up with a reason to unlock the cell door at a specific time,” Kay told him.  “Say, eleven PM tomorrow night.  We’ll do the rest.”

“I think I can figure something out,” said Russel.

“Great,” Kay nodded.

“Leave a message with Angie if you can’t manage it,” Peggy told him.  “We’ll check in before we try to do anything.”

“I will,” he promised.

They left him to eat his lunch in peace, and changed back into street clothes in the employee washroom.

“You sound as if you have a plan,” Peggy said to Kay, as they got back in the car.  They’d left the green Ford at the side of the road somewhere in New Jersey and taken a powder blue Chevrolet from behind a petrol station.  They couldn’t afford to be linked to a specific vehicle.

“I have part of a plan,” Kay replied, taking a pair of sunglasses out of the glove compartment.  These belonged to whoever owned the car, and had therefore been ‘borrowed’ along with it.  “There are drains in the floors of the cells.  I saw them when I was in there.”

“Yes, there are,” said Peggy.  They backed out of the alley and turned onto the street outside.  “They’re far too small for a person to fit through, though.”

“That’s fine,” Kay said.  “I’m told you have some experience navigating the storm drains of New York.  I need you to find a place where we can get down there and find our way to under the cells.”

“I can probably do that,” said Peggy.  “Anything else?”

“Yeah.  See if you can find us some gas masks,” Kay told her.  “Let me know where to drop you off, and then I have to do some shopping.  I’ll meet you back at the same spot in… let’s make it two hours.”

- 

In the evening, they returned to the empty farmhouse in the Pine Barrens.  Peggy had located a manhole they could climb down without being observed, and used a ball of Kay’s knitting yarn to mark the route from there to underneath the police station.  From the drain right underneath it, it was not possible to actually see what was happening in Dottie’s cell – the opening was too small and high above them.  Kay assured her this didn’t matter.  She’d also obtained gas masks and rubber boots, buying both from a man selling questionably obtained army surplus behind a shop.

Kay, meanwhile, had purchased a number of chemicals, including bleach and acetone, and a variety of cooking and baking utensils.  In the farmhouse she put a mask on and did some complicated chemistry, producing a volatile, milky-white liquid that she carefully poured into the now-empty bleach bottle.  Even after that was done, she patiently waited five minutes after capping it for any vapor to disperse before she took the mask off.

“What is that?” Peggy asked, removing her own gas mask.

“Can you guess?” Kay wanted to know.

Peggy considered what she’d used to make it.  “I assume it’s similar to chloroform.”

“Close.  We call it nepenthyl,” Kay replied.  “Release it into an area and it’ll knock everybody out for five to eight minutes.  I don’t have the equipment to make it really pure, so there’s probably some chloroform in there too.  This won’t be enough to actually hurt anybody, though.”

Peggy smiled.  “Did you sit up at night in that little room above the Botticelli Gardens, making the peppery stuff you sprayed me with?”

“Yes,” said Kay.  “I needed non-lethal options.  Who lives and who dies affects the future… I don’t want to kill anybody unless I know they’re going to do evil things.  You have to live, and so does Howard, and Sousa, and Wilkes… and Thompson, even if he’s a pig.”

“So you were joking when you suggested killing Masters,” Peggy observed.

“I suspect Vernon Masters has already done evil things,” Kay told her, “but I’ll look into that later.  I want to cross the big names off my list first.”

Peggy recalled the list of Project Paperclip scientists she’d recited while in jail.  All of them were already most certainly war criminals, still alive only because the government considered them useful… and yet, were they not human beings nonetheless?  “It doesn’t bother you at all?  That you have to kill people to make your better future?”

“You know where I came from.  It took me years to learn how to be bothered by it in the first place.”  She shrugged one shoulder.  “But in this case, no.  I saw the world they helped make.  I lost friends, and my friends lost family, because of their direct successors.  My conscience can handle it.”

- 

There was no message left for them at the Automat the next day, so Peggy and Kay took their equipment down into the drains below the police station and used an old fire hose to make sure the fumes of nepenthyl would go directly through the grate in Dottie’s cell.  Then there was nothing to do but wait.

At a quarter to eleven, they heard footsteps and voices coming from above.  Peggy held her breath and strained her ears to hear.  One of the voices sounded like Agent Russel… or was she imagining it?  She looked at Kay, who pressed a finger to her lips and listened for a moment.

“Agent Russel,” she murmured.  “What brings you here at this time of night?”  A pause.  “The head office wants some full-body photographs of her.  We need a record of scars and other distinguishing marks.”

Peggy kept very quiet.  Kay’s hearing was obviously much better than hers, but this couldn’t possibly be easy.

“Ma’am, please remove your clothing.”  Pause.  “Why, Agent Russel.  Are you trying to seduce me?”  Pause.  “Ma’am, I don’t want to have to force you.”  Pause.  “Really?  Because I think you’d enjoy that.”

Dottie knew.  Of course she did.  She was playing along.

Kay checked her watch, and then set the timer on the valve that would release the nepenthyl.  “Let’s go,” she whispered to Peggy.

They climbed up onto the street, and waited for a taxi to pass before pushing the manhole cover open.  Peggy got out first, and then reached down to help Kay.  They waited silently behind the building while the clock ticked down.  At eleven o’clock, Russel would get tired of Dottie’s taunting and open her cell.  Thirty seconds later, the chemical would release.  Hopefully everybody’s watches were in rough agreement, or this would all go very, very badly.

At three minutes past, Kay said, “now.”

They put on their gas masks and barged into the lobby.

Immediately they heard a scream.  The receptionist was still awake, holding a damp handkerchief over her mouth and nose with one hand, and the telephone receiver in the other.  For a moment she stared at these masked intruders in wide-eyed horror, and in so doing, she let the handkerchief drop.  A moment later she was unconscious on the floor behind her desk.

“Hello?” a tinny voice on the phone asked.  “Hello?  Iris?”

They had to hurry.

They ran down the steps to the holding cells.  The air here, where the majority of the drug was lingering, was still misty, but they could see light up ahead.  Peggy stepped over the unconscious bodies of policemen until she spotted Agent Russel’s blue blazer.  He was lying there still gripping Dottie’s wrist with one hand.  She had fallen on top of him.

Kay pulled out a roll of olive-coloured duck cloth tape and used it to bind Dottie’s hands and ankles, then wrapped more of it around her mouth.  Then she lifted the unconscious woman’s legs while Peggy took her shoulders, and they dragged her back upstairs.

In the lobby the receptionist was still unconscious.  The telephone was still off the hook.

They threw Dottie in the trunk of today’s car – a burgundy Oldsmobile – pulled their masks off, and drove away.

Only then, with everything done, did Peggy allow herself to notice that her heart was beating fit to burst from her chest, or that she was gasping for deep, non-filtered breaths of air.  They’d really just done it – they’d broken Dottie Underwood out of jail for a second time.  If this didn’t work out… if Dottie were recaptured and decided to turn Peggy in again, there’d be no getting out of it.  Once was special circumstances.  Twice was a pattern.

Once they were well away from the police station, they pulled into an alleyway.  When they opened the trunk, Dottie was waking up, but still groggy – Peggy pressed a rag soaked in the nepenthyl against her face to knock her out again.  Then they used the rest of the role of cloth tape to wrap their prisoner up like an Egyptian mummy.  There was absolutely no way Peggy was losing control of her again.

After that, they could take a more leisurely drive back out to their campsite in the abandoned farmhouse.  Nobody seemed to notice them as they passed through small towns on the way, and not enough people went through the Pine Barrens area to notice that three different cars had been parked there in as many days.  Upon arrival, they left Dottie in the trunk and went inside to get what sleep hey could.

“I think we’ll let her talk first,” said Kay, yawning.  “Then we’ll emphasize that we are now in charge, and give her our terms.”

Peggy wasn’t even sure what those were anymore.  “As long as we can have breakfast first,” she said.

- 

In the morning they took their time, at least partially out of spite – Dottie had caused Peggy so many problems over the past couple of years, it served her bloody well right if she had to sit there tied up in a car boot for a few extra hours.  This also afforded them the chance to listen to the radio and get some more news.  The escape of a dangerous criminal did merit a mention, with a description of Dottie followed by an admonition not to underestimate her.

“And now for the news you’ve all been waiting to hear,” the announcer said.  “Captain America is in Washington, DC, for one more day, during which time he will visit the Smithsonian and dine at the White House with President and Mrs. Truman.  After that, he’s off to Annapolis, then Harrisburg, and will complete a tour of New England before heading south again.”

What was Steve thinking while all this went on, Peggy wondered.  Was he thinking of her?  Of his friend in Russia?

What about Daniel?  Peggy had no way of contacting either of them… and might never again.  Wouldn’t that be the easy solution, she thought.  If she never saw either man again, she wouldn’t have to worry about breaking anyone’s heart.

[eveningstar1516]

Late Night Cuddles

Fic: Oneshot Paring: Tired!MC x Tired!Lucifer / Soft!Lucifer Type: Fluff with cuddles

Summary: Daphne came home after a tiring shift at the library. Walking back to her room, she comes across an exhausted Lucifer and attempts to get them both to bed.

A/N: Daphne does not belong to me. She belongs to @tatsukohime​.  It had been a tough day at the library today. Walking into her room, Daphne shedding off her backpack and proceeding to face plant onto the bed was probably the best part of her day. She was just about done with the day and wanted it to be over. Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the tree branches hanging above her bed, watching the fairy lights attached to it blink their pastel colours. She closed her eyes and thought about her day at work and the absolute mess it had been. Not wanting to dwindle on it, she got up and proceeded to head to the bathroom to wash the day’s sweat off her. Stepping into the shower, she thought about her day off tomorrow. Satan had promised to take her to a new exhibit at the Museum. Some demon by the name of Mazil Modena had discovered a part of Old Devildom and had brought back some artifacts linked to what their culture was like all those millennia ago. She lathered up her hair and watched as the shampoo washed down the drain. The hot water against her skin was soothing as it washed away any tension the day built up. Stepping out of the shower, she grabbed her red nightgown. It was a gift from Asmo. He claimed it was mainly for Lucifer’s bedroom floor more than her but it’s Asmo, what else can one expect. Daphne put a robe over the nightgown and headed for the kitchen to fix up something before bed. Padding into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, she found Beel digging into the fridge for the first of many midnight snacks. “Hi Beel.” Beel looked up from his fridge scouring as I went to the cupboards to see what I could find. “Oh hey Daphne. What are you doing up this late?” “Actually, I just got back from the library a little while ago and wanted some tea before bed. Find anything worth eating in the fridge?” “Not really. I already emptied most of it, save for Mammon’s cooking and Lucifers poison apples. There are some leftover cream puffs. I was going to have them but would you like one?” “No thank you Beel, you can have all of them. Thank you for asking though.” Shrugging Beel reached for the container. “Your loss.” The water had finished boiling. I poured my tea and bid Beel goodnight as I made my way back to my room when I heard something fall over in the opposite direction. Wondering who else could be awake and whether they were ok, I walked towards the origin of the noise to find out it came from the library. I peeked in and found no one there. I looked towards the bookshelf leading to Lucifer’s secret study and saw some light coming from behind it. Shaking my head I mentally scolded myself. Of course. Who else would be up at this hour? I approached the bookshelf and pulled back a Grimoire. I recited the password Lucifer made especially for me.

I walked in to find Lucifer picking up some books that had fallen off his desk. He looked well past exhausted. His overcoat was draped on the back of his chair. His tie generously loosened and his vest abandoned somewhere in the room. The first 3 buttons of his dress shirt were undone and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He had toed off his shoes leaving him in only his socks. His hair was tousled like he had threaded his fingers through it multiple times to try and relieve some stress, which he most likely had done. His eyes were half-closed and unfocused. Sleep looked like it would claim him any second. He had yet to notice me enter. I placed my tea down on a side table and bent down to help him pick up some of the books he had trouble grabbing with his hands full. A thank you was mumbled when I gave a hand. Only after I handed him the books did he really notice that I was here.“Ah, Daphne. What brings you here?” “I was getting some tea when I heard something fall. Lucifer? When was the last time you slept?” “I’m fine Daphne, thank you for worrying. I just need to finish up the last of these few papers then I’ll be heading to bed.” Gesturing to the large pile of papers on the corner of his desk. “You should go to sleep now. You have a class in the morning, don’t you?” “Lucifer, you’re avoiding my question. When was the last time you slept?” “That is none of your concern.” “Lucifer, these papers are going to take you all night and you’re already exhausted.” “I assure you, I’m quite awake Daphne. I am more than capable of finishing these and still have time to get some rest before school.” “No, no you don’t Lucifer. Come on. I’m taking you to bed and you are going to get some sleep.” 

Not giving him any time to try and refuse me, I took the books out of his hands and put them on the desk. I started to lead him out of the room with my hand on his arm as he surrendered and trailed behind me.“Alright, just for you. You don’t have to drag me” he said while chuckling tiredly. Thankfully the trip to his room had been a quiet one as the rest of his brothers had already retired for the night. Reaching his bedroom door, Lucifer took his key out and tried to unlock the door but his sleep-deprived brain couldn’t function enough to get the small key to fit in. Gently taking hold of his hand, I guided the key in and opened the door with him. Closing the door behind me, I watched him start walking towards the bed as he laid down on it. I chuckled in my head. The demon was so tired he didn’t even realize he wasn’t dressed for bed.“Come on Luci, you have to change first. You’ll regret not doing so in the morning.” I watched with an amused smile on my face as Lucifer grumbled about not being able to just close his eyes and something about being done with life as he got up and walked over to his dresser.“Are you going to just stand there?” he asked as he walked towards the bathroom.

“Are you going to get dressed and sleep or sneak out to finish the leftover paperwork?” I retorted with a raised eyebrow. I was tired and wanted to go to bed although I knew if I left him, he’d just head straight back to his study.“Touch é .”A little while later, Lucifer came out of the bathroom looking a bit more awake now that he had washed up and gotten ready.“Daphne, come here.” Walking towards him, he layed back. As soon as I was within reach, he grabbed onto my arm and pulled me in with him, covering me up with the blanket and holding me close.“L-Lucifer?” “Shh. you said you wanted to make sure I went to sleep, well, what better way than to stay with me, in your arms.” 

