#and then i realized most of this was pulled straight from cure muse

[just-someone-online]

Was trying to figure out how to rewrite Doki Doki Precure so it could have Cure Ace and Cure Regina and I ended up just redoing Suite Precure

[afictionalwhore]

SDV Bachelors’ Love Languages (hc) and a little bit of kinks

Who said they were never going to do headcanons again? Not me!

Why? Because I’m addicted to Stardew. Also finding pictures of these men to make good headers is difficult. I just gave up.

Some of these are NFSW!

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Shane: Acts of Service and Physical Touch

Shane is worried that you’re going to think he thinks you can’t handle yourself when he tries to make your life as easy and comfortable as possible. This isn’t true at all. He thinks that you work incredibly hard and wants to be there for you to take the break you deserve.

He likes to wake up early to help you with the animals like how he did on his aunt’s ranch. The stability and routine of it is comforting to him because it’s life with you.

If you’re not up and watering crops by the time he’s done with the animals, he’ll make breakfast for you

He loves making you breakfast in bed, typically an omelette made with fresh milk and eggs. He’ll do hashbrowns too if you have potatoes in stock/ready to harvest.

A service switch. His biggest turn on is getting you off, so he wants to make sure you’ve cum several times before he starts working on himself. If there’s anything new you want to try, just talk to him. He’ll try anything once if he thinks it’ll make you happy. He usually doms, but if you want to be on top, don’t hesitate to ask; he’ll gladly let you.

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Sebastian: Quality Time and Physical Touch

Isn’t really one for showing affection in any way until he really is sure that his feelings are reciprocated. Once he’s sure of how you feel, this man is nothing short of romantic.

While dating or before, just when he realizes he’s starting to fall, he tells you to come visit anytime. He likes when you’re just there. This carried over into married life.

Sebastian is still a loner and an introvert. He wants to spend time with you but he feels smothered if the two of you are always doing something together. He wants to be in the same area as you and loves sitting with you and reading his comics while you scroll through your phone. Before you were married, he loved when you’d visit while he was working, even if all you did was take a nap on his couch after mining all morning.

He’s not one for PDA, but will hold your hand at festivals if you really want to. When you’re at home, or in his room before you’re married, this man will absolutely cling to you. He wants to snuggle during movie nights. He falls asleep spooning you. He wants to hold you and watch while you cook dinner. He wants to lay in your lap and have you play with his hair.

A little bit of words of affirmation, but this is because he’s not sure how to show how he feels and wants to make sure you know. He also wants to be reassured of how you feel and hearing it is nice.

Body worship. Seb loves every part of you. While he may not be very vocal about it, he’s not gonna leave any part of you unloved, smothering you with kisses and soft whispered praises. Seb loves going down on you and making you feel good.

He’s a bit of a masochist. He loves when you’re rough with him. Pulling his hair and scratching his back. He also has a sadistic streak though, if he gets the okay from you. He enjoys pulling your hair and edging you until you’re crying for him.

Seb is also probably into bdsm because of the level of trust. There’s a lot of things he wants to try and he’s excited to finally have someone he trusts enough to try it with. Fully trusting someone is very important to him. Once he had the okay from you, nothing is off the table. This man wants to try everything from bondage to choking to knife play.

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Elliot: Words of Affirmation and Physical Touch

This man is a writer, so there is no shortage of love notes in your lunchbox/tacklebox/backpack.

You’re his muse. You inspire all his writings. Even if a poem looks like it’s about the sea or some other part of nature, it’s really about you.

Elliot is really going for that Jane Austen type feeling of romance. Leaning into that, Elliot loves dancing with you in your home.

Hearing how you feel is very important to Elliot. He likes to start the day with a kiss and hearing “I love you!”

Pet names! Elliot is going to call you “honey”, “sweetheart”, “cherie”, “darling”. He’ll call you his turtle if he thought he could make it romantic.

Elliot finds warmth in your touch and he’s obviously going to tell you this in the most poetic way possibly.

Elliot is one to mindlessly trace patterns over your skin as the two of you are cuddling and he loves having his hair played with.

Praise. Kink. He’s going to shower you in praises. He’s going to call you his good girl/boy. He’s gonna tell you that you’re taking him oh so well. “You’re doing great baby, just like that.”

Elliot is also going to smother you in kisses. Elliot’s kisses are very passionate, as is sex with him. Elliot prefers heavy passionate love making.

The praise kink goes both ways. He loves when you tell him how good he feels and beg him not to stop, right. “You’re so good, daddy,” will make this man feral.

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Harvey: Acts of Service and Quality Time

Harvey is very busy as the only doctor in town, so his time is incredibly precious to him. That being said, any time spent with you means the world to Harvey.

Harvey loves trying to help make your life easier. He also appreciates when you do little things for him, like pack a lunch for him to take to the office.

Harvey is very awkward, so words and touch don’t mean a lot to him. He’ll tell you how he feels if he wants you

Role play. I’ve had so many people tell me this one and ya know. I cannot disagree. Harvey absolutely goes nuts when you call him “captain” and when you bought that flight attendant outfit.

He’s also not above going down to his office after hours and “curing your hysteria.”

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Alex: Words of Affirmation and Acts of Service

Like Alex always needs to hear about how he’s gonna be a great sports star, he always needs to hear that you love him.

But Alex is also going to tell you every day how much he loves you, how much you mean to him.

You never have to worry about what to wear because Alex thinks you look beautiful in everything and let’s you know it.

Alex isn’t really one for touching. With his past, he’s probably adverse to touch at first, but will eventually relax into your touch.

While it may have started out with him having to prove his masculinity, Alex found that he genuinely enjoys doing things for you. He’s learning how to fix things and do farm work to make your life easier.

Alex is the least kinkiest here. If you ask to try something new, he’ll probably just be like “a new position?” Not that he wouldn’t be excited to try a new position.

I think he could also be convinced to do some light bondage.

───────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─────────

Sam: Physical Touch and Gift Giving

Sam is very touchy-feely from the get go. He’s not afraid of PDA at all. He wants his arm around you at all times. He’s stealing kisses at every opportunity.

Sam wants to be all over you. If you’re sitting, Sam will somehow find his way into your lap. He’s like a puppy. If he fits, he sits; if he don’t fit, he will make himself fit.

Sam doesn’t necessarily go out and buy you gifts. Instead, he gives you flowers he picked and things like that.

Sam would absolutely get you matching stuffed animals he won at a festival.

Sam would also write songs for you! He’s just so excited that he runs straight for you, guitar in hand, and starts playing.

Sam, like Alex, probably isn’t as kinky as the others. Sam probably likes to tease and spank, but with Sam, sex is definitely goofy. It’s a great time when you’re both laughing.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Maybe Family and Affection for Loki x Sigyn if you're still doing those! <3

I’m always doing those!

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children?

In the canon of the MCU I don’t see them having kids.  But, in my ideal universe they would have Vali and Narfi.

If so, how many children do your muses want/have?

Two boys and that’s just right for them.

Who is the favorite parent?

Sigyn. Loki might let them get away with murder, but Sigyn has those Mom powers; she can find anything, knows exactly who needs to by where and when, makes exactly the right meal for what ails, the works.  Loki is the parent to call when you need to hide a body.  Sigyn is the parent you call when you need a good hug.

Who is the authoritative parent?

Sigyn.  She’s authoritative, but fair.  Loki has a hard time disciplining his kids.  He doesn’t want them to resent him the way he does his own father. So, if he can avoid being the bad guy with them, he will.

Who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school?

Loki.  Sigyn will insist that unless they have a fever, they need to be in school. But, Loki gets that sometimes pretending to be sick so you don’t have to go means there’s something else going on.  So, he’ll let them get away with it, for one day, then straight back.

Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around?

Loki.  Not many, but just enough for him to make them promise not to tell Mom.  They to anyway, but it’s the thought that counts.

Who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children?

They both do, but Loki has been banned from some events. He can and will fight a Karen on sight; or rather mess with them so nothing can be proved, but everyone knows it’s Loki’s fault. 

Who goes to parent teacher interviews?

Sigyn for the most part.  Loki at least comes to the first meeting.  If everything goes smoothly with the teacher, he’ll continue on, but if there is some sort of “disagreement” between himself and the teacher, Sigyn knows better than to leave him alone in a room with them.  However, if the teacher is being particularly unfair to their children, she’ll let him have at it.

Who changes the diapers?

Sigyn.  Loki always manages to pull some sort of disappearing act right when they need a changing.

Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby?

Loki.  As stated in previous headcanons, he’s not much of a sleeper to being with. It’s easier on Sigyn to just let her sleep.  Plus, he genuinely enjoys the feeling of carrying his sons in his arms until they drift back off to sleep.  For a brief moment, he feels like he’s doing something right.

Who spends the most time with the children?

Sigyn, but only by a slim margin.  There aren’t many instances where both Loki and Sigyn aren’t together with the kids. The difference comes from all the places Loki has gotten himself banned from.

Who packs their lunch boxes?

Sigyn.  Loki cannot cook to save his life and is lost trying to put a nutritious lunch together.  That’s my headcanon and I’m sticking to it.

Who gives their children ‘the talk’?

Loki, or at least, Sigyn tries to make Loki do it.  It’s not that she can’t, she just thinks it would be funny.  Loki flounders for a bit, but once he realizes his wife is teasing him, he decides to answer, with complete seriousness, “a stork does it”.  And when the boys start asking more questions, he doubles down, creating the most elaborate backstory he can come up with until Sigyn has to cave and tell them the truth.

Who cleans up after the kids?

Loki.  As much as his life is a mess and he has a tendency not to clean up his own messes unless forced to, he likes a clean house.  He and Sigyn both try to train the boys to pick up after themselves, but there’s always something lying in the middle of the living room.

Who worries the most?

Loki.  While Sigyn’s fears are more of the “are they safe” variety, Loki’s fears are more abstract.  Is he being a good father? What if they grow up to hate him? What if he fails? What am I doing wrong?

Deep down he feels that if he were to disappear, his children would be fine, because they’d have Sigyn.  But, if Sigyn were gone, he would be lost.

Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from?

Valkyrie.  Loki and Sigyn don’t swear that much to begin with.  It’s Valkyrie who lets a frustrated “fuck” slip right in front of the boys.  

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle?

They both do.  They’re a surprisingly touchy couple.  Cuddling is just the natural extension of that.

Who is the little spoon?

They switch off.  There are days where Sigyn just wants to snuggle up and be held.  She naturally curles into herself when she sleeps and likes to feel secure. And then there are days when Loki is just so tired, that nothing but laying his head down and listening to his wife’s heart beat will cure him.

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?

Loki.  He loves nothing more than teasing Sigyn in public.  She’s developed such a brilliant poker face in court, it’s his personal challenge to himself to crack it.  It becomes a kind of game of what he can get away with. 

Who struggles to keep their hands to themself?  

Loki.  He’s not sure where it came from, but he finds himself constantly searching for her touch.  It doesn’t even need to be sexual in nature.  He just wants to feel her skin pressed against his. He needs the reminder that she’s there, that she chose him and she’s not pulling away. It frightens him sometimes, just how much he needs that touch.

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?

They’ve perfected the cuddle over a thousands years together and can go on for some time.  Chances are somebody will need a glass of water or need to use the restroom before it’s a matter of numb limbs.

Who gives the most kisses?

Sigyn.  While Loki can’t seem to keep his hands off her, Sigyn can’t seem to keep her lips to herself. They’re usually small in nature; a peck on the cheek, a soothing forehead kiss, or even just as a morning greeting. They’re casual and freely given, and there are times Loki has no idea what to do with himself after.

What is their favourite non-sexual activity?

They can often be found reading together, studying magic, or just talking.  Honestly, the most likely place you’re to find them at a banquet is in a corner somewhere with Loki whispering in her ear while she tries desperately not to laugh.

Where is their favourite place to cuddle?

In the window sill of the palace library.  Loki will lay back and have Sigyn rest comfortably between his legs.  Sometimes one of them is reading a book aloud, or Sigyn is holding a book open, with Loki reading the same pages just over her shoulder.

Who is more likely to playfully grope the other? 

Loki, hands down.

How often do they get time to themselves?

Surprisingly often.  They both have duties to perform as part of the royal family, but as soon as they’re done, there’s not much stopping them from spending all their time together.

The Ultimate Relationship Tag

[victoria-daydreams]

Of Vices and Virtues

Chapter Nine: Challenges

AN: This story has really blown up it’s amazing, not to mention my follower count! I appreciate everyone’s support, you don’t know how much it means to me to see my notifications going crazy from all of you. Again, just leave a comment if you want to be added to the taglist below.

Word Count: 5.8k

Trigger Warnings: body negativity, unresolved trauma, mentions of KKK terrorism, mentions of The Holocaust

Taglist: @azayamari

Chapter Ten: Old Wounds

It was early morning at the Xavier Mansion and I just finished my morning cup of coffee, when I began walking around the mansion. The sound of light clinking could be heard from Hank's lab and I peeped my head in to see him peering down a microscope. I raised my fist and briskly rapped on the lab door which startled Hank in his chair. He looked up from the instrument and flashed me a shy smile.

I entered the lab and crossed my arms together, "What are you doing up so early?" I asked, sliding onto a stool across from Hank.

"Oh, you know how the saying goes, the early bird gets the worm," Hank answered, letting out a nervous chuckle.

I cocked my eyebrow, but didn't say anything as I stretched myself out, "Well, Hank you can have all them," I quipped, with a smile on my face.

"Why are you up?" he questioned, shifting in his seat.

"My body woke up and I couldn't go back to sleep, no matter how hard I tried to force myself," I answered shrugging, as my eyes did a quick glance at the microscope in front of me. "You know Hank, I've been wondering about something," I stated, placing both my arms on the table.

"And what would that be?"

"This serum you're making. It doesn't affect abilities right? Just appearance? Normalizes it?" I questioned him and he gave a small nod. "Why do you hate your mutation so much?" I asked inquisitively.

"Well, where to start? I have huge monkey feet, they're an eyesore to look at," Hank explained darkly, looking down at his shoes.

"Don't!" I scold him and he looked up at me in surprise. "Never say that about yourself Hank. I'm sure there are benefits to your mutation," I commented, trying to get him to see a bright side. "All mutations do," I added, nodding my head.

Hank scoffed slightly, "Like what? Earning another demeaning nickname?" he deadpanned, placing his hands on the table.

"It's not like you're alone in this," I pointed out, but Hank still looked at me unsurely.

"But you have an amazing gift Claudia. You are extremely lucky," Hank reasoned.

"Hey, even the best of powers can have cons," I tell him in an off handed tone. "For most of my life I thought my empathy was a curse. I hated it," I added, balling my fist up.

"Okay, so explain it to me. You asked me so I'll ask you," Hank began. "Why would you hate your abilities?" he questioned.

I sit up straight and fold my leg underneath me, "Once upon a time I wasn't fully in control of my empathic and telekinetic powers. With me, I get emotions, and emotions are real whether they truly are or not. I become the person in a way so much deeper than a telepath could. I am not them, but I am no longer me," I explained, pausing so I could catch my breath. "It was exhausting, the constant migraines I had, not to mention the shields I built to block everyone's emotions worked sporadically," I continued, looking down at the black top of the table. "You have no idea what it's like to be afraid of the damage that you could potentially do because of the powers your born with. But...all of that changed when I met him...my mentor," I finished, looking back up at Hank with a slight frown on my face.

"It sounds as though you don't care for him very much,"

"That's the thing I shouldn't like him, but yet in some twisted way, I owe him everything," I confided quietly. "If it weren't for him, I would have never been able to master my abilities. Hell, even when he was mentoring me I think we just scratched the surface of what I can do. It's probably for the best though, who knows what kind of trouble I would've gotten into or caused," I stated, a mirthless laugh escaping my lips.

"But you could never hurt anyone, you're too kind," Hank insisted, as if it was obvious. I let out a faint laugh, and he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Why did you laugh at that?" Hank questioned.

"Very rarely have I been called 'kind', that's why I laughed. It's just nice to hear it for a change," I explained, shrugging my shoulders.

Hank nodded his head understandingly and we sat in a comfortable silence. My eyes moved from Hank to the window behind him, my eyes focusing on the magnificent array of gold and pink that colored the landscape before me. It was strange, to be able to slightly let my guard down and become relaxed around Hank, or anyone in the mansion and let them get to know me more. It felt nice to finally have friends.

I focused my gaze back to Hank only to find that he was looking down awkwardly at the floor.

"What is it?" I asked with concern, he fumbled about with his hands not sure to say.

"Claudia, while I sympathize with your plight and what you've gone through, it's still different. I mean, even though you're a mutant your still beautiful, people can't see your mutation and they wouldn't think of you as a freak. They would see you as a goddess," he spoke stubbornly.

"Thank you Hank, I'm flattered," I chuckled, a gentle smile gracing my face. "But I can tell you that not everyone in this world holds that same sentiment," I informed him with a small laugh.

"Well then their blind," Hank stated, a chuckle escaping his lips. He momentarily dropped his stare down to the table before he looked back at me. "Look Claudia, I-uh, I promised myself that I'd find a cure ever since I was a little boy," Hank went on. "And I'm glad you don't care what my feet look like, but it's how I feel," Hank told me with a sigh, the two of us glance at the blood sample that Hank was studying.

Unfolding my leg I stood up from my stool and waltzed over to him, "You know Hank, you're quite stubborn," I mused, letting out a sigh of my own. "But it's your choice," I added smiling, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He nodded, "Thank you," he replied, a sigh of relief escaping him.

I pulled him into a side hug, "That doesn't mean I don't like it though," I muttered, making Hank chuckle.

~~~x~~~

Wearily, I trudged to the door and opened it to find the hallway almost leering at me, like it was speaking to me. Shaking it off, I stepped out into the even chillier air and made my way down to the lab from hell where the devil incarnate himself was waiting for me. I do not have the energy for this today, then again…when have I ever? When I heard him demanding me to be in the lab in two minutes or to suffer the consequences, I considered staying in my room, wanting to aggravate him, but decide against it. I didn’t want to stretch it too terribly much. So, on shaky legs I continued my miserable journey to the basement of-

"Claudia," my head snapped to the side at the sound of my name being called, my eyes slightly wide. Blue eyes and dark hair. Charles. "Are you alright?" he asked softly, standing next to me. "You had a faraway look in your eyes," he commented. "And you also started to make some items in here levitate," Charles added quietly.

He opened his mouth again to speak, but all I could hear was my blood pumping in my veins and I closed my eyes tightly to try and calm down, my head swimming with images of my past. My eyes glanced back over to the window I was in front of and stared through the glass pane, it promised to be a beautiful day. Clear skies, temperature below 60, but still warm enough for us to enjoy. I wasn't there now. I was here. Here, staying in a house that belonged to Charles Xavier. I was as far away from that life as humanely possible. I would never do anything I didn't want to do ever again.

"Claudia?"

I looked over to Charles again, "I'm fine," I breathed, not even realizing that my fingernails were digging into my palms until Charles gently took my right fist and pried it open before doing the same with my left. "I was just...thinking. That's all," I answered, flashing him a faux smile.

It was another skill I mastered over the years, hiding my true emotions. If I were to let them show, people would see me as weak. I turned around fully to see Erik and Moira already staring at me, both of them with different expressions. Moira was visibly concerned, while Erik's lips were pressed together creating a thin line. His eyes, they were guarded, as if he wasn't certain what to think of this situation. Or maybe Erik was always like this. It's hard to tell with him.

I looked back over to Charles, "Please, continue," I stated, motioning my hand for him to speak.

Charles gave me a slight nod and cleared his throat, "As I was previously saying, the wings aren't ready yet. Hank has informed me that he has to put the last touches on them today," he announced, looking between the three of us.

"What wings?" I thought.

Moira ran a hand through her straight brown locks, "It's no secret that Sean has a talent for destroying property, but isn't it counterproductive to throw him out a window of what we're trying to accomplish here?" Moira asked, with slight confusion.

"Wait, we're throwing Sean out of a window?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "I would also love to know the logic behind this," I stated, a grin now on my face.

"Charles and Hank apparently think he can fly," Moira explained, looking at me.

I folded my arms together, "Unless I'm mistaken, Sean's only power is his supersonic scream," I reminded, staring at the telepath. "How does flying coincide with his ability?" I asked curiously.

"It's the sound waves that Sean emits," Charles began. "When his sound waves hit supersonic they'll carry him," Charles finished.

"Interesting," I nodded my head, I slowly turned back around and stared out of the window again. My attention focused on the towering satellite on Charles' land, as I lifted my right thumb to my lip, sensing that this conversation was over.

"Charles, I've been meaning to ask more about your ideas for training," Moira announced, standing up from her seat.

"Ah, yes! I would love to talk about that," Charles answered happily, I could envision his eyes lighting up at the opportunity to discuss his ideas. "We'll talk it over a cup of tea, yes?" he proposed.

"Sounds lovely," Moira agreed.

I heard the two of of them leaving the room, but didn't bother turning around. My eyes were still trained outside, softly biting my thumb. How did I let this happen to me? I thought I was over of what happened in the past. All it took was me to mention him and suddenly the band-aid that was placed on my wound was ripped off and I'm back to being to that frightened girl I once was.

"Are you alright, Claudia?" Erik asked, breaking me out of my reverie. I didn't say anything or look his way. Just nodded. Suddenly, he was in front of me, and I inhaled deeply, and I involuntarily took a step back. "Look at me," he said gently, and I refused to do so. That was until I felt two rough, calloused fingers lift my chin. "Something troubles you Claudia, I don't need to be a mind reader to know that. Your posture and your face are all the evidence I need," Erik finished, as my brown eyes met his blue ones.

"I'm fine," I answered, pushing his hand away. "Just like I said earlier," I insisted, before turning around to leave the room as well.

I was not in the mood to talk. Not about this.

At the doorway of Charles' study I stopped, "Stop fretting over me Erik, you're gonna give yourself a heart attack," I warned, before walking into the hallway.

I hadn't taken more than a few steps when I spotted my shape-shifting friend turning down the same hallway I was.

"Afternoon Raven," I greeted, mustering up a small smile on my face. Raven didn't return my warm expression as she walked past me, and I cocked my head while furrowing my eyebrows. I turned on my heel and stared at her back. "Raven!" I called, walking at a quick speed to catch up with her as she went down another hallway. "Hey!" I called again, this time grasping her arm. "Have I done something to upset you?" I asked, releasing her arm.

"I just don't understand why you are doing what you're doing," Raven murmured.

"What?" I asked, my face scrunched up in confusion.

"I get that you and Charles have a thing going on, but why isn't that good enough for you?" Raven asked lowly, but the anger was evident in her voice. I scoffed as she finally turned around to face me. "You know, I've been noticing that you and Erik have been acting too friendly to be just friends and you just brushed it off saying it was nothing. But now it seems you turned sights on Hank-"

I waved my hands in the air, "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I interjected, my eyes widening at Raven's accusation. "Raven, what the hell are you talking about?" I asked, placing my hands on my hips. "If you're insinuating what I think you are, first of all how dare you! Second of all, I am most certainly not doing what you're accusing of me of," I stated, defending myself. "Where did this all come from? I thought we were friends!" I reminded, crossing my arms against my chest.

"It's just that, that," Raven began, but ended up letting out a frustrated groan and running a hand through her long, blonde hair.

My face softened and reached my arm out to Raven and gently grabbed her arm, "What is bothering you, Raven?" I asked, the anger inside of me ebbing away as I was truly curious what made her have such an outburst towards me.

"You are! You're so perfect," Raven sighed, frustration written all over her face. "Perfect face, perfect powers, perfect body," she listed, almost spitefully.

"Oh, come on Raven, nobody is perfect," I corrected gently, forcing back a smile as I thought back to when Charles and I were discussing the same thing. "I have my imperfections just like everyone else," I assured, giving her arm a slight squeeze.

"Where are they, because I don't see them," Raven disagreed, shaking her head and then crossing her arms. "You're just saying that to make me feel better," she grumbled.

I smiled slightly, "Truly, I am not," I replied, shaking my head. I exhaled deeply. "Well, I hope yelling at me got whatever that was plaguing you out," I mused, crossing my arms again.

Raven put her head in her hands, "I'm sorry," she sighed, lifting her head back up to face me. "It's just that I saw and heard you with Hank this morning and my mind just created so many stupid scenarios," Raven explained, her face flushed with embarrassment. "And then I saw you and Erik, but I turned ar-" she rambled on.

"I'm sorry Raven, but I'm beginning to notice a pattern here," I chimed in, raising an eyebrow. "Are you following me around?" I asked, my expression turning serious now.

"No!" Raven exclaimed quickly. "Well, at least not on purpose. This morning I went to check on Hank's progress with the serum and then I saw you two hugging and just now I saw you and Erik very close to each other," she  explained, lowering her gaze to the decorative rug covering the wooden floor. "Just like when you were sparring," the blonde added quietly, before raising her eyes to meet mine.

"Look Raven, despite what you think I do not have an objective of being with every man in the house, okay? The mansion is predominantly male, so yes, it's going to be more common that I'm talking to someone of the opposite gender," I explained, placing my hands on hips. "Makes sense now?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.

Raven nodded her head, "Oh God, I'm so sorry, Dia," Raven apologized again. "I can't believe I was that stupid to even think that of you," she groaned, hiding her face in her hands temporarily. Raven uncovered her face, "C'mon, let me make you lunch. It's the least I can do," Raven offered, letting out a laugh.

"It certainly is,"

~~~x~~~

"You know what I just adore about you, my dear Claudia? I can break you every night, and you'll still be a viable subject by the next morning,"

I threw punches at the punching bag as if the source of all my bottled up pain was actually here, standing right in front of me. I struck the bag as fast and hard as I could attempting to release all my pent up frustration. Why won't these god forsaken memories just disappear from my mind. I was angry. Frustrated. Upset. Ashamed. Embarrassed. My behavior was unacceptable. I was a broken, scared little girl. I was pathetic. I could never help save the world.

I was so fucking weak.

Never ending questions nagged at my brain as I furiously punched, ignoring the blood dripping off my knuckles.

"Claudia, stop before I make you stop," a velvety voice from behind me ordered.

I turned my head slightly and there stood Erik in his grey sweatsuit, "I'm fine," I stated simply wiping my knuckles on my pants, and positioning myself to continue training once more.

Erik stepped in front of the punching bag, grabbed my wrists in a firm, but not painful grip and pulled me into him, his steely blue eyes gazing intently into my own assessing me like a predator would it's prey.

"You had a thousand yard stare earlier, slightly lost control of your telekinesis, and now your beating a punching bag until your fists are raw and bloody," Erik pointed out, glancing at my bloodied fists. "And you honestly think that you're fine?" he asked, arching a brow and dropping my hands.

"Didn't I tell you to stop worrying about me?" I asked back, annoyed that he wouldn't leave well enough alone.

"But that's what friends do, we worry about each other," Erik informed, folding his arms together. "You would do the same for me, I hope," he added, a small smile forming on his lips.

I took a deep breath and slowly nodded in agreement.

"Come on, I'll clean those up for you," Erik said simply, leading me out of the gym and into a small white room which looked like a small medical bay he lead me over to sink and carefully cleaned my wounds then applied some anesthetic cream. "Sorry if it hurts," he apologized quietly, surprising me with his thoughtfulness. I found myself unintentionally smiling to myself. "What's so funny?" Erik questioned, finishing up with the bandages.

"It's just that...when we first met, I thought you were the biggest asshole known to man," I began, a ghost of grin on my lips. "But now I know that's not true, it's good to know that you're a nice man after all," I finished, pushing off from the sink.

"You think I'm a nice guy, I'm flattered truly I am," Erik replied cheekily. "Any other first impressions you had about me that I should know about?" Erik questioned, arching his brow in amusement while walking out of the door.

"Well, I also thought you were pretty handsome," I started, and Erik' face lit up with what looked like amusement. "But your personality soon negated all of your attractiveness," I added, with a smirk on my lips as I left the small room as well.

Suddenly Erik lifted me up and spun me around.

"Erik! Stop! Friends don't do this!" I said between laughs while attempting to escape his grasp.

"Some friends do!" he countered with a wink. "Now with me being a friend to Claudia, I have to wonder where the real Claudia is. Two compliments within a minute apart, I find that suspicious," Erik remarked, and let out a laugh.

"Erik! Put me down right now!" I scolded, with a smile on my face even though I hated the fact I'd lost control of the situation so easily. From over Erik's shoulder I saw Charles at the end of the hallway with a raised eyebrow. "Charles!" I called, a smile still on my face. "My knight in shining armor, come save me!" I exclaimed, reaching my arm out towards Charles and laughing.

"Don't listen to her Charles, this is just a lookalike. She has been too kind to me today, this can't possibly be the Claudia we know!" Erik claimed, his laughter vibrating against me.

Charles chuckled as well as he followed behind us, "You know Erik, I think you might be on to something," he agreed, smiling at me.

"Charles!" I called again, my mouth opened in shock that he took Erik's side instead of mine and Charles just shrugged an amused expression still on his face. I rolled my eyes and grinned myself before turning my attention back to the metal bender carrying me to the living room. "Hey, let me go!" I ordered, lightly hitting Erik's back with my fist.

"Fine," the metal bender answered simply.

In an instant, I landed hard on the floor with a thud. I watched as Erik walked down the hallway laughing all the way. He dropped me? He knew exactly what I meant when I told him to put me down. The audacity of him to do that. I'd show him, you can bet your bottom dollar that I will have the last laugh.

Charles extended his hand out towards me, "It seems you've taken a tumble, my dear," he remarked smiling.

I grabbed it and hopped to my feet, "Yeah, no thanks to that asshole," I commented, nodding my head in the direction of Erik.

"Ah, it seems we were wrong," Charles began with a chuckle. "There's the Claudia we know," he finished, leading me into the living room and I rolled my eyes again.

I spotted Erik standing with a relaxed posture, his hands in his pockets as he waited for Charles and I. He smirked at me and I just slid my index finger across my throat.

"Well, since the two of you are here, I wanted to test an idea out I had with your powers," Charles started, looking at me. "Claudia, I've been thinking about your empathic powers. We know you can use your 'persuasive' ability on people verbally. I want you to inside Erik's mind and give him an order without speaking,"

"What do you want me to make him do?"

Charles hesitated and looked at Erik, "What do you feel comfortable doing?"

Erik thought for a moment, "Nothing that will cause me extreme bodily harm," he answered, giving me a knowing glance.

Fine, I'd think of something else. I closed my eyes and lifted my mental shields as the confusion, curiousness, and a hint of tiredness sparked through my mind from Erik's. An idea popped in my head and I smiled to myself. I opened my eyes and stared at Erik unflinchingly which he returned, I cocked my head to the side and began my work with Erik's brain.

"You're feeling tired," I began. "Very tired," I added.

Erik let out a yawn as I furrowed my brow in concentration.

"You feel dead on your feet, you should have a seat right now," I suggested. "The chair behind you is just calling your name," I continued.

I pushed my suggestion into his head and Erik squatted down as if to sit down on the chair. But there wasn't a chair, so he fell to the floor on his ass. Erik looked up at me and glared.

I smiled triumphantly, "It's what you deserve," I stated, content with myself.

Charles was happy as well, "Excellent!" he cheered, before holding his hand out to Erik to helping him back to his feet.

"Am I done being the test dummy?" Erik asked, an annoyed expression on his face.

"Yes, you were a great help just now," Charles answered cheerfully, Erik shot me one last glare before he left and I stuck my tongue at him childishly. "A bit of fresh air will do the body good, don't you think?" Charles questioned, sticking his hand for me to leave the room first.

"I do," I concurred, making my way out of the room and towards the doors that led to the stone deck.

I pushed the door opened and the fresh late afternoon almost evening air was such a relief. An immense amount of sudden stress completely wiped me out already. The door behind me closed with a soft click from Charles and walked over next to me.

"What happened to your hands Claudia?" Charles asked, grabbing a hold of them and softly running his thumb across my knuckles.

"I got carried away with the punching bag, that's all. Please don't work up a sweat about me, I just had some steam to blow off," I explained, a reassuring smile on my lips.

Charles' brow furrowed as he looked out into the sprawling greenery that almost resembled the gardens of Versailles. The cool October breeze wrapped around us quite heavily as it sent chills down my spine and blew black strands of hair across my face. Charles noticed how my body reacted from the breeze and quickly took his jacket off and placed around my shoulders.

"Claudia," Charles started, giving his jacket a quick tug making sure I was snug within it. "I want you to know that whatever is bothering you, you don't have to face it alone," he reminded gently.

"What makes you think something is bothering me?" I asked, looking up at him.

"You haven't been your usual self, I mean I've barely heard a witty comment from you all day," he pointed out, a slight chuckle escaping his lips.

"It's better that I do though, you know, when it comes to facing my own problems alone," I answered, before looking over at the gardens as well. "I've done it for years now, what's a few more weeks going to change?" I inquired, shrugging my shoulders before turning my attention back to him.

