#almost postponed but coloring was actually soothing. And that's why we do this!

[runefactorynonsense]

Melotober - Day 17 - Cards

How about a different sort of fortune?

[moonmoon-ren]

The Break of (a new) Dawn - part 2

"Uhhh, it has been quite a month" an amused Ren looked at his journal again after writing the final words about his last adventure in Tural.

Ren sat in his garden, enjoying an apple, the sun was already shining at this early morning. The past two weeks had been heavy for Ren. Shortly before he left to Tural, last month, Ren acquired a small cottage in the Lavender Beds. The renovation works had to be postponed due to the sudden travels but it was worth it. Ren now finally had his own place he could call home. It became a new routine for him to take the time to write in his journal about his expierences but also about more emotional events that happened in his life. He found that writing is soothing, healing, but also forces him to understand all that happens and happened.

After a few final musings Ren stood up from the table, brought his plate inside and came back outside to water the plants in the flowerpots. He heard a faint moogle "beep" behind him, meaning that the postmoogle delivered some mail in his letterbox. Ren finished his chore and emptied the mailbox. It was then that Ren's seemingly normal morningroutine was disturbed by an overenthousiastic yell from afar. A high pitched voice that he recognised as no other:

"REEEENNNNN !!! YOU ARE BACKKK !!!"

Kaen.

Next to Ren suddenly stood a young Viera with coral red hair, and dressed in a color matching outfit: sneakers, jeans shorts, a singlet and a cap on his head, all in colors fitting his haircolor. Kaen seemed a little out of breath and was a bit sweaty. Ren remembered that the twins Koori and Kaen often used the early morning as their time to workout. Almost always unseparable from each other. This time there was only Kaen, no Koori. Something was off.

"Goodmorning Kaen, seems you found me." Ren let out and amused giggle.

"I ... I did huh. You are a dumb bunny and a scoundrel! You know that Ren ?"

"Why ?" Asked Ren even more amused.

"Well, dumb bunbun, because you return here, suddenly you have a house AND! You didn't TELL US!"

"I was going to, It's also not long since I returned here, I barely had any time for anything so far aside from making this cottage a place to call a home."

"Sequoia should give you bumslaps ..." Suddenly Ren froze and turned a bit sad upon hearing the name of his best friend and former lover. Kaen froze too, realising he shouldn't have said that, but then he said:

"He ... misses you Ren" Kaen stretched out his hand towards Ren's face, a tear was rolling over his cheeks. "We miss you too"

"Kaen, can we talk about something else please?"

Kaen struggled a bit with finding another conversation topic and actually decided to be stubborn. "No we can't Ren. I actually even have a question for you"

"Oh?" Ren looked slightly annoyed and surprised at the same time.

"Yes! So uuuhh, would you like to join us for dinner this evening?"

"Dinner ?" - Yes dinner, Ren, you know, foooooood"

"I know what dinner is Kaen, it's just that I don't really feel in the mood for it today and also I'm not sure if i'm actually ready to see Sequoia yet."

Kaen stepped a little bit closer towards Ren, and took Ren's hands in his smaller hands. Ren's hands felt warm and he could feel the veins running over the palm of Ren's hands. Trained hands of a battledancer he tought to himself.

"Ren, Sequoia had a rough time after you two decided to become stupid and breakup. He sought refuge in alcoholic beverages, some days he even did not came home, then he appeared again looking all beaten up and stinking of alcohol, blood and sweat. We decided to ask his brother Dawn to come look after Sequoia and that helped. But we all feel he is very depressed. I dont ask that you two suddenly make amends and do as if nothing happened. I only ask that you want to spend the evening with us today and share a meal with us. I think it will be good for him to see you. Will you not consider this for me, Ren ? If not for Sequoia then for me ?"

"Kaen, ..." Ren let out a deep sigh and gave his brain the time to reflect. "Alright"

Even though this was only one word, it was enough for Kaen to light up and smile. "Ren ! I promise you that this evening you will be in good company. And if something goes wrong, me and Koori are still there. But promise me Ren, please, that you will try ?"

"I promise that i will try. But that's all I promise."

'"Thats all i ask for. So, I see you this evening then, Ren! Don't be late!"

Ren found himself all of a sudden in a wave of emotions. He remembered how much he loved Sequoia, and how much he still loves him. He remembered how sweet and innocent they once were, how they became the bestest of friends, how they fell for one another and then ... he also remembered that moment where he started noticing that Sequoia often isolated himself and outright dissappeared for some days, without notice. These were the events that led to a fight that then eventually ended up in them breaking up. It all came back in a flash. But he promised that he would be strong.

Ren spent the rest of the morning with gardening, tending to his chocobo Chichiri, helping her with a sandbath and feathercare, making lunch, going out for a run and some excercises, an afternoon nap and then ... the moment to get ready for the dinnerdate.

The Dinner

"So, will you two misschievous boyos tell me why i needed to dress neat and wait here ?" Sequoia was a bit grumpy. He didn't really like all this mysterious behavior.

"Eeh, don't look at me Seq" said Koori with a slight annoyance in his voice. He did not know about his brother's plans.

" You are going to behave yourself this evening, right ? Sequoia ?"

"Yeah yeah, be kind and whatever. I just stay silent and hope that your mystery guest is a talker and not boring to listen at, eat my pizza slices and then bugger off to my bed and read some books or sleep. Not like I care."

At that moment as Kaen wanted to offer the cheeky Sequoia a fierce reply the doorbell rang. Kaen felt a warm change in the cold mood of the evening. Kaen and Koori walked towards the door to welcome their guest and Sequoia stayed seated on the sofa wanting to observe a bit from afar and out of sight. He would say hello when he felt like it.

"RENNNN!! SO YOU ARE THE SECRET GUEST !?" Koori couldn' handle his own excitement and hugged Ren as soon as he stepped inside, Kaen followed suit and before anything Ren found himself embraced by the twins. It felt good see them again.

They let Ren go again and allowed him to step more inside the room leading him to the kitchen. Ren started saying something wholesome like that he appreciated that he was invited and that it was nice to see them all again.

But then... he got interupted by a suprise hug that came from behind him. It was then that he noticed the heavy spicy scent of a perfume he recognised out of a thousand. Sequoia.

When the doorbell rang Sequoia did not pay much attention, yet he observed from afar. But when he saw who stood in the dooropening he felt like he fell through the sofa. Ren. Was he hallucinating ? He sat frozen in the sofa and followed the entire event. but then he stood up and walked to Ren.He actually didn't realise what was happening, he just did, almost automatic, he walked to Ren and embraced him.

The feeling Ren felt that moment was like coming home. Safety. Sequoia still had these strong arms. "Good evening Sequoia"

"I didn't know you were going to be our guest." He still embraced Ren. Koori stepped closer towards his brother and placed his hand on Kaen's schoulder. "You sneaky bunbun, not telling me, heh.

"Okay everyone, I suggest that we prepare dinner, Maybe Sequoia can take care of some nice drinks for us all ? And Ren you are our guest so pls take a seat at the table and relax"

Kaen shoved the pizza they prepared earlier the late afternoon in the oven. After some time the whole room was filled with the inviting scent of fresh food. It didn't take long for the pizza to be ready and soon all four sat at the table enjoying slices of pure happiness.

Ren was invited to tell about his adventures in Tural which was enjoyable for the company. But mostly for Sequoia who was intrigued by the tales of exploration and adventure. After a while Ren was done with his summary of what he expierenced in Tural. Sequoia was very excited about all this and felt more comfortable by the minute.

At that point Kaen silently whispered to his brother that it was time for them to take care of the dishes and leave the room.

"Ren? Sequoia ? We uhh, wish you both a great evening. We will go to our room so that you two have some time for yourselves to catch up with one another."

The twins said their good nights and got cuddles and pets from Ren and Sequoia. Sequoia whispered to Kaen "thank you for this evening" Kaen looked at Sequoia, and smirked "Don't make a mess of this now, see you tomorrow morning"

After the twins left to their own room Sequoia and Ren left the dinnertable and moved to the salon and made themselves comfortable on the sofa.

"Sequoia? Ren asked with a shy undertone in his voice. "Ren?"

"I'm happy that i'm here ...and that we can talk. I missed you a lot.

I missed you too Ren. No matter what happens or happened in the past you will always be my best friend. Always.

I want us to stay like that, Sequoia. Besties.

Sequoia stayed silent for a minute and then smiled and looked Ren straight into his eyes. "That's all i can ever ask for, my dear Ren".

Sequoia, I uhh, there is something i need to tell you. I want us to be honest with each other, and its better that you know this from me personally.

Okay, i'm listening. Sequoia said this with an intrigued look on his face.

"I met someone, in Tural, whom I really really like. A lot." It was clear that this came from Ren's heart, because he was blushing heavy.

Ren was still looking into Sequoia's eyes while saying that and could see that Sequoia held back a tear, but then he saw a smile forming on his lips again. Sequoia then took both Ren's hands into his, moved a bit closer to Ren and leaned in.

"Ren. My only wish for you is to be happy, follow your heart, spread your wings and fly into the open sky. You deserve that. And if you found love then you should take it, embrace it and enjoy the feeling. Like what you once gave me. We work, as besties but not as a couple. I'm too much of a free spirit for that, i want my freedom and I know it may be selfish of my not wanting to give that up. But that's the same as what i tell you: follow the heart, because a heart is always right. So, you give your everything for your lover! you hear me ? And hopefully one day we can meet and welcome them into our family. As ... (Sequoia smiled a little bit cheeky, clearly enjoying this), ehem! As chief of the Treehouse Bunnyboys tribe i give you my blessing."

They both burst out into laughter. Ohh shut up you crazy bunbun! Thank you, Sequoia. You know, this means so much to me. Just know, that I will always hold you dear into my heart too. All of you. No matter where we go, or what happens.

You're a Treehouse bun, Ren. That's a forever thing. Speaking of Treehouse ... Dawn and I finished the actual Treehouse last week.

"Ohhh ?" Ren asked slightly suprised

"Yes, maybe tomorrow you could stop by and then we can show you".

"I would love that very much. "

__

Will continue in further adventures :)

[psychedelic-ink]

This is my commission for @sandpumpkin! Thank you so much for commissioning me love and letting me post it! I hope I did metalpumpkin justice! 

Pairing: Eustass Kid x Hana (self insert) 

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Modern AU 

Word count: 2.1 k

Summary: Hana and Kid have been going out for a while but Kid realized that he hadn’t actually took Hana out on a proper first date and sets to fix his mistake. 