Lucifer lay his head on my chest and closed his eyes. One of my hands found their way to his head while the other held him back. Gently I started running my fingers through his hair, giving him a little scalp massage. Lucifer relaxed and leaned into my touch. Any stress lines on his forehead melted away as he let himself go in my arms. We stayed like this for a while, enjoying the silence as the warmth emitting from our embrace engulfs us. Once his breathing evened out he asked why I was up so late.“I’d actually gotten home not that long ago. It was a long day at the library, although yours was probably longer.” “Heh, if you count Mammons mountain of bills, Satans cursed shenanigans, Asmo’s raging ex’s, Diavolo’s crazy new ideas and 7 other meetings that lasted much longer than it should have; yeah, it was long.” Lucifer opened his eyes. The red iris appeared to glow in the soft moonlight as he looked at me through his lashes. Giving a thoughtful hum, I continued running my fingers as my other hand started rubbing lazy circles on his back.“What happened at work?” “You mean other than the new guy not knowing how the archive sorting system works, the number of students coming in to find books for a research assignment only to not know what they’re looking for and proceed to re-organize everything before they found what they were looking for, the lower demons that eye me as a snack, the demons that think themselves better than me despite not knowing how to do their jobs and the constantly getting blamed for my partners’ errors. Nothing much.”Lucifer’s face was one mixed between shock and amusement. Composing himself, he smiled as he reversed our positions.“Sounds like you had an easy day today.” “The easiest one I’ve ever had.”Lucifer brought his hand to my head and mimicked my earlier actions. “It seems like both our days have been more stressful than normal.” “Mhm” I let myself relax in his embrace as he rested his head on top of mine. I let the beating of his heart lull me to sleep as Lucifer fell asleep to mine, both of us enjoying this peaceful moment before waking up and dealing with a new day. I hope you enjoyed reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them. Happy Holidays!

[cottage-babe]

Burning Scars part VIII

Previous | Chapter 8 | Next

Masterlist

Awww im watching LOK and why do people hate it so much?? I get that its different than ATLA but on it’s own its pretty good. anyways they just talked abt the first avatar and hmm, i didn’t really think abt who the first would be

Summary: Y/n, a werewolf from a hidden village, comes across Zuko and Iroh after being exiled. How has fate intertwined the wolf into the avatar’s destiny?

*****This chapter takes place on Season 2, Episode 14*****

___

It's been a week since they'd made it to the beloved city of Ba Sing Se. 

It was rough at first; they learned about the sections of the city and had to find a home in the Lower Ring. Although Zuko hated the city, Y/n found it quite beautiful. Of course, some parts of it weren't flattering, there were dirty animals around and some of their neighbors weren't the nicest, but there was something mystical about it. 

Maybe it's because it's the first city she'd been in or the fact that the culture was so different, but she couldn't find it in herself to hate anything in Ba Sing Se. The crowded streets just seemed cozier and full of life; their run-down home above a shop just had personality! The wolf couldn't help but love even the worst parts. 

The only thing that couldn't ease itself out of Y/n's mind was the feeling of being watched. It sent shivers down her spine whenever she was out in public and she thinks she knows why they're staring. 

It's the scar on her leg, of course. 

She stopped covering it up the day they came to the city. Something about having to hide it for their entire time of residence just seemed so inauthentic. If she was going to be here for a while, then Y/n was going to be her truest self, scars and all. 

They were walking through the marketplace, buying the last remaining essentials that they needed for their new place. Iroh had wandered off somewhere when his eyes set on a furniture store, but Zuko, not wanting to accept the fact that they were actually living there, just stormed off angrily in the opposite direction. Y/n followed the teen to make sure he didn't do something he’d regret. 

“You know,” the wolf began, “this city isn’t that bad when you stop judging everything about it.”

He glared at her harshly. “I’m not judging it.” Then, Iroh appeared next to him, the pot of orange flowers he was eyeing in his hands. The boy’s stare somehow got meaner as he looked at the bright flowers. “This city is a prison.”

Y/n rolled her eyes and moved to stand in between her two friends, smelling the ends of the flowers and letting the aroma surround her. There was hardly any nature here, another thing that she had to look past, so seeing any sign of greenery was welcoming. 

“They’re so pretty!” Y/n smiled at Iroh. 

“I know,” the uncle smiled back at her, “they were a little expensive, but its fine because I found us new jobs, and we start this afternoon!”

Zuko and Y/n blinked at him in surprise. Neither teens had ever had a job before, much less one that they were thrown into without a warning. So they all traveled back to their apartment and left the things that they had bought that morning. The time to go to their new ‘jobs’ was approaching, so they made themselves presentable and set off. 

Iroh had, of course, gotten them a job at a small tea shop. When they entered, it was nearly empty, except for the man that introduced himself as their boss. 

The people in Ba Sing Se probably only drink their tea in the mornings! That must be why it’s so empty!

It turns out she was wrong. 

After doing their introductions, the owner, whose name turned out to be Pao, left to the back room so he could find a string to extend the back of Iroh’s apron. He left them three cups of tea while they waited. 

Y/n took a sip from her steaming cup, happy to be offered some tea that’s actually warm. Unfortunately, just as it had happened before, the tea was spit out onto the floor. 

“Ugh!” She exclaimed. “What’s wrong with all of the tea in this city!”

Iroh took a sip, but, with way more control than her, swallowed it quickly. He looked at his cup disgustingly. “This tea is nothing more than hot leaf juice!”

Zuko deadpanned and looked between the two, “Uncle, that’s what all tea is.”

Suddenly, right there in the moment, a long shiver reached Y/n’s spine and spread throughout her body. And it definitely wasn’t the tea. The werewolf tugged on Zuko’s sleeve.

“Someone’s watching us.” She whispered and cast her eyes around. 

She had been feeling this, how could she be so stupid? She misjudged it and thought the attention was on her leg, but now? They were in a completely empty shop and she could hear Pao digging through boxes in the other room. Someone is looking at them from the outside. 

The boy looked around cautiously as well. “From where?” 

“I don’t know.”

Iroh was talking while they whispered, something about needing to make some major changes in this shop. He threw the tea pot out a window and the feeling drained from the wolf. Y/n sighed in relief.

“They stopped, maybe it was just someone passing.”

Zuko hummed, but still looked at her curiously. 

Pao came back with the string and helped Iroh tie his apron on. Once all three of them were in their attire, the man trained them on their new job; waiters and waitresses. They learned the basics of their job; collect orders, give customers their cups, then collect the cups. It was a lot simpler than she thought it would be. They barely had any customers, but the few that did come sat quietly and didn’t really disturb them. 

Then, their shifts ended and they turned in their aprons. When they left the shop, the sun had already set and the sky was dark.

The citizens had lit lanterns to glow on the street. It was quite pretty to see the contrasts; it almost reminded her of the rebellious times with her siblings. Y/n pushed that thought out of her head, though. 

The entire walk back home was filled with Iroh’s complaints on the tea. He started talking about how starting tomorrow, he was going to tell Pao that he was going to make the tea. He thought that Pao’s tea was lacking and Iroh was going to fix that. Zuko let out a few sarcastic comments here and there, but Y/n was quiet. She was focused on the roof tops, the dark alleys; any place where someone could be hiding. Just in case, of course.

Then, they made it home. The apartment was empty and Iroh lit candles with matches so they could see. He probably would’ve used his bending, but Zuko had warned him many times against using it. The boy was so paranoid. 

As soon as Y/n entered though, she smelled something off. 

She never mentioned this to the boys (in fear that it would freak them out), but the wolf had memorized their scents. Each had a distinct smell and it had grown very mixed and strong throughout their week of living here. It was another werewolf thing that transferred to her human skin. 

But what she was smelling now definitely wasn’t one of them. 

It smelled strangely familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. The scent was so minute and faint that it eventually blended away into the other smells. 

Well, that’s weird.

So they all settled down to relax, tired from the day’s work. Y/n laid on the bed by the windows and Iroh went straight for the teapot.

“Would you both like a cup of tea?” 

“We’ve been working in a tea shop all day!” Zuko groaned out. “I’m sick of tea!” 

Y/n laughed at his antics and watched as the boy sat at the foot of the bed. This wasn’t her bed; the boys decided that the one room in the apartment should belong to the only girl. She wasn’t totally against getting her own privacy, but she still felt incredibly spoiled. 

Zuko lifted her feet and moved back against the wall, placing her legs in his lap. The werewolf blushed at his intimate touches, but just looked off at Iroh and stated that she would like a cup, just to try and ignore her feelings. Y/n had decided before that she would never fall for Zuko, ever. 

“Sick of tea? That’s like being sick of breathing!” Iroh looked over at the two and smiled softly before searching through the cabinets. “Have you seen the spark rocks to heat up the water?” 

Y/n shook her head. “No. Do you want me to go ask the neighbors for some?”

She almost began to stand up, but the old man quickly declined her offer. 

“No, no. You stay there.” He smiled, “I’ll go ask.”

Iroh walked out the front door, leaving Y/n and Zuko alone. They were silent for a moment before, surprisingly, the boy broke it.

“So,” he began. “What was up with earlier?”

She knew what he was talking about; how she could sense that someone was watching them. She didn’t really have much of an answer, so she tried to explain it the best she could. 

“I don’t know... it’s just a feeling I get sometimes. Most of the time it’s just random people looking for no reason, so I ignore it. But it felt a little different today; it was weird.”

Zuko nodded and started playing with the fabric of her socks. The light touches tickled her slightly. 

“Can you always feel it? When someone’s looking at you, I mean.”

“Well yeah,” she spoke. “But it’s feels different when I’m in danger or when it’s about nothing. I don’t know how to describe it; it’s just a werewolf thing.” 

Y/n covered her eyes with her arm, hoping to cover her warm face slightly. The pink in her cheeks never seemed to disappear when he sat next to her. 

His fingers stopped moving and she was so so thankful for that. The poor girl didn’t know how much she could take. 

“And now?” Zuko whispered, “What does it feel like now?”

Y/n removed the arm from her face and met his auburn eyes, the iris’s staring deep into her.

Spirits, how was she supposed to describe this feeling? 

Everything about Y/n, her hearing, her smelling, her brain, it was all muddle with him. Was this danger she felt? Or something else? Her senses didn’t seem to work; the scent of him just overcame ever-.

“I borrowed from our neighbors!” Iroh happily spoke as he waltzed into the room. “Such kind people!”

Y/n cleared her throat and sat up, removing her feet from the boy’s lap. She almost shook her head to wipe the fogginess from her brain. Iroh looked between the two teens, wondering if he should say something, but instead turned toward the wood under the teapot and used the rocks to light it. 

Y/n and Zuko didn’t talk much more that night.

During the next few days, they set out to work in the early afternoon and made it back by nightfall, when the shop closed. Iroh had taken over the tea making; something Pao had fought against until he tasted the uncle’s delicious cup of tea. Slowly, more and more people started to fill up the tables, just waiting for the notorious cup. Y/n didn’t mind. It only meant that she’d see more faces and meet all kinds of people (she also got a lot of tip money, but that’s beside the point). Zuko, on the other hand, only saw it as more work. 

“This is the best tea in the city!” One customer stated as he sipped Iroh’s tea.

Iroh smiled and held the pot up. “The secret ingredient...” He paused to waft the scent up into the air with his palm. “...is love.”

The uncle walked back to the main tea table where Pao was standing. Y/n bumped arms with Zuko, who had to quickly try and grasp the cups in his hands tightly so they wouldn’t fall.

“What’s with the face?” The werewolf smiled at him. “You know your Uncle is just having fun.”

The grimace from hearing Iroh’s ‘secret ingredient’ was still engraved on his face. “I know, but he’s having too much fun.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “You’re such a-”

The front doors of the tea shop burst open. Zuko instinctively dropped the porcelain cups and jumped in front of Y/n.

Standing in the doorway, Jet glared at Zuko menacingly. 

“I’m tired of waiting! These two men are firebenders!” Then, Jet pointed at Y/n. “And she’s a werewolf!”

The lunatic boy unsheathed his two swords, right in the middle of the tea shop. Y/n’s eyes widened and she shared a look with her fellow waiters. How does he know? 

Jet took a step closer to the trio. “I know what you are! I saw the old man heating his tea!”

“He works in a tea shop,” A random customer muttered bleakly. 

“And I heard her say what she was one night in their apartment!”

Y/n gasped; so that’s why nothing seemed right. The smell, someone watching them; it all must’ve been Jet. 

“Did you say you’re stalking her?” Two customers stood from their seats, both having a sword attached to their belts. They must be guards of some sort. “Drop your swords boy, nice and easy.”

However, Jet didn’t bother listening to them. “You'll have to defend yourself. Then everyone will know. Go ahead, show them what you can do.”

“You want a show? I’ll give you a show.” Zuko growled. 

Y/n reached out to stop him, to tell him to let the police handle it, but the boy already walked toward one of the standing customers. Zuko grabbed their swords and clashed them against each other, signalling the start of the battle. 

The werewolf ran toward Iroh and clung to his arm, scared of what was going to happen next. She shouldn’t interfere; she could get badly hurt from their swords and she shouldn’t reveal her identity. The safest bet would be to watch from afar and hope that Zuko made it out of this okay. 

Zuko had kicked a table at Jet, but he sliced it in half and pushed it to the side. He charges at Zuko, who dodges the attack by jumping onto a nearby table.

Y/n sees a family near the side and runs over to grasp onto the mother’s hand. The woman looks at her in fear before relaxing. The werewolf slowly guides her and her children around the battle between the boys; using her instincts to guess their next moves. Eventually, they all make it outside and the mom lets out a shaky breath.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” The mother says in relief, her children clinging to her legs in fear. 

“Your welcome, just try to get away before-”

She was interrupted by the thing she tried to mention; both boys jumping through the tea shop doors and out into the open street.

The family ran away to safety as Y/n turned to see what was happening. Iroh and the rest of the customers joined her to watch the outcome of the fight.

“Please, you’re confused! You don’t know what you’re doing!” Zuko’s Uncle shouted in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. 

Instead, they just kept fighting. 

They swung their swords at each other, never quite hitting, only getting close enough to be parried. The closest Zuko got to Jet was when he swung at his head, only for Jet to bend backward, the tip of the sword inches from his face. Jet jumped backward to a platform and stood on top of it. 

“See that?” Jet yelled out to the audience that had formed. “The Fire Nation is trying to silence me! But that’ll never happen.” 

Jet jumped back into the fight and they repeated a lot of what they were doing before. It was odd to Y/n, but it almost seemed like Zuko was... holding back? Jet’s techniques were good, but definitely not the best, so there’s no way Zuko could lose. Maybe he was just waiting until the crazy boy gave up.

Something that also stood out was the taboo around the Fire Nation. All of this was because her two friends were Firebenders? Why? After all of this cools down, she was definitely going to get some answers. 

Iroh grabbed onto Y/n’s shoulder and gently steered her to the right. She looked to see why and saw two men with hats parting the group. They both were decked out in green and had a circle across their chest. 

“Drop your weapons.” One stated authoritatively. They must’ve been some high-ranking police men. 

Zuko and Jet stepped away from each other and lowered their swords. Still, however, Jet didn’t settle down. 

“Arrest them!” He yelled. “Those two are Firebenders and she’s a Werewolf!”

Okay, this is getting a little annoying...

What’s so wrong with werewolves, anyway? These people don’t even think they’re real. 

Y/n was pouting, she knows she was. Iroh looked at her with an amused look before returning to the scene.  

“This boy is confused!” Iroh explained to the police. “We’re just simple refugees!” 

He was playing a pretty convincing part, so Y/n decided to join in. 

“Yeah, and he watched me while I was in the privacy of my own home!” 

“This young man wrecked my tea shop, and assaulted my employees!” Pao defended from behind them. 