"Everything," Charles answered, placing each of his hands on my shoulders looking straight into my eyes. "It could change everything, Claudia," Charles repeated, rubbing soothing circles on my biceps before his hands slid down my arms.

~~~x~~~

I laid wide awake in bed, my eyes spacing out, my mind somewhere else, I had been awakened by a dream. Not a dream, exactly, more a memory of a rain made of ashes. The stomach-churning scent of the burning bodies still scorched my nostrils whenever I thought about it. I saw a young boy in ragged striped pajamas and there was also a woman who appeared to be middle aged, but she looked so much older than she should. She was filthy and was in ragged pajamas, just like the boy. And there was a man, a man who looked all too familiar...

That's when I heard something. A creaking of sort. I sat up softly, and my eyes glued onto the door, as the sound grew louder, and soon I knew clearly it was footsteps. I got up and hesitated by my door, until the muffled noises were faint. Creeping out my door, I followed the suspect as I caught their shadow turning to the left in the hallway.

With quiet steps, and making sure to be in line with the shadows, I stalked behind whoever it was. Soon I was close enough to try and take out the figure's features. My night vision not being very strong. But before I could even make out their face, a voice spoke.

"I should have known you would follow me," It was hollow, and low.

I stepped into the speck of light the gleaming moon gave off, "Sorry. I was curious as to why you would be up and lurking around past midnight," I responded to Erik, and moved forth towards him.

"Could not sleep. But I should be asking you the same," he stated gravely.

I shrugged, "Got a lot on my mind," I explained lamely.

We stood there, giving moments of awkward silence, then he began to slip away towards the kitchen. His movement gave me a beckoning signal to follow him. Once there, he dug in the fridge, and tugged out a bottle of beer. He glanced over at me once I sat on the island counter watching him. "Want one?" He asked.

I scoffed at him, my brows raised, and expression saying 'seriously?'.

"I'm too much of a lady to drink beer," I quipped.

A soft chuckle erupted from him and he shook his head, as he pulled out a bottle of pop for me. I gladly took it, and he popped off the caps of both drinks. The two of us taking a swig of our bottles.

"So, what was life like for you before Charles and I hunted you down and dragged you here against your will?" Erik asked, his back leaned against the island beside me, as his eyes roamed over the pictures hanging on the wallpapered walls.

I glanced down at my bottle, my right index finger tracing the rim of the bottle, as I stayed mute after hearing his question. It was a long enough silence to notify him, and let him glimpse over at me.

"Or...don't answer my question," he muttered brashly.

I gave a soft sigh, "I lived in South Carolina until I was five, my grandpa was murdered by the KKK, they bombed his bookstore. It was a miracle that I survived," I began, Erik looked over at me, a sympathetic expression painted on his face. "Then we moved to Pennsylvania, and that's what I considered to be home for me. After I graduated high school, I moved to D.C. and attended college. I graduated and now I'm living the ‘American Dream’ the best that a black woman can," I explained, purposefully excluding certain events that I wasn't ready to share. "Nothing quite special about my life, Erik," I added, before taking another swig of my drink.

"I'm sorry about your grandfather, Claudia," Erik apologized, placing his beer down. "But I know there's more to your story than that. I know there is something or someone from your past that you're running from. Trust me, I know all the signs," he argued softly, and my throat felt awfully dry because of the statement. "If you don't want to tell me about your past, fine. But answer this question for me. Why are you up?" Erik asked again. "And don't tell me another terrible lie," he added.

I sighed, staring into my drink, before answering, seemingly measuring my words, "Sometimes my walls come down when I sleep deeply enough, so my empathy is open. When people have nightmares or sleep fitfully, it can wake me up if the emotional signature is strong enough," I shrugged, a bit embarrassed.

Erik froze, "Do you ever...um...see what people dream?" he scratched the back of his head, projecting nonchalance.

My brown eyes narrowed in speculation on the opening of my bottle, "It depends on if the nightmare is strong enough," I set the bottle down, my eyes sympathetic. "Usually what I see is so fractured that I don't understand it,"

He grunted in his throat in acquiescence, staring at the tabletop, "I've always wondered why Charles never wakes up,"

I shrugged, "Maybe his shields can't drop," I suggested. "He probably made them that way for when he sleeps or needs to block everything, he's had more practice than I. Then again, he's a telepath, so he's working to block thoughts and dreams and such. A person can hide what they think, but rarely can they hide what they feel," I informed.

"That sounded textbook," Erik smirked in humor.

I shrugged, "Probably was," I agreed laughing.

We stood in silence for a moment, before my eyes fell upon his left arm and I noticed the small black numbers. He followed my eyes and extended it fully toward me. The numbers stood out before me almost screaming at me about the pain this man has been through.

"He hurt you, didn't he? Shaw did," I stated bravely, looking up from his arm.

"You...You saw what I dreamed of, didn't you?" Erik questioned, returning my stare and I silently nodded.

"Sorry," I whispered apologetically, and he just mimicked my nod. "H-How old were you?" I asked quietly. "When-When'd it happen?" I asked again, glancing at his arm.

"I was eleven,"

"Eleven?" I echoed, in shock. "That's so young," I breathed.

"You became a bomb survivor at the age of five," Erik reminded grimly, shaking his head.

Neither of us spoke for several long moments before I brushed a strand of hair behind my ear uncomfortably.

"There was a woman that I saw," I recalled. "Who was she?" I questioned, folding my arms together.

"My mother," he answered, staring at me.

I stood staring back at him unsure of what to say or if I wanted to ask the question that was now burning in the back of my mind. I opened my mouth to speak, but closed it and breathed deeply.

"How did she die, if you don't mind me asking?" I asked softly.

"My family and I were put in a concentration camp, as you know," Erik said quietly. His usual calm demeanor had dropped and now he was sad, almost angry. "It was there were Shaw shot my mother point blank and it was there where I discovered my ability," he answered, his mouth forming a thin line.

I couldn't even imagine witnessing your mother being shot point blank in front of you. It was completely unthinkable and horribly wrong. I shuddered at the thought of him witnessing such a thing.

"I'm sorry, I can't...can't even begin to imagine it,"

As if a sudden electric bolt of realization hit me, I was now aware of why I had woken up suddenly, feeling so...angry, so thirsty for vengeance. It was because Erik wanted Shaw so badly. It was the simple thought of revenge. He wanted to avenge his mother's death to finally be at peace with himself and with the thought of his mother's horrific death.

He blamed himself, but he shouldn't.

I placed a hand on Erik's shoulder for comfort, "We're going to get him," I promised, looking into his blue eyes with a determined stare and he raised his hand covering mine and gave it a soft squeeze.

"There was a never doubt that we wouldn't,"

Chapter Eleven: Bottled Up

[perriewinklenerdie]

One step forward, two steps back (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

Author’s note:  Hello, hello, hello! OPEN HEART IS BACK! CAN YOU HEAR ME CRYING. That chapter killed me and filled me with so much ideas and will to write that... damn, PB, well done. It's the first diamond scene with a bit (a lot) of changes and it's from Ethan's perspective cause that's what I do I guess.

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22992799

Tag list:   @paleweasels , @lilyofchoices , @hopelessromantic1352, @kittykatchoices, @valiantlychaoticbarbarian , @radlovedreamer , @usuallyamazinglyaverage, @palestazure, @cordoniaqueensworld, @universallypizzataco, @princess-geek, @faithhasnowords, @mightyfangirlofthefandoms, @drakewalkerfantasy, @timmagicktoad, @laceandlula, @greywitchyshots, @llamasgrl, @gingerjane15, @bucket-harrington , @marywrites-things , @ethanplaysfavorites , @mfackenthal , @betelgeusebee , @simsvetements,  @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction, @buzz-bee-buzz, @owleyes374, @cora-nova, @aworldoffandoms, @l822, @cream-ray, @ughhhxjazzy, @silverlitskies, @justendlesssummerfeels, @togetherwearerapture, @desmaranj, @edgiestwinter, @friedherringclodthing, @daisy-ashton, @waytooattuned, @choicesgremlin , @lapisreviewsstuff, @the-soot-sprite, @writerapprentice, @chasingrobbie, @choicesobsessedd, @cassiusownsmyass, @x-kyne-x, @thisperfectmemory, @drakewalker04, @rookie-ramsey, @jlynn12273, @thepinknymph @dr-brianna-casey-valentine, @a-i-n-a-a-s-h Enjoy! <3

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He could list about five reasons for which he went to Donahue’s that night. All of which were irrelevant, and he knew it damn well. He just came back, he should be sleeping, he should be home with his dog. He should be staying away from Edenbrook.

He should be staying away from her.

Lying would get him nowhere. If he didn’t believe himself, why should anyone else? People that didn’t know him thought it was very noble of him to sacrifice two months of his life to help people in the Amazon, and he would only nod slightly to avoid talking, because he knew that the second he opened his mouth, truth would fly out. Deep down, in the middle of the night when he was alone with himself and his thoughts, he knew that the only reason he went away, the only reason he decided to help all those people, as bad as it sounded, was to put as much distance between Claire and himself as he could. It wasn’t noble. It wasn’t admirable. It was cowardice that led him to his decision, and he felt ashamed.

Reggie looked surprised only for a split second upon seeing him walking through the door, but that was substituted with a wide grin as he greeted his old friend. Ethan couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something unusually smug in the way his friend was smiling at him. Like he knew something Ethan didn’t and he was impossibly proud of that.

“You have that weird glint in your eye and I’m pretty sure you’re up to something.” He searched Reggie’s face for any crack that would reveal what was happening, but he gave away nothing.

“You’ve been away from civilization for too long and you’re seeing things, Ramsey.” He cackled, slapping his hand against Ethan’s shoulder blade, then went back behind the bar. “The weather is nice, you should sit outside.”

He followed the advice, sinking back into his own mind. He did that quite often lately, an escape from the horrific images that would haunt him for years to come. The only problem was, the second he closed his eyes to take a deep breath and ground himself with something, she was there. He ran away to forget about the feelings that swelled in his chest, that threatened to overflow and drown him, and yet every time he paid attention to his thoughts, she came right back to him. He got better at ignoring her over the weeks, and now, he only thought of her a couple of times during the day, save it for the countless nights with her as the main character in his dreams.

He wondered, from time to time, if he would ever get over her. If he would ever leave behind the pull that he felt every time he so much as thought of her. If he would ever forget the feeling of her lips against his. Forget the feeling of her body pressed against him, wrapped around him, moving against him. Her laugh rang in his ears, her voice followed him wherever he went, and he was ready for the torture to be over and not able to get enough of her at the same time.

It was late in the night, and the bar wasn’t as packed as he expected. People talked, music flew from the speakers and the air was significantly colder than he remembered it to be before he left Boston. The moment he took a step outside into the beer garden, he knew why Reggie was so smug. The reason was right there.

He heard her. He saw her.

Hushed voices flew in the air and suddenly five pairs of eyes were locked on him, observing him with curiosity in most cases. Only one pair of eyes was different. The green filled with surprise, confusion and underlying pain that he knew damn well he caused and that stung him more than he expected.

He knew this would happen eventually. Sooner or later, he would come face to face with her and would have to see how much his plan worked. In an ideal world, he would be cured of her and would be able to work with her like two colleagues that they were. But this wasn’t a perfect world, and they were only people.

And he still gave a damn about her.

The only way to the other side of the bar was to pass by their table, and he knew he had to at least greet her, even if only to keep appearances up. Nothing was amiss, nothing was wrong, just a bunch of Doctors that had a free evening and ran into each other.

Which was very obviously a lie and everyone, including Ethan, knew that. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

Their eyes meet for the first time in two months and he knows, right in that moment, that he’s still a goner. He’s still so tangled with her, so lost in her that the chances of saving him were slim and getting smaller every moment that passed. He could feel his throat closing, breathing got hard and the back of his eyes stung when he realized that he might as well fall apart right there, in front of everybody. He had to get this over with and get away from people. Try to get away from her.

Again.

Clearing his throat to at least try to regain some control over his voice, he hesitated before speaking. “… Rookie.”

Her eyes flash with familiarity and her lips curl into the smile that knows so well. His heartbeat accelerated like it always did, and, like always, it drove him mad. “It’s good to have you back, Dr. Ramsey.”

She probably didn’t mean to poke him with his title, to remind him what their situation was. She definitely wasn’t aware of why he went away, and why he dreaded coming back almost as much as he anticipated seeing her again, despite how much he tried to deny it. Her face didn’t give anything away, but he knew her well enough to notice a shadow pass her eyes, revealing that she caught onto something in him that didn’t add up.

“Yeah… good to be back.” He muttered, his gaze still locked with hers, even though he knew he should severe the eye contact before it gets suspicious. Hesitation takes over his mind as he argues with himself. Finally, he shakes his head slightly, blinks twice and breathes deeply. “Doctors. Enjoy your night.”

Leaving the group behind, leaving Claire behind, he walked back to Reggie, his expression fixed into a careful scowl. He saw him and as soon as he connected the dots, he started laughing. Ethan fell into the seat by the bar, his fingers drumming against the flat surface restlessly.

“She really got you, that Claire of yours.” Reggie mused, stating the fact rather than asking, and one look at his friend confirmed it.

“She’s not my Claire… she’s not mine.” he clarified, and it nearly broke him. His friend nodded, then grinned at him again.

“Oh, I know. But wouldn’t you like her to be.”

“I-“ he trailed off, nursing the drink that Reggie placed in front of him, opting for talking with him instead. There was too much to unpack, too much to explain when it came to Claire, so the prospect of a simple, not complicated conversation seemed like heaven to him.

Further down the bar, he saw Dr. Thorne. He saw enough to know that the man was a scumbag that didn’t deserve to be touched with a stick, but he was a good doctor, and while he didn’t agree with him outside of the hospital, in the work environment, he had to endure his presence. It seemed as though he found himself a new victim that night, because the girl he was talking to looked uncomfortable and, if he had to guess, was getting angry with every word that Garrett spoke and that Ethan couldn’t hear. His hand touched her back and suddenly she grabbed it and slammed it onto the bar, the crack resounding in the air. A scream followed and the plastic surgeon shoved her onto the ground, the sound of the glass breaking reaching his ears. Ethan shot up to go help the girl, when a blonde woman stepped between them, holding her hands up to shield herself from any incoming punches.

“Hey! Easy!” she spoke up, loud and clear, her voice steady. Claire looked at Dr. Thorne like she was about to murder that man on the spot, and Ethan didn’t like how his mind reacted when he realized how close to getting punched she got. He started walking towards the commotion, more and more words reaching his ears.

“… charges! Do you know how much I’m going to sue that bitch for?” he exclaimed, waving his good hand around.

“Garrett. That’s enough.” He heard his own voice, seething with anger, dangerously low. Claire’s eyes shot straight to him, surprise flashing in them, followed by a tender sliver that warmed the green of her irises. He turned away from her and scowled at their colleague, his hands curling into fists. “You still got one good hand, don’t you? Put it to good use and call yourself a cab.”

“I don’t give a shit what you think, Ramsey. You think you can tell me what to do? You get lost, come back and think you call the shots around here?” Garrett sneered, spiting the words in Ethan’s face. He had to stop his hand that itched to punch some sense into his thick skull. In his peripheral vision he could see Claire grabbing grain alcohol and a clean rag, then running out the door to chase the girl.

“If you think you can be an asshole cause you have lines of people that give their faces into your hands, think again. I don’t care what goes on in that stuck-up head of yours, you acting like a scumbag doesn’t do right by me.” Ethan kept his voice low, fully aware of all the other doctors that they both worked with, now having their attention focused on the two of them. “Get your things and call yourself a cab before I decide I no longer care and take care of you myself.”

“I’m so scared of you I’m about to cry. As I said, I don’t give a shit what you say. You can boss around that bitch of yours but I’m not your lapdog, Ramsey.” Garrett sneered, a cruel smirk crossing his features. Ethan felt his blood boil as he heard him disrespect Claire and it took all his self-control not to beat him till he was black and blue. He did the next right thing, grabbing him by the lapel of his jacket and dragging him outside. He waved down a cab, his grip on the man vicelike.

“You’re so disgusting, I’m not even going to dignify you with a response. You treat women like trash, you’ll be lucky if no one presses charges.” He opened the door of the car, threw him in and sent him off with a look of disgust. “Get your shit together.”

He slammed the door, putting a barrier between him and Garrett, and finally taking a breath. He never liked the man, and now all he felt when he looked at him was utter disgust. He walked back in and saw Claire already inside, explaining the situation to her friends. His gaze lingered on her for only a moment before he walked to the bar and took a seat. He could very dimly hear Reggie calling out to his customers that he was about to close and that they needed to leave.

“What? Last call doesn’t apply to you?” he heard her voice, calling out to him from the other side of the bar. He let the silence ring between them for a split second before answering, keeping his eyes on the glass in his hand.

“Reggie and I go way back. We have an arrangement.”

“An arrangement? Is that what you call a friendship?” her voice was filled with warmth and he didn’t have to look at her to know that she was smiling. He allowed himself to smile too.

“I don’t have friends. But…” he didn’t think his next words through. “… I wouldn’t mind you joining me if you were so inclined.”

He definitely didn’t think this through.

He let his guard down and he was sure that there would be hell to pay. What was he even thinking? He should be staying away from her, not drawing her in.

She told her friends she would stay behind and talk to him about tomorrow. And he was sure she meant that, just not in a way that was safe for both of them. It sounded simple, and yet it had danger written all over it, because there was no way of knowing how much his self-control could take before he breaks again. He felt her more than he saw her, sitting down in a seat next to him by the bar.

“Rook- er, Claire. Sorry. Force of habit.” He bit his tongue, the nickname lighting a familiar warmth in his chest before he realized that she’s not a Rookie anymore. She’s a resident now. His colleague. And he is her boss.

They were so screwed.

She ran her eyes along the lines of his body, taking in his new clothes, nodding her head towards the jacket. “We’ve got ourselves a brand new Ethan Ramsey.”

“This jacket’s been through a lot with me.” he mused, running his thumb along the seam of his sleeve.

“I have to say, that jacket is nice. It’s good to see a more laid-back side of you. You seem more… relaxed. You can mix it up with that sweater of yours. I liked it, it was soft to touch…” she trailed off, biting her lip as she looked down, the meaning obvious and clear. He cleared his throat, shaking his head.

“Duly noted. And the beard?” he probed her for answers, subconsciously trying to find out what she preferred. He realized what he was doing only after he asked the second question, and he could hope that she didn’t catch onto that, but her smirk was enough to tell him that she knew. And she enjoyed it.

“It’s a bit too long, but I like it.” she mused, her fingers flying to his jaw and tracing the line of it with the tips of her fingers. Her nails scraped against his skin slightly and the shiver that ran all over his body almost ended him, right then and there.

“I’ve gotten used to it. I can trim it, I suppose.” He wondered out loud and she grinned, her cheeks rising. They watched as the last of people left the bar, leaving only them and Reggie. Ethan looked around them, and then turned to her with an idea.

“Why don’t we move outside? It’ll be winter before we know it. Might as well enjoy the weather while we can. Want something to drink?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” She nodded towards his glass and he grinned, the situation bringing back the memories.

He reached over the bar, grabbing the half-drunk bottle of scotch. Ethan called out to Reggie to let him know that they’re borrowing it. He knew his friend long enough to know that he wouldn’t mind.

Claire walked alongside him, both of them silent, taking in the peace and tranquility of the beer garden. He sat down by the fire pit, ensuring they were both warm, looking at the flames, climbing up in the air. She took a place next to him, their bodies pressed against one another slightly, just enough for them to feel each other’s heat. His breath caught in his throat, his pupils dilating as he felt the soft scent of her perfume.

“I can see why you like it here.” She muttered, watching the lights flicker above them. He grinned, knowing that his prediction was right and that she liked it too.

“Because nobody’s annoying me?”

“More or less. It’s peaceful.”

Silence covered them like a thick blanket, and maybe in the past he would find some comfort in it, but now, it felt suffocating. There once was a time when he was so comfortable with her that nothing else had ever felt this easy. Those times were behind them, but damn him, how he wanted to go back in time.  

“So. This Dr. Thorne guy. Should I be worried about him?” she asked, leaning onto the table to while looking at him. He knew why she asked. After the trial she went through last year, he expected her to be cautious. She learned her lesson the hard way, but then again, so did he. They were the same, in that and many more ways. That’s why he restrained himself from punching Thorne. Nash was a problem enough, and Garrett was the same type of an asshole. No matter how much he wanted to beat him up for what he said and did, he knew that he shouldn’t.

“He has some influence. Just stay out of his way for a couple of weeks and he’ll entirely forget who you are.” He advised, mirroring the way she rested her head on her palm, making their eyes meet.

“But not who you are. Should you be worried?” she sounded almost like she was worried about him, and almost immediately he knew that she most likely thought it was her fault he had to get involved.

“I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to give a damn what someone like him thinks.” He scoffed, his blood boiling as he recalled what happened just thirty minutes ago. Knowing she had no way of knowing what went down, he moved on. “Don’t think twice about that asshole. What you did back there, helping that girl? You did the right thing. That’s all that matters.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“Hrm. Well, it should be.” He stated, then felt a wave of pensiveness washed over him, making his entire body ache. “You’re too young to be a cynic like me.”

“I’m not being cynical. I just learned my lesson. You saw what happened last year. I almost lost my license for breaking the rules to help Mrs. Martinez.” Pain twisted her features, she curled her fingers inwards, digging her nails into her palms. He saw her do it multiple times in the past, but never saw it from up close, and now that he had her hands only inches from his own eyes, he could see crescent marks in a line across her palms. His hands itched to reach out to her, to run his fingers along her skin, to kiss her scars away, knowing painfully well that he couldn’t.

“The lesson there is that if you put patients first, you’ll always be vindicated in the end. That’s the lesson. What you did just now was brave. You’ve always been brave in the face of the disaster and death, of course…” he trailed off, thinking back to how much death and pain she had to see and how much of a toll it took on her. “But it’s different when you’re facing down a superior. To stand up to them for what’s right.”

She smiled brightly, nudging him with her hand slightly. “It’s not as brave as venturing into the depths of the Amazon to fight an epidemic, that’s for sure.”

That felt like a knife, pushed into his chest up to the hilt, and when she smiled at him again, the knife got twisted. He knew damn well why he left, and it had nothing to do with bravery. She probably admired him for it, and he was about to shatter that image of himself in her eyes. Looking back down at his drink, he managed to choke out. “… That wasn’t bravery.”

Surrounded by the air that was getting colder by the minute and the country tune that flowed slowly from the jukebox, he could almost hear the gears turning in her head as she tried to decipher what he meant by that.

“Ethan…” she breathed shakily, sitting up straighter, trying to seem like she had it all together. She didn’t, he could see right through her. He recognized all the symptoms of falling apart, and he knew them so well because he’s been through it all. Actually, that was a lie.

For the past two months, his life has been nothing but a series of symptoms of longing and pain.

“Why didn’t you keep in touch?” she only needed to ask one question, and he was no longer able to survive what was about to happen. She was hurt, she felt abandoned, and she wanted answers. Hoping she wouldn’t ask was stupid of him, he should have thought this through, should have thought about what to tell her, but maybe it was for the best. She deserved the truth, and truth was what she was going to get.

“No word from you at all for two months? After everything that happened between us?” her voice got smaller and smaller until it was nothing but a whisper. She was at her most vulnerable, scared to be hurt, even though she knew what was coming. They both did.

“Everything that happened between us is exactly why I didn’t contact you.” he admitted, trying to keep himself as steady as he could, but failed. His façade crumbled into a million pieces and it was futile to try and pick them up. “Claire, if we’re going to work together on the diagnostics team, we need a fresh start. Your professional development is too important to jeopardize it whatever…” his voice caught in his throat, his jaw impossibly tense. “… whatever it was that we had.”

“’Had’, past tense.”

“Yes. And the past is where it has to remain.” Ethan’s resolve was a sliver away from breaking and he was grasping at the strings, trying desperately to not let himself fall. To not pull her along with him. telling her that they couldn’t be together hurt him beyond belief, more than he ever thought could be possible. They were looking at each other, seeing right into each other’s souls, the moment stretching into eternity.

It seemed to him like it was a split-second decision when she dove forward and pressed her lips to his. Softly, gently, perfectly.

He felt the air being pushed out of his lungs, his body burning with flames so hot he felt like dying. And maybe he was. His muscles tensed, his whole form stiffed, and yet he tingled from his feet to the top of his head. Feeling him not reacting, she began leaning away, when he woke up, broke free from the confinements and reached for her like a drowning man.

His hands caught her waist gently, barely touching her as though he was afraid she would break if he squeezed too tightly. Afraid to come closer, but afraid to let her go. Scared to push her away, wanting to pull her in. His lips moved against hers slowly, his eyes falling shut once more. He couldn’t count how many times he dreamed of kissing her, of having her in his arms, and now that he did, he was torn.

She’s the one to lean away, looking into his eyes for any indication of what he wanted. He poured all the want, longing and pain into his gaze, seeing it reflected back at him in her green irises. “Dammit, Claire…”

He’s said that to her before, in a situation much like this one. He pulled her back to him then, kissed her like he wanted nothing more in the world than her. He still did. But their situation was more complicated now.

“If you don’t want to kiss me again, then just tell me-“ he never wanted anything more. He probably never will.

“It has nothing to do with ‘want’. I can’t. And if I give a damn about you, I won’t. How am I supposed to push you to be everything you can be if I…”

There it was. Again. He didn’t know what he meant by that back in Miami, but he was a different man now. She was a different woman. They were a different couple. Now he knew, even if only deeply inside.

If I care for you.

“If you what?” she asks, much like she did back on that night, and he still couldn’t bring himself to give her the answer. That much hasn’t changed. He knew that the moment he tells her she’s in his head and in his heart, she would never leave, and they couldn’t allow themselves that much freedom. Freedom to live, freedom to feel, freedom to love.

He looked at her as though he could pass his thoughts to her through their eyes. How easy that would be, if he could just let her into his minds and let her see all that she was to him. His teeth gnaw at the corner of his lip, fighting with himself, struggling to look away from her until he succeeds. Hanging his head low, he burns his stare into his drink, praying that she understands.

“Okay, I get it. Goodnight, Dr. Ramsey.” She whispered, then turned to go. He watched her, gritting his teeth, pushing himself down into his seat, anchoring himself so he doesn’t jump and run after her. Once she disappears behind the door, he takes a swig of his drink, shaking his head somberly.

“You really are an idiot.” Reggie’s voice rang behind his back, his hand falling heavily onto his shoulder.

“I know.”

“You really should go after her.”

He didn’t say anything. He wanted to, god, he wanted to. “After all that I told her, she would push me away. And I wouldn’t blame her.”

“She won’t push you away. You didn’t see her face when she walked out of the bar. Follow her.”

Ethan’s eyes locked with Reggie’s and he knew he was right. It was cold, knowing her she walked home and it was late. Against his better judgement, against what he decided and what he knew was right, he shot to his feet, threw a ‘goodbye’ to Reggie and ran, faster than ever before in his life.

He busted out of the bar onto the street, looking around to try and find her. Not that surprised that she was nowhere to be seen, he set off in the direction of her apartment, and eventually, he saw her, walking slowly. He called out for her and she stopped dead in her tracks, turning towards him slowly.

“Ethan? Is everything okay? You’re out of breath… you’re not being chased by a murderer, are you?” she ran her eyes over him, taking in his condition, the way his hair was swept to the back, the way his jacket was crooked and his chest moved up and down rapidly as he struggled to catch his breath.

“I’m… okay… I just...” he panted, taking a deep breath before looking at her again. “… I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

Her eyebrow shot up in surprise, then melted gently into a sweet smile. “I’m fine… you can walk with me if you want to make sure I’m okay, though.”

He knew he shouldn’t, he knew he should just turn around and walk away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He almost reached out and took her hand, but instead opted for a smile that he could only hope came out as friendly. Her laugh rang in his ears.

“You’re still terrible at pretending.”

They walked and he asked questions. About the life at the hospital when he was gone. About Naveen’s recovery, which she supervised along with Harper while he was away. About his patients, some of which she had under her care.

“Mr. Dursi laughed when he saw me walk into his room. He just woke up and he was convinced that I was you. Kept muttering how he could swear that you were a man, but he didn’t really mind. It took me solid twenty minutes and a photo of you to convince him.” Claire recalled, laughing until she cried, drying her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“You must have had a hard time finding a photo of me.”

“Not really. I mean, I have a couple on my phone-“ she shrugged, then cut off in the middle of the sentence, knowing fully well that she had no way of going back on her words. “I- uh…”

“It’s okay, I have some photos of you too.” Ethan’s confession hung between them, settling into her mind. He would never admit that when his loneliness in the Amazon got too much for him and he was breaking, he looked at her. Despite what he tried to tell himself, despite how much he tried to extinguish his feelings for her, it seemed as though it was impossible.

A chilly breeze blew around them, biting into his flesh. He looked over to her, just in time to see her shiver. On instinct, he took his jacket off and stopped her, turning her towards him.

“Give me your hands.” He nudged her arms, pointing to his jacket. She shook her head, beginning to protest. “I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, Claire. You’re cold, I’ll be damned if I let you be cold.”

She held his stare, trying to determine if he was bluffing, but she knew he was serious. His look of certainty and resolve told her that if she didn’t allow him to help her put his jacket on, he would wrap her in it. With a heavy sigh, she put her arms through the sleeves and snuggled into the material, still warm from the heat of his body. Still smelling like him.

Ethan tried to make it seem like the sight of his clothes on her didn’t make him come undone, but the truth was, if he could, he would forbid her from wearing anything but his clothes. It felt good, it felt right, and the thought of them maybe never having the comfort of being that close to each other again hurt his mind, body and soul.

Her apartment building came into the view much sooner than he would have liked. They could be just Claire and Ethan while their walk lasted, but the moment they say goodbye and he lets her go, they go back to square one. The only difference is, he already knows how it feels to have her, and it’s going to be a million times more difficult to pretend like he doesn’t. Their walk slowed to a stop and she turned to him, somber look on her face.

“That’s it I guess.” She muttered, looking up at the window of her apartment. Her friends must have been back already, they all had an early morning the following day. His eyes traced the lines of her face gently and he took a step towards her, placing his hand on her shoulder gently.

“It seems like it.”

Claire turned her body towards him and right into his unexpecting arms. Her grip on him began as a soothing breeze and gained intensity as seconds ticked by. He gathered her into his embrace, holding her closer than he had in months, and he felt his body relax. She was like a drug to him, and he was addicted. Her scent that he missed, that he familiarized with a sense of safety and home, her voice that could stop the biggest tempest in his mind. Her touch that lit up a fire in his veins, made him fell invincible. Just like he felt right now.

He took a step forward, she took a step back. And another. And another, until they reached the side of the building, hidden away from the street in an alleyway, lit only by a dim light. Her head rose slightly to look at him, their eyes met and not even a fracture of a second later, their lips were back on each other.

Claire took a deep breath upon the feel of the kiss, her knees suddenly too weak to hold her up. She gripped his shoulders, her nails scraping the skin at the base of his neck, making him tremble. The kiss was different from the one they shared earlier that evening. That one was cautious, almost empty, lacking the fire that he longed to feel again, that he wanted to get burned by.

This one was everything. It had the drive, it had the power, it had the intensity of a thousand lightnings, striking him at the same time. The hunger he felt could only be satiated by her, by her kisses, by her lingering touches, by the way she held him close. His hands slipped under the jacket that hung loosely from her shoulders, his fingers curling around her waist and pulling her impossibly closer.

She trailed her hand up his neck, tangling into his neck and pulling on the strands, eliciting a low growl in the back of his throat. His body pushed on hers, pressing her against the wall, letting his lips leave hers so he could assault the skin of her neck. She breathed heavily, pushing her other hand downwards and grasping the thin material of his shirt, her grasp so tight she could tear the fabric apart.

Ethan nipped at her collarbone, causing her to arch her back against him with a moan. “Go inside.” He breathed against her skin, his shoulders moving heavily beneath her persistent touch. Coming back to her lips, he kissed her again, harder, faster, the intensity kicking the air out of his lungs.

“What?” she panted, pulling him right back to her, her hands snaking down his back and digging into the back pockets of his jeans, pushing him onto her. He groaned helplessly, grabbing her face with his hands and pulling their faces as close as humanly possible.

“Go inside.” He bit her lower lip, pulling on it and then soothing it with his tongue, growling impatiently. She squeezed his backside with her hands, causing his breath to falter and his grip to loosen for a moment before he adjusted his hold on her.

“Why?” He dug his fingers into her back, a cry falling from her lips, both of them definitely louder than they should be. Leaning back to make their eyes meet, he let her see the desire, the lust that threatened to consume him at any moment.

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to rip your clothes off your body and take you, right here and right now.” he looked at her seriously, taking a moment to catch his breath. His body dove forward before stopping, barely inches away from her, his eyes dropping to her lips, watching them eagerly. “And god, don’t I want to.”

“I want that too.” Claire confessed, retreating her hands back up his body and placing them along the sides of his face, mirroring his hold on her. The heat was gone, only tenderness and softness left. They caressed each other, eyes glossy and filled to the brim with emotions.

“I know. But we can’t. So, get inside.” It hurt him even more than the first time when he had to say that to her, and he could see her breaking a bit more with every breath she took. Unable to stop himself, he kissed her delicately, holding onto the moment for as long as he could before, at last, letting her go and taking a step back. She kept his gaze for just one moment more, then nodded and went back out onto the street, leaving Ethan alone in the darkness.

[darkgunslinger]

Saving Zim Extras/shorts

These are scenes from Saving Zim by Dib07 that didn’t make the final cut. There are many more scenes like these that I left out, but these are some of the ones I did not show in the FFN story due to them being scrappy bits and pieces - but still, I hope they can be enjoyed for what they are XD

The current series can be found here!

 Scene: the professor’s garden

The professor was in his main study, overlooking datasheets on his chemical production. On his desk was a small swilling vessel of bright pink emulsions beside two computers and a blood analyser machine. Things were always making noises in here as machines and computers cranked and clonked out results. It was music to the professor’s ears.

“Hi, urm... Mr. Membrane?”

He looked round, and appeared to be smiling behind his neck collar. “Yes, what is it my girl?” He saw that she was holding his little patient.

“Are the outside doors locked?”

“Go through the back way, it’s all open. Why?”

“I’m taking the little guy outside while it’s warm and sunny. He’s been a bit... despondent.”

“It could be the medication he’s on.”

“Some days he’s really chatty and coherent. Then there are days where he’s like this.”

The professor paused, perhaps conflicted with what to suggest. “Just don’t have him outside too long! There is no insulation in his body to help keep him warm.”

She already knew, but nodded anyway. “And just where is Dib?”

“Still hard at work preparing for the little house guest! Here. Call him.” He whisked out his own personal Samsung Mega Xtreme 36 phone.

Thanking the professor, she sat on one of the plastic seats in the hallway outside his door and called his home number. Zim was looking lazily around, preferring to stay cuddled against her.

She waited through the dial tones. He answered on the fourth ring. “It’s just me, Dib! When are you getting back?”

“Oh, hi Clara! Getting back?” There was a pause. She could hear music in the background. “An hour or two tops. I still have these little step ladders to put up. I can’t remember where I put the drill.”

“Can you come over?”

“Why? Is everything okay?”

“Zim’s not quite himself.”

Zim, hearing most of her side of the conversation, rolled his little pink orbs skyward in exasperation.

She disconnected the call. She lowered it from her ear, and then looked down at the Irken resting against her chest. She gave him a little cuddle. “He said to tell you that he’s on his way.”

He nodded.

After giving back the phone to the professor, she headed for the double doors. They were made from heavy oak, and were used as flood shutters in case of stormy weather. She stepped out into the open sunshine. They were inundated with bright, cheery birdsong, and amongst the uncut waves of deep green grass were early April butterflies that glanced along the stems like aerial dancers.

Zim’s remaining antenna became attentive to these outdoor noises.

“It’s beautiful out here. Didn’t realize it was so warm.” Clara mused. She didn’t follow the stone path. Instead she headed across the grass in just her plimsolls. There was the wooded area, and the rockery. Midges were flying in the air in roaming clouds. She was careful to keep the flies off him.

“Isn’t it...dangerous o-out here? Won’t someone s-see m-me?” She felt him tremble.

“No, don’t worry! This place is closed off; it’s all private, see? And no one’s getting over the brick walls that surround this place. It’s secure.”

She wondered how much he was caring to see, or if he was just looking at it all with closed indifference. Sometimes it was hard if not imposable to read what was going on behind his eyes.

They reached a stone bench that had green lichen growing along its lion-like feet. She lifted him from her lap and perched him on it. He could lean back if he wanted, thanks to the wooden backrest. He sat there a moment, looking startled as if he’d been teleported to a different world. Then he looked around, seeing the diaphanous butterflies and the fat, lazy bumble bees that hovered over a patch of tangled jasmine. The sunshine made him look paler, giving him a haunted look.

“This is nice!” She said, leaning back beside him, watching his reactions carefully. “You forget how dark it is inside buildings until you go out into the sunshine.”

They shared a serene sort of silence. Clara started to wish she’d brought a book with her, something to take his worried mind off things. Zim was looking around and was picking up on everything. This fresh air was the best he’d had all month. Always he seemed to stoop and shrivel beneath the weight of his own shadow, so it was good to see him sit up a little more and become alert to things he’d usually ignore. But. He was still frightened of pain. She could see it on his face.

A butterfly circled them, gliding on a lofty warm breeze. But when a bluebottle landed on Zim’s shoulder, she grew angry, and flicked it off him. He smelt of medicine, antiseptic and fresh linen, but beneath it all there was still the cloying smell of illness.

The moment of serenity seemed to leave him most suddenly, as if a cold wind had blown into his soul. He looked down, and his right antenna stopped picking up the slightest feather-sound of butterflies.

“Zim? Hey? Are you cold? Should I bring you back inside?” But she knew the depression would follow him there too.

He said nothing; just stared at the grass below his dangling little boots.

She knew to watch him for any signs of a seizure. The Irken hadn’t shown any such signs, not to her, and she hoped never to witness it. If they always started with a nosebleed, it gave them forewarning before he went down.

“Dib’s on his way I promise.” He was always the cure to Zim’s gloom. He’d bring a deck of cards, and they’d play games on the bed.  “Hey,” she began, hatching an idea, “how about we collect flowers? Whoever gathers the most, wins!” It was so lame really, anybody would see straight through her attempts, but Zim’s unfocused gaze began to clear.

She got off the bench, and he slid down, following with more caution in his step. The tall grass was a little bit difficult for him to navigate, his right antenna bobbing with every step. When it looked like he would fall she scooped his hand in hers and kept him balanced. But there was more determination in his step than there had been in the lab. Out here there were no bars for him to look upon: no reminders that he was in a cage. The gloom of it had filled his eyes: the cage was now inside.

But out here his eyes seemed to drink in the light. The blue of Earth’s sky was something he appreciated. No longer was he slouching with a dismal frown crowning his sadness.

Slipping out of her hand, he limped to a thick glen of grass where he had a choice of flowers. He gave them a brief look of intensity, his militarism always shining through. Then he stooped and picked out a daisy. He seemed unusually hesitant to pluck it from its long stem. Dib often said that Zim was a destroyer, and cared not for what he smashed and ruined.

His claws snapped the stem, and he lifted it up, gazing at its white petals.

“That’s a daisy.” She told him. “Many people see them as weeds, but I’ve always liked daises. I used to make a chain out of them for a necklace when I was little.”

He baulked, as if he found the idea ridiculous, and stared at the daisy as if he could see where the Velcro was hiding. She laughed, hoping he wouldn’t take offence. He did cock his head at her, and look dismayed, as if he was trying to suss mockery, but then he gave her a relaxed, happier look. “Don’t you have a better use for your t-time?” He asked.

“I can make one for you.”

He looked back at the flower, suddenly crestfallen.

She didn’t want him to think that he had lost a part of himself just because he’d lost parts of the machine on his back.

Don’t let the PAK define you, Zim. You define the PAK, not the other way around.

His raucous coughing cut short the moment, and dark fright was in his eyes again.

“It’s okay. I’m here.” She rubbed his shoulder, giving him time and reassurance. He was frightened of pain and how it made him feel.

He kept hold of the daisy, passing it to her, as if silently asking her to make something out of it.

Clara stooped and plucked a red tulip. When Zim reached for a big purple thing bristling in barbs, she gently pushed his hand away. “That’s a thistle, honey. Leave it be.”

“Why are these things so different?”

“Well, they are different types, for different purposes.”

And that’s when he found it. It was growing in shadow and under the ivy clasping the rightwing of the building. It was as beautiful as he. He crouched low, looking at it in something that might have been wonder.

It was a rose so dark that it looked like it had been stained in blood. He went to touch it, hold it maybe, or pull it up, and he suddenly shied back, jabbing his claw into his mouth. A green droplet of blood hung from one of its thorns.

“That’s a rose, Zim.”

