#and they live in a temperate climate which takes the edge off

[canisalbus]

Machete seems like the kind of person to have cold hands / to just have a low body temperature in general

Cold hands and feet (and sensitivity to cold in general) are some of the most common symptoms of anemia, so I'd say so.

[disasterghaster]

Dekropilus Basics (Geography, Countries, Inter-Relations, & Basic-ocracy Structures) [semi-wip]

CINIS

The main continent of Dekropolis (Dekro) that is fully explored and spans from one end of the pole to the other in a wide strip of land.

DEKROPOLIS 

Is a term used by those with inter-dimensional dealings to label the whole of their reality. Dekro for short. Dekro is composed of more than one planet and galaxy–hence the umbrella term. They also call the whole of their Home Planet Dekropolis among each other.

REGIONS

Middle; The most culturally diverse and inhabited area between the Northern and Southern regions. The culture here is varied from Congolese-lean in one kingdom to having a Vietnamese-lean in another. It has a temperate climate and is bordered by mountains to the North and desert to the South. Given this region has the largest landmass compared to the others, and having the most resources, it has both the most political power and the most instability.

Northern; This region is bordered off from the Middle by a mountain range. They are a militaristic region and highly advanced. Their culture is mostly comparable to Celtic, Norse, Goth, and other ‘barbarian’ or ‘Scandinavian’ cultures and a mix thereof. Strangely, they also have a Chinese-leaning culture among the political elite such as the Emperor. Though their technology is above that of the Middle and Southern regions they focus on military technologies nearly exclusively. Their other focus being space travel. They are an arctic/tundra covered region known for it’s freezing living conditions. They are ruled by two elected Kings who in turn are ruled by one Emperor. They have a long standing feud and war with the Southern region.

Southern; This region is bordered off from the middle by an expansive desert from the Middle Region. Home to Rust City it is the hub of most criminal and black markets. It starts off with a desert, progresses into mountains, then into a volcanic landscape. Not much lives that far other then fire based creatures which can withstand the intense heat. Their culture is more arid-adaptive/related (such as Persian, Egyptian, etc.) and focuses more on black market trades and ancient magic. They are loosely ruled by respective tribal leaders and have a long standing war with the Northern Region.

KINGDOMS OF MIDDLE REGION

Rose

Ruled by the Ezko Family. They’re an old line known for their rose garden, black smithing, their tradition of having the children choose a rose to be their emblem, and for their most notorious king, Dominion Ezko. It is near Helios, but not very. Their land is mostly forests. Their clan is somewhat diversified with other Native and non-Native clans. Being remarkably open minded about love and bloodlines. However, their inheriting royal line is still primarily draconian Native despite the odds.

Akuma

The Akuma Clan rules in this kingdom. A clan of tiger-like Natives that take various non-humanoid and humanoid shapes. Always influential they made their name fending off Dominion Ezko at the height of his terrible rampage.As it was them that lead the Rebllion that brought about the tyrant’s downfall. They’re known for their brave warriors and are located closer to Bail. Their land is mostly costal with a strip that edges along both Taitan and Northern mountain territories.

Taitan

A fairly large kingdom ruled by the Terilus Clan known for their earthen architecture in the mountains bordering the North. Their land is mostly mountains and valleys.

Alarus

This is a small kingdom ruled by the Arelious Family known mainly for it’s trade city, and capital, that allows trade with the Bad Lands and their advanced aero devices. They are mostly mountainous coastal land.

STATES OF THE NORTHERN EMPIRE

Asulta; Western half of the region. Known for their businesses and research industries. Including their space ventures and interests.

Joltun; Eastern half of the region. Known for their military and Sparta like lifestyle. Where they train and enhance their war capability.

NOTE; The seat of the empire is not considered a sate of its own, however the northernmost tip of the region is the land on which the Emperor’s Palace resides high in a mountain. Not much survives past that point other than the most fridgid-aligned of creatures (much like the Deepest South).

TRIBES OF THE SOUTHERN REGION

Rashka

This tribe is the smallest, but most powerful consisting of the army of the South. The majority of the tribe is the military with only some outside family recruits picked up from time to time.

Derius

This is the tribe that attempts to enforce a semblance of authority in the way of laws. The tribe is dedicated to policing insomuch as they can.

Rusters

This is the tribe that monopolizes the Black Market. Mostly crooked merchants in the slave trade.

THE BAD LANDS

The Bad Lands are a continent yet unexplored by Cinis. Next to nothing is known about the Bad Lands other then it is a sizeable continent to which most of the reject persons of Cinis society go if short term sentencing doesn’t work out. Criminals, disgraced generals, and the like go there to get away from their past which is where it gets its name. Very few who go there come back and the majority of them never tell a too detailed story about it. Higher forms of government do monitor it via satellite, but have no interest in the continent/disgraced/decedents of the place. It’s not considered anything more than a massive prison colony. Every so often, when the ‘inmates’ get loosey goosey they might lobe a WMD at it, but not much more.

MAJOR ISLANDS

These islands have many Aboriginal/First Nations-leaning cultures at various stages of technological advancements. The more North the island, the more Inuit the culture, the further south, the more African First Nations. Some exceptions being islands very close to Cinis. The islands lead to a more nomadic life style. There’s not a lot of pirate activity the further you get from Cinis and the Badlands that bracket the island, but it’s not unheard of.

Sandy Beach-

Snowflake Port

MAJOR OCEANS

Duratic-

Calasic-

MAJOR TOWNS/CITIES BY REGION

MIDDLE

Helios City; Capital of the region. Largest city to date. Is its own city state. Ruled by Ares Corporation and the owner of said war company.

Port Bail; One of very few places generally untouched by wars. This city is considered a major religious mecca and scholarly city. The only city in the Middle with interests in space ventures as well.

NORTH

wip

SOUTH

wip

[hetiwr]

— 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 : 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲 , 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢.

An area of low-lying valleys dotted by small farms and comprised of two known towns, the Folding Valley is home to Upper Folding, which resides in the North, and Market Chipping, which takes up the South end of the Valley. The two towns are separated by rolling hills of heather.

The climate of this area is generally temperate with few fluctuations between the seasons. Summers are not too hot and Winters are never too cold, which creates a near perfect working environment for businesses to thrive all year around. However, there have been some occasions when the seasons fluctuate and every so often it becomes warm enough for much needed trips to the coastal town of Porthaven or chilly enough that light snowfall sprinkles the valley.

Market Chipping is the hometown of Sophie Hatter and her family, and like the name suggests, it is a market town which largely revolves around trade. As such, many of the families living in Market Chipping are of the working and lower-middle classes. Unlike the capital city of Kingsbury, many of the residents of Market Chipping receive no formal education, but rather learn a trade and apprentice quite early in life. If a family was well-off enough, they could afford to send their children to a local academy. Not as prestigious as the Royal Academy, and it doesn’t cater to magic, but it teaches the basics. In the Hatter family, Sophie was the only one to have any formal schooling and did very well in her studies.

As a whole, Market Chipping is a mostly Pre-Industrial town, with few allowances to technology – at most there are trolleys and early model automobiles, but the latter is usually only owned by more wealthy families while many of Market Chipping’s residents travel by foot or horse-drawn carriages. The fashion tends to reflect this Pre-Industrial era as well, with women wearing long dresses with full petticoats and corsets and men in fine-tailored suits and hats.

Magic in Market Chipping is well-known, but not often used except by those who’ve sought to learn it or educated Wizards and Witches from Kingsbury’s Royal Academy. Sophie is a special case in that she exhibited magical abilities without being taught, although she was unaware of them for a long time. Her sister, Martha, was sent off to Mrs. Annabel Fairfax, a well-known witch in Upper Folding, to learn magic, though it was later revealed that Martha and her sister, Lettie, switched places.

NOTABLE LOCATIONS:

Market Square - Nestled right in the middle of the town, Market Square is usually where the townsfolk gather for festivals, parades and other celebrations. It’s a wide, open space with little shops and cafes, perfect for residents and visitors alike. Market Square is also where the annual May Day celebration is held.

Cesari’s Bakery - A quaint, but flourishing two-story bakery. Cesari’s is known for its large array of sweets and baked goods. The building almost always exudes a sweet aroma, and one can smell the fresh breads and pastries being made from miles off.  Lettie Hatter is initially sent off to work there, but eventually switches places with Martha.

Hatter’s Hat Shop - Owned by the Hatter family, it was once in the hands of Mr. Hatter until his passing. It later belonged to his second wife– Sophie’s stepmother– Fanny and employs a number of shop girls, including Sophie Hatter, the eldest who believes she’s destined to inherit the shop and little else. The hat shop is connected to the house in which the Hatters live, joined by a small courtyard. Later in the film and the novel, the hat shop becomes the new base for Howl’s castle and is eventually turned into a flower shop.

Heather Hills - Green fields stretching from the edge of Market Chipping up to Upper Folding. The landscape is marked by small pastures and farms, and on occasion one can find Howl’s castle wandering there.

[whats-rambled-rambled]

erode

Neil x Reader

summary: this is what happens when you try to cope with immense heat for way too long  plot what plot 

warnings: 18+ and I mean it, nsfw, teasing, temperature play (listen, I don’t even know, blame it on the weather)

author’s note: I wanted to make it short. They had other ideas. Result? Basically 2,9k words.

I started writing with no particular duo in mind. And at some point I stopped and smiled. 

Hello you two, it’s been a while.

(f!Reader)

The song for this fic is TENDER - Erode

Anyway, enjoy!  ...and let me know what you think, please?

---

“This heat is absurd,” you huff as you flip the pillow to the other side, hoping to find even a degree cooler fabric there.

The cold shower you’ve taken half an hour ago feels like a distant dream, and you’re already drenched in sweat, trying to position yourself strategically to get the most of the small fan placed near the bed. With those crazy temperatures, the chance of getting a stiff neck on the next day seems like a risk worth taking.

“I think I was supposed to kick you in the shin for complaining about warmth,” chuckles Neil and puts down a glass of water on the nightstand, the ice cubes clinking softly. “You're lucky it’s too hot to do so.”

You knit your brows together. It takes you a moment to remember, but then it hits you and you groan. Of course, he brings back something you said during that painfully long stakeout on a freezing December night.

“Why can’t it be just pleasantly warm instead of a variation on The Song of Ice and Fire,” you sigh, taking off the t-shirt. “Fuck climate change deniers, there’s nothing temperate about this climate we’re living in anymore.” You fall back on the pillow, limbs in disarray, longing for a shred of comfort.

With the corner of your eye, you see Neil’s gaze flitting through your body, focusing on the only article of clothing for a second longer.

“You’re one sexy creature.”

His words carry an amused smile and you glance at him, scoffing in disbelief.

“Even when I’m spread out like that?”

“Especially when you’re spread out like that,” he says, moving closer. “Giving me all sorts of ideas”

He leans in for a kiss, but you place a hand on his bare chest, stopping him an inch away.

“Too hot.”

Neil stifles a giggle.“Hot damn?” he chokes out, and you glare at him, but your lips twitch in a smile of their own accord.

“When the temperature drops, I’m gonna give you that hallelujah, or so help me-”

“Promises, promises.” He beams. “I thought this might be the perfect opportunity to give that little sauna fantasy a test run.”

The sole thought of a sauna threatens your sanity right now. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.” A wicked grin creeps on his face. “Or let me just--”

Neil turns away and reaches for the water again, then finishes it with one swig. He nibbles on the bottom lip, clearly excited, as his long fingers fish out a single ice cube from the glass. The blue eyes light up with roguish sparks when he looks at you. Neil quirks a brow in a silent question, and you nod as your pulse picks up the pace.

He closes his hand on the ice for a moment, then slides the cube to his other palm. You sigh with relief as he runs cold and wet fingers across your forehead, then lets them comb your hair, keeping the wild strands away from your face. A soft smile taints his lips as he moves a bit closer, keeping enough distance so the almost feverish warmth of your bodies wouldn’t override everything else. He steals a quick kiss and then he smirks, rolling to the side and propping the head on his knuckles. His darkened gaze glides over your features, taking in the views and inevitably plotting your demise at the same time.

You swallow with effort as the shiver of anticipation runs down your spine.

The ice cube touches the tip of your nose playfully. You are about to huff, but then Neil moves his hand lower and starts slowly tracing the outline of your parted lips, and you can only gasp. Your heat-hazed mind is defenseless, so you close your eyes, allowing yourself to focus solely on the sensation. The dissolving ice trickles down your cheek, the cold droplet tickles and makes you yelp, but when it reaches the neck, Neil shifts and his warmth floods you. You feel his hot breath against your skin as he licks off the wet trail and sucks on that little spot right under your ear. You whine and inhale sharply, ready to protest the sudden closeness, but you hesitate, torn between getting closer to your personal melting point and already craving for more.

Before you can make up your mind, Neil moves away, a smug smile dangling in the corner of his mouth. A tip of his tongue darts through his lips as he catches the exasperation in your stare.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he purrs and shushes your comeback by simply gliding the ice cube to your chin and down your throat.

Your head arches back and you draw a shaky breath, but the cold point travels lower, skates between your breasts, through your stomach, around your belly button, and moves back up. You glance down, transfixed on the slender fingers holding the glimmering cube.

“All right?”

The husky question commands your attention back to his face. Neil studies your expression closely and a flash of fondness strikes your racing heart.