One of the customers from before spoke out as well. “It's true, sir. We saw the whole thing. This crazy kid attacked the finest tea maker in the city.”

While Iroh blushed and thanked the man, the two police men walked up to Jet and arrested him. The boy struggled at first, but they put him in handcuffs to still his movements. They took him away and the crowd slowly dispersed. 

There were so many people walking around that Y/n didn’t see Zuko at first. She left go of Iroh to pushed past the group toward the spot he was before, but came up empty handed. Then she looked off to the side and saw him as he returned his two swords to the customers that he took it from. 

“Zu- err, Lee!”

Zuko turned around confused, but let out a small ‘oof’ as Y/n jumped at him and wrapped him in a tight hug. He couldn’t even process what was happening before she mumbling into his chest. Y/n didn’t even fully understand what she was saying; only snippets of how worried she was peeked through.

Her mind was jumbled again, just as it had been a couple nights ago. After Jet had gotten arrested, the reality of it all set into her. Jet had actually followed them for who knows how long, listening to every conversation and watching every movement they took. Iroh and Zuko were in real trouble for a moment; she didn’t know why Fire Benders were so bad, but it was enough to get arrested for. And then her... what if she had been alone? Would Jet have ambushed her? Would she have defended herself? What about Iroh; would he? Would Zuko, if there was no weapons around?

Everything was so complicated, so overwhelming, that she didn’t even know that she was crying. It wasn’t until Zuko wrapped her arms around her that she became aware of her surrounding and felt the wetness on her face.

And so they just stood for a moment, wrapped up in each other’s arms as the girl’s sobs rang out into the night.

___

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Taglist: @bucky-blogs @hopefuloperaangelnerd @simplyfandomish @oddlypointlessescapes @lozzybowe @woohoney @whalerus @cece-lives-here @bwndito @kiaoizz @lrmilikepie

[loruleanheart]

Desired Fate, Chapter 2

Read on ff.net

Read on AO3

Zelda, Princess of Hyrule, moved about her bedchambers. It was a vast room with grey stonework walls and old furniture that had been in the royal family for generations. One corner held a grand writing desk where she often carried out her research into ancient relics late into the night. Affixed to the wall above were her most treasured research notes.

The princess was dressed for bed, her thick golden hair in a protective side braid, but she wasn’t feeling too tired, her nerves shot by the day’s earlier events. It was the first moment of rest she’d had all day. She had been constantly in the presence of Impa and the knight her father had assigned as her guard. The knight, who she’d learned was named Link, was odd. He barely spoke a word, yet Zelda couldn't disregard that he had saved her that day when a large Guardian that had been unearthed at the Breach of Demise had activated somehow without warning. This, along with the increasing number of monsters throughout the kingdom made their trip to the Royal Tech Lab an arduous one.

Zelda turned over many thoughts in her mind. How the little Guardian that seemed so attached to her had traveled from a Hyrule of ruin. Her father had seemed so vexed by the Guardian’s appearance, although Zelda was not surprised that he would try to discern whether the Guardian could be trusted. The little one did feel somehow familiar in a vague way…. Not to mention, it brought with it a look into the future of the destruction the Calamity would bring. 

A heaviness was descending upon the princess. Impa’s sister, Purah had managed to extract visual data from the little Guardian’s memory - true to life images that showed what the future would hold. Zelda had taken a cursory look through a few images but had quickly become overwhelmed. This was the destruction that would befall Hyrule should she not be able to harness her divine power. But, perhaps the pictures might also hold clues on how the Calamity could be averted.

She powered on the Sheikah Slate, wanting to give the visual data a more thorough analysis before turning in for the night. She scrolled through the horrific images of destruction, this time not having others around whom she had to put on a brave, composed face for. As much as she loathed wallowing in self-pity, she had at least managed not to break down earlier in front of the others. The princess had sensed the understanding of her plight in Impa’s voice earlier as they looked through the images together. 

Not only was Hyrule Castle pictured, but the destruction seemed to be widespread. Akkala Citadel... Fort Hateno…. The Divine Beasts…. All in ruin or corrupted somehow, and the fate of the entire kingdom and its people were bearing down on her.

I will not allow this to come to pass… I’ll do everything I can to stop this… But without the power, how will it ever be enough?

Despair and dread were starting to set in as it often did more and more over the years. She’d already tried everything she could up until now, and still, the power that should have come so naturally seemed to be impossible to find within herself. And the longer her power remained dormant, the more frustrated and cold her father grew. Zelda shut her eyes, holding her hand over her face, trying to calm herself, but it was too late as the tears she’d been holding back for hours broke forth. She quietly sobbed, hoping to not alert the attention of any of her attendants who might hear her cries. She scrolled to the next image and then there was not a location or a Divine Beast, but a picture of a strange man and she went silent. Her green eyes moved over the image. There on the Sheikah Slate was a hooded man in a tattered purple robe, but she could tell he was very handsome, even if not by typical Hylian standards. She couldn’t help but stop and stare. He was very pale and had dark, collarbone length hair. There was a long braid that hung in front of his left eye and was tucked behind his ear, and another that was decorated with gold beads.

He wore a gold circlet and a thick gold collar that draped over his shoulders that reminded her of jewelry worn by Gerudo royalty, although this man clearly wasn’t Gerudo. No male had been born to that tribe in ages. There was an oddity about the circlet though, in that the red stone had what appeared to be a stylized yellow iris painted on it - sort of symbolizing a third eye.

Who was this mysterious man? He must have been on the slate for a reason. The slate’s screen went black, and she realized she’d zoned out. Her mind was flooded with so many questions and speculations. Could someone like him really be out there, somewhere? He looked more like he belonged in some distant past foreign to her. Were they destined to meet? Should she seek him out? She didn’t know, nor did she know how to raise the subject to anyone else. Her father, dear sweet Hylia, her father…. Would almost certainly chastise for wasting her time with images discovered on Sheikah technology which had been banned up until the recent past instead of dedicating every waking moment in prayer to unlock her dormant power. But to Zelda, this felt as crucial as researching relics, perhaps even more so. And then it occurred to Zelda who she could confide in - Urbosa. Based on the jewelry the man wore, maybe she might know something.

And just like that, the heaviness that had pushed her to the edges of despair had lifted, even if only a little bit. Zelda laid the slate on her nightstand before climbing into her stately canopy bed. She found she was able to drift off with relative ease, all things considered. Tomorrow, she was sure, would be another demanding day, and she was eager for the respite sleep would bring.

In her dream that night was a woman in a resplendent white dress, and Zelda sensed she was connected with her. Was this Hylia, the goddess whose blood was said to run through her veins? The goddess smiled to herself in a dreamy way, absorbed in her song as her fingers moved along the strings of a small harp. The goddesses appeared to be singing as her lips moved silently, Zelda not being able to hear her words. Perhaps it was a lullaby. Zelda wished she could hear the goddess’s song. The goddess seemed so passionate about…. something, but all she could do was watch and hope this dream to be a harbinger of good things to come.

oOo

His harbinger turned and left, having imparted to his disciple how it had come to be and how it planned to counter what its “twin” from a ruined Hyrule had set out to do. It was fate that Ganon’s hatred had followed that Guardian through time to possess the one from this era. 

And now, Calamity Ganon’s will can be fulfilled in this time as well… The Prophet of Doom thought. This was all a part of Lord Ganon’s plan to annihilate his enemies completely, leaving no room for victory, even in a separate path in time.

That Guardian by the princess’s side had the means to set this path on a different course, and the prophet knew he couldn’t let some meddlesome piece of junk alter fate’s rightful course. He would subdue the princess and her newfound ally. The thought of destroying the Guardian had already crossed his mind, even before Lord Ganon’s new directive. Now he just had to make those two degenerate, banana-eating goons do his and Lord Ganon’s bidding.

The prophet was elated that he could now receive such clear directives and revelations from Lord Ganon. Had he not met with the harbinger, he would truly be on his own. The harbinger was proof to potential allies that he had indeed been chosen and could know the will of Calamity Ganon, not just interpret it through the constellations or prophetic dreams. Gaining the trust of the Yiga Clan didn’t feel like much, but things were coming together. The Calamity would return and reign down its hatred on Hyrule, and the kingdom would come to its end, at long last.

oOo

“I have selected the candidates for the Divine Beasts. Zora grace, Princess Mipha; Goron vigilance, Daruk; Rito confidence, Revali; and Gerudo spirit, Chief Urbosa. You will go meet with each and explain their role to pilot their respective Divine Beast.” King Rhoam’s voice carried through the main foyer from his place on the balcony.

Zelda looked up at her father and responded. “Yes, I suspected as much… I will meet with Chief Urbosa first. I am... looking forward to seeing her again.”

Rhoam nodded. “Understood. It has been some time since your last meeting with her.” The king’s voice held a respectful tone, perhaps thinking of his late queen who had been close friends with the Gerudo chief. His gaze moved to the little Guardian, and his voice became cold. Zelda stiffened as the words left his mouth. “And? You’re taking this relic with you, I presume?” Rhoam narrowed his eyes at the small Guardian that was currently hiding behind his daughter.

Zelda could sense an admonishment incoming, yet she managed an explanation. “Yes. After talking to Purah and Robbie, we thought it would be best.”

Rhoam took a seat on his throne, considering this. The Guardian moved out from behind her as if emboldened by her voice. “I will remind you once again. Above all else, your duty is of the utmost importance. Are we clear?” Rhoam said, sternly.

For the briefest moment, Zelda thought of the hooded man she’d seen on the Sheikah Slate. “Yes, we are clear. I understand... And I will honor my duty.”

It wasn’t a lie, per se…. Zelda thought. After all I’ve been through, who can say what honoring my duty looks like. Prayer hasn’t worked. I’ve spent over a decade dedicating myself to prayer. If I could just focus my attention elsewhere, perhaps the power will find me in a way nobody could foresee.

Zelda, Link, and Impa departed the castle with the new Guardian in tow. The Princess breathed a soft sigh of frustration as she felt her father’s eyes boring into her, which didn’t go unnoticed by Impa and Link. And in time, the three were laughing and bonding over the little Guardian that acted as if it were a knight in the princess’s service.

[schrijverr]

Raid on Crown of Five (The Truth)

Before our crew can reach Staketown Port they have a run in with a Navy ship and subsequently sink it. Miekka is on damage control and fully realizes what it means to be part of the pirate crew

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: description of a siren corpse.

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

The Queen Hermanwas nearing Staketown Port every day. With their bounty from Dunnhouse Cliff, the crew was eager to get there so that they could pawn the corpses for money to supply their ship again.

Miekka had no clue why anyone would buy siren corpses, but they also didn’t want to ask. The Company had never put their claws into it, but it seemed they were worth a lot of money and Miekka did not want to know why people on the pirate market paid highlyfor them when The Company wouldn’t burn their hands on it while they would burn down the whole world for a bit of gold.

They were closing in on the port from what Miekka had gathered. Their arm had been healing nicely and they were allowed to help with the sails again.

It was nearing noon when Stephan called from the crows-nest: “Ship on starboard! Ship on starboard!”

Captain Redfright got out his telescope and looked starboard as he called back: “Can you make out any identification?”

“Looks to be a Navy ship, Capt’n,” Stephan said.

“Navy?” Captain Redfright repeated more to himself.

“Yeah, I can barely make out the name, it says Crown something,” Stephan answered.

“Crown something,” Captain Redfright mumbled to himself, Miekka only heard it because they were nearby, “The name’s familiar.”

“Could be the Crown of Five,” Anna said, “Maybe good old Admiral Teal was assigned these parts after Gunpowder McGee and his crew blew that other ship to smithereens.”

“Aye, Mickey is a right one,” Captain Redfright laughed, before turning serious once more, “But if ‘t is Navy, no m’tter who, then we’d best sink ‘em now. We don’t want stragglers following us to Staketown Port, eh.”

“You give the order, Captain,” Anna told him.

“I sure do,” Captain Redfright said, before bellowing, “Get ready to board, we got a few Navy officers to meet. Sasha, divide the crew.”

There were some jeers from the crew as they set to work sailing towards the Navy ship, hijacking material at the ready. While they worked Sasha walked among them calling out orders: “Voyin, Karter, Lulu, Elijah, Tyrke, Nox and Dána, you board first. Go grab your stuff.”

Miekka heard some affirmations around them, but not every name had a face yet.

“Jonny, Wyatt, Pearl, you get the ropes to board,” Sasha ordered, “The rest of you, focus of getting our ship there. Keep an ear out if I send any more of you there.”

“Aye,” some said, before turning to their tasks.

They were slightly saddened that they had not been appointed to board the Navy ship, but they understood, they were both new and still not completely used to their prosthetic. However, they wanted to prove themself loyal and a good fighter.

Still, they decided that following orders was probably the smartest course of action, so they focused on tying the knot in front of them.

“We’ve been spotted. Incoming!” Stephan yelled.

“Krut!” Captain Redfright yelled, Miekka recognized the name to belong to Krut Cannon, the gunner on the ship. They weren’t entirely sure if Cannon was zir last name or a nickname.

Right at that moment the first cannonballs made impact with Queen Herman. The whole ship rocketed and Miekka was almost thrown off balance, only their years over the unsafest routes to save money kept them standing.

Others also stumbled, but no one fell, expect the few closest to impact. Miekka suspected that they were more used to cannonballs hitting them, a realization that made them swallow heavily.

Krut was meanwhile ordering a few mates around to ready the counter fire.

Sasha yells were heard over the noise: “Miekka, Iris, George, Talita, make sure we don’t loose cargo in the front. Dibu, James, Bertie, Manon, you get the back.”

Miekka tied down their rope, making sure it was secure, before hurrying down into the hold with three others they had vaguely talked to once or twice. As they walked, they heard Captain Redfright order: “We’re going to parallel the ship, get ready to fire!”

Loud bangs echoed from above them, but it was only background to Miekka’s ears as they saw what had happened in the hull. The tank that ran along the middle of the hold had been hit and water was gushing out.

The tank was an unusual feature on the ship and Miekka had been confused about its existence, untilthe Doc had explained it to them. Siren corpses wouldn’t rot as easily in the water and if they caught a live one, they needed it to stay like that until they’d sold it.

Still, that didn’t stop them from pausing on those stairs, watching horrified as water from inside the ship streams into the hold, colorful bodies swishing in the water and light shining through the holes in the hull.

“Come help!” Talita yelled, ey was bailing water back into the tank, something that would be futile if Iris and George weren’t grabbing stuff to patch the holes.

Miekka snapped out of it and ran to grab a bucket to help Talita out.

While they bailed water, they looked out one of the holes in the hull, trying to see if they were closing in on the Crown of Five. They saw the ship, sadly they saw the ship firing right at them. Wide eyed, theyyelled: “Incoming!”

Queen Hermanrocked heavily, throwing them off their feet against the tank. Water streamed over their face and they spluttered as they gathered their bearings, heaving themself up with the edge of the tank.

Iris and George seemed fairly well off, being to the sidelines when the convoy hit and Talita was already getting up as well. Ey saw them blink and offered: “You’ll be okay, just bail the water and we’ll fix this.”