Commissions | Ko-Fi

Night fell and Hana couldn’t help but shimmy further into her coat. It might’ve been spring but as soon as sunset the remains of the winter cold still lingered within every breeze. She was cold but Hana couldn’t help but smile as she saw a rather tall red haired man walk towards her. The man held two steaming cups in his hands, one filled with herbal tea and the other filled with coffee. He sat down next to her and gave her the cup. Hana’s smile grew as she wrapped both hands around the cardboard cup and warmed her hands. She took in deep breaths of the soothing tea and gently placed it on her lips. 

“You’re going to burn your tongue,” Kid groaned, blowing on his coffee. “Wait a bit before chugging it down.” 

“I guess you’re right.” 

Hana opted to blow on to the piping hot beverage instead, the two of them sat on a distant bench, far from the commotion. The light was soft from where they were sitting, giving them both a nice glow as they blew on their beverages. Lifting the cup towards her glossy lips once more, Hana’s eyes lingered on Kid. His leg was bobbing up and down, a nervous habit he had. She raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask what was troubling him. They both sat in silence, sipping their beverages and enjoyed each other's company under the stars. 

“S-So , I wanted to ask you something,” Kid said, breaking the silence. Hana turned towards him, blinking, she was startled by the almost shy undertone he had in his voice. He continued. “We’ve been going out for a while but we haven’t really gone on a “proper” date now have we?” 

Hana thought for a moment before replying with a big smile.

“As long as we’re together I’m happy,” she chirped. “I don’t really care if it was proper or not.” 

Kid’s eyes widened and he quickly covered his mouth. He was hoping his hand was big enough to cover the blush he was sure he had as a result of hearing such sweet words. He took in a couple of deep breaths as an attempt to calm his loudly beating heart. When he deemed himself ready to speak again he removed his hand and nervously scratched the back of his head. 

“That’s...nice of you to say,” he muttered. “But still, I would...you know...like to actually take you out, if you want to…” 

In that moment Kid could’ve sworn he could see sparkles glimmering in Hana’s eyes. His blush deepened as he averted his eyes. A soft chuckle reached his ears. 

“I would love to!” she sang. “It’s going to be so fun.” 

Hana was glowing with excitement already thinking about what kind of outfit she should wear. Inching closer to him, Hana let her head fall on his broad shoulder and closed her eyes as she sighed happily. Kid stiffened only for a moment before placing his lips over her orange hair. He took in a deep breath of her sweet smelling shampoo before placing a kiss. 

Surprised, Hana lifted her head up to gaze at him. Kid smiled and wanting to seize the opportunity, he leaned closer. When his lips touched hers it was as if time itself had stopped, the faint noise coming from the commotion nearby completely drifted off. Kid’s lips were soft and gently moved against Hana’s, it felt almost like a sweet sounding lullaby enough to kidnap her into the realm of dreams. 

The one to break the kiss is Kid, he slowly parted away enjoying seeing Hana chasing after his lips as he did. She blinked a couple of times and stared at him with half lidded eyes, her cheeks red as a soft smile formed on her lips. Kid grinned and nuzzled the top of her head thinking that he would never get tired of this. 

“It’s a date then.” he muttered, lips moving against her hair. 

“It’s a date.” 

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

“What have I gotten myself into?” 

Kid sat in the middle of seemingly endless piles of clothes, his head between his hands, he blankly stared into the wall. Ever since they talked about when they would go on their proper date, Kid had postponed picking out an outfit but now that the time had actually come he was cursing at his past self. He had so many choices but absolutely no idea what to wear. 

With butterflies in his stomach he let himself fall to the ground and started to stare at the ceiling instead. His heart was pounding mad, his clothing issues aside Kid was also rather excited to be going out with Hana. He had the whole night planned, it was out of his comfort zone but he would do anything to make her feel special. Kid’s head started to spin, the more he overthinked the more his stomach churned. 

“Kid?” a voice called out to him. “Are you alright?” 

Kid covered his face with his hands and groaned. 

“No.” 

Killer chuckled as he knelt next to the red haired man. He stared down at him with an amused look. Kid couldn’t even look at him, his face still covered behind his hands. Needless to say he was embarrassed. 

“What’s wrong?” Killer asked. “I thought you wanted to go out?” 

“I do!” he exclaimed, letting his hands fall to his sides. “I...I don’t know what to wear! And she always wears the most pretty stuff. I don’t want to embarrass her.” 

“I’m pretty sure she’ll be happy with whate—” 

“And that’s not all!” Kid jumped and held Killer by the shoulders, startling the poor man. “What if I’m not gentlemanly enough? What then?” 

“Why are you acting like she doesn’t know who you are,” Killer snorted. “I doubt she thinks you’re a gentleman.” 

“Great pep talk man, thanks.” 

Killer chuckled as he raised his hands in a sign of defeat. 

“Alright alright I’m sorry,” he crossed his arms in front of him when Kid removed his hands. “But you’re overthinking, just pick something to wear and go meet her. Just be yourself.” 

“That’s horrible advice.” 

“It’s better than none.” Killer’s gaze wandered over the piles of clothes then he shifted his gaze back to Kid. “And about what you’re going to wear… I think it’s time.” 

Kid’s eyes widened at his friend's words. He looked at him with a bewildered look. 

“Really?” 

He nodded, “It’s time to break out the kilt.” 

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

Hana nervously fiddled with her thumbs. Her brain muddled with excitement, she ended up arriving half an hour earlier. Luckily Kid had already made reservations so she didn’t have to wait outside. Sipping the water the waiter had poured for her, her eyes scanned the restaurant. It was much fancier than she anticipated and to be honest wasn’t much of Kid’s style. But nonetheless Hana was rather excited and giddy about the date, she had worn a black laced dark red dress with a black bonnet. She had Kid’s hair in mind when she picked out the color and hoped the man would appreciate it. 

“Sorry, did I make you wait?” 

Excitement bubbling inside of her, Hana’s gaze flew up. She couldn’t help but smile when she saw the red haired man standing before her. Her eyes shifted down from his beautiful face, she saw that he was wearing a nice suit jacket with a white button up shirt and the collar was sealed up with a nice dark red bowtie, similar to the color of the dress Hana was wearing. Her gaze continued to shift down and then she was pleasantly surprised, so much so that she almost had a mini heart attack. 

He was wearing a matching dark red kilt with a black, yellow plaid pattern. It was absolutely astonishing and breathtaking at the same time. Hana’s mouth fell open but she quickly composed herself and tried to swallow down her shock. Swiftly her eyes wandered a bit lower to see his bare legs and she quickly shifted her gaze back up to his face. Kid was looking at her with a rather amused look, his red lips stretched out into a devilishly handsome smirk. Hana was sure she was red as his kilt. 

“See something that you like, princess?” 

“N-No,” Hana quickly blurted out, her gaze falling to the table. “Why don’t we order? I’m famished, I’m sure you are too.” she spoke quickly.

Kid chuckled, “Since this is a date I’ll let you change the subject.” 

He took a seat and stared at her with a smile. 

“You look beautiful by the way.” 

“So do you.” 

The rest of the night was more or less what Hana expected. It was rather awkward being in a stuffy restaurant and even with his attempts to try and hide it, Kid clearly wasn’t much of a fan. But even so he almost showed none of his displeasure and only focused on Hana. It was a rather nice feeling being here with him and she was beaming with happiness. She enjoyed the food but she especially enjoyed a time well spent with her loved one. 

As they gobbled up the last remains of their deserts Hana had her light bulb moment. She was enjoying herself, that was a given, but she wanted Kid to be enjoying himself as well. 

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” 

“A walk?” Kid repeated, a bit startled. “Why?” 

“The weather is rather nice and we did finish our dinner after all.” 

A faint shade of pink colored his cheeks as he realized what Hana was trying to do. He couldn’t help but smile and call for a waiter for the check. As soon as they took a step outside Hana could see the change in Kid’s demeanour, he stretched his arms and took a deep breath. 

“Not gonna lie this feels much better,” he said as he, much to Hana’s surprise, took a hold of her hand. “Where should we go?” 

Hana followed as Kid started to walk, her pulse quickened and she felt herself getting flustered. Kid’s hand was so warm, it felt nice, almost like a security blanket, his presence made her feel safe and sound. 

“Maybe we can go to the park?” Hana offered shyly. 

“The park it is!” Kid exclaimed, finally feeling relaxed enough to shout.

Hana’s lips spread out into a grin, she let Kid lead the way. When they arrived Hana noticed that there was a fair nearby and the faint sound of music could be heard from where they were standing. It had a nice tune, it had a certain softness to it. Before she could say anything, Hana suddenly found herself being pulled towards Kid’s broad chest. He gently placed a hand on her waist and took a hold of her hand. Trying to accommodate the rhythm of the music, the two started to sway from side to side. 

Hana held her breath as she stared at Kid’s chest, she didn’t dare look at him fearing that her excitement would be clearly read from her face. The sound of crickets accompanied the soft tunes and Hana let her head fall onto Kid’s chest as they continued to dance under the night sky. Kid hummed happily and pulled her closer, he placed a kiss on the top of her head. 

“Hey, princess.” 

“Yeah?” Hana replied in almost a sleepy tone. 

“Look up.” 

And so she did. 

Kid’s lips brushed over her’s right before he captured them with a kiss. They continued to move with the music, their lips intertwined with each other. It was as if they were writing a symphony of their own. Hana had no idea how long their kiss lasted, it felt like an eternity. When they parted Hana was breathless, her mind dazed as she looked up to him. Kid didn’t seem to be doing much better, his cheeks red. Their dancing stilled as they gazed at each other, forgetting the rest of the world. 

Then both of them smiled and started to giggle, Kid buried Hana’s face into his chest once more and nuzzled the top of her head, without warning Kid let himself fall to the ground and pulled Hana with him. She let out a gasp as she fell on top of him. Kid chuckled once more and placed a hand on her cheek, his thumb going in circles over her flushed skin. 

“I love you so much.” he said, barely in a whisper. 

“I love you too.” 

They both continued to admire one another as they laid under the millions of stars that seemed to go on for eternity. 

Just like their love.  

[lotusthekat]

I keep my eyes on the door (but I remember)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T

Relationships: Platonic Lars & Steven, Minor Lars/Sadie

Characters: Steven Quartz Universe, Lars Barriga, Sadie Miller; other characters are only mentioned

Summary: Steven knows the good days and the bad. He’s felt the bad several times, but he always got through it. Steven never allowed it to get in the way for too long.

But the gray days are different. The gray comes out of warning and it’s never obvious.

Word count: 3.185

AO3 / Fanfiction

A/N: Wrote Steven with depression yet again to vent. I’ve been having a hard time lately. Please mind the trigger warnings below. Be safe. <3

TRIGGER WARNINGS - depression, suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, character death in dream, panic attack and mentioned character death.

--

Everything is gray.

Nothing is wrong with the world itself if that makes sense. Beach City is the same plethora of colors, the warmth blessed by the soft breeze, the diversity of people, the laughing children, the sand in his feet and hands, the seagulls singing in the distance.