You smile and your hand flies to cup his cheek, “Yeah, it’s -- oh god,” you groan as the ice flicks your nipple. Neil chuckles and props himself on the elbow so he can pin your hand over your head in one swift move. “Concern as a distraction? How sneaky of you,” you pant, glaring at the self-satisfied grin on his face.

“It worked, innit?” he says and the mischievous lights dance in the blue eyes as they drop back to your chest. You follow them just to see him cruising the ice cube through your breasts, how your nipples harden when it circles them, again and again until you tremble and squeeze your thighs together, biting back a needy moan. “Look at you, squirming already,” he murmurs, amused.

It’s hard to think, let alone form a coherent sentence, so you just glower and grit your teeth. Neil interlocks his fingers with yours, inching closer, and places a small, reassuring kiss on your shoulder. Then, he palms over the cube and carries on. The warmth and pressure of his hand mix with the coldness of the melting ice, and you sigh and lean into his touch, not mindful of the water dribbling down your sides to the sheets.

He traces the curves and flats of your body. Unhurriedly, but persistently moving lower. Grazes the hip bones, then slides along the hem of your panties. You close your eyes as your thighs come together again, trying to control the bucking hips.

He tightens the hold on you as his hand bearing the ice cube moves to your knee.

Neil’s warmth envelops you once again and he whispers into your ear. “Open for me.”

The request wiping any resolve left in your brain and rushing to your pulsing core. You bite your lip to stifle a moan and comply, earning a pleased hum from Neil.

“Good girl,” he rasps as his hand continues its journey upwards.

“Neil--”

Your weak plea only evokes a throaty chuckle, which doesn’t help in the slightest. He knows what he’s doing. What praise like that can do to you. You see it in his predatory gaze, how he enjoys watching you fall apart. And he still is about to touch you where you need him most.

Neil smacks his tongue. “Not so patient today, are we, my love?” he teases, guiding his large hand up and down your inner thighs slowly.

You want to groan in frustration. You want to shut him up with a hungry kiss. You want him. But instead, you muster some of the strength you have left to control yourself, not willing to give him too much satisfaction. Not yet anyway.

He catches the determined look in your eyes and raises a brow. A corner of his mouth curls and you know that the game is on.

Neil hooks his thumb over a band of your underwear. “May I?”

“By all means,” you breathe out and he lets go of your hand so he can pull your panties down and position himself between your legs.

“Christ, how I adore this view.” He flashes his teeth in a brief smile, his features soften when his gaze meets yours. The extent of love and admiration you see there makes your stomach do a somersault. “You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly and the heart sings in your chest. Then, just when you let your guard down, the blue eyes get dark and yearning. “And mine,” he adds as his knuckles resume the caress.

The pure whiplash from his actions shuts your brain down. You whimper and your whole body tenses when the sleek cube glides over your folds. The cold water joins your own wetness. Your head falls back. The heat that is rushing through your veins has nothing to do with the temperature in the room, but it pearls your temple with sweat just the same. A short pause forces you to look down and you catch the wicked grin forming on Neil’s lips. Your end is inescapable.

You watch as Neil puts the ice cube in his mouth and your eyes widen in sudden realization. He dips his head and then swirls his tongue around your clit and you almost cry out, clenching your fists on the sheets. Hot. Cold. Both at the same time. The pulse pounds in your ears as you walk the line, bold strokes and quick flicks driving you to the edge of sanity. His hand moves up your body, partly to hold you in place. But also to add the fuel to the fire that slowly consumes you. You melt into his touch. You moan. And then he slides his finger inside you and reality begins to crumble.

“Oh yes--” you whine, pushing against his hand. “Please.”

You feel him smile against you and the second finger enters you, then they curl slightly and set the rhythm. You roll your hips and reach down to tug at the golden strands, the only praise you’re capable of right now. Neil’s groan vibrates through you, pushing you to the brink of resolution. And then his mouth envelopes you and he sucks on your clit. The pleasure sears your every nerve, tipping you over, and you arch your back and come with a loud moan. You ride out your high, trembling underneath him, digging your fingers into his arms and then pulling on them, driven by a different kind of need. Neil understands and crawls back up to you, licking your wetness off his lips on the way.

“You okay?” he asks, brushing his knuckles against your cheek tenderly and falls on the pillow next to you.

You nod, still incapable of putting words together. Placing the hand on the back of his neck, you urge him closer and kiss him, grunting softly. It’s hard to level your breath like this, making that act of devotion somewhat sloppy. Neil strokes your hair, deepening the kiss just barely. Fixed on bringing you comfort, first and foremost.

And when you pull back, it’s the eyes that betray him. Full of fondness, yes, but also overcast with desire.

How fortunate you already have an idea how to repay him. Not that he expects it - he would never. But he was so rude, teasing you like that.

And you want payback.

You smile and push him back on the mattress to reach over him to his nightstand. You fish out the biggest of the leftover ice cubes from the glass.

Neil shifts upwards slightly, leaning back on his elbows. His mouth parts as he spots your impish grin.

“Oh.”

“Come on, you really thought I’d let that slide?” you say as you straddle him, batting the eyelashes. You look at the glimmering crystal in your hand, then back at him, raising a brow. “Actually--”

You close your fist and move it over Neil’s chest, and he squirms as the cold droplets fall on his skin. You stare at the way his muscles tense when the water trickles down his toned stomach, and a new wave of excitement washes over you.

You lean on to lay a kiss on his lips, this time a more eager one. Neil sighs when your tongue glides against his and you giggle, breaking the contact. Your noses brush together as you exchange greedy looks, barely containing the animalistic need slowly clouding your minds.

“Not so patient, indeed,” you hum, tipping his chin up with your finger so you can suck on his jaw, letting the hand with the cube ghost over the same spot on the other side. Neil shivers and groans in a way that only boosts your confidence. Your mouth travels down his neck, continuing to play a hot-and-cold mirror game with your hand. You pull back as your eyes follow the wet trails again. Your tongue meets the next one halfway and moves up the chest until it lands on the source of the mess. You look up and you see the blue eyes trained on you, so you smirk, hiding the piece of ice in your mouth the same way Neil did not long ago.

The cube pokes from between your lips as they venture across the body you know so well, but rediscover as you learn its reaction to the new sensation. The goosebumps. The way it trembles. The grunts and gasps that follow. You stop just to get rid of the navy boxer briefs on your way.

The sight ever so gratifying.

Neil’s chest heaves as you start stroking him lightly, but it is when you take his tip in your mouth when Neil moans, sending your heart racing again. You taste and tease him until you hear a stifled curse. Then you drop the ice cube into your hand and you rub it up and down slowly, going back to twirling your tongue over him at the same time. Neil jerks, inhaling sharply and lets out a guttural groan.

“How’s that for a payback?” you ask smugly, enjoying how it takes a moment for him to focus his sight on you.

You recognize the predatory gaze a second too late.

Neil shifts and the next thing you know you end up pinned to the bed.

“Wanna play like that?” he rasps, hovering over you with a sinister grin.

You roll your hips against him, eyes lighting up at the sound of a growl building in his throat.

“Just take me already.”

He crashes his lips on yours and it’s your turn to gasp breathlessly. Then, he flips you to your side so you're facing the running fan and he loops his arm around your waist, pressing himself to your back. The moving air against your body helps, but you're way past caring about overheating now.

Neil brushes your hair away so he can kiss the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. Meanwhile, his other hand travels south, and you hook one leg over his, squirming impatiently.

"God, you drive me crazy," he breathes into your ear, but before you can assure him how mutual the feeling is, he thrusts into you and you moan together, melting further into each other.

But instead of setting a pace, the reckless fingertips trail between your legs again to rub small circles against your clit, and soon enough you whimper as you clench around him. More. Neil bites on your shoulder and groans, finally giving you what you need. What he needed, too. You bury your fingers in the blonde mane. Tugs urging a quicker pace. You close your eyes, climbing the peak again. His touch roams through your body, and then his rhythm falters, and you take his hand in yours and press it to your chest, lacing your fingers together.

I’ve got you.

Neil tenses and hides his face in your neck, gasping frantically, pulling you as close as he can. His high pushes you over the edge and you join him in the rhapsodic release, losing yourself in the pleasure. In the strong embrace. In him.

When reality regains its sharpness, you shift in Neil’s arms to face him. The warmth of affection spreads through you when you meet the hazed gaze. You smile softly as your fingers trace his features. Parted lips. Sharp jawline. The brows, still knitted together. Your heart aches from fondness when you fix the golden strands stuck to his forehead. 

Happy lights dance in the blue eyes and Neil chuckles, panting lightly. You kiss him, then hug him tightly, not mindful of the heat. Of the sweat. There’s only a heavy heartbeat against your cheek. His scent, ingrained deeply in your mind. The slow, calming strokes on your back. Bliss.

“At least with a sauna we’d have a barrel with icy water, you know,” Neil points out casually. “Or even better - a pile of snow.”

“Oh my god,” you snort, pulling back to look at him. “Imagine that,” you sigh as the heat suddenly hits your senses twice as hard.

He grins, taking you by the hand, and places a small kiss on your knuckles. “May I interest you in a very cold shower instead?”

The corner of your lips twitch.

“Lead the way.”

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch34: Paper

Summary: Following the events in Siberia, Katie, Steve Wanda and Sam all struggle to adapt to a life on the run. The Roger’s first wedding anniversary isn’t spent the way Steve would have hoped, but as Fall arrives, he finallly gets the call he’d been waiting for from Wakanda.

Warnings: Bad language, Smut! (NSFW, Under 18s) Bad Language words.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: Wonderful edit again from @angrybirdcr​ and a new part means a new banner!!!! Here we go, into the Nomad/IW years...

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 33

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

August 2016

Following advice from Coulson, the group of Outlaws decided to lay low for a few months until interest died down, although Katie and Sam were pretty amused to find out that there had been widespread protests across the US after Captain America had been declared and Enemy of the State, especially when someone (no names were mentioned, but Katie was laying odds on it being Murdock to help Clint and Scott’s very publicised hearings) had leaked to the press details of exactly what had taken place in Siberia, and how they had been treated by the Government. To Katie’s further delight, Ross was facing a public enquiry as well with regards to their unlawful arrests. 

All in all, that part of it had worked out pretty well. And whilst she knew Ross would get away with it, the thought of him being pissed off and inconvenienced filled her with a very smug sense of satisfaction.

The place they were living was called the Isle of Lewis, approximately twelve miles away from Stornoway in the northern part of the inter-connected Islands in the Hebrides. Coulson wasn’t lying when he’d told Katie it was isolated, in fact the only connection to mainland Scotland was either a two hour ferry or a half hour flight, so with that respect it was absolutely perfect. 

The old farm house was secluded, the land surrounding it sprawling for miles, shielded by a large thicket of trees on three sides and a cliff edge which dropped down to a small beach on the other. There was no reason for anyone to visit or pass their house, bar the odd dog walker they saw treading the cliff footpath. They were always careful when seeing people to greet them politely so they didn’t attract attention by being suspiciously aloof. 

The first rule of going on the run? Don’t run.

At first they strayed into town for supply runs only. Katie was surprised just how well she adapted to living with two additional people. At first she had been worried, Steve and her having had their own space for such a long time. Even in the tower and compound their living quarters had been spacious and private, meaning they could hide away from everyone if they wanted to. But in their safe house they didn’t have that luxury. Nevertheless, it was adequate enough meaning they all had their own rooms, even if they were on the small side. And whilst there was only one full bathroom upstairs, so far there had been no squabbles about who used it when. 

The large sitting area had been kitted out with a state of the art entertainment system, they had a decent sized farmhouse style Kitchen-Diner, and a smaller sitting room off the back of the kitchen with a smaller TV and a  a piano much to Katie’s delight. Practical things like bills etc were coming out of an account belonging to Mr and Mrs O’Rourke, one of Katie and Steve’s covers- the name being Steve’s Ma’s maiden name. Coulson had advised them it was the least suspicious thing to do and would attract less attention than trying to pay cash at a bank. They’d also acquired a ten year old 4x4, bought for cash of course, and it was subtle enough to blend in as a lot of the locals seemed to drive them too due to the terrain and climate of the Island.

But whilst everything seemed to go according to plan and was, when all was said and done, fairly easy, Steve was struggling. He was antsy from the lack of action, and from a purely carnal point of view was missing the fact he could slam his wife up against any surface he wanted to and not worry about them being caught. He hated the fact their room was right next to Sam’s, concerned with the amount of noise they might make after Bucky’s jibe about the hotel rooms, and it wasn’t long before Katie noticed a dramatic shift in his attitude towards her. He was snappy, short tempered and Katie was often the one that bore the brunt of his temper. They bickered, on a much larger scale than she could really ever remember them doing before, over really stupid things as well like the fact one evening Steve couldn’t find where she’d put his favourite cookies in the kitchen. He became less tactile, less handsy and their love life dwindled dramatically, but she tried not to let it get to her, which was easier said than done especially when she was so used to the fact that he basically worshipped the ground she walked on.

The morning of their first wedding anniversary, Katie woke alone, her husband nowhere to be found. After laying simply staring at his empty side of the bed for a moment, remembering he blinked back tears of frustration and headed for a before she wandered downstairs into the kitchen to be greeted by Sam and Wanda both sat at the table.

“Steve gone for a run?” She asked, after greeting them both good morning.

“Yeah, I offered to go but he wanted to go on his own.” Sam said, shrugging “Didn’t want me slowing him down.”