Miekka didn’t know how they could ever fix the amount of damage done to the hull and the tank, but they dutifully started bailing water back into the tank, feeling a bit like they were carrying waterto the sea.

Iris and George were hammering away next to them. The tank would need better repairs later, but the planks they were installing slowed the gushing water considerably.

Slowly but surely the water that had sloshed around their ankles got shallower and shallower until it got it was manageable.

They were now close enough to the Crown of Fivethat any cannonballs would hit above them and not damage to hull close to the sea level. So, they could focus on bailing the last bit of water out to the sea, before securing the cargo and patching up the worst of the damage.

Above them yells were heard of the first people boarding and Miekka faintly heard Sasha yelling out more names, while Captain Redfrights voice bellowed loudly over the commotion to steer the raid.

Since they and Talita still had their buckets, they bailed the water while George and Iris hammered down the planks.

“Do you always have those lying around?” Miekka asked, nodding towards the planks and hammers.

“It’s a safety measure, can’t really get somewhere on a broken ship,” George shrugged.

“Hmm, how curious,” Miekka replied, they’d never seen anything like that on a Company ship. Of course, The Company didn’t much care fore the safety of it’s crew, just the cargo and were not prone to getting attacked regularly, so they wouldn’t offer precious cargo space to something so idioticas spare planks to fix up the ship.

Iris looked up from where she had been hammering and spotted something. They wrinkled their nose and said: “One of them escaped.”

Miekka looked to where she was in confusion, until they saw the siren corpse laying in the cargo hull next to the tank.

“Come on, Miekka,” Talita grinned, “looks like we’re testing the strength in that arm of yours.”

If they were honest, they would rather not carry the dead siren, but even with all em bulging muscles, Talita wouldn’t be able to carry one by emself. Since sirens were not only colorful, but approximately seven feet long.

So, Miekka made their way over to the corpse and heaved the tail.

This particular siren was purple. It had purple stripes running up its side and a purple fin at the end of its tail. Along its cheekbone was a purple ridge and it had wavy fin like hair on top of its head and sharp fangs peeking out from its lips.

They also spotted some blood still under its big claws and the wound on its throat, which had been killing.

It was heavy, more heavy than Miekka had expected. Talita noticed their reaction and grinned: “It’s the muscle. Sirens are faster than you’d think.”

Miekka remembered how they had descended upon them and grimaced, before answering: “I think I can paint a picture.”

Talita cocked a brow, but didn’t say more as they tossed the siren corpse back into the tank, before gesturing up the stairs. Ey said: “We should go see if they need us up there. I would rather not face Sasha’s wrath, she’s mean when she wants to be.”

That made Miekka chuckle and they gladly focused on something other than the siren corpse, so they made their way back onto the ruckus that was the deck.

Most of the noise was coming from the Crown of Five, since they hadn’t made it aboard Queen Hermanyet. Small groups were protecting the ropes holding the ship together, while the others lined up at the side of the ship to stop anyone from entering that shouldn’t.

It was at this point that Miekka first got a good look at the Crown of Five. It was a sixth rate Navy ship if they remembered correctly from the convoys they’d seen around Company ships. That might be lowest rate ship, but those still had a crew of about a 150 people, which meant Queen Hermanwas outnumbered 1 to 5.

Their eyes grew wide and they froze in place for a second. Why the ever loving fuck, would Captain Redfright decide to pick a fight with a ship five times their size? He was famous for sound judgment, so why was he leading his crew to their deaths?

They looked around helplessly, trying to see if anyone else was seeing their impending doom.

The Doc noticed them and walked up to them. She gently elbowed them in the side to get their attention, they looked up and she asked: “You doing okay?”

“I am afraid we’re near the point of all perishing,” they answered honestly.

“The raid?” the Doc chuckled with disbelief, “We haven’t had a raid this good in ages. Admiral Teal really doesn’t live up to his reputation.”

“You must be joking. My good doctor, we’re hilariouslyoutnumbered,” Miekka said.

“For sure,” the Doc agreed casually, “But that’s not the point, the point is keeping them off our ship and sinking theirs. If we want their stuff, we might go for a less protected ship, but we just don’t want them to follow us.”

“Won’t they overrun us at any moment?”

“I mean, they could, but not with those insane bastard we send aboard,” the Doc told them, “Voyin by xemself is enough to make most piss their pants, but they send Flicker and Sam with the second boarding and those two are troublemakers, not to mention Tryke with their axe. We got some heavy hitters, don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” Miekka wanted to believe the Doc, of course they did, it was just on the wrong side of insane.

“Very sure, they’ll come back.”

She was naturally correct. It took a while and Miekka was send into the line to keep anyone of their ship with their sword, but at some point other ship started to sink and they saw a man with an important-looking uniform flee in a life boat, while others jumped ship.

After that, their own people came back. Miekka didn’t count exactly, but it were about twenty armed people, who all differed from each other.

One impish looking kid skipped forwards and reported to Captain Redfright: “It was part of Admiral Teal’s fleet, but the captain here was a wuss and fled when we got near him. Dreadfully boring, he was.”

A tried looking boy next to them grumbled: “He only fled because you bit through the throat of that other guy. He could’ve had useful information, Flicker.”

“Oh, lighten up, Sam. We got them off our tail in the end,” the other kid waved their friend’s concerns away.

A big looking woman with an axe stepped up behind the two and said: “Sam’s right, Flicker. That escaped captain can easily go warn the rest of the fleet.”

“Then we’d bett’r get out of ‘ere,” Captain Redfright said, “To the sails. And Flicker, you’re on clean up,” the kid whined, but didn’t protest, “All the wounded check in with the Doc.”

There were a few scattered ‘ayes’ as people set to work, heaving the sails and tying them down and before soon the boat was gliding over the water to the hidden port of Staketown.

I know nothing of boats and all I do know, is in a different language, so I’m just winging it here, pls show me mercy on my boat stuff

Oh and the strategies are based of me and my imagination

Also there are a lot of new names being introduced here, so I will add a chapter to the first part with an oversight of the crew if you want to go check that out :D

[cee693]

I Loved and I Loved and I Lost You.

Cee693

Summary:

The Paragon of Love deals with life alone at the Vanishing Point.

Notes:

Brief, based on how *awful* Barry looks in the new promo pictures.

This wasn't the plan.

Barry leaned heavily against the stone wall where he spent the majority of his days and used a shaky hand to pull out his cell phone.

His fingers moved unhurriedly along his phone screen. They had been in this place for a long while and he still didn’t understand its rules. The remains of the oculus that Sara was trying to get to--- well he didn’t know exactly what--- remained dark in spite of their tinkering, but his cell phone still worked as if he were still on earth. In cruel ironic twist, he could still even make calls. Not that there was anyone left in the galaxy to call.

Still, he dialed one number without fail every night before he fell into restless sleep. Of course there was never any answer. Her line never even rang. It just went straight to voicemail which he appreciated. All he wanted was the sound of her melodic voice apologizing for missing him, asking him to leave a message or try again later.

He always did.

But, that’s not what he was after right now.

The apology was for nighttime. The daytime was meant for her laughter.

He tapped into his own voicemail and pulled up the message he'd been playing on loop every day since they'd been in this place.

It was from a little over two years ago. He'd saved it to his phone back then after it'd come through.

Iris had called from the loft after work wondering when he would be home.

She didn't know he was already upstairs getting changed after a shower. He'd heard her leaving him a message as he crept downstairs to her.

Iris's back was to him and he tiptoed up behind her. He grabbed her sides and growled playfully in her ear and she shouted in fright.

The message muffled for a few seconds as she turned in his arms.

When the line cleared, it was to the sound of her lightly chiding him for scaring her.

That wasn't very nice. And to think I was excited to see you because I'd brought you a treat."

Barry remembered her sliding her arms around his neck and pulling him close to her.

"I don't even want it."

"Is that right?"

"You're all the treat I need."

Iris had chuckled breathlessly. "Alright, smooth talker. Slow down."

"Barry!" She laughed.

Barry's eyes shut in pain.

In his head he can see the scene. The setting sun sprinkling dusk in their apartment.

The golds and earth tones of the loft reflected the warm hues and glowed against Iris's warm skin. Her teeth blinding him as she laughed.

He’d stopped peppering her face with kisses long enough to ask what she’d gotten him.

Iris demurely reached behind her and grabbed a familiar pink bag.

Barry had grinned and taken the bag from her, recognizing the logo of their favorite bakery.

She stopped him before he could open it though. “Okay, I may have exaggerated to make you feel bad for scaring me. Maybe a more accurate statement would’ve been that I brought you the gift of leftovers.”

Barry peeked inside and saw that there was in fact only a half-eaten cookie sitting on top of a bunch of parchment paper.

Iris bit her lip when Barry looked at her quickly.

Amusement colored her face. "Sorry."

Barry tossed the bag on the counter and he'd tickled her then. Long and hard. And her laughter had filled his ears then just as sweetly as it did now.

She eventually escaped his clutches and he'd chased after her, not using his powers.

Her phone had dropped somewhere and with both of them occupied, neither noticed the call still recording.

Eventually, his voicemail ended her message, but before then he had a few glorious minutes of the faint sound of her laughter ringing somewhere from the apartment.

The recording ended too soon, just like it always did and he was once again in the morbid landscape of the Vanishing Point.

This wasn't the plan.

He grabbed his hair and used all his energy to keep the scream bubbling in his throat down.

He felt broken. Not like himself. Not like any human with a heart still beating.

He felt dead inside. Like his life force had left him long ago.

Like the Barry from 2024.

He thought he'd changed that future, but he guessed not.

Because this was who he couldn’t outrun. The person he would always become without her.

It was inevitable.

Though, he'd tried to fight it. Tried to put plans in motion to prevent it.

After Yorkin. After Savitar and the Speed Force, he'd sat Iris down and had a talk he needed to have more than anything.

"I know I've asked you for so much," Barry had started. "But, I need you to promise me something. And I need it to be a promise you never break. Okay?"

She had nodded slowly, unsure of what could be so serious. So vital.

"In sixty or seventy years, when it's time for us to go, let me go first," he requested.

Iris was at first taken back and then horrified. "Barry! What-"

Barry shook his head just needing her to agree. Not to question- or worse reassure- him.

He knew what he was asking.

"I can't do it," he told her seriously, trying to calm the tidal wave that had encompassed him ever since that first time he saw her die on Infantino Street.

"I can't. Not even for a second. I've been to hell and it's you dying and leaving me here. I can't do it again. So when the time comes in the far-off future, whenever you're ready, just hold on long enough for me to go first."

Tears had pooled her eyes and she swallowed hard at the thought, but she searched his face for a long pause and she saw that he meant what he said.

So, she nodded once and touched his hand. "I promise."

And yet here he was. In hell. Alone.

This wasn't the plan.

Iris was dead. Everyone- they were all dead.

He touched his wedding band.

He was a widower. He was all alone.

The other six were still fighting. Still trying to save the world. Hell, even Lex Luther had stepped up to the plate.

But, he couldn't. He wasn't who they thought he was.

He stood among them a fraud.

They were Paragons independent of the world around them.

Truth, honor, hope, humanity.

They chose to embody these things in spite of the world around them.

Their strengths came from within themselves.

His came from another.

Truth.

Destiny.

Honor.

Humanity.

Hope.

Courage.

Those things were inside of heroes. They were virtues that heroes found inside themselves when all else was lost.

Those things were innate.

But, love... Love was taught and love was found.

Love had a source. A center. It had a face. It had a name.

His Love had a name.

And she'd taught him everything he'd ever need to know about love. Boundless love. Unconditional love.

The source of his powers both as the Flash and as a Paragon was her. And now she was no more.

And his fight- his purpose- were no more too.

So he sat. And he grieved. And he raged. But, he couldn't help the others.

He couldn't pick up all the broken pieces of himself in time to be of use to anyone.

And, in spite of mostly bit tongues, he knew all the others hated him for it.

Well, not all.

Ryan Choi got it. Ryan left him alone. Ryan was all but leading the charge, never losing hope, but he understood enough of what Barry was feeling to show him sympathy.

While everyone else yelled in frustration or badgered him to do his part and try, Ryan brought him water and sat with him in silence at his favorite spot on the floor.

Ryan understood.

J'onn too.

Two men who had loved and lost and had no other choice but to keep breathing.

They got it.

Everyone here had lost family, friends, home.

But, losing your soulmate. Losing your guiding light - it changed your DNA.

He had lost everything.

This wasn't the plan.

He didn't belong here.

Truth.

Destiny.

Honor.

Humanity.

Hope.

Courage.

All meaningless words without love.

Above all else, Love was and always would be the driving force in his life.

When the truth was hard or hidden, Love made him see it clear.

When destiny showed him death and destruction, Love told him that there was another way.

When his morals wavered- when he was tempted to throw them away to save the day, Love reminded him exactly who he was. Love was his honor code.

Love was the center of his humanity. The thing that kept him grounded in a storm of the impossible. His lightning rod. Even before the speed force. Since they were kids. Love was what kept him alive in a sea of death.

Love was hope. Loving Love meant years of hoping they would one day be together. Years of believing in a happy ending.

Now she was no more.

This wasn't the plan.

What courage could be found here when he was only fearless with her? The thought of her is what made him keep going even when he was terrified.

It's what filled the cracks of broken bones long enough for him to hold his tired body up and persevere.

If anyone wanted to know about his courage, it was her. She was his courage.

He was a fraud.

She powered the hero. She sustained the man.

He was the face of the operation, but she was its soul.

And now she was no more.

His Iris.

He began to weep again.

It wasn't long before he heard commotion a ways away.

"---just give him some space."

"He's had all the space in what's left of the world! What about the rest of us? We've all lost everything. Not just him."

Batwoman, he recognized. She sounded angry. And Ryan who was holding her back sounded exhausted.

"Get the hell up, Flash!" Kate shouted angrily over Ryan's shoulder. "There's work to do."

It had taken a lot for the normally reserved and understanding woman to lose her cool. Days trapped in this place had done her in.

Or was it months?

Barry didn't know. He didn't count. He didn't care.

And Kate had put up with that apathy until she couldn't anymore.

"Pariah put us here for a reason! We're the only ones with a chance of saving the multiverse, but only if we work together. All of us!"

'Pariah,' Barry thought with a snarl.

If he ever saw that man again, he'd kill him with his bare hands.

Pariah could've saved them all.

Why hadn't he saved them all?

Why hadn't he waited long enough for Barry to grab Iris's hand? He could've brought her with him.

Pariah had saved the Paragons. The universe’s last hopes. But, those were just titles with no meaning.

If Pariah had really understood what it took, if he really understood just exactly what constituted as a hero, his golden streams would’ve flowed right past Barry and encompassed his wife.

Pariah had saved the wrong Allen.

And now here they were at the center of nowhere. Where nothing grows and nothing speaks, with no more of a plan than the day they'd arrived.

“Get! Up!” Kate gritted out. "Get up and try! Fight!”

The rest came between them, trying to calm Kate and throwing Barry looks that ranged from pity to disgust.