Even so, it all… feels gray.

The gray is much like the inside of White Diamond’s head. Automatic, forcing a smile. Empty. Deprived of essence.

As far as he’s concerned, however, he’s not being mind-controlled.

--

Steven knows the good days and the bad. He’s felt the bad several times, but he always got through it. Steven never allowed it to get in the way for too long.

But the gray days are different. The gray comes out of warning and it’s never obvious.

Steven smiles through it. He cracks jokes and laughs. He helps gems and spends time with his friends as usual. He’s far from looking miserable – no, he’s seemingly normal most of the time. Yet when the night comes, the gray confronts him. What fills his chest is not just the tiredness after a long day. It’s an endless, empty and yet crushing weight that has never actually faded away. Somehow, it’s trapping him and staring at him.

To avoid it, Steven usually reads, watches a dumb TV show or gazes at the sea from his home. Stargazing in particular tends to help him relax and sort out his thoughts.

Except the stars are no longer guiding him. Because they only guide him through the darkness. The stars are useless in the gray.

His bed suddenly doesn’t feel as comfortable as it should be.

--

He knows he’s drawing himself away. He knows the gray absorbs his all, little by little.

It’s slowing him down. He can’t do anything right. He starts messing up more often at the school, at everything he does. Yet Steven is still going because everyone needs him; he could never give them up.

Regardless, Steven finds no pleasure or patience. Nothing in the world can soothe the gray. At some point, the sixteen-year-old can no longer avoids it with the things he likes, with his classes at Little Homeschool or even with the lighthearted calls with his dad and Connie. Because they all become gray to him, too.

--

When he receives the text that the gems will be away for a couple days, Steven might feel the tiniest bit of despair.

He’s obviously gotten used with being alone at this point – because stars, he’s sixteen and rebuilt an entire galaxy away from his family –, but he almost, almost cries for them. He actually gets to call his guardians and maybe convince them to stay.

Until he realizes.

And then, he wishes them a nice fieldtrip.

“Bye-bye, Steven!” they say. “We love you!”

It takes everything out of him to say I love you back.

When they hang up, the gray has enveloped him whole.

--

This is perhaps his most powerful enemy. It’s unreachable, invisible and yet omnipresent.

Steven tries. Oh, does he try.

But nothing can be done.

Nothing, except…

He goes for it.

…

Yet he soon returns home, no one wondering where he might be.

In the next day, the gem students at Little Homeworld greet him the same way as every day. They smile at him and see nothing wrong.

They have no idea.

(Does he even want them to know?)

Later at night, Steven lets out silent tears for the first time in days (weeks? He has no idea).

--

Despite everything, his schedule doesn’t change. He refuses to change it, so everything goes normal for the rest of the week. Finally, on Thursday, he’s heading to Lars’ house for a baking session. Steven has agreed to help him with the stuff from his pastry shop. Unlike Little Homeschool, which can be quite a handful sometimes, his time with Lars tends to be the most carefree he has, because Steven only works on pastries – he gives them some of his personality, crafting beauties with Lars’ amazing skills.

He has no idea how he will do it now, but he will try.

When he arrives, he hates to admit that a wave of relief washes over him at the sight of only Lars and no one else. The Off Colors and sometimes Mrs. Barriga join in and help them, but that’s not the case today.

Somehow, the instant Steven gets in the kitchen, Lars already questions if he’s okay. To be fair, though, he’s had others ask the same thing lately, except he managed to escape through the circumstances. The thing about Lars, however, is that he’s possibly the most stubborn person Steven knows – maybe on the same league as Jasper, even if in different ways.

Consequently, Lars has seen through the younger boy’s bad days before. The ex-space pirate would immediately postpone their baking time to help Steven get some rest. The sixteen-year-old has vented, has turned pink and raged in front of his friend.

But what can Lars do with the gray? What can he do when he is gray like everything else?

In the very least, Lars can tell how exhausted Steven is, even if it’s not your common exhaustion.  The bowls and ingredients are forgotten in the counter as the older boy guides Steven to his bedroom. Lars talks to him in a rather soft voice, but Steven can’t quite pay attention; all his words sound gray and static. Eventually, Steven acknowledges he’s lied down, and the door closes somewhere. Silence greets him once again and he has no idea whether it’s comforting or not.

The blanket does little to warm him. The skyscrapers above are not enough to catch his attention. It’s like Steven is floating in a pool that is neither cold nor hot. But it swallows him either way and can easily drown him without him noticing.

Thus, Steven sinks in and barely realizes when his eyes close.

--

The smell of strawberries is nice, but it’s no longer tasteful.

The sight of the Gem Battlefield is quite beautiful. Obviously, he could never admire the tragedy and brutality of war, yet nature has grown back in what was once a dead place.

Steven walks.

(He no longer runs to catch up with anyone. Nor does he guide them.)

Until he’s too close to the edge.

The ground below is hidden beneath the thousands of trees far away. Once upon a time, Steven almost fell there twice. The first time he was saved by Pearl and Amethyst. The second, he was expected to climb on his own. Both times, he didn’t want to fall.

Now, Steven notices it’s not as gray as everything else. It’s actually quite green down there.

He leans in.

A tiny part of his brain yells. Demands he walks back to safety. He shouldn’t do this, he can’t leave everyone behind. What would they think of him?

But the green, the green is so beautiful. It might solve everything. It might help and silence the gray for once and for all. He can’t stay in the gray anymore. He needs to catch the green.

He’s not scared of the height anymore.

The green sounds so peaceful. He can tell the birds are singing under his feet.

(A final song.)

The wind levitates his pink jacket. He looks up, knowing this will be the last time he stares at the gray.

(Will he miss it? Maybe. He’s stayed here for too long.)

The sunset is coming to an end, the light reaching the green down him.

Steven takes a breath.

He embraces him.

The falling wind is the only sound he hears. The gray no longer blinds or deafens him. It’s going away, and Steven knows he’s getting to the bottom soon.

He closes his eyes.

Crack.

--

His stomach bewilders him, as though he’s hit the ground.

It’s not hard, however. It’s surprisingly soft. There’s the scent of wood and clothes surrounding him, and he might recognize the vague smell of chocolate and butter.

Steven’s heart pounds in midst of the gray. He’s unsure if he should be relieved or disappointed that he’s sitting on a bed. Which is not his, he realizes. Right. He’s in Lars’ bedroom.

Despite how big it is, Steven can’t breathe. He can’t stay there.

He barely processes himself rushing downstairs, not as he somehow hears the wind and the birds singing. Is he seeking it? Is he running away from it? Why is he scared?

When the boy arrives, he finds no green in spite of the colorful home. Steven searches for something, anything. And then he’s staring inside the kitchen, where he recognizes laughter. Lars is talking to someone on the phone, while he prepares what appears to be pancakes and a mug of hot chocolate – which is also filled with marshmallows, Steven completes. It’s what Lars makes him when Steven stays a little longer, or when he has bad days.

He doesn’t know why, but Lars isn’t as gray as before. Steven can actually make it to what his friend is saying. Lars is talking to Sadie, laughing at something she’s telling him. At one point, she seems to ask something as Lars changes the subject.

“… ah no, sorry, I’m staying here tonight. Steven is… I dunno.” Lars’ smile fades in worry. “I’ve seen him have bad days before, but there’s something different this time. It seems… familiar, but somehow I have no idea either.”

There’s a brief pause before he sighs exaggeratedly and resumes, “Hopefully my masterful pancake might cheer him up a little?” He snorts at something Sadie said. “Oh, you know my pancakes make everything better! Steven loves them!” He pauses again and gasps, “Betrayal!”

Steven makes it to Sadie’s laughter on the speaker, even if it’s barely audible. Lars sighs again in defeat.

“Ugh, alright. I’ll call you back, okay?” he promises. The pink teen soon… blushes and protests, “Wha- I’m not the Mom Friend! Stop calling me that!” With his glare, Steven can assume that Sadie will definitely not quit it. “Bye, Sadie!” Lars jokes – until he softly adds, “Get some rest, okay? Yeah, I’ll tell Steven you said hi. Okay, love ya. Bye.”

The pink boy finally hangs up and it’s only when he turns around that he notices Steven.

“Woah, hey! Didn’t notice you there,” Lars clears his throat in embarrassment. He frowns a little when he actually pays attention to the other boy, who hasn’t moved or said a thing since. “Steven? Are you okay?” Lars asks.

The younger, for once, finds pink. Not the enraging pink that would blind his senses at times, but the welcoming pink that has accepted him before. That has comforted him before. And Steven—

Steven immediately launches himself forward, arms holding tight onto the pink. He loses air, his lungs are aching and his heart races his entire body. Lars is trying to talk to him, Steven notices, yet he can’t focus on it as he refuses to let go.

The moment Steven releases a loud sob, Lars wraps his arms around him back. They feel so solid that Steven cries harder. He hasn’t had this mess of feelings in such a long time that it overwhelms him, and Steven can’t help but crave it. He needs to run away from the gray and reach out for the pink.

Because he realizes, he could have lost it. He would never smell the pancakes and the hot chocolate, and he wouldn’t feel Lars’ arms ever again.

Steven hides in the hug, because he also knows Lars would never forgive him if he knew. How could Steven get so blinded by the gray?

The boy feels small as he sobs, weeps and clings to his friend. Lars is trying to calm him down by soothing his back up and down. As Steven focuses on that, his breath begins to return to its rhythm, and his heart no longer hammers his senses. For once, Lars tries to pull Steven away, even if just to look at him. The latter refuses; he knows Lars is going to ask. While the captain never pressures him to talk, Lars is definitely freaked out right now, which isn’t fair to him, Steven knows. But he can’t tell him.

“Steven,” Lars calls him, pleading, “can you look at me? Please?”

The younger shakes his head, sniffing in the other’s chest.

“Steven, you’re scaring me, what happened?” Lars insists more firmly while patiently. “Did you get hurt?”

The young boy keeps shaking his head, yet he ends up saying something for once. Hiccupping, he lets out, “I d-did”—he sobs—“I did something awful, Lars!”

“What?”

“Y-You’re…” Steven gulps, “you’re going to hate me…”

“Steven, I would never hate you. You know that, right?”

“Lars—”

“You can tell me, buddy, I won’t be mad—”

Steven fists his shirt. “I JUMPED, Lars!” he snaps, “I actually jumped from the Gem Battlefield and I fell all the way down, because- because everything is gray and empty, and I wanted it to STOP! I w-wanted!... I…”

Despite his uncontrollable sobbing, the kitchen has grown awfully silent. Lars’ hands still and the hug doesn’t feel as comforting anymore.

“F-For a moment, it felt good. I wanted to feel good. Nothing was making me happy anymore, and I thought that… that falling was gonna help. But I”—Steven shuts his eyes forcefully— “I got so scared that I floated until I landed. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t.”