“He actually said that?” Katie frowned.

Sam nodded.

“I’m sorry Sam, don’t take it personally.” Katie poured herself a coffee and sat down, taking a deep breath. “Is everything okay?” Wanda asked, looking at Katie “You’ve both been a little tetchy recently. Granted you haven’t been as bad as him, but…” “Yeah, you guys not err…getting enough?” Sam quipped, earning himself a slap round the back of the head from Wanda, the younger woman giving him a glare.

“Fuck off Wilson.” Katie rolled her eyes.

“I’m just saying.”

“Well don’t.” She snapped, taking a sip of her coffee then swiping a piece of toast off his plate. “He’s just not coping well with being cooped up, it’ll settled down. I hope.” She added, biting her toast.

“Look, we know it’s your anniversary today.” Wanda looked at her. “You got anything planned?” “Not really possible.” Katie shrugged. “Thought I might try and convince him to take a walk later, just the two of us but…”

“Well,” Sam looked at Wanda then over to Katie. “We thought we might head into town for the evening, hit a few bars. Give you two a bit of space.” Wanda nodded, eagerly. “You have to do something, even if it’s just cooking a meal and having a bit of you time.” Katie pondered this for a moment and found herself smiling “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I can go to the store later.” Her spirits raised a little as she started planning a menu out in her head. She was jerked from her thoughts when the security system clicked and Steve walked through the door of the kitchen that led to the grounds, the door shutting behind him, the keypad beeping as he typed in the code to lock everything down. His T-shirt was damp with sweat, clinging to his torso, the pair of dark sweats fitting snugly to his hips.

“Hey.” She looked up at him. His face was tired but nevertheless she was relieved to see him smile as he walked over and dropped a soft kiss to her head, their argument from the previous night forgotten.

“Happy Anniversary.” He whispered, and she smiled up at him, understanding his gesture to also be an apology of sorts.

“Back at ya, Soldier.” She swallowed back her tears, “You want breakfast?” “I’ll shower first.” He nodded to Sam and Wanda before pausing, and with a playful smile he stole the last piece of toast off Sam’s plate.

“Not cool man!” Sam groaned.  “That was the last of the bread.” Steve simply shrugged at Sam’s protest, before he headed down the hallway to go and freshen up. Katie watched him go before she turned to Wanda.

“Fancy coming with me to the store?”

She nodded “Sure.”

***** When Steve came back to the kitchen half an hour or so later he was surprised to find the girls gone.

“Supplies.” Sam answered his unasked question as he was flicking through the television in the lounge, settling on a British Chat Show called ‘This Morning’, easy daytime TV that didn’t require thinking about. Steve made himself a coffee before he sat down next to his friend with a sigh.

“So, first anniversary.” Sam spoke, not looking at him. “Be this isn’t what you thought you’d be doing?” “You can say that again.” Steve mumbled. Just twelve months ago at that exact time he’d been bustling about his apartment on the compound in a fluster getting ready. It had, without a doubt, been the happiest day of his life.  But this was not how he wanted their first wedding anniversary to go down. He’d always planned spoiling Katie a little, maybe a nice getaway, somewhere warm, but that wasn’t an option.

“Me and Wanda are clearing out later.” Sam’s eyes remained on the TV. “Give you two a bit of alone time.” “You don’t have to-“ Steve started but Sam cut him off with a snort.

“Man, you need to make some lovin’ on your girl.” He turned to the soldier who felt a flush rise up his neck. “Because we know you ain’t been getting enough, you’ve been a bad tempered bastard for weeks.”

“I have not.” Steve shot back indignantly, causing Sam to raise his eyebrows. Steve let out a sigh, knowing he was well and truly busted.

“Look, if you two ever need some space, all ya gotta do is ask.” Sam said sincerely, looking at Steve. “Couples need that time. This is bound to be stressful for you both.”

“I doubt it’s easy on you two either.” Steve looked at him and Sam shrugged, before he smirked.

“Difference is if I wanna get laid I’ll just head into town. There’ll be some sap out there that likes George Fletcher the Geologist from Georgia.”

“You’re terrible you know that?” Steve smirked at him over his coffee mug.

Sam simply smiled back. “You get her anything?”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded “We agreed months ago on something paper themed, you know, on account of the anniversary being paper. I had planned to get the lyrics to our wedding song printed and do a sketch of one of our photos to hang up in our apartment but that kinda went out of the window.” “So what did you get?” “A book.” Steve let out a breath “I spotted it in the second hand shop in town last time we did a flyer. It’s a leather-bound complete works of Shakespeare but it was published the year she was born and has all these handwritten notes in it from someone. Just the kind of thing she’ll like. And a couple of albums of sheet music, I know she’s missing hers back home and she hasn’t been playing the piano as much as I thought she would.”

“She’ll love it.” Sam smiled encouragingly “I hope so Sam.” he sighed, leaning back against the couch cushions, scratching at his chin “I hope so.” *****

True to their word, Sam and Wanda headed out just after five, leaving Katie and Steve alone. As Katie bustled around in the kitchen, Steve couldn’t help but watch his wife as she cooked, a small smile playing on his face. And then, realising they were truly alone for the first time in months he placed his beer down on the side and crossed the small room, wrapping his arms around her from behind and dropping his chin to her shoulder, nuzzling at her neck. She smiled at his display of affection, something she’d been aching for, and as the scruff of his almost-beard scratched at her skin she gave a soft sigh.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He said, before he shook his head “No. Not really. Doll, I’m sorry for being so distant. You don’t deserve this.” He sighed. “After the accords, when the dust settled we were supposed to have a normal life, a simple life. I can’t even give you that.”

“It’s a good thing you’re cute because at times you’re incredibly stupid,” She smiled making him breathe a laugh. “Steve we’re here, together after everything. I made that vow, until death do us part and I mean it. I love you.” She finished simply, shrugging. “So stop wasting time worrying about it. You’re stuck with me, Captain Dumbass.“

Steve looked back at her, before he gave her a small smile.

"Now I know this probably isn’t what either of us had in mind, but we’re on our own, I’ve got a pretty large batch of Mac and Cheese, and an apple pie in the oven, a steak ready to grill so let’s just try and enjoy it.”

“You made mac and cheese?” Steve’s face creased into a boyish smile “And apple pie? What happened to not baking pies unless it’s Autumn?” “Well its September tomorrow.” She shrugged. “And I thought it might cheer you up.”

"Sorry.” He half grimaced, half smiled apologetically back at her. “I know I haven’t been the easiest to be around lately ─”

“Stop apologizing.” She interrupted him again.

He studied her for a second before he leaned down to give her a soft kiss. “I love you.” “I know.” Her hands slid down to his chest and she gave him a quick pat before playfully shoving him away “Now scoot, unless you want me to burn dinner. Go set the table.” Knowing better than to refuse, he did as he was told and it wasn’t long before they were settled down and eating. They talked about everything and anything, drank wine, and to the pair of them they could almost have been sat in their dining room at the compound. They laughed, they joked, they poked fun at one another. It felt normal. Once they had finished eating they cleared their dishes, Steve grabbed another bottle of wine and they headed to the couch to find something to watch on TV.

“I got you something.” Katie smiled when Steve dropped the wine onto the coffee table and she gestured to the small gift bag resting on the table.

“Oh, me too. Hang on.” He bounded up the stairs to retrieve his gift. As he returned, Katie eyed the two wrapped items with playful suspicion as he handed them to her. One was really heavy. She passed the gift bag containing his to him and he peeked inside, and they shared a childish grin with one another before they set about opening their presents.

“Oh, Steve.” She breathed out as she gently ran her hands over the leather of the anthology he had bought her. Flicking through, she smiled as she spotted all the notes that someone had written in the margins. They consisted of opinions on the plays, themes, characterisation plots, all the type of thing she had studied at University and she found it fascinating to read other people’s interpretations.

“I thought you might like it.” He watched her as she looked at him, her eyes bright, before she then let out another sigh of happiness when she opened the two sheet music books as they would give her something else to play other than the stuff she knew from memory.

And her gift to Steve was equally as thoughtful. He positively beamed when he opened the new blank sketch books, pencils, wax crayons and charcoals. All of his art supplies had been left behind and he’d been dying to get some more.

“Well, the sketchbook is paper.” Katie explained softly. “And I know it relaxes you to draw.” “Doll, its perfect” He assured her, dropping a kiss to her lips. “Thank you.”

“So, what film do you wanna watch?” She asked, moving for the remote but Steve had no intention of watching a film. Not now. He gently grabbed her wrist and she looked at him.

“Right now, Mrs Rogers, I’d really like to carry you upstairs and take you to bed.”

Katie grinned. “Well that can be arranged, but there’s something I wanna do first.”

He looked at her, puzzled for a moment but when she tapped on her phone and the opening sounds of ‘Only One in Colour’ sounded over the speakers he laughed and stood up, offering her his hand.

“May I have this dance?” He quipped, arching an eyebrow at her.

“Always.” She smiled, allowing him to pull her up.

They moved to the back of the couch where there was more room and he took her in a hold and they simply stayed close, swaying to the music, both of them thinking back to their first dance as a married couple twelve months ago. Katie pressed her cheek to Steve’s chest and he in turn rest his chin on the top of her head, revelling in her closeness. He heard her let out a soft sigh, but this one was contentment, and he gently moved to look down at her. For a moment Katie felt her breath catch, he was looking at her with nothing but unadulterated desire and love, the same way he had on their wedding day, and before the song had even finished, he’d captured her lips in a soft kiss, his hands moving to cradle her face. Hers fisted in his white T-shirt and it wasn’t long before the kiss had deepened causing a moan to catch in Steve’s throat. Without a word he pulled back and scooped her up in his arms, bridal style, causing her to giggle, a sound he would never tire of, and quick as a flash he carried her up the stairs and into the bedroom.

He set her on her feet but before he had time to do anything she’d shoved him backwards, catching him off guard slightly causing him to sit down harshly on the bed and he let out a smirk as she straddled him before she kissed him again and he was happy to reciprocate exactly how he knew she liked, firm and gentle, passionate and caring all at once. Katie gently bit his lower lip drawing another groan from his throat as he rest his head against hers, his hands gently gipping her hip.

“You know,” She drew back slightly to cup his face in her fingertips. “I really do like kissing you with this.” she traced her hand across the short beard on his face. She also liked looking at him with it too because, coupled with the fact his hair was also getting slightly longer, it gave him a rugged, harder, rougher look taking him farther and farther away from the Blue-Eyed all American boy day by day.

“I’m getting used to it.” He murmured pressing a soft kiss to her mouth before his head dropped, small kisses trailing up the length of her neck, that precious stubble creating an amazing contrast to the softness of his mouth.

“Yeah, me too.” She gave a soft moan, her eyes closed as she rolled her head back, giving him access to more of her neck. Steve smiled slightly, happy to oblige and just take his god damned time loving his wife. Eventually, his lips made their way up her jaw and then she sat up slightly, grasping at the hem of his T-shirt. He moved to allow her to take it off and then his fingers made short work of the sleeveless button down she had been wearing, shrugging it down over her shoulders before he peppered more kisses across her collar bone and down her sternum as he reached round to undo her bra. Gently, he lay her flat down on the bed, taking a nipple in his mouth, this time drawling a loud groan from her as her hips bucked involuntarily upwards at the sensations spiking through her body.

God it really had been far too long since he’d lavished attention on her like this and Steve made a mental note to tell Sam and Wanda to ‘take a walk’ a lot more often. It was almost two months now since they had last been intimate and, his body was aching for her, desperate to feel her, and from the noises she was making she felt the same. His lips made their way down, nose and beard skimming along the waistband of her jeans before he undid them, sliding them down with her underwear as he shed his own too before he crawled back over her.

Katie pushed on his shoulders slightly so she could roll him over and placed herself on top of him, brushing her lips across the hairs on his face tracing a path across from one side of his jawline to the other drawing a gentle moan from his lips, hands flexing on her hips as she shifted slightly to start taking him in. Her mouth dropped into a small ‘o’ as they both groaned as she slid down him, her hands falling to his chest and once he was fully sheathed inside of her, she began to work him gently. His hands slid up into her hair, as she leaned forward to kiss him and he raised his hips slightly and she whimpered, pushing down harder against him as his hands gently kneaded at her breasts. Her pace was slow, torturously so, but it wasn’t long before she began to move faster, working him harder as she chased her relief. The roughness of his pubic hair was grinding against her spot, the friction feeling amazing as she pushed down. With every push she made, his eyes grew darker, and darker, his hands digging into her hips as he pulled her down, grinding further and deeper.

He sat up suddenly, so they were face to face, the change of angle making her cry out, as he slid his hands round her back, pulling her closer to him as he bent to kiss her neck, biting at that spot whilst he held her still for a moment, gently thrusting upwards, deeply, slowly, savouring the moment. Katie rolled her head back, a louder cry this time tumbling from her lips and he felt her tighten around him, and he let out a groan of his own.

“Good?” He panted, smiling as she managed a broken noise of affirmation, as he pulled her to him harder, hands back on her hips as his rutting picked up speed.

“Stevie…” She mumbled, her eyes locking onto his as her hands slid up his back and fisted into his hair. A few more pushes later and they were both done for, her name escaping from his lips as her walls collapsed completely, and she let out a soft cry as she fell forward burying her face in his neck. He was close behind, letting out a gentle moan, his beard rustling against her ear as he jerked underneath her, clinging onto her as if he never wanted to let her go. And at that moment he didn’t.