He was unmoved.

Barry watched silently as Ryan and Kara gently led Kate off somewhere. He could hear Kara's soft words of comfort.

And then he heard Kate whisper brokenly. “We all lost. All of us…, Sophie… I couldn't save her. I couldn’t…”

He felt the tiniest bit of intrigue before he felt nothing at all.

He hadn’t counted correctly, Barry realized. There weren’t only two others.

Kate understood too.

And he understood why she was so mad.

He’d had that fire right at the beginning. When they’d first arrived, before the finality of it all had settled in, he’d raged against the rest; yelled at them to find a way back to the Waverider.

But, no one had listened and they made him see why going back was impossible.

And then he grew silent and he'd found his favorite spot on the floor.

Once Kate’s outburst was quelled the others meandered off, back to whatever tasks they’d been busying themselves with.

And Barry was once again left to the quiet of his thoughts.

He was grateful.

His trembling fingers picked up the phone he'd put down and they swiped at the screen.

He opened up the folder of the saved voice recording and he pressed play once again.

[fic-al]

People Call Me Trixie

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

FOR ALL THE SAINTS

December 1960

Rosemary McConlough didn't give birth to her twins that Sunday, but by the time the Quality Street tin was empty, she was the proud mother of one of each. Not only that, but when Christmas morning would finally arrive, her Aunty Iris would wake up to more than a stocking at the end of her bed. Iris had been given, when it came to unexpected Christmas presents, the most precious of all.

Trixie was back at All Saints' Church. This time there wasn't a service in progress that she dreaded interrupting. All Saints' was preparing for its screen debut. Trixie would rather be in charge of the ulcer clinic, than be at Poplar parish church that afternoon. She had never been able to say no to Sister Bernadette, even in a skirt suit and heels. She also had only ever said no to Tom, on one occasion.

As the church got ready for its premier, Trixie had been put in charge of flower arranging, thanks to Constance Spry and a generous godmother. Iris Willens in her role as the church caretaker had done most of the work prior to going into labour. All Trixie needed to complete were a few titivations.

She was attending to the foliage around the church pillars, when she became aware of an all too familiar scent. All too familiar because she had purchased it from Fenwicks herself, not so long ago.

Tom had meant to be kind and was unaware of how close he had stood behind her. The sensation of his breath on her neck had unnerved her, as he tried to make awkward small talk.

Trixie found a quiet spot at the back of the church, sat behind a large square pillar. She could really do with a cigarette right now. To tell the truth, which she knew she owed it to herself to do, she could really do with a drink right now.

Against the commotion of the BBC dress rehearsal, Trixie didn't hear anyone else come in. He was sat beside her before she realized.

"Is this where the naughty children sit?"

"This pew is reserved for sinners only, Dr Turner."

"Well, this hassock looks to have my name on it,” he answered shifting the kneeling cushion out of the way.

Trixie giggled a little too loudly for someone wanting to go unnoticed and Patrick playfully shushed her.

"How is it all going?" He asked, surveying the organised chaos in front of him.

"Well, it's a good job you are here, Doctor. Cecil B De Milne is about to have a stroke, if he doesn't calm down." They both looked over to where the BBC's red faced Barrington Swann was managing to ruffle everyone else's feathers.

"Who is really in charge?" Patrick asked the question, he already knew the answer too.

Trixie raised her eyebrows, rolled her eyes, and pursed her lips. Patrick knew she was too polite to say, so he answered his own question.

"Don't tell me...Field Marshall Turner, she was born for days like these."

Trixie was holding on to the pew, shaking with laughter now.

"Ably assisted by Gunner Gilbert, second in command," she just managed to spray out, before she could no longer speak for laughing.

"What of the company padre?"

"Oh, he definitely would like to go AWOL" Trixie replied, sobering up a little, her attention turning to Tom.

Tom stood exactly where she had seen him on her last visit; in the pulpit. He was helping lighting and camera setup for his shots. Ready for when he would record his very succinct and cheerful Christmas message; for the waiting British public, to ponder on Christmas Day.

He again looked alone and isolated as he had when Trixie had seen him last. His ministry wasn't sermonising and pontificating. It was helping, listening, and healing; he belonged with his congregation, not above it and it didn't matter if it was in the East End or on Tyneside. Trixie knew that now.

They had both stopped laughing, Patrick played with his hat. Trixie held her hands together in her lap, to try and quell the irritating sensation they had recently acquired to be busy. She felt for the ring on her left hand, but it was no longer there.

"Is all well with you, Trixie? I am still your GP. You would tell me if you needed... anything, a referral even...to someone...somewhere else?"

Trixie stiffened. How could he know? Did everyone know? Had Sister Julienne spoke to him about her? Or maybe to Shelagh, they were still close. Now even after everything. Had he maybe just been watching her?

"I am fine, Doctor." She paused and took a deep breath. "No, I am not fine really, but I think I may have found a way."

She took another deliberate intake of air. Only Sisters Mary Cynthia and Julienne knew of her recently arranged Tuesday night obligation.

"I have ...joined a group, made some new friends, in a similar situation...like-minded people."

"That's good, that's very good.” He looked relieved.

"I am thinking of taking up keep-fit in the new year," she smiled. "It's supposed to be very good for the body and the mind and who knows maybe even the soul. I probably won't be very good at it."

"I am sure whatever you choose to do, you will be very good at it, Trixie."

"That's not true! I am not a very good friend or even a very good person."

Patrick recoiled at this, but didn't interject.

"I let you down and Timothy and most of all Marianne,” Her early tears of laughter had turned to tears that stung.

Patrick offered her his handkerchief, she pushed it away.

"I haven't returned the last one you gave me," she sobbed.

"Marianne told me, you had thrown it away."

"No! I washed it!" She responded, wounded by this innocent accusation. "I keep it as a spare at the bottom of my midwifery bag, for my patients."

Patrick smiled, it was like her.

"It's also ideal for removing trifle from your shoe."

Patrick looked confused and raised an eyebrow. He knew the nurses had to clean a lot of things from their shoes, as did he. However, he couldn't help feeling he had missed something.

They again sat looking directly ahead, absentmindedly watching Tom's increasing discomfort. Patrick's son sat at the piano, face interchanging between boredom and amusement, in the way only a young teens can. Marianne's rather peculiar boy was turning into a rather remarkable young man.

It was Patrick who spoke first, "This is a strange place for me. It has witnessed two of the happiest days of my life and also the saddest. Timothy and Angela were also christened here. When I sit here, I feel both passion and sorrow."

Trixie nodded, she had a similar relationship with the imposing building, she suddenly remembered singing with Patrick at Alec's funeral. Jenny had started again, found a way to deal with loss and found hope and new love. Maybe it wasn't too late for Trixie, she looked over at Violet Buckle organising the layette raffle draw. Fred's wife glowed with happiness, maybe it was never too late. Iris Willans was testament to that.

Patrick suddenly continued, "It is like when I see Sister Evangelina. I remember her bringing my son into the world, but also guiding his mother out of it."

He paused, taking his time. Trixie heard his breathing pattern deepen. He then added,

"Even Shelagh, most of the time I look at her and see only love and a kind of peace, but occasionally when I hear Tim call her mum...for just a brief moment, there is only confusion and pain, just a brief moment."

Trixie heard Patrick take hold of a breath and let it escape slowly from between his lips.

"When I look at Tim, I only see Marianne. It seems more and more each day, but it's now less with regret and more with pride."

They were both still staring out at the mayhem ensuing in front of them, but neither of them were focused on the direction they were facing. Patrick wasn't finished,

"Do you know how I feel when I look at you Trixie?... I feel glad, I feel happy. There are no conflicting emotions when I look at you Trixie. I just remember the joy you brought to Marianne's life, the fun, the laughter, the music. I am sure that's what Tim will remember too."

He turned to face her; she kept her gaze ahead of her.

"So don't ever think you didn't do enough, you are enough!"

Trixie couldn't speak for quite some time. Eventually she found the courage to turn to him. She brought her hand towards his coat and said,

"l remember Marianne buying you this scarf, she was worried the nights were beginning to draw in. That was a good day, a sunny day."

Tom Hereward looked back from his crow's nest perspective, away from the increasingly flustered Smee and the rest of his unusual cast.

His attention returned to the two people he had been watching avidly at the back of the church. He noticed they were no longer there.

He had been concerned for the young women who had been visibly upset, but he knew she was in good hands.

You see there is an alleyway that runs between the church and the parish hall, it's the perfect place to share a confidence, to confess, to reminisce and to smoke a sneaky cigarette, whatever your brand.

[thewhumpstuff]

You and I, Me and You [29]

[CW: References: Gore from a previous part, human trade, human experimentation, human trafficking. Broken fingers, baton injuries. Features an amputee OC who was held captive (being rescued).]

[Teaser and Master List] [Archives of our Own] (Lost and Found: Chapter 4)

[<– Previous] ~ [Next –>]

Would you rescue me?

The small flecks of blood did not stain the carpet, for the tufty textile was crimson itself. Good thing Ezekiel had a fascination with that color.  A freshly, but carefully plated and mounted ruby iris was scanned by a device wedged in one of the books from the bookshelf.  Then the pale, detached thumb. Something that sounded hydraulic tugged against the bookshelf. Having successfully aided in the venture, Vivianne retreated to the bathroom, her scalpel needed some tlc. Nova dropped the book with the Biometric ScanLock and fell to her knees. Relief and anxiety found her in equal measure. It was Tariq who stood at attention, keenly following the motion of the thick fake wall as it slid into a slot and revealed a glass-panelled room—If one could call it that.

The hidden room was basically a water closet with a metal gurney, that lacked a mattress and presumably served as a bed, nonetheless. A small screen was hoisted onto the wall on the other side. Tariq did not notice any of that. Just the, tall, figure garbed in a pale, thin robe. Her right arm was missing, just below the elbow. And her left leg above the knee. They looked like old injuries, with the leg being more recent. From a cursory glance, it looked like she had experience with a host of different kind of prosthetics, though she wore none now. Tariq knew of agents who had lost limbs on the frontlines, that was not what upset him too much. She could have had the frame of a warrior instead, the voluptuous woman lay there, weak and debilitated. It was the evidence of chronic suffering… that daunted Tariq.

She had lost more than just her parts. Despite the gaunt of her cheeks, the malnourished sleekness of her form, she still had an almost aberrant exuberance to her umber skin. An internal incandescence that slipped out of her being. And there was mistrust and fear. In the two emerald eyes that looked up at him, with a depth to them that he could sink in. She looked as lost as Tariq felt. Zizi searched his face for features and expressions she recognized. She did not. No one had visited her for almost three nights, and she was grateful. Except for the hunger clawing at her insides. She had been surviving on the water from the tap by the gurney. This man is new. He fell to his knees, hoping that it will make him come off as less domineering and shuffled towards her. This man is doing new things too. Perhaps he moved too fast and spooked her. Perhaps he should have really weighed everything she had gone through… She slunk away from him on instinct. Inching away to the spot somewhere beneath the screen. And started muttering fervently. Tariq could not make out the words, but he could make out a certain rhythm. It tugged at him in ways he did not think possible. She had her knees pressed to her chest; face buried within. All he could see was the mass curls and the constellation of freckles on the skin that peeked from under the strands. She went on, the silence apart from her disjointed lyrical sounds was so stark, Tariq had no choice but to latch onto each one as he got closer. “Empty promises, empty threats, empty lies and empty beds.” They sounded accusatory and familiar. But also seemed to be paper weights for the woman’s consciousness. And each syllable cut.  What the fuck did Eze do? Tariq had a grim idea based on what Ezekiel had suggested and the poignant guilt that lurked in Nova’s features… and her reticence. He looked around the room again, this time letting the dullness of it settle into his being. It triggered a whole wave of memories. It looked like the hate-child of a drab hospital room and a prison cell. The whole situation triggered memories of the series of unfortunate events, orchestrated by someone he called his friend. He looked over his shoulders at Nova’s crumpled kneeling, then back at the woman in front of him and flashes of Akira, falling off the pole… kneeling on stage… tainted his memories. Knife… Gun… Scalpel… Batons… Holding Cell… Poles… Whips… Syringes and Needles… Cards… And now this. He suppressed a shudder. Get. A. Grip. This is not about me. I must get her out of this room. He had stopped thinking about how-could-hes, pertaining to Ezekiel. Now, it was more about damage management.  He backed up, creating some distance between them again. She watched him flit closer and away. Reacting to her like like-sided magnets and sized him up. He looked like someone who could hold his own in a skirmish, which was no surprise given he was in Q.B. attire. If he has access to this room, he must be one of Ezekiel’s lackeys, right? He caught her staring at the weapons and implements, his toolkit to subdue a criminal. He really did not want to come off as a threat, he raised his hands slowly, trying to signify safety and peace before reaching for the cuffs. She tensed a little and offered side-eye. He began plucking off the weapons hooked onto his belt – Prod-baton, holster and then cuffs and left them on the floor in a pile. This made her stop rapping. Lyrics she had penned a long time ago, words that had cost her then and continued to cost her now. She tried to have no regrets; recent events made that a little harder. But maybe she had a chance… She watched him slowly disarm, through the cage of her light-brown strands. Amateur. She thought, watching him with a certain earnest now. Her eyes flicked from him, to the open door behind him. She could neither hear, nor see anyone else in that godforsaken study. And then she looked at what she saw as tools to escape… Things he so boldly and nobly left on the floor. But they are too far… I’m too slow right now. Slowly he sidled up to her again and reached out.  “Hey… hey… It is ok. I’m not going to hurt you.” “You aren’t… someone might…” She sounded a little resigned.   His hand continued to hover, getting closer slowly, like trying to reach for a cornered woman. She was tired and exhausted. This man was being nice, but if he was still here to ready her for a brawl or to prepare her for Ezekiel somehow, she did want to try appeal to his mercy. “… I can’t take any more… I’d rather just die” No. Not again. Tariq flew into autopilot. There was no electricity coursing through him this time. Nothing was stopping him from reaching for the woman who seemed ready to die. I could do nothing for Kira… But I can do something now. Swiftly but gently, a hand curled around her shoulders, while the other looped under her knee, so he could lift her off the floor and carry her out. She let him carry her slightly closer to the pool of things he had left on the floor, before docking her left hand against his chin and shoving at him with all her might. He tried holding his arms out and pull his face away from her hand, to make some space between them. His arms remained hooked around her, but loosely. Her hand clawed at his neck and chin, with more insistence. A soft grunt escaped his lips, more because he was torn by choice, than the discomfort. He could either tighten his grip, or slacken it… He wanted to do neither. And was forced to choose the latter, especially as she swivelled her other leg, the one that was not whole, to gain enough momentum and roll out of his grip. Her left hand broke the fall and she landed with a certain admirable finesse. He noticed her gaze flicker towards the assortment of his belongings this time and he lunged for the holster in the distance, slightly sprawled and on all fours, he managed to get his hand on it first. He simply held down the weapon, it remained firmly planted to the floor under his palm. Inaccessible unless she managed to pry his hands off it. And she would not.  His eyes widened briefly as she went for the baton, he tried reaching for it with the other hand, but was forced to choose again, he could not risk the grip on the gun. She got to the baton and remained kneeling. And as expected, he was the target. He held his breath and clenched his jaw. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Nova peer into the room, he could see just her forehead and her eyes. Nova bit her lip, her face flattened against the bullet-proof glass.  No, Zizi… please… She debated intervening and was reluctant because it could make matters worse. Zizi had no love for her. How could she when Nova spent most of their hours together injecting a serum into her injuries to painfully make her whole again. She was not allowed to any offer Zizi any explanations. Ezekiel took pleasure in reinforcing the belief that Nova chose to indulge this process, to further her own ambitions and even derived joy from the suffering of her victims. The medic did try her best to behave otherwise, but was forced to adopt a detached demeanour, for Zizi’s well-being and her own. Tariq stared at his fingers and continued to, as the baton made contact. Ffff… It hurt. He killed the word that formed in his mind and the sound that formed in his throat. Again. She seemed to have tremendous power in her swings and perfect balance in the way she knelt on her knee and residual leg. And again. So, this is how it must have felt… He did not want to think of what he did to Jared as his own fingers started purpling. He had already paid his dues for that, technically… But the rise and fall of the baton, brought with it the memories it did. He clenched his eyes shut briefly, it felt harder to see the baton streak through the air. The tendons of his fingers rose like claws on the back of his hand. His grip tightened, but the pain lent a small tremor to the muscles in his arms, as he fought to keep his hand where it was and his body begged him to pull away. Something did crack.