Steven’s voice becomes smaller and smaller, that he sounds like a scared child. Like the same fourteen-year-old child that didn’t know how to get through the Crystal Gems missions.

“And even then, I…” he opens his mouth before realizing it, “I still feel like I’m there, like I’m falling and falling… there’s nothing ahead of me. Nothing but the end, the end to all this gray and”—he gasps—“a-and even though I can’t see it, I know I’m going to reach it. I’m getting so close to the bottom. T-The worst part is, I don’t know if I want to.”

Lars is so still. The fact he was once dead terrifies Steven. Lars is immobile, his heartbeat nowhere to be felt and his breaths, gone. It only breaks Steven more, to the point the younger boy slowly loses his grip around his friend and drops to his knees. He faces the floor, his falling tears and his own shame.

“I’m useless. I-I’m… I don’t know anything. I can’t do any of this anymore, and I’m so scared,” Steven admits. At the long lack of response, he shoves his face in his hands and cries, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He cries in the silence again. His emotions are still surrounded by the gray and Steven can’t take it any longer. He doesn’t know how to get through this.

(Sickeningly, he might regret coming back home at all. He could have ended this.)

Steven expects an answer. He awaits the angry yelling, the disbelief – How could you do that?! –, or even nothing at all.

When Steven listens to another pair of legs reaching his level, he can’t control the flinch and the tiny sob that follows. Not too long after, he’s…

… he’s yanked back in Lars’ arms.

It’s the tightest Steven has ever been hugged.

Lars still says nothing.

But he holds Steven like it’s the end of the world, and he reassures without words that he’s not letting go.

His hugs are different from the gems’. They’re not engulfing, they’re not delicate or motherly. Lars is vulnerable – he's shaking and his breaths are deep, trying hard not to lose themselves to tears. He’s broken and he’s human. Although he's Lars of the Stars, he's not necessarily a star himself. By simply holding the other boy, Lars swears to be there, in the good, the bad and the gray – even if they might not find a solution now, or in a long time.

Steven lets out muffled screams, tears as wet and aching as Blue Diamond’s. He glows pink, brighter than ever.

(And he’s actually relieved for that.)

--

After that day, Lars offers Steven to sleep over at his house when the gems go on fieldtrips. While a little reluctant, the latter accepts the kind invitation. The Barrigas are the sweetest people he’s known.

The gray for once stops absorbing everything. It’s not gone. It might never be gone. But Steven can find the joy, even if small, in the things he likes again. People do notice the difference, but they don’t fully question it.

He also notices that Lars has begun hugging him more often. Which is kind of unlike him; but Lars is always willing to hug him, maybe a little longer and tighter.

… To be honest, Steven is not complaining. It’s good to remember. When they hug, Steven almost forgets completely about the gray.

Things are slowly going back to normal, though in a different, good way.

--

One night, Lars invites Steven over – much to his surprise, Sadie is joining them. Steven hasn’t seen Sadie in person for a long time. She looks so different and so happy; it’s always a little odd to realize she’s shorter than him.

Even so, the three of them together brings him a sense of nostalgia. Steven, Lars and Sadie had their own adventures. Their own ups and downs. It takes Steven back to the mornings and afternoons at the Big Donut.

This time, Lars and Sadie hold hands, sitting side by side. Lars has baked them the good old Ube they shared two years ago. Steven doesn’t actually talk that much but he’s comfortable with that. He likes listening to Sadie, and her teasing Lars – still on the “Mom Friend” dilemma. Lars merely argues it’s because of his pink powers, but Sadie exposes his “mother instincts” to debunk the excuse.

Steven is smiling. Lars’ face flushes and Sadie’s laughter sounds pure. She plants kisses on the pink boy’s cheek, which manages to get a flustered grin out of him.

Nothing about the situation is remotely gray. Everything is alive. Everyone is bright and themselves. And Steven is… himself, too.

…

“Oh, Steven, what happened?”

Sadie stares at him with concern and a little surprise. Lars isn’t particularly shocked but he’s sympathetic. When Steven feels water wetting his hand, he dries his face. Only for him to laugh wetly and make an even bigger tearful mess.

“S-Sorry, I’m okay,” Steven reassures them, truthfully, “I’m okay. I just…” He laughs again. “I-I love you guys so much.”

“Aw, Steven… we love you, too,” Sadie replies, heartfelt. Lars doesn’t mention it, but his smile means the same.

Once Steven sobs, both Lars and Sadie go to him and hug the boy. They ruffle his curly hair and squeeze him between them.

Steven has never been so thankful for his friends.

[barnesandco]

Nikah: April

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Slight angst, sick Bucky.

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart ‘s writing challenge.

Torrential April showers hammer at the proverbial ceiling of their marriage, slip into the cracks between the walls of their home, begin to loosen the foundation they are standing on, one brick at a time.The gray sky is a gloomy canvas framed by their kitchen window, a painting appropriately matching their murky moods.

Bucky’s leaning against the counter, marble top digging into his steel-rod spine, arms crossed like a shield across his chest. Across his heart. She glances up at him through damp eyelashes before turning back to her laptop, pretending to focus on her presentation. The dinner table is a mess, a sea of papers and textbooks broken by a lighthouse of a tea cup.

“You have a cold,” She tells him as his iron stare is interrupted by a wheezing cough.

“This even is important,” He says, ignoring her apparent concern for his well-being.

“So is your health, Bucky.”

“My health or your work?” He retorts sharply, anger rebuilding after a lull in the storm. There’s a fundraiser for providing state-of-the-art prostheses and frames for disabled children, and he and Colonel Rhodes have been invited as special guests for the attention they’ll bring to the cause. This is his first public engagement after his marriage, and people will want to see his wife on his arm. Only, she’s refusing to go.

“Look, I don’t want to fight about this, especially with the condition you’re in, but-” 

“Then don’t,” Bucky urges, the plea followed by another sneeze that rattles his lungs in his rib cage. Her eyes soften, letting the evident concern for her sick husband show. With a sigh, she pushes back from the table and puts the cup in the sink before turning to him. 

“My PhD defense is two days after the gala,” She argues, and he scoffs, internally regretting the action as it aggravates the scratch in his throat.

“You can’t spare two hours?”

“Why does it matter if I’m not there? It’s your work event, not a personal thing.”

“You’re invited and expected to be there with me as my wife, my partner,” Bucky growls as well as he can, voice hoarse and straining.

“Bucky, this is my future, my life. The conclusion to ten years of studying. I want to go, trust me, I want to be there- but my work…” She tries to explain, tears forming in the corners of her sleep deprived eyes and Bucky wants to answer. Tell her he doesn’t believe her, that she doesn’t care, that he knows he’s just a tool to be used and put away when the job is done. But he still cares, dammit. These kids matter, and unfortunately for them, so does the press coverage. If she isn’t there, the media won’t approve, spinning lies like cotton candy and feeding it to everyone who enjoys that circus, and that could mean disaster for her chances at a green card, and his standing as a “reformed” traitor.

The past two hours of back and forth, the headache-inducing argument, it all swims in his vision and the nausea finally catches up to him and he runs into the bathroom and throws up. Hears running water and looks up to see her holding out a glass of water that he gulps down quickly. She kneels on the pristine tiles beside him and presses a hand to his flaming forehead. Her own wrinkles at the feel of his fever, but he relaxes, as if the tornado hellscape of illness is leaving his body through that point of contact. 

“I told you take it easy,” She grumbles, helping him to his feet. Their quarrel is a tangible presence between them, but all fight seems to have left him along with the contents of his stomach. She helps him settle down in bed and is about to go to retrieve some medicine when Bucky’s hand shoots out to grab hers. Looking down, she squeezes it briefly before leaving.

Bucky counts the seconds to her return with bated breath, and she arrives - guardian angel with Advil and water - to sit next to him on the edge of her bed. Supports him with a hand on his back while he takes the medicine, and once he’s finished, looks at him nervously with hands clasped in her lap.

“Is there anything else I can do? Do you need-”

“You can go to the ball with me,” He answers through teeth grit against the fever that isn’t subsiding yet. She looks up.

“We’ll talk about that later,” She says, resolute. 

“We will talk about it now, and we’ll keep talkin’ till-” He begins to get up, leaning on his elbows but she gently pushes him down onto the pillow with a soft hand on his chest. Leaning over him, so close he’s sure he can recreate the color of her irises from memory, she answers.

“Get some rest. Please,” She asks, pressing a kiss to his burning forehead. Her plans to let him recover on his own are postponed by the feel of his flaming skin and she pulls back to look at him, worried again. Her temper shifts like the tides, pushing and pulling, water slowly eroding his heart made of stone.

“You’re still burning hot.” Bucky bites back a flirtatious remark, which still pops up in his mind, despite the situation. “I should call a doctor,” She says, and Bucky shakes his head.

“ ‘S okay.”

“It’s not okay. You’re at 102 degrees, at least,” She argues, reaching for her phone and he covers her hand with his. 

“It’s a cold, doll. I’ll be fine, trust me,” He reassures, in spite of the shivers racking his body.

“What should I do, then?” Instead of his response, she receives a coughing fit of alarming proportions, the sound grating and scraping at the walls of their room. “I’ll be right back,” She says, leaving before he can stop her, and he can only hope she won’t call anyone.

Five minutes later, she comes back holding a bowl of… honey? 

“It’s a remedy my mom would make when I was a kid. Desi cough syrup. Ginger and honey with a bit of cinnamon.” She gauges his response, but Bucky only opens his mouth, allowing her to feed it to him. It doesn’t taste bad, warms and soothes his throat, and he lays back again.

“Better?” She wants to know as she puts the bowl on the bedside table.

“A little. Still cold.”

“Oh.” Her face falls, but she gets up to turn on the thermostat, and lays an extra blanket on him. Bucky doesn’t want her to leave, upset as he is, so he asks her:

“Does this mean you’ll come?” He gets a glare for his efforts from the doorway. She comes back and pulls the blanket tighter around him and sighs heavily, as if to expel the weight of the world from her lungs.

“Not now, Bucky. Rest-”

“Stay. Fine, we won’t talk now, but don’t go. You’re exhausted. You need sleep,” He insists, reaching for her hand as she’s about to leave again, and she mulls it over. Crumpling the neat arrangement of duvet-comforter-blanket, he makes room, and she gets in beside him.

The back of her hand, her knuckles, reach out to run a line across his forehead and then drag down his cheek. “You’re shaking,” She comments, and Bucky no longer knows if it’s due to the fever or the effect she has that makes his heart tremble like a leaf in a hurricane. “Come here,” She says, and to his astonishment, comes closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull him to her. Her chin rests on the crown of his head while his nose is pressed to her collarbone. Slowly, cautiously, his arms envelope her waist, belting around the base of her spine.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs against her soft skin, feeling her pulse thrum against his lips where they meet. Her barely-there yes is accompanied by her hand on the nape of his neck, running her fingers through the hair there.