After a minute or so he leaned back, his breathing deep as he brushed her hair back off her face before sliding his nose against hers. “Happy Anniversary, Kitten.” *******

Steve thought the fall in New York was gorgeous but that was nothing compared to what it was like where they were. He was feeling a lot more positive about things as well, as post their anniversary, he and Katie had made a pact that they would do  something alone together at least once a week, be it a walk along the cliff the beach, or straying into town to one of the local restaurants. His hair and beard now rendered him pretty much unrecognisable and they never got a second glance at all. 

Steve’s favourite ‘date’, if you could them that, was the walk they took in the pitch black to see the Northern Lights late one evening. Katie had been utterly captivated by the beauty of the Aurora Borealis and Steve had to admit, it was spectacular. Committing it to memory was easy, and a few days later Katie wasn’t surprised to find a perfect replica of them his sketch book.

Being on the run shouldn’t have been this easy, and they were constantly on edge, waiting for the time they had to split and run, but whilst they could, they made the most of it. 

Thanksgiving came, then Christmas, the four friends making it as festive as possible. They got a tree, shared gifts, enjoyed a Christmas Meal, and after several drinks each, Steve wheeled the piano into the living room where Sam and Katie gave a rousing rendition of ‘Fairy Tale of New York’ along with a few other Christmas songs. It was different, but that didn’t make it any less enjoyable.

And then, in March 2017, they had a call from T’Challa. They were ready to bring Bucky out of cryo. Katie and Steve instantly set about making the arrangements to go to Wakanda, but it turns out they weren’t the only ones planning on taking a little trip…

“There’s something I wanted to discuss with you all.” Wanda said, the morning they were due to depart. “Please don’t freak out, but I talked to Vision last night.”

“What?” Katie’s voice was quiet as she merely looked back at the younger woman, her face passive.

Meanwhile, both Steve and Sam’s eyebrows shot up in their foreheads.

“Hold on, what do you mean you talked to Vision?” Steve asked. “How? Where?”

“This is going to sound really weird, but I saw him in my dreams,” Wanda carried on with her explanation.

“How do you know that wasn’t just a dream?” Sam asked.

“Because it wasn’t,” Wanda shrugged “I don’t know how to explain it, but I know it was him and I know it was real. I think we are connected somehow, because of the Mind Stone and because I was thinking about him before I went to sleep, it made some kind of telepathy possible.”

Steve pondered it for a second, thinking to himself how ridiculous that sounded until he realised they were talking about an enhanced human who had gained certain telepathic and telekinetic powers due to experimentation with the Mind Stone and an android that now carried within his synthetic, vibranium-mesh body said gem. 

When you put it like that it seemed fairly logical.

"What did you talk about?” Katie asked after a moment.

“Just stuff, how I was, how much we, you know, miss one another” Wanda bit her lip. “We talked about actually meeting in person in a few days.”

“Okay, hold on,” Sam held one of his hands up, his brow furrowed. “How do we know this is not a trap? Like, I don’t know, Tony getting Vision to talk to you to get us back into the Raft?”

As soon as Sam said it Katie shook her head. Tony could sometimes be a jackass and he may have been hurt and mad at her and Steve, but she knew despite his stinging barb in Siberia, he wouldn’t want them all thrown in jail.

“He wouldn’t do that,” She looked at Sam.

“How do you know?” Sam pressed.

“Because Tony has way better tech than us, and there’s no accounting for what Vision can do with that Mind Stone.” Steve backed his wife up. This was something he had been pondering on for a while now too. “If anyone can find us, it’s them, yet we’re almost ten months down the line now since Leipzig and so far, there’s no sign of any one, so Tony’s either no longer working with Ross, or if he is, he’s dragging his feet deliberately.”

“Exactly,” Wanda nodded emphatically. “And Vision would never do anything to hurt me, not intentionally. I trust him with my life, but it’s more than that.”

Taking a deep breath, his mind made up, Steve turned to Wanda “You’re not a prisoner here Wanda. If you want to go then we can’t and we won’t stop you.”

“Do you want to go?” Katie looked at the younger woman who was wringing her hands together.

“I do but, well, I kinda feel like I’m fraternizing with the enemy.”

“He’s not the enemy. None of them are. Not Vision or Rhodey, Not Tony, none of them.” Steve ran his hand through his hair, sweeping the long strands back off his face. “We all wanted the same thing, to do good in this world but we disagreed on how best to make it happen. Doesn’t make us enemies.”

“But we’re on the run because…”

“This was always going to happen.” Katie cut her off, shaking her head “Ever since SHIELD collapsed and Fury stepped away there was a power vacuum. It was only a matter of time before the Government tried to step in to oversee us.”

“And let’s face it, I was always going to be considered a rogue threat the moment I refused to comply” Steve said, a wry smile on his face. “We all were.”

“Just be careful.” Katie looked at Wanda. “And whilst we’re away just make sure you check in once in a while? And the first sign of trouble, well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Well if Wanda’s being granted shore leave so to speak, I might take a bit of time too.” Sam chipped in as the idea came to him. “There’s an old RAF pal of mine, based near Liverpool that I aint seen in a while. He’s cool,” he anticipated the next question, “I saved his life on a mission so he won’t sell me out.” Steve took a deep breath and then shrugged “You know the risks, Sam. If any of us get caught then…” “Back to the Pokey.” Sam shrugged “Yeah, I got it. And don’t worry, I wouldn’t rat your location out.”

“Me neither.” Wanda added. 

“I don’t for a second believe you would.” Steve shook his head.

“I suppose, to be fair,” Katie bit her lip, “we’ve been here for a long time now. It won’t harm us to disappear for a while, regroup in a few weeks. And we’ll draw even less attention apart as they won’t be expecting it.” And so, for the first time in ten months, the four went their separate ways. ****** True to his word, Steve was there when they woke Bucky up. Once he had come round the two greeted one another with the same love and affection they always did. Suri’s scans showed that the programming was no longer present in Bucky’s brain, but there was one last thing they had to do to make sure.

Say the trigger words.

Which was why Katie, Steve, a one armed Bucky and T’Challa were now heading to the underground fort of the palace. Katie clutching a rifle, Steve was unarmed bar his super strength, whilst T’Challa was in his black panther garb, the party flanked by two members of his Kings Guard.

As they were about to enter the underground cell, Bucky grabbed Katie’s arm and pulled her to one side.

“What the hell Bucky?” She almost yelped, and he let go of her arm and held his finger to his lips.

“Listen, Doll Face, I got a favour to ask. If this hasn’t worked…” He took a deep breath. “I want you to end it.”

“End what?”  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Me.” He replied simply “Steve said you’re a good shot. I want you to put a bullet in my head.” Katie blinked, and then burst out laughing. “Whatever.” “I’m being deadly serious.” Bucky looked at her. “I can’t and I don’t want to live like that anymore.” He shook his head sadly. “I’d rather die that know that what they’ve done is still in there.” “Bucky,” Katie frowned, “you’d be safe here, you know that, no one would trigger you.” “No, we don’t know that.” He shook his head. “Please Katie, I’m begging you. You owe me.” “So you save my life and you want me to take yours?” “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“You’re an asshole, James Buchanan Barnes” She hissed, glaring at him before shooting a glance over his shoulder at where Steve was stood, talking to T’Challa. She shook her head sadly. “I can’t. It’d kill Steve and it’s wrong, you don’t…”

“Listen, I’m asking you because I trust you to do it.” Bucky cut her off, looking over his shoulder to where she had been watching Steve. He was now stood observing the pair of them and they both smiled at him. Katie took a deep breath, looking into Bucky’s steel blue eyes and gave a sigh. She knew how hard this was on him and she could fully understand where he was coming from but still, asking her to do it, especially when she knew Steve would be besides himself made her feel sick.

“I’ve written him a letter.” Bucky said quickly, as the Super Soldier was now making his way over. “It explains what I’ve asked you to do. So please, give me your word.”

She looked at him, swallowing, and gave him a small nod before her eyes flicked to Steve as he approached, a frown on his face.

“You two alright?”

“Yeah, Katie was just asking me how I was really feeling.” Bucky looked at his friend.

Katie shrugged and smiled at Steve in what she hoped as a convincing way “Wanted to make sure he was alright, that’s all.”

Steve studied her for a moment, and she smiled again before he turned to Bucky. “It’s gonna be ok.” Steve assured his friend, clapping him on his shoulder, shooting another glance at his wife who was nervously chewing her lip. He frowned again, but pushed the suspicion to the back of his mind and then nodded. “Come on.” “Yeah, let’s get this over with.” Bucky mumbled.

Steve and T’Challa stepped into the room which was sealed whilst Katie took up her position on the other side of the one way glass with Suri who pressed the microphone to talk into the room.

““I don’t know why you are all worrying, brother, it is like you do not trust me…” the young woman scoffed. “Take no chances Sister.” T’Challa shot back. “You know this”.

Suri made a noise in her throat and then spoke again “Ok, I’m ready when you are.” She held the red book in her hand that they had recovered from Zumo. T’Challa engaged his helmet whilst Steve stood stoic as ever, throwing a glance over his shoulder to the glass he knew his wife was stood at the other side of.

“Ready Buck?” he asked turning back. His friend nodded, taking a deep breath.

T’Challa signalled to Suri who, after a little hesitation, began to read, each word punctuated by a pause.

“Longing, Rusted, Seventeen, Daybreak, Furnace…”

Katie watched intently and saw Bucky was clenching his teeth and suddenly she started to get a little bit nervous. She wasn’t the only one that had spotted it either. Steve moved slightly, adopting a little more of a battle stance than he had been as he clocked his friends reaction.

“Nine, Benign, Homecoming, One, Freight Car”

The last words hit Steve like a truck. It was depraved that Hydra would use those words. Bucky had plunged from a train car to his supposed death. There was no randomness to that at all, unlike the seemingly obscure nature of the rest of the words, nor was it any accident it was the last trigger they would use. There were the final words because they signified the death of Bucky and the birth of the killer Winter Soldier.

Sick bastards.

Bucky’s chest was heaving, his fist was clenching, and for a split second Steve feared the worse. But when his friend looked up, he saw the blue eyes of Bucky Barnes looking back at him, and not the icy glare of the Winter Soldier.

“Buck?” He asked gently, his voice cracking slightly. Bucky looked at him, a single tear falling down his cheek.

“Nothing.” He croaked, and Katie let out a soft sigh of relief, her hands sliding down her face to cover her mouth. “Nothing.”

T’Challa threw a party of sorts that night which consisted of a bar crawl through the city. Katie and Bucky dubbed it a ‘Fuck HYDRA’ party much to Steve’s chagrin. But he couldn’t bring himself to care that much, as at the end of the day, if anyone had as much right to stick their middle fingers up to HYDRA it was them. There was still something troubling him though, so when T’Challa left the bar they were sat at for a few moments, he turned to Bucky and asked him outright what had been going on with him and Katie outside the cell before. Bucky hesitated before he hung his head slightly and peered up at Steve from where he was sat next to him, a tumbler of some kind of Wakandan alcohol in his hand.

“I asked her to kill me.” Bucky admitted, swilling the liquid round in the glass “If it hadn’t worked I asked her to put a bullet in my head. She didn’t want to but I told her she owed me.” Steve felt himself blanche. “You did what?” “You don’t know what it’s like.” Bucky shook his head. “Living with the fact that at any time someone could mutter a string of words and…” He shot back the alcohol and slid his empty glass back to the Bar Tender to top up. “I didn’t want to live like that.”

”You put that on her?” Steve’s eyes flashed with anger, “Damnit Buck, you should have asked me!”

“Would you have done it?” Bucky countered. Steve took a big sigh, knowing he was caught “Exactly.” Bucky scoffed. “And besides, you’re the one that said she was a dead shot.”

Bucky eyed his friend for a while before he slid his empty glass to the man behind the bar, gesturing for another top up. “Anyway, it’s irrelevant now because here I am.”

“That was still a shitty thing to do.” Steve frowned before he reached over for his glass, giving a little shrug. “But yeah, here you are.” T’Challa chose that point to come back and he settled at the bar next to Steve.

“So, Sergeant Barnes, we’ll have to see about getting you some permanent lodgings.” The King smiled “Maybe a private hut. There is a quiet tribe, not far from the river, unless you would prefer a post in my Kings Guard.” “I’m done fighting.” Bucky shook his head as he took another drink from his glass. “A hut sounds mighty fine. Maybe I can get some goats.” “Goats?” Steve looked at him.

“I like Goats.” Bucky shrugged “Do you remember the one in the petting zoo near School?” “Yeah, it set my asthma off.” Steve snorted before the pair of them descended into laughter.

Across the bar, Katie was stood with Suri and one of T’Challa’s personal guards, Okoye. She instantly warmed to Okoye, the woman reminding her a lot of Natasha. They stood chatting for a while before a loud roll of laughter caught their attention and they turned to see T’Challa, Bucky and Steve howling at something, as T’Challa gestured for the bar tender to top up their glasses whilst Okoye excused herself to head over to speak to her husband. 

“Oh dear, they’ve broken out the Wakandan Spice.” Suri muttered, eyeing up the men.

“What’s that?” Katie asked.

“The only thing that gets my brother drunk!” Suri snorted “That stuff could knock out a rhino.”

“So it should have an effect on Super Soldiers?” Katie grinned.