She has a lot of fight in her.   His fingers felt hot and he could see them swell, and the purplish colour deepened. At least it is my favourite colour. And again. He groaned. And still did not let go. He also did not ask her to stop. Maybe he should have… She targeted the outside of his locked elbow. He noticed it just in time to bend it and lowered himself, with his arms against the floor, his body hanging over the holster his broken fingers held. Zizi had a sickening lurch in the pit of her stomach. As the baton connected with the elbow. He saved himself from a nasty fracture, but he still did not retaliate after the thwunk. That felt unusual.   Fight back moron. It was not just about the gun anymore. Zizi knew that the baton’s taser function was locked behind finger-print access of authorized personnel only.

Fucking inconvenient, I can’t pry the gun and I doubt I’ll have a chance to put his finger on the sensor properly… A baton was not heavy-handed enough as a weapon for her to hobble to her escape with.  

I would probably not get far either way. All the effort made Zizi a little dizzy. But she had to try targeting that last joint. Nova noticed the strength Zizi put into the next swing and her hand flew to her face. She winced for Tariq and drew a breath to speak. This must stop. A muffled sound followed the second thwunk against his shoulder. Tariq did not let go. And then nothing. It was over. That was the final strike. Tariq’s free hand wrapped around his shoulder and he tucked his legs under him to sit on his heels. Bruised, but not battered. Nova was glad she did not make matters worse and marvelled at the way Tariq managed the situation that was about to get out of hand. She quickly ducked out of view again and sighed. “Is it because I’m... I’m a woman or a cripple?” Zizi rasped, she leaned against the transparent wall.   “I just meant what I said… I don’t want to hurt you...” Tariq managed with effort that mirrored hers. Vivianne re-emerged in the study, tucking her scalpel into its spot. She set her steady, unfaltering gaze onto the scene, slightly impassively. Her eyebrows rose. Vivi’s glassy blue eyes lingered on Tariq’s fingers for a moment. Blooming bruises. Hmm. When her eyes locked with man’s, he deadpanned and rolled his eyes, in response to her gentle smirk. But his expressions were not filled with the malice they had been earlier that night. Pain was their language.  Or rather, in some ways, pain had always been Vivianne’s language… and he… and Akira had learned not to mind that so much. They had even learned to enjoy her fascination and share some of it… Till she crossed the line. But Vivi and Anna came through today though... Betrayal does not have to be absolute… Maybe it was a mistake? I made one too… “She needs food… I’ll get some.” Vivi’s voice was such a contrast in comparison to the broken voices of the others. On her way out, she did wonder if these people—her friends-- could catch a break… Zizi watched the woman leave with dazed caution. Another unfamiliar face and perhaps there were more.   

“Is that okay, will you eat? Can I… help you out of this room?” He looked at her and saw the wounded pride. “Fattening me up like livestock for slaughter? Whatever… I can walk out myself…” Ezekiel’s interest in her had been waning over the last fortnight or so. Maybe this guy is just new at this job. To her, Tariq seemed kind and concerned, but that did not mean much. She was not expecting great things. They were probably in charge of readying her for the next show and given her current state, she did not think she would make it out alive. There was a heart wrenching resignation in that ‘whatever’  But Tariq tried, relentlessly. She did not have to do it all on her own. He crouched and then got up; he watched her struggle to pull herself up using the wall. Tariq let go of his shoulder and winced. Swiftly, he clipped the holster back to his belt and snapped the belt back around his coat. He could only offer the woman his aid again. “Will… you let me-” She sighed and took his hand. He handled her with care and helped her up. There was no pity in his gestures, but admiration for her will. She teetered, little from the weakness and a little from exerting her leg too much. She really does need food…  

Tariq thought, allowing her to find her bearings, while being there, to catch her if she could not. She did fall into him, which felt like something she was far more unprepared for than he was. She recoiled and swatted at him and the help he offered. “I’m… I’m fine.” Her snapping tone was blunted by the struggle. “Okay…”   He let go of her and raised his hands in surrender and watched. She hopped a little, her left hand sliding against the wall, then paused and took a deep breath. She pursed her lips and looked at him.  “We try again?” He said softly and held out his hand another time. He knew of men and women who hated the feeling of helplessness, who did not like relying on others in adversity, but sometimes had to. He knew he would probably be one of those kinds…   She nodded and sighed, hating the vulnerability her circumstance forced on her. Nova did not know where to go. So, she hung her head and continued sitting there. Waiting to catch a glimpse of Zizi’s toes as Tariq managed to coax her out. “We’re just getting out, so we can close this… this-” He did not want to diminish what had been her home. “-place, for good.” As he had hoped and expected, once they were out, he felt the relief and life crawl back into her. At least that is what he though, and all Tariq could do, was hope it was here to stay. Nova was so quiet, Zizi missed her presence. She was drawn to the fireplace on the other side of the study, literally like a moth to a flame. She directed Tariq towards it.

[Category - 3]   [Tags: @quirkykayleetam, @lettuceknighted, @straight-to-the-pain]

[anvils-and-dynamite]

Hey, Felix! - A Review of The Twisted Tales of Felix the Cat - Guardian Idiot

Viewing the series as a whole, we could say that Twisted Tales is a mixed bag: not only in the sense of “the ratio of good to bad episodes is like a 50/50″, but, since it suffered from too many cooks in the kitchen during its production, we can see episodes taking entirely different directions.

The current plan is to review the three first episodes of the series: these were the very first ones I’ve watched and the ones that made me fall in love with the series, and we’re going to attempt to pinpoint exactly why. At first, I wanted to approach all three at once, but I think it will be better if I tackle them one by one. Still, I’ll keep this video that has all three because it’s got the best quality I could find.

GUARDIAN IDIOT

- 1:09-2:17 - We start not with Felix himself, but with the villain of this episode! And a pretty memorable one to boot! You just can’t go wrong with the morbidity of the meat industry, especially in a setting where animals are sapient.

Highlights of the Butcher’s presentation are:

(1:09-1:17) introduces us to the main subject and the place the villain operates in: a fast food restaurant where people are chowing down burgers in a rather gross and even brutal manner (pay close attention to the background lady)

One of my personal highlights of the Butcher’s presentation is the dialogue with the lady who asked for salad (1:17-1:31). I’m not an expert on comedic timing, but I like how he politely follows her request with “And what kind would you like?”, to prompt her to say “What kind do you have?”, only to deliver that brief, explosive “NONE!”.

Look at his face. He was trying to lead the conversation to that point all along. Whoever was acting his voice was having a blast.

(1:31-2:02) L I S T E N T O M E N O W

Ok we get to the Butcher’s proper musical number, which give us a taste (HAH) of what to expect from Twisted Tales:

Things appearing where they don’t belong (like the beefed-up steer (HAAH) inside the banana)

Objects coming to life (I know, it’s weird to classify meat as an “object”)

And a tinge of the disturbing (animals being turned into pies/sausages yet still singing, a roast pork being fed to a family of pigs)

- 2:02-2:17 Somehow, the Butcher has run out of supplies. I like how the guy spends 5 good seconds pondering until he reaches the conclusion he has to get more meat. The cricket providing the sounds to signal an “empty” room is a nice touch, and so is the Butcher noticing it, picking it up and just chucking it aside like “naah that won’t do”

- 2:18- 2:28 And here he is, the star of the show! I love Felix as a street artist here, and how everyone runs away when he removes the top of his head as a hat to ask for tips. Yes, it could be interpreted as nobody wanting to pony up some pennies for the poor cat, but I really prefer the “body horror” route better (we’ll see a more extreme case of this in a later episode). This, coupled with Felix’s main issue (”Man, am I hungry”), portrays him as someone who tends to get the shorter stick in life, which makes him especially sympathetic to the audience and especially vulnerable to the villain.

- 2:28-3:04 These next scenes are brief, and the purpose of that is to take us to the kicker of the episode: Felix meets Butcher, Butcher lures Felix inside his restaurant/slaughterhouse with the promise of free food.

Seems that the Butcher is making things up as he continues with his plan, at least as I see it when he says “I’ve... got something for you!”. Observe how he looks up, thinking, and then, when he comes up with the rest of the sentence, his face stretches up in a smile and rolls his eyes, denoting his weirdo mannerism. It’s the small details like these what makes this character so fun to watch. And Felix’s enthusiastic “Oh boy!” while the Butcher prepares a cleaver behind his back!

We get some more old school cartoon weirdness with the Butcher sniffing Felix with his elongated eyes, what I assume is a string of meat-related puns (I’m sorry, my hearing is not that good) and some more subtle silliness, such as the Butcher giving Felix the menu in the shape of a playing card.

I really like the Butcher’s joyous glee he takes in murdering innocent animals. You know, the kind of stuff you could really enjoy in fiction. Or maybe it’s just me and my love for cackling, over-the-top maniacs.

-3:04-3:29 So this is the situation: our MC is about to be slaughtered alive by a sentient meat grinder (which by the way it’s a pretty good reflection of our villain’s cruelty). It’s interesting to put Felix in such a helpless situation right at the start of the series, but it’s pretty much done for the purpose to give way to the real meat (HAAAH) of this episode. Felix’s scream for help takes over the whole screen and reaches heaven... 

- 3:29-3:46 ...and a guardian angel apprentice is tasked to help him. I’d like to point out the queue of taller, more muscular, arguably more handsome angels: they are there to contrast with and underline the goofiness of the one Felix gets assigned to (complete with buttwings and straight up falling from heaven hollering). It’s nice to also get a motivation for him (”If I do good, I can get rid of these... training wings”)

We’re mostly focusing on scenes and how they work in these reviews, but I’d like to point out the background for heaven. I like sunset-like gradients that much.

- 3:47-4:16 The eponymous Guardian Idiot presents himself to Felix (not before getting a reminder of the trouble the cat is facing) and tells him he can take him anywhere he wants. This is where you realize the whole Butcher plot’s purpose is to take Felix to wacky places and have mini-adventures in them. Here is also where we can see better that Felix’s guardian angel might be... somewhat incompetent, with his ”Uh-oh, I’m thinking, but I’m not hearing anything!!” bit and him checking on a tourist guide, taking his sweet time while Felix inches closer to the meat grinder. But he finally does his magic and...

- 4:16-5:21 The reveal of Felix being underwater is done like the following: First, Felix takes some time to chill on a hammock and lazily gaze at a fish swimming above him... then he realizes something’s fishy (HAAAAH) and then it zooms out to reveal that he’s on a sunken ship! And he’s not alone: there’s a crew of skeleton pirates who also want to make mincemeat (HAAAAAH) out of him! Look at that wild take Felix does (4:31), that’s another tinge of the disturbing I like so much.

We also get the first instance of Felix using his tail as a tool or a weapon, in this case a sabre to fend himself off the pirates. We get some more lovely cartoon shenanigans as Felix finishes his confrontation with the skelepirates (like the bone unicycle and the gossipy ship figures), but it abruptly ends when Felix gets trapped inside a clam and asks for help again. This, in turn, makes his guardian angel appear again. Felix is not happy at all with his wish and asks him to put him “on dry land”

- 5:21-6:35 “...It sure is dry”. The water joke falls a bit flat to me, and I don’t quite get what’s going on with the snowing log cabin (is it a reference? or just for the sake of randomness?).

And because you can’t be a Toon and not be in the desert without seeing some mirages, here we have Felix suffering from double vision and dancing cacti. I really like the gag of his pupils multiplying because he’s seeing double, as well as the “deserty” version of the can-can.

(5:58-6:19) Is our boy Felix learning from a certain someone or what

Again, Felix gets in another life threatening situation and happens to stumble across his angel again, who is building a sandcastle in the desert. I really like it when Toons engage into casual activities in life-threatening environments. Felix requests to be put somewhere else (not before getting a shot of the vultures chasing him) and...

- 6:35-6:58 We get a short string of sequences of Felix being put in increasingly ludicrous scenarios (seriously, what’s going on with the cult and the clown chase). Fed up, Felix asks the angel to put him back where he was, even if he’s supposed to save him. Reluctantly, the eponymous Guardian Idiot does so, and comes to watch Felix’s fate

- 6:58-7:35 Back to the slaughter house, the guardian angel mourns Felix beforehand, feeling bad that his incompetence did not help him at all. We get a shot of Felix on the edge of death and then the Butcher enters the scene, eager to get some fresh meat for the restaurant. I really like how he notices the “fairy” weeping and straight up goes like “GRANT ME A WISH”. He’s so unfazed, like screw it, awe is for weenies. And yes, the angel is so heartbroken he’s willing to serve the bad guy, but then...

Well, it goes as well as you expect with a wish such as “make me that fattest, greasiest sausage in the world””. Was it incompetence or that the Angel finally realized this is his chance to save Felix? You decide.

- 7:35-7:55 So we get a happy ending with Felix congratulating his guardian angel (”What do you know? You’ve saved me, after all!”) and we even get to see him getting his new wings (airplane wings because of course we gotta crank up the silliness whenever possible). And just in case the villain being turned into a sausage wasn’t disturbing enough for you, as the iris closes out on Felix, he pulls out a burger that might or might not be made out of the Butcher...

And that’s it for now! I’m glad I started this review because it made me notice things I haven’t noticed about my favourite series before, what makes it what it is, and what makes me love it so much. I think the two next episodes follow the same formula, so we’ll check on them sometime. Stay tooned!