Bucky falls asleep in the cloud of his wife’s jasmine perfume, her touch still distant and tense, but he only dreams of a better wedding. A second chance. The kind that she is deserving of, instead of the frail one she received, even if it was at her own insistence.

“You’re eloping?” Sam asks, voice rising to a comical pitch that Bucky didn’t know was possible. He shrugs at his teammate, who stands above him in front of the couch Bucky is lounging on, having burst into his room. Normally, he’d have chewed Sam out for not knocking, but he’s in Peter’s room, hiding from Sam, so he hardly has any right to. Looks like it isn’t much of a hiding place, but then - if Bucky had wanted to actually hide instead of procrastinate this conversation, Sam would have never found him.

Bucky nods, straightening up slightly, and Sam sits down beside him.

“Why, man?” He asks, the line between concerned captain and caring friend blurring. 

“She didn’t want to make a big deal about it. Said there wasn’t much point in spendin’ all that money for somethin’ like this, especially because she knows I’d be spendin’ the money,” Bucky answers. It’s true. Peter had almost thrown a tantrum when she had announced that she wouldn’t wear a lehenga, or a wedding outfit of any other sort for that matter. Weddings are a huge deal anywhere, but especially in Pakistan, and she’s her parents’  eldest, the pride and joy of the family. Her marriage would have been celebrated with so much enthusiasm. It would have been an event to remember. But it won’t be.

He knows it’s reasonable, the proper thing to do, but part of him - the 20-year-old Brooklyn romantic - longs for a wedding. A party. A celebration. However, he has come to terms with the fact that there is nothing to celebrate here. Just a temporary arrangement. A favor.  They had agreed on a courthouse marriage. Elopement. Simple as that.

Bucky’s eyes open with a great modicum of difficulty to find that he is burning. Everything is on fire, his bed a furnace baking him alive, so much so that it takes torturous moments before he realizes his wife is in his arms. The urge to throw off the blankets and dunk himself in an ice bath is suppressed just long enough for him to look over her head at the alarm clock on the bedside table that reads eleven. They appear to have slept through yesterday afternoon, the whole night, and late into the next morning, and the clouds have parted to reveal sunshine like gold. 

The temperature becomes unbearable, and regrettably, he has to move out of her grasp around him, her hand tightening where it’s gripping his bicep. 

“Sweetheart,” He says, not wanting to wake her, but having no choice. She shifts, burrows her face into his chest and Bucky’s heart cries. He sighs, running a thumb firmly over her shoulder, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“Sweetheart.” She hums, the vibrations reverberating through her lips and his sweat-drenched shirt. “Baby, wake up. I gotta go.” She frowns, whimpers, nuzzling into him, and Bucky hates himself for waking her, resting a hand on the side of her neck. “Darlin’ please. I have to go,” He says urgently, and it’s true. He needs the toilet. She jerks back with a gasp, and he smiles at her, trying not to race to the bathroom.

“I’m sorry- I-” “It’s okay, give me a sec,” He says, leaving. When he returns, she’s sitting back against the headboard, and she straightens up to talk to him, adjusting her shirt.

“I- uh, I thought about it, and... well. I’ve been studying for years and years. This is my work, my research, and if I’m not ready now, I don’t think I’ll ever be. What I’m trying to say is- I guess I’ll go to the gala.” She says, getting up and moving to peck his cheek on her way out, still demure and a little stiff, but Bucky thinks: he’s the luckiest damn fool on this side of the galaxy.

Taglist: @suz-123​ @mermaidxatxheart​ @buckyreaderrecs @shield-agent78 @corneliabarnes @readerandcinephileingeneral​ @stevieboyharrington @notsomellowmushroom @veganfangirl5 @mood-pancakes @lbuck121 @starnight-charmer

[scoundrels-in-love]

We draw a line in the sand, We say don't cross this or else (Take this from me, take this lonely heart )

Brienne hasn't believed love itself is enough to defeat all obstacles for a long time.

When Jaime comes to join the convoy returning North after Dragonpit, it's not about them loving each other - it's about survival.

But maybe it can be about love, too.

Also on AO3.

I

 Brienne hasn’t believed love is enough in a long time.

 Like a flower, this childish belief has gradually lost its colorful petals - blown away by harsher fall winds that had blown out candles of her mothers’ and infant sisters’ lives, trashed to ground by cold rain like waves had battered Galladon’s body against the cliffs, fallen away from the first touch of frost that her decision to leave had brushed upon her relationship with her father.

 Love could not carry you over the pits in the road or take you over the mountains life raised in your path. Only you yourself could try to overcome these obstacles, assisted by it’s sometimes gentle, sometimes bruising hand.

 She still carries imprints of those, they ache dully into the night when she could not sleep, when neither crackling of fire or familiar shuffling of camp settled down (but never quite at peace) could soothe her.

 Her love could not save Renly when he bled out in her arms, so far from his own beloved.

 Just as her oaths and beliefs could not save Lady Stark - or her late Lady’s love had not saved her family.

 Much like Jaime, whose golden, cracked heart could not dispel darkness over Cersei’s mind with its glow.

 And, in turn, she could not follow its shine into the marshes, in hopes to find him and pull him back on safe, stable ground.

 Yet, she had dared to hope, for a brief moment in Dragonpit, when their traded glances held the weight of gathering storm clouds upon the horizon - they could dispel yet, giving way to a sun so bright it blinds in its play or unleash a storm that would devour fleets in minutes.

 She had been blind, alright. But no sun had been present, except for the resplendent Lannister twins. And what cruel desert suns they could be.

 “Fuck loyalty,” she had told him, but now it tastes like salt and ash of burned would-bes in her mouth. Brienne would feel better if she could truly, honestly say she had meant it, without a single, passing thought of ‘fuck loyalty to her, your sister, and maybe you will find a different sort loyalty in the smoking ruins of what Cersei has reduced your love to’.

 Selfish, even when she tried to do what is right, even when she tried to save him.

 And so, so godsdamn angry when she could not.

 Podrick calls considerable amount of it upon himself, when she glares at the boy as he tumbles into her tent, red faced and out of breath.

 “Ser Brienne, Ser Jaime just arrived with a handful of men and announced he has a meeting with you.”

 II

 Jaime looks slightly out of place in her tent, but that is less disconcerting than the fact he is here and how much he still looks like he belongs. She has spent many years in war camps, too, but Brienne knows she looked a lot more misfit in his lavish Commander’s tent back in Riverrun.

 (She tries not to think about the implications of that, tries and fails.)

 “I could have exposed your lie,” she tells him, plainly. The implied should sways between them like an axe’s blade, edge of it glinting in the candle light.

 “But you didn’t.”

 “Do not make me regret it.” She regrets immediately, for the flicker of doubt, an almost hurt that casts shadows over his eyes, dips into the lines of his face, making her think of all the pain that others have inflicted on him with their dismissals and accusations.

 “Cersei does not intend to send her forces. I overheard her speaking with Qyburn, her rat of a Hand, about how she intended to keep me in the dark until the last possible moment.”

 He barrels on, which is for the best, because with a moment to speak or act, she might have walked up to cup his clenched jaw, take his fist in her hands until it warmed and melted open again under her touch.

 “I bade my time, took my most trusted men and raced to catch up with you. I doubted I would be given a chance to explain myself and enter the camp, so I lied and said this is what we had spoken about at Dragonpit.”

 She knows there are countless questions to ask, about logistics, about how many men he had trusted and if they could indeed be trusted, about, about, about, but all that she has on her tongue is: “Why?”

 It comes out quiet and paper thin, a rustle of dry leaves to reflect the drought in her mouth.

 Jaime walks forward, stops a step away from her, and she can see more clearly now how distraught he really is. It’s not even the way his beard is far from the well-maintained form it had been back at Dragonpit or the tension in his shoulders, his whole body, really. There is something broken and hopeful and soft in his eyes, which she has only one word for, but not one she can give it.

 She thinks he looks like a page torn from a book that hopes she will sew him back into another tome, instead of tossing him into the fire.

 “If I have to go North and die fighting decayed monsters, at least we can do it together, Brienne.”

 She has been addressed in many ways and her name dragged through spit, blood and mud, but the way he says it now is as if he has washed it clean and is holding it tenderly. It lances through her heart, right next to where his solemn proclamation is buried hilt deep.

 “You are seeking out an honorable death, is that it?” Later she wonders if her voice rose in volume, but right now, all she can feel is anger as a wall built hastile in response to the hurt.

 “We all die and this is perhaps one way I can actually be useful doing it.” She sees him closing up, too, retreating now that the conversation had spun out of his hands, though Brienne does not know where he had wanted to take it.  

 “Ser Jaime, do you intend to live or to die?” He flinches at her use of his title, the moat she has haphazardly dug around herself filling with water rapidly. And yet, she still hopes he will give something, so she can lower the drawbridge.

 “You know none of us can intend much in a battlefield.”

 The gate falls shut and she knows Jaime sees it, hope that has been crumbling already turned into foggy resignation and yet the softness stays.

 “Very well, Ser Jaime. I will make necessary arrangements for the stay of you and your men. I am sure your brother will be happy to let you spend tonight in his tent.”

 “Good night, Lady Brienne.”

 III  

 Handful of men turn out to be a good fifty well armed and equally trained soldiers and while rest of the camp is vary of them initially, enough for them to be somewhat glorified prisoners, the trial which Brienne had worried for is seemingly postponed until they reach Winterfell and over the journey, the tension eases and connections are made.

 She, too, finds herself making some - particularly with Jaime’s second in command, Addam Marbrand. Next morning, after she had finished training with Pod, he had strode over to her, all easy swagger and seemingly genuine respect, introducing himself and pressing kiss to back of her hand as he told he had heard great many things of her valour and battle skills.

 Perhaps it is what he chooses to praise or his eagerness when sparring, or the way he lures a shadow of smile or a familiar scowl out of Jaime over stories he shares of their childhood that makes her feel more at ease around him than she normally would.

 Or maybe she spends time with him because it is closest to natural excuse she has to be near Jaime. At first, she had avoided him and he seemed to do the same, but then Addam had started dragging him to campfires and early morning spars.

 “If you intend to watch Lady Brienne’s six, you could do better than merely be a body shield for one or two wights,” he had said the first time, ignoring Jaime’s grimace (and earning a notch on her appreciation scale).

 After she and Addam are done with him, he has more than a remark to make faces about. But he grins and bears it, quite literally, and within a week he taunts them in return and the improvement is clear. Sometimes, she almost forgets where they are and what awaits them, with the way their swords sing and banter warms the space between them. Some of it is stilted still, bear pits of silences they stumble into, especially when it is just her and Jaime, the unspoken things just as dangerous as the beast that left its mark on her body.