“Let’s go find out!” Suri nodded, a cheeky grin on her face. They made their way over and Katie could see instantly the woman was right. Steve had a glazed look in his eyes and Bucky was leaning back in his chair, a pink tinge to his cheeks.

“Hey, Beautiful” Steve smiled up at Katie, pulling her into his lap, his hand trailed up and down her spine, lazily. “Where you been all evening?”

“About ten meters away over there.” She smirked, pointing. Suri was reaching over to steal a bit of the liquor from Bucky’s glass and T’Challa slapped her hand. “You are not even old enough to drink.” He glared at her.

“Tssk hush brother. Just because you are now well into your thirties. You always seem to be so bitter about me being much younger than you.” At that Bucky barked out a laugh.

“Don’t know what you’re snorting at old man.” Katie glanced at him and he quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Not exactly a comment I’d expect from someone who’s married to a hundred-year-old man.”

“Ninety-eight.” Steve corrected.

Katie leaned back in her husband’s lap to peer at him, her right hand running through his hair. "Doesn’t look a day over twenty five.” She grinned.

“Hey brother, why doesn’t your power stop your ageing?”  Suri quipped.

“Shut up.” T’Challa glared at her. “Before I carry you back to the palace”

As the two siblings began to quibble, Katie glanced at Steve. “Been talking about the good old days?” “In a fashion.” Steve smirked.

“Anymore good tales of your misspent youth to tell me?” Bucky shook his head. “Sure Steve’s told you enough already.”

“I never told her about the time you set up a double date for us and then forgot to show up.” Steve looked at him, his arms tightening around his wife.

“That never happened.” Bucky shook his head.

“It absolutely happened. Caroline O’Hara and Deborah Smith”  

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Oh shit, yeah. Brunette and a red head. A curly red head.” He grinned.

“Yup. Double date to the theatre, only you never showed up.” Steve looked at him, accusingly “And little old me was left to explain to Debbie why you had stood her up.”

Bucky smirked into his glass.

"I thought she was gonna kill me.” Steve mused, turning to look at Katie. “She kept hitting me with her purse. And then Caroline started, asking where the hell he was and why he thought it fit to stand up her best friend and try to fix her up with some kind of joke.”

Katie frowned, narrowing her eyes. “You weren’t a joke.”

“Thanks, Honey.” He grinned before he turned to fix Bucky with a glare. “And do you remember why you didn’t show up?” Bucky was now shaking with mirth, as he looked at Steve, his eyes bright with tears of laughter. “Go on, tell her Buck.”

“I was with Maggie Dougherty.” Bucky smirked

“Yeah, you were.” Steve pointed at him. “That was the night you got caught sneaking out of her room and down her fire escape by her dad who beat the crap out of you.”

“Worth it though.” Bucky snorted. “She was hot. Strawberry blonde waves, pretty face, nice ass.” “Yeah.” Steve nodded and Katie slapped the back of his head.

“Oww!” He looked at her as she glared at him. Grinning he reached up to give her a soft kiss “Not a patch on you though, Darlin’”

After another hour or so, Katie left them to it, heading back to the palace with Suri. She’d had enough, the alcohol she had drunk had lulled her into that happy place here she felt warm and fuzzy inside, and ready for bed.

Steve woke her up when he came crashing into the room a few hours later.

“Shit.” He mumbled, as he banged into the chair by the dresser. “Shhhh”

He staggered over to the bed before face planting straight down. Katie grinned as he peeked up at her.

“I’m drunk.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” She giggled and scrambled out of the duvet. “Come on, get in bed.” “Promises, promises.”

“Yeah, not a chance pal. I doubt very much you’d be of any use in this state.”

“Hey.” He pouted rolling over so he was on his back, turning to look at her as she moved to climb out of bed. “That’s my shirt.”

“I know.” She dropped to the floor to take off his suede boots.

“I like you in my shirts. I like you better out of them.” Steve grinned, grabbing hold of her as she stood up.

“How much have you had?” She laughed as he pulled her onto his lap, nuzzling into her neck.

“Enuff.” he spoke back, voice muffled. “You know you’re the prettiest gal in the whole world?” He peeked up at her and she had to laugh as she ruffled his hair. 

“Arms up.”

“I like it when you undress me.” He grinned and Katie gave a chuckle, shaking her head.  Eventually she managed to tug off his shirt and his jeans whilst he made some other reference to sex, before he pulled her back down onto the bed next to him, giggling like a school kid.

“Bucky told me.” He slurred.

“Told you what?”

“That he asked you to shoot him.” Steve hiccupped “But I’m glad you didn’t have to.”

Katie chuckled to herself “Me too.” “And now he’s all better.” Steve sighed. “Good, isn’t it?” “It’s awesome.” Shhe smiled, reaching up to bush his hair off his face. “You’re gonna be so hungover tomorrow.” He responded with shrug. “But I do love you. So much.”

“I know and I love you too. Now you gonna get into bed?”

He pushed himself up before beginning a monumental fight with the duvet to get underneath it, the whole thing a great source of amusement to Katie. She’d seen him tipsy from the Asgardian stuff Thor gave him before, but not flat out shit faced like this.

“Are you gonna puke?” She asked, stroking his head as he sighed, nuzzling into her chest. 

“No.” He assured her, then paused, before he hiccupped slightly. “But I think I need water.” “Alright, wait there.” Katie climbed out of bed. She grabbed him a bottle from the mini fridge near the door but by the time she had turned back, Steve had his face buried into his pillow and made nothing more than a noise when she offered it to him, not looking up. Deciding she couldn’t be bothered to argue with him, she gently placed the bottle on the night stand next to him, and ran her hand through his hair one more time before she crossed to her side of the bed and settled down with him.

“Night, Soldier.” She smiled softly, kissing his cheek.

“Night, Princess.” He slurred into his pillow.

**** Chapter 35

**Original Posting**

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: To stubborn to fear

My species has found that if one looked at the vastness of space in and of itself one may quickly succumb to madness as the emptiness of the void swallows them whole. To that end we view the universe as a vast ocean with planets bobbing in and out of the eternal tides. As such most events seen in the universe when viewed under this pretext suddenly become less monumental. Black holes are whirlpools, solar winds the changing of the tides, asteroid belts coral reefs jutting out for wayward travelers, and so on. One of the more peculiar anomalies would not be a celestial event but rather an organic one that has grown to such a scale that its passing is classified as one. That event was the Nanzi.  The Nanzi were a species of insects that lived on massive bug ships that used the chemical reactions of their digestive system to move them between the stars. What little is known of them is that they are a hive mind like species that moves world to world and devouring all biomass before moving to the next. 

Though they have mastered space travel to some extent their overall intelligence appears to have not advanced past that of simple creatures, making all forms of communication with them impossible as they attack anything which is not of their kind. 

These insects roam the galaxy like a hurricane and descend on any world directly in their path like a force of nature. Many have tried to defend their homes against these bugs but the sheer mass of them overwhelms all in the end. Even the Hive with their billions of warrior caste breeds were unable to halt the Nanzi’s consumption of one of their node worlds. 

Because of their slow progress through the stars it has been fairly easy to track the locust like Nanzi and early warning precautions were developed for much of the known galaxy. Once the Nanzi were spotted heading to a world massed evacuations would commence and transport the planets population off world to safety far before the first Nanzi made planet fall. 

This had become such a standard procedure that the galaxy had just accepted it as one would accept a hurricane or a tornado sweeping through your town. 

No one thought to mention this to humanity however.......

On the world Inari Prime the human population had developed a vast planet wide farming community that was one of the largest food production sources in the known galaxy. The temperate climate zones remained stable nearly all year round allowing different plants to be grown continually without fear of a dry season. Large orbital stations circled the planet and were connected to the surface via massive elevator platforms that reached all the way to the surface. 

First signs of the impending catastrophe were made through merchants that regularly came in and out of the system. One ship known as the “Eternal Glider” exited their jump near the farthest edge of the system due to a jump engine failure. While repairs were underway their navigation crew began receiving numerous contact feed backs. Attempts were made to communicate but when no response was given the captain ordered to bring up a visual. 

What he saw was a living cloud of Nanzi slowly pushing through the void. Tentacles from the larger ships lazily dragging through space while smaller ships circled them like nats.  

Redoubling their efforts the Eternal Glider was able to jump away just in time before the Nanzi could grab them.  Word quickly spread among the human domains after the Eternal Glider was able to dock at the Inari space dock and from there multiple calls for assistance were sent out.  Naturally other species had dealt with the Nanzi before and had plans in place so they dispatched fleets of vessels to help evacuate the population of Inari. What surprised the other species that had sent help was that while their ships were helping citizens evacuate the human vessels arriving on planet were depositing soldiers and military hardware.

Humans had laid claim to Inari and appeared fully determined to hold on to it despite the warning from the other galactic species that opposing the Nanzi was foolish. 

The final evacuation transport left the planet just as the Nanzi entered orbit around the planet. Huddling close to the various stations circling the planet the human naval vessels would launch strikes against the larger Nanzi bio ships before retreating back to the stations defensive guns. Roaring broadsides met globs of bio acid that melted hull and flesh in minutes. As the battle progressed the sheer mass of Nanzi began to overwhelm the human fleets and one by one they retreated out of orbit. The stations continued fighting on but with no support fleet they were either quickly boarded or simply smashed aside as the bio ships began their landings. 

Lacking any ground based orbital weaponry the ground forces attempted to oppose the landings via conventional means. Wings of bombers and fighters took to the air to duel with flying monstrosities while missile batteries colored the skies with the streaks of their weapons. When the first bio ship landed it was met with a fast response team of mechanized infantry and human armored vehicles. 

Vast swathes of fertile land was mulched to pulp beneath the treads of a thousand tanks and troop transports as the humans met the storm of Nanzi warrior forms disembarking.  

Having not met a substantial form of resistance in centuries the Nanzi lacked enough warriors initially to protect every bio ship and some were quickly surrounded and destroyed through massed fire. Yet for every one that was destroyed two more made planetfall somewhere else and quickly began consuming the rich plant life of Inari. 

Bio mass was brought back in large quantities to the Nanzi ships who in turn began producing more warrior forms. It wasn’t long before the entire northern hemisphere was swarming with them pushing the humans back further and further. 

Other races watched on and assumed that the humans would finally understand the hopelessness of their situation and given in.Instead the human leadership made a call to redouble their efforts against the Nanzi.  In an announcement made to the entire human domain the leadership gave the following speech: “Inari held millions of humans that called the world their home. The vibrant and beautiful lands provided food for billions more across the stars struggling to survive and held the hope that we as a species can survive the great unknown of space. Now these creatures, these monster, have invaded and now ravage the once beautiful world beneath their talons of evil!  Inari is ours! It is our home! It is the beacon of light that guides humanity into a bright future and I say to you now we shall NOT let that light go out!  We shall fight these monsters with every fiber of our being and we shall drive them BACK into the dark void from whence they came!  Inari is ours! Rise up with sword and shield humanity and defend your home once more from the nightmares of the universe! Inari is ours! Shout it from your lungs so those bastards can hear their destruction approaching!  Inari is OURS! Now let us show the Nanzi why!!!” A storm of reinforcements from all across the human worlds began flooding into Inari as the rest of the galaxy watched in amazement. 

To them it was as if humanity was defying the very nature of the universe itself. No matter how many losses they took more and more humans were there to take up the banner and fight the Nanzi. Where other species had cowered in the shadow of Nanzi ships it only seemed to enrage the humans to further acts of reckless aggression. Where the many toothed mouths of a Nanzi warrior would bring dread and fear to a human soldier it only inspired hatred at what had been lost. Where even the bravest faltered at the towering monsters the Nanzi unleashed the humans saw it as a challenge finally worthy of the war machines. 

Through all the politics and debates and discussions the universe could only agree on one thing. 

Humans were too stubborn to have time to fear. 

[phykios]

the marble king, part 10 [read on ao3]

His wife had taken ill, a statement that was simultaneously the best and worst one Percy had ever thought up in his short, eventful life. It was the best, because of the simple fact that Anja Elisabet Fredriksdotter was his wife. At night they shared a bed, and during the day they shared each other’s company. Though she did not love him, and had only married him in a bid to, rather ironically, retain her freedom, she wished for him to stay at her side, and he was blessed with her presence in turn.

Yet it was also the worst, because Annabeth, the love of his life, had taken ill.

He worried for her constantly; her pain was his pain, and the thought of something happening to her was simply unthinkable. Consumed with anxiety, he did what he always had done since they had been children, and he was overwhelmed by the magnitude of his own feelings. When he found her throwing up over the side of the boat for the fourth morning in a row, he swallowed his fears, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“The sea never used to affect you this strongly.” Percy teased, even as he rubbed at her back. “What would all the other shieldmaidens say if they could see you now?”

She only groaned in response. He offered his handkerchief as she made to whip her mouth on her cloak. Once she was cleaned, she exhaled, leaning against him.

“And to think, your father told me your family was descended from an Aesir sea god,” Percy continued, offering his own sea strength to steady her.

“Vanir,” Annabeth said. “We are descended from a Vanir god, who in turn was descended from a sea god.” Percy only had the vaguest idea of what that meant, based on Alejandra’s stories, but he so loved to hear her correcting him once more, even when she was feeling poorly, for it meant she was still herself.

“Regardless, the sea flows through your veins, Anja,” he jested, tone light. Many of these northern words felt odd in his mouth, but he loved to speak her given name. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“That neither Frey nor Njord were gods of motherhood,” she moaned.