“A r-rose?” He asked, looking up at her. He took his claw out of his mouth and inspected the prick.

“They’re beautiful, but they have thorns.”

“W-Why?”

“To protect themselves. Not all flowers are defenceless.”

He looked for more roses but there was only the one. It stood, as if defiant: alone, but vibrant even as it existed in shadow. It looked parts fragile, its delicate petals all blood-red silk, but its thorns could not be mistaken.

Zim sat back, admiring it. She thought he might try and snap it from the stem in the ground, but he did not. Clara watched, thinking he was so like a rose, slender and graceful, but prickly beneath.

“It grows from dirt.” He summarised, as if this was what confused him.

“It does. All things grow from it.”

“So how can this thing be so...?”

“Beautiful?”

He grunted.

She pushed his boundaries again by squeezing a comforting hand on his birdlike shoulder. He gave that childish look of trust. One day she hoped he’d look at her in the same way he looked at Dib.

“The Earth can grow and nurture beautiful and delicate things that are found nowhere else in the universe.”

He pouted, finding her claim hard to believe when he’d seen that universe, however partial. But he could not deny her either. In all his travels, he had never found something as beautiful as a rose.

He went to reach for it, and drew away again.

Dib had explained to her that he had meant to hand this planet over to his leaders. Failure meant execution or exile. It helped to explain the weight he seemed to carry.

She could see it on his face that he was struggling to accept the beauty in front of him, but he was seeing it.

“But they grow f-from dirt.” He insisted. “How do they do that? What’s in the dirt? What’s so special about it?”

“Earth’s soil is fertile, and it has all the minerals in it that plants need to grow.” She supposed that even if she took the trouble of drawing him up a chart with diagrams to help explain it, he still wouldn’t get it.

His mouth set stubbornly, wanting to understand, yet disbelieving how anything could be that simple.

He had a childish wonder, but also an insistent need to understand and uncomplicate things, even when things were perfectly okay to let wonders be.

He stood up, and precariously wobbled a moment before he chose to leave the rose perfectly where it was. He went back to picking other flowers, and always so daintily did he take from the stem in strange reluctance.

Soon he had a little bouquet of many different things; a clump of jasmine, a dandelion, buttercups, lavender, bluebells and tulips. He was attracted to all things colourful, and the unkempt garden was quite full of these treasures, but it was the deadly rose he liked most of all.

A little while later he sat warming himself in a patch of sunshine on her lap with his eyes closed as she worked at lacing daises together. He had been attracted by the magic of watching her weave daises at first, but he’d soon grown tired.

With half a daisy chain complete, she soon heard someone calling. The Irken’s antenna jerked and then rose higher, his eyes cracking open.

“Hey you two!” Dib’s boyish and cheery voice called to them across the grounds.

Zim looked round immediately, and sunshine filled his eyes. “Dib!” He called back in his broken voice.

“Been looking all over for you guys!” He returned, shaking his head as he plodded across the grass, hands in his pockets. “Dad said you were mooching out in the garden.”

“We’ve been enjoying the sunshine.” Clara said with a smile.

Dib noticed their collection of flowers, and the tidy string of daises his fiancée was making. “What have you two been doing?”

“Picking flowers.” Zim piped up.

The human sat next to him.  “The space boy has been picking flowers?”

“Hey, don’t tease him.” Clara defended in all seriousness. “We’ve been enjoying it.”

Dib chuckled and rubbed the little guy’s shoulder. “Uh huh. And how’s my favourite alien today? Not got the blues, I hope?”

“I’m green.” Zim said in stupid innocence.

Clara said as she joined the last daisy. “Here you are. A daisy chain of your own!”

She lowered the white ring of daises around his neck. He straightened a tad and touched them with a claw. “Thank you!” He said. “Gir made daisy chains. But I... I never....”

“Maybe you should have made him a crown, Clara.” Dib joked to dispel Zim’s moroseness, “It might have suited him better.”

They walked back to the building. Zim looked over Dib’s shoulder and watched as the rose grew smaller and smaller until it became a speck of red under dark pools of shadow.

Scene: Zim’s second night with his humans at home

Surviving this unfamiliar dystopia exhausted him.

He pushed the door open, expecting to see that silly bathtub for dolls filled to the brim, and found it hard to hide the dismay opening on his countenance when he saw her sitting, waiting there by a basin of hot bubbly water. Stacked close by were soft fluffy towels, and placed by her knees was one of those water-proof mats that was large enough for him to lay on. She was dipping her hand into the bubbly water, testing its temperature.

Clara looked over at him, her eyes impossible to read. She smiled, trying as she was to appear reassuring, and he hoped the expression was as genuine as her intentions.

“Whenever you’re ready Zim, you can take off your robe.”

But he wasn’t ready.

He stood rooted like a statue as he held the opening of the purple robe tightly to his chest. He felt the cool of his nakedness under there, and the uninviting chill beyond the cocooning fabric. Why couldn’t she just leave him be?

“Zim?” Her question made his right antenna ring. “Are you okay?”

He shook his head, hardly believing he was suffering human help and kindness he was still so afraid to trust in. He’d believed that if he kept moving, if he kept going forwards, he’d be unstoppable. Now he could not move for fear of pain.

He clung on to whatever he could when defeat had him sink to the deepest depths. Looking back, even slightly, filled him with horror, but a glimpse that way also revealed what he had overcome.

Clara maintained her smile despite his stony silences. “It’s okay, Zim. I won’t bite.”

Zim peered over at the bubbly water in the bowl. He’d suffered their sponge-baths over the weeks, and not once did the water sting or burn him. The sight of it however still filled him with the instinctive distrust of it: being on Earth had stamped many fears and uncertainties into his heart, and he was not familiar with what was safe and what wasn’t without the sanctions of his computer.

“Here. Let me.” Clara walked over, knelt down by his indisposed form and slipped off the long and soft purple robe. His eyes took on a frightened, miserable cast, as if being naked opened up new ways of being disgraceful. It didn’t matter how many times he was stripped and then clothed again; whenever he was bare before them, self-loathing and shame crowded the colour in his eyes.

He tried to hide himself behind skinny arms and skinny claws.

Hands touched his shoulders. He tensed, emitting a squeaky growl.

Her gentleness was unreal. Every time she touched him, his defences rose to the rafters, expecting something malignant beneath her contact. Life was hard edges, mistrusts, hate and pain. Without Membrane’s protection, he was adamant that Clara would change from her superficial gentleness into something else.

She guided him over to the water-proof mat. “Sit on the mat, honey, and relax.”

He gave her that sharp, assertive look, and she knelt beside him, waiting, showing infallible patience. Her smile was fading at the edges, her eyes more confused than anything.

“Leave m-me.” Please. “I d-don’t n-need y-your h-help.”

“Being stubborn isn’t going to help you, Zim. And just because you’ve left the lab doesn’t automatically mean you’re out of the woods. You are still convalescing. Now, are you going to argue, or are you going to sit down?”

His eyes shifted to the mat, and back to her.

Fighting her, he could see, was going to get him nowhere.

Stiffly, he sat down, making sure to keep his bony legs over his crotch area.  

“After we get you clean and snuggled up, I’ll make you some soup. How does that sound?” He nervously watched as she dunked the sponge into the bubbly water. She lifted it up and he instinctively tensed, eyes screwing shut, fists clamped. “You carry so much tension in your shoulders.” He felt her knead the sponge into his back under the PAK’s mantle. He’d expected the water to be tepid, but the sudden heat of it was a wonderful surprise. Then she worked the sponge into and around his neck. The moan came out before he could stop it in time.

This is really... really nice...

There was little use resisting the flexes of his right antenna. As a cat communicated joy through its ears or tail, he did the same thing with his antenna.

Her eyes were looking him over as she cleaned him, checking for any new bruises or marks that would indicate bedsores or signs of self-harm.

Though he was not answering, she chatted away with the same attention and care. “Is there anything you want to work on first? Or what you’ll want to build?”

“Se-security.” He choked.

“You don’t need to tackle everything at once. You’ll still get it all done, Zim. Just enjoy the day as well.”

He began to lean a little more into the sponge-massages, eyes lowering from the soporific heat. The sponge-baths were usually brisk and quick affairs so that they didn’t exact too much energy from him and so that he didn’t get too cold.

She threw a towel over his shoulders and proceeded to massage him dry.

Zim had to secretly admit that they were providing a damn good service even if their help was still making him tense with shame, but for a moment he allowed himself the comfort.

She was careful with him as he was mostly all bone, with little to no insulation protecting his organs.

Clara had fresh nightwear ready just an arm length away. He woodenly replied, stretching out each arm as best he could, and felt the fluffy soft material cloak his littleness. He knew he would sweat through this too, and he sighed.

“There. That’ll soothe those shivers away.”

How did she never find this strange? Perhaps in the lab there had been a sense of displacement, of surrealism when you had a fantastical scientist hurrying about with his fanatical machines and caring for an exotic otherworldly creature, but here, in an ordinary house, she acted as though she was looking after someone she had known for a long time. He tried to see past her affections, her warmth to spy the truth. But he could never find anything other than her sincerity.

“You wanna go for some homemade soup?”

They were always propelling food his way.  “Not r-really hungry.”

“That’s okay, just manage what you can.” She picked up the basin and sluiced the used water down the big human-sized bathtub’s plughole. Seeing that as his cue, he woozily climbed to his feet. The floor tilted just a little before righting itself again, but the fleck of dizzying colours took longer to leave his vision.

She noticed. She came over, knelt down and wrapped an arm around him. “Do you feel okay, honey?”

The question was so very simple, and yet it entailed too much.

Zim only leaned into her, tired and dizzy. His lower legs were shaky. He had been dependent on his self-sufficient self-healing PAK - and he had never needed to give pause and regard his injuries – only to ever see them as novel and irrelevant inconveniences.

Living in this mortal hell without this reliability made him that much more careful and that much more timid. Every little bit of pain was much more terrifying and much more intimate.

They told him that he’d get stronger, with time. He didn’t believe them.

“Let me take you to bed, Zim. It’s no trouble.” Her arms went around him. He fetched a set of claws into the fabric of her cardigan to hold on when she spooned him into her arms. Her hold was secure, and there was never a moment where he felt she might drop him, but for insecurity’s sake he held on anyway.

She carried him back into his softly lit bedroom. The nightlight was painting the ceiling with dappling colour. When she set him down on the bed, she immediately bundled up his legs and torso, and shored up the pillows so that he could lean against them. He had long stopped stiffening or shrinking away whenever she went near or touched his PAK.

“I’m going to heat up your supper. You snuggle down and rest.”

“Cl-Clara h-human?” His choke was filled with what sounded like water.

“Yes, honey?”

“Can I h-have something to d-drink?”

“Of course. Do you have anything in mind?”

He shook his head.

“That’s okay, I’ll get you something.”

His wrinkled fuchsia eyes were drawn to her with a heavy intensity.

“Zim. Everything will be okay. Just remember that we’re here to support you, and protect you. This isn’t a limited affair. This is for life.” She reached out, and stroked his cheek. His fear cooled: sliding away like shadows after the lights had been turned on.

When she left, he sat, cupping the blanket to his chest. He sipped in breath, gladdened when there was no wall of pain. Lying down all night made the coughing worse and he had scrunched up, hacking and spluttering until he was coughing up blood. Now he was breathing easy – and the scary event seemed far, far away.

He waited for her to return, looking for her company. Being alone wasn’t quite as welcoming as it used to be, so he tried to hide the smile when she returned with a little tray of food.

“Just manage what you can, honey.” She set the food on the bed tray after positioning it over his lap. Though hardly hungry, his spooch grumbled.

He reached for the cup of honeyed milk, and he slurped it down, his thirst seemingly increasing with every gulp. Before he had scarcely begun, she was prying the cup out of his little claws. “Not so fast, Zim! You can have some more in a little while. Wait for that to go down first.”

“Who d-do you t-think y-you a-are?” He rasped.

She frowned at him, as if she had hoped their relationship wouldn’t backtrack like this, and that she might be spared his anger. “The voice of reason. Be my guest if you want to vomit down your nice new clothes and bed sheets.”

A dangerous glitter intensified in his eyes as he looked up at her, stupefied by her sudden sharpness. She didn’t back down. His right antenna bobbed up and down, and the querulous fire in his eyes dissipated. “You su-sure are bossy.”

“Well, someone’s got to look after you. We both know you’re terrible at it.” She said with more kindness. “You can bark at me all you like, but I’ve got a job to do, and nothing you say or do will stop me from doing it.”

That made him cock his head slightly, expression softening.

“Now try some soup. It isn’t all that bad.”

“D-don’t stand there – w-watching me.” He grunted.

She couldn’t help but shake her head, smiling at his stubbornness. “All right, all right. Just don’t forget to use your napkin.”

He gave her a long look to make sure she was leaving him in peace before he lifted up a spoon and dipped it into the soup.

  Scene: getting some private time

“Zim, stop messing with the power! For five minutes!” He leant back in his desk chair, waiting for any affirmation, but it would be a miracle if the Irken had even heard. Blowing out breath, he returned to the computer and continued typing up a few measly sentences for his loosely constructed CV. He had poured over the keyboard most of the day, lost for words, and distracted by noises from a construction of a different sort. They had given up trying to stop the former soldier from ‘improving’ the house, learning quickly that there could be nothing that would stop an Irken’s wilfulness.

Clara was waiting upstairs. ‘Just a few more minutes’ he had said to her.

Dib stared at what he had painstakingly written. The skills and experience he could list all day; it was the passion that was so hard to put into words.

Just as he was about to save his work, the power died, the house fell into darkness, and so did his computer screen. “Zim!”

The power came on within seconds, the house bursting back into life. Muttering and cursing, he found Zim connecting the fuse box down in the basement with a handheld construct of his own, mostly alien in design, but made with a lot of used parts he had cobbled together.

He needed two seconds of the Irken not-getting-into-trouble or throwing the house into some sort of mode while he spent time with Clara. The lost work on his CV would have to be forgotten.

“This primitive homestead of yours is inefficient in every way.” Zim was saying before Dib had got a word in. “It’ll be months before I can get this place in working order. You just let things fall apart around you, don’t you Dib stink?” One eyelid curled down, his look sly.

Dib ran a hand across his face before sobering up and putting on his best smile. “Look, urm... there’s this really good cartoon on. You gotta see it!”

Zim hardly looked interested. “Recess can wait.”

“But it’s a special episode!”

“Then record it!”

“But...” He was running out of options. Fast. “I have no one to watch it with. Clara’s just not interested...”

Zim looked once at his handheld circuit board before reluctantly setting it down, “Very well, human, if my presence is that desperately required.”

“Good!” He put his hands on Zim’s skinny shoulders and practically steered him all the way to the lounge, the squeak coming from the heels of the Irken’s loafers dragging along the floor.

Switching on the TV, he flicked through the channels, hoping that there would be something to save him. Zim sat on the sofa using the stepping stool. “It had better be a short episode of whatever this... thing is. Work doesn’t get done by itself you know.”

“Ah here it is!” Dib said sheepishly, turning to give him a weak smile. It was a cartoon of a blue hedgehog. “Trust me! You’ll enjoy it. It gets really good!”

“It had better.”

With no time wasted, Dib flew up the stairs.

Clara sat up in bed, looking frustrated. “What took you so long?”

“Sorry! Urm, work, and Irkens.”

Before long the bed was squeaking against the wall. Zim came up less than ten minutes later, and Dib and Clara had to disengage in a tangle of limbs while he looked in on them from the doorway, holding the Gir doll. “W-What are you doing?” He croakily chirped from the doorway, eyes impossibly wide. “You’re b-both so...sweaty and noisy!”

  Scene: Holograms

He left the kitchen, but returned minutes later with his laptop and electronic tablet. With the kitchen curtains drawn to dim the light, he had a number of devices laid out on the table, and when Clara came in to join them, she was impressed to see a hologram pouring out of the computer screen.

In his element, Zim drew up more schematics as easily as laying down paper and more holograms appeared. It was reflected in Dib’s glasses as he studied the projections. Clara could make neither heads nor tails of it as she stood watching them. The holograms showed vast columns of numbers, and everything that was written were in strange symbols, like runes. And accompanying these alien hieroglyphs were diagrams of a machine.

Even Dib wasn’t sitting pretty on the same page. Zim was aloof in his plans and his approaches, and even had an ingrained habit of keeping Clara and Dib at a distance as if he still had trouble trusting them. Zim had done things by himself all his life, and sharing that control wasn’t an easy thing for him.

The alien scarcely looked their way. Strips of code glowed in his bright fuchsia eyes. It was good to have him focused on something. Though he always worked there was a certain distraction in his efforts and in his focus. Now he sat with his back straight, his shoulders firm and his chin raised as he sought key coding in the stratum of alien mumbo-jumbo.

Dib forced the panic from his voice. “Is this for recreational fun, or is it for something else?”

Zim registered the English word ‘fun’ even if he did not know exactly what it meant. That word went into the same ambiguous category of words he struggled to understand the meanings to; such as sex, happiness, human humour and babies.

Dib went under the scrutiny of another long cold look.

“Earth needs protecting...” The aged Elite paused, finding the answer hard to dig up and reveal as if he had crushed it down there, inside, for so long that it was now hard to find and hard to pull it out. “Membrane will take measures to protect this dirt ball by following my instructions.”

Dib kept staring. “Did I just hear you right?”

“Oh s-shut up and stop with your g-gloating!” He snapped, rubbing at the side of his head, both eyes wincing as if working with his protégé was a real headache. After a moment he raised his stylus and drew dots and lines on a hologram that painted them in pink. Clara couldn’t stop staring as Zim drew magical lines into a magical screen. He did not seem to mind his audience, perhaps because he was expecting them to not understand a single thing he was doing.

Zim flicked a hand, and the screen’s current information and jungle of symbols was replaced by weapon blueprints. They stood tall and leaned slightly forwards like masts.  “Earth is a backwater planet full of toxicity. It’s hardly worth much, but it’s still up for conquest, as is this pithy little solar system it’s in. The Earth’s sun would make a great source of fuel. It’s how energy cores are made. My Tallest may take an interest.”

When he next looked to Dib and Clara, there was relief in his eyes.

For so long he had never belonged anywhere.

Zim looked again to the hologram. He flicked his wrist, and the jumble of symbols magically metamorphed into English. “Your Membrane will build these anti-ship turrets once I provide him with the design. Their range will blanket the planet and that of your horrible star, keeping you filthy critters safe.”

Dib stood there, taking it in. He hadn’t thought of the Armada paying a visit someday. It was unlikely, but it had obviously been on Zim’s mind.

Since when had this snarling alien pulled his talents, energy and recourses into DEFENDING something?

The Irken smiled. “Wouldn’t it be funny if all they ever did was blow asteroids to little itty bitty bits? The planet’s measly existence would continue to persist until that awful sun of yours finally implodes. Humans. Thriving for evermore. Now that disgusts me.”

Dib was about to speak; to begin verbalizing his shock and disbelief when Zim again flicked his wrist and the screen swapped out weapon blueprints for the ship’s coding. He pressed some infinitesimal transparent button on this transparent screen and a 3D image of Tak’s ship popped into existence. Dib’s heart fell heavy and it fell hard.

Zim’s plans were never that humanly plain. He was clever, and he also liked to keep his real thoughts and real plans close to his chest. He never usually did something unless he reaped the benefits, and he was a sneaky little guy. Not that Dib suspected him of doing anything underhanded with the ship.

Zim. You can’t fly. What do you intend to do?

Just nod and smile at him. Creative outlet and all that, yes dad I remember. This had better not bite me in the ass.

Using a stylus, Zim reached up, and traced a line around the front of the vessel.

“Ooh, that’s pretty. What does that do?” Clara pointed at something that almost looked like a metal flower of alien grotesquery. It spun slowly in the hologram, looking like some hellish rose. It was probably the main core engine, with all its tapering pipes and elements.

Zim, bathed in pink from the screens, gave her an amused, beady look, and quite happily and croakily bragged about core drives, their compounds, auxiliary turbines, a feln guard, plasma charging cells, a hubbard, and so on. Clara looked bewildered in under three seconds of his wistful explaining.

There was no mistaking the fact that this little bastard loved attention. If he so much as looked at Clara the right way, she’d pick him up and cuddle him.

“Hang on a second. What’s this thing back here?” Dib pointed at the hologram of the fuselage. “We could move that, and expand the cockpit.”

“That shouldn’t go there.” Zim’s voice was dusky and small. His hooded eyes could barely stay open but he always led the debate. If anything, Dib was the one trying to keep up with him.

“Why not?” Dib leaned back slightly. He wasn’t a complete novice when it came to repairing and redesigning machines. Irken technology was a huge leap in science and brains, but he was more or less knowledgeable on the parts, and where the power had to go. Yes, connecting it all, and hoping they’d be no leaks would be a bitch. Working with plasma would be a lot different than say, oil or fossil fuels. Zim knew how to make more plasma, and he apparently knew how to recharge the cells in the ship too. Usually a ship worked for centuries with just a power core, but Tak’s power core was too badly damaged to be used. And a damaged core was a dangerous core.

“The ship will explode, that’s why.”

“Zim. I know how to build a ship.”

“No you don’t! You don’t know anything about anything!”

Clara disappeared to make some iced tea for them, and when she returned with a tray loaded with drinks she said, “Don’t forget that Gaz is coming later.”

The very name made Zim’s antenna drop.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know him. Their paths had interwoven with Dib at the centre. She was just like any other enemy he’d had to contend with, except that she could outwit him in one breath, and leave him and his ship battered and smoking. He’d done everything to avoid her since he’d put Dib in a hospital bed – of which he’d done quite a few times. Maybe she’d be okay with his – state – and situation. Or maybe she’d barrel past Dib and Clara and hang him on the wall.

“Let’s not.” Zim said openly, carefully watching their reactions.

“She’s family, Zim. She’s got to come.” Dib patted him on the shoulder. “It’ll be fine.”

He had decided there and then that he would retreat to his room, barricade the door, and fashion a weapon from bits and pieces if he had to. 

[dokuhebi]

Shattered-by-Sparks said ➳ // you know I was gonna

Send ➳ and I’ll generate a number between 1-  15 to see what kind of kiss my muse will give yours!   3. A kiss underwater // @shattered-by-sparks When they were young, they recall the contrasting words of their elders. They remember being eight years old, donned in one of Jiraiya’s hakama, since they could hardly afford their own during their days as an orphan. Intending to learn the art of stealth for the day, but being offered a different lesson by the stand-in teacher. They recall the womans disapproving voice when they, still plagued by innocence, squandered their teams success by veering off route. Because they had stumbled upon a small nest they dared not disrupt for the mere sake of training, where the residue of young students learning their abilities would render the small inhabitants homeless, mere collateral damage. A sharp bite of correction; ‘you will be the first to die out there, if you think with your heart not your head boy.’. And so they learnt, to listen to their head, and to never argue with logic. No matter how it conflicted with what little moral code their now deceased mother and father had tried to impart. They would be fourteen when donning one of Tsunade’s furisodes, finally doing well enough on missions to be better off financially, but hardly in the position for luxury items such as pretty clothing. They recall a mans disapproving eyes, when he sees a rag dressed boy had run over to the young serpent. Mistaking their Senju borrowed gown as a sign the raven haired teen was well off. Asking for any spare coin, but being promptly told to leave them alone. Because they had learnt their lesson, to use logic above all else. And there was no clear gain in helping someone, only clear loss of their own money. But from the man who had watched, and given the rag dressed boy something in the serpents stead, they had earned a displeased bite of criticism yet again; ‘I would hope a young lady such as yourself would have more heart than that.’ And so they learnt that they were expected to listen to the organ of confession in their chest as well. That while arguing with logic would end them up dead in this violent world, there was no point surviving if they lost their heart along the way. And it had been a strange balancing act, where they found the most rational middle ground. By the time they reach adulthood, they have obeyed the voice in their head that says caring for their team mates, or for anyone, would end in little but misery and loss. For humans were far too fragile to hold on to. So they let the bonds they had formed over countless years to crack and wither. But there would be no point to make a stone of themself, and so they had given their heart to their work, to their studies, their ambitions. And that had been the easiest way forward for the next sixty years - until they met her. The Sannin finds themself beside Rin at a quaint bar, no where near the stretches of Fire Countries influence, nestled in the borderlands of Sungakure and Kirigakure. A pleasant town, where nobody seemed to know anyone. The gathering of those who wanted nothing but drinks and accommodation. So in a town untouched by external politics, where the name Sannin and Jinchuriki earned little but a blank and ignorant stare, neither one of them has to wear the deceptive guise of henge. Rin had stirred awake a part of them that had been dormant for quite some time, although they have little concept of what that emotion may be. Fondness, was the closest term they held. They had been exchanging conversation in the furthest corner of the bar, neither one interested in mingling with strangers, at least this evening. However despite reputations holding no weight in this town, attention was still offered by those who had come here to seek conversation with unfamiliar faces. Orochimaru has long since mastered the art of a gaze that pierces the confidence of anyone, and a smile that seems to say ‘begone’. So any of those who had boldly stepped up had only made a swifter retreat. After a moment of distraction however, they return their attention to Rin to find a woman had swept up the opportunity of her temporary solitude. Perhaps the woman was being friendly, perhaps the woman was being coy, neither should matter. The thing that should earn the vipers immediate attention after all, is the reaction they feel rise inside of themself. Awfully indifferent by nature, often impossible to get a rise out of, certainly unfazed and disinterested in the antics of people as a whole... so why then, do they feel the ever growing distaste for the womans pushy conversation? A spike of, dare they say it, jealousy. They found they had no time for the womans lipgloss smile, and can only return the gesture she offers them with something ever so judgmentally false. Their smile shows nothing but the baring of fangs, and they resist the urge to say something nasty by taking a purposeful sip of their sake. A likely culprit for why they have decided composure can be thrown to the wind, and they can openly offer the woman who burdens their pleasant conversation with Rin a wry expression. They do not offer her any social graces, they do not laugh politely at her jokes, they do not respond immediately if she asks a question, they reject her every offer, be it a drink, an idea, or even a more comfortable seat when it opened up. Because while she keeps up conversation with Rin and Orochimaru, it had not escaped their attention that she had sighted the pretty brunette with her autumn coloured doe eyes, and made a straight line toward her. That had been the reason why they had prompted Rin to down the rest of her drink, as they did their own, before moving location. They would be lying if they said after all their drinks, that they remembered the small details of the evening. Like how they convinced her to leave the bar and promise of more alcohol, or who had the idea to visit the towns main attraction of naturally formed and well maintained hot springs. But they had found their way in to the warm wooden and stone floored room. Where the divided rock pool-like sections of the warm water offer multiple springs to choose from in both the male and female portion of the building. When asked where they would like to sit, they can only toss Rin a playfully confessional gaze, knowing that even drunk or tipsy, she of all people would have read their earlier displeasure like an open book. So they do not stoop so low as to deny what is obvious, instead sticking by their little display of jealousy and guiding her to one of the unoccupied springs. Keeping her quite far from the other woman enjoying the warm water a few meters away, and from the dividing wall where men can be heard not seen in their separate quarter. “In case it wasn’t obvious, I don’t want to share,” they say with a slightly coy tease to their voice, finding their way to rocks designed for sitting. They have their towel drawn around their body to hug their sylphlike figure, tucked neatly under slender arms just as pure white as the towel itself. While they had made quick work of twisting their long dark hair in to a bun, they had next sought to help her. Pale digits in contrast to the umber hair they now begin to lightly coil for her, ever the perfectionist in their antics, they allow some hair to frame her face as they had done for themself. To avoid the fault of gathering too much hair and putting needless strain on the locks. They gracefully move around her to inspect if the bun is centered and comfortable, lightly tipping her jaw up to examine it, before drawing slightly back has them realizing how close they had gotten with all their fussing and perfectionism. Gazes meeting a moment, and lips mere breaths away, they can not tell if they wish to blame alcohol or impulsiveness. For whichever it was, there is no taking back the gesture once they offer it. Logic would tell them that this is a dangerous game with no reward, that they have not acted after proper calculative thought. But they have survived three Great Wars, invented jutsu that could revive the dead, cures and technology that could prevent future deaths and revolutionize shinobi. They had achieved more in their life than nearly any shinobi to date - surely a moment of foolishness, a moment of thoughtless impulse, could be forgiven? They do not internally wrestle with the idea for long, they have allowed their hand to gently graze down from its placement in her hair to caress the side of her face instead. Where they can guide it to the side so they may catch her lips with their own. To earn a reaction they can not hope to try and guess. Would this be seen as overstepping? Would there be distrust when their venomous fangs were so very close to her flesh? Would she return it? They do not know their next step if she returns it. Why, they would perhaps know how to handle disdain at the gesture, more so than acceptance. Yet there is no deterrent strong enough to make them back out. They have shown that even feral and deadly jaws can be remarkably gentle, the kiss lingering like a ghosts might. A mixture of wanting to possess her, yet vanish all at the same time. When they draw away, chatoyant amber eyes seek out a response. But only for a moment, before a somewhat abashed, somewhat amused smile finds its way to their lips. Their hand drawn back to their person to correct the towel around their chest, a mere means to seek distraction, and a reason to pull away before she gives her response. Somehow still confident even in their bashfulness. “Well then,” they say with a soft exhale that could be mistaken for the slight trickle of nerves, only to be banished by the gesture of their self assured smile, even when they continue to subtly fidget by next running a hand through their long midnight fringe, “I do hope that was as well received as it was intended, but if it isn’t, you are more than welcome to offer me a polite lie, and pretend you are too drunk to remember this.”

[merakiaes]

Love Makes Love - Jorah Mormont

Pairing: Jorah Mormont x Targaryen!reader

Requested: Yes

Prompts: None

Warnings/notes: None that I can think of. I don’t feel like I succeeded in capturing the feels like I wanted to, but I hope you will like it!

Wordcount: 2616

Description: A short part 2 to “Together, Always” where you tend to Jorah after the battle.

”How are you feeling?” You asked Jorah as you entered your chambers, arms full of medical supplies. 

After winning the battle, Daenerys and yourself had gotten the help from Samwell Tarly and Jon to bring Jorah back to your room. 

He was rather roughed up, too hurt to walk on his own and just barely holding on to consciousness, but not hurt enough for you to send him to the medical area, figuring there were others who were hurt far more. 

”It hurts.” Jorah managed to get out with a shaky breath as he sat on the end of your bed, hand gripping onto the bed post to keep himself upright.

”I’m about to make it hurt much more, I’m afraid.” You told him with a sad smile as you reached him, raising your hand to gingerly touch his cheek. 

He looked up at you, tired and hurt, and gave you a nod. “I’ll be alright.”

You smiled comfortingly at him before proceeding to dump the supplies in a chair beside you, moving to untie the knots of his tunic. 

Jorah’s hand came up to stop you suddenly, grabbing your wrist to halt you in your movements. Looking at him, you found him looking down in shame. 

“I…” He hesitated, not daring yo look into your eyes. “I don’t want you to look at me.”

It suddenly dawned on you. 

You hadn’t seen him since Dany had sent him off to find a cure for his greyscale which had supposedly covered most of his upper body when it had finished spreading. 

He didn’t want you to see his scars. 

Your heart ached as you realized he was still, after all this time, terrified you would leave him, and for something as petty, at that. 

“Jorah.” You whispered, getting him to look up at you slowly. ”No amount of wounds or scars could make me see you in any other way than beautiful. I love you, so much more than you will ever know. I wouldn’t leave you for anything.”

Jorah’s eyes were red with tears and weariness. ”I don’t know what I did to deserve you. Why you chose me, when you could have any other man in the world.”

You chuckled. ”You sit here and let yourself express your disbelief and doubt, but do you in all honesty think anyone else would be able to keep up with me? That there’s a better match than us in the whole Seven Kingdoms?”

The man was dumbstruck as he looked up at you, eyes wide and mouth slightly open as he took in the words you spoke to him with nothing but endearment. 

”Can I touch you?” He whispered eventually. 

You grabbed his hands and guided them to circle your waist. “Of course.”

”Can I kiss you?” He asked again, the deep expression not once leaving his face as he looked into your stormy eyes. 

”Why are you asking for permission?” You asked back, smiling softly. “I’m yours and yours only.”

And with that, Jorah carefully stood up to be able to capture your lips in the softest of kisses, however the moment of love being short lived as he soon bent over slightly in pain, lips parting from yours as he let out a painful groan. 

You furrowed your brows worriedly, gently pushing him back down on the bed. “We need to get you cleaned up.”

You turned to the chair beside you, grabbing a bottle of disinfectant and one with milk of the poppy, handing him the latter to take a drink as you used one hand to pop open the lid to the alcohol and the other to untie the rest of his knots, the man not stopping you this time. 

His face was hard as he drank the medication, letting you shed him of his shirt and watching as you didn’t even react to the horrid scars that now littered his arms and torso. 

You reached up to touch around the stab wound in his shoulder carefully, causing him to flinch, which in turn caused you to do the same. You hated seeing your love in pain, but it had to be done. 

You looked up at him. “This is going to hurt, but I’ll be done in no time.” You warned him, waiting for him to nod before pouring the liquid into the wound. 

Jorah hissed loudly, letting his eyes squeeze closed as his hand went back to hold on to the bedpost when you brought a cloth to dab at the wound. 

Luckily, the blade hadn’t pierced any major muscle, meaning it would heal nicely and quickly as long as you helped him keep it clean. 

But before you would be able to wrap it, he would have to clean the rest of his body so that the other small wounds that littered his body wouldn’t risk infecting the bigger one. 

“I’m done, I’m done.” You told him quickly as you put down the bloody rag and now empty bottle, waving your hand in front of the wound lightly in an attempt to soothe the burning. 

Jorah breathed heavily and kept his eyes closed as he leaned his forehead against the wooden post he was still gripping hard. 

Leaving him to recover from the intense pain, you moved across the room to get to the bathtub, proceeding to fill it a little more than to the middle and letting your hand run through it to test the temp before going back to Jorah. 

“Come on, my love.” You spoke as you reached him, him having watched you the whole time while catching his breath. 

Helping him stand, you managed to get him out of the remaining clothes, although with some struggle, and helped him step into the tub, making sure he was comfortable before handing him a sponge. 

“I’ll be over there if you need me.” You whispered, leaving a loving kiss on his forehead before going back over to the chair with supplies to tend to your own battle wounds, none of them being as severe as Jorah’s, luckily. 

Undoing your tunic, you opened another bottle of disinfectant and poured the liquid on a clean cloth, hissing slightly as the strong chemical came in contact with the first cut, the rest of them not being as bad. 

As earlier mentioned, you didn’t have as many or as severe wounds as Jorah, having gotten away with only minor scrapes, cuts and burns, so it didn’t take long for you to be done. 

As you finished up, you could hear Jorah huffing and breathing heavily in pain behind you, and as you turned around, you found him struggling to raise his arms to his hair. 

Knowing him, he’d probably been struggling ever since you left him there, but not having wanted to bother you by asking for your help. 

You shook your head at him, going over to grab the sponge from him. “Stubborn man, why won’t you ever ask anyone for help?” 

He looked at you, however adverting his eyes to the water the second he realized you didn’t have your shirt on, leaving your chest on full display. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at the act of shyness. ”Three years together, you’ve seen more of me than anyone else, and still you blush like a maiden and look away the second you see my body. You can look at me, you know.” You mused as you sat yourself on the edge of the tub, filling the sponge with water before bringing up to his head, squeezing it in your hand to wash the grime away from his hair. 

“I don’t want to disrespect you.” He told you sincerely, watching your face as you worked away to clean him. 

You smiled. “You are mine and I am yours. You can look at me all you want, just as you don’t mind me looking at you.” 

He smiled at you, and you noticed his eyes briefly flickering to your body, before returning to your face. 

“There.” You spoke, letting the sponge rest ont the edge as you stood up again. “All done.” You smiled. 

“Thank you.” He responded, never taking his eyes off you as you then proceeded to fetch something from the chair on the other side of the room before coming back and getting out of your breeches, moving to stand beside the tub. 

”Scoot over.” 

Jorah wasted no time in bidding to your command, sliding himself further backwards and opening his legs so that you could sink in between them, coming to rest with your back against his chest. 

You grabbed the new sponge you had gotten and started running it over your arms and up your chest, ridding you of any blood and dirt from the battle that had went down only hours before. 

Jorah said nothing as he, after a minute of watching you, slowly reached out a shaky hand to take the sponge from yours. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispered into your hair as he then started cleaning you like you had done him only moments before, finding it significantly more easy to move his arm at this height than to reach his head. 

You let your head lull back to rest at his chest, sighing in content as he dipped the sponge in and out of the water, fingers caressing your skin along the way as he cleaned you. 

The two of you kept quiet after that, the only sounds filling the room being your calm breathing, his slightly ragged one as he was still in pain, and the sound of the rippling waters. 

When Jorah eventually finished the task of getting you washed, you stayed in the tub, hands intertwined and playing with each other’s fingers, until Jorah after a while jolted behind you. 

You instantly let yourself sit up straight, turning around in your spot, eyes wide in worry. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine, princess.” He managed to get out through gritted teeth, but of course you weren’t fooled, the man being horrible at masking his feelings. 

“I don’t know why you still think you will ever be able to lie to me.” You shook your head, watching as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“My back took quite a hit out there.” He murmured, flinching again as you guessed the bone caused him discomfort when he moved. 

You were reluctant to leave his warmth, but as he once more hissed in pain when shifting in his seat, you heaved yourself out from in front of him, not bothering to cover up as you walked over to the desk in your room, pulling out a drawer to pick up the peppermint cream you used to put on your own injuries. 

“Move forward.” You told him this time once you returned to him, the man doing as told without a word, painfully dragging himself across the tub to let you slide in behind him. 

You squeezed some of the cream out on your fingers, instantly getting to work on his sore muscles, which earned yourself a violent flinch from the man as he let out a strangled groan. 

“I’m beginning to think you like making me suffer.” He groaned from in front of you, back hunched as you pressed your fingers into his skin to soften the muscle around the bruise. 

“Temporary suffering is worth it if you want to be able to move within the next few days.” You answered, kissing his shoulder affectionately as you now rubbed his shoulder with both of your hands. 

Jorah let out a gruff mumble in response, jolting and flinching as you worked away on his sore spots, but soon enough finding himself relaxing again. 

You kept kneeding his shoulders, neck, arms and shoulder blades until the water turned cold, and it was a wonder to him how your thumbs and fingers hand’t fallen off from the hard work by this point. 

When you had finally ended the seemingly endless massage, you had helped him out of the water and to the bed, pulling the furs over him as you went to work on a fire, now being slightly chilly from the water. 

As the fire flamed alive, the crackle of wood filling the room slowly but surely, a thought filled your head, causing you to nibble at your lip slightly. 

“When Dany takes her claim to the Iron Throne.” You spoke then, breaking several minutes worth of silence. “Would you marry me?”

You heard Jorah shift from behind you, and as you looked to him, found him coming meet your eyes, letting you catch the shocked expression that now rested on his face. “You would want to be married to a man who is a disgrace to his house and the realm?”

You frowned at his words, walking up to him as he sat up, proceeding to wrap your arms around him and lean your head on his back. “I already told you, you’re the only one I want and ever will want. I want to be your wife, I want to spend the rest of my days by your side with our children.”

Now he turned around in his seat to look at you, looking at you with a look so deep and full of meaning you couldn’t even begin to describe it. “You want to have my children?”

“Of course I do.” Your frown deepened, sad that he would even doubt it in the first place. “And I know Dany would be thrilled to have a niece or nephew, or several of them. She will never be able to get that herself.”

Jorah didn’t say anything as he leaned in to capture your lips with his, sealing a kind of agreement of your future to come once your sister had claimed her spot as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. 

You held the kiss until you both needed to breath, coming apart, panting and looking into each other’s eyes. 

You put one of your hands on his chest, pushing him back into the furs to lie down. 

But Jorah came up just as quickly again, to take you into another kiss. 

Repeating the same procedure as only moments before, you finally cracked a laugh as he had come back up for the fourth time. 

”How many times do I have to push you down until you stay down?”

Jorah smiled at you, eyes loving and longing. ”At least once more.” He kissed you again.

You pulled away after a second or two, pushing him down again. ”You can’t heal if you don’t rest.”

Jorah gave you a grateful smile, finally staying in the bed and looking at you as you stood up to get dressed with the intentions of getting him food from the feast. 

As you had just finished pulling on your second boot and readied yourself to leave the room, Jorah called out from the bed, causing you to stop in your tracks, leaving your hand to hover over the door handle.

”I don’t know if I’d be a good father.”

You turned around as his voice reached your ears, walking back to his side for what seemed to be the tenth time that hour, re-taking your earlier position at his side. 

”Amor gignit amorem.” You said to him, speaking a phrase Missandei had taught you of a dead language a long time back. 

”What does it mean?” Jorah asked, expression puzzled as he pushed himself up on his good arm.

Taking his face in your hands like you always did, in the way he loved so much to be held by you, you brushed your lips against his as you whispered ”Love creates love.”