 Especially so on quiet nights when they find themselves sitting together and gazing at the moon in her milky garden, promising cold weather. It makes her wonder if that single, wilted flower could’ve been part of an azalea instead, which now mistakes the warmth of his shoulder for the arrival of Spring. But the Winter is not just coming - it is already here.

 IV

 Though Winterfell is half-sunken in snow, something seems to thaw in Jaime after his trial has passed. There is uncertainty to him still, like he is a spring that hasn’t found the path it will carve out ahead just yet, but he throws himself into the preparations earnestly and his eyes glint with color of laughter (green of new leaves) more often.

 It feels selfish to seek him and Addam out, under guise of discussing strategies and overall progress, when she merely wants a moment of breathing, away from everything that they’re actually supposed to think about. She draws in air so deeply, so greedily it actually hurts - hurts when Jaime’s hand hovers near hers as they stand on battlement and his smile is warmer than memories of sun, clouds on its edges because they know this is not enough. And he cannot give her more.

 Yet he does.

 Addam had mentioned her (lack of) knighthood before, but she had brushed him off. It is the last thing on her mind, when Jaime stands up abruptly after Tyrion mentions most of the people present have fought the Starks at one point, yet now they are united to defend their castle.

 “There would have been no one to truly reclaim it, if not for Lady Brienne, who brought Lady Sansa home,” he says, almost conversationally, but she can sense the flood of certainty rolling generous waves within him. She fears she is the river banks it intends to swallow.

 “And if there is to be a new dawn, it deserves to be greeted by one true knight in these seven wretched kingdoms.” Jaime sets his cup down and moves to the center of the room, the sound of him unsheathing Widow’s Wail almost deafening in the quiet that has entangled everyone.

 “Kneel, Lady Brienne.”

 She wants to laugh it off, before he can, before someone says ‘women cannot be knights��, before -- but only he exists outside the silence and she has no voice. Somewhere, on the edges of her vision, Addam and Podrick smile at her with such pride and encouragement that it sweeps her off her chair and toward Jaime, like he is the lighthouse and the cliffs that could shatter her all at once.

 He guides her to the shore, gleaming in the firelight, and her legs wobble as her lip does when she stands up, now a knight.

 In that moment, love isn’t just enough, it is everything, and all she can see is flurry of pink in golden sunlight.

 V

 Morning comes, but the night has taken many under her cold, silent wings.

 She has lost the count of how many times she thought it will carry away those dearest to her, instead it had become a rod of ice next to her backbone that hadn’t let her bend or break, or stop even for a moment as they fought through the Long Night.

 It still has not melted, almost a day later, because Addam is laying pale in a makeshift infirmary bed. Only for a moment, she had lost sight of him, but it could as well have been an infinity, because next time a wave of wights crested and fell apart, so was he crumbling to the ground. They had managed to drag him along as they were forced to retreat towards a wall, clinging to the ragged breath he still drew and the hope it could be over soon, but if the battle had lasted even half an hour more, he would have faded away propped against the stone, now uselessly protected by three swords.

 She has not seen him since they brought him to Maester that night, immediately overtaken by  duties, interrupted only by short and restless sleep where sometimes it was Jaime, sometimes Addam and even Podrick that fell (and then rose) in her dreams. But now she is here and so is Jaime, who has little else to do than to be by his friend’s bed and mend his own wounds.

 He chides Brienne for looking as if she will keel over herself, has few choice words for Lady Sansa’s inability to manage even a day without her, and drags her on a stool next to his. Doesn’t let her hand go even afterward - it is rough and warm, and familiar somehow, though they have barely ever touched. As if all the countless dreams she has had have somehow become a piece of truth, reality, embedded in her body and mind.

 “Brienne, he will live,” Jaime tells her and she wants to tell him he cannot know that, not with the clarity he bears, but she smiles a little and nods in return, because it is good one of them can be so assured of it.

 “And so will I.” His voice is almost solemn, trembling just a little like he isn’t sure if this promise is even wanted, though he must, just as she had known his heart. And she thinks of the gaping abyss they still have yet to cross which love will not lift them gently over on its own, and of the way she cannot think of taking another step without his hand in hers, and then she is kissing him, soft and sweet and he cannot taste like first warm spring rain, yet he somehow does.

 “Could not wait until I am good enough to say finally with all the panache it deserves, could you?”

 They startle apart, though Jaime’s hand stays on her shoulder, still drawing her closer even if it is awkward at this angle. Addam still looks pale, but she appreciates seeing his eyes again, the glimmer of mirth and relief making him seem more lively than he logically can be.

 When she stands to call Maester, she thinks she was right - love itself might not be enough. But when it is encased with support and trust and oaths that are hard to give but easy to uphold once said, and life that shall be lived and shared, it becomes something that makes roads and homes in impossible places. And somewhere in her heart, azalea blooms dizzyingly as the color drips back into the landscape.

[isidar-mithrim]

{The first meeting between Lily, her boyfriend James Potter, and the engaged couple, went badly, and the relationship nose-dived from there. James was amused by Vernon, and made the mistake of showing it. Vernon tried to patronise James, asking what car he drove. James described his racing broom. Vernon supposed out loud that wizards had to live on unemployment benefit. James explained about Gringotts, and the fortune his parents had saved there, in solid gold. Vernon could not tell whether he was being made fun of or not, and grew angry. The evening ended with Vernon and Petunia storming out of the restaurant, while Lily burst into tears and James (a little ashamed of himself) promised to make things up with Vernon at the earliest opportunity. – ‘Vernon and Petunia Dursley’ – Pottermore}

Yes, we have all these informations... but how exactly the famous dinner between the two couples went? ^^

__________________________________

The first (and last) Dursley-Evans-Potter double date

“James… I’m warning you” Lily admonished for the umpteenth time.

“Don’t worry, love” he grinned. “You know people can’t help adoring me.”

She flashed him an exasperated look, then grabbed his hand and spun on the spot to Disapparate.

They ended up in a dark alley near the restaurant and after checking they were indeed alone, James removed the Invisibility Cloak.

“Give it there, I’ll put in in my purse” said Lily, outstretching a hand.

“Nah, I’ll keep it.”

“And where exactly do you plan to stick it, since you don’t have robes to hide it?”

“Easy” said James with a knowing smirk, tapping his temple. “In my pocket.”

“Oh, silly of me to think it wouldn’t fit” said Lily with sarcasm.

“Indeed” grinned James, effortlessly shoving the Cloak in the pocket while looking smugly at her.

“Of course you were going to use an illegal Extension Charm” she muttered, but he’d have bet that she was secretly amused. 

“Well, it didn’t seem like a great idea to walk around with my wand sticking out from my pocket or, worst, without my wand. I did thought about wearing cow-boy boots to hide it, but then again, I’m not so sure Petunia would have appreciated my outfit.”

Lily frowned at him and her intimidating tactic may have worked, if James wasn’t so smitten by her shining eyes to forget her annoyed expression.

He gave her a sudden peck on the lips hoping it could sooth her nerves a bit, and when she finally dared a smile he took her arm and walked her to the restaurant.

“Damn, I should have kept the Cloak” James muttered when they got close to the entrance. “I could have sneaked up that fat dude and made him startle” he added with dreamy delight, pointing at the heavy man’s back.

“You know… I think that’s Vernon” whispered Lily, hastily elbowing James when he giggled shamelessly.

“Ok, ok, I’ll calm down” he promised, surprisingly managing to actually compose himself. “But I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bigger ass… except Hagrid and yours, of course” he winked.

It was Lily’s turn to giggle, this time. “You can’t make me laugh!” she playfully reproached him, shoving his shoulder. “We have to stay serious.”

“How can we –”

“And don’t even try to make a joke about Sirius not being invited, it stopped being funny ages ago!”

“Ouch, that’s harsh!” said James, a melodramatic expression on his face, his hands clenched upon his heart.

“It’s only harsh if you were going to make that joke” she smirked.

“I… actually think you got a point.”

“I totally did” she bragged with a satisfied grin. “Now, shall we go?”

“We shall indeed, my marvelous lady.”

When they got close to the man Lily cleared her throat. “Vernon? Petunia?” she called hesitant.

The beefy man turned, and James could finally see the anxious, thin blonde woman that was hidden behind him. Thank Merlin Lily looked better than that.

“Petunia knew you’d show up late” said Vernon, checking them out with condescension. “Time is money, I keep telling her. Unfortunately, there are people who like to waste it.”

Lily apologised, mortified, but James held is tongue, his lips clenched among his teeth and every fiber of his being focused in staying serious rather than laughing at his piggy face.

“Vernon, dear, this is my sister Lily” said Petunia mincingly. She then looked at James, grimacing at his unruly hair – in her defense, he’d secretly made sure they were particularly messy, before leaving the house. “And you must be –”

“James Potter” he interjected, offering his hand.

She shook it with mild concern, but then she seemed to regain her good manners, because she cleared her throat and straightened up. “Lily, James, this is my fiancé, Vernon Dursley” she said with pride. “Vernon, this is my sister Lily and her… boyfriend James.”

He pretended not to notice the hint of disapproval and offered his hand to Vernon as well. The man definitely had a stronger grip, but James found quite bizarre shaking an hand with such fatty fingers – he made a mental note to brag about it with Sirius as soon as he had the chance.

“Well, shall we get in?” he asked an instant later, cheerfully clapping his hands. “I’m starving!”

Petunia looked at him with widened eyes, clearly horrified by his lack of tact, but she hurried to get in when he chivalrously held the door open. Vernon flashed him a suspicious glare when James gestured for him to get in as well, but he followed her fiancé nonetheless.

Little he knew that James was simply waiting for the perfect chance to watch his bottom wobbling at every steps.

He heard Lily sighing at his side. “It’s going to be a loong evening.”

“Oh, I bet we’ll have the time of our lives” he disagreed with a wide grin, finally letting the door go to follow her to the table.

“Here’s the menu, gentlemen” said the waiter, handing them out. “In the mid time, can I bring you something to drink?”

The others opened their menus to check the beverages, but James already knew what he wanted.

“Butterbeer for me, thanks.”

When four set of eyes looked at him abashed, he knew he must have asked for something very not Muggle.

“I’d like some beer too, thanks” Lily said after a moment, trying to fix the situation. James mentally thanked her presence of spirit, but Petunia looked at her like weed in a bush of flower.

“Just water for us” she said loftily, implying any other beverage would have been an inadmissible choice.

“Well said, Petunia!” shouted Vernon. “Alcohol is the opium of the people!” he added with disdain, hitting the table with his heavy hand.

James hastily tried to disguise his stifled laugh as a gasp, hiding his face behind the menu for good measure.