His thoughts stuttering, he frowned at her for several long seconds. “Motherhood? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything, phykios.” She groaned, her head resting on his shoulder, and her hand going to her stomach.

Like fog dissolving in the morning sun, the meaning came to him, quickly and suddenly. But surely it could not be so; they’d only laid together once.

Gently, terrifyingly, he placed his hand on top of hers, over her belly. He could not sense a difference through her clothes. “You are pregnant?” Percy whispered. He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

“Yes.”

Percy felt tears prick his eyes. Were he less in control of his feelings, he would have taken her by the hand, lifted her up, and spun her around in elation. “You are with child?”

“I am,” she confirmed. Pulling back from him a bit, she looked at him, eyes keen and discerning. “Do you mind?” Her words were mild, yet in her tone, he could sense just the barest hint of trepidation, of fear of disapproval.

“Mind!” He laughed, a few of his tears escaping. “Of course not!”

Energy surging through his limbs, he nearly stood up and began to dance. Annabeth, his wife, his truest companion from his earliest days, pregnant with his child! They were to have a family together! How could he not be so elated, when this was every dream of his come true?

But then, he then realized, while children had been his most secret desire, it had not, necessarily, been hers. It had not even been the point of their marriage. Annabeth had married him for freedom from; to be trapped in motherhood, tied down with a child, may have been the very thing she hoped to avoid. “Are,” he swallowed, suddenly afraid, “are you very displeased?”

“Displeased? I…” She held his gaze for a long moment, looking on him with wide, uncertain eyes, and then shook her head. “No. As long as you are not unhappy, then neither am I.”

“I am happy,” he said quickly. “I am very, very happy. Ever since dear, sweet Esther was born, I always imagined myself to be a father one day. I simply thought it would be impossible.” Demigod lives, particularly those of his more immediate, more powerful peers, were short and bright and violent--to say nothing of his financial situation. As well, there was that fact that he had had a difficult time dreaming of children who had not been mothered by Annabeth.

“So you are not upset,” she asked again, seeking confirmation.

“I am most certainly not upset,” he promised her.

He was ecstatic. His whole self felt lighter, happier, better than it had in years, and not just since the fall of their city, but several years before that, at least. Annabeth, his wife, his great love, building a family with him… it had been a dream far too fragile to speak of. And now it had come true.

Her unsure expression, however, caused him to temper his outward reflection. Just as he opened his mouth to question if she required anything, she once again leaned over the edge of the boat, and vomited into the sea below.

“There, there,” he said, rubbing at her back, making sure to keep her cloak and dress, billowing in the wind, out of the way so it would not get dirty. “Come, sit.” he said, after she had caught her breath, submitting to his guiding her to a bench. “Can I get you anything?”

She waved off his offer, eyes closed against the salt spray. “These are normal parts of pregnancy, I am given to understand. When I spoke with the cook at my cousin’s house, her warnings made me fear it would be worse than it has been.”

His jaw dropped. “You knew before we left your family?”

She glanced at him, a little scathing. “A woman knows these things, Percy.”

Of that, he had no doubt--but that was not the issue here. “It cannot be safe for you to travel like this.” His earlier fear gripped him, curling cold fingers around his heart. He looked out at the sea around them, the breadth of his father’s domain now transformed into a dark, terrible labyrinth, where dangers lurked about every corner. “You should not have left your cousin’s house.”

“You were going to leave me there,” she accused.

“No, I--” he began to argue, before cutting himself off. She was correct, of course, though not for the reasons she assumed, and sadly, there was no good manner in which he could explain why, not without divulging all the secrets of his heart, and causing her more discomfort. “I wanted--I want you to have as happy and comfortable and challenging a life as possible. I had thought you would find that among your family and the politics of the Kalmar Union, but, I swear, if you had told me of the baby, I would have chosen differently.”

Happily he would have tolerated the strange food and horrid climates of Svealand forever for her sake, for his family’s sake. He thought once again of the parade of little girls dressed as Saint Lucy, then imagined his own daughter, with Annabeth’s blonde curls and grey eyes, joining it. His heart skipped a beat in his chest.

“We are not so far from your family, and a long way off from Italy,” he said. It would be a simple enough task for him--he did not even have to inform the captain. “We can still turn back, so you might have your confinement and give birth in all comfort.” Her father and Magnus would want nothing more than to take care of her in her condition, and she would far more likely welcome their concern than his.

“We are going to Italy,” she said, mouth set.

“But if you are unwell--”

“I am fine,” she snapped. “We are going to Italy, and there we shall have our child. Does that thought upset you?”

So caught off guard by her tone, he almost missed the most delightful and pleasing combination of words to ever exist: our child . His and Annabeth’s child. The most precious gift he had ever received, the dream of a lifetime.

“It does not,” he said, though he could not entirely quiet his internal concern. “If it is what you wish-- what you truly wish--then we shall continue on to Venice.”

They held each other’s gazes for a moment longer, imparting such thoughts and feelings as neither of them could understand. Then she smiled, beautiful, yet somehow sad. “Surely,” she said, “you wish to raise your child on the shores of your father’s sea.”

She knew him far too well, for he could not deny the appeal.

Then, all of a sudden, he was gripped by an overwhelming fear: Annabeth was with child . Even the most formidable fighter could only do so much while burdened with carrying another life. He remembered how his mother, heavy with little Esther, struggled to walk to and from the local market. What if they should come across another band of cruel bandits? What if she should hurt herself on the road to Italy, or if Percy should find himself injured or ill, unable to help her or protect her?

Seemingly from nowhere, a small bundle of white fur appeared at their feet, and the little cat jumped up beside them, giving a perfunctory sniff to the fabric of Annabeth’s dress before climbing on top of her, pressing her paws back and forth on her thigh the way Percy’s mother used to prepare her bread. Satisfied, then, she walked in a circle before settling down for her midmorning nap, tucking her paws beneath her body.

Admittedly, Percy had been somewhat skeptical of the cat, which Annabeth had taken to calling “Freya.” He liked animals, cats as well as dogs equally, and cats did seem to take a special liking to him. He remembered fondly the many cats of Constantinople following him after a hard day’s work, looking up with expectant eyes as they sweetly begged for part of his daily catch, then absconded with his discards into the dark city alleyways. So while he did not mind Freya’s presence, she seemed to distinctly prefer his wife, sticking to Annabeth’s side like a burr on cloth, laying ownership to her lap, sometimes hissing at strange people who got too close.

Percy could sympathize, on several points.

From Danzig, then, he decided, they would set out on the Via Imperii . Were it yet summer, perhaps they could have sailed the whole way to Venice, but he feared the might of spring storms, and would not risk her life, nor their child’s, for something as intangible as expediency. He remembered well, too, how their voyage upriver had sapped him of his strength until he had been unable to do naught but sleep; to exert himself to exhaustion on the open sea, miles away from any shore or safe harbor, could prove even more disastrous.

Immediately, Annabeth’s hands descended on the cat, scratching the underside of her chin with one while the other stroked the length of her back, and Freya purred, loud enough Percy could hear it even over the crashing waves, blinking her eyes sleepily back up at her. His wife smiled, quite taken with their furry companion.

There was so much more at stake now, he realized. Not just his own health, nor hers, but the health and safety of the life they had made together. In his heart, he swore on a river whose name had once struck fear into the hearts of men and gods alike, he would work every day to prove himself worthy of this woman who made such sacrifices for his sake.

Aloud, he merely said, “Thank you.” Two words which could not encompass all the gratitude he held for her. Were he able to pay her back its weight in gold, she would be the richest woman in the world.

Annabeth cast him a fond, if tired, look, her countenance still vaguely green. “Do not thank me yet,” she said. “I am told that it gets much, much worse.”

“I look forward to it,” Percy replied, turning his face into the sun.

***

He had hoped that Annabeth’s sickness would lessen once they returned to dry land. But after three days traveling through Pomerania , she was still sick in the mornings.

“Your child preferred the sea, methinks.” Annabeth said as Percy passed her water. She smiled her thanks and drank deeply. “But it could be much worse, I suppose. I’ve heard it said that many people feel the sickness all day, for weeks. Mine is, at the very least, limited to the earliest morning hours--and you have been most accommodating.”

With their not inconsiderable fortune, Percy had managed to procure for them a cart and a horse, so that they could keep up a lively pace while allowing Annabeth to rest as much as she required. “I have not been accommodating,” Percy protested. “You are with child.” My child , he did not say, but thought it, giddily. “It is the very least that I could do.”

“Well, regardless,” she said, “it is very appreciated.” Then she groaned, dropping her head forward.

“What is it?” he asked, reaching out a hand to steady her.

“Have we any more food? I am ravenous.”

They did, because Percy wished to spare no expense on his wife and hopeful daughter. And besides, it was Annabeth’s money, they should spend as much on her comfort as needed. They’d left the inn early in the morning, but he had gotten them some bread and hard cheese before they had begun the journey. “Here, have the rest,” he said, handing them to her.

But she pushed the parcel away. “No, no, have we anything else?”

He did not, but he would not let himself fall into a panic. “When we arrive in Stettin ,” he promised, “I shall purchase whatever it is you desire. Tell me, if there were anything in the world that you could have, what would it be?”

Whatever she needed, he would do his best to provide: that was the vow he had taken, and this was merely his first challenge.

Thoughtful, she looked towards the clouds, her lip between her teeth.

“...Olives,” she said. “I would be very happy for some olives.”

Percy laughed. Of course. Athena’s proclivity for the fruit was renowned. “Then olives it is, my lady.”

It was a simple enough task, on the surface, to procure some olives for his pregnant wife. As a child living on the shores of the great Roman lake, olives had been plentiful and ubiquitous; at the agoge , the children of Demeter and Athena had cultivated a small grove of olive trees, partially for their own use, but also to sell at market. Though there had been neither olives nor olive oil in Svealand, as it was far too expensive to import from so far South, Percy assumed that he would be able to locate some here on the continent. Stettin was the Northernmost city on the Via Imperii , and surely some of the stuff must have wound its way through the lands controlled by the Legion.

Day after day, town after town, any time they passed through a settlement, they stopped at market so that Annabeth could rest, and Percy could scour the stalls and alleys for olives--and day after day, town after town, he found none. Not a single hamlet between Danzig and Stettin carried the malakes fruit. Every day he would return to his wife empty handed, and every day she would smile at him, her eyes shining, and thanked him for trying.

Her cravings continued. He could sense it, the way he could sense a storm, her mood souring as the days dragged on.

They stayed an extra night in Stettin to let the horses rest. It was a Monday, the start of a fresh, new week, the day the merchants and farmers brought in their weekly produce. Surely, Percy thought, perhaps foolishly, surely a market of such a large city would have even a small bottle of olive oil? What civilized city did not have a healthy supply of the stuff? Rome had once spanned nearly the entire continent; the well worn roads were proof of it. Surely, they had left some sort of culinary mark.

Apparently, he was a fool. The only oil to be found was made from pumpkin seeds--a favorite of some of the members of the Legion. He knew it to be bland, tasteless, and not at all fit for his wife. As for the olives, the merchants all looked at him as though he had grown a second head, those who understood a little Italian anyway, for those who could not merely stared at him as he fumbled his way through the few Frankish words which he knew.

He felt oddly numb, returning to their accommodations empty-handed. Would she be disappointed? Would she regret leaving the comfort and security of Svealand, where all her needs had been provided for?

Yet she had merely shrugged, brushing her hair with the comb that she had pilfered from Alejandra. “It is no great hardship,” she said, a little distantly, as all her attention was focused on the task in her hands. “I shall survive without it.”

On their bed, Freya the cat yawned, very sweetly, before readjusting her position, standing up and walking in a circle, then settling down and returning to her slumber.

“Still,” said Percy, “I recall the many trials and tribulations which my mother endured before she had borne my sister; if there is something which I can do to ease your burden at all, I should very much like to do so.”

Sighing sharply through her nose, Percy tensed, fearful that she would refuse him outright out of pride, only for him to relax as she merely tugged her comb through a particularly stubborn knot of hair. His fingers twitched in the folds of his clothes, his very nerve endings alight with the mere thought of feeling the soft, golden strands for themselves. He felt, somewhat worryingly, as though he had begun to develop a minor obsession with the feeling of her hair, every time it brushed up against his skin as she moved against him on the cart, or rolled over towards him in their shared bed. To watch her daily ritual, an act so tired and uneventful to her, yet one so captivating to him, with such eagerness and attention would have seemed, on any other man, to be the mark of ill-temperament and evil tidings. Percy, however, was able to content himself with merely looking.

“In truth,” she said, “it is not the olives themselves which I crave, though there is not much I would not do for such a treasure. Just as your child preferred the sea, I can only assume that my current propensity for salt is your doing as well.”

“Salt?”

“Salt,” she confirmed. “Any salty food will do, I think.”

“Salt,” he repeated, suddenly thoughtful. Salty foods were certainly in great supply here in the North; now a whole new world had been opened to him. Then--”You believe that I am the cause of this?” he asked, frowning.

Indelicate, she raised a brow at him. “Are you not? Why else would I have such a craving for saltwater?”

“I thought you wished for olives.”

“Olives?” She made a face. “I think not.”

Percy blinked, feeling as though he had missed a vital step in their conversation. “I beg your pardon?”