Tagged: @edarene @anephemeralwoe @witch-of-letters @starkbelova @well-aint-that-strange @aquariusfangirl

[deadasswlw]

"I thought I had lost you" Kara / Lena

Absolutely happy to! ( I literally could not decide which one to do since this gave me so many ideas, sorry for the wait)

* * *

"KARA!"

The Kryptonian blinked away dust and tears caused by the smoke.

Noise rumbled in the background, she couldn't define anything in particular as she weakly rolled onto her front, coughing in the process.

Her vision doubled as she tried to take in the situation.

What happened?

"KARA!"

An alien, it got the best of her and jumped through the roof of the building, away from Alex, Lena, and Nia.

Then it threw her down.

Then black.

"KARA!" Kara pushed herself up weakly, her senses still coming back to her as she began to process what she was seeing and hearing.

Kara looked around, it was smokey, water spewed from pipes while flames danced around the damaged room, rubble and broken glass scattered the floor and Kara realized that she had created a large crater in the basement of the building.

"KARA!"

The blonde finally registered what mattered most about the scene, Nia's astral projection standing right in front of her.

"Finally! Thought we lost you for a second there," Nia exclaimed, from what Kara could gather, the younger hero was extremely concerned.

"Look your crazy brought the building down, the civilians are okay but Alex and the DEO can't get in, and Lena and I can't get out," Nia begged as Kara crawled out of the crater.

"Lena?" Kara drawled.

"She's hurt, she pushed me out of the way of some falling rafters, I can't get her out."

"Where are you?" Kara slurred as she got to her feet.

Nia jogged off, and Kara followed as best she could.

"Dont touch that or the rest of the ceiling will fall," Nia warned as she walked through a beam that blocked part of the only pathway.

Kara ducked through and followed the other girl as she rounded a corner created by debris.

"Okay you need to punch through or throw this out of the way or something," Nia explained further, Lena and I are down the hall. Kara used what strength she had and pushed the cement blockade up long enough for her to get through.

"Where?"

"See where there's still some walls and the broken door?" Nia waited for Kara to nod. "In there, hurry, Nia pleaded, before disappearing through the wreckage.

Kara trudged on, pushing debris out of the way until she hit the room Lena and Nia were in.

She pushed the door down, breaking it and forcing it until it was of no interference on the floor.

Kara used her x twy vision to make sure the two brunettes were far enough away from the damage for Kara to safely clear the way.

"I'm coming!" Kara promised before grabbing on and punching part of collapsed ceiling, tearing it through the door way and moving forward. Kara moved a large beam and immediately stopped as she heard a cry through the barricade.

"Stop! Whatever you're lifting, it's pushing the debris on Lena more!"

Kara realized she have to change her gameplay and used her x ray vision again, the room next to theirs had less stuff in it, she'd just have to walk through the rubble.

Kara moved as fast as she could, which was sluggish at best, and made it to the wall that connected the two rooms.

"Be careful!" Kara yelled out before she cautiously punched her way through the wall.

It finally gave way and reveled Lena's head resting on Nia's lap.

"Lena-" Kara rushed and knelt next the the CEO desperately. Drowsy green eyes and dried blood stood out against paper white skin, it made Kara sick.

"Okay," Kara tried her intercom but only got static.

"You can reach Alex?" Nia nodded. "Do they have medical help outside?" Another nod.

"Okay, okay," Kara used her x ray vision to examine Lena's injuries. She had a badly broken leg, and a piece of rafting was jabbed through her abdomen, she was losing blood, a lot of it.

"You're going to be okay Lena, I promise,"

"Just... be quick with it would you? I could use a drink sooner... rather than later..." Lena's eyes fell shut, and Kara's widened.

"I'll get her loose and you'll need to pull her out. I'll break through the roof and get us to the ground." Nia nodded frantically, horrified.

Kara took to using her x ray vision to cutting through the rubble without risking opening Lena's wound any further. It was like creating a jigsaw puzzle or playing jenga.

And Kara couldn't afford to lose, Lena's heart had already slowed too much for comfort.

"Okay, be careful, pull straight and fast," make sure she's okay," Kara stood and backed away, taking to burning a path to the surface, getting out of the hellish basement. Kara had to block the occasional piece of debris that fell toward the brunettes.

"Kara," Nia mumbled, the Kryptonian continued to create their escape route. "Kara," Nia tried again.

"Kara!"

The tunnel broke apart, falling into the room.

"KARA!"

The Kryptonian's head snapped around, and her senses focused again, her hearing focused on Lena's heartbeat once again.

Lack thereof.

"No," Kara scooped Lena into her arms and flew her out of there and onto a nearby gurney.

Next she grabbed Nia, placing her on the ground before rushing to Lena's side.

"Your her next of kin," Alex told Kara, a needle in her hand. It contained some of Lena's miracle cure, the one that saved James so long ago.

"Anything it takes just save her, please, please Alex," Alex waited for the EMT's with the defibrillator to bring her back.

Kara's breath hitched in her throat with each failed attempt.

But on the fourth try, Lena's chest continued to rise, her heart slowly began to pump.

"Now, do it now, " Kara ordered her sister, who obeyed, ripping the rafting out and injecting the syringe into the vein in Lena's neck.

"She should be okay, but get her to the DEO as quickly as possible. I'll be right behind you." Alex commanded while running to her truck, Kara entering the back of the ambulance with Lena.

Kara sat next to Lena and two other EMT's, stroking the brunette's hair gently.

"I thought I lost you," Kara mused sadly, relieved that the woman next to her was breathing. With a kiss on Lena's forehead, Kara silently promised she would keep it that way.

[ask-de-writer]

Wind Meets the Rom : MLP Fan Fiction : WORK IN PROGRESS

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

WIND MEETS THE ROM

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

28978 words

© 2019 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Cover Art by @wind-the-mama-cat

Writing begun 06/01/18

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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This is a WORK IN PROGRESS.  New work or changes to earlier text are shown in Boldface Type

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Mama Dragon sat next Wind.  Next to the Dragon stood a bowl of warm water, mixed with various healing herbs.

Mama Dragon dipped a soft rag into the water, and then gently wiped the four bloody, oozing gashes on Wind’s stomach.

The six inch long, jagged, gashes that were caused by…

“A manticore,” Penny said, as she stood opposite Mama Dragon.  “This darned Cat, in her… journey to capture the 400 evil souls…” The tall mare sniffled, “Decided to fight a large manticore.”

Mama kept cleaning Wind’s wounds. Before cleaning her wounds, Mama had used a ‘sleeping powder’ to render the catter unconscious. She didn’t want her daughter moving around while trying to treat her.

“Oh, Wind…” she shook her head slowly.  “And where did you find her?”

Penny crossed her arms.  “She popped into my dimension, just outside my house. I don’t know why she came to me. So, using her map, I brought her here.”  She stared at Wind’s wounds. “I know how to stitch small stab wounds, and bullet holes… but these… are beyond my skill.”

Mama set the cloth down in the bowl and then picked up her medical kit.  She took out stitching thread and a needle.

“You know why she came to you, Penelope,” Mama said, as she used her flame breath to sterilize the needle.  “Why you both don’t admit it, is beyond me.”

Penny scowled at Mama Dragon.  “Because I don’t.”

Mama Dragon began to stitch the gashes shut.  “If you don’t, then why did you go to her when she was possessed?”  She glanced at Penny. “Even I couldn’t locate her.  But you did.  You found her, and you helped free her.”

“I found her because Evil let me find her,” Penny huffed.  “She called to me, challenging me to fight, offering Wind as a prize. That doesn’t mean that I-”

Wind grumbled, but remained asleep.

Penny shook her head.  “Look.  I brought Wind home.  She’s safe.  I’m leaving.”

Mama said nothing as she moved to the second gash, making sure that she didn’t pull the first set of stitches.

Penny stomped to the door of Mama Dragon’s room.  She stopped, and turned her head to look over her shoulder.  “What?”

“I didn’t say anything, Penelope,” Mama Dragon said.

Penny’s shoulders slumped.  She hadn’t realized that she was so tense. “I’m… I need some time to think.  I’ll come back.”  With that, she tapped her pendant and returned to her version of Equestria.

Mama shook her head, as she kept stitching Wind’s abdominal skin closed.

—

Wind woke up in her bed.  She sat up with a scream but then fell back to her bed as the pain from her scars shot through her.

“MAMA!”

Mama Dragon came into Wind’s room and sat on Wind’s bed.  She breathed her fire onto her hands and then placed her hands on Wind’s stomach.

“You’re safe, Little Kitten,” Mama smiled warmly, “Mama’s here.  You’re safe.”

Wind looked at Mama Dragon.  “Are you mad at me?”

“Mad? Never.”  Mama Dragon mused, “I am confused as to why you thought that you could take on a manticore by yourself, without armor.”

Wind blushed as she looked away.  “I…”  She paused as she looked at her left arm.  Or, rather her lack of left arm.

“Where’s my arm?”

“I removed it.  You never came to see me after you were freed from Evil,” Mama Dragon said.  “Soulblade, and your arm, might still have Evil corrupting them.  I have to purge them.”

Wind frowned.  “I… I was ashamed that I was possessed.”  She sighed, “How long will that take?”

Mama adjusted her glasses.  “A month.”

“I have to stay in bed for a month?” Wind asked/whined.

“No. You’re healed enough.  Now that you’re awake, I’m sending you to recover in Equestria.”

Wind’s eyes went wide.  “To go live with Penny?”

“No. Another Equestria.  A peaceful version,” Mama answered.  “I know of a horse that can help you.”

“Help me?” Wind asked.   “With what?  And I can’t.  I have to collect-”

“You will go to Equestria,” Mama said sternly, cutting her stubborn daughter off.  “No arm.  No sword.  No weapons.  No mission.  You will go and relax.”  She quirked her eyebrow at Wind’s folded ears.  “Am I clear?”

Wind lifted her ears. “Yes, Mama…”

Mama stood up and helped Wind to stand up.  “Good.”  She handed Wind her bag of holding.  “I’ll come get you in a month, or so.”

She then placed a gold Dragon head necklace around Wind’s neck.

“This is to remind you that you carry my love everywhere.”  She tapped Wind’s map, opening a portal.  “Goodbye, Little Kitten.”

Wind stepped through the portal and came out into a forest clearing.  She looked around and took a deep breath.  “Well… this version of Equestria certainly is nicer than the Discorded version.”

“Why thank you.” A voice said. “I certainly think so.”

Wind turned around slowly, and came face to face with a small blue horse with a horn, white mane and beard.

“By the Spirits.” Wind said, instinctively reaching for Soulblade on her back. She blushed, and dropped her hand. “Who are you?”

“I am known by many names.  However, you can call me De Writer.”  The blue horse answered in a kind tone.

To cover her embarrassment at reaching for her sword, even if it was not there, Wind asked, “Um, when Mama Dragon sent me here, she said that there was a horse here that could help me.  Are you him?”

De Writer gave her a sideways smile as he replied, “To state the answer really precisely while being no help at all, yes and no.

“This particular Equestria is mostly populated by ponies.  What do you know about Equestrian ponies?”

Wind sat facing the blue one and said, “I only know about a pretty badly discorded Equestria.  There, they have four kinds of ponies.  There are unicorns, like you, pegassi, that have wings and can fly, earth ponies, that don't have wings or horns and there are also a few alicorns that are bigger and have both wings and horns.  I am afraid that is about it.”

De Writer sat too and nodded his head.  “We have those same sorts here but, as you noticed, this Equestria is neither Discorded nor Corrupted.  

“We also have real horses.  Those are a lot bigger than ponies.  Most of them around here are called Rom and wander the roads, going from fair to fair.  I am pretty sure that those are the ones that you were sent here to meet.  Very relaxed and accepting group.”

Suddenly Wind looked around her at the empty land, a perplexed expression on her face.  “How did you know that I would be portaling through to this exact place?”

De Writer pointed out dryly, “And which way you would be facing, so that I could be behind you, just in case you turned out to be hostile?  Two things, really.  The first is simple.  I check out EVERY trans-dimensional crossing to this world.  Second, is equally simple. If the portaler is hostile, I deal with them as necessary.  If they are not hostile and pose no danger, I greet them or not, as appropriate.

“Shall we be on our way?  It will be a bit of a hike to get you to Marchhare's band.”

As Wind was getting up she commented, “You are really good at not answering questions, aren't you, De Writer?”

Nodding agreeably, the old unicorn smiled, “Yep.  Got lots of practice. About three thousand years of it, actually.”

As they strode across the grass, towards a woodland, Wind automatically searched with her eyes and other senses for possible dangers.

De Writer noticed it, too.  “That is good, Wind.  Always be on the lookout for dangers.  Speaking of which, I have a Pro Tip for you.  When facing down a good sized manticore, don't forget that the critter's tail is not there just for show.  Not sure if you would have won, if you had not forgotten that, but your chances would have been a lot better.”

Wind paused to give the blue unicorn a long studying look.  Shaking her head, she offered, “I don't know how you knew about that.  Not even Penny or Mama Dragon knew about the manticore's tail getting me first.”  She relaxed a little as she said doubtfully, “I am not sure why, but I sort of feel safe around you.  Almost as if we had met before, but I am sure that I would remember  a talking unicorn pony.”

The old one nodded agreeably, “You would certainly think so, wouldn't you?”

Topping a rise, he pointed.  “See that road?  Just where it goes into that copse of trees is a nice shady rest area complete with water and free firewood.  There is a band of mostly horses camped there.  The majority of the horses are actually unicorns with long horns, some straight and some with a little curve to them.  They also have some Equestrian pegassi in the group.  They are led by an old donkey.

They all speak Equestrian, which I know that you are fluent in.  They also speak a second language called Gyptian which I am aware that you do not know.  I would advise you to seek your rest cure there with Marchhare's band.  They will probably seem a bit odd at times, but they are actually fine horses.  

“Oh, second Pro Tip.  As far as they are concerned, they are ALL HORSES. Even the ponies among them say the same.  They regard being called ponies to be a bit of an insult.”

As she was striding down the hill, Wind nodded.  “I will bear that in mind.  Thank you, De Writer.”  A few strides further, Wind turned, her eyes going wide with surprise.  There was no obvious sign of the old blue unicorn.  Trained examination of the grass showed his tracks and hers.  Then, abruptly there were only hers.

Shaking her head, she muttered, “And, he knew where I was coming through and which way I would be facing.  I wonder just how dangerous he would be if he was angry?”

While she was pondering that question, Wind came to the road itself.  It took only a cursory look to realize that though it appeared to be a simple gravel road, it was actually far better made than any such road of her experience.

While she was strolling along the roadway, Wind was contemplating the sort of civilization that would put so much effort into a road.  It was strong enough not to fear invaders taking over the land by usurping the roads.  It was well connected internally and relied strongly on commerce.

She heard the music and laughter before she found the turn off for the wayside rest area.  The sign, in the Equestrian that she knew, said

Royal Road

Red Branch Section

Wayside #7.

The music had two unique sounds to it.  The solid ringing underbeat was clearly a smith hammering iron.  The other was from flutes, some kind of stringed instruments and drums.  Besides matching the rhythm of the smith, they had music going in scales and beats that Wind had never heard of before.

She entered the wayside area and paused to watch first.  Basic adventuring skill, there.  Try to understand a situation before getting involved in it.  Four pegassi with the familiar pastel colors and patterns that she knew from Penny's world were getting some sort of dancing instruction from two big horse sized unicorns, one pure black with a snow white mane and tail and the other, slightly bigger was a chestnut brown sorrel.  She noticed the donkey that she had been told of.  He was in the group providing the music.  He was working a pair of drums to produce a complex beat.

Apparently whatever the mares were telling the pegassi was done.  They positioned themselves carefully and listened for a cue in the music. They lifted their wings and with perfect timing, gave a powerhouse of a down stroke that lifted them all into the air.  It was easy to see that each move of the pegassi was not only made in time to the music, each of the dancers, no other term would do, was making a cohesive whole pattern with the other dancers.

The dancers touched the earth in a four part pose, the two at the rear had each raised a wing toward  the other and fanned the opposite wing toward the audience.  The other two dancers had alighted with inside forehooves pointing to the old donkey, and kneeling the other foreleg.  Their wings were folded close.

All of the assembled, um, horses, leaned their heads back and trilled loudly when the performance ended.  Realizing that this was applause, Wind felt like doing the same.  The airborne dance was an amazing performance.

She noticed that the pegassi were luxuriating in the hugs given by the magic from the horn of a red roan mare who had gathered them close. The more that Wind observed, the greater the differences from any pony that she was familiar with became apparent.  These, even the ones that were dancing in the sky, ALL wore brilliant colored sashes of amazing fabrics.  There were satins, brocades and even plain looking cloth, all sorts of colors, cuts, sewed designs and embroidery.  Even the foals, off to one side from the rest wore them.

Another thing that caught her eye were the harnesses worn by every one of the horses, even the foals.  Besides being solid workaday harness, they were beautifully tooled and dyed.  Even the donkey wore one.

She had been advised that they all could speak the Equestrian that she was familiar with but none were.  The language that she was hearing was a fluid, almost musical tongue.  Sourly, she remembered that the old blue unicorn had mentioned that, too.

The nearby foals were playing some sort of game involving chasing a ball about.  It appeared that they were not using any magic, though most had horns.  A miskick sent the ball hurtling toward Wind!  Compared to some of the battles that she had been in, this was slow enough for her to think and override the impulse to use her now missing arm. Realizing from her observation that they did not hold the ball, Wind batted it from the air and sent it back to the pursuing foals with a well aimed kick of her own!

Foals charged after it, continuing their game.

She did notice that one of the foals left the game and trotted over to the old donkey.

After a brief conversation, the foal returned to the game, sashes catching the sun.

Wind decided that the time for concealment was over and walked in along the entrance road toward the camp.

The black and white unicorn mare left the dance group and trotted up to Wind. In delightfully accented Equestrian, she greeted, “Are you the Wind Whisper that old De Writer told us to watch for?  If so, please feel welcome in our camp.”

Wind made a moue.  “You were expecting me?  Does that old blue unicorn tell everyone what I am doing?”

The black and white unicorn giggled behind her hoof before replying, “Not at all.  I know that he spent a bit of time with my father Marchhare. He often does.  They have been friends for something like 800 years. Dad told me to welcome you when you were done watching us from the shadows of the trees.”

Formally, the mare held forth a forehoof and said, “In the name of Marchhare, Rom of the band of Marchhare, I, Black Lotus, offer you, Wind Whisper, the hospitality of our band.”

Wind held out a hand and took Black Lotus' extended hoof and sniped back, “I, Wind Whisper, on behalf of myself, accept your generous invitation.”

Black Lotus's eyes twinkled as she offered, “You are just in time for lunch.  Since we knew that you were coming and a carnivore, we caught a couple of bunnies and pulled some trout out of that stream over there.  We baked them up into pasties along with eggs and some cheese.  They should keep well.

“We did not know how you liked sweets or spices so they are pretty plain, right now.”

Pretending shock, Wind asked archly, “What, De Writer didn't let you know something that important?”

The old donkey had joined them, his elaborately tooled headstall complimenting his harness design excellently.  He brayed, “Nope. He doesn't tell us everything.  Very irritating of the old pony, too.”

Wind was sort of taken aback.  “Um, how long have you known him?”

The old donkey replied seriously, “Me personally, about 800 years, give or take.  For the rest of this crowd, all their lives.  For the Rom as a whole, around 800 years.  They ran into him shortly after I rescued their ancestors from the desert of Celestia's Anvil.”

The mare Black Lotus tapped the donkey between the ears and suggested, “Father, be a dear and go cast your shadow on the serving line for lunch.  It is all ready.  Do caution the others about the meat and fish pasties that I put up for our guest.”

“Go cast . . .” The old donkey looked down.  He seemed sort of embarrassed as his shadow slowly appeared where sunlight had been shining.  Directly through him, apparently.  “Right,  I will go help serve.”

Wind stared after the old donkey.  He was casting a shadow now.  The only giveaway that something about him was off kilter was the simple fact that he left no tracks.

Black Lotus calmly suggested, “I will tell you about father in a little. For now, let us go and get some food while there is any left!”

Wind glanced at her hostess with a snicker and suggested, “Race you?”

Black Lotus shook her head.  “Not yet.  Not with those injuries.  Right now, you need to take it easy, unless you want me, dad, and mom repacking your guts.  You were lucky that those claws didn't quite open you up.”

Instantly soured, Wind griped, “De Writer tell you that, too?”

Suddenly she felt herself wrapped in the softest of pale blue magic.  It was like no hug or hold that she had ever experienced before.  Black Lotus was carrying her in it without any apparent effort.  As she did, she explained, “No, De Writer is innocent of that particular thing.  I am a good surgeon.  Mom is better and dad, with a little help from either of us, is even better.  I shouldn't have, but I peeked inside you to see how well you are healing.  That is why I am carrying you now.”

Wind very suddenly became still.  In a small voice, though still defiant, she asked, “What did you find, Snoopy?”

The mild reply was, “My name is Black Lotus.  What I found is some inflammation at both the surgical work and some in your nerves.  The surgery was really well done, if that helps.  The inflammation came later.  I am pretty sure that we can treat it, though.  If we can, you will just have to take it easy for a while to let things heal up properly.”

They came to the lunch serving line.  Black Lotus said something in the lovely fluid language that Wind decided that she was going to learn if she stayed long with these . . . horses.

Both the chestnut sorrel and the odd donkey left the serving line and joined Black Lotus, who was still holding Wind.  There was a brief conference in the fluid language.  The chestnut sorrel slightly tipped her horn, which glowed with an amber magic aura that matched her eyes perfectly.  The magic flowed into Wind and bridged down to the donkey named Marchhare.

He nodded and spoke Equestrian to the brown mare, “Thank you, Hoof Dancer, my dear.  Black Lotus was pretty spot on.  We can treat this easily but Wind will need carefully supervised rest and light exercise.”  

Wind pointed out sarcastically, “I am right here, you know.  Would it be too much trouble to tell ME exactly what the problem is?”

The old donkey nodded agreement and sat.  Gesturing  expressively with his long ears, he stated, “Right you are, my dear Wind.  As Black Lotus informed us, your original surgery was quite well done. Unfortunately a bit of infectious inflammation has begun to progress up some nerves that were severed.

“Right now, if we can keep you properly rested and LIMIT your exercise, we can stop the problem.  If we do not try to stop it or you choose not to follow our directions you will either die or be permanently paralyzed in about two days time.

“The critical issue is to prevent the inflammation from reaching your spinal column.  If it does, there is little to nothing that we can do to save you.

“So, now that you know what the problem is, will you let us save you or not?”

Wind retorted, “I have to.  Mama Dragon would never forgive me if I died after all of her work to save me.”

Black Lotus snickered, “Good.  That means that those pastries that I cooked up for you won't be wasted!  Lucky for you, your mouth, stomach and guts are not restricted.

“For now, let me carry you.  We don't want to put any stress on those nerves and the inflamed muscles.  Yet.”

In spite of her reservations, Wind was impressed by the versatility of the unicorn magic that she could see in use.  Not only was she being held without apparent effort, Black Lotus was loading up a pair of plates and drawing two mugs of what looked like tea.

As soon as she was done loading up, she trotted over to a shady spot under a broadly branched tree and set everything out, including Wind.  She had even put a picnic cloth under it all.

Black Lotus busied herself, putting Wind's plate into easy reach and giving her a big mug of the tea.

Wind watched it all and felt the soft cocoon of magic slowly dissolve. She pointed out, “Mama Dragon didn't say anything about my wounds being too deep.  They were mostly in the abdomen wall, though they did cut up those muscles pretty badly.  Did she miss something?”

Black Lotus pointed with her horn to Wind's plate.  “Eat up.  You are right about the claw and fang wounds.  A manticore's tail has a poison stinger that is pretty long.  Lucky for you, it had a good hunt pretty recently, so it was out of venom.  It hit you with the tail once.  That puncture did go through into your gut but didn't do much damage at all.  Mama Dragon fixed the small hole near perfectly. However, that is where the inflammation started.  The nerves involved are pretty close to the surface and go around your abdomen to your spine.  That is why they got cut by the claws.”

Wind chewed and swallowed her bite of meat pie before answering, “Um, Mama Dragon did send some medicines with me.  Maybe you should look them over.”

Black Lotus had settled herself in the soft grass a and was nibbling around the edges of a largish iced pastry.  She had a big mug of tea held in her magic.  She took a leisurely sip and swallowed before answering, “That would be a good idea.  We know good medicines for equines of all sorts and goats really well.  We are pretty good at wolves and some other carnivores too.  Not too experienced with cats and otters. I would bet that your Mama Dragon has a lot of experience in what works on you.”

Wind replied defensively, laying her ears back, “What would you know about that?”

Black Lotus tilted her head and batted her long eyelashes at Wind as she retorted, “Only that you have got to be as old as you are and will still attack a manticore without armor or a good heavy crossbow. Both would have been useful in that encounter.  That speaks of really good medical care being available to take care of little boo-boos.”

Somewhat taken aback, Wind changed the topic while shifting her position to hide some of her other scars, “I think that I like the bunny pastie best, though the trout one would be great with some seasoning.  How do you make gravy like these have?”

Black Lotus gave a mischievous glance and nickered, “Sheer skill, that and thickening with Ka'chek flour.”

More seriously she went on, “That last part, while true, is also a secret that we don't share.  It is one of the things that make Rom cooking and baking in high demand at markets and fairs.”

Wind nodded thoughtfully.  “I was indirectly told that you Rom were sort of isolated from pony society.  Why not find a place to settle down and fit in?”

She could tell from the slightly shocked look on Black Lotus' face that she had accidentally hit a nerve.  

“We couldn't do that!  If we did, who would lay the stones on the lakes of our loved dead?”  Far more softly, Black Lotus added, “Besides, if we settled somewhere, Dad might decide to leave us and go back to the Lake of Paradise.  What would we do then?  Who would watch over us?  We would have to stop being Rom.  We would just be, … ponies.”

Seeking a safer topic, Wind asked, “How come your horn is straight?  I noticed that a lot of the others in the band have curved horns, like your mother.”

Black Lotus nodded, “You have sharp eyes.  If any Rom has a horn, they are descended from Dad, our Ghost Who Guides.  A straight horn like mine means that I am his direct filly.  My foals will have a slight curve and theirs will have more.  Our horns stop curving around four generations away from dad.”

Wind's forehead wrinkled in thought while she chewed another bite of excellent rabbit pastie.  “You weren't kidding just now, were you? I mean about Marchhare being a ghost.  I just realized that when we first met, he wasn't casting any shadow.  Later, after you reminded him, he did have a shadow but he wasn't leaving any hoof prints.  How can a ghost have . . . um, foals like you?”

Black Lotus grinned and asked in return, “What?  Didn't your Mama Dragon teach you about that?  Yes.  Dad is a ghost, for real.  Don't try to tell him that, though.  He is as much here as he wants or needs to be.  

“He still insists that he did not die on the desert of Celestia's Anvil while saving our ancestors, eight hundred years ago.  He just took a nap.  Caught up to the rest of the group after he was rested up.  

“Some nap.  Three days later, he caught up to our ancestors, the cast off slaves that he gave his life to save.  He looked then, like he looks now.  Instead of starved and dying of thirst like when he laid down in the shade of that rock ledge where his bones still are, he was plump and well fed.  He guided us through the tricky mountain pass to Equestria and has guided us all ever since.”

Wind cocked her head skeptically.  “Really?  How do you know that he actually died on that desert?”

Black Lotus quietly wept a few tears while answering, “Because Hoof Dancer and I just came back across the mountains a few days back, up at Wayside 15.  We pretended that we were gathering the rare yellow yew root bark that grows up in the pass.  Actually, we went on across.  We took him a fresh pot of water from the spring of Sha Ja Shehan and fresh browse from its banks.  We left them by his bones and laid the stones for him.

“He did not just die and come back for us.  He turned his back on the Lake of Paradise and all that goes with it to keep his promise to guide some cast off slaves.  He is still keeping that promise.”

Wind nodded slowly while chewing another bite of the rabbit meat pie.  “I can see how doing something like that might lead you to believe that he died there, all right.  Especially since you have a dad that you have to remind about little things like casting a shadow or leaving hoof prints.”

It was obvious that Black Lotus caught Wind's sarcasm as well as actual observations of her dad's . . . umm, unique ways.

Several of the band's foals came over and spoke to Black Lotus in that almost musical language of theirs.  She nodded to them and returned a short sentence.  They curtsied to her and trotted off.

Wind saw them talking to old Marchhare.  Soon the foals and the pegassi were deep into lessons of some sort.

Wind's eyebrows rose as the foals opened their books, flipping them up. They appeared to be bound across the top, rather than the side.  The lesson was being given by the red roan mare that Wind had seen earlier.  Watching the younger foals read, keeping their place by shifting little hooves let Wind realize that the writing went from the right margin to the left.

She turned to see Black Lotus regarding her intently.  When she had eye contact she smiled and observed, “We write differently than ponies, too.  I see that you noticed it.  Rose is a really good teacher for reading and writing.  

She has a wonderful heart.  The Skydancers are so lucky that she was there to take them in after their parents were murdered.  She adopted them and is raising them as her own.  She has them almost ready to do their first public performance since it happened.  Mom, that's Hoof Dancer, and I have been helping them too.”

Wind nodded thoughtfully as she replied, “I saw that when they did their dance today.  I couldn't see any problem in the dance.  I wondered where their parents were.  So the red roan mare is Rose?  Doesn't she find it difficult to raise foals that can fly?”

Black Lotus smiled softly, shaking her head in negation, “Not in the least.  They are the finest family that Rose could ask for.”

Terminating a potentially unpleasant conversation, she asked, “May I examine the medication that your Mama Dragon sent with you?”

Wind shrugged off the fairly small and ordinary looking bag with its shoulder strap.  Setting it on the ground, she opened the tie and reached her arm down into it, apparently far below ground level, as she fished out the packages with her medications.  

Looking up, she saw that Black Lotus did not even appear to be surprised. Slightly crestfallen that her little showing off had not impressed her host, Wind explained, “It is a bag of holding.  It can hold almost anything.”

A small smile quirking her lips, Black Lotus said, “I am familiar with the concept.  Dad's caravan is sort of like that.  You will be sleeping in there the first few nights, so that we can keep this inflammation under observation.  Don't go back into the corridors or use the stairs without a guide.  You can get lost.”

Black Lotus failed to notice Wind's indignant glare at the idea of getting lost in little seeming four wheeled caravan.  She was examining the medications.  She gathered three of the four and shook her head happily.  

“I know these.  They are good!  I will ask Dad about the pot of ointment.  I don't know what it is.  Likely it is something that only grows on your world.  Dad will know, or failing him, De Writer will for sure!”

Getting up, she offered Wind assistance in standing.  “It is important to get some limited exercise.  Walk slowly.  I know that you are chafing at the bit to be more active but really, don't do it yet.”

Together, they walked slowly down to the four wheeled caravan.  Marchhare greeted them, “What are those packets and the pot?  Are they Mama Dragon's medicines?”

Black Lotus agreed, “They are.  I know the ones in the packets and they are good.  I have never run across this ointment, though.  I thought that you might know it.”

Marchhare opened the pot carefully, explaining with a grin, “With Mama Dragon's sense of humor, you never know.  Might be a spring snake in here.”

With the pot opened, he carefully examined the contents.  He stirred up a small sample on a small clean spoon of  silver.  He sniffed it carefully and nodded sagely.  “I have seen this before, once.  De Writer and I were a few worlds away, doing a demon stomp.  Some of the local healers used this.  It works really well where you have to open an abscess and drain it.  Then you wash it out and apply this to the inside of the abscess.  It heals it right up.”

Wind's ears pricked up and she inquired archly, “What were you doing stomping demons on some other world?”

He looked up and said seriously, “Defending this one.  It is sort of important to me, since I and my family live here.”

Wind shook her head.  “How is fighting demons on some other world defending this one?”

The old donkey lifted his ears in amusement as he pointed out, “The best place to defend your real estate is on someone else's real estate. Keeps yours from getting all trampled in the fight!  If you do it right, the ones whose real estate you do trample will even thank you for the favor.”

Wind was quietly dumbfounded by the sheer elegance of the notion.  Still, she couldn't really help sniping, “Just how do they thank you?  I am sure that mere words would not be enough.”

The old donkey grinned hugely at some private joke as he nodded.  “So right!  Spoken like a true adventurer!  Amazing how gold can prove the sincerity of thanks!”

He turned toward his caravan and flipped his tail as he suggested, “Follow me.  I am going to show you where to put your things and where you will sleep while we have you under observation.”

As Wind was following him into the caravan, she was hit by a memory.  “What did you mean about Mama Dragon's sense of humor?  Have you ever met her?”

“Yep. Several times.  Lovely dragon.  One of the best Watchers that your world has ever had.  She even gets along with those Spirits that sort of run things there.”

Gesturing with an ear and a tilt of his head, Marchhare pointed out a sleeping stall inside the caravan.  “Here is where you will rest of nights until we are sure that you are healing properly.  There is a locker at the head of the stall for your things.”

Wind's sense of the uncanny was screaming alarms in her mind.  She checked again.  There was no mistake.  There was a dining table fixed to one wall so that it could be raised and lowered out of the way.  There were seats for four that also folded neatly away when not in use There was a compact kitchen space.  There were four sleeping stalls, a window on each side and a door at the front, opposite from the one that they had entered by.  She had seen the caravan several times where she could see the front and there was no door on the front of it.

Black Lotus was behind her and in spite of the sheer size of the lovely black and white  horse, there was plenty of room!  Wind could hear her snickering at her reaction to the seemingly huge interior.  Wind noticed one other thing that made no sense.  The inside was far higher than the caravan appeared on the outside.  Black Lotus' long horn had plenty of room under the caravan roof.

Carefully hanging onto her composure, Wind observed, “No wonder you were familiar with bags of holding.  You live in a Caravan of Holding!”

Marchhare and Black Lotus both giggled.  Marchhare offered, “Pretty close. Whole different principle but the effect is much the same.”

Wind unfolded one of the sturdy folding seats and sat down.  “Would it be asking too much to inquire exactly what I am in, if not a Holding Spell?”

Gone immediately serious, Marchhare took a seat too.  He gestured to the door at the front of the caravan.  “This is the tip of an iceberg, sort of.  Technically, this caravan is a nexus of the entire Multiverse.  If you know how to use it, you can go ANYWHERE at all. That includes some very dangerous places and some that are purely idyllic.  Most are in between, somewhere.  De Writer set it up for us both to use a long time ago, around six hundred years ago, roughly.”

He gestured at the door at the front of the caravan.  “Going past that door will lead to what appears to be a huge maze of corridors, stairs and doors.  Black Lotus did tell you that it is easy to get lost in there.  If you stick to using just the nearby clearly marked doors there are lots of useful places and things that can be accessed.

“For now, use a guide if you want to go past that door.”

Wind digested that thoughtfully.  “How can it possibly work?  It can go anywhere?  What about taking me home to Mama Dragon's cottage?”

Old Marchhare regarded her for an unsettling few moments before answering, “It can.  That is how I have been to your world and met Mama Dragon.  It may not be a good idea to go that way, though.  She likely had her excellent reason for sending you the way that she did and for getting you back the way that she wants to do it.  She is very wise.”

Wind sighed, “I do know that.  So what now?”

“So we monitor you carefully and use Mama Dragon's remedies on you.  You need to go easy on those wounds due to the inflammation but it is imperative that you do exercise some.”

Wind pretended injured innocence, placing her hand over her heart, as she proclaimed, “Oh, vile slave driver!  You mean that I don't get to loll back in padded ease and nibble delicacies?”

There was gentle laughter from behind her.  The chestnut sorrel mare, Hoof Dancer, had entered the caravan behind them.  The interior of the smallish caravan was still not crowded.  Hoof Dancer nuzzled her shoulder and told Wind, “That was exactly the right thing to say. I think that you will fit in just fine, while you are here.”

She used her magic to rummage in a richly carved chest and pull out a mottled brown and green cloak.  After examining it carefully, she draped it over Wind's shoulders, so that it covered her missing arm.

“Here, my dear Wind, is a cloak proper to an adventurer such as yourself. In it you will be hard to see yet you will see easily.”

Wind felt the softness of the lining where lighter and darker rich browns chased each other with each shift of the fabric in the light.

Black Lotus nodded appreciatively, “That cloak will be perfect for you, Wind.  Shansa Na Kili will be delighted that her fine weaving has found such a good use.”

Turning to her father, she suggested, “I have been thinking about Wind's inflammation, father.  Perhaps we could make some small cuts along the inflamed nerve and introduce Mama Dragon's salve into them.  That might greatly reduce or even cure the problem.”

He paused, thinking carefully.  “You know, that is not a bad idea at all.  If Wind consents, we could take her into surgery room one and do it all in under an hour.  Then, as quick as the small cuts heal over some, she could begin to exercise properly.”

He grinned as he added, “Her idea of proper exercise and ours might differ a good bit, though.”

Wind snickered.  “I do expect so.  In spite of that, I will follow your recommendations.  So, I get to see some of what is beyond the Great Door of Mystery?”

Black Lotus snorted, “Yes, but not much.  Later, I will show you some of the more amusing places that we use, like my sewing room, for instance.”

Wind blinked.  “What is so amusing about a sewing room?  I mean other than it being in a one room caravan?”

Black Lotus smiled and replied, “You will see for yourself, but later. Now, I need to put you to sleep for the surgery.”

Wind felt herself held in that gentle seeming blue magic. There was a light touch, up high on the side of her neck.

Wind blinked a few times and looked about, trying to get her bearings. She was laying in one of those Rom sleeping stalls and covered by blankets.  It took only a second to sort out that she was in the sleeping stall that Marchhare had showed her earlier as her sleeping space.

Her right side ached a little and itched.  Questing fingers found a line of bandages that ran from her middle part way around her side. Remembering Mama Dragon's many bandagings of small kittenhood bangs and bumps, she carefully pulled her hand away from the bandages. Itch or not, you do not scratch bandages.

She heard a gentle voice observe, “Wind is awake, now.  She is conscious and alert.  She checked the bandages but did not scratch.”

Marchhare's head popped into view around the end of the stall.  “You are doing really well, Wind.  You need to stay reasonably still there for about another hour.  That salve of Mama Dragon's is doing a great job.

“While you wait, Black Lotus will show you our spice chest, so that you can choose the ones that you think will do well in your food.  OK?”

Wind nodded enthusiastically.

Black Lotus settled in comfortably at the foot of the stall and her magic brought over a small, ornately carved chest with many drawers.  The two were soon engrossed in the task of sorting out what spices and seasonings would go well with which meats, poultry or fish.

The hour simply flew by.  Black Lotus' magic gently picked up Wind and put her on her feet.

“It is time for you to begin gentle exercise, Wind.  I promised to show you my sewing room and some of the other rooms beyond that mysterious door.”

Wind paused long enough to get her new cloak and set around her shoulders. “There.  Ready for almost anything.  Lead on, Black Lotus.”

Snickering, the big black and white unicorn opened the door.  Wind was mildly taken aback and intrigued by the seemingly endless corridor that did not in any way appear on the outside of the caravan.  Only a short way down the passage there was a red line painted across its floor. There were about a dozen doors packed into the walls leading up to that red line.  They were all labeled in a beautiful script of tall and shorter vertical lines with loops and strokes connected to them along a center line.

With an impish grin, Black Lotus lead Wind past the red line and then down a flight of steps to a different apparent level and selected a door. Watching Wind for her reaction, she opened it.

Wind blinked several times but what she saw was still there.  The door opened onto a dock.  Tied up to the dock was a thirty meter long ironclad monster of a ship!  It had bow and stern turrets sporting three guns each.   They appeared to be around a hundred millimeter bores.  Along the sides of the vessel were a number of smaller weapons, barrels protruding through metal shields.

The whole ship and dock was enclosed in a long room.  Wind's sharp eyes noticed huge doors at the far end of the room.  She pointed to them and asked, “Are those how you got this thing in here?  Where did it come from?”

Black Lotus nodded, “Those are the doors that dad used to get it in here, all right.  Dad helped to repel a demon invasion in the Chineighs Empire.  The Pirate Queen, Qushie Han Lee, who owns the Chineighese navy, gave him this river monitor as a gift.”

Wind started to ask, “How .  .  .” and stopped herself.  She leaned back out the door and looked at the maze of corridors, cross corridors a stairs going both up and down.  Nodding to herself, she pointed, “THAT'S how!  Where all do these corridors and doors go?”

Black Lotus shrugged.  “Literally anywhere.  Not only on this world, either.  Dad says that it is completely infinite.  All of these doors and corridors are a sort of window dressing to make it easier for ones like us to use.

“Now, I promised to show you my sewing room.  It is back there on the caravan side of the red line.”

She led the way sedately back and casually opened a door.  Wind made careful note of the exact pattern of the words marking it.  

Now she was SURE that she wanted to learn this language.  From the adventuring that she had done, she was pretty sure that these Rom were a unique culture.  And what she had seen of it so far, a happy one.  And far tougher and more ready to defend themselves if necessary than showed on the surface.  Maybe there was an advantage to being led by an 800 year old ghost whose assistance in demon stomping was able to earn “little” rewards like 30 meter long ironclad river monitors.

Wind stepped through the door and got another shock.  Having adventured on several worlds, she was used to the idea that other world's gravity felt slightly different.  She noticed the change as she crossed the threshold.  That was not all.  The floor underfoot was STONE.  So were the walls.  Three tall windows let in the light of the SUNS! There were TWO of them.  The land was pretty barren outside of the windows but she could see some sort of trees a short distance away.

Tearing her eyes from the outside scene, she noticed that the decoration of the stone and woodwork of the room was unlike anything in her experience.  Curiously she inquired, “Won't the people who built this place want it back?”

Black Lotus replied quietly, “I don't think so.  Dad says that we missed meeting them by a few years.  They had some form of magic that I do not understand and don't want to.  They had a war that nobody won. There were no survivors.  Their towns and cities are still there, just empty.  Not even bodies or bones were left.”

Brightening, she pointed out, “I keep my fabrics and leathers over here in these racks.  Leather working is on that bench with the marble top. Leather tools and dyes are next to it.  Over there are the sewing and cutting tables.  Scissors, pins, needles and threads are in drawers under the sewing tables.   Trims are on that rack of rolls and winders.  The small forge is for making any buckles, rings or other fittings that you might want.  I have bronze, steel, silver and gold to make up fittings and such.”