The Butterbeer misunderstanding, though, had given him an irresistible idea.

“Lily,” he said with a perfectly hearable whisper, “I must assume they don’t have Acromantula fried claws either, right?”

Vernon widened his eyes in horror and Petunia quickly run her gaze left and right, making sure nobody’d heard him.

“Lily!” he winced when she violently stomped his foot. “It’s a perfectly legitimate question for who’s so inexperienced about…”

He put on a stealth expression and theatrically looked around the table, then he leant towards Vernon and Petunia, covering his mouth with a hand.

“… Muggle food” he whispered.

Vernon looked at him outraged, straightening up – that still didn’t make his neck appear, for the record. “How did you call us?!”

“People different than them” explained Petunia with resentment.

Vernon clenched his teeth while James went back to giggle behind his menu, ignoring Lily’s warning glance.

She thankfully let it go, then she braced herself and spoke with forced pleasantness.

“Why don’t we postpone the chat to concentrate on our order?”

After the waiter brought their drinks and finished writing down their picks, Petunia flashed Vernon with an eloquent glance and he cleared his throat.

“Well, James. I can proudly state I’m able to carry Petunia around with my magnificent Lincoln Versailles. What do you drive, instead?” he asked with a patronising tone that James didn’t appreciate in the least.

“Oh, I’m so glad you asked!” he said with pretended enthusiasm. “I drive a little gem, dear Vernon! Acceleration from 0 to 90 mph in ten seconds, the best aerodynamic in the country, it answer at the slightest touch!”

Vernon was speechless, eyes narrowed in anger and envy. He drank a sip of water and almost chocked.

“Er… what model is it?” asked Petunia while slapping her fiancé on the back with her boney hand.

James smirked inwardly and got ready to answer, but Lily preceded him, flashing a warning look yet again.

“He’s actually speaking about his racing broom” she explained with a fake smile.

Vernon spluttered in surprised and Petunia covered her mouth with her hand, shocked.

“His.. his…” Vernon stuttered.

“Racing broomstick, yeah!” James exclaimed before Lily could stop him. “My Nimbus Thousand, a loyal companion in many Quidditch victories and thrilling adventures. It darts in the sky as lightning bolt, Vernon, you should see it! Sure, after a bunch of hours you start feeling a bit of discomfort on your nether regions, that’s granted, but eventually you get use to it” he added with a wink.

The fat man looked at him with a mix of rage and loathing.

“Petunia, which flower have you picked for the wedding?” cut in Lily, smiling brightly. Her sister instantly seized the chance to change the subject, explaining in exhausting details every damn thing about the hall decor.

When the two sisters got to the place holders’ color, James decided it was time for a bit of fun.

“But let’s talk about you for a bit, Vernon! You must have a very important job to afford such an expensive wedding” he said, his voice dripping with admiration.

“Of course!” Vernon stated vehemently, as if James had suggested the opposite. “I’m the deputy director of the Grunnings!”

“My Vernon makes drills” said Petunia with touching pride, an hand on her breast and one on Vernon’s shoulder.

“It’s an electric tools that makes small holes” Lily explained to James, cutting is very, very interested question before he could voice it. He quickly found something else to say.

“Oh, so it’s a dreel, the thing you used to pierce you ears, Lily! Vernon, let me tell you this,” he added with a moved expression, “you have a really noble job. I can’t imagine how grim the world would look if all the Muggle girls had to renounce to this wonderful pieces of jewelry.” He raised his hand to graze Petunia’s earring, but she retracted with horror.

“Drills aren’t used to make stupid ears’ piercings!” yelled Vernon. “Without drills buildings can’t be build!”

“Then it’s even nobler than I thought!” exclaimed James, shifting his foot before Lily could step on it again. “Vernon, I’m truly impressed. You’ve just earned a new admirer.”

“Well, it’s definitely more noble than your… condition” retorted Vernon nastily, not buying his flattering – it was nice to know that he wasn’t that stupid, at least. “I bet your… kind… have to ask for unemployment benefit. I believe who’s not able to sustain himself doesn’t deserve to be supported by the government with the money earned by us honest workers!”

James put on his best devastated expression.

“You touched a sore spot, my dear Vernon” he said, his voice cracking. “You’re right, sadly. Lily and I are currently unemployed. Since we graduated at Hogwarts…” he sniffed loudly. “I’m sorry.”

“We manage to get by, anyway” clarified Lily, laying her hand on James’s wrist and clenching it hard.

James took his napkins and wiped an inexistent tear, but when he spoke again he used a pretty perky tone.

“Yeah, thank Merlin my parents are filthy rich and their vault at the Gringotts is packed with solid gold!”

Vernon and Petunia were staring with wide eyes and dropped jaws, and he felt a rush of deep satisfaction. “Oh, I’m so sorry, that was very poor of me, of course you don’t know what the Gringotts is! It’s the wizards’ bank – Mountain of Galleons guarded by a dragon!

“Are you… are you having me on?” asked Vernon, flushing with rage.

“Me? Vernon, I would never do something like that” said James, pretending to be desolate. “Everything I told you it’s the absolute truth!”

Vernon grew even angrier, but Petunia beat his retort.

“That’s not true!” she shrieked. “Dr–”she suddenly cut herself off, realising she was yelling. “Dragons don’t exist” she hissed. “Lily has never mentioned them.”

“Right!” agreed Vernon. “We would have notice for sure, if they did!”

“Of course they exist!” said James. “My own wand core is a dragon’s heartstring, and there are twelve ways to use is blood – Dumbledore himself discovered them all!”

“Lies!” roared Vernon, while Lily hid her face behind her hands. “I won’t stay here so a wastrel like you can make a fool of me! We’re leaving, Petunia!” he shouted, slamming a fist on the table and making the glasses rattle. She jerked, but an instant later she flashed a disdained glance at Lily and stood up to follow his fiancé.

James, terribly amused, turned to look at Lily.

His grin vanished in a flash when he saw that she was in tears.

“Lily…” he murmured, taken aback.

“You really can’t help acting like an idiot, right?” she asked angrily, roughly wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. “Why did you have to treat him like that?!”

“Have you seen him?! He’s literally bloated!” retorted James. “Thank Merlin you’ve better taste than your sister.”

“Oh, do I?” she sneered.

“Lily!”

“You ruined everything! I didn’t think I was asking too much when I asked you to be serious for two bloody hours!” she retorted. Then her anger seemed to fade as fast as it came. “Petunia will never forgive me…” she said bleakly.

She looked so miserable that James heart ached, the guilt crawling inside him. He knew how much Lily cared about reestablishing a contact with her sister, and he realised he’d made it impossible.

“Shit, you’re right” he murmured, caressing her hair. “I’m sorry… I’m really sorry. Please, look at me, Lily” he added with a pleading tone.

She turned towards him, her beautiful green eyes reddened by tears, and James heart sank.

“I’ll make things right with Vernon at the next occasion, all right? I promise.”

She nodded weakly and he squeezed her in his arms, cradling her until she calmed down.

[the-house-of-the-nine]

The Void Forge: Fortune Part 3

Days after the meeting of the Council. . .

“Planning is everything Rayne.”  Lazarius whispered calmly as his soothing voice echoed from the rafters of the war room.

A large drafting table had been pushed against a duplicate; with several charts and maps strewn across its face.  Constructed from what appeared to be a makeshift paper mache’ model was the entrance to Grim Batol.  Several chess pawns were placed in various locations at the base of the mountain, with larger pieces there to no doubt represent the commanding generals.

“And this?” exclaimed the young girl as she moved her hand over to the area with several bishops that had been painted red in a crude, yet effective manner.

Lazarius turned his attention to where she was indicating, and swiftly drew the extension pole from the side of the table.  It had a flat end looking like a gardening rake, but wooden and smooth.  He would use it to push the pieces across the battlefield.  The dow would bump into the red markers and group them into a cluster as he pushed.

“Red Dragons you fool!” hissed the young lord who popped his head up over the edge of the war table pointing with an eager smile; Raith was being honest. “Right Papa? We should capture them and bend them to our will!” 

“Papa already attempted this; let us just leave it at that.  Results were. . .”  Asphodel was not far behind the prince.  Her watchful hand would sweep across his shoulder; edged nails gently curling around the bone as she moved to pull him away from the table so as not to ruin her Inquisitors ‘toys’. “Less than satisfactory to say the least, would you not agree Inquisitor?”

Lazarius remained silent, but to much dismay; Rayne had other thoughts on the matter.  Her eyes widened as she looked toward the man who’d been questioned. “You attempted to corrupt a red dragon?”

“To-be-completely-fair. . .” Lazarius replied almost instantaneously with a beat by beat response. “I was only trying to gain a sample of his blood.”

“You were ‘trying’ to infuse his genetics with void energy to see if you could correct the Twilight imperfections. . .Don’t avoid the truth Lazarius, own what you accomplished.” Asphodel said without missing a beat of her own.  Raith still stood in front of her, both of her hands now resting on his shoulders so as to keep him close. 

“I take it things did not work out to your favor then, Inquisitor?” Rayne was swift to the point, after learning a bit about their past.

Lazarius was less than pleased, and would in turn nod his head to her. “Nearly complete but the complications resulting from the attack on the Bastille separated the Nine.  Everything was lost in the rubble, the drake fled.  Most who survived returned, but he did not. . . thus the experiment was abandoned.”

“Postponed. . .”  Asphodel added, smiling to the man.

Lazarius pushed his gaze upward.  Two glowing black orbs locking on the woman as he in turn would welcome her clever remark and reciprocate with a smile of his own.

It was about this time that the young lord would stand on his tip-toes trying to glance over the map once more.  His fingers edging across the ruffled lip of the maps border while his lips curled over into a smile.

“Papa. . .”  he would hiss, glancing up to the Inquisitor with the fanged smile. “When I can hunt with you. . . will you let me plan like this?  I want to learn how to control the battle like you. . .”

Asphodel instinctively brought a hand upward to her lips, covering the open mouth she’d made at the question.  How oddly curious that both adoptive parents found it to be adorable when the hell spawn was showing interest in their dark ways.  Fostering the ideas that popped into his head, when most would be truly frightened.  How was it that both she and Lazarius were enamored by thoughts of their son coordinating battles and laying waste to their enemies.  It had brought a boisterous chuckle to the Inquisitor, who was nodding his head.

“I would expect nothing less from you Raith . . . and I look forward to the day that I am following your battle plan.” Lazarius may not have been the ideal candidate to foster a child.  In fact, anyone within their right mind would have known not to give him the opportunity to see to the well being and care for another life form.  But, Raith was actually thriving here.   Not only was he becoming more intelligent by the day, but his abilities were coming out.  He was functioning and producing.  It was as if he’d finally found his home all along, it had just taken a while to get there. 