Huffing, she threw her comb down, evidently done with her grooming for the night. “Never you mind! I wish to retire.” She stood, undoing the various ties and laces of her dress, while Percy stared at her in slack-jawed awe and confusion. “Go and… cavort with a young man, if one should make himself available to you.”

Then throwing back the covers of the bed, disturbing poor, sweet, Freya, who leapt to the floor, her ears turned back in displeasure, she climbed underneath them, turning away from Percy.

It was barely evening. The sun could still be seen from the window.

“I… very well,” he said, carefully. “If it please you, I shall go and fetch us some food.”

“Do whatever you wish,” she replied, muffled by the sheets. “Good night.”

Feeling very much as though he had just summoned, and then subsequently banished, a hurricane, Percy retreated from their rented room, shutting the door as quickly and quietly as possible so as not to disturb his wife.

That was… unusual.

Not, the constant, shifting hunger pangs, mind; his mother had had similar, if perhaps less intense, culinary desires which could turn on a lira at any given moment. In truth, there was much about pregnancy for which he had already been prepared, having assisted his mother in the arrival of his little sister. When a woman was suffering such emotional and mental torment, it was best not to argue with her, and to placate her as quickly and thoroughly as one could, something which Percy was more than happy to do. No, what was strange was her peculiar comment, her order for him to go and seek out the company of someone else--of another man.

To abandon his wife for the pleasures of another was unthinkable, and not in the least because his spouse just so happened to be, in a bizarre twist of fate, the great love of his life. Again, he recalled how his mother would occasionally spit curses at her loving husband for the most minor of infractions, so the fact that Annabeth, who had tied herself to him in order to escape the pressures of an uncaring, unfamiliar political snare, who had, presumably, not gone into the arrangement expecting or even desiring of a child, and who, historically, had only barely tolerated his presence, was to be expected.

That she had specified he should search for the company of another man was the odd detail in this situation.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him how he had not eaten since this morning, so consumed was he in the hunt for olives, and so he made his way downstairs to the ground floor of the inn, to purchase some dinner for himself--and for Annabeth also, who would almost certainly be ravenous when she awoke, and hopefully, in something of a happier mood.

***

They had picked up a fellow traveler in the city of Lipsi , who had warned them off continuing further down the Via Imperii . “Many wars,” he had said, “much fighting--it would not do for your lovely wife to be caught up in all of that.”

As much as Percy wished to protest, that Annabeth was more than capable of handling herself, even in such a state, she had been so fatigued as of late that he did not wish to risk her safety. Therefore, himself, Annabeth, and the traveler, an itinerant monk named Johann, turned West instead, along the Via Regia . The detour would not put them too far off--once they reached the  city of Trever , they could then turn South, towards Basler , and continue through the valley.

Percy and Annabeth had come upon the man as he rested by the side of the road, his curiously shaven head something of a beacon in the dark, green forest. Though Annabeth had initially protested, Percy, being in possession of a horse cart, felt offering him assistance would have been, at least, the polite thing to do. Now they sat all three of them in the front of the cart, Percy in the center with Johann to his left, while Annabeth alternately dozed off, attended to her knitting, a blanket in the making, or stroked sweet little Freya, who had become ever more protective of her mistress’ growing belly.

He was an interesting man, this Johann, pleasant and good-natured. He had embarked on a cross-continental journey of his own, one which ranged from his hometown of Cölln , all the way to the resting place of St. James in Hispania . “Fifteen hundred miles,” he said, ruefully, in perfect Italian, “and I am the poor fool who twists his ankle barely out of his own door.”

“Lady Fortuna must pass us all over some time,” said Percy.

“On the contrary,” said the monk, “your presence is proof of her blessing.”

Perhaps it was his joviality, or perhaps it was the warm sun, beating down on them, wrapping Percy in comfort, but he was in a merry mood as well. “I would have thought you to say that all blessings came from the Lord.”

“And who is to say He did not send you to me, miserable thing that I am?” said Johann. “There is a story I heard once, of a man who found himself in a lake. A pious, devoted man, he had only the utmost, unwavering faith in our Lord, faith that He would deliver the man from the waters before he drowned. Well, by and by, a man comes up to him in a canoe. ‘Sir,’ says the sailor to the man, ‘there is space in my vessel here; climb aboard, and I shall bring you to land.’ But the man refuses, saying, ‘I have faith in the Lord. He shall save me.’ And the sailor goes on. Not long after, another man comes up to him, in yet another canoe. ‘Sir,’ says the second sailor, ‘I have come to rescue you, for the waters are bitter cold, and my wife has a warm fire and a dry bed reserved for your use.’ But once again, the man refuses, saying, ‘I shall remain, for the Lord shall see me through.’ Well,” Johann shrugged, the corners of his lips tugging in a smile, “predictably, this poor, pious man drowns after some time. A person of deepest faith, he arrives at the gates of Heaven, whereupon he is given an interview with our Lord Christ, and he asks, ‘my God, my God, I had unwavering faith in your infinite mercy. Why did you not deliver me from the watery depths?’”

Clearly a practiced storyteller, he paused, a silence which begged to be filled by his audience. “And?” asked Percy. “What did he say?”

“At this question, our Lord Christ shakes his head, and says to the man, ‘My child, there was not much more that I could have done, for you refused the two boats which I sent to you.’”

Percy couldn’t help it--he laughed. “I daresay,” he said, “I have never met a man of the cloth so jovial as you.”

“That is what sunlight does to a man,” said Johann, full of good humor. “My brothers may think they have the better of it, sheltered from wind and rain with their books, but to cage me within four walls was anathema to my entire being, for I have always had a singular talent for making things grow. Did not all of creation begin in a garden? Thus, the gardener is a blessed man indeed.”

“Indeed,” he chuckled, a little uneasily. That Percy and Annabeth were not, strictly speaking, devotees of the trinity, and did not quite understand the finer details of the faith, had not quite come up in conversation yet. He sincerely hoped Johann would not ask.  

“But you did not tell me your destination,” said the monk, looking on them both eagerly. “What calling of yours caused our two paths to intertwine?”

Percy glanced towards Annabeth, who had decided to ignore their sudden companion altogether, in favor of observing the trees as they passed. “My… wife and I are on our way to Venice.”

Such a simple phrase, “my wife,” yet Percy could not think of another combination of syllables which had ever given him nearly the same kind of joy.

“Venice, eh? That is quite the journey. Are you on a pilgrimage as well?”

“Ah, no--well--” Though, he considered, were they not? They went to seek spiritual enlightenment of a sort in a far off land. Did that not count as a pilgrimage by any standard? Certainly not in the sense which the good monk was implying, yet nonetheless, it was indeed a pilgrimage. The only difference was that they were not at all certain their destination held the answers which they sought. “We are hoping to… find our fortune there.”

Johann looked him up and down, and then at Annabeth. “Your fortune?” He asked. “I must commend you, sir, for you do not look like you need another one.”

Feeling the telltale flush in his cheeks, he glanced once again towards Annabeth, who, strangely, acted as though she hadn’t heard his comment. He was correct, of course, but Percy was not certain if he appreciated other men saying so--even a man of the cloth.

But the monk continued. “Venice is supposed to have one of the most magnificent cathedrals in all of Christendom: the Chiesa d’Oro . They say it is modeled on the great St. Sophia of Constantinople--of course, I have never seen it myself, so I cannot verify such a claim.”

Even the thought of St. Sophia, of her golden domes and radiant light, made Percy’s heart ache for home--a home to which he could never return. “St. Sophia was a masterpiece to behold,” said Percy, a little wistfully. “I am hard-pressed to imagine another temple quite as awe-inspiring.”

With a little thrill in his gaze, Johann leaned in, closer to Percy. “You have beheld the Church of the Holy Wisdom for yourself? Is it as beautiful as they say?”

“More than that, sir, there is no other place quite like it. To tell you truly,” he said, chuckling a little, “my wife and I both hail from Constantinople.”

For a moment, Annabeth looked up and over at him and their companion, narrowing her eyes, but then she just frowned and went back to her knitting.

Johann frowned as well, though more confused than upset, unlike his wife. “From the city itself, you say?”

Percy nodded.

“Then, if I may be so bold, how have you found yourself in these parts? Unless I am very much mistaken, one does not usually feel the need to travel to Saxonia on one’s journey to Venice from the holy lands.”

“Not usually, no,” said Percy. “However, the two of us, we were…” He paused, uncertain of how much information he was willing to share with this virtual stranger. “I was stationed on the walls,” he said. “We fled the city just as the Ottomans broke the siege, then traveled North, to her cousin’s estates.”

“I see,” said the monk. “You were deep in the thick of it, then?”

The all-consuming flames and the blood-curdling screams of his memory, they faded more and more each day, as all battles did, for he was a soldier first and foremost, and war tended to blur together after a point. By contrast, sometimes he still awoke in a cold sweat, drumbeats in his ears as he relived the terror and panic of watching the gods flee the city in which they had dwelt for a thousand years, no more powerful than a crop of refugees. “Yes,” he said. “We were.”

Johann hummed, linking his hands together. “The loss of life is always a tragedy,” he said, “even that of a heretic. Alas, that the city of Constantine fell so far from grace that they had to be punished so!”

Percy shifted, uncomfortable.

“Yet,” he went on, still in that same, blasted, affable tone, “even in the face of great sorrow, there is cause to celebrate, for the Lord saw fit to spare you and your wife, and see you to safe harbors, no?”

He glanced towards Annabeth, who continued at her weaving, seemingly unaware of the monk’s comments. “Well, I--”

“If you will permit me, sir, let me bless your wife and unborn child, so that he or she may grow strong and pious in the loving embrace of the Lord.” And he opened his hands, all set to begin his little ritual.

With a thought, Percy pulled their cart to a stop, suddenly, bracing an outstretched arm against Annabeth so she would not be knocked forward. Freya, jolted from her mid-morning nap, mewed, pitiful. “Percy,” said Annabeth, in their own tongue, “what--”

“This is where we part ways,” said Percy to the Christian man. “Disembark, and quickly.”

He sat, slack-jawed. “I beg your pardon?”

If Percy had been more in control of his emotions, then he may not have uttered his next words. However, later on, he found he did not regret them. “My wife and I are not interested in blessings from your trinity gods.”

“My--” he sputtered. “You--”

“I will not repeat myself--you are no longer welcome to travel with us.”

His pale skin flushed with anger, the monk chose not to argue with him, but did disembark, as though he could no longer bear their presence. “Heathen,” he hissed. “The Lord knows your heart, and for your lack of faith, He shall smite you down to the depths of the underworld.”

Possessed of a fury he did not know he could feel, Percy drew himself up to his full height, reaching deep within himself to the core of his being, the part of him which could summon typhoons, slay monsters, and cause the very earth beneath them to split--the part which could more than terrify a simple fool. “And there we shall be welcomed as heroes,” he said, “for we personally know the lord of the dead himself.”

White with terror, the monk touched his face and shoulders, chanting Latin beneath his breath. Leaving him to it, Percy snapped the reins on the horse, and they took off once more, leaving Johann in the dust.

Annabeth, twisted around in her seat, peered back at the retreating figure of their one-time travelling companion. “Do not mistake my confusion for disappointment,” she said, “for I, too, am glad to be rid of him, though I must say, that was very suddenly done.”

Percy scoffed, twisting the reins between his fingers, something with which to ground himself. “Had I known what he would offer,” he nearly growled, “I would have expelled him sooner.”

Curious, she tilted her head. “What offer was so odious as to force him from your sight?”

Blinking, Percy turned towards her. As always, his heart raced at the sight of those grey eyes on him, though at this moment they were wide in innocent confusion. Percy frowned. He had thought she was a better listener than he, on most occasions. “His offer to bless us in the name of his lord.”

Her eyes widened. “Is that what he said?”

“Did you not hear him?”

“I did,” she huffed, annoyed. Again. She seemed often annoyed with him these days. “But as I cannot understand Italian, clearly I missed a few things.”

She--”You--what?”

Lips pursed, heat rushed to her cheeks, though she did not let up on her steely stare. “Yes?”

“You cannot speak Italian?”

“I have just told you so.”

“But--” Percy sputtered. “But--how did you--how did you take orders from your commander?”

The Venetians and the Genoese had comprised most of the command posts on the wall and had not bothered to learn the local language for themselves. Knowledge of Italian, therefore, had been crucial to the defense of the city, something Annabeth would certainly have known.

“My commander was a fool and a drunkard,” she said, turning her nose up, “and perished one night after he fell off the wall.”

“Then… who--” But he stopped himself before he could finish his question, for there was only one reasonable answer. “You took command of your unit.”

“Obviously.”

“And none of your men took issue with a woman leading them into battle?”

Her stern gaze transformed into a glare, narrowed and piercing. “Not when it guaranteed them victory.”

For a moment, Percy could do nothing but stare right back, in disbelief and incredulity. She must have led her little cohort for months, the warrior woman of Constantinople, Areia made flesh. No wonder the northern portion of the wall held for so long.

Then, out of nowhere, he laughed.

“And what, pray tell, is so amusing?” his wife asked, lips thin, brow furrowed.

“Nothing, nothing,” he chortled. He could not say from where such delight had come, nor why it had suddenly taken him over thus. Perhaps it was simply the knowledge that, no matter how much time had passed, Annabeth’s character remained remarkably consistent from the first day he had known her. She would always find a way to command, to control--and, save one obvious exception, to deliver victory. “Oh, Anja,” he said, fondness warming him up from the inside out, “I beg of you, do not ever change.”