Wind spotted some of the racked fabrics that looked a lot like her cloak. She ventured, “Is that more of Shansa Na Kili's weaving?”

Black Lotus brightened up as she exclaimed, “You have a really good eye, Wind!  She did all three of those bolts!  She made those wonderful laces on the rolls over there too.”

Smiling, Wind offered, “I would like to thank her for this cloak.  It feels so luxurious.”

As she led Wind out of her sewing room, Black Lotus replied happily, “That is a wonderful idea, Wind!  We should keep an eye out for a pretty rock or stone along the road.  We will pass her lake tomorrow and you can Lay the Stone for her and thank her in person.  I will too.  I have a question to ask her about how she made lace trims like those.”

Wind paused and sat at the table in the caravan and thought carefully. Brow furrowed in puzzlement, she asked, “Lay stones for her?  I don't quite understand what you are saying.  Part of what you said sounds like she is dead and part of it sounds like she is alive.”

Hoof Dancer looked up from some delightful smelling cooking that she was doing to say softly, “The loved dead are always with us.  Shansa's body died about three years ago.  We should pass her Lake tomorrow. When we do, we will Lay the Stones for her.  You can thank her for her weaving and my many talented daughter can ask her about lace making.”

Wind blinked a few times.  “You mean that she will be a ghost like Marchhare?”

Smiling serenely, she replied, “Not exactly, no.  My husband turned his back on the Lake of Paradise and returned to be completely here with us.  He makes light of it but I am sure that it was not so easy as he makes it to be.  Still, our loved dead are always with us and we often sense that they are close and give us encouragement, advice or just return our love.”

Wind digested that thoughtfully for a while.  Nodding acceptance, she agreed, “That sounds really sensible, especially when you have Marchhare there to sort of prove it.  Whether I hear her reply or not, I would like to lay a stone for her and thank her.”

A voice that Wind had not heard before entered the conversation, followed by hoof steps on the caravan stairs, “I am so happy to hear that. Shansa is one of my best friends.  I found a lovely fortification pattern sard for her.  I am Rose, by the way.  Rose Na Shara.”

Wind introduced herself, “I am Wind, Rose.  Wind Whisper.  It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Wind.  I have never met a being from another world before.  I know that Marchhare and De Writer go to other worlds sometimes, but they have never brought any being back with them that I know of.”

Wind nodded.  “I understand that pretty well.  I have adventured on several worlds and some of them have things and, well, people that you really would not want romping about here.”

That was met by laughter from all present.

Wind added, “I saw your children's sky dance this morning.  It was lovely.  You must be very proud of them.”

Rose visibly swelled with pride.  “They are very accomplished.  I admit that I am nervous about them performing at the Haymarket fair.  There will be unicorn ponies there and some of them drink more fermented locoweed than is wise.  

“That is what happened to their birth parents.  A drunken unicorn clamped their wings with his magic while they were a hundred feet up.  They were both killed by the fall.  Of course our loved dead are always with us but we do miss being able to hold them close.”

Wind nodded.  “I understand.  If you wish, I can help to watch the crowd to keep them safe.”

Rose agreed at once, “Extra eyes would be appreciated.  Will you be healed enough to do that?”

Black Lotus chimed in, “Wind is mostly healed now, really.  She will be able to move about freely in only two more days.  It is three pulls to the Haymarket fair.  All that she will need is to learn what to look for.”

Rose quietly accepted that, instead questioning, “Does Wind have some sort of magic that does not show?  I mean, we all know that she has a missing forelimb.”

Silently, Hoof Dancer offered Wind a used sheet of parchment.  “Show Rose what does not show, Wind.”

Grinning, she took the parchment and flipped it up into the air.  She struck at it as it fluttered down.  Two pieces of parchment fell to the floor. Picking up one, Wind flipped it up and slashed again.  Four pieces, one only partly severed fluttered to the floor.

Rose, eyebrows raised, used her magic to pick up the pieces and examine them.  “That is amazing, Wind.  I did not see how you did that at all.  It could be the foundation of a wonderful act.  May I see how you did this?”

Wind, all smiles under that praise, rolled her right hand palm up, fingers extended.  With the slightest of flexes, her five half inch long razor sharp claws extended.

Rose blinked about twice and said in awe, “You are an amazingly dangerous being, Wind.”

Old Marchhare, still working with his silver wire and pretty gem stones, looked up long enough to point out, “So are the Rom.  We keep that pretty much under our headstalls, though.  We don't want ponies to be afraid of us.  They might not come to the fairs that we go to, if they were.”

Changing the topic, Wind asked, “Rose, I saw you teaching foals to read and write your beautiful language.  I learn languages really fast.  It is part of being an adventurer.  Would you be willing to teach me your language?”

Rose looked over to Marchhare, who nodded.

She replied, “I would be happy to, Wind.  We really do not share our Gyptian language with many others.  Marchhare says that I should make an exception for you and really, I do like you.  If you wish, we have an hour before dinner.  We could start right away.”

Wind not only studied until dinner, she continued, fascinated by the way that the Gyptian words almost seemed to dance, whether in her mouth or on the page.

Failing daylight finally made her close the book that she was studying from.

As she was tucking herself into the sleeping stall, Wind felt the familiar gentle touch of blue magic snugging her blankets around her.

She said in her newly learned words, “Thank you, Black Lotus.”

Black Lotus replied quietly in her native language, “Sleep well, Wind Whisper Soulblade.  Tomorrow will be a day spent on the Road.”

Wind snuggled down and muttered back, “Sounds like fun.”

Feeling completely safe, she drifted off to sleep.

Wind dreamed.  

There were trees all about, evergreens mostly.  Just ahead of her was a small cabin.  Though moss grown, it was in surprisingly good repair. Inside, there was little enough. There was some furniture that looked as if it was damaged by a fight before time finished its work of destruction.

Something caught her eye.  She looked about carefully before picking up a large feather of an almost opaline whiteness.  Thoughtfully, Wind put the feather into her bag of holding.

Not far from it there was another feather similar in form but of a blue so dark that it resembled a night sky.  It went into her bag of holding as well.

Deeply puzzled, Wind stepped out of the house that she knew, with dream knowledge, had been the home of her small childhood, before flight from a monster had cost her an arm and brought her to Mama Dragon.

Not far from the door she spied two markers, side by side.  One read “Donovan, Loving husband and father.”  The other, like the first, read, “Shiva, Loving wife and mother.”  Wind fell to her knees, examining the graves in wonder.  Each one was covered with brightly sparkling stones of little value, but pretty.

Wind awoke from her dream reliving of her first adventure to the happy sound of clattering cookware!  Judging by the scents, among which Wind could spot the lovely aroma of cooking Ka'chek flour, work was well underway.  Dressing quickly and draping her new cloak about her shoulders, Wind stepped out to greet the day.

Black Lotus saw her and called out in Gyptian, “A good day, Wind!  Would you rather eat first and wash up dishes after or serve now and eat later?”

Wind unsnarled the words almost effortlessly.  Being gifted with languages was a basic adventurer's skill.  She returned, “Serve first, then eat.  You have all made me so welcome that I would do something for you, too.”

Black Lotus responded, “Grab that ladle and start serving tea.  You can have some too, between serving!”

As Wind began filling mugs, she noticed the approving expressions on the faces of the horses that she served.  Soon the line ended.  Black Lotus pointed with a hoof.  “We made you pasties cooked with eggs and fish for this morning.  Do you want help with your plate?  WE get to sit back in padded ease and nibble while the others wash up and stow the cook ware!”

Wind responded by putting her mug of tea in the middle of the plate and arranging her pasties around it, so that she could manage the whole thing with her one hand.  Just then, a filly that Wind remembered from the game yesterday trotted up.

She gave Wind a curtsy and asked, “Would you like to eat with us?  We foals noticed that not only did you play the ball fairly, you are learning to talk, read and write.  That means that you are one of us!”

Wind looked over at Black Lotus, who looked on to Hoof Dancer, who nodded an emphatic yes.

Wind looked at her new acquaintance and picked up her plate.  “Lead the way!  I am Wind, um, Wind Whisper.”  

The foals were sitting quietly in the shade, near to a neatly boxed in spring with open water tank for the use of ponies and horses that stopped at the wayside.  Wind appreciated the how well the wayside was laid out for the convenience of its users.

The foals were happily chattering away in Gyptian, pausing anytime that Wind showed any sign of confusion or misunderstanding to explain or show her the meaning of what they were saying.

Wind was sorting out Gyptian's interesting view of “caravan” being any device that hauled things OR any group of such devices.  You could say one particular caravan in a caravan.  You could even say how many there were in a caravan.  She was both amused and bemused by the amazing idea that there was no plural for caravan.

The foals were amused by Wind's amusement.  Quiet trills that the Rom used for applause greeted her sorting the matter out.  One filly explained, “Ponies always have trouble figuring that out.  You got it in only a few minutes!”

They all fell silent at once.  Wind, following their stares, saw a plain brown earth pony whose mane and tail were only a little darker brown pulling a heavily loaded wagon down the access road into the wayside.

The first sight of the stranger caused her heart to skip a beat.  He was the exact same color as her friend Penny.  It was quickly apparent that he was nothing like Penny.

First, he barged into the Rom camp, dragging his wagon and dropping the hitch as if he was part of their camp.  Second, he tried to just help himself to their breakfast.

Wind and the foals could hear Marchhare's voice as he demanded, “Right of Privacy in our camp!  You must find your own camp spot and fix your own rations.”

“I ain't movin' til you fixes my sour wheel and gives me a good breakfast!  Got it?”

Wind's eyes went wide with surprise as Black Lotus just asked, “Mom, will you get this worthless pony out of our camp?  I have his caravan.”

Soft looking blue magic from her horn enveloped the intruder's wagon and lifted the several tonne load up off the ground.  The squalling pony was also lifted by Hoof Dancer's magic.  Both of them carried their burdens to a well shaded camp space with a fire ring and supply of firewood.  They left him and his wagon there.

Utterly sour, the brown pony stomped over to the wayside's boxed spring.  He was starting to demand, “You brats get away from here!”

Wind quietly stood up and laid her hand on the side of his neck.  She said in a gentle tone, “If you try to bully these foals, you could wind up all scratched up by the bramble.”

Just as he was blustering, “There ain't no brambles here!  What are you talking about?” Wind flexed her hand slightly.  Tiny trickles of blood ran down his coat from her finger tips.

Smiling, to show her fangs, Wind replied, “I am the Bramble.  Get your water in peace and you will have no problem with me.”

Grumbling, he went around the foals, eating in the cool shade.  “That Waller lied to me about everything!  Said Rom on the road was generous and would fix wagons with problems and share meals and all.  Lies, every bit of it.”

One of the fillies raised her eyebrows and asked, “Waller Left Leg?”

“That's him!  Not a word of it true!”

The filly smiled.  “For him, it is all true.  I bet that he told you to always be polite and never intrude on our camps too, but you just left that out, didn't you?”

He actually looked down and scraped the grass with his hoof before answering, “Well, yes.  That part don't make no sense.  I means, you is all Rom, not even proper ponies.  Why would anypony be polite to you?”

She batted her eyelashes at him and chuckled.  “Last that I looked, courtesy costs nothing.  It would have been repaid with an invitation to eat and the repair of your cara ...” she paused, “wagon.  Well worth the price, I would say.”

Wind looked about and smiled, a cheerful mouthful of fangs.  “We are done with breakfast!  Let's take our dishes back to camp for cleaning!  I understand that we are going to be on the road today!”

Happy foals charged across the wayside grass to their camp.  Wind paused only long enough to say, “Hanar was right, you know.  About courtesy, I mean.”  She loped away to the Rom camp after the foals.

By the time that the brown pony had got his water and returned to his camp, the Rom were putting away the last of their now cleaned cookware and utensils.  Lockers were open and rigging parts for hitching up to their caravan were being selected and set up.

The filly Hanar was showing Wind the parts, naming them and laying them out. Wind was linking the parts together as well as learning the names of the pieces.

Hanar looked up from the setup and smiled.  “Wind, you are learning Gyptian far faster than anyhorse that I have ever heard of.  From what I am hearing, what you need most is just to build up your vocabulary.”

Wind nodded.  “I have a gift with learning languages.  It really helps my adventuring.  I learn most languages in only a day or two.  Like Gyptian, I will still need to learn new words but that is pretty automatic as time goes by.”

Hanar nodded to herself as she finished her Pulling set up and used her magic to latch her harness into place.  She gestured with her horn to a place beside her.  “Hoof Dancer was very particular that you walk alongside me today.  I will be leading off the Road Songs.  We sing to keep cadence and the Pull even.  The songs also help the kilometers to pass.  We are going to visit mother's Lake today.  It will be so nice to visit her again.  Our Loved Dead are Always With Us but I feel her most strongly at her Lake.”

Wind reached into her pouch of holding and pulled out a nice reddish pebble.  “I was told something of Laying the Stones.  While we were breakfasting, I noticed this one in the outfall stream from the wayside water box.   Would it be proper?  I mean, Shansa Na Kili wa, I mean, is your mother.  You would know best.”

Hanar's magic took the stone delicately from Wind's fingers.  It turned this way and that under her scrutiny.  “That would be perfect, Wind.  It is a small carnelian with most of the cortex worn off by water and other pebbles.  That is just the sort of thing that we look for.

“Look! Everyone is hitched!  It is time for the starting cadence!”  In a loud clear voice, she called out, “Lean Left!  Lean Right!  Pull Left!  Pull Right!  Pull!  Pull!”

The whole caravan of Rom got underway, all of them in perfect step and cadence.  Wind was impressed.  As they hit the main road and turned south, Hanar called out, “Shehan Ja Rom!”  Moments later the melodious voices of the Rom filled the roadway.

Wind listened closely and began humming first, then softly, so that her errors would not disrupt the others, filling in with words and guesses for words.  The singing made it easier for her to add to her vocabulary and, incidentally, learn the origin of the Rom as a race.

It helped that she knew some of the story but the song filled it out and put muscles on the bare skeleton that she knew.  She thoughtfully filed away that she could see the eyes of a good number of her new friends and they were all showing signs of tears.  The song came to an end and the mood changed!

Red Roan's Lullaby had nothing to do with sleeping!  Wind picked up the chorus quickly and the short verses had her giggling.

Another was almost a tone poem about the road and its nature and how much the Rom loved the road as their true home.  Hearing it, Wind recalled her conversation with Black Lotus about finding a place to settle.  Now she understood the black mare's reaction far better.  The Rom were settled, just not in a single place.  Home was the road and the caravan.

They turned into Royal Road Red Branch Section Wayside #6 well before noon.  There was a party there before them.  There were pegassi in armor and carrying weapons.  Their leader ordered the troop, “Stand Down!  This is the caravan that we have been waiting for!”

Lounging in the shade of a tree were two more Rom, or so they appeared.  A pure white, horse sized unicorn lay quietly beside another, slightly smaller horse of deep blue.  Both wore the unique headdresses that the Rom called Freedoms and they were in lovely sashes and harnesses.

They sprang to their feet and virtually charged forward, calling out, “Marchhare!  We got away from our Duties early!  We have been waiting for you!  We are ready to set up camp with you!”

Wind saw the other Rom all eagerly greeting the newcomers with, “Tia! Midnight!  We hoped that you would be able to join us!  Will you be with us for the Haymarket Fair?”

“Try to stop us!  We got our schedules cleared all the way through to Monday!”

There was the happy clatter of hitches being taken apart and stowed.  Even more promising, was the different clatter of cooking equipment being set up.  Having already learned about Rom priorities, Wind got busy helping Hoof Dancer to set up griddles, grilles and a portable oven over the wayside fire pits.

While she was busy, she noticed that her enthusiasm was not shared by at least some of the pegassi.  Two were stopped by the officer in charge as they started to stomp over to the encampment being set up.  There was some sort of disagreement before they returned to ranks.

Wind noticed that the newcomers, Tia and Midnight, were already hock deep in Ka'chek flour and rolling out the dough with delight.  Wind's shyness was broken by Black Lotus calling, “Wind!  Come over and meet Midnight and Tia!  They want to see you in person.  Reports are so often impersonal!”

Wind trotted over, muttering, “Did that old blue unicorn tell everyhorse in the kingdom about me?”

Tia's lips twitched up in a bit of a smile.  Midnight snickered, “Not at all.  He did put a note about you into the Chronicle but it was that lovely old dead donkey over there who sent us the reports.”

Wind sent a small not really glare over to Marchhare.  He snorted and retorted, “An army may march on its stomach but the life blood of a kingdom is PAPER!”

By then, Wind was already stirring up thick apricot filling for some of the pastries to come.  There was a pot of berry filling waiting for the final stirring and, to Wind's surprise, there were pastry fillings with both fish and fowl ready to go too.

Midnight noticed Wind's casual look at the feast preparations and replied to her unspoken question, “We know that you are a carnivore, dear. Both Tia and I are skilled surgeons.  Things like meat and blood do not bother us.  We know and entertain the Gryphons from time to time also.  Fixing you properly savory food is not only no trouble, it will show Shansa Na Kili that you are truly a member of Marchhare's band.”

Tia put in casually, “I have a couple of questions to ask her myself. She is such a good friend and shares her knowledge so willingly.”

Wind nodded.  “So I have heard.  I want to thank her for the fine weaving of my new cloak.  I found her a nice pebble for the Laying the Stones.  Hanar told me that it was a good one.”

Midnight's eyes softened as she kneeded more dough and replied, “That is wonderful.  Hanar loves to visit her mother.”

Suddenly soft looking many hued magic sprung from Tia's horn and shot over to edge of the wayside!  One of the armored pegassi was snatched from over near the woods and slapped to earth hard, in front of Tia and Midnight both!  He had a sling with a stone in it.  The stone, a nice, shiny petrified wood, bounced free of the sling pocket.

Both Tia and Midnight froze when they saw the simple pebble.  Midnight called out in an astonishing loud voice, “Guards!  Assemble before your Princesses!  Witness the trial under the Royal Wing of Guard Sargent Hemlock!”

Wind recognized the guard as he was getting to his feet.  He was one of the two that their leader had stopped from entering the camp earlier.

Tia ordered, “Remove all weapons from Hemlock, no longer a Royal Guard. Strap his wings.”

Two of the Guard stepped forward, secured his wings and removed all weapons from him, even searching his pouches and saddlebags.

He unwisely snapped, “You can't do this!  I was minding my own business, just starting a little sling practice and you nab me for trying to improve my preparedness!”

In an utterly calm voice, that betrayed a volcano about to erupt, Midnight called, “Guard Major Hawkwing, do you know Hemlock's testing scores from the Manual of Rom Custom and Belief?”

The leader of the guards rummaged in a saddlebag and produced a ledger. Examining it, he replied, “Hawthorn scored 98 percent on the Rom testing.  I assume that this relates to Rom beliefs in an afterlife and burial customs?”

Voice tightly controlled, Midnight stated, “It does.”

“According to the ledger, he missed none of those questions.”

“This question is for the whole formation.  Were you briefed on why we came to this particular Wayside?”

In a ragged chorus, the Guards replied, “You are returning to the Lake of  Shansa Na Kili, a long time friend, to Lay the Stones for her.”

Tia could see that Midnight was holding back with great difficulty and interposed for her, “What is the penalty for the desecration of any Wayside burial?”

“Twenty years at hard labor on the Royal Roads of Equestria or other labor as assigned by Your Highnesses.”

Hemlock could see where this was going.  He demanded, “All this for ONE lousy pebble?  I can just go over to the road there and get you another rock!  What is so important about this one?”

Holding her composure by less than a hair, ears laid back and lips snarling back from fangs, Midnight, Princess Luna, growled, “When we closed Shansa's Gateway to the Lake of Paradise, I LAID THAT PARTICULAR STONE MYSELF!  Your lack of respect for any custom but your own, we accept.  Your VANDALISM and DESECRATION of graves whose custom you know, whether you share the belief or not, we will not tolerate!

“Hemlock is VACANT!  The Barony shall be filled according to the Law of Succession.  The goods, accounts and all other personal things belonging to Wiltin, late Baron of Hemlock, shall be distributed to his heirs according to the Law of Equestia.

“Guard Major Hawkwing, detail two of the Guard to escort the prisoner in chains to the Royal Road Police station at Haymarket Road Section gate to begin serving his twenty years of hard labor.”

As Wiltin was led away to the jingle of chains, Midnight turned to Wind and asked plaintively, “I am so sorry that you had to see that, Wind.  What must you think of us?”

Wind did not even pause, but answered back in Gyptian, “I see that you love Shansa very much.  I also saw that, what was his name?  Wiltin, knew that he was breaking long standing laws when he did that.  He was counting on that bit about it being one lousy pebble to make it a minor infraction.  I suspect that it would not have mattered which stone he took.  I don't blame you.  You simply defended a friend who could not defend herself.”

Midnight gathered her into a hug with her magic and wrapped a big dark blue wing around her as well.  Wind felt amazingly safe and comfortable in that hug.  Slowly, she became aware of the nature of the wing holding her, lifted free of those Rom sashes and harness.

Looking in wonder at Midnight, Wind stammered, “You, you are an alicorn! From what I have heard, that makes you a Princess on this world.”

Midnight chuckled.  “Here we were throwing our weight around as Princesses when Wiltin messed up but it took my wing to tip you off that I can be royalty?”

Wind pursed her lips and carefully pulled the large wing close before replying, “Actually, I had already put it together that you are royalty but my startlement had a different cause.  I had a dream last night about the house that I was born in and the graves of my parents.  The color of your wing tied into the dream.  It was part of my very first adventure.  And a very good memory.”

Midnight smiled gently.  “I am gladdened that you have such a good memory of your first adventure and that it is somehow connected to me.”

Tia put in, “We have heard that you are learning to bake after our fashion.  Would you be so good as to roll out the dough so that we can fill the shells?”

For an answer, Wind simply picked up a roller and started rolling out, dusting with flour, folding and rolling again and again the pastry shells to make many fine layers that would rise up and make a puffy pastry around the fillings.

As fast as a shell was ready, it got filled and put to bake by Hanar who was happily chattering away about all the things that the band had been doing for some time past.  Wind listened carefully, though she understood that Hanar was not talking to her.  She was pausing in her chatter to listen to answers or comments that no other horse or pony heard.

Wind took a moment to whisper to Midnight, who was closest, “Didn't you want to visit with Shansa too?”

Tia overheard and, while kneeding up some more Ka'chek dough, replied, “Hanar is her daughter.  Our questions can wait.”

Wind's adventure trained hearing caught the Guard Major Hawkwing saying, “Halt!  Sargent Greenforest, you must not enter the Rom camp without invitation.”

There followed something too quiet to make out, followed by, “You just saw what happened to Hemlock!  He knew that he was violating the Manual of Rom Custom by that idiot stunt.  Going to set them straight about dead is dead could land you in the same boat!  What do you mean which boat?  The one going over a waterfall with rocks at the bottom!  At least as far as your career is concerned.”

There was a pause before he went on, “Let me tell you something, Greenforest.  I have been on this duty for more than seven years. Everything will be normal, as much as anything is normal around the Rom.  Then, you will see something utterly uncanny.  If you are smart, you will figure out that the Rom are way more than Fair going attractions and wanderers.”

Wind quietly filed away the notion that the Rom customs regarding the dead were not universal here.  Her revere was cut short by Midnight giving her a new lump of dough.

“Here, Wind, this dough is for your pasties.  We added some blood and a shortening from meat to make it tastier for you.”

Wind set to rolling it out with a will!  She was surprised when Hanar set about filling her pastries and putting them to bake without any trace of the squeamishness that most of the band exhibited around any sort of meat.

Hanar noticed Wind watching her.  She smiled and offered, “See, Mother? Even our new member has noticed.  I felt so helpless when you went to the Lake.  Not even Marchhare, Hoof Dancer and Black Lotus could keep you here with us.  They did try, though.  Now I am studying with them to be a healer like they are.  It won't stop me from weaving, any more than it stops Hoof Dancer from being the finest dancer among the Rom.”

Hanar continued her happy chatter while she was watching the baking pastries.

Wind, finished with the dough rolling, looked over the work to be done and began washing up.  She was surprised to find both Midnight and Tia working along side her.

The quiet slopping of the soapy water and then the rinse made a soothing rhythm.

Midnight said softly, “I do hope that you will forgive my intrusion, but I have been using a Bridge of Dream on you.  I wanted to see why your Mama Dragon had you staying here with us for a month, when your wounds will be healed in only another day.”

Not at all alarmed, Wind leaned over and nuzzled her dark blue fur before asking, “Did you find out what you needed?”

“I do believe so, Wind.  I think that what you are to get from the Rom is the same precious thing that my Sister and I get.  A stable and accepting family.”

Wind slowly nodded.  Thinking over all that had happened since she arrived, she had to say, “I hope that you are right.  I had not even realized it, but that is what I am feeling.  Actually cared about by more than my Mama Dragon.  Maybe that is why I dreamed of my kittenhood home.”

“That could be the reason, Wind.  Now, these last few pots won't rinse themselves.”  They got quietly busy.  Soon the last one was set to dry.

Tia raised her voice in a happy trill!  “The feast is ready!  Let us Lay the Stones and show Shansa those new things and accomplishments that we have done since we last visited her Lake!”

All of the Rom came forward to surround a place just outside of the Wayside.  They all waited for Hanar to step forward first.  As she did, Wind felt the tug of her magic pulling her gently forward too.

Hanar knelt both of her forelegs and her magic placed a beautiful nearly clear agate with fine mosslike dendrites in it at the center of the grave or Lake, as the Rom called it.

Wind was shaken and shocked by emotions as she saw Shansa's Lake covered with many pretty stones of little value but shining in the sun.  

Eyes blinking back tears, she whispered, “Shiva.  Donovan.  They remember you and care for you, too.”  Swallowing hard, she laid her small reddish carnelian alongside Hanar's agate.  Hanar's magic softly helped her to make way for old Marchhare.

Wind sat, shivering with tears as the others all Laid their Stones.  Tia and Midnight waited to the last.  Midnight Laid her Stone and said, “Flowers fade.  These Stones will stay bright for so long as there are Rom to remember Shansa Na Kili.”

Wind looked up, eyes swollen by tears, and reached into her bag of holding.  She laid out two large, iridescent feathers.  One white, almost opaline in appearance, the other of the deepest blue, like a midnight sky.

She shook her head, trying to get her thoughts into order.  “I found these in my kittenhood home.”  She sniffled, “And somehorse has been Laying the Stones for my parents, Shiva and Donovan.  They were killed protecting me.  The beast that did it was slow to pursue me, giving me the start that I needed to get away.  I fell off a cliff. That is what happened to my arm.”

The others nodded in quiet acceptance.  The condemnation that Wind feared for interrupting the ceremony was not to be found in any eye.

Instead, she saw the deepest sympathy.  “I hope that I did not spoil your Laying of the Stones,” she ventured.

Hanar nuzzled her and snorted, “A tale like that, backed up by real evidence?  What Mom wants to know is how you survived the fall.  You didn't finish the story.”

Wind looked up from where she was sitting and replied, “Mama Dragon was out gathering some wild herbs.  She heard me fall and found me.  She took me back to her cottage and saw to my healing.

“There is a lot more, but you all have things to show or tell Shansa, too.”

Hanar nuzzled Wind again before saying, “I have been telling Mom all about you and how you came to us.  I told her about our Pulls all the way up to Corbiestep fair and all the places in between, too.  Now it is every other horse's turns.”

Old Marchhare stepped up to the edge of stones glittering in the sunlight and held out a small box of wood that was almost black.  It was intricately carved and had a glossy finish.  “I want to use your Blackwood in jewelry boxes and cases.  For the last three years I have been trying to equal your finish.  What am I doing wrong and what is right?”

He cocked his ears in what Wind had learned was a totally attentive way. Suddenly he pursed his lips in surprise.  “That simple?  Thank you, I am going to try it right away!”

He gave way to Tia who held out some strings in her magic.  The conversation was inaudible but the strings, held in Tia's magic, unwound, stretched snug and plucked.  They then flexed oddly and rolled up.

Tia's face was thoughtful as she examined the strings again, nodding in comprehension.

Midnight was brief and to the point.  “I have a new recipe.  Share it with you at the feast!”

Many of the others were simply respectful greetings.  Some, like Marchhare or Tia took a while to clear up some thing or other.

Shansa, it appeared, was not a one trick horse.

It was not long before it was time for the feast.  This time there were trestle tables and a serving line.  Without hesitation, Wind took her place, serving up pie slices and helpings of several sorts of scrambles.  And cautioning, “Not those pasties, they have my meats in them!”

Soon everyhorse was seated at the trestle tables and partaking of the plenteous feast that they had prepared.  Hanar was sitting next to a plate at an empty place.  Every sort of good thing that they had fixed piled it high.  Shansa's place.

The guard Greenforest could not contain his contempt for the Rom and stomped straight into the camp!  Midnight and Tia noticed.  Signaling with their horns to Hanar, they quietly kept on eating.  Greenforest barged right up and started to muscle his way into Shansa's place.

“Lots of good stuff here!  I will just - “ was as far as he got.  Hanar's magic, as softly yellow gold as her lovely eyes, had him wing bound, hoof bound and muzzled.  In the irresistible grip of her magic, he was lifted and placed beside the Wayside trash bin, over twenty meters away.

Guard Major Hawkwing approached and requested, “Permission to enter the camp?”

Marchhare gestured magnanimously, “Feel free, Major Hawkwing!  What can we do for you?”

“I would like to ask young Hanar a few questions.  I want her to know that she has done no wrong in this.”

Hanar did look up, giving the Major her full attention.  “What do you want to know, Major Hawkwing?”

“Um, first, why did you not put Greenforest in the trash bin?”

She grinned, “Because he is not trash.  I did not want to give him such an insult.  He is rude but that is likely temporary.  Stupid ponies rarely get as far up as the Royal Guard.  This is his first time serving when the Princesses are Rom, isn't it?”

“It is.  Should he be removed from the Guard?  I saw the Princesses put the case in your hooves.”

She chuckled, “No.  I remember a younger Sargent Hawkwing's first experience with us.  I was really little then, but I do remember you, Sir.  You turned out great.  Give Sargent Greenforest the same chance.”

She cocked an ear toward the empty place beside her and got up.  She came back with a pie slice and offered it to Guard Major Hawkwing.  “Mom says that is the last slice of Black Lotus's peach pie.  You better have it so none of us fight over it!”

“Since you see and hear her, please thank Shansa Na Kili for me.”

“She heard you, Sir.  Enjoy your pie.  I gotta get back to mine.”

Wind was watching the entire event with delight.  She was thinking, these are my kind of folks!

Stories of Shansa's life, escapades, and accomplishments were flying thick and fast about the feasting table.  Wind was listening carefully and trying to commit them to memory.  She determined to ask some of the horses telling them for better details.  To her, this was the most amazing thing that she had found in any adventure.

She observed that the Guard had sent two of their number to intercept Sargent Greenforest.  He was taken, protesting all the way, back to join the Guard formation.

The Rom were done with eating and the trestle tables put away.  The dishes were washed.  The serving line, with its many left over goodies was left for now.

The Rom started in with music, song and dancing.  Wind was dragged into the dancing by Hanar's magic!  By listening carefully to the unique nature of the Rom music, and following Hanar's patient lead with magic that did not rule, but rather showed and helped, at first, Wind was soon fitting into the dances.  It was far more fun than she expected!

The Sky Dancers were experts on the ground, too.  Besides hooves, legs, and  bodies, they used their wings to great effect.  Both Tia and Midnight were in the midst of the happily dancing Rom.

Wind noticed a small altercation developing among the Guard.  She quietly left the dance to go and speak to them.

Greenforest saw her coming and snapped, “Whatever you are, Camp Privacy!  Stay out!”

Guard Major Hawkwing overrode his rude guard Sargent, “Be welcome.  How can we help you?”

Wind sat and pointed to Sargent Greenforest.  “I came about him, actually.”  She tapped her ear.  “It happens that I have excellent hearing.

“I know that he is upset that Hanar put him down over by the trash bin.”

He interrupted, “She had no right!  I am a noble, a baron!  I got a right to what I wants from commoners!”

Wind cocked her head and grinned a sideways grin.  “Even those commoners serving another noble?  Say one who outranks you - - a LOT?”

“Who owns those dratted Rom that I should bend the knee to THEM?”

Wind shrugged, “As I understand it, could be wrong, I am new here, all the Rom EVERYWHERE, are subjects of the Princesses and MARCHHARE and HOOF DANCER, ROYAL DUKE AND DUCHESS of ROM.”  She pointed over to where Marchhare was presently engaged in a couples dance with Midnight.

“ROYALTY. And you tried to barge into rites relating to the Rom beliefs in the afterlife and worse, take the place reserved to Shansa Na Kili, deceased as you understand it.  They do not see life and death the same way that you do.  You showed no trace of respect for the Rom beliefs.  Beliefs that are so strong that the PRINCESSES made you a MANUAL relating to them.

“You saw what happened to Wiltin but you don't seem to realize just how close you came to joining him.”

Guard Major Hawkwing interposed, “She is right, Greenforest.  The Princesses put your case into the hooves of Hanar Na Kili, the daughter of the horse that they came here to honor.”

He paused to let that sink in.  “The same filly who did not even need to look up to put you beside a trash bin twenty meters away, had the final judgment of your case.

“She could have had you removed from the Guard.  Was asked specifically about that.”

“WHAT! That filly?  Who gave her the right!?”

Hawkwing replied with some relish, “BOTH Princess Celestia and Princess Luna did.  Shansa Na Kili was, and according to Rom beliefs still is, her mother.

“Her judgment was that you were rude, but that was likely temporary and that you should be given another chance.”

Sargent Greenforest sat hard.  In a plaintive voice he whined, “Don't she realize that I worked my tail off for five years to get this post?”

Wind nodded.  “Yes, she does.  That is why you got a second chance.  I just wanted to make sure that you are properly grateful for it.  One word from her and you would have lost this post.”

Wind paused, thinking something over before asking, “I have no experience with the unicorns of this world except for the Rom.  I do know of one other Equestria, but it is largely corrupted.  Those unicorns, at least most of them, could not support your weight at twenty meters.  Is Hanar exceptionally strong?”

Major Hawkwing immediately answered, “All of you, listen up!  What has just been breached is Official State Secret.  Greenforest, and the rest of you too, what Hanar did, lifting the Sargent in his armor that twenty meters DID NOT HAPPEN, got that?

“The sheer power of Rom unicorns is, and has been in the past, a hole card that has helped to keep this realm safe.  If enemies learn of it, we could be in over our withers before we know it.

“They use their power like it is nothing special and for that reason, nobody thinks twice about it.  Actually questioning it opens up a whole different kettle of rotten fish.”

The Guards all turned their heads over to look at the happily dancing and singing Rom.  One quietly pointed out, “That was a filly did that. Wonder what one of the grown ups could do, right?”

A quiet voice said with absolute authority, “Best not to think of that, Sargent.  I have come to collect our wayward friend.  We are teaching her to sing our songs and she won't learn them here, with you.”

Celestia smiled down and suggested, “Come, Wind.  The singing will help your pronunciation, grammar and vocabulary, besides just being plain old fun.  I still remember what it was like for Midnight and I to learn Gyptian.

“Besides, seeing how you dance will inspire us to make new dances and steps. For us, dance is a thing that never stops growing and changing.”

Wind chuckled as she was being led away.  In Gyptian she said, “They do not seem to understand anything.  They have wealth that all comes from the labor of commoners, yet they seem to have no respect for those commoners that make them wealthy.”

Celestia nodded.  “A fair point, Wind.  It slightly misses the mark, though. When the whole system is working properly, the nobles are the brains that direct the labor and not only for themselves.  The commoners are the hands, muscle and bone, it is true, but without a proper brain, the other parts do not work well.

“They will plant and harvest.  They will build homes.  They will bicker and withhold work on a dam and waterworks that would benefit all, in the hope that they can benefit from the labor of the others, for example.

“That castle that the noble's grandsire raised by the directed labor of commoners?  If there is trouble in the land, that castle and its stores are the refuge for the commoners.  It may seem unfairly divided at times but it is a two way street.

Wind said thoughtfully, “Let me guess.  The prosperity of this land comes about because you and your sister actually keep a pretty close eye on those nobles?”

Eyes twinkling, Celestia agreed, “We do.  We watch the commoners too. And yes, accepting that no system is perfect, we do try to make it as good as we can for all levels of society.”

It was a thoughtful Wind who returned to the songs and dancing of the Rom.

Soon she found herself dancing with old Marchhare.  He grinned and pointed out, “Don't worry about the dancing.  I have been trying to learn it for around 800 years and I still make a fool of myself, except for couples dances.  I finally do pretty well at those.  Just do whatever the music inspires you to do.  That is all that anyhorse here expects.”

Wind grinned as she saw the truth of his statement.  He was doing pretty well at the couples dances, especially when dancing with Hoof Dancer. At the group and singles dances, which he happily charged into, he was, as he himself put it, a happy fool.

She heard a quiet voice at her ear, “Do not be deceived.  Marchhare is far better at dance than he lets on.”  Wind realized that it was Hoof Dancer who had whispered that bit of knowledge.  Still, if Marchhare's dancing was an act, it was a very good one.

Hanar approached her, as they were all taking break from the dance.  She had brought along with her one of the Rom's innocent looking double drum sets.  Innocent looking because, unlike any drumset of Wind's experience, not only did each drum have a distinct voice, tapping the heads in different parts produced completely different sounding beats.  Besides percussive rhythm, these drums could actually provide a tune.

A bit nervous, she asked, “Wind, if you could, would you show me how to do that sort of sway and slide step that you were doing?  I can give you the rhythm line on the drums here.”

Wind considered, “Our bones are different, so it may not work out for you, but sure.  Happy to oblige.”

The lone beat of the drums had a sensuous tone to them as Wind began letting herself dance in a free form way, being sure to use those sways and slides that Hanar wanted.  In moments, she realized that she was not alone.  Hanar was dancing opposite her.

Marchhare had very expertly taken over the drums.  Celestia was adding the lovely deeper strum and pluck of the large lyre that the Rom called a moro lyre.  Rose had added a sweet wailing flute to the developing music.

Hanar was not only managing the new steps, she had added the flourishing of her sashes to the developing dance.  Hoof Dancer and Black Lotus joined in.  Hoof Dancer's magic pulled Midnight into the dance. Besides the sash work, Hoof Dancer's delicate magic encouraged Midnight to use her huge wings in lifts, fans, partial folds and wraps, all perfectly timed to the impromptu tune.  The Sky Dancers, staying on the ground, joined in, forming a “wing chorus” to Midnight's performance.

A quiet voice that she could not identify said, “This is lovely, Wind.  Thank you.”

Hanar danced beside her and said, “Mother loves this.  Wind, you have given her and all the Rom a new dance.”

Wind replied, “All that I did was do a few steps that were new to you.”

Eyes twinkling with humor, Hanar replied, “That is all that we needed. We are practically born dancing.  We will be exploring this novelty for years to come.”

Wind relaxed, smiling, now that she understood.  Well, mostly.  She was still puzzled by that soft voice that had thanked her for creating the dance.  It was not quite like any voice that she had ever heard.

It was not long before the music wound down and the dance came to a stop.

Wind's acute hearing picked up on two conversations, both happening at once. One was in Gyptian, the other in Equestrian.

The one in Equestrian sounded like Greenforest trying to get himself in trouble again!

“What? You are not going to try to stop me?”

“No need, Greenforest.  I am quite sure that if you do try to remind the Princesses about propriety and remembering their Place in Society, that they will be extremely clear about YOUR propriety and Place in Society.”

“But look at them!  Just acting like commoners!”

“Look more closely.  Acting like HAPPY commoners.”

The other conversation was between Celestia and Marchhare.

“Lovely moro lyre, Tia.  I do not believe that I have seen that one before.”

“No, I only finished the wood work this last week.  I spent over a month trying to match Nore's beautiful grasswood for the sounding box.  I think that I did this time.  It only took me five hundred years!” she chuckled.

Marchhare joined her.  “True.  My first wife was not only the first luthier among the Rom, she was the best at many aspects of it.  She loves music and dancing so much.”

“Speaking of music, Marchhare, what shall we call this tune and Wind's dance?”

“What about Wind's Wings?  Midnight's wing work there was absolutely divine.”

“True. I wish that my sister was not so shy about public performances.  She is a wonderful dancer.  Still, Wind's Wings needs some proper words. It could make a good road song.”

“It could at that.  I will have some of the foals tackle it.  Young minds are so creative.”

Tia booped Marchhare's nose as she snorted, “Do you mean that old minds like yours and mine aren't?”

“Their young minds being creative says nothing about whether our older minds are creative.  They are not mutual exclusives.”

Wind nodded to herself. Definitely my kind of people.

She strolled over to the feasting leftovers.  She was sort of picking through them, looking for something to match her appetite.

In a few minutes, Hanar joined her.  Her magic held a small bread bowl filled with seasoned scrambled eggs and topped by melted cheese. Alongside it was a goodly mug of that fine Rom black tea.

���I saw you going for a snack, Wind.  I knew that we used up all of your special meat pies so I whipped this up.  I hope that it is good.”

Wind took the snack, balancing it all on a plate so that she could manage it with one hand.  “It smells terrific.  Care to snack with me?  I saw you go for seconds on that three berry pie and there is some left.”

“I would love to share snacks, Wind.”

Settling under a nice shady tree, Wind asked, “Just before you told me that your mother loved the new dance, some horse whispered in my ear saying that the dance was lovely and thanking me.”  Her brow furrowed as she tried to think clearly.  “It was not quite like any whisper that I have ever heard.  There was nohorse that I could see there.  Do you know who it was?”

Hanar chuckled deep in her throat as she replied, “Our loved dead are always with us.  Who did we come here to visit with?  It was mother, of course.”

Wind nodded slowly, while chewing a bite of the egg and bread bowl snack that Hanar had fixed her.  She washed it down with some of the tea. “I know that you say that, but this really brings it home.  Those others that were talking to Shansa were hearing her, just like I did. I begin to see why you are all such happy horses.”

Hanar smiled gently, “I cannot say whether the Lake of Paradise awaits for ponies who believe that death of the body is an end.  I have been to the Lakes of ponies who joined us and became horses.  They have gone to the Lake.  Old Marchhare went to the Lake but came all the way back for us.  Even some gryphons who joined us have gone to the Lake.

Wind nibbled some more of the egg in its bread bowl.  “I have to admit that I never spent much time wondering about what will happen when I die.  Now, I really will have to give it a lot of thought.”

Hanar giggled and booped wind gently on the nose.  “This life and its horses and the wonders of the road are enough for me.  Rather than spend time worrying about what might come, just live, be happy, and always do your best at whatever you do.  That is enough.”

Wind smiled at that.  “I will bet that there are times, especially with ponies like that Sargent Greenforest or that pony at the other wayside, this morning, when doing your best is not as easy as it ought to be.”