[dornishsphinx]

Steps on the Bifrost

Merry Nagamas @andthenalittledash--here’s your @nagamas gift! Can I just say—thank you so much for mentioning you like Laslow/Azura, because it is one of my favourite Fates ships and you gave me the excuse to finally sit down and write about them! (This also got a lot longer than I expected it to, haha.) 

[AO3 Link]

The Nohrian army advances along the path to a hollow victory, and even those who know there is a greater enemy left unchallenged cannot help but by swept along by the tides of war, and the circumstances chosen for them. 

Anankos had barely stopped toying with Takumi’s shell when she fled the throne room, great slashes of sapphire already beginning to rip their way up her arms and crawl their way across her face. She should have realised that her beloved would follow her, but some part of her, deep and cold and chosen second too many times before, had presumed he’d stay at his lord’s side. It would have been a cruel parting to be sure, but no matter the hours she’d agonised over the comfort or kiss she might have given him, she still had not the words to say goodbye. 

Even so, it was his arms she found herself in when she toppled over, exhausted; a mockery of a dip, like this was just another evening of dance practice. His clothes soaked through where her body touched his, and when she peered up at him through eyes half-shut in pain, she saw that his face was horror-struck.

“Hey. Smile for me, won’t you?” she asked, before he could demand an explanation. Her own smile was bright as she could make it. “That’s what you always ask of me, isn’t it?”

His face was still desperate as he balanced her with one arm and started rummaging through his pockets like his life depended on it. Medicines were useless in the case of curses, as she’d been told when she was a child and had asked why she couldn’t let the water dance in a constant rhythm, but Azura couldn’t find the energy within her to make him stop, nor the heart.

“Smile for me. Please,” she said, with gentle insistence.

Inigo smiled, though his eyes were glimmering and it was clearly forced. A lot of his smiles were, and she mourned that she wouldn’t see a real one before it was all over, but it was better than nothing.

“That’s right. Lovely.”

***

“Did you ever think about what you’d name your children?”

The copse of trees muffled the sounds of camp around them, creating the illusion they were, if not alone, cut off from everyone else. Laslow paused, still bent over with the laces of his dancing slipper only half-tied.

“I never really considered such a thing,” he said. He finished the knot, flexed his feet, and, satisfied, straightened back up. “Though I suppose…”

He considered, for a long moment.

“Soleil.”

“Soleil?” The name was unfamiliar to her. “It’s pretty, but why that name?”

Laslow stood. He moved his right foot behind him and let his whole body lean back onto it, stretching his arms out to the sides and up, in a wide, circular arc. His hands, palms upwards, halted level with his head.

“The soleil is a movement from a certain school of dance back home.” He remained in the position for a moment longer before letting his arms drop and stepping back into a normal stance. “It symbolises being bathed in sunlight, or just the sun in general. I’ve always liked it.”  

Back home, again, with no name. The urge to ask him where his home was grabbed at her yet again, stronger this time, but she stopped herself. He couldn’t tell her about this mysterious back home, just as she couldn’t tell him about Valla, be it of old or be it of the ruin beneath their feet.

“It’s always a pleasure to see the sun rise again, after all. How about you?”

Azura ignored all the old family names that occurred to her and chose another: “Shigure.” It had always struck her as a good name.

“Shigure?”

She smiled. “A light shower of rain.”

“My, it seems we truly are fated. What do you say to Rainbow for our third?”

Even as she joined him in laughter, she couldn’t help but recall that there was a Vallite name that would have been perfect for such a theme: Iris, after one of Valla’s first queens.

“What’s with the sudden curiosity?” he asked. “Interested in starting a family?”

She sent him a coy smile. Laslow’s cheeks burnt red and he averted his gaze, but then a wistful look came over him.

“You know,” he said, voice melancholy, “I lost my true family when I was a child. I was able to find something resembling it, but it’s not the same.” His face, if still a little embarrassed, was soft when he looked back over at her. “It would be nice, to create one together.”

She considered telling him she’d lost her family too, but given that he was retainer to a man who called himself her brother, that path would have led to nothing but more questions she couldn’t answer.

“I never really felt as though I belonged with the Nohrians, nor the Hoshidans,” she said instead. It was a poor substitute, but true enough, in its own way. “Not like Corrin does. Having a family together would be nice, I think.”

Laslow smiled; she couldn’t help returning it. It fell off his face, though, and an odd expression replaced it.

“Did I ever tell you that I come from somewhere far away? Very far.” He hesitated, clearly formulating what he was going to say next carefully. “If I were to go back, I would never be able to return. Would you—would you want to go with me?”

It was an unexpected question; the surprise must have shown on her face, because his blush spread even further over his cheeks and he stammered as he quickly rushed to explain himself.

“You don’t have to, of course—it’s just that, since you told me you don’t really feel like you fit in Nohr and Hoshido, perhaps we could make a fresh start? You, me, however many Soleils or Shigures or Rainbows we’ll have. We could visit my parents—my other parents—they’d be there too, and I’m so sure you’d like them.”

The look on his face was so tentative that her heart ached. For a moment, she fantasised about what it could have been like in a world where she might have made the same offer—offered even more than he could. But becoming royalty of Valla, that ruin with little chance of restoration, was more a curse than anything else now.

The wind rippled through the trees.

“That sounds lovely,” she said.

Laslow breathed out beside her, but before he could speak again she started to hum an old Vallite tune all the talk of the weather had reminded her of; it had once been a thanksgiving to Anankos, so she skipped over the verses of praise and onto how the dragon’s tears had first met with the fires of creation to forge the first bridge to the world above. (The existence of Valla was implicit, something so fundamentally understood mentioning it by name was unnecessary; it was just here.)

Laslow began to sway with the rhythm, and a few bars in, he began to dance.

***

Azura had never been close to her Nohrian family, in the literal as well as metaphorical sense. As the campaign wore on, however, that which Azura had always believed, but hoped was inaccurate—that the Hoshidans had little regard for her either—became a certainty. Kindness, likely performed on Queen Mikoto’s behalf and out of some sense of charity, was not closeness. It helped to think that way anyway, now that she was fighting on the side that had killed Takumi and were likely to slay the others too.

Still, if there had been a distance with Queen Mikoto’s own children, the average Hoshidan soldier cared even less for her wellbeing; she was nothing but another Nohrian now that Corrin had defected, as had been made clear to her when they’d torn her from the castle at Shirasagi and tried leaving her corpse at Fort Dragonfall as a message. (They were the same in theory, the two of them, hostages to the light and the dark, but it was always going to be Corrin’s choices that mattered, not hers.)

The lance fighters bearing down on her, venom in their eyes and curses on their lips, were not the first Hoshidans to try and rip her apart, but it was looking more and more certain they’d be the last. She considered, briefly, sapping their will to fight through song. There may have been no time left to stop the momentum of their thrusts, even if she were to relax their hearts enough to stop beating, and it might have been yet another waste of the pendant’s power, but still, even knowing it was of no use, she curled around herself and the stone on her chest, and would have begun to sing—

But there was a thicket, now. She looked on in confusion, slowly unfolding out of her defensive stance. The branches twisted around the soldiers like tentacles of some great octopus. They shouted and struggled as it devoured them, tangled in the thorns.

“They’re going to get out,” said Laslow, behind her. She turned. His hands were rooted in the earth and his voice was urgent and low. “It won’t hold them much longer.”

She stared at him; she couldn’t help it. His eyes were downcast, his hands and body trembling, as though he was unused to using the veins. It had truly been a secret then, from everybody, not just from her.

She turned, in a daze, and with a swipe of her lance, the skirmish was over. (Corrin would likely not approve, but Corrin didn’t know what it was Jakob did in the aftermath of battle, nor that Laslow had the dragon’s blood, nor the true depth of Xander’s emotions, nor the woman her mother had truly been. This would be one thread of a wide web of secrets and lies and deceptions; nothing, really.)

Laslow gasped and let go. The thicket receded, slowly and at an ambling pace, like it was an animal that had lost interest in the humans playing with it. She moved to kneel beside him, the movement half a stumble in the rush to get over to him. She snatched up his right hand with her own red-stained ones. There was dirt under his fingernails—he hadn’t taken care when he’d plunged them into the ground, it seemed—and even now, his arms were shaking. He gently touched her face with his other hand, its faint tremors all the more obvious when they were against her skin. Their eyes met for a long moment.

“They were going to kill you,” he said, the response to an unasked question.

They looked at one another for a moment longer before she kissed him, fleeting but without haste, and left the matter at that, helping one another to their feet and moving onward to the rest of the enemies they’d been tasked with eliminating. She wasn’t one to pry. She’d have been the worst kind of hypocrite if she was.

Still, when the battle was done, after they’d both remained silent on the subject of Hoshidan combatants found dead with deep scratches all over their corpses and they lay tangled together themselves, Laslow asleep, she lay awake with thoughts darting around her head like shoals of fish, this way and that. Her eyes idly tracked the veins which ran blue down his wrists and into his freshly-scrubbed hands.

A dozen thoughts had occurred to her, though only one had stayed lodged in her mind all this time; the first, in fact, that had sprung to mind when she’d seen his hands buried in the soil.

He’d once told her that he wasn’t supposed to exist in her world, though he couldn’t tell her why he came to be there, or how. She’d told him she understood, and she indeed had done, since she was under a similar obligation.

Maybe—

She touched his wrist lightly, just over the blue veins, and felt him come awake.

***

Once, when she had been the most wretched child among dozens of wretched children imprisoned within the circular walls of the royal keep at Windmire, Azura had experienced the most curious dream. Figures dressed in Vallite robes of the purest white had crowded around her in a version of Valla that no longer existed, each and every one vowing, with all the zeal of a holy mission, to ensure her happiness. They had enveloped her with such kindness and good cheer that when she awoke, her chest had felt light for the first time in months.

Beneath the open sky in a world at war, it had been a surprise to experience the dream once again: she was older now, after all, and had thought herself to have shrugged off the childish need for false comfort. The old figures had appeared before her tiny form once more—she’d still been a child in this new dream; it had felt natural in the way everything in dreams comes naturally—and a man, young and handsome, had kissed her on the forehead and promised a lifetime of smiles before sweeping her into one of the dances she’d been taught before the devastation, the traditional choral accompaniment that could not possibly exist in a reality where there were barely enough uncorrupted Vallites to form a duet soaring so clear and strong that her dream-self knew they could hear it in the world above.

What she had shivered at in daylight, even as it had felt natural in the dream in the way everything in dreams feels natural, was that the figures surrounding them were as distant and illusory as the soldiers that haunted Valla’s remnants, and the song to which they’d danced had included those verses she had suppressed in her memory, praise of the great Anankos echoing all around them over and over and over.

***

“I’ve taken stranger leaps of faith,” was Laslow’s only response.

She held his hand in her own, her fingers entwined with his. The water was hers to command, for however much longer she had; it would have taken and protected Laslow quite ably had she asked it, but she knew her touch would soothe any fears of drowning he might have had.

She pulled them through the water easily. At first, they were boneless as turtles gliding along a jet stream, but then she pulled them through faster, and faster, until they were darting down and down with such speed and grace that she imagined a current in their wake.

When they emerged the other end, falling out of the water in the same manner one might have fallen into it in the world above, she took Laslow into her arms and stayed with him in the air for a few breaths longer than necessary; a moment of self-indulgence, the water holding them up there to hover with all the rubble of Valla like a pair of courting dragonflies. She then let the water slowly start to disperse, the two of them floating down to the ground as a bubble does, landing elegantly together on their feet.

It was an unnecessary use of the pendant’s power, of course. Still, she’d used it so many times now, for Nohr and for Hoshido and for Corrin; if it was too late for her to aid in the fight against Anankos, if that fight would ever come, what was a moment of unleashing the pendant’s magic for herself, to will the water to dance around them and see how it would turn her beloved’s face into something akin to a dazed mortal gazing upon her like an oceanic goddess, a creature of power and majesty?

Besides, those priestesses who’d lectured her about restraint were all dead, Anankos’ puppets, or both. What did they know?

“You make the water dance almost as beautifully as you,” said Laslow. There was a slight stagger to his movements, and he leant back against one of the few pieces of stonework still anchored to the ground.

“None dance as finely as you but the water, love,” she said, smile transforming into a full grin, the ecstasy of the power and the water obeying her making her feel buoyant. “I just thought to give you a suitable accompaniment.”

“So, you were the Nestrian dancer, then,” he said. “I thought it might be. The way she moved, the steps she used, they were too familiar.”

“You’re not going to turn me in for the assassination attempt of our king, then?”

Perhaps it was the power still coursing through her, or perhaps it was because she knew Laslow, and knew who he’d pick between that dastard and herself, but she stared at him, unflinching.

“It was dangerous. If they’d found you—”

“Nobody guessed it was me,” she said. “None but you have the same eye for footwork, it seems. Not even my hair gave the game away. I did consider a wig, but there was no time to find one, and I thought it would be fine as is.”

Gods, but it felt good to talk without second-guessing every word.

Laslow still looked concerned, so she changed topic. “This is Valla,” she said to someone else for the first time in years. “This is my home. This is where I grew up. This is the kingdom Anankos destroyed.”

“So, you are a Vallite, after all. That’s why you’ve not been able to talk freely.”

“Is it why you haven’t been able to talk freely?”

Laslow hesitated before nodding. “Yes. I’ve known of it for years, though I’m not a Vallite myself.” A wave of disappointment hit Azura, but she weathered it. Laslow was still hers, no matter from whence he came. Besides, that he knew of Valla at all, that they’d shared this knowledge and curse together, was more than she could have ever hoped.

“How can you use dragon veins?”

She would have begged the gods he’d not mention Anankos’ name, but she’d never taken any god but the Silent Dragon, and he was now the enemy.

“Anankos gave us his blood.”

Rage bit into her heart. So, he was with Anankos. After all that had happened, after knowing she would never face him herself and make him answer for what he’d done, he’d managed to steal something else; her family, her home, and her lover, all warped.

“Anankos,” she said. It came out in a hiss, the sibilance continuing on a moment too long, serpentine.

Laslow reached out to touch her, but stopped short when she straightened and fixed him with a righteous glare.

“Anankos killed my father, you know. They were friends, once, but then he went mad and killed him. He turned the Vallites into these things. He turned Valla into this. And still, you’ve taken his side?” She thrust an arm out; the water moved with her. “You’ve taken his side?”

Laslow wouldn’t meet her eyes, no matter how she tried to capture them.

“My mother and father were killed by a dragon too,” he said. His voice was slow, and quiet. “He wasn’t mad, I don’t think, but I don’t know why else he did what he did. He ravaged the land, killed everyone he came across. He killed my mother and father, though they were friends with him once as well, or at least with the man he was. The greatest of friends. Anankos gave them the graves we couldn’t. And he let the flowers grow in that world once again.”

One tear, then another rolled down Laslow’s cheeks. Azura thought about wiping them away, but before she could move, he’d already dashed them away himself.

“It’s not the mad dragon we’re working for,” he said, voice steadier now. He finally met her gaze. “It was the remnants of his sanity we met. He gave us his blood, and we were to find and protect his daughter in Hoshido, though in the end, she’d been taken to Nohr.”