The boy on the other hand, nearly squealed with delight at the comment made by his adoptive father.  He whirled around with a glance trying to find Asphodel in his sights, and when he had, the smile on his face could have even melted the Frozen Throne itself.  He was hopping like a tiny rabbit, looking at her with that childish grin; despite it all, he was still a youth.  Things like his fathers admiration and respect were one thing, but acknowledging that one day they could be doing this together; Gods that may have been the push that turned him into a tiny Lazarius. 

Regardless, it seemed to be a comment that even lightened the tone enough that the group had forgotten what they were doing.  The genocide of two factions standing in their way?  It was clearly evident that the only person here still focused on the task at hand was the menacing demon standing in the doorway of the war room.

“Inquisitor. . . “ Koltun snarled, roughly ten or so meters from the drafting tables.  His shoulder leaning in against the frame of the large double door.  One leg was crooked against the other, as if just lounging against it while he waited.  His arms were crossed over his chest, pulled in tightly against the bare scaled flesh he so openly exposed.  And on his belt, dangling in the flickering torchlight entering in behind him was a large brown burlap sack, moist around the bulk of its contents and dripping onto the stone floor.  “If you’ve a minute.”

The four inhabitants of the war room would turn to notice the demon standing there.  But it was Lazarius who would usher him in.  Lofting his hand upward and beckoning him over.

“Koltun!”  he exclaimed with a bit of enthusiasm. “I knew you were swift but, quite the time you’ve made.”

Rayne had met Koltun, but still seemed a bit concerned of his abilities and appearance.  After all, he was a demon.  She would move not an inch though, choosing to stand to her convictions and hold her position at the drafting table.  But it would be Aconite who would approach the child and take him from the care of the Speaker.  Asphodel was thankful, and gave the prince a gentle kiss on his forehead as he was no doubt moved to go find Sylas to torment.

Koltun stood there for just a moment more, his nostrils flared as he snorted just a little scoff at the comment.  He was still leaning there.  His persona was rock solid, unflappable.  There was something about him that Lazarius did find appealing, perhaps it was that ego they shared.  But just as he pushed off the frame of the door to enter, the ghostly steward suddenly appeared beside him in a cloud of smoke breaking the tension.

“You’ve left a trail from the window you entered in the Lady Kash’ebahls bed chamber, down my granite walkway, across my Uldum embersilk rugs, through my saronite tile kitchen. . . and now here. . . clean up your messes, Master Ancientveil.”  Kross, the master of timing snarled, wiping up the stained red liquid from the ground, flipping the rag each time he did so.

“Gods be scorned!”  Koltun yelped nearly letting out a laugh, but choosing to growl instead. “I hate it when he does that!”  He shouted as he thumbed in the direction of the steward, calling into the group and then turning back toward Kross with a calmer voice after letting out a ‘phew’. “I hate it when you do that.“

Kross slowly rose once more, flipping the red stained rag several times over. “That is not the first time I have been told that, Master Ancientveil.”   And with that, the steward tossed the dirty rag against the demons chest, thrust him into the war room and gently shut the doors behind them.

Koltun found a laugh in this, it was nice to actually be in a place so elegant and yet the morbidity pulsating throughout, just felt so fitting; he smiled.  His cloven hooves clicked against the hard stone as he walked toward the table and its denizens.  That echo once more, caving in around them as he made his way right up to the Inquisitor.

“What have you found.” Lazarius questioned as Koltun moved to stand before him.

“Well. . .” the demon began.  “Wheres your stick. . . “  He said noticing it and reaching across the table to grab the rod with the push end.  He would begin to aggressively shove the pieces around.

“That drastic?”  Lazarius spoke softly, watching him.

“For starters, wild hammers aren’t occupying the foothold at the base of the mountain.”  The tool would move several of the pieces around to the first cliffface up from the lower portion. “As of now, three camps on the western edge.  Two on the eastern face, and one occupying the northern ridge.”

“They’ve doubled their numbers since we were last there.” Asphodel remarked, watching him shift the battle plan.

Lazarius nodded, at both but mainly to agree with the Speaker. “I don’t suppose you got a count on ho. . “

“Five hundred and eleven, not counting commanders or any of the reserves still holding the line against the Dragonmaw Orcs bolstering the fields below.  The advantage is still ours.”  Koltun moved several pieces that were colored blue to the open pass leading out into the fields of the Highlands. “If we block off this entrance.”

“But t-those are actually the ah. . .Twilight Hammer.”  Lazarius quickly added correcting the mistake. “We are purple. . .ones.”

Koltun reacted as such, fumbling and moving the pieces back but faltering as he did a double take and questioned . “Wait W-Why aren’t they purple?”

“Raith was doing the coloring and felt too much purple would be confusing; it angered him, and Lazarius wouldn’t concede on giving up his color, so they became blue.” Asphodel groaned, rolling her eyes at the comment.

“The Nine have always been purple.  I wasn’t about the just give that up for the sake of demonstration.” Lazarius chimed in, defending his case.

“You could have done gold or silver.”  The speaker retorted.

“You’re right, maybe purple for them and purple with a gold trim for us.”  he added again.

“Yeah but now that is just confusing, I look at purple and think Twilight Hammer. . . why didn’t you just avoid all of this and use hammers to represent the twili. . . .gods why am I even bothering with this!”  He got wrapped up in the discussion and shouted, then forced the right pieces into position and giving the war room table a good slap with the rod. “If -we -hold -this- pass. . . we can cut off their reinforcements from aiding them and catch them in the pincer.”

“So you’re saying that the plan will stand as it is.” Rayne added, trying to get them all back on track.

Koltun was all to happy to oblige, and swirled the end of the rod around the portion he just moved. “If we can cut off this pass, then yes.”

Lazarius had refocused himself, and looked at the maps where he was indicating. “Well then that is where we’ll have the Confessor hold the line.  Once the assault begins and we’re certain they will flee.  They can hold that position and prevent their escape.  While simultaneously keeping their runners at bay.”

“Precisely my thoughts Inquisitor.” Koltun added.

“And what of the Hammer?” Asphodel reminded him, pointing to the area where the blue pieces were.

Koltun whirled around, nearly forgetting but grabbing them and placing them at the base of the entrance.

“They’re surrounded and securing the main gate.  One large frontal force, they’re taking heavy losses from the Wildhammer every so often, but it seems for the moment the battles are being waged away from their encampment.” the demon would respond, finally seeing the field as it was while he was there.

“And you thoughts Koltun?” Lazarius said as he finished.  Choosing to allow him this opportunity to voice his own opinion.

“My thoughts?” Koltun almost seemed amazed by the action,so much so he needed a moment to collect them. “The linchpin is as you said in the initial plan.  The disruption of the cultists.  If we can cause this distraction it will allow us the time and ability to set up our own forces.”

“So that will be the key to victory then.” Lazarius motioned toward the blue pawns sitting at the gate of the crude model. “We’ll shatter them from within to draw the attention of the dwarves, and take possession of their camps during the commotion.  While also simultaneously positioning the Confessor at the entrance to the pass to keep them contained.  Raise the corpses of the dead to do the majority of the work, and allow you and the Harbinger to cut a swath through the ones that remain standing.”

“Did you happen to locate a position the Inquisitor can set up to begin sowing whispers into their ranks.” Asphodel poised, clearly probing to see how thorough a job the hunter had done scouting.

“Yes.  On the southern cropping just over this ridge here there is a cavern tunnel that lets out just below the fjord in the valley.  We’ll position several guards to keep anyone from disturbing them.  But they can get a clear view of the camp and whisper all they want. . .”  Koltun stated aggressively, knowing he’d done his job to the letter.

“No that is quite alright.  Sennaris and I are used to working alone.  I’ll have Rash’jahla nearby.  Should anything alert her, I will know about it.  Keep our forces together.” Lazarius waved his hand at the thought.  And Koltun would nod to him.

“I will inform your sister then.” Koltun had responded. “Dismissed?”

Lazarius gave a hearty chuckle at the comment, nodding his head. “You are dismissed Ancientveil.”  He grinned.

As he turned to leave, Koltun suddenly was reminded of the dripping bag on his belt loop, and it prompted him to pluck it from its place and draw back the tie. “I almost forgot, a gift I brought back for you, Inquisitor.”

“A gift. . .for me?” Lazarius said with a confusing, yet almost cheerful squeal.

As he began to unravel the looped ties holding it shut, he moved his fingers to open the bag wide enough for the dark male to look inside.  When he did, there in the bottom of the bag was the face of a dwarf peering back up at him.  A face of pure confusion mixed with absolute terror.  Painful. 

“Well doesn’t he look cheerful. . .” Lazarius quipped while letting out a chuckle as he waved to the head in the back. “Koltun you shouldn’t have. . . “

The demon swirled the bag in a clockwise manner, tying it back off and dropping it at the Inquisitors feet.  His eyeless gaze peered back at the man. “Wildhammer general, on guard duty. . . figured one less in our way.  Don’t worry, the other six in his battalion were taken down as well.  Needed two hammer cultists also. . . looked like a battle, well enough. . . took the head.” 

“A thoughtful gift, and a wise plan.” Asphodel added listening to the infiltrator go over his attack. “Good to cover your tracks while hunting. . . that will only galvanize our assault, they’re already suspicious of Hammer cultists taking down their scouts.”

“I always cover my tracks.” Koltun added as he started toward the exit of the room,  he’d been standing in the pool of blood this entire time.  Each step he took would be accompanied by a squishing, squashing sound.  To his dismay, it seemed his previous statement clashed against his current action of quite literally ‘leaving tracks”.  He reached the door, and as his lengthy nails curled around the latch he sighed. “Except these tracks. . . you know, most of my tracks, but these ones happen to j.. . .” 

He just groaned, silently opening the door only to find Kross standing there with a frown on his grizzled face.  This caused him to yell again, caught completely off guard by the specter.

“Dammit Kross stop doing that!”  He snarled, shoving past him and growling down the hallway toward the lair of the Harbinger.

“Clean up your messes Master Ancientveil!” exclaimed the steward as he too, followed in suit fading into the shadows in a cloud of white vaporous smoke.

Asphodel, Lazarius and Rayne would share a laugh at the expense of the demon and the spirit accosting him.  All three seemed to find a smile shortly after.  Times like these were scarce.  And soon, given the circumstances; it was clearly evident that some or all of them, may not come back alive.  So to find humor in something so innocent was rather peaceful. 

This would not last though.  The facade that all was not what it seemed would be broken when Lazarius shattered the veil and motioned to the map once more.

“I have a few more things I need to finalize.  If you would both leave me to it. Oh, and have Abbigael send for Sennaris and The Confessor. I’d like to go over the plan once more with them.”

To be continued in Part 4. . . 

@lyvraynefloralis

@pyravari

@corrupted-priestess

@thebladeitself

@profound-amateur

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