Hanar's ears laid back.  She spoke with as much of a snarl as a horse could make, “We are not SLAVES, to be ordered about!  Doing our best includes being FREE horses, and doing whatever it takes to STAY FREE.”

Wind was somewhat taken aback by the sheer ferocity of Hanar's response. “I did not mean to upset you, Hanar.”

Changing mercurially, she replied, “You did not upset me.  You have simply touched the core of what it means to be Rom.  I know that you saw the tears in the eyes of the Rom when we sang the Shehan Ja Rom.  Our ancestors WERE slaves.  They were slaves for so many generations that they were proud of serving their masters.

“It took Marchhare's sacrifice to push them into taking their freedom. We are born free, but to stay free, we have to earn our freedom.  It can never be a simple gift.  We have to wear it and hold it in our hearts and when we do, old Marchhare will present us with this, the sign and symbol of it.”  She touched her beautifully tooled and dyed headstall.  “The Freedom of the Rom.”

Wind polished off the bread bowl of eggs while she sorted out that.  “So that is why some horses here don't have them and some do?  What happens  if some pony puts one on for a party or a joke?  Don't you have trouble with that?”

Her eyes sparkling with humor, Hanar replied, “Not really.  Thanks to Tia and Midnight being Rom, it is covered in the kingdom laws.  They are permitted if they are made of fabric, not leather, and are worn as part of a costume for a particular event.  The penalties can be severe, depending on the individual case.”

She looked up.  “Oh, Wind!  We are needed.  It is time to break camp and get back to the road!”

Sure enough, all of the band was actively cleaning up the last of the dishes mugs and pots.  Wind had seen it before but remained impressed as small pots went into larger ones and even trestle boards fitted together to make compact bundles of everything.  The last of the feast was gathered together and given to the guards by Midnight herself.

“Add this to your rations but for Sargent Greenforest.  For his rudeness to our friend Shansa, trying to take her plate, he gets none.”

“It ain't fair!  There was nopony there!  That stuff was going to waste!”

Midnight corrected, cold as ice, “NO HORSE, you mean.  And you are wrong. Our loved dead are always with us.  With behavior like yours, it very clear why yours would avoid YOU.”

Major Hawkwing silenced Greenforest's retort.  “SARGENT!  Are you TRYING to get removed from the Royal Guard?  There is ample cause in your continued insubordination.  The only thing keeping you from dismissal is the decision of the the Rom mare, Hanar Na Kili.  Keep your peace. Keep your eyes and mind open.”

More compassionately, he went on, “This first exposure to the Rom is where just over half of all Royal Guard candidates wash out.  You worked for five years for this position.  Follow the Guards Manual and the Manual of Rom Belief and Customs.  That is the only way to survive in the Royal Guards.”

By the time that Midnight returned, she found that all the packing was done and the hitches were being laid out.  Wind was busy setting up Marchhare's caravan hitch with a second double tree and a single tree in front.

Midnight smiled as she saw it.  “Only a few days among us and already you are laying out hitches properly.  I love your singing voice, too. And that dance!  You have given us so much in such a short time.”

While she was speaking, her soft midnight blue magic, shot through with stars, had picked up her half of the double tree and was expertly securing her harness to it.

Wind complimented, “That is a beautiful harness.  The leather work is superb.  Is it an heirloom?”

Midnight chuckled, “I hope not.  I made this one about fifty years ago.  It is possible that I may gift it on to some deserving horse, but not yet.  When I do, THEN it will become an heirloom.”

It was only a few more minutes before all of the Rom were hitched up in the caravan and ready to take to the road.

It was Tia who called the starting cadence, “Lean Left!  Lean Right! Pull Left!  Pull Right!  Pull!  Pull!”  The whole caravan moved forward smoothly onto the road.  She called, “Two Green Vines!”

The Rom began to sing the first of the many road songs that helped the kilometers pass under hoof and wheel.

Besides singing along, Wind listened with care.  Far more than simple vocabulary and pronunciation was revealed in those songs.  The Rom's very attitudes and ways of thinking were revealed as the songs unfolded.

She was fascinated by the fact that, though the Guards did send one pegasus flying ahead to scout for potential threats, they stayed quietly and inconspicuously following behind.  The did have their battle kit carried at the ready.

Almost predictably, she could hear Greenforest griping about how they should be marching up in front, to clear the road of undesirables.   She smiled to herself as she figuratively patted herself on the back for being able to follow both the Gyptian of the Road Songs and without effort, also follow the Equestrian of the Guards.

The afternoon was passing uneventfully when they came to the Haymarket Royal Road Section Gate.  One of the ponies watching the gate made a fuss as his supervisor reached past him and tripped the gate opening mechanism.

He reminded his counterpart, “Rom are always free, Curly Fries.  You know that.  Trying to get a toll from them is a fool's game.  YOU WILL GET CAUGHT.  Besides, the Royal Road Police Station is just over there to make sure that you would not get away with it.”

They passed through without incident.  Wind giggled as Curly Fries noticed, “They got a detachment of the Royal Guard!  Why would the Guard be with these Rom?”

And the laconic answer, “Because, somewhere in one or two of those harnesses there is a Royal Princess or two, going incognito, that's why!”

At the first Wayside of the Haymarket Road Section, they found a blue pony with a gray mane and tail waiting for them.  “Evening, there, Marchhare's band, right?  I got a bit of problem with my wagon, if you could spare the time to look at it.

“Whether you can or not, I got a bag of dried apricots to contribute to dinner if you are willing to share.”

It was Hanar, in the position of lead for the whole caravan who smiled and replied, “Sure, Waller.  We can do that.  Is it a bad wheel or something else?”

She turned into the Wayside without hesitation and as she did, informed Wind, “This is Waller Left Leg.  He is always polite, though sometimes a bit plain spoken.  Nearly always has something to add to the dinner too.  We would rather be late to a fair than leave him stranded by the road.”

While they were breaking down the hitches and stowing the parts, Wind saw that Waller was pitching in to help them and no horse had any problem with it.

Soon camp was set up and dinner baking was underway.  One stallion, a dapple gray with black mane and tail gave Rose a kiss and stated, “I need the foals for now.  They need to learn about repairing pony made things.”

Rose chuckled as she replied, “Take them, then.  I know that you will teach them well, husband of mine.”

He turned to Waller and asked, “Shall we look over your caravan?  Is it the wheels again, so soon?”

Waller shrugged, “Wish it was.  The main load support beam under the box is cracked pretty bad.  If I have to have it done in Haymarket, it will set me back at least 70, maybe 80 golden bits.  They will have to take the box off and craft a new beam to fit.”

“I see.  We will certainly look at it and get you at least a temporary fix.  Might possibly be able to do a full repair.  Can't say for sure until I see it, OK, Waller?”

The blue pony shrugged.  “Got to be.  At least I am not in a hurry with this load.  Seed grain for next year's planting.  On my way to Haymarket.  Was going to drop by the Fair too.”

“You know the drill, Waller.  The foals all have to watch.  It is part of their education.”  The dappled stallion let out a sharp whistle.

All over the camp, foals stopped what they were doing and gathered about. The stallion gestured for Wind to join them.  “Marchhare has you with the foals for now, Wind.  Come and watch, along with them, while we see how we can help Waller.”

As they got close, Wind's eye was taken at once by the rough weathered grain standing up along the boards of Waller's wagon.  It had some knots in the wood, too.  She quietly absorbed her first lesson about the difference in woodwork between pony and Rom.  All of the Rom woodwork was smooth and perfect, with no knots or imperfections of any sort.

The true meaning of a minor swear word that she had been hearing from time to time slowly sank in.  She saw at first hand what they meant when they said, “As bad as a pony made wheel,” except that Waller's wheels, while quite differently made from the wheels of the Rom, were sort of mixed.  From the hubs out, the spokes and rims were the rough looking work of ponies.  The hubs showed the smooth and perfect work of the Rom.

Quietly nudging Hanar, Wind asked in Gyptian, “Why are his hubs so well done but the rest of his wheels so rough?”

Hanar agreed, “We rebuilt his hubs and axles, doing it the pony way, except that we put in sleeve bushings of polished iron on both the axle ends and in the hubs.  We did it only a few months ago.  I see that he is being careful to properly grease them.  If he stays that careful, they should last him for several years.”

Wind nodded her understanding.

The dappled stallion lowered himself carefully and angled his head to get his horn under the wagon.  Wind saw his magic brought into play in some fashion.  

He eased himself out from under the box and told the foals, “First, each of you examine the big beam running down the center of the caravan.  Then tell me what you see.”

It only took a short time because the foals crowded under, three at a time!  “How could they have done that?  The grain is flat ways!  It has to run up and down for any real strength!”  “Did you feel the size of that crack?  Near a third the length of the beam!”  “It has knots near the middle, where they will most weaken it.”

“Right! All of you.  Now, it is Wind's turn.  I do not know if you have magic to help you spot problems or not, but let me know if you find anything that the others might have missed.”

Nodding, Wind scooted under the failing wagon.  She took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the night vision that was her cat's heritage.  She reported, “I do not see anything about the beam that the others did not.  However, three of the bottom boards of the box show signs of cracking.  If you can fix them too, it would be a good idea.”

The stallion smiled his praise as he told the rest, “Did you hear what Wind spotted?  Anytime that there is damage to a part of a caravan, always look to see if it has caused other problems too.

“If this problem is not fixed, Waller could lose a lot of his load onto the road.”

One of the colts snorted, “We could have harvested grain from the road, next year after it sprouted!”

The stallion snickered and then, in Equestrian, told Waller, “We can repair the beam.  You have three boards of the bottom of the caravan's box that are cracking.  We can repair them too, if you want us to.”

Waller nodded slowly.  “Do what you think is needful.  I trust you to do it right, Myest.”

Myest began ordering the foals, “Shehan, go and bring my pot of the special glue and its brush.  Callin, go and bring me my second kit of planks, the centimeter and a half ones.  Hanar, bring me two caravan jacks.  Sando, go and bring me a lot of the fire wood to use as supports and braces.”

Foals scattered to their errands.  From his saddlebag, Myest pulled a large case.  Opened, it showed an astonishing array of razor sharp wood working tools, neatly held in lightly oiled leather.

Hanar was one of the first back.  She leaned the stout caravan jacks against the side of Waller's wagon.  Without being asked, and clearly not showing off, she used her magic to lift the whole side of the wagon, tilting it to a good working angle and setting the jacks.

Young Sando came trotting up, many balks of firewood carried in his magic. Myest began showing him where to set them and how to brace them to hold the work that was to come safely stable.  

Wind was watching closely too.  This was all new to her.  In her adventures, she had used wagons from time to time, but she just harnessed a beast of burden and drove them to where she needed them. She had never had occasion to see how they were made.

Myest began to chop out a substantial part of the beam using a chisel and adze.  He cut it away in steps, so that each step had a longish overlap to the beam.  The last cut left about a centimeter and a half of the original beam.

Wind sensed that something was off a bit when he announced in Equestrian, “OK, we can just glue this part back together.”  The brush slopped busily and he applied clamps across the beam to hold the cracked part together.  He ran his hoof over the whole area where the crack had been.  Wind noticed that it had become invisible.  He released those clamps and cut and fitted a board into the next step out.  He repeated what Wind was now certain was a ruse with the glue. When he was done running his hoof over it, the joints were invisible except at the outside edges, where she now deduced, he was leaving signs that the beam was repaired.  He repeated the trick several times to finish fixing the beam.

He cut patch boards to fit over the bed cracks that Wind had spotted, using the same ruse about the special glue.  

He left those boards solidly braced by balks of firewood and told Waller, “We need to leave it like it is overnight so that the glue can finish setting up.  We will let it down in the morning and you can be on your way right after breakfast.”

Wind had noticed an absence of sorts. The Royal Guard were not making a nuisance of themselves.  Even Greenforest was being quiet.

The evening devolved into what Wind was coming to accept as a typical Rom evening.  Some were playing several sizes of lyre, flutes and those deceptively simple seeming double drums while others were dancing. Wind snickered to herself as she saw that they were working on her slide step in their dances.

Off to one side, Wind saw that Rose and Marchhare had benches set up and were industriously working at crafts.  Rose had many sheets of thin wood in a wide variety of colors and grains.  She was carefully trimming them and forming them into neat boxes of many sizes and styles.  Some had trays with dividers or other set ups inside.  Wind was impressed by the sheer speed and skill with which Rose created her boxes.

Respectfully examining one, Wind commented, “I can't see any joint except where the design shows one.  I watched you make this one.  I did not see you use any glue.  How did you do it?”

“Dear Wind, you do know that there are certain things that the Rom keep very secret.  How we do our woodwork, our wheels, Ka'chek flour, and Rom black tea are most of them.  

We do not share our language or our music to any extent at all.  Those we only do if Marchhare allows it.  Our music is not really secret, as such.  It is just that it works in ways so strange to any pony made music that they cannot do it.  If they try to use their ideas of how it should be played, on their instruments, they will always fail. The cows of Trottingham have learned to play our music on our instruments and do it very well.”

She looked over to where Marchhare was assembling his silver jewelry, which included set gems and touches of gold.  He looked up from his work, which was being done without a torch or flame of any kind and nodded.  “Feel free to answer Wind, Rose.  She understands why we keep our secrets.  Unless I miss my guess, she may become one of us.”

Rose smiled.  “Most ponies, especially unicorns, think that there is only one sort of 'true magic' and that comes from the horn of a unicorn.  Surprisingly, even pegassi, whose wings are far too small to fly like a bird and can perch on clouds, which even birds can't, agree with them.  They are so ingrained with the idea that the unicorns do the magic, that they can't see the magic that they use all the time.  Earth ponies can hold things with their hooves, plant things and they will grow, or build things that will last for generations.  But that isn't magic, either, is it?  Of course it is.

“Over 800 years ago, while he was rescuing some lost horses that were still in the Sunset Mountains, Marchhare noticed that our earliest ancestors were doing things that seemed to need magic.  He discovered that it was coming from the frogs of our hooves.  With that magic, we can do a huge number of things.  Our woodwork, that you so cleverly spotted was not using the glue that is only there for window dressing is only one thing.  It helps the smith to shape and bond the iron or other metals.  It helps the weaver to produce perfect cloth.

“All of these things, Wind, stem from this single, and kept secret, form of magic.  There is more.  Our Ka'chek flour only uses magic a tiny bit in the harvesting and preparing of the ingredients.  Rom black tea is from a really common shrub.  It just looks like nothing that a sane pony would eat.  So, for thousands of years, they haven't. Besides it needs to be properly dried and shredded, which makes it near impossible to identify.”

Wind suddenly snorted.  “I was walking beside Hanar and I thought that I saw her magic popping out to the roadside.  It was really quick.  I wondered what that was about.  She was snagging those leaves to make tea out of!”

A soft muzzle placed itself gently on her shoulder.  Hanar whispered, “You are so observant that I am glad that you are with us, rather than the ponies.  Will you come with me, please?  Dinner will be ready soon and I saw some bank sorrel and wild nettles growing back in the woods a bit.  They will make a lovely salad for dinner.”

Rose simply wrinkled her nose at them in amusement and went back to producing her amazing little boxes.

They paused near the outfall of the Wayside's boxed spring and gathered a handy bag full of the succulent  sorrel growing there like big clovers.  Stepping past the tiny outfall stream, they went a bit deeper into the woods.  They came to an opening where abundant sun had led to a dense growth of nettles.  Hanar used her magic to very selectively harvest a substantial bundle of the plants.

Wind noticed that her harvest in both the sorrel and the nettles was calculated to preserve and expand the stands.  Thoughtfully she asked, “Do you water these nettles too?”

“Only if the weather is dry and they show signs of wilting.  Doing it this way assures us of a steady supply of fresh salads.”

Back at camp, Tia and Midnight lit up at the sight!  “Fresh nettles and sorrel!  Salad tonight!  Hanar, are you going to set up your retting tank?”

“Of course!  Once you have the leaves off, I will start soaking the stems.  I will have the fibers ready to spin in only three days!”

Wind asked curiously, “There are fibers in the stems of nettles?”

Hanar nodded enthusiastically as she opened a large locker in her caravan. “Lots of good fibers.  We just soak them for three days in this weather.”  

She pulled out flat parts and a pair of wheels less than a meter across. She fitted together a narrow cart with a vat for a body.  She lined the vat with pine tarred fabric and attached the whole thing to the back of her caravan.

She happily filled the vat with water from the spring.  In only moments, Midnight trotted over and plunked in the stems of the nettles.  Hanar added weights that would hold them underwater and closed the lid of the traveling tank.

Wind's acute hearing picked up the altercation in the guard's camp.  “This is a flat out insult to us nobles!  Besides just letting a strange commoner into the camp, they are keeping that . . . that thing as well.  Dratted thing is a carnivore!  And they keep it!  How are we supposed to guard the Princesses if they won't even let us into the camp?”

“You sure that you read the Manual, Greenforest?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“PAGE ONE!  The Princesses DO NOT WANT US HERE AT ALL!  We were imposed on them by a unanimous vote of the Advisory Council.  So far, the Guard has been rescued by the Rom on seven occasions.  The Guard have NEVER been the ones to do the rescue.  We are here because butt hurt Counts and Dukes were on a control trip.”

Wind was about to take her place in the serving line, along side Midnight when a lone pegasus landed just outside the camp and called, “May I enter?  I am bearing the Royal Dispatch Cases.”

Tia looked up from stirring a rich soup and called cheerfully, “Welcome, Baron Sweetlawn!  Get Marchhare to open his caravan to store the cases until we can get to them.  It was considerate of you to come this late.”

He stepped into the camp and offered, “I know that you treasure your time among your Royal Family of Rom, so I gave you as much of the day as I could.  

“Your Grace, Marchhare, would you be so good as to open your caravan for the safe storage of the Kingdom's business?”

While the old donkey opened the door, he invited, “That was a long flight, Sweetlawn.  Would you join us for dinner?  You may take your place beside me in the line.”

“I would be honored, Your Grace.”

“Please, Sweetlawn, we have been over it before.  Here, I am simply Marchhare.”

Midnight, beside Wind, whispered, “Sweetlawn is one of the few really good barons.  They are all good at managing their lands and towns or they would be replaced.  The ones that are just nice to everypony or horse, like him, are the rare ones.”

Dinner itself was the usual mild madhouse, as hungry horses lined up to snag their favorites.  After all were served, Wind and Hanar wound up seated in the shade of a tree nibbling their favorite pastries. Wind's was filled with fish and seasoned to perfection.

All too soon, it was all gone.  Tia and Midnight took Marchhare with them and went into the caravan.

Sweetlawn observed, “I wish that the Kingdom could simply run itself and let their Highnesses have free time with the family that they love.”

It was really not all that long before all three emerged from the caravan.  They had the cases all neatly resealed.  Perhaps worse, they were all three sucking on edible cones filled with finely shaved ice and blatantly colorful sweet syrups.

They handed Sweetlawn one of the cones and suggested, “Here, I seem to remember you liking peach syrup.  Cool down before that long hot flight back to Canterlot.”

He did just that.

It was time to settle down.  Tomorrow's end would see them to Haymarket fairground a day early, if all went well.

Breakfast went fairly quietly.  They all said farewell to Waller and helped him get his wagon in proper order for finishing his haul to Haymarket.

Black Lotus wandered over to see Wind and let her soft blue magic soak into the wounds.  As she finished, she suggested, “If you want to try it, Wind, you could try Pulling with the rest of us, today.  You seem to be fully healed.”

Wind shrugged, “I would like to try that, if you have a harness that might fit me.”

Black Lotus snickered.  “By no coincidence at all, I happen to have spent some time each of the last few nights whipping something up in my sewing room!”

Turning to Hanar she suggested, “Set yourself up a double tree, dear. Let's see if this catter can Pull.”

She trotted off to Marchhare's caravan and returned in only moments.  She had both a harness and a set of sashes modified to fit Wind's upright frame.  Wind sucked in her breath as she saw the beautiful sashes, woven so that two different colors chased each other and shifted with each slight movement of the fabric.  It matched Hanar's beautiful sashes perfectly.

Recovering her breath, Wind shook her head in wonder.  “I have never seen any fabric like this except what your mother wove.  It is lovely.”

Hanar nodded agreeably, “It is my best weaving.  I thought that it would be better used for you than to sell it to some pony at a fair.  Black Lotus agreed with me.”

Wind looked carefully at the harness too.  It had pulling straps at both hips and shoulders.  All the rings and buckles were of stout steel, lovingly finished to a blue color.  There was a tooled design like a twisted rope running the length of each strap.

Black Lotus's magic helped Wind to don the sashes first, then the harness. Both she and Hanar had Wind lean into the load while they adjusted things to fit perfectly.

Satisfied, they hitched themselves into their places.  Soon Tia's mellow voice called, “Lean right!  Lean left!  Pull right!  Pull left!”  The whole caravan eased out onto the road and the day's road songs began.

Wind was surprised at how tricky it really was to match Hanar's seemingly effortless pace.  Hanar's light golden magic was helping to guide Wind's stride.  The songs were a huge help too.

Hanar, actually easing Wind's power some, commented, “You are much stronger than I thought that you would be, Wind.  I expected to be the one to have to hold back.  I hope that you have the endurance to keep this up for the rest of the Pull.”

It was not long before they came to Wayside.  To Wind's surprise, since it was still early, they pulled in.  Wind's ears caught Greenforest grumbling, “Gotta stop in every Wayside to rest the Royal butts, hum!”

She caught Hawkwing's retort, “If so, it will be the first time in my seven years.  My money is on checking that catter, Wind and her harness.  It is new, so it will likely be stretching some and need adjustment.  Bet that they will be looking over Wind, too.”

True to Hawkwing's prediction, it was Black Lotus and Hoof Dancer who came to wind.  They had several medicine pots along.  Hoof Dancer smiled as she stated, “You are doing very well, Wind!  If you keep this up for the rest of the day, we will win quite a pot!”

Black Lotus was going over the harness with a light oil of some kind and making some small adjustments to it.  Hoof Dancer was going over Wind, checking for chafing and wear points, which she treated with a lineament.  She carefully checked Wind's hand and her feet as well.

Satisfied, they had the foals bring water around to all the horses, who were still in harness.  In only a few minutes more, they were back on the road.

As she leaned into the harness, Wind was appreciating the cunning leather work.  The harness not only gave her good leverage for Pulling, it also provided her with excellent support and assisted her in maintaining the best posture for the long lasting work of Pulling.

Wind was appreciating something else, too.  Not merely the amazingly solid and smooth road underfoot, but the fact that the placement of the trees alongside, though seemingly natural, provided a fine balance of light and shade.  She realized that the tone poem about the roads was exactly what this was all about.

Besides the Rom singing, she could hear the song of birds and smell the mix of vegetation alongside the road.  Along with the songs, she fell almost into a trance, a meditation, breathing deeply and feeling as if she was one with the caravan and the caravan was one with the road.

She was actually surprised when they turned off into a Wayside to make their lunch.

Hanar nuzzled her back to alertness.  “You have done amazingly well, Wind!  Are you sore or stiff anywhere?  Blisters on your feet, or anything?”

Wind gave an experimental stretch and pronounced, “Not really.  I can feel where the harness bore on my shoulders and at my hips but it did a great job of spreading the load.  I need to thank Black Lotus for it.  She did a great job designing it.”

Wind's hearing picked up something totally unexpected from the guards.  “I had my doubts, Hawkwing, Sir.  That carnivore pitched right in and worked with the rest of them.  I don't think that I could have pulled that load along side that filly.  She is strong as a horse, and I mean that exactly.”

“So, Greenforest, you been watching and thinking like I suggested?  What have you seen?”

Wind was helping to stow hitch parts as she listened.

“As part of security, I checked that Waller Left Leg's bill of lading after I saw that filly Hanar, the same that put me by the trash bin, lift the wagon up for the jacks.  His load was SIX TONNES.  She wasn't showing off or anything and not a one even noticed while she held it until the jacks were set.  She had to lift at least THREE TONNES and hold it to do that!  No pony except maybe Twilight Sparkle could manage that lift.  Once I got over my butt hurt about that Waller being let into their camp and given meals, I saw that they did all that for him just because he wasn't rude and had something to offer for the cook pot.  I was watching.  They did not even charge him for the wood and glue that they used.  I looked at that too. That was expensive, tight grain, knot free wood.”

“You are right, Greenforest.  Here is something that you have not had time to find out.  In seven years, I have never seen them buy any sort of lumber from anypony.  It is like they have some magical source for the best woods in all of Equestria.”

Meal fires were lit and goodies baking.  Wind was happily working up dough with her one hand.  And watching Hanar dance while Tia played a tune for her on her new moro lyre.

Her attention was caught by the guard again.  Thoughtfully, Greenforest pointed out, I used to think that the Rom were lazy, just sort of flitted about from fair to fair.  This walking with them is opening my eyes.  Those caravans, they call them, are heavy, even with those big wheels that they use to help them roll easy.

“Then there is here.  They were pulling all morning.  It puts all that dancing and music into a new light.  I don't doubt that they are having fun.  Thing is, they are practicing for their fair acts.  That red roan mare is watching those pegassi that she took in.  She is making more of those little boxes to sell too.  The old donkey, over there, looks like he is working on more jewelry.

“Besides lunch, I see them packing away stacks of those Ka'chek pastries that they make into that big chest.”

Major Hawkwing's voice replied, “You are getting it, Sargent.  And get this, so far, the only uncanny thing that we have seen is that Laying of the Stones thing.  Most would not see anything too odd about it. But after you have seen it a few times, trust me, there is something strange going on.”

Wind's attention was pulled away by Tia pointing out, “I think that we have enough done, Wind.  It is time for us to eat.”  She casually took a large pot of the Rom black tea and poured it slowly into a machine that Black Lotus slowly cranked.  Finely crushed dark colored ice poured out of a chute and into a collecting tub.  Black Lotus's magic scooped up some and filled the bottom of a cone and then topped it with a ball of more tea made into ice.

She offered the first cone of tea ice to Wind.  “You have been working so hard for us.  Here, enjoy!”  Wind did, sucking the cool tea ice and reveling in the sheer pleasure of it.

Following their well established routines, the band had their lunch, cleaned up, and broke out the hitches.  They had not been long on the road before Wind fell into that near trance like state, carefully balancing her pull to Hanar's to keep the stress and load even.  Not only did She follow, but sang along too.  That was part of the whole effect.  At the same time that it was heavy, sustained work, it was very peaceful and soothing.

Only a few hours down the road, the whole caravan came to a brief stop while Marchhare showed a pony at a road gate their contract.  The gatekeeper made his needful notes and lifted the gaily painted red and white road gate bar.  They all entered the access road to the Haymarket fairgrounds.

Wind's ears caught some resentful muttering from the guards.  “What did he mean, calling us a clown act?”  

That was answered in Hawkwing's voice, “Better than coming out and telling everypony that their Highnesses are here.  They wish to stay incognito.”

Wind snickered and shared what she had heard with Hanar, who was seized with a fit of giggles, though she never broke pace.

Wind quickly found that setting up for a fair was very different from the setup at a Wayside.

Their campsite was back behind the rows and spaces laid out for booths or tents.  As soon as their hitches were stowed, Hanar opened a different locker beneath the deck of her caravan.  Together, they pulled out long parts, poles, ropes, stakes and rolls of a brightly colored but durable looking fabric.

Hanar verified her booth location with old Marchhare, who had their fair contract with its space reserved for the Rom.  Together, they moved her things to be handy while they set up the booth.  Wind's eye was taken by the light but sturdy panels that made up the sales counter. That was set up first, because some of the basic poles to support the awning were attached to it.  

The awning was unrolled and lifted over the ridge pole that spanned above the sales counter and dangling ties secured it.  Poles to support it went into rings of rope with metal centers.  Ropes strung from the poles to stakes were loosely set  while the balance of the fabric sides were attached.  

Hanar had Wind hold the corner or side opposite to where she was expertly tensioning the ropes to stabilize and tighten the structure. Unpacking cases in her caravan's snug interior, she trotted out with a folded measuring table and racks.

Her many bolts of fabrics in a wide array of colors and weaves  were put out on the racks.  They closed the awning front down to close the booth until it was time to begin sales.

Hanar promptly led Wind down the Midway a bit to where Rose was setting up her display of boxes of all sizes.  Wind chuckled as she realized that Rose packed smaller boxes into larger boxes and carried them all in a few chests, which were also for sale!

Rose offered, “My setup is under control.  Both Myest and the Sky Dancers can use some help.”

Wind went to lend her simple strength to assisting the Sky Dancers, who were struggling a bit with the poles and canvas for a musicians shelter and resting place between their strenuous sets.  They already had a roped off area for take off and landing.

Wind spotted the cause of their difficulty at once.  She sidled up to the orange unicorn who was watching them with amusement.  His horn was lighting up with barely visible green magic, which matched his eyes. Each time that it did, some small thing went wrong for the Sky Dancers.

Her hand laid gently against his neck, under his chin.  She flexed her claws out into his flesh.  “Stop messing with those foals.”

“Ow! They is just Rom!  Peggesis what abandoned being good ponies!”

Wind released his neck, shifting her grip faster than he could dodge.  She wrapped his muzzle in her hand, securing her grip with extended claws.  She dragged his face around, forcing him to stare into her enraged, narrow vertically slitted eyes.  Predator's eyes, so unlike the horizontal pupils of ponies eyes.

Curling her lips away from her fangs, she declared in a flat voice, “I am Rom.”

They were interrupted by Marchhare's familiar bray, “Warrior Wind! There you are!  The healers want to know if you remember anything of the battle after the Berserker Rage took you.”

Wind saw Black Lotus behind him give her a wink and slight head toss. Wind paused, still gripping the orange muzzle, she remembered that Marchhare sometimes did demon stomps, as he called them and pretended confusion, “It is all hazy.  Something about a minor demon king, wasn't it?”

Agreeably, he asked, “Do you remember losing your sword and arm to the dragon?”

Realizing that, though said to sound like fierce battle, the question was literally true, Wind replied, “I know that I did, but don't remember anything until I woke up in the Healer's house.”

Black Lotus put in, “The healers said to tell you that they never want to try operating on the arm of a catter in a Berserk Rage again!  They did say that they will have you a replacement arm ready for fitting in a month or so.”

Marchhare offered, “Do come with us, please, Warrior.  Seeing you try some of our vegetables and fruits, we made bold to fix you a nice savory stew of mostly meat and some of our vegetables that you liked.”

Wind followed meekly but absently “forgot” to let go of the orange unicorn's muzzle.  Feeling both her claws and the raw strength of her grip, he realized that he had two choices.  Follow until she let go or be dragged along like a sack of oats.  He followed.

Short of the camp, he suddenly began to struggle in Wind's grip.  To no avail.  A unicorn of the Royal Road Police, in his midnight blue uniform had him, capped his horn, hobbled him and snapped a lead to the straps holding the horn.

As orange was led off, Black Lotus commented, “You are a quick study, Wind.”

Wind, sitting in some nice shade, was balancing a stew bowl and her tea mug on a tray.  “Thanks.  You guys are pretty sharp too.  You put me in a deadly battle without ever actually saying that I was in one. Why?”

Marchhare tapped his big ears and replied, “There were a lot of ponies watching Chugg mess with the Sky Dancers.  I think that a couple might have interfered if it had gone on much longer.  Point is, you got there first.

“Everypony there saw your sashes and harness and when you stopped him you declared that you were Rom.  We just gave you a backstory that contained no lies, though I admit that the truth was a pretzel!”

Midnight stepped quietly up and gently nuzzled Wind.  “That was well done, today.  Chugg made trip hole traps in the foal play yard, last year. He was banned from all fairgrounds in Equestria for two years.  He will get time on the Royal Roads for this violation.”

Around a mouthful of excellent stew, Wind commented, “You are lucky that nopony or horse was hurt.”  Seeing the pain in Midnight's eyes, she added, “How bad was it?”

Hoof Dancer replied, “It was Candy Cane, filly of Blue Mane and Cresset. She broke her right cannon bone.  Haymarket's doctor is a good pony but not the best surgeon.  He was going to amputate at the break and fit her for a prosthesis.”  She shuddered slightly.  “Their prosthesis is ALMOST as good as a pony made wheel.”

Wind, having heard the derisive expression, as bad as a pony made wheel, shuddered at the thought.

With permission of her parents, Black Lotus and I took the case.  We fused the bone solidly and repaired a torn ligament.  She needed a walking cast for a week to help control swelling.”

The voice of a filly responded, “It worked real good too.  May I enter your camp, please?”

Hanar, showing just how much attention she was paying, did not even look up as she replied, “Be welcome, Candy Cane.”

She trotted right up and said, “I got to be the one to present this!” She reached into a somewhat bulging saddlebag and pulled out a scroll.  “This is the official thanks of the town for fixing my leg and for all the good that you Rom have done for our fairs over the last 800 years.  They have offered not only you, but all Rom, the freedom of the town proper.

“I hear that you, Miss Black Lotus, make the best peach pies in Equestria.  My mom's orchard is not the biggest but its peaches are the sweetest!  I picked these special and dried them myself.”  She pulled a substantial bag out of her saddlebag.  Black Lotus's magic had it instantly!  She went on, “I had to go all the way to Fall River to buy this for you too.”  She laid out a smaller tightly sealed pouch.

Black Lotus's versatile magic lifted it to her nose.  Her eyebrows rose in pleasure.  “Cinnamon!  Bless you, Candy Cane.”

She simply disappeared into Marchhare's caravan.  Very quickly, smoke came from the small chimney of the caravan.

Hoof Dancer and Rose both offered at once, “Candy Cane, would you invite your family to dine with us this night?”

Practically skipping, she went out to the developing midway and returned with her parents.

They were only barely settled, eagerly watching the meal preparations when Greenforest approached the camp.  He stopped at a respectful distance and asked, “Permission to speak to Hanar, Wind, Tia and Midnight?”

She noticed that Tia and Midnight were watching Hanar for their cue. Wind was about to ignore him when Hanar nuzzled her shoulder.  “He is not trying to enter the camp as if he owned it.  Let's go see what he has to say.”

They all left off their parts of the dinner preparations and stepped over in front of him.  Hanar asked mildly, “What is it, Sir Greenforest?”

Scraping the grass with a forehoof, he hung his head in an abashed way.  “I have been watching you all and doing a lot of thinking.  This is real hard for me to say.  I've been in the wrong and acted real foolish and downright improper.

“I think that the worst was when I barged in on your Laying the Stones feast.  Trying to get that in perspective was hard.  You didn't act like she was dead.  It was like a, well, sort of a celebration.  Got me to thinking though, how I would feel if anypony barged into any private celebration of my family.”  He drew a deep breath.  “Got to say, I am sorry for my behavior.  I would have deserved being put in the trash.”

Hanar replied softly, “No, Sir Greenforest, you worked had to earn a post that let you guard your Princesses.  Until you got that post, you did not even know anything about Rom customs or why they would be important.  You had to pass some rigorous testing on the Rom manual. Over thirty percent of Guard candidates wash out before they ever see us.  More than half of the remaining ones fail the first time that the Princesses come to be among us.

“You are not trash.  You are a good pony, trying his best to understand what is to you a very strange culture.”

He looked up, deeply puzzled.  “I was really miffed when I saw you just take in that Waller Left Leg.  Took a while to sort out why.  I am kinda guessing here.  He was friendly to you and had something for the pot, too.  Not that many ponies are actually friendly to you.  It got him what would have been a really expensive wagon fix.

“That I do know about.  My barony is famous for our fine woodwork.  The wood that you used would have cost at least forty or fifty gold bits by itself.  You gave it to him along with a thorough repair, and never charged him a copper.”

He shook his head in wonder.  “I hope that I have never been so wrong about something so important before in my whole life.”

He pointed to Wind and added, “I was so peeved at everything, that I misjudged you, too, Lady Wind Whisper.  I called you a carnivore and a thing.  Then I finally started to figure out how bad I was wrong about you when I saw you harness up and had to hold back to match the pulling power of a Rom horse.

“I had sort of dismissed the story that you were recovering from attacking a Manticore.  Then I overheard the rest of it.  Manticore wasn't alone.  You were central to fighting off a demon king and lost both arm and sword to a dragon, yet here you are.  Means that you and your side won the engagement.  Demons, dragons and Manticores don't exactly take prisoners.”

If the Princesses will permit it, “I would lay my sword across between us, to say that if you need my help in battle or out, so long as it does not break my oath to my Princess, I will be by your side.”

It was both Tia and Midnight speaking together, their voices making a gentle harmony, who pronounced, “We, your Princesses, do permit and allow this generous offer from the heart of our good Guardspony.”

Before touching the blade laid in the grass between them, Wind asked, “The Healer told me that I was not permitted weapons like swords, knives or spears yet.  What should I do here?”

Midnight quietly sent a tendril of her night and stars magic to envelope Wind. She brought it back and observed thoughtfully, “Black Lotus and Hoof Dancer presently have your case.  I wish to share what I have found and get their opinion before you touch the sword.”

Black Lotus and her mother came up quickly.   “What is it, Midnight?  You are an expert surgeon.  Did we miss something?”

“About Wind's physical condition, no.  Our good Greenforest has offered Wind his sword.  While we do permit it, she has brought up the issue that is keeping her here, though her battle wounds are now healed.  Here is what I learned through a Bridge of Dream.”

Her soft magic touched the horns of both mother and daughter.  “Our question is simple.  Is it safe yet to allow her to pick up the sword and return it to him as ceremony calls for?”

The two held a whispered consultation.  Black Lotus nodded, looking serious.  “With one condition, it should be safe.

“Wind, will you allow me to place my magic in you ready to put you to sleep instantly, like for your surgery?”

Wind paused quietly for a few moments.  “I trust you, certainly.  Is it still that close to happening?  I have not felt it for a while.  I thought it to be dormant.”

Hoof Dancer chuckled, “Dormant like a volcano about to erupt!  But yes, it is much better than when you arrived.”

Wind simply replied, “Do it then.  I do not want to harm any of you. What is it that I am supposed to do?”

Hanar offered in excitement, “I have read about this in Days Of Fortress Canterlot!  You pick up the sword by the handle, rest it on your hand or so that the handle is to him and give his weapon back.  When he takes it, say that you will fight by his side if he is beset!”

Tia added, should you try and Black Lotus needs to stop it, we, as Princesses will declare your intent to accept and the ceremony completed.”

Wind felt the familiar safe touch of Black Lotus' magic and smiled.  “I think that I can do this.”  She bent down and picked up the sword. Shifting her grip, she laid it along her forearm, handle to Greenforest.

As he was taking the grip, she felt the world going gray.  She woke up as the sun was setting.  Her arm was carefully bandaged to her side. Hanar was resting quietly beside her.  She had a plate and full mug of strong tea ready.

Grinning ruefully, she offered, “I guess that I wasn't quite as ready as I thought.”

Hanar asked gently, “Can we safely unbind you now?  Do I need to feed you?”

Wind pretended to consider the question carefully.  She temporized, “What do Midnight and Black Lotus say?”

Midnight stepped close and let her magic bridge the space between them.  She winked quietly at Wind as she replied, “It was a near thing but we stopped it in time.  You seem to be as well now as you were before you touched the blade.  I shall set you free to enjoy your meal.”

Her magic gently lifted Wind and unwrapped the bandages.

Wind sat up and reached for her plate, gratitude in her voice, “Thanks for saving my dinner and watching over me, Hanar.”

She replied, “I was happy to do it, Wind.  If you could wield a sword with the arm that the dragon took, it must have been a marvel of smith craft.  In a way, it is lucky that it was that arm.  You could have bled to death if it was your flesh arm.”

Wind swallowed a bite of her pastie before saying with sincerity, “It was a marvel.  It was even stronger than my good right arm.  I did not have to think about using it.  It moved as simply as my right. Just reach and do.  I heard Marchhare say that I will have it back in around a month.

“This pastie is really good!  You put some of those vegetables that I like in it!  It is like eating a stew that does not drip!”

Black Lotus wandered over and joined them.  “Thank you, Wind.  I have been watching how you sampled our vegetable and fruit pies and dishes.  We have a nice blackberry pie that I think that you will enjoy.”

Wind looked up, brow furrowed in concentration.  “I thought that we did not have any blackberries in our stores.”

She grinned.  “We didn't.  Sargent Greenforest was appalled when Midnight and I had to put you out like that.  We had to reassure him that he had not done anything wrong.  He went off to try spearing you a bunny to make up for it.

No bunnies, but he found a fine wild canebrake full of blackberries, just ripe!  We all descended on it like a horde of locusts!  We gave two of the pies to the Guard.”

Wind nearly choked on her tea with giggles at the thought.

Just then, a pegasus in noble livery landed outside the camp and started to just walk in, announcing in a loud and disapproving voice, “If their Highnesses are done playing about for the day, I have the Kingdom's business.  I see that there is some food on that serving table.  Bring me a goodly portion of scrambled clover tops and some pie!”

Midnight blocked his way and snarled, “What part of INCOGNITO is unclear to you, BARON FLAPPERJAW?”

Not comprehending who he was facing, he snapped, “My name is Baron Widefield!  Get me the Princesses, you peasant!  My dinner too!”

Wind turned to Hanar to comment, “This should be fun to watch!  Should we stand further back?”

Midnight simply raised her huge wings free of her Rom sashes.  In a mild voice she replied, “This peasant, known to you as PRINCESS LUNA, will not get you food of any sort.  You will yield to me the Dispatch Cases and remove yourself from this encampment of OUR ROYAL FAMILY and await our pleasure.  

“If you desire anything, there are two booths that have opened to sell dinners to ponies setting up for the fair.  BUY your food and do not try to claim ANY privilege of rank.  That is forbidden at all fairs by Crowns Law.”

While Widefield was trying to grasp the magnitude of his gaffe, Midnight's magic took the Dispatch Cases and turned her back to him.  She flipped her tail as if swatting at a fly.

As the chastened pegasus left, Wind snickered, “That's another baron who has assured that his heirs will ascend to a Baronial throne.  He certainly won't rise to a County if one comes Vacant.”

Midnight, tucking her wings back into her sashes, and out of sight, grinned now that she could not be seen by Widefield.  She snorted, “You have stumbled onto one of our secrets for selecting the best ponies for advancement.  We let them be themselves in ways that we can see before they know their true selves to be revealed to us.  Of those that show true courtesy, we choose the best administrators.”

She shrugged, “We are sort of stuck with inheritance of titles in family lines.  Most learn to be decent sorts by the example of their parents.  Of course, there will always be some few who simply will not behave.”

Hanar gave Wind a large slice of the pie.  Wind gave her a sideways look.