He paused.

“And we never found…”

He stopped.

“You found her,” said Azura. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to be surprised.

Her anger had subsided, somewhat, his tears and tale of woe dampening it into faintly-crackling embers, but years of bitter resentment and enmity for all those who would traffic with the god who had made her an exile were hard to wash away. She lapsed into silence, and stared out across the lake.

“There’s something you should know, if you hate Anankos so,” said Laslow. “Laslow is the name he gave me; it was something of an entry fee into this world.”

“Then what is your true name?”

“Inigo,” he said. He almost seemed shy, a faint blush coming over his features. Inigo. Somehow it fit him far more nicely than Laslow ever had.

“Inigo,” she said, trying it out on her tongue. “Inigo. A lovely name.”

Inigo smiled, but then a shadow crossed over his face. “There’s a way to get down here,” he said. “If we could bring Prince Xander here, perhaps we could stop the war.”

“There’s no stopping the war.”

“Xander is a reasonable man. If we can just tell him about Anankos—”  

Tell them. Tell those under whose tender care she’d been left alone to rot in the dark, tormented, where if the Hoshidans hadn’t stolen her away, she would have met her death at another child’s blade, or by poison in a chalice; tell those for whom she was now trapped into fighting by Corrin’s decision (for Azura, who had lived her life among oaths and silent curses and prisons, had never been able to make a decision that mattered in her life.)

“It matters little if he’s reasonable,” she said. “Prince Takumi is dead. Queen Mikoto and King Sumeragi are dead. Nohrians are nothing but cutthroats and reprobates to the Hoshidans after all that has passed, and they’re far too stubborn to clasp hands with a nation of scoundrels, no matter who their common enemy might be. Garon would have Xander executed the moment he stepped out of line anyway. It’s too late. It’s too late.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Azura felt the cold bite of the pendant’s chain against her skin, and the faint but ever-present power that coursed through its core. No. No, I’m not.

“In my experience,” he said, a hard-won certainty on his face, “There’s always just a little more time left than you think.”

***

She closed her eyes, before feeling something smooth and round placed in her palm. She opened her eyes again, frowning. It was a small sphere, colours dancing around it like there was a rainbow trapped within.  

“The mad dragon’s host sacrificed himself,” Inigo said, his voice weak and hold uncertain, like he wasn’t quite sure if he needed to stop her bursting or flying away. If he didn’t dry off soon, she noted vaguely, somewhere in the back of her mind, he’d catch a cold. “No matter how Father begged him not to. And still he got to come back. My parents ought to have died, and still they got live. There are worlds where fates can be averted. There are worlds where Anan—”

He gasped in pain as a sombre cheer rose in the distance, the Nohrians acknowledging their hollow victory. She felt his fingertips begin to drip where they rested upon her skin. Alarm shot through her and she scrabbled for his fingers—now that he’d shut up about the Silent Dragon, they were fine, though the tips of his fingers were gone along with part of his nails, down past the quick, water dripping from them like a mockery of blood.

“Please,” said Inigo. He whispered short pleas into her shoulder, abandoning all argument in favour of begging. Even without looking at his face she knew he looked wretched, his shoulders slumped and tears already starting to streak down his cheeks.

She touched the orb, weakly. Its aura was strong, but secure and protective, like the stories of the kindly god upon which she’d been raised. She traced its surface with a finger, watching the tracks of water left behind, then curled her hand around it.

“Laslow?” came Prince Xander’s voice. She raised her head and saw him walk through the door, a few more furrows in his brow and concern lurking beneath his usual stern expression. “Are you with—”

The last thing Azura ever witnessed of either the world above or below was Xander’s eyes landing on the pair of them and widening, everything warping and spasming as the two last hopes for the worlds above and below disappeared from his life as suddenly as they had entered it.

[writerleo86]

Terravenger Season 5 - Part One: Episode 346 (Do Not Copy!)

   At the beautiful gardens on the top of the Midas Academy, the chosen students were gathered as their principal Beau Ravenstone had summoned a large portal made of bright purple energy. Meanwhile, the young counselor Mercury stood by the left side of his commander.

   "Now then!" Beau told his students. "Let us of the Midas Armed Forces be off to claim the ultimate prize as we win at the Armed Forces Exams!"

   Tai gave out a determined smile as he thought to himself "Hold on Silver Jay! This is gonna be a ride to remember."

   The large hole of purple light continued to shine and Tai thought more.

   "Me winnin' the entire damn tournament! Or me tryin' at least."

   The students began making their way into the portal as Tai replied in his thoughts "Whatever happens from here on out, I'll do my best!"

Episode 346:  Entering Silver Jay; The Eve of the Exams

   The students along with the two soldiers -- Beau and Mercury -- traveled through the dark void until they all fell onto the ground that was made of the purest white stone.

   After the portal quickly closed, everyone looked forward and found themselves standing before a large rectangular building that was made of white metal.

   The calm girl Iris stood on her feet as she asked "What is this place?"

   Everyone else stood up and Declan who was at the other side of Iris had asked "Is this where we are suppose to be?"

   Their commander Beau walked a few steps forward and informed everyone "This is it. This is the place where your trials will begin."

   "Are you all blind?" questioned Paige.

   And she answered "We have arrived at our destination. We are at the base of the royal city itself. We have come to Silver City. And the building that stands before us... This is where the Terravenger Council reside."

   Next, the soldiers led the students inside the beautiful building. They soon walked through the white hallway until Beau pointed to a pair of large doors before him.

   "You all must go from here," He informed the students. "But the Counselor and I shall meet with all of you at a later time."

   And every student entered through the doors after Beau said "Off you go. And the best of luck."

   The five friends -- Akari, Tai, Clay, Dilan, and Jade -- gathered together as everyone walked through the next hallway.

   "I wonder what this is about?" questioned Akari.

   "Maybe a sign-up sheet or somethin'!" Tai claimed.

   "That..." said Dilan. "...possibly is what this is, Tai."

   At the middle of the long line were the pair of Pacey Deacon and Declan Sharpe.

   "I do not like either the look..." Declan replied. "...or the sound oft this way."

   "I must agree," said Pacey.

   Luna hurried toward them and asked "What do you two think of this?"

   "I have not the foggiest idea," answered Declan.

   And everyone found themselves in a large room full of books on the shelves around them as well as tables, chairs, and couches at the center.

   "This must be like a dorm or such," implied Iris.

   Paige soon discovered a large wooden door in front of her and claimed "I may have found where the girls will stay during our time here."

   Akari walked toward them as Paige pointed at the top of the door with her right finger. And Akari spotted a black sign placed on the wall above the door that said 'LADIES' in white capital letters.

   "You're right Iris," replied Akari. "We are at the center of the dorms."

   Luna quickly joined the three girls and told both Pacey and Declan "I guess I'll see you two later."

   "Very well," said Pacey.

   Then he spotted the door to the dormitory for the boys and informed Luna "We will get settled as well. And I am sure the Commander or somebody else will have us all meet somewhere soon."

   And Pacey found his friend Declan searching around with questioned eyes.

   "What do you think, Sharpe?" He asked.

   Declan answered "I don't know. Something is odd about this place. I just cannot determine it at the moment."

   "This is fair," said Pacey.

   The three other boys -- Tai, Dilan, and Clay -- gathered with them.

   And Tai told Pacey "I guess we're roomies Pal!"

   The group of boys walked inside and found themselves in a large room that was full of beds with clean sheets and pillows. Then they walked forward as two more followed -- Cheetah and Jonny Griffin.

   "Ren told me you were in these games before," implied Cheetah.

   An emotionless Jonny stared forward as he answered "I have been here before."

   The last boy -- Eli Peters -- walked into the room and asked Jonny "Do you know about what type of tests are stored?

   "They change them every year," Jonny told the younger boys. "I don't know what we should expect from Panel this year."

   "Panel?" repeated Cheetah.

   And Jonny answered "The Commander was wrong about this place. And I doubt McCormack knows anything. This is not the Terravenger Council building. This is actually a castle that belongs to Titania Panel."

   Then he walked off as both Cheetah and Eli looked around in question.

   "I guess investigating is in order," Eli implied.

   "Ya think?" asked Cheetah. "Do ya think da Commander fooled all of us about dis place?"

   "I'm sure he did," Eli responded. "We all fell for it. And I think he did this to test us as well."

   The pair were soon approached by Dilan Carr.

   "What is going on with the both of you?" He asked.

   Cheetah folded his arms in front of him and informed Dilan "Peters and I are gonna do some recon of our own."

   "And you Carr," added Eli. "We will need you to come along."

   "Do you mean an investigation?" questioned Dilan.

   Then Eli replied "I don't know. But I think the Commander set us up."

   "What?" cried Dilan. "No way!"

   "We ain't at the Terravenger Council's," Cheetah answered. "Da Commander probably lied his ass off. We're somewhere else. And I gotta find out where."

   "And we need your help Carr," Eli replied. "Your expertise may be of help to us to find out what we can about this place."

   Dilan turned his head away and thought for a moment.

   "Come on Carr!" whispered Cheetah. "Yer da smartest one here! In fact, yer da only one who does recon real good! We need ya for dis!"

   After that, Dilan shook his head and responded.

   "Okay then. I will help you. You both can rely on me."

   Then Dilan lowered his head and told them "I had a bad feeling about this place from the moment we arrived. Besides, I would not mind to go on an adventure right now."

   A smiling Cheetah nodded and asked "Who are ya and where's da real Dilan Carr?"

   "What do you mean?" asked Dilan.

   "You wanna go on dis little adventure wit' us," Cheetah replied. "Dis ain't like ya Mate."

   And Eli informed Dilan "I think Cheetah is trying to say is that you were never the one to be this outgoing."

   Dilan gave out a soft laugh and said "We are at a place of mystery after all. Why wouldn't I want to look around for answers to my own questions?"

   And Cheetah shook his head as he chuckled.

   A smiling Eli nodded his head and said "Then the three of us are on board."

   An hour later, the three students hurried into the first long hallway of the large fortress.

   "This will be an interesting search," Dilan implied. "We happen to be in a large compound. We may get ourselves lost."

   Cheetah informed him "Ain't gonna happen Mate. I got da scent of dis hall down. We'll be fine."

   "And that's why I brought Cheetah along," Eli described. "He has a great sense of smell. That will definitely come in handy."

   The small team began walking through the next hallway that became even darker. So, Eli raised his right thumb and a small golden flame formed from it.

   "I'm so glad..." Cheetah told him. "...yer a fire-type Mate. We needed da light."

   "How did you come to the conclusion..." Dilan asked. "...of this not being where the Terravenger Council resides?"

   "It was Griffin," Eli responded. "He told us that this was not the Terravenger Council's building. He said this castle actually belongs to a Titania Panel."

   "Titania Panel?" Dilan recalled. "I read about her while I researched about the Armed Forces Examinations. She is a member of the Great Admirals. And she is the head that sponsors the Exams."

   "Now we know who did Panel is," said Cheetah. "Now we gotta know where da Commander left us at."

   "I may have an answer to that as well," claimed Dilan.

   The team soon found themselves inside a large dark room that was filled with large portraits hanging on every wall.

   Dilan flipped a switch on the wall by his right side. And the lights were turned on.

   Then the boys looked around and Dilan responded "And this confirms it. We are at one of her family's old homes. It is called Noxpannon, which means Snow Portion in Latin."

   "Apparently she comes from old money," implied Eli.

   Next, Eli discovered a closed door at the far side of the room. So he walked toward it. But before he could touch the knob of the door with his right hand, a rectangular wall made of bright white light had formed at the door. And Eli pounced away immediately.

   "I will not let you go in there,"

   The three boys turned around and spotted someone standing at the other side.

   "Da hell?" cried Cheetah.

   This was a young woman with fair skin and blue-gray eyes. She had on black eyeliner, black eye-shadow, and peach lipstick. And her brunette hair was long and wavy. She wore a white blouse with long sleeves, tight white pants, and short blue boots.

   Cheetah went into his battle stance as he loudly asked "Carr? Dis is her, right? Dat Panel chick?"

   The woman answered "I am the caretaker of this establishment. I was hired by the Lady Admiral to tend to everything that is on the property during her absence."

   "Her caretaker huh?" yelled Cheetah.

   Dilan analyzed the wall of white energy using only his eyes and reported to his partners "This is a barrier made of Light itself. I am not certain either of us will be able to penetrate it, at least not easily."

   Eli walked to the the right side of Cheetah and told him "You might as well stand down. Apparently, the lady doesn't want us to go inside."

   "But why da hell is dat?" shouted Cheetah.

   "You will learn soon enough," said the woman. "But I suggest you all return to your dormitory until you are summoned."

   Dilan hurried to the other side of Cheetah and cried "Let's go you two! I do not want to get anyone from our school in trouble."

   Then Cheetah stood up and yelled "Fine! Let's get outta here!"

   Both Eli and Dilan hurried off as a defensive Cheetah watched the caretaker for a moment as she folded her arms. And the spotted youth left as well.

   And a strong female voice yelled "You're working here now!"

   The caretaker faced forward as someone revealed themselves from the shadows by the right side of the room. She laid her right hand down and the wall of white light faded from the door behind her. And she gave a calm smile as the newcomer walked to her.

   "It has been a while," She implied.

   The person turned out to be the ageless doctor, Engana Vega. She had on black eyeliner and red lipstick. And her long silver hair was worn down. She wore a sleeveless white top, tight turquoise pants, and short brown boots. And her MAF badge was placed on the left side of her chest.

   "It's been almost five years," Vega announced. "Long enough to lose touch."

   "That's not my fault," The caretaker implied. "You seem to be too busy to even take my calls."

   Vega lowered her head as she blew a short breath.

   And she responded "I know. I'm sorry of not keepin' in touch with you. I've been real busy lately."

   Then Vega commented "Panel hired somebody after all this time to take care of her home? The old gal must be going senile."

   "Make fun if you want," The woman told her. "The Lady Admiral has been good and fair to me since I started. In fact, I have never seen her interact with anyone as much as she does with me."

   "She must have been lonely," said Vega. "But she isn't really the talkin' type. So you might have changed her, for the better!"

   The younger woman placed her right hand around her left wrist as she said "And for her to have many people stay at her home. This has been a great change for her."

   Vega gave out a soft laugh and informed her "I think you had a major influence on the Ice Queen."

   "You think so?" questioned the woman.

   And Vega responded "No one's as strong and gifted as you Mallory Murphy. I'm sure you can convince some of the young ladies how to learn how to cook if you wanted."

   Mallory gave out a quick chuckle and said "You always know how to cheer me up Engana."

   After that, Vega placed her right hand on the left arm of the other woman.

   "I'm glad you came, Engana," Mallory told her.

   "Of course," Vega replied. "That's what sisters are for. That, and I gotta be here to watch the exams. Why would I watch it on TV instead of bein' here?"

   Mallory gave out another laugh and implied "It may be that we have students with more promise this time around."

   "Especially from my school," added Vega. "I'm sure the brats from Midas will show the others how it's done."

   And the two women laughed together.