She bobbed her horn in amusement as she explained, “If you are lucky and like the pie, you get a large portion.  If I am lucky, you won't like it and I will get a large portion!”

Wind smiled back as she extended one of her big claws.  She carefully, in several passes, cut the thick pie into two equal portions.  “If WE are lucky, Hanar, we can share the pie together.”

Hanar settled quietly and nibbled her pie.  She had a thoughtful tone as she suggested, “Wind, your home must be a place very different from here.  Could you tell me of it?”

Wind downed her tea to wash down the last of her excellent blackberry pie.

“In most ways, it looks a lot like this one.  We have mostly small villages rather than cities and towns like you do.  Most of our peoples are upright on two legs, like me.  We do have several different kinds.  I am a mixed breed of cat and otter, myself.

“We do not have ponies there, that I know of, nor your wonderful roads. The whole place is mostly wilderness with villages and a scattering of castles, religious retreats, abbeys, monasteries or and the like places.

“Of course, there are also monsters of various sorts.

“The real, fundamental difference is how the world is run.  There is Mama Dragon who is called the Watcher of the World.  Mostly, she doesn't need to do a whole lot but when she does, things can get really strange.  Besides her, there are some supernatural and extremely powerful Spirits.  They really mess with us.  Most folks of whatever kind, will never have to deal with them.  Those that catch their eye can be put into a living hell or wind up with huge rewards, if they manage to accomplish what the Spirits want.”

Hanar nodded before offering, “I think that I like it here.  I have been wondering something, though.  When you first came to us, you already spoke a clear Equestrian.  Who taught you that, or have you adventured on our world some other place?”

Wind considered that carefully.  “Hanar, you seem to understand the idea of many worlds or dimensions lying close together, almost like pages in a book.  Am I right?”

She smiled and chuckled around her last bite of pie before answering, “Of course.  I have been raised in the band of Marchhare all of my life. You really can't be here for too long without learning about that.”

Wind nodded.  “There is another Equestria, not far from here, as travel between dimensions goes.  It is largely corrupted, having fallen to Discord and it has much trouble with invasions of deadite demons.  I learned Equestrian from a couple of ponies from there.”

“I see, Wind.  Were they nice ponies.  Were there any Rom?”

Wind paused to think.  “I don't think that there were any Rom.  The ponies that I knew were pretty nice, but strong.  Ready to do battle at a moment's notice.  Pen and Snow were devoted to each other.  

Pen was an Earth pony who had figured out all sorts of weapons.  Deadites and other demons were drawn to him like iron to a lodestone.  He was tied up with some sort of destiny thing that I don't really understand.  Something about a Book.

Snow was a Pegasus with more magic than most unicorns.  Most of it, as you would expect, was weather magic but that wasn't all.  In some way or another, she was also tied up with their Discord and their Alicorn Murder.”

Wind shook her head admiringly, “Pen had a sort of sister named Penny. She is really something!  Her fur is brown and her mane and tail are nearly black.  Strong.  She does great smith work.  I, I don't know, she and I get along.  It sounds silly, maybe, because she is way bigger than I am.”

Hanar's head drooped a little as she asked, “Will you come back here, to Marchhare's band, after you are healed and you leave us?”

Wind reached over and stroked Hanar gently.  “Of course I will.  Along with my arm, I lost the only family that I ever knew when I was seven.  Mama Dragon is really wonderful and she cares deeply for me but she isn't the same as a family.  You all are.

“Sure, I will adventure and do such good as I can, but I will not forget or abandon either you or Mama Dragon.”

Just then music struck up.  Hanar perked up and neighed, “Race you to the dancing green!”  Her magic picked up the used plates and mugs! They both set out for the evening dancing but the plates and mugs sailed unerringly to the sudsy water in the wash tub to soak!

Wind admired Hanar's skill at hitting targets that she was not even looking at!  They hit the dancing area almost simultaneously.

The dancing had barely begun, with most of the dancers working on their new slides and sways, seeing how they could fit them into assorted traditional dances, when the music slid to a discordant stop!

Both Tia and Midnight were glaring at Baron Widefield in a towering rage! “What is the meaning of this intrusion into our Royal Encampment, Baron?”

Cringing slightly, he held forth several documents.  “Your Highnesses have made a grievous error in the important matter of Bittern Woods.  You have failed to sign the annexation or the assignment Royal Roads benefices.”

In tones that would have flash frozen a glacier, Tia demanded, “And how, Baron Widefield, do you know that those documents were not signed?”

He drew himself up and replied, “I surely have a right!  Those documents bear directly upon my Barony!  You need only sign them and I will return the cases to Canterlot!”

Midnight spoke in a deadly soft voice, “Bearing on your barony or not, THOSE CASES WERE SEALED.  Their business was dealt with and ready to be announced at the appropriate Royal Court.  HOW DID YOU GET THESE DOCUMENTS?”

She lifted her head and called, “Guard Major Hawkwing!  Please bring three of your Flight here before Us!  Take formal custody of Baron Widefield at this time.”

The Major and three of his unit came, carrying manacles and wingbinding straps.  The protesting Baron was quickly and efficiently bound.

Tia nodded slowly before requesting, “Major, We, your Princesses, need you to be a formal witness.  You will be examining things that are above your Royal Security Clearance.  This is authorized on Our joint authority.

We need your uncontaminated witness statements to the things that you observe.  Do you understand?”

“I do, your Highness.  What do you wish me to observe?”

“Please examine the Royal Dispatch Cases.  Report to Us both what you directly observe.  You may be asked to provide further evidence, based on those observations.”

“I see.”  He began a careful examination of each of the cases. Looking up, he reported, “You Highnesses, of the nine cases, three show signs of being forcibly unsealed.  Those cases are the Royal Intelligence Service case, the Royal Chancery case and the Royal Treasury case.”

Midnight looked askance at the Baron and required of Major Hawkwing, “This is beyond your RIS security clearance but is ordered by Princess Luna.  Open the RIS case.  In the lid you will find a list of document numbers.  From the top down, the numbered documents in the case should be in the order on the list.  For now, examine only the document numbers and their order.”

He opened the case after looking closely at the seal.  He extracted the list and began to compare it to the documents.  Looking up, he reported, “GR-3174 and PR-9077 are at the top of the stack. According to the list, they should be fourth and tenth respectively.”

“Very good, Major.  Leaving all as you found it, return the list and close the case.  Then please check the Royal Chancery case.”

He repeated his careful examination and opening of the case.  “There is no document list in the lid pocket.  If the documents are intended to be in sequential numerical order, number seven is missing.”

“Very well done, Major.  Now please check the Treasury case.”

After his usual careful scrutiny of the case's exterior and seal he opened it.  “Your Highnesses, there are five sections to this case.  There are only four document lists.  As the sections are labeled, and the remaining lists have matching labels, I would venture that the list for Royal Roads is missing.  I noticed that each document in each section is sequential on the last two digits.  Based on that, document RR 304-A113 is missing.”

Midnight smiled.  “Thank you, Major Hawkwing.  We shall shortly have a witness statement drawn up for you to examine.  If it is fully accurate and only if it is fully correct, please sign it.  If we have made any error, please point it out and we will fix it to your satisfaction.”

He bowed, “What of the missing documents?”

Luna smiled, “You will provide a copy of your witness statement to the Royal Road Police along with the prisoner.  They will conduct that search and include their findings and evidence to be sent to the Royal Department of Prosecution for the Baron's public trial.

“None of you need miss the fun of the fair.  The RRP have their temporary fairground station already set up.   Let them handle it.”

The Major chuckled and told his ponies, “You heard the Princesses.  As soon as we have that statement signed, we can be done with this pompous pony!  And we have leave to play!  We will be on duty so keep an ear out for any calls for service.”

Wind was leaning on Hanar, laughing.  “Oh my!  He not only broke into Royal business, he had the nerve to call their attention to it!  I did not think that ANY pony could be that stupid!  How did he manage to actually stand up?  I mean, that takes coordinating FOUR legs! Does he have that much brainpower?”

Hanar replied, “I really don't know but I hope that Tia and Midnight can get back to their music soon.  I want to dance some more!”

They did return soon.  Marchhare was with them and they were all three laughing.  

Wind overheard him say, “At least he did not open the cases, try to do all the work and present you both with all the business ready to sign!”

Midnight chuckled, “That was only two centuries ago!  The Baron Thurwood incident!”

Tia added, “Right.  Remember Thurwood's defense?  Mere mares obviously could not handle Vital Affairs of State!”

They settled down and began to play again.

With the fair beginning the next morning, they called a stop early.

After a good breakfast, Hanar invited Wind to help her in her booth, selling her fabrics.  She entreated, “I know that you promised to help watch over the Sky Dancers, Wind.  I set my booth so that you can see their crowds.  I could really use the help.”

Wind was able to watch the crowds that came and went as the Sky Dancers did their first two sets.  She kept hearing ponies commenting on her unusual appearance and supposed prowess.  “I think that they made up that story.  I mean, look at it.  Only one foreleg and it stand up on its hind legs.  How strong or fast could it be?”

She was laying out one of Hanar's satins on the measuring table when she noticed the near transparent glow of a unicorn trying to keep his magic stealthy!  Her leap out of the booth passed over one of the ponies disparaging her abilities!  She hit at a flat out run for the stallion, dodging or leaping over any pony in her way!

She jumped to his back and grabbed his horn, claws out!  She raked down to his forelock and lunged for his muzzle!  She grabbed and pulled his head about!

He collapsed under her, landing on his side, kicking feebly!  Wind jumped free as he fell and yelled, “Medic!”

Black Lotus came charging out of the dancing pavilion that she shared with her mother!  She had her field medical case carried in her magic.  To the surprise of the onlookers, she skidded to a stop and took Wind into her magic!  

In tones both desperate and worried, she called, “Warrior!  Are you safe?  Is the Rage under control?”

Wind, actually shaking from fear that she had seriously injured the pony, replied, “I am OK.  It is under control for now.  See to the pony.”

Black Lotus set her down and let her magic suffuse into the neck of the fallen unicorn.  In a relieved tone, she said, “Just a sprain that is putting some pressure on his spinal cord.  I have pushed the bones back into position.  Could you please pull gently on his head? There, that is just right.  The pressure is off entirely now.”

At that point, a blue uniformed Royal Road Police pony came cantering up.  He obviously recognized Black Lotus because he asked her, “What has happened here, Mam?”

She gestured at the fallen unicorn.  “You heard about the double murder of the Sky Dancers, last fall?  This fellow just tried to murder their children on the morning of their first public performance.  He was watching them and trying to gather stealth magic.

“Warrior Wind was helping in the fabric booth of Hanar Na Kili when she saw it happening.  She ran through the crowd and jumped to his back.  She raked his horn badly enough that he will need magical pathway surgery to be able to use magic again.  She pulled his head around and he collapsed.

“His neck got a fairly bad sprain that temporarily paralyzed him.  Between Warrior Wind's help and my magic the sprain has been fixed.  He should regain mobility in about a half hour to an hour.”

The Royal Road Policepony turned to Wind.  “You got from over there to here in time to stop him?  Impressive.  If you had already raked his horn, why did you twist his head?”

Wind shrugged.  “I am not from a place where there are any unicorns.  I never had to disable one before.  I did not know for sure that his magic was disabled, so I turned his head, trying to spoil his aim.”

The RRP cop was adding to his notes.  “I see.  In the excitement, you pulled hard enough to sprain his neck?”

Wind shrugged diffidently, “I was just trying to shift his aim, so I didn't try to pull hard.”

Black Lotus interjected, “She does not look it, but when Wind was allowed her harness for Pulling, after the physical battle wounds were healed, she proved to be stronger than any horse of our band.”

“I get it.  Spraining his neck WAS a gentle pull.  Let's get this jerk to the RRP tent and forwarded to the jail.”

[everlarkficexchange]

The Raven and The Gods

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 46: Peeta, the Greek god Apollo, hears the most beautiful voice at his temple so he comes down to earth to find this beautiful maiden. Follows how this god falls in love with a mortal and withstand the trials the other gods put them through. [submitted by @animekpopxx​]

  RATING: General (for the foreseeable future)

  TAGS: Greek Mythology AU; Supernatural AU; Apollo!Peeta.

  Author’s note: So this piece is only an introduction of sorts at less than 2500 words. I hope to write the rest in the next few weeks.

  In mythology Apollo is a very busy god. He oversees many aspects of human lives, has many attributes, and has a complexed personality in my opinion. Apollo is one of my favorite Olympians and I’ve always wanted to write something based on him, I just hope this one turns out ok.

KPKPKPKPK

The god of light pulled to a stop in the pristine marble streets of Olympus; his duty to bring the sun to the world finished and weary from his ventures, Apollo dismounted his golden chariot, and allowed the noble Pegasi pulling his transport some rest.

  “Tired my friends?” He asked the two winged horses patting their necks affectionately as the animals nuzzled their master’s arm.

  “Me too.” Apollo smiled softly, then added, “I do not believe ambrosia and nectar will be enough to cure this lethargy that’s taken over me. I am certain it is time I should look at the gathering in my Temple at Delphi, let the restaurative praises of the mortals heal me instead. It’s been a while since I’ve enjoyed the worship of mankind.”

  In a moment, the Pegasi scampered off to feed on Olympian grasses, and the god of light walked to the edge of the Eternal City, where the view of the mortal world shifted under the waning morning. Apollo adjusted his sight, like binoculars focusing on a specific point in the distance. His temple at Delphi rushed at him while the rest of the world resided.

  “Splendid!” Apollo exclaimed when a group of mortals filed through the open doors of the temple.

  The crowd was thick and full, milling about the open space, squeezing by columns and statues depicting a young, beardless youth, viril and strong, showing a variety of Apollo’s many attributes. Half a dozen braziers stood flaming in front of each statue, waiting for people who brought fresh fruit, cereals, laurel wreaths, and even the small sacrificial pray, to burn their offerings to their god. Prayers accompanied the offerings as they fell into the fire, and somewhere in the room a musician played the lyre in a echoing corner.

  Apollo closed his bright blue eyes and took a deep, deep breath. The fragrant odor of the burnt tribute invaded his nostrils and filled his chest, cleansing his aura and renewing his depleted strength with his next exhale. An electric wave crackled around him as the sacrificial smokes ascended coiling rhythmically towards Olympus and the god himself. Every muscle in his body tightened and relaxed in quick succession, giving him another inch or so of mass and strength. His golden hair glistened anew in the glare of the sun while he flexed his fingers, craving the feel of his lyre strings under them.

  Just as he was about to summon the lyre to play along the musician in his shrine, the most beautiful voice he’d heard in millennia cut through the other prayers, the crackling of the consuming fire of offerings, and music previously filling Apollo’s ears.

  It was only a short worship song— one verse sang twice and not a whole stanza at that— but what beautiful voice it was!

  Being the god of music, Apollo’s ears perked up and waited for the rest of the rendition, but nothing else came for two long beats of the heart, and then, the song picked up again, less timid than the first try and even an octave higher.

  Apollo leaned forward on the rail-less edge of his sky high home, and his eyes searched the congregation like hawks seeking prey, but the crowd had thickened out if possible. People pressed against each other, trying to get to the specific braziers they sought out, meanwhile the singing kept gaining strength, and he realized the one he was focused on was merely joining in another two voices that sounded less captivating, but still very charming all the same.

  “Three women,” he gasped, “three women singing, where are they?” But there were hundreds of women singing in various size groups all over the temple.

  With a growl, the god took a step backwards and pushed off the edge of Olympus with the tip of his toes, lunging himself straight down to Earth like a meteor. His arms flushed at his sides at first, suddenly opened at shoulder level and tucking his head down, his whole body shimmered, shrinking and morphing while feathers black as night on a moonless sky replaced sun-kissed, fair skin.

  Apollo swooped inside the temple and flew close to the ceiling, cocking his head here and there, scanning the crowd with tiny black eyes that could still bring into focus a specific section at a time. His bird ears perked up when again the sweet voice he sought lifted above the rest of the singers, and he realized it came from the direction reserved for the healers who worshiped him.

  The bird god flew overhead in a circle, enough times he got the unwanted attention of a priest who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

  “Look!” The priest cried out disrupting the prayers and songs of the other mortals, making Apollo glare in annoyance. “A raven! In the temple!”

  “Is it the wrath of Apollo upon us?” Asked a woman trembling from head to toe.

  The fear picked up like wildfire among the mortals, cowering and accusing one another of imaginary transgressions against their god.

  Knowing keeping his current appearance would hinder his search, Apollo turned the plumage on his body to white, causing the crowd to sigh in relief at the sight of the bird’s new plumage. He flew out a small window at the side of the temple on the opposite wall just as quickly as he’d come in.

  Mortals have the habit of taking omens way too close to heart. Apollo should have known better than to use the form of a creature he’d— for all intents— had cursed by turning its feathers the color of soot, but then again, the raven was his bird, he should be able to use it in whatever circumstance he seemed fit. Instead, he was forced to take on a human form.

  The luminescence of his divine skin muted to a dull glow that simply disappeared the more man-like he appeared. His eyes also lost the light of the sun that filled them, and turned into a bright, cheerful blue. His hair went from golden like the rays of the sun to ashy blond and curly at the ends. He debated whether to grow a beard or stay clean faced as he naturally was… he opted for the latter. Then, he looked down at his robes, still too magnificent to be worn amongst the mortals and remaining incognito. A quick wave of his hand left him wearing a cream color chiton, with a brown chlamys fastened at the shoulder with a small wooden lyre broach. Simple sandals kept his feet properly protected. He could be a traveling peasant and nobody would look at him twice.

  Apollo marched into his temple with a single task in mind: Find the singing woman. He made his way through the crowd still gawking at the ceiling of the temple where the raven had been flying not a minute earlier, others had fallen to their knees with renewed fervor after witnessing how the bird went from bad to good omen with the change of plumage.

  The priest was still standing in the middle of the temple, flapping his arms over his head, chanting loudly some nonsense about Apollo’s power and wisdom. The god made a beeline to the old man, knowing he had to snap him out of the trance so the songs and prayers could resume and he could get back to his search.

  “What an amazing miracle to behold.” Apollo said into the priest’s ear, “The sun is bright, the wind is sweet, call to the lyres, our Lord to please. Music and song is what the gods want, ring out your voices, let your poems fall free.”

  As if hypnotized, the priest stood stock still, his eyes turned glassy, but then he started calling for lyres to carry out a tune, and singers to belt out their praises loudly. His job done, Apollo melted back into the crowd.

  The god of music stuck his arm out and his lyre appeared in his hand out of thin air. It was of course disguised as a common instrument to match its master’s appearance, but it was still the most celestial sound in the place. Soon the voices of the mortals filled the god’s ears and he had to close his eyes to take in all the influx of strength and new life pouring into him. And suddenly, the voice he had momentarily forgotten, hit his senses awake.

  “She’s there!” The god looked to his left, and his feet lead him without stopping. People cleared a path for him with a wave of his fingers until he found himself in the middle of the cluster of healers that followed his cult as patron of medicine and healing.

  Three women holding each other called his attention. One was a downtrodden looking woman who still possessed a certain beauty to herself; the other two were younger, a nervous looking maiden with long, braided hair as dark as Apollo’s ravens and eyes as bright as the full moon; the last one, not much older than a child, blonde and fair as the older woman, with features that resembled both of her companions. The god deduced the three women were kin to one another, and simply inched closer to them, to see if he had found his mystery singer.

He played his lyre an approached the singing trio, convinced it was the source of the voice he craved. The ladies sang to his tune as if under a spell. Apollo saw two of The Muses— Euterpe, goddess of song and lyric poetry; and Polyhymnia, goddess of hymns— come to dance around the mortal women, and smiled at them gratefully, knowing full well they came to help him draw out the singing for as long as the mortals could stand it.

  Normally, mortals can’t see The Muses. They can only feel their presence and respond to their inspirational nudgings, but the gray eyes of the eldest girl fixed on Euterpe. Startled by the apparition, her eyes widened in fear and apprehension. The maiden wrapped her arms around the younger girl’s lithe body and pulled her closer to her chest. A moment later, and without taking her gaze from the goddess, the mortal maid had taken a protective stance shielding the youngster behind her own slim frame.

  The action peaked Apollo’s curiosity.

  Apollo dismiss his goddesses, grateful for their help, he lifted the mist blinding the mortals to the presence of the deities, and free them from the trance The Muses had put on all the followers of their leader gathered in the temple.

  Apollo’s fingers rang out a few more notes on his lyre, and then stopped playing his enchanted music. As if by magic, The Muses disappeared, leaving the mortals confused for a short moment. But humans are forgetful, fickle creatures, all bewilderment wiped off their minds almost immediately.

  Apollo watched the women closely. The older girl released her grip on the youngest, who beamed up a smile as breathtaking as it was sweet.

  “That was amazing, Katniss! Thank you for helping me sing today. I’m sure our songs brought the blessing of the dove to the temple today. I’ve never seen anything alike before.”

  Apollo snorted. Mortals always saw only what they could explain. They witnessed a raven turn it’s feathers white above their heads, and quickly pronounced it a dove instead.

  The older girl’s facial muscles twitched, her lips pursed for a second but then she schooled her expression into a slight smile. “Maybe it was, little duck. Maybe the gods know it is your thirteenth birthday and sent a blessing just for you. I hardly had anything to do with it.”

  “Oh, that’s not true!” The girl whispered, blushing before tackling the maiden with a hug. “You have the most amazing voice. And the blessing was for everyone who saw the dove, not just me. Right, Mama?” The girl turned to the woman who’s soft blue eyes watched the exchange as if afraid to be shooed away.

  “It’s, true. Katniss has the sweetest voice ever. And the blessing is a welcome and most needed sign from our lord, Apollo.”

  “Thank you, mother.” Said the older girl less warmly than how she spoke to the youngster. “I’m sure Apollo enjoyed all the other offerings we brought for him.”

  “Sure he did!” Exclaimed the younger sister. “Lord Apollo is the wisest, strongest and most approachable of all the gods in Olympus.”

  “Shush, Prim!” Chided the big sister, nervous eyes flitting everywhere at once. “We must never compare deities as such. All gods are great in their own rights and none is highest than Zeus himself. All gods are powerful and amazing.”

  “You don’t sound very convinced.” Said Apollo immediately regretting his faux pas as the raven-haired maid’s blood drain from her thin face. “I apologize for intruding. It is not my place.”

  “It is not!” The maiden scowled mightily. “It will do you well to stick to playing your lyre, minstrel!”

  Apollo felt his heart swell.

  It was a well known fact, Apollo, for all his might and attributes, obsessing over hard-to-get romantic interests was his weakness.

  “Minstrel you call me, like it is a disease.” Said the god smirking, “But our Lord Apollo finds the musicians to be bearers of gifts, like joy and beauty.”

  The maiden rolled her eyes. “Of course Apollo would.” She muttered under her breath.

  “Katniss, remember where you are!” Hissed her mother behind a fan, tired blue eyes nervously shifting around.

  Katniss feigned a smile. “Lord Apollo is most gracious unto us. Alas, I am not of his service.” She looked at her family warily, “Mother, Primrose, if you are think that you’ve satisfied Apollo with out offerings, I believe it is time to seek the the priest to bring forth Prim’s name to be considered to start the healer training now that she’s thirteen.”

  “Allow me to escort you, my lady. I’m sure god Apollo is eager to bless his new healer in the making!” The god smiled at Primrose, whose cheeks turn a sweet pink.

  “That will not be necessary, minstrel. We can find the priest on our own just fine.”

  “Peeta, my lady, the name is Peeta Mellark, at your services,” said Apollo at once and without putting too much thought into it, took the maiden’s hand to kiss it.

  As soon as his skin made contact with hers, a series of pictures played in the god’s mind’s eye.

  The air thicken, a mystical aura descended into the temple. The priestess Pythia who sat alone in her tripod stool in the Oracle’s chamber rose her eyes from the basin full of water and laurel leaves, the spirit of the Python hissing in her veins.

  Pythia rose from her perch and marched into the public side of the temple, causing an uproar, the high priest rushed to the Oracle, frightened by her presence on a day she was not meant to be consulted, but before the man could inquire what had moved her to the crowd, she spoke, facing in the general direction of the healers section.

  “I am Pythia, Oracle of Delphi, servant of Apollo, hear my voice and heed my warning.”

  The Oracle walked to the cluster of healers with eyes shining and hair flowing. Her white chiton covered her thighs and her feet were bare. She made no sound as she walked a straight line almost in front of Apollo, butat the last second, the woman turned her face to a trembling Katniss.

  “You who fear great losses, will be overcome by hope.

Don’t let the emotions fool you, don’t run away from fear. Embrace your weakness, let go of sorrow. Welcome freedom and hold fast to the rising sun, the dandelion in the spring, the promise of a better dawn. Don’t be fooled by the arrow and the storm. Time is upon you, and the trials ahead will rival the heroes quests. Hold fast to the dandelion in the spring.”

  Pythia stumbled backwards, and Apollo caught her in his arms gently, turning her over to the priests to look after her. When Apollo looked back, the three women were gone.

[mutant-riot]

So, I wrote this ficlet, and I don’t know what exactly I want to do with it. I’m gonna drop it below and see what you guys think.

To continue it and/or post on AO3 or leave as it is - that is the question...

Any and all suggestions welcome!

Current/Working Title : Shame

TW: internal homophobia, homophobic language, past/implied self harm

Erik was nervous as he looked at the light streaming from inside the rec centre. He bit his lip, debating turning around and going home. No one would even need to know he’d come. But he’d told Charles that he’d try his best to come, and he didn’t want to lie – especially to Charles. Erik closed his eyes and sighed, imagining the disappointment on his “friend’s” face. He needed to do this; it would be fun.

He stood up, stretching his legs and snuffing out his cigarette. His flannel made him sweat bullets in the 75° heat, but it was “cute” on him (as Charles described it), so he wore it anyway. He kicked a rock into the dark brush that lined the walkway as he slowly made his way up to the building. As he reached for the door, he quickly looked around to make sure no one saw him. He knew Charles would be upset if he knew Erik was making sure no one saw him going to a mutant function, but he pushed it back, pulling open the door.

Loud music and voices hit him even from the doorframe, and he tentatively made his way down the corridor toward the source. He peered into the reception hall, scoping it out and searching for Charles.

“Erik!” Oh, there he was. Charles dashed over from the window, where Erik assumed he’d been watching for him.

“Hey,” Erik replied, feeling himself blush as Charles took his hand.

“I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Me too,” he nodded, looking around the room at everyone there.

“Let me introduce you to some of my friends.”

Erik followed Charles over to a group of other teenagers, who were dancing in a circle.

“Everyone, this is my...friend Erik. Erik, this is Hank, you know Raven, Kurt Wagner, Azazel, and Emma.”

The group all smiled and waved, and Erik felt even guiltier for being scared to be there. He wished he could just accept himself and his life, but he couldn’t seem to break through the shame. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emma shoot a worried glance to Charles, who nodded, and his heart skipped a beat. Were they talking about him?

“There are a lot of people here who I don’t know actually,” Charles added, smiling broadly at Erik as he led him to some chairs.

“Really? Is it a big turnout?”

“Yeah! It’s usually just me and Raven and a couple of others, but it’s fantastic to see so many new faces. And I’m really glad to see yours, of course.”

“I-I’m glad to see yours too,” Erik said, sitting next to Charles and fiddling with the metal bracelet he always wore.

“Are you doing okay? I don’t want you to feel nervous and upset the whole time, dear. If you need to go home, it’s 100% okay.” Charles’ voice was quiet and sincere, and Erik felt his heart race again. This is was a place where he could be himself, where he could show others and himself it was okay to live as they were. But the voice in the back of his head still screamed “freak” and “faggot.”

“Fuck it,” Erik breathed, sitting up straight in his chair and looking directly at Charles, whose eyes were wide with concern. “Charles, um, can I...aah, can I please kiss you?” The worry evaporated instantly from Charles’ face, and Erik could see his cheeks burning even in the dim light.

“Of course you can,” he nodded, gazing into Erik’s eyes. Erik hesitantly touched his boyfriend’s face before lightly kissing him, pulling away quickly and hoping he’d melt into the floor. But behind his embarrassment was a flutter of joy, and he felt it. Then, without even really knowing what he was doing, he placed his hand on Charles’ knee, and Charles put his hand on Erik’s.

Does this count as holding hands? Am I too sweaty? Erik’s mind swam with “what if’s” and other questions.

“Do you want to dance?” Charles asked him, gesturing to the other teens around the hall and breaking him from the whirlwind of thoughts. “But you certainly don’t have to, I was just won -”

“Yeah,” Erik said, nodding. “Let’s dance.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay!”

Charles stood up and smiled broadly when Erik held out his (sweaty) hand for him to take.

“Glad to have you two join us,” Raven teased, winking at them. Charles shook his head, still beaming at Erik.

“I don’t know how to dance...” Erik whispered to Charles who chuckled.

“Neither do most of us, don’t worry,” he replied, shrugging. “Just do what makes you feel comfortable.”

Erik knew he was painfully awkward, but Charles kept looking at him with his wide, sparkling eyes and making him feel so... wanted and safe and normal. He wasn’t the only mutant in the world; there were so many around him. He was normal here.

When the song switched, Erik felt the energy in the room change. It was a slow song... People were starting to pair up, and Erik looked down at his boots. Every good thing he’d felt suddenly decayed into doubt and guilt. He swallowed hard and raised his gaze to see Charles over by the snack table, musing over the options and drinking a cup of lemonade. Erik knew he was letting Charles down, that he was being a coward...

“I, uh, I’ll be right back,” he said, walking quickly past Charles and out into the dark. The humid air greeted him, and he sat on the sidewalk. Pulling his knees to his chest, Erik started to cry. He wasn’t what Charles deserved; he couldn’t show affection or be open to anyone about who he was. He was such a monstrous fuckup. All the other mutants he’d met were so well adjusted and kind, but he wasn’t. He hated himself and his mutation, and he knew he’d just end up hurting Charles, who was nothing but wonderful and caring. Nothing he deserved, nothing he’d ever deserve.

He heard the door open, and he jumped, wiping his eyes and cheeks, hoping the person wouldn’t even notice hum. But the footsteps were heading straight for him. Fuck.

“Erik?” Charles’ voice was soft as he sat next to Erik on the edge of the concrete. He took his hand in his own and gently kissed it. “It’s okay, darling.”

“I’m so sorry...” was all Erik could manage before starting to sob. He squeezed Charles’ hand, silently begging him not to leave.

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” Erik bit his lip; Charles had heard him. He must be projecting really loudly.

“Is it okay for me to put my arm around you?” Charles asked, looking up into Erik’s tear-stained face. He nodded, and Charles gently placed his arm around his waist. Erik leaned against him, feeling the waves of calm emanating from his boyfriend.

“I know this is difficult. I know you’re hurting. I want to help you. Please let me in. Please, Erik...” Hints of desperation crept into Charles’ words, and Erik’s heart sunk.

“I don’t want to scare you away,” Erik replied so quietly he almost hoped Charles wouldn’t hear.

“You won’t.” Charles held him tighter as he rested his head on the telepath’s shoulder. “I promise.”

“Do I have to talk about it?”

“Not if you don’t want to. I can just look.”

“Okay...”

“I’m not going to leave, promise,” Charles affirmed as he turned to directly face Erik, who nodded and fiddled with his bracelet. Charles patted Erik’s knee before closing his eyes. Erik felt his presence in his head. Then he heard Charles asking him to remember.

“Show me.”

Erik showed him – losing his parents, every “session” with his aunt’s friend Sebastian Shaw who said he’d “cure” Erik’s mutation, pleading to anyone above who was listening to make it all go away, realizing he liked boys and breaking down, self harm, the shame that burned in his stomach constantly – it all poured out of him as each event triggered the next.

Charles’ presence slipped away, and Erik found himself back on the sidewalk with Charles. Tears were streaming down both their faces, and Erik reached out and took Charles’ hand, feeling it tremble in his.

“I’m so sorry,” Charles whispered, wiping tears from Erik’s cheeks. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.” Erik shook his head.

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” he said. “I just need to stop letting it all get to me. I need to stop thinking about it.”

“Trying to repress it will only hurt more, dear. Let me help you.”

“H-how?”

“Don’t shut me out. I’ve been a few places you’ve been, I know what it’s like.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Charles nodded. He pulled up the thin sleeves of his shirt to reveal lines of straight scars across both arms. “ I lost my father too, in an accident at his office. My mother remarried one of his co-workers less than a year later, he moved in with his son, and that’s when my mutation really started to take shape. Mother told me I was just crazy and to stop making things up. Kurt, my “step-father,” made sure I always heard the worst news about mutants on the news and whatever he and his friends said about mutant control and registration. And his son always joined in. Once they found out I liked boys, I thought my life was over. But it’s not. It’s only just begun.” He kissed Erik’s hand again, holding it tight.

“I...don’t know what to say. You’re so nice to me. I don’t deserve it.”

“But you do, Erik. You deserve nothing but kindness.”

“How can you know that?”

“We all deserve kindness, every one of us.”

“But I don’t. I just hurt everyone and let them down. It always ends...”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

“I do. You’re not alone, Erik.”

“Thank you,” Erik sniffed, sliding closer to Charles, who smiled warmly at him. “I-I’m sorry I ruined your night. I know you probably wanted to dance and be with your friends.”

“You didn’t ruin anything at all. Don’t worry, okay?”

Erik nodded, trying to believe Charles. He wanted to so badly, but the voice in the back of his head kept yelling “he’s lying.”

“Can I ask you something?” Charles questioned, and Erik’s heart skipped a beat.

“Sure, anything,” he replied, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

“Are you okay with being with me? I know you’re dealing with so much right now, and I’m worried you felt obligated to say yes when I asked you, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable to push you into something you don’t feel ready for...”

“No, Charles, it’s okay. I want this. I’m so scared, but I do!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Erik nodded, smiling. “I am.”

“Okay,” he replied, gently touching Erik’s cheek. “Okay.”

[starsandsupernovae]

Terrible Ideas Chapter Three

BlackHill

It’s here finally!!! It took forever, I’m sorry about that to anyone who was waiting. Thank you so so much to @acastleintheair who read and edited and also is an amazing person who i would die for. And if anyone wants to be tagged in future chapters please just comment or send an ask!

Until now Natasha hadn’t realized how little human contact she had been accustomed to. Not meeting people or talking to them, she did that most days, but actual human touch-that, she realized had been rare. Perhaps she would find someone willing and able to spar with her but even that was hard to find, those who were able to fight her were those who tended to keep busy putting their skills to use.  Natasha wasn’t exactly a touchy-feely person as her few friends could attest. It had never bothered her before.

But now, with Maria staying over most nights, she was aware of how much they touched, from the casual brush of their hands while they prepared dinner to waking up with Maria’s arms around her, holding her tight, something that from anyone else would have woken her as soon as she was touched and probably ended with the other pinned to the floor. It was almost surprisingly nice, and she had gotten used to it easily. Which is why now, when Maria was needed overnight, the silence in her apartment sounded strange, it felt too empty.

“It’s not like that.” she told Liho who was curled up on her lap, perking up for a moment at her voice, staring at her judgmentally.

“No, really. I’m just used to having another person around. I don’t miss her. I literally saw her this morning.”

Liho continued to stare, unimpressed.

“No one misses a person who’s just a friend who’s gone for one night when they don’t even live here.” Natasha continued.

Liho managed to convey an utter lack of belief combined with a complete lack of interest in a single noise.

“Yeah, okay, you useless feline.” Natasha dropped her to the floor where she stalked off, tail in the air in search of something more interesting.

Because she knew the truth was that she did miss Maria’s presence, no matter how much she tried to convince Liho and herself that she didn’t. She got up, intending to go to sleep, telling herself it had nothing to do with the fact that in the morning she’d see Maria again providing that one of them would be in the wrong place which the two of them seemed to be doing increasingly these days.

Natasha knew she was only around Maria’s office because she wanted to see her, and she wondered what brought Maria over to Natasha’s side of the building so often. Whatever it was she was thankful for it.

She prepared for bed as any other night. But something was different. Missing. She lay down staring blindly at the ceiling, the cracks of light floating in between the curtains hardly enough to illuminate basic shapes, the moonlight obscured by heavy clouds, a dreary drizzle pattering at the window pane. She focused on it awhile, tried to let it flood her mind instead of letting it be the background noise to the thoughts she couldn’t force away.

Nights like this weren’t uncommon. Nights where sleep wouldn’t take her away and she had to lie alone with herself and all she had done, all she had become. It was a failure of sorts, a weakness to regret the past instead of planning for the future. But no matter how hard she tried, the past didn’t leave, and she couldn’t leave it. On nights like this, where the noise of the rain turned to Tchaikovsky in her mind, when the walls became mirrored, the room bright, the floor polished wood, when she could still hear the Madames in her mind teaching them to be beautiful, graceful and lethal, on these nights, the past came to her.

These nights had grown less frequent recently, and Natasha knew why, the warmth of Maria’s arms around her counteracted the cold of the unheated halls, her light breathing drowned out the voices of the Madames, her presence scared the ghosts away. But tonight she wasn’t here, and the ghosts had no fear of Natasha alone. She lay still, waiting for it to past, not wanting to remember, not wanting to return.

At last she fell into an uneasy sleep, full of whispers and ice cold rooms, bleeding toes and gunshot wounds, beauty, grace, and the ugliness that went into creating it.

Because that’s what it was, she mused in the misty realm between sleep and consciousness. Ugliness covered up. That’s what she was. Ugliness covered in a facade of beauty. Twisted black evil wrapped in a white silk leotard, dancing in snowy silk slippers. She wondered that no one had seen it yet but of course, the white covered so much, her facade of goodness. The mask that she wore, so white and strong but oh so delicate, and she just knew that if anyone got too close, if anyone so much as reached out and touched, it’d crumble away. And no one wanted what was underneath

She had been letting someone close though, someone had somehow slipped from the audience for whom she was constantly performing to backstage where she truly existed. But this new player could come no closer, no matter how much she craved her, for then the mask would fall. And then, who would be left? No, better like this, better with the performance, better with the mask, better with the distance. It was better. She repeated this like a mantra and had finally drifted off when the phone rang, the sharp noise interrupting the first real sleep she had been able to get.

She woke immediately, sitting bolt upright and grabbing at it, looking at the name flashing on the screen.

“This better be good, Fury.” she answered, letting her displeasure at being called at 2:30 in the morning seep into her tone. Fury wouldn’t care of course, but she liked to let him know.

“Would I call you if it wasn’t serious?” barked the Director. His words were expected but his tone wasn’t, the underlying stress creeping in unfamiliar to her. “It’s Hill.”

“Maria?” Natasha’s voice was calm, as her heart picked up pace. She was already getting out of bed, dressing and gathering up her weaponry, readying herself to fight.

“She’s hurt.” Fury answered. “She said to let you know. She’s been stabbed by something probably not of Earth origin so we’re keeping her in medical here.”

“I’m on my way.” Natasha answered, hanging up before Fury could reply.  She was out the building barely a moment later, into the night, following the dim light of a street lamp cutting through the darkness to her car.

She was driving on autopilot, trusting her body to drive to the triskelion while her mind buzzed with questions, one after the other. Was Maria gravely injured? Why had Fury called her? How had she gotten hurt? Why couldn’t she go to a standard hospital?

At last she arrived, making her way into the building and to the medical wing faster then she would have thought possible. A nurse came up to her as she entered, reaching to tap her on the shoulder before thinking the better of it and withdrawing.

“Agent Romanoff?”

“Yes.” Natasha answered tersely, desperate for information.

“Agent Hill is down here.” The nurse said, gesturing down a hallway before leading Natasha down. They walked for a few minutes, Natasha asking questions the nurse would only respond to with

“Agent Hill’s doctor will explain.”

At last, they reached a door where the nurse stopped, taking out a key card and pressing it against the small panel on the wall. The door slid open and she gestured for Natasha to enter before turning and walking back the way they had come.

Natasha walked in to see Maria propped up with pillows in a bed, IV dripping some sort of fluid into her arm. She was pale but awake and smiled as Natasha came in.

“Hey, Nat,” Maria said, as she tried to sit up further and winced with apparent pain.

“Maria,” Natasha answered pulling up a chair from the side of the room and sitting. “I got a call from Fury saying you were hurt.”

“Yeah. I’m fine now. Mostly.” Maria said, lifting the blanket to show her left leg which was heavily bandaged. Dark green streaks rose out from the bandage, twining around her leg, creeping up towards her torso and down towards her foot, deep ugly veins of poison. But even as Natasha looked they were fading, retreating back towards the wound.

“We just thought I wouldn’t be. Couldn’t find an antidote, then we had to pull out some alien tech we’re not supposed to have and on some research, we weren’t supposed to have conducted. Fury probably called you before we realized we could cure me. He shouldn’t have woken you though, I’ll be completely fine. They’re letting me go in a few hours, so long as everything goes well.” Maria said, drawing the blanket back over herself.

“Because when do things ever go wrong?” Natasha asked, but her sarcastic tone was undercut by her smile and the way the tension bled out of her, legs crossing and shoulders untensing as she shifted into a more comfortable position.

“It’s fine, wasn’t getting much sleep anyway. And now you’ve got someone to drive you home when they let you go. Unless you’re planning to go straight to your office and work afterward.” Natasha said with a look indicating that the latter was the wrong option.

“I can’t actually,” Maria said. “I’m not supposed to be fine remember? I have to stay low profile while a cover story is fabricated for how I’m okay.” Maria suddenly looked uncomfortable, and Natasha tilted her head, a questioning look on her face.

“The tech we had, the serum they were able to synthesize- there wasn’t a lot of it.” Maria started to say slowly. “But there were a lot of people hurt.”

“And those people weren’t the vice director of SHIELD.” Natasha finished for her, understanding.

Maria nodded.

“And you took it. All of it.” There was no judgment in Natasha’s voice as she spoke.

“Yes.” Maria looked away from her as the word left her lips, but then her eyes swung up to meet Natasha’s again, owning the decision, even if it had not been fully hers, even if she had been half dead when the cure was administered.

“And the others?” Natasha asked.

Maria shook her head.

Natasha nodded.

She understood. And they sat in silence, Natasha reaching out her hand to hold Maria’s offering her the comfort she couldn’t speak. There were so many things she could say, that it wasn’t Maria’s fault, that she didn’t hurt them, that she had had to take the cure, that it was experimental in the first place, that it wasn’t her fault it worked. But there was nothing, she knew, that would actually mean anything right now. So they sat in silence, Maria’s hand resting in Natasha’s as all of the unspoken words hung in the air.

At last, Natasha broke the silence.

“You can stay with me if you like. While you’re waiting for SHIELD to announce your miraculous recovery.”

Maria’s grip on her hand relaxed a bit as her mouth turned up just a bit.

“Thanks,” she said.

And Natasha understood.

[masochistic-tendenci3s-blog]

Salva Me, II

Author’s Note: And so we’re back. Part II of IV. This chapter focuses mainly on Julian and Nargis. Next chapter is where the drama begins. I also had to cut down the spicyness because I just was NOT happy with how it was turning out, so, sorry. Warnings: None Rating: Mature Characters: Julian Devorak, Nargis Vyr, Quaestor Valdemar, Count Lucio, Nadia Satrinava Word Count: 2939 Part I can be found Here!

“What do you think?” Julian asked softly as they made their way down into the dungeons of the palace. Four months had passed since Asra had left, since Nargis had begun to work with the doctor, two months since she’d begun joining him within the dungeons. The scent that drifted towards them never failed to give her pause, to make her nose scrunch up in disgust. Stagnant, dried blood, must, vomit, and gods know what else. It made a chill dance upon her skin.

“I’m not sure… The sudden influx could mean that the plague can be carried by other animals, perhaps?” She replied, shoulders rising in a shrug. “I don’t think any of us can be certain…” She trailed off as they entered into the antechamber, hanging up their jackets and coats in lieu of pulling the aprons, gloves, and mask on. She could already hear Valdemar talking, whether it be to themself or to someone else, she wasn’t sure. Stepping into the makeshift doctor’s office, she spotted the Quaestor easily. “Good morning, Quaestor Valdemar,” she greeted cheerfully, moving towards the vivisection table, and the body that lay upon it.

“Don’t touch it,” Valdemar warned, feet moving silently across the stone floor. “It arrived this morning before even I was down here. The guards said it was dead when they found it.” It, referring to the body. Julian cringed, nose wrinkling up in distaste at the way the other referred to the dead. “While I would love to study this one, I’m afraid…” They trailed off, gesturing to the body. It was swelled up from sitting in the heat, and Nargis had the feeling is she tried to cut into it, it would pop like a balloon. “This one will be sent straight to Lazaret. A shame, really.”

Turning from the body, Nargis made her way towards the table meant for students, studying the papers strewn about its surface. “Quaestor, I’ve a question.” She called, drawing their attention once more. “Would it be possible for the plague to jump from one host species to another?” She asked as she pulled herself up onto one of the unoccupied, and thankfully lean, vivisection tables, legs crossing beneath her. “I’m just wondering, since the plague seems to have been spreading more rapidly recently.”

Valdemar paused, ruby hues sparkling in the torchlight as they considered her question. “There… Is a possibility. I hadn’t even thought of that, actually.” Head tilting to the side, they stepped closer, lost in their own world. “It is entirely possible, given how it had already jumped from the original host- the beetles. But I pose you a separate question, now: how.” They countered, leaning against the table. “How would it be able to jump?”

“A mutation?” Julian spoke up, looking up from the drawing he was working on of the bloated body upon the table. “It’d be the only way, unless the plague was able to jump from host species to host species from the very beginning, and only chose to start jumping now that there are more species around?”

“You phrase that as if the virus could think,” Valdemar mused, lacing their fingers beneath their chin. “So, my lovely students, tell me: do you believe that a virus can think? That is has some form of intelligence?”

“I don’t see why not,” Julian replied, shrugging. “How else would it know to move on from one host to another once the original host begins to die?”

“I agree- there has to be some form of intelligence there. A will to survive- no, a need to survive. It feels the host start to die, and it breeds. It’s done its job there, now it’s time to move on to the next living thing.” Nargis agreed, leaning forward to study Valdemar’s face. “Right?”

“… Possibly.” Valdemar replied softly, sighing. “But that still doesn’t explain who it targets the most. From what we’ve seen, anyone is at risk. There’s no targeted age range, gender… It’s interesting.” They all but purred, obviously pleased with the turn of events. “At any rate, you aren’t needed now. Unless you wish to carry the body?”

“Nope!” The pair quickly answered, all but startling the quaestor with how loud their voices were. “I need to go to the market anyway. Join me, Julian.” Nargis all but demanded, sliding off of the table to the ground. “Have a good day, Quaestor!” She called over her shoulder as she quickly left, more than ready to see the sun again. The sound of Julian jogging after her made her grin as she pulled the apron over her head, quickly replacing it with the deep emerald jacket.

“Market? Didn’t you just go yesterday?” Julian asked as they ascended the steps, still buttoning his coat up. Fall had descended upon Vesuvia, and with it came the biting cold wind from the sea.

Nargis grinned, nodded. “I did, but did you honestly want to be stuck down there all day with a bloated body?”

“… Good point.” With that, the pair made their way through the palace, ready to head back into town when the sound of footsteps gave them pause. Glancing over their shoulders, the sight of Nadia and Lucio made them freeze in place.

Nargis reacted faster than Julian did, quickly turning on her heel and dropping into a curtsey. “My lord, my lady.” She greeted as Julian quickly dropped into a bow beside her. Raising gracefully, her lips spread into an easy smile as they approached. “Are you enjoying the cooler weather?”

“Cold. It’s cold.” Nadia corrected with a grimace, while Lucio let out a laugh.

“It feels better than the boiling heat of the summer,” Lucio replied as he reached out, taking Nargis’ hand in his gloved on and brushing a kiss to her knuckles, watching as her eyes widened and blood filled her cheeks.

“Of course. What are you two up to today?” Nargis asked as her hand was released. Swallowing thickly, she kept her hand close to herself. “It’s getting close to the solstice- do you plan on holding another party?”

Nadia swept closer, an arm wrapping around Nargis’ waist. “Of course we are. Come, walk with us- both of you.” Without waiting for an answer, Nadia pulled Nargis along, surprising the girl. She glanced over to Julian, who looked just as surprised as she did. “We plan on holding it in a fortnight. You will attend, won’t you?”

Nargis nearly stumbled as she kept up with Nadia’s pace. “Of course, my lady. I wouldn’t dream of missing it. I just… Need to find a dress.” She realized, inwardly cursing herself for not thinking of that earlier.

“Nonsene,” Nadia cut her off with a raised brow. “I will have my tailor fix you a dress.”

“My lady-”

“Nadia.”

“Nadia, you don’t need to do that…” Nargis replied, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Nonsense,” Lucio cut in, drawing her attention towards the Count. “It’s the lease we can do for you two, with all you’ve been doing, trying to find a cure for the plague.”

“You both will be outfitted in the best fabrics. We can’t have you two looking drab, now can we?” Nadia teased, pulling away from Nargis elegantly. “Well, if you’ll excuse us, we have some planning to finish. Come, lover.” With that, Nadia swept away, Lucio following after but not before giving the pair a mischievous smirk.

“… That was…”

“Odd?” Julian offered, brows raised as they watched the royals walk away.

“Yes. Odd.” Nargis stood a moment longer before turning, heading back towards the entrance. “Coffee?”

Julian trailed after, his arm finding it’s home around her shoulders. “Yes, please.” He replied with a grin as they headed into the cold wind. Though, he paused, causing Nargis to halt.

“What-?” She asked, looking over at him, only to see him looking up towards the sky, a small smile on his lips. It was nothing like the normal, rowdy smirks or mischief filled grins, but sad. Soft. Frowning, she looked up, and watched as snow fell. “Oh.” She whispered, surprised. “Are you okay, Julian?” She asked, reaching up to cup his cheek, turning his face back down to her. Thumb stroking the skin beneath his eye, she watched as he blinked back tears.

“I’m fine, dorogoy. It… Simply reminded me of home. Let’s get coffee, da?” He brushed it away, pulling her close once as he led her off the palace grounds. It left her wondering, however, just where he came from.

“Julian?”

“Yes?”

“… Never mind.”

“Ah, warmth!” Nargis exclaimed as she collapsed onto the pile of pillows upon Julian’s floor. His little house was nice, she had to admit. Though, she still enjoyed the comforts of the shop. Julian settled down beside her, a smile on his lips. They sat together in silence, enjoying one another’s company, until she broke that silence with a question. “Julian, why did you become a doctor?”

The question took him by surprise, and he looked down at the other, watching as she fiddled with one of his pillows. “Well… I wanted to help. I was in medical school when the fighting started near my home, and one thing led to another, and I ended up joining with the old Count’s military as a field medic. It’s how I met Lucio.” He explained softly, gaze falling upon the flames within the fireplace. “I just wanted to help people.”

“… You’re a good man.” Nargis stated simply, nodding as if agreeing with herself. “A very good man.”

“I’d argue that.”

“Why?”

“… Because.” Julian stated, shrugging. “Because of what I did during the battles. I let… der’mo, I let people die.”

Nargis reached up, turning his head down to her own. “That’s what happens in war, curly. People die. We’re fighting our own war right now with the Red Plague. People die. It’s how life is…” She trailed off, gaze drifting down towards Julian’s lips. As if reading her mind, he leaned forward, closing the gap between them. His lips were softer than she thought they’d be, plush. She pulled for a moment, meeting his eyes, before tangling a hand in his hair and climbing into his lap, their lips meeting again in a much harsher kiss than before. She nipped at his lip, and he moaned into the kiss, sending a thrill through her. Tongue slipping out to meet his own in a battle for dominance, a shudder danced through her as his hands came to rest upon her hips, fingers playing with the slits on her dress.

“Are you sure…?” Julian asked as they parted. Her lips were kissed bruised, cheeks flushed, eyes bright- she was beautiful, he decided in that moment. Beautiful, deadly; a snake poised to strike. A smirk curled her lips as he studied her, causing his own to twitch upwards.

“More than sure,” she replied, leaning down to press kiss after kiss along his jaw, nipping at the skin. “I’m also sure that if you don’t get your shirt off within the next minute, I will rip it off of you.” All but purring the words, she sat back, fingers drifting down to gasp the hem of her own dress. Julian grinned up at her as he hastily pulled his shirt over his head, tossing the fabric aside. She mimicked him, pulling her dress over her head, leaving her in naught but her smallclothes. Her hands immediately came to rest upon his chest, nails digging into the pale flesh. A pleased hiss left him as his head tilted back, eyes falling closed at the feeling of lips pressing into the skin along his jugular.

“You’re wicked,” Julian gasped as her nails drug down his abdomen, a shudder dancing through him. “Wicked, no good, Chert poberi!” Her hand had dipped down between, grasping him through his trousers. A grin pulled at his lips as he shook his head. “Wicked woman.”

“You love it,” Nargis whispered, retracing the path of her nails once more, eliciting a lovely hiss from Julian’s lips. “And you like pain. The more you know,” she murmured, sitting back with a pleased smirk. “Bedroom.”

“Bedroom,” Julian agreed with a nod.

The sun was just peeking out when Nargis woke, a pleasant warmth pressed to her back, a solid weight over her waist. A smile curled her lips as she rolled over slowly, to not wake Julian. He was sound asleep still, lips parted just barely, curly hair a mess from the night’s activities. His chest was marked with scratches from her nails, bruises sucked into his neck. It was nice, to wake up with someone. He was so peaceful, sound asleep like this…

“You’re thinking too much,” Julian murmured, startling her out of her reverie. Jade hues glanced up, catching hold of whiskey and gold mixed. A sleepy smile curled his lips as he pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Dobroye utro krasavitsa.” He murmured in Navaran, voice soft, husky, sleep still clinging.

“What’s that mean?” She asked as she curled closer. It was like sleeping beside a fire; his body heat was far more than her own. Perfect for a cold morning.

 “Good morning, beautiful.” He translated, eyes falling closed again. “We need to get up… The Clinic needs to be opened…” He mumbled, and Nargis sighed, rolling over to stretch. The sheets fell low, gathering around her waist. A wince danced across her features at the pain between her legs. Ouch.

Julian sat up, still not quite awake, and ran his hands through his hair. “Lucio and Nadia will want us to get… Whassitcalled… fitted?” He yawned, stretching his arms up over his head. “I dunno why they’re doin’ that, though.” A giggle escaped Nargis as he spoke. His accent was thick in the mornings- thicker than it normally was, at least. Sitting up, she leaned over, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder.

“Dunno, but I’m not gonna pass up the chance of wearing a fancy gown,” she replied before slipping from the bed, wincing as the cold morning air bit into her bare flesh. Her clothes were downstairs, she realized with a pout. Though, she did grab her underwear and her breast bindings, pulling both on in a rather ungraceful manner. “I have to go check up on the shop… I’ll see you at the clinic?” She asked over her shoulder, hearing a hum in response. A brow raised as she turned, lips curling into a grin. Stepping back over to her lover, she cupped his face in her hands, tilting his head up to meet her in a languid kiss.

“At the clinic,” Julian agreed between kisses, slowly rising to his feet. Large palms settled upon her hips, covering the bruises he’d left from the night before. “Or you could stay…” He murmured, trailing kisses down her neck.

A soft moan bubbled up from her before she pushed away, shaking her head. “No, sir. We have work. I’ll see you at the clinic, handsome.” A laugh escaped her at his pout, though she turned to make her way back downstairs. Julian watched her go, leaning against the wall with a pleased noise. He remained there until the sound of his front door closing resounded throughout his house. Alone. Though, as he looked down at himself, marks from her nails, her teeth, her lips, still lingered.

Not alone.

“You seem chipper,” Valdemar commented as Nargis set about cleaning the vivisection tables. She’d come in with a bright smile and a song upon her lips. “Oddly so.”

“I had a good night, that’s all. That, and I have an appointment with Nadia after this! She’s getting me fitted for a gown, you know.” The words gave the Quaestor pause, brows raising as they look over to the student.

“A gown?” They repeated, gaze falling back upon the body that they were currently tagging for disposal. “For the masquerade, I assume?”

“Yes! Oh, I hope it’s emerald. I love emerald. Or gold… Though, I think gold would look stunning on Nadia.” She rambled, though she fell quiet at the sudden ache in her head. “… Maybe I should have gotten a bit more sleep last night…?”

“Your sleepless night has something to with a missing redhead.” It wasn’t a question. Valdemar shook their head, chuckling under their breath. “Humans.” They said simply, in amusement and exasperation.

“It’s quite nice, you know. You should try it sometime.”

“Are you offering, doll?”

“And if I am?”

“I might take you up on that.” It gave Nargis pause, eyes widening in surprise before a laugh barked free from Valdemar. “You should see your face! I’m quite alright with my own… Private affairs.”

“Now I’m interested. You need to tell me more tomorrow,” she gushed, pulling her gloves off and hanging her apron up. “I’m off to see Nadia now!” She left, hearing the faint ‘so long’ called after her. The pain in her head hadn’t receded quite enough, but she paid it no mind. Surely, it was from lack of sleep and an early morning, right? Of course.

Though, unease tugged at the back of her mind. What if it wasn’t just from that? What if…

She shoved the thought away as she entered the library, catching sight of Nadia lounging upon a pile of pillows, reading. No, it was surely just a normal headache. She forced a smile as Nadia caught sight of her and rose gracefully, extending a hand. 

“Let’s get you fitted, shall we?” She asked, and without waiting for the girl to answer, swept her out of the library and down the ornate halls.

[thefuckingazebos-blog]

Loverboy (Richie Tozier x Reader)

Request - hello!!! can i have a richie x reader imagine where the reader is older than richie (and because of that richie doesn't think he has a chance) and they all go swimming and when reader strips he gets super flustered and everyone else checks them out so he gets jealous and the boys start teasing him by making him more jealous and eventually he confesses and yay!!

You can read part 2 here

 Loverboy

That summer was loud music blaring through car speakers. It was the smell of burning fires and the sound of splashing water. That summer was a friendship nobody thought would last, but did. It was the crackling of the open flame as a group of losers sat around, sharing their stories and wondering when they would come to their ends, not in the sense of their deaths, but the death of their friendships. But most importantly, that summer was the realization that they were now “grown up”. They had jobs. They had cars and lives and were seniors in high school. And soon they would all be parting ways for college and going with their own lives.

That summer, most importantly for Richard Tozier, was the summer that he fell in love, no matter how cheesy that sounded. She was a freshman at the community college, and everything about her screamed “dream girl” in his eyes. But she was older, and in college. He never stood a chance with her, even if she was only a year older. Why would any girl as rad as her want to hang out with a loser like Richie?

YN was best friends with Beverly, having met while Bev was out taking photos that summer. YN walked into frame by pure coincidence, and suddenly became the muse that Beverly had been searching for, for so long.

“Please don’t move!” Bev called out, not asking the girl if it was okay to take her picture, but lifting her camera up to her face quickly to snap the picture. Much to her surprise, the girl didn’t flinch or move an inch, staying still so that she would be able to quickly take the picture. “Thank you...” Beverly breathed out as she lowered the camera, causing the girl to laugh and turn her head towards her.

“Normally I would start a conversation with hey or something, but that’s fine too I guess.” YN said, smirking slightly as she studied the red headed girl that stood before her, fiddling with the film camera that was between her hands delicately. Beverly laughed, nodding her head in agreement and smiling at her sheepishly.

“Yeah, normally I would too, but you walked into frame at the right moment and I couldn’t waste the perfect opportunity. I’m Beverly Marsh, you must be new to Derry, I haven’t seen you around.” She stated, holding her hand out for YN to take in her own. YN tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and smiled back, shaking her hand as she nodded her head at Beverly.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N. I just moved here with my family a few weeks ago. I haven’t really left my house since we got here, since I don’t know anybody.” YN explained to Bev, rubbing the back her neck. A large grin spread over Beverly’s face and she placed a hand on her own hip gently.

“Well now you know me, and I have a few friends that you can meet too. Not many, but nobody really needs that many friends to begin with.” She said, before taking YN’s wrist between her skinny fingers and tugging her gently. YN’s eyes widened slightly, not expecting Beverly to be this straight forward and forceful. Something inside of her told her to turn around and walk away, that this girl was probably on more drugs than she knew what to do with, but something else was telling her to go. What was there for her to lose? She left everything back in her hometown, every friend that she had and every dream that she was pursing. It was one of the first weeks of summer and she had been expecting to spend the rest of it cooped up in her new bedroom, staring at the walls and wanting to tear her eyes out of her face. Even if this girl did brutally murder her, at least it would be some form of entertainment at this point.

On the somewhat short journey that Beverly took YN on, she basically explained her life story. How she was supposed to have been meeting these friends of hers at the quarry and how she had let that completely slip her mind while she was taking pictures. She had been searching for the perfect muse for months and hadn’t been able to find it until YN came along and basically got in the way, but it was the best thing that could have happened to Beverly in her eyes. When they finally arrived, all eyes were on her. Six boys were sitting next to the water and had all simultaneously looked up once Beverly’s feet hit the rocks.

“This is YN. She’s new.” Bev introduced, and that was it. That was the only thing that Beverly had to say to convince the boys that YN was okay, that she wasn’t like people in the past who had bullied them or picked on them. These boys trusted Beverly more than YN had seen anyone trust someone before, which in a way was shocking but also endearing as well. This also happened to be the moment when Richie realized that, maybe he wasn’t some hard ass that had no feelings after all.

Puberty had been kind to Richie. He grew tall, but was still the lanky child he had always been. Facial wise, he had become more handsome over the years, opting to still wear his large frame glasses for conventionality. His hair was slightly longer, his jaw stronger and more prominent. He was the model for many pictures that Beverly took. He was still the loud mouth that he had been growing up, maybe slightly worse now that he was older. His overall wardrobe consisted of more “grunge” clothing as he liked to describe it, but it was more just him not trying, as Eddie often described it.

The moment he laid his eyes on YN though, the cool façade that he liked to give up melted away into the water at his feet, as if it was never there in the first place. He pushed his glasses up with a shaky hand and unsteady breath and the only words he could say were, “Oh fuck, dude..” The weeks that followed this encounter were filled with Richie trying to build up the courage to talk to her, always watching as the other built friendships with her and made her laugh, something that he wished he could build the nerve the to do but he couldn’t even admit to himself that he liked her to begin with. Her eyes would land on him for a moment while she spoke to someone else, scanning his body and smiling once she reached his face, causing him to blush slightly and not realize that this girl was blatantly checking him out. This would always cause him to look away, not wanting her to see the blush that covered his pale cheeks and she would pout slightly, feeling as though he was just not interested in her that way.

               It was the night that they decided to have their biggest bonfire of the summer, a sort of celebration, a way to initiate their new member of the losers club, right there on the cliff. Richie was volunteered, much against his will, to go pick up YN from her house. It wasn’t that she couldn’t drive herself, but the less cars that were there, the better, just for space reasons. It also wasn’t that he didn’t want to pick her up, because that was far from the case. It was more that, he was afraid of the way he felt for her, and he didn’t know how to even start a conversation with the girl.

He played music loudly from the speakers of his car, mostly The Cure, his voice quietly singing along as he drove down YN’s street. When he saw her sitting against the curb, a backpack slung over his shoulder, he felt a warm feeling flood his body and his cheeks turned slightly pink. He rolled his window down, sliding his glasses down his nose and leaned himself against the center console, trying his best to be his usual self as he smiled at her while she stood.

“Hey lil momma, lemme take you for a spin.” He said smoothly, mentally slapping himself for saying something so corny. A grin broke out over her face and she laughed, shaking her head and throwing her backpack into the back seat as she slid into his car.

“Wow, use that on all the ladies?” She asked him with a raised eyebrow, making him shake his head quickly.

“Only the pretty ones. And the only other pretty ladies that I know are Eddie’s mom.” Richie told her in a matter-of-fact tone, causing her to erupt with laughter, pushing his shoulder gently. He smiled, pushing his glasses back up and settling back into his seat. “Also, just so you’re aware, if I hadn’t pushed my glasses back up I would be blind. Like a bat.” He informed her. YN looked over slowly, an eyebrow raised.

“You sure you can drive us?” She asked slowly, making him laugh and nod his head, putting the car back into drive.

“Most definitely.” He told her sassily, pulling the car back off onto the road easily. He reached over, turning the radio back up and jumping slightly as YN squealed with excitement.

“I love this song!!” She said, turning the radio up even louder, almost to ear splitting volume. Richie could feel his heart beating heavier in his chest at her words. Not only was she attractive, but she liked the same music as him, and actually laughed at his jokes without calling him a creep. He felt as if at any second he would melt into a fucking puddle, which was not something he needed right now.

“I could…make you a mixtape sometime…if you wanted?” Richie offered, having to yell over the music so that she would be able to hear him. YN’s whole face lit up as he looked at her quickly, nodding her head enthusiastically at his offer.

“I would love that, Richie!” She yelled back, pulling her legs up underneath herself in her seat and singing along to the music loudly, making Richie smile even bigger than he was before.

“Fucking perfect…” Richie whispered to himself, chuckling and shaking his head slightly. The girl that sat in the seat next to him was nothing less than perfect in his eyes, which wasn’t something he felt about someone before. Maybe when he was younger, but not anyone in recent years. It wasn’t his style to have a crush on someone, and he really didn’t want to change that now. She sat next to him now in a pair of denim shorts and an oversized tshirt that she had tucked a corner of into the pocket of her shorts. Otherwise it would look like she wasn’t wearing pants. Everything about her made his heart pound roughly in his chest, feeling like it would explode any second as they drove down to the cliff side. She had begun to lean closer to him subconsciously over the center console, their arms brushing against each other as they both leaned against it gently.

“Sorry!” She had said, causing him to shake his head. What he had wanted to say in return was something along the lines of, ‘No please, touch me more’ but how could a teenage boy say that without it sounding like the weirdest thing you had ever said in your life? He kept his mouth closed as he gently pulled her arm closer, laying his own over hers gently, fingers touching hers gently. Her cheeks heated up as she looked down at her lap, her internal voice screaming for her to slide her fingers between his smoothly, yet she couldn’t get the nerve to do so. He watched the road intently, not wanting to look at her because he knew that if he did, in that moment that they made eye contact, he would end up becoming a huge pussy and pulling his arm away back to the steering wheel that he had been expertly turning with one hand. Something about this girl was fucking up his insides, and he loved every second of it.

               When the pair approached the cliff, YN jumped out of Richie’s car, a large smile spread over her face while she walked towards Beverly, ready to spill every aspect of what had just happened to her. If anyone knew how YN felt about Richie, it would be Beverly. A few nights prior, YN had spent the night with Bev and spilled her feelings about Richie to her. The only issue was the he was younger, and she didn’t think he would like her because of that. No matter how much Beverly argued about that fact, YN still felt like he would prefer a girl his age, maybe even younger than him. Even though he was by far taller than her, and more confident in most aspects, she wasn’t sure he would still like her the way she liked him. Everyone saw the way Richie looked at her, therefor everyone knew how he felt. Everyone except for her, and nobody wanted to spill it to her before Richie did it himself. Richie walked towards Eddie and Bill who stood, trying to start the fire. His hands were shoved deeply into the pockets of his tight jeans, his head hanging low and his curly falling in his eyes. As he approached, Eddie looked up with a small smile on his face.

“Did you tell her yet?” He asked Richie quietly, looking around for YN to make sure she wouldn’t hear, just incase he hadn’t yet told her about his feelings. Richie shook his head, sighing a little bit. Nobody had ever heard Richie quite so quiet in their lives, so it was slightly unsettling that he was being so quiet now.

“We talked about music. I’m making her a mixtape.” Richie said, looking up, squinting his eyes from the setting sun slightly. Eddie stared at him, then rolled his eyes.

“Are you serious? Richie, if you don’t tell her soon, someone else is going to confess to her. Just because we’re her only friends right now doesn’t mean that she won’t make new friends once she starts college. You’ve gotta tell her soon.” Eddie told him, throwing another stick onto the fire that they had began. Bill looked over, nodding in agreement.

“I t-think that Mike was ta-ta-talking about her the other day.” Bill informed him. Richie’s body tensed and he slowly looked over at Bill, an eyebrow raised. Everyone knew how Richie felt, and for Bill to say that one of their own friends was talking about YN made his blood boil. Bill chuckled when he saw Richie’s expression, poking the fire with the end of his stick, then dropping it into the flame. “Just going to ha-have to be faster, L-l-loverboy.” He teased, turning and walking towards Stan, Mike and Ben. YN and Beverly stood off towards the trees, YN telling Beverly excitedly what had happened on the way there. Beverly smiled, putting a hand on her shoulder and shaking her head, laughing.

“I told you, loser. He does like you.” Bev said, looking over and making eye contact with Richie before winking in his direction, then pulling YN over to the fire. “We have to initiate her. Make her an official loser.” Beverly stated loudly for everyone to hear, causing everyone to look over, grins slowly spreading over all their faces simultaneously. YN looked nervously over at Beverly.

“Initiate? You guys aren’t going to do something weird, are you?” YN asked in a quiet whisper, rubbing her hand on the back of her neck as she looked around at everyone. It was beginning to get darker, and the sun slowly setting. Beverly looked up at the sky, then shook her head at YN’s question.

“No, but we have to hurry. It’s starting to get dark.” She said, only causing YN to get more nervous at what they were about to do to her that would require daylight. Beverly slowly pulled YN over to the edge of the cliff, a smirk on her face. “You have to jump, YN.” She informed her. YN took a step back, staring at Beverly as if she was crazy.

“Fucking jump?? Beverly are you trying to kill me? I know I make a lot of jokes about wanting to die but I’m not serious about it, dude, I’m not ready to fucking die.” YN said exasperated, pointing to the edge of the cliff. “This is really fucking high. I’m a small girl, dude. I will DIE.” She added making Beverly erupt into giggles, shaking her head and pushing her shoulder gently.

“We all did it when we were 13, you’re not going to die. Come on, YN. We’ll all jump in after you, right guys?” Beverly turned her head and looked at the others, waiting for them to nod their heads in agreement. She smiled as they nodded in her direction and YN sighed, looking over the cliff one last time before she shook her head and began pulling her shirt over her head.

“Fuck it.” She said loudly, throwing her t-shirt at Stan, who caught it and placed it down neatly on the ground. The boys stared at her with wide eyes, not meaning to look at her as long as they were but also not being able to help it at the same time. She kicked her shorts off, throwing them in the same direction as her shirt, crossing her arms over her stomach and looking down again at the water, taking a deep breath. Bill bit his lip gently as he looked at her, looking over at the others.

“Damn…” He whispered, not stuttering as he said this, the others nodding in agreement. All but Richie. He watched her carefully, his heart audibly pounding in his chest. His eyes scanned her figure, his cheeks heating up as he looked her over. He bit his lip, raising his hand to his mouth and placing his thumb against his bottom lip gently.

“What if she gets hurt?” Was the only thing he was able to say as he watched her talk to Beverly for a moment before taking a few steps back. The others just shook their heads in response, watching her as she readied herself for the jump. He looked at them all, feeling his chest get warm with anger. “Quit being fucking perverts, assholes.” He growled out, punching Bill in the arm for staring just a little too long. The looks that he received when he had said this were those of shook, no one believing that this was Richie Tozier that was sitting here, telling THEM to not be perverts. They just didn’t understand how much he truly liked this girl, though. His heart beat became erratic as he watched her sprint to the edge, and just as she jumped over the side he stepped forward, wanting to go after her even though he knew she would be okay. They had all done it before, it wasn’t anything new, but he wanted to protect her from everything and anything. He looked over at the others who were now taking their shirts off to jump in as well, and he quickly undressed himself, wanting to be the first one to get to her. He threw his clothes on top of hers, his glasses on top of the pile, and he dropped into a dead sprint after her. The water was cold as he hit it, and when he came up for air he looked around for her with wild eyes, pushing his hair out of his face. She was sat against the cliffs edge, breathing heavily as she sat on the rocks. He smiled as he swam towards her, pushing himself up on the rock next her.

“Welcome to the losers club, asshole.” He teased, smiling as she giggled and pushed him. She was shivering when she touched him, her skin as cold as ice and he looked down at her. “Cold?” he asked, pulling her close to his much warmer body when she nodded her head in response. Her face grew bright red when he pulled her to his side, and she laughed when the rest of the losers jumped into the water, all yelling loudly and pushing each other under the water. She pulled herself away from Richie, though he really wished that she hadn’t and swam towards them to join in on the fun that they were having. Richie gave a small sigh as he watched her, wishing that he could just man up and tell her how he really felt about her. The longer that she swam around the others, the more he wanted to punch all of them in the face, not caring that these were his best friends that he was talking about. He wanted nothing more than to for her to be his, but he couldn’t voice this to her only due to the fact that he didn’t know how. The more they flirted with her, the angrier he got, his face growing more and more red as he watched. Finally, he stood up with a loud sigh, walking back up the cliff side to get away from them and calm himself down. She wasn’t his, yet here he was, acting as if she was and as though he was allowed to get mad at this, though he knew very well that he couldn’t. Shit, as far as he knew, she didn’t even like him that way. And she probably never would, as far as he was concerned.

He pulled a pair of boxers out of the back of his car that he had brought with him, not wanting to have to sit around in wet boxers for the rest of the night. He walked back over to his clothes that laid on top of YN’s, pushing his glasses back up onto his face and searching the pile for his jeans. He turned his head when he heard laughter coming closer to him, his wet curls stick to his face. The others must have gotten bored, since they were already coming back. His cheeks grew hot when he saw Stan’s arm lazily slung over YN’s shoulders. Richie stood, grabbing his shirt roughly from the pile and pulling it over his head, then leaning again to pick up his hoodie but stopping himself, staring at it amongst the other clothes that were in the pile as well. YN walked over, picking her clothes up and smiling slightly at Richie.

“Hey, your hoodie.” She said, picking it up for him, reaching her hand out to give it to him but he pushed her hand back.

“You can wear it, so you don’t get your shirt wet.” Richie told her, making her smile at him warmly and pull it over her head, adjusting her hair over the hood. He blushed looking at her, then took another step towards her. “I need to talk to you…about something kind of important.” He said as she pulled her shorts on. YN looked up at him, concern covering her features.

“Are you okay?” She asked, worried. He shook his head, laughing and pulling her back towards his car with him, leaving the others to get dressed next to the fire. The light from the fire lit his face as he looked towards it, trying to calm himself down enough to talk to her, to even say what he had been wanting to talk to her about. YN watched him carefully, leaning against the hood of his car, the hoodie she was wearing almost swallowing her small frame.

“YN, I like you.” He finally blurted out, looking over towards her. “I’ve liked you for a long ass time now. Since I first saw you I liked you. And no, it’s not just the kind of like where I want to fuck you and leave, that’s not what this is. Like, I seriously like you. I want to be your boyfriend and do cute shit with you and yeah, maybe fuck you but that’s not really required unless you want to because I’m not the kind of guy to force that shit onto a girl! And like when I saw you with Stan or the others I just got so fucking jealous because I don’t want anyone else looking at you the way I do, ya know?” The words came out in a hurry, like vomit. Her heart fluttered in her chest as he spoke, and she laughed slightly at certain aspects of his monologue.

“Richie…I like you too.” She said in a quiet voice, causing him to look over excitedly, not caring how lame it was that he was excited about this. He grabbed her gently, pulling her close.

“Holy fuck dude…that’s rad.” He said as he hugged her, making her laugh harder than she had in the past.

OKAY SO IM PLANNING ON EITHER REDOING THIS AND MAKING IT A LONGER STORY BECAUSE I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT IT RN AND IT’S THE LONGEST REQUEST OR FIC THAT I’VE DONE IN GENERAL. IM SORRY THAT IT TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO WRITE THIS, I WANTED TO MAKE IT GOOD AND I WAS SICK AROUND THE TIME THAT I GOT THIS REQUEST, AND I HOPE YOU LIKE IT BECAUSE I LOVED WRITING IT OMFG.

[insanereddragon]

Accidental Confession

For @witchyscribe​‘s prompt: Eggsy meets Merlin for a meeting but ends up with Harry and Merlin after being drugged for a very short time. Lets say that Roxy may have passed on a conversation from a drunken night by accident as she is overheard on comms and they both fill his fantasy for a threesome at Merlins house.

You were probably looking for more smut, but the muses were determined that this be nothing but fluff, no matter how I poked at them. I hope you still enjoy!

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“Extraction should be there in 15. Hold tight, Galahad.”

Merlin’s voice is tight, but Eggsy barely registers it over the itch that’s starting under his skin.

“Lancelot, she’s alright, yeah?”

“Aye. You took the dart meant for her, and she escaped out the back. She’s waiting with the women for the response crew now,” Merlin says, allowing his voice to soften with a note of approval. “I’ve just patched her in.”

“I’m here, Galahad,” Roxy says. “Thanks for having my back. Extraction will be there soon and they’ll fix you right as rain.”

Eggsy feels his eyes start to lose focus, rolling in his head. “I know, Rox. Just talk to me, yeah? Getting hard to stay awake.”

As Roxy starts talking, Merlin hears the door to his office open. He doesn’t turn around as Harry walks in, focused on his monitors and directing the team headed to Eggsy’s location. He does, however, press a series of buttons to patch Harry’s glasses into the comms.

“That was a crazy night, Eggs,” Roxy’s saying as Harry watches over Merlin’s shoulder. “I’m surprised you can even remember it.”

“‘Course I ‘member it.” Eggsy’s voice is slurred and on a separate channel Merlin is murmuring for the team to move faster. Merlin turns and he and Harry share a look as Eggsy continues.

“Was when I finally told you about how gone I am on ‘arry and Merls.” Harry sputters and Roxy tries to interject, but Eggsy just talks right over her. “Felt good finally saying it outloud to someone. Besides, I blame ya for all the filthy images I had floating ‘round my head. God, I ‘ad the best wank that night.”

The screens show Roxy’s view as she reaches up to scrub a hand over her face. “Eggsy...Galahad. You do remember that Merlin’s on the line too.”

Eggsy groans and says “No, but maybe ‘e’ll ‘member me saying I’m gagging for the two of ‘em.”

Before anyone can reply, Eggsy’s feed tilts sideways only to settle with just a patch of rough, concrete floor in view. In a heartbeat Merlin is out of his chair, yelling at the extraction team to hurry up. In the background he can hear Harry and Roxy calling Eggsy’s name, with no response.

--

Eggsy wakes up slowly.

The first thing that registers is a faint beeping. Then comes the smell of disinfectant. Med wing, he thinks, all too familiar with waking up here. But this time is different, and it’s then he realizes that both of his hands are being held, warm and tight.

With some effort he cracks his eyes open. He blinks blearily until his eyes adjust, and then he carefully takes in the room.

On his right he finds Harry, asleep and sprawled awkwardly over the chair in an effort to keep his hand on top of Eggsy’s. His glasses are set on a side table, and his hair is falling into his face where it’s broken from its gel. He looks soft like this, something Eggsy’s suddenly sure Harry lets very few people actually see, and his chest blooms with warmth.

Slowly he shifts his head, noting how the small movement makes his vision swim. On his left is Merlin, eyes peering exhaustedly over his glasses. He has one hand entwined with Eggsy’s and the other is tapping at the clipboard on his lap. He looks exhausted and the the comfort he felt looking at Harry quickly turns to concern for Merlin.

Eggsy squeezes Merlin’s hand and his eyes snap up, locking onto Eggsy’s, far more alert. Without a word he sets his clipboard to the side and picks up a glass of water, guiding it to Eggsy’s lips all while keeping their hands firmly linked.

“Hello, lad. We were beginning to worry,” Merlin says quietly.

Eggsy drains the glass, grateful for the cool water on his parched throat. “How long have I been out?”

Merlin sets the cup back and quietly pulls his chair closer to the bed. He takes their joined hands and wraps his free one around them, and Eggsy can’t help looking down at where they are touching.

“Thirty-nine hours. You lost consciousness before extraction could reach you, and the medical team decided it was best to keep you that way until they were able to determine what you were hit with and if they could cure it.”

“And did they…” Eggsy can’t quite finish the thought, suddenly afraid of the reason Harry and Merlin are standing vigil at his bedside. Before he can start panicking about the scenarios running through his mind, Merlin speaks.

“Aye, lad, don’t worry. They’ll want you to stay in medical for twenty-four hours now that you’re awake, to see if there are any lingering effects. But you’re on the mend.”

Eggsy lets out a deep breath, and Merlin squeezes his hand. The sensation reminds him that he’s laying in a medical bed, holding hands with the two men he has a massive and entirely inappropriate crush on, and he feels his face heat.

“Ah, well that‘s good then.”

Merlin smiles and leans in a little closer. “It is. Now, how much do you remember from after you were hit by the dart?”

Eggsy tries to ignore Merlin’s hands and the blush on his face. “I know you got Roxy on the line - thanks for that, yeah?” Merlin only nods. “She was trying to keep me talking…”

Eggsy recalls the conversation, the admission, and his eyes go wide. “You heard.”

Merlin smile softens, and Eggsy drops his gaze so he doesn’t have to meet his eyes. Eggsy is sure that the man who spends his time training recruits and observing missions can easily parse out the equal parts fear and hope raging in his chest.

“Aye, both of us did.”

Eggsy’s eyes dart to the right, to where Harry is still slumped in his chair. It’s suddenly too much, and he tries to gently disentangle both of his hands.

When Eggsy tugs his hand, Merlin lets go as a frown creeps its way onto his face. But when he tries to slide his other hand from under Harry’s the man startles, gripping tight and sitting up straight as his eyes quickly dart around the room.

When they finally land on Eggsy, his shoulders sag and a relieved smile slips onto Harry’s face. “Hello Eggsy. It seems you’ve finally decided to wake up. Merlin and I were starting to think you were trying to avoid us.”

Lifting his free hand to run through his hair, Eggsy feels his face turn bright red. “Obviously it didn’t work.”

“Ah. I see Merlin has already started this conversation without me then.” Harry glances over to Merlin, but his face is fond. There is none of the disgust or anger that Eggsy had imagined would be on their faces if they were ever to find out about his feelings.

“Only just,” Merlin says, voice warm.

Still feeling overwhelmed, Eggsy drops his hand to the bed pushes in an attempt to sit up. But the motion jostles his head and his vision swims again, his stomach rolling unpleasantly, and he groans.

“I hate to rush this along, but if you’re about to let me down easy, let’s get on with it. My head ain’t doing so well, and I don’t think I’m gonna stay awake much longer.”

Eggsy watches as they share a look across his bed and then Merlin is leaning closer, tangling their fingers together once more.

“We’re here to say nothing of the sort,” Harry says. His thumb gently rubs circles into Eggsy’s knuckles, and Eggsy’s heart starts beating a tattoo in his chest. “Darling boy, we’re here because the two of us have had feelings for you for quite some time now. And between your unexpected confession and the all too troublesome poisoning, we wanted to be sure that you knew what those feelings were.”

Eggsy opens his mouth to ask what exactly those feelings are when Merlin squeezes his hand. “What Harry is trying to say is that we’re gone on you too lad, and we’d be humbled if you’d join us.”

“Like a threesome?” He tries to say it lightly, like that would be enough, but his head is starting to hurt and Eggsy’s sure it comes off far more disappointed than he intends.

Harry is quick to clarify, but his tone is guarded when he says “Like a triad, an equal partner in our relationship. That is, if a relationship is something you’re looking for.”

The words make his heart skip a beat, and for a moment he’s convinced that this must be a hallucination, a fever dream brought on by whatever he was darted with. But then Merlin reaches up to brush some of the hair from his forehead, and he’s certain that even at his most delirious he couldn’t dream up the soft caress of Merlin’s fingertips trailing down the side of his face.

Eggsy takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as he closes his eyes. A smile blooms across his face.

“Hell yes. I want all of it. I hope the two of you know what you’re in for once I’m out of this damn bed.” The last words are said in a whisper as he falls back asleep, hands held tight and warmth settling deep in his chest.