“I shall endeavor not to.” She said, faintly. She seemed at a loss for words for several moments, a rarity with her, then spoke once more. “You… you called me Anja.”

Percy frowned, “I know I struggle with your northern tongue, did I not pronounce it correctly?” He had attempted to divine the subtleties in the difference between the Ana that he had always known her to be, and the Anja her family called her, but perhaps he had been mistaken.  

“No.” Softly, sweetly, a smile curled the straight lines of her mouth, even as she turned her face out to watch the trees as they passed, raising a hand to rest delicately on her stomach. “You were perfect.”

***

Percy laid out his cloak over the smoothest rock he could find. It was a nice cloak, of a much higher quality fabric and weave than to which he was most accustomed. Had he been a smarter man, most likely he would not have used the garment for such a task as this--but he was used to his clothes being worn out, multipurpose things. The hot velvet could find another use as a blanket until the warmth of early summer passed them by.

Having prepared her seat, he then rushed back to the wagon, reaching his hand out for Annabeth to steady herself on it. “I am not an invalid,” she chided, stretching her leg down to the earth. “You do not have to take such precaution with me.”

“It is no trouble.” The days, slowly but surely, were getting longer, Helios’ chariot lingering for a few more minutes every evening. They could certainly afford to stop and rest for a while should she require it. Once she had revealed to him her condition, he had resolved to mold the pace of their journey to her level of comfort and satisfaction. To ensure her health and the health of their child, Percy could stand a few unexpected delays.

Supporting her with his arm, he led her to the makeshift seat of stone, situated in a patch of sunlight bracketed by the shadows of the trees behind them. With an adorable little grunt, her sweet face scrunched up, she sat down upon it, sighing in relief. “There,” she breathed, hanging her head. “That’s better.”

The town of Trever was still a little ways off, but they could still see the rise of the town walls over the rolling hills. He noted, with some displeasure, the towering spindle resting on top of the ancient gate--was there nothing these trinity men would not claim for themselves?--but chased the thought from his mind, focusing instead on the more pressing issue at hand. “What is wrong?”

She had not explicitly told him why they should stop, only that she was desperate for relief of some kind. Rather than push for a reason, he had chosen instead to indulge her. “Some water, please?” she asked, her face drawn.

Nearly tripping over himself, he leapt up onto the wagon to retrieve the water skin before delivering it to her, kneeling down before her. “Are you alright?” he asked again, hiding his concern as best he could. She did not like him to fret so much over her--not that she could stop him.

“I am fine,” she promised. “Your child is just--very active.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Oh?”

She nodded. “Here--feel.” Then, without hesitation, she grasped his hand, and placed it over her stomach.

Percy, by design, had refrained himself from touching her in any manner that was not explicitly one of acquaintanceship since that wonderful, terrible night, not in any meaningful way. In turn, she had not, precisely, refused his company, but had kept him at something of a distance, emotionally if not physically, likely for his own protection. But now she had initiated contact, had invited him in, and Percy was once again caught up in the sublime experience which was being close to Annabeth Fredriksdotter. Her hair, nearly twice as long as it was when they had arrived in Svealand, was bound up in an intricate knot, though loose, gilded strands fell out here or there, as she had left her head uncovered today, insisting that it was too hot for her wimple. Percy understood that it was key to her modesty as a married woman to cover her head, even if she was married to the likes of him, though he could not pretend he did not dislike it, at times. If only she would look at him, though, grace him with her lovely gaze, rather than their joined hands.

So distracted by the sunlight filtering through her hair that he nearly missed it.

A small, nearly imperceptible jolt beneath his fingertips.

Then he felt it again.

He recognized the feeling--it was one he recognized from when his mother was pregnant with his dear, sweet little Esther. “Is that…” he said, trailing off, softly so as not to disturb the moment.

“That,” said his wife, jovial, “is the little monster which has been causing me so much distress recently.”

Swallowing, he blinked back the sudden heat from his eyes. “Oh,” he said, pulling his emotions together so he did not weep. “I am sorry.”

“As you should be,” she said, but she was grinning at him. “Your child is kicking me in the ribs--a skill I am quite certain he got from you.”

He . She thought they were going to have a son.

Something in her smirk riled an old part of his brain. “Kicking was always your maneuver,” he accused, smiling in turn. “If she is kicking,” he insisted, emphasizing the opposite sex purely on principle alone, “it is surely due to her mother’s influence.”

She rolled her eyes at the reference. “Oh, please do not say you are still sore from--”

“I swear, to this day, I still bear the marks from the force of your blow!”

“I have seen you without clothes on,” Annabeth said, “and you have no such mark, believe me.”

A silence fell between the two of them, chilly and awkward. She did not attempt to remove his hand from her person, and nor did he wish to remove it.

“It occurs to me,” she said quietly, after some time, “that I… I have never apologized for how I treated you back then.”

Rubbing his thumb against the fabric of her dress, he shrugged. “That time has long since passed,” he murmured, “and we are two very different people now. Let the past remain in the past, I say.”

“Still. I was--very cruel to you,” she said. “I should not have said those things.”

She had been very cruel. Percy had returned to the agoge after a year and a half spent with the Legion, expecting open arms and welcome smiles from his friends and brothers in arms, only to be met with scorn and derision from the one person whom he had most wanted to see.

After the war with the titans, they had only been granted a short reprieve before they had received an envoy from Aachen, begging Percy’s help with a monster which they simply could not fight on their own, diminished as they were in the realm of Karolus Magnus , far from their ancestral home. Never one to turn down a cry for help, Percy had entreated Annabeth and their former questing companion now turned Lord of the Wild to accompany him. Unfortunately, in the snowy mountains of Dardania, they were ambushed by monsters, and separated. By the time Percy came to his senses, he was in the tender grip of the Latins, and Annabeth was long gone.

A naturally distrustful lot, they would not let him free until he had proven his loyalty to the rootless empire, and they sent him away to train with their patroness in the wilds. Once Lupa deemed him worthy of service, upon his return, they then put him to work, pairing him with his Latin counterpart, the son of Jupiter.

Again, he felt no shame with what he had with Iason. Theirs had been a soldiers’ romance, brief, but deep, intense and overwhelming. In truth, he would not have fallen in with the man, save for that he had been under the impression that Annabeth had left him to his doom in the mountains. The Latins had intimated to him evidence of a person’s quick retreat where they had found him, and had let him come to his own conclusions.

Once the giant Polybotes had been slain, then, and Percy had been released from unwilling service, he had been allowed to return to the shores of Constantinople. There he had received something of a hero’s welcome, with all due honors and celebrations--except, of course, from Annabeth, who had been decidedly not happy with his return. Feelings between them grew fouler and fouler, until, one fateful day, as they were practicing their weapons’ routines on each other’s persons, more hateful words had been traded rather than blows. Quickly, what had been a skilled and professional match devolved into something dirty and mean, filthy trick after filthy trick, until she had kicked him square in the ribs, knocking him flat onto the ground, hissing from between bloodied teeth how she would have preferred it if he had died in Dardania.

After that, Percy had promptly departed for his father’s palace, seeking escape in the form of good cheer and happier people, chasing away his broken heart in the arms of Thetis, and others.

They had not shared a serious or friendly conversation for years--not until the morning the Ottomans broke through the defense of the city.

“Think nothing of it,” he said, unwilling to dwell on that time any longer than he had to. He would not say it was alright, for it was not, but he also had let go of that animosity many months before, in the shadow of the Erechtheion.

“You must understand,” she went on, a little forceful, “I was not angry with you, but with myself. I thought I had lost you to a fate unspeakable--”

“I am not certain I would classify Latin conscription as a fate unspeakable,” said Percy, dryly.

She flushed. “I--I only meant--”

“Annabeth,” he said, not wanting to tread this ground any further, “let it be done. Please.”

“After the war,” she spoke, urgently, “I thought… I had--thought that we would… well.” All at once, she slumped as though the very breath had gone out of her, removing her hand from his, nearly curling into herself. “I suppose,” she murmured, “it no longer matters what I thought.”

She did not need to clarify. He knew perfectly well what she had meant. It was not much of a secret that Percy and Annabeth had held some youthful affection for each other, not even from each other. So easily it could have blossomed into something stronger. “I wanted to,” he said, craning his neck to meet her eyes so she could see the truth of it. He had wanted to, and had planned to. But he was no fool, for he knew that a man needed a way of supporting a family before he could start one. The expedition to Aachen, that would have been his ticket into some of the upper echelons of Constantinople; a letter of introduction from a tribune, prefect, or even a centurion would have done wonders for his social standing and finances. “I swear, I wanted to, but then…”

Her lips lifted in a small smile. Not one of happiness, no. She knew all too well the things they had done to each other, the barbs they had hurled and the wounds they had inflicted. It was the acknowledgement of old sorrows and long-ignored pain which caused her to smile, a pain shared and understood only by the man before her. “As you stated,” she said, “we are now different people, and we cannot dwell on what may have transpired between us.”

A satisfactory answer--tragic, yes, but satisfactory nonetheless. “But we are friends, yes?” he asked, hoping for a little salve for his broken heart.

She raised her head, grey eyes clear and steady. “It is my very honor, Perseus,” said she, a pronouncement handed down from the empress herself, “to call you my friend--my dearest friend.”

It was not exactly what a husband might want to hear from his wife, nor what a man might want from the woman he loved about all things. But for Percy, it would be enough. It was Anja Elisabet Fredriksdotter: her hand, her child, her friendship. Perhaps one day, that friendship could be transmuted into something more affectionate, but Percy would not waste his time waiting for a day which would never come, not when she was here, before him, solid and tangible.

“Percy,” she said, very sweetly, “as wonderful as this is, unfortunately, I must ask you to give me some privacy at this time.”

“Oh,” he staggered to his feet, snatching his hand back. “Of course.” This, too, was a symptom of pregnancy with which he was quite familiar. His poor mother’s body had been pushed to its very limit, and she had had to relieve herself quite often. “I shall leave you to it, then.”

Then, face red, he trotted round to the other side of the wagon, where, paradoxically, he could better protect her.

***

Percy blinked, uncomprehending. “I beg your pardon?”

“I merely said,” she repeated, unconcerned, “that you no longer have to keep up the pretense. It has been months since I have had such voracious cravings, yet you continue to make a show of your search. It is natural for men to wish time for themselves--I know very well what a man can do with this time away from his wife.” She looked on him flatly, as though she thought he was the fool  for thinking her to be one instead. “I am more than capable of amusing myself for a few hours. Please, go on--I am sure the good people of the brothel await.”

The--”I would not do that to you,” said Percy, quietly, a little insulted. Did she truly think so low of him that he would make good on his long-forgotten promise to abandon her to her freedom? Did she not understand that dreams of their brief time together would sustain him as water in a desert, and yet ruin him for any other man or woman? “If you do not believe me, then I insist you accompany me,” he said, firmly. “Allow me to put these thoughts of yours to rest.”

She looked out the window of their little room, where the sun hung low in the sky over Messalia . It had been a hot, July mid-morning when they rambled into town, looking for a place to stay the night before they would put to sea the next day, the streets and corners quiet as the people retreated to their homes for their daily rest. Now, as the shadows began to stretch, the city came to life once more, the hustle and bustle of commerce a dull roar beneath the room in the little inn which they had rented. Through the air wafted the scents of spices, coal fire, and the blessed salt smell of the sea, the glittering, golden jewel that lay beyond the walls. “Very well,” she said. “I believe I shall. A walk outside may do me some good.”

With some difficulty, as her large stomach made everything rather difficult for her these days, she managed to stand up from the low bed, reaching for her wimple which she had discarded previously. Tying it about her face, he was once again struck by the duality of his emotions, that he could feel so disheartened and yet so elated by the same action. Her wimple covered all of her gorgeous, golden hair, as modesty dictated it must, yet the act of hiding such beauty signified, once again, that she was his wife--a cause for great celebration, if only in his heart.

And so they went together on the town.

It was an absolutely marvelous time.

Once again, the sea infused his senses and soothed his entire being--a familiar sea this time, not the strange, frigid waters of the north, but the deep lapis and emerald of his childhood. Every shaft of sunlight felt as the touch of a friendly hand, and every shadow a cool breeze of relief. Together, arm in arm, they wandered up and down the markets, where Annabeth used the time given to her to practice her Italian. She was a remarkably quick study, as he knew she would be, though it did help that the merchants here were much more familiar with that language than they had been further north.

By now, Percy had been to markets practically all over the world. Each one was unique, distinct, with its own set of sights and sounds and smells, and yet, each one had been positively lackluster, almost grey in his memory. Not many men were fortunate enough to have seen so much of the known world, and had lived to tell the tale of it. Today, however, walking about with his eight month pregnant wife in the streets of Messalia, he finally understood what they all had been lacking.

So caught up in his wife’s lovely smile as she admired a particularly ripe set of figs, that he accidentally barreled into another person, spilling the contents of their arms all over the ground. Fruit went tumbling, smashing the earth in rich, dark colors, staining the well-worn streets. “Ah, perdono !” he cried, dropping to his knees to help gather up the items which could be salvaged. “ Scusatemi !”

“ Non, non, mon sieur ,” said the woman, joining him on the ground, “ perdon , per … Percy?”

At the sound of his name, his head snapped up.

She was an older woman, with long, thick brown hair streaked with grey, and eyes that shifted color in the low light. Her skin was tanned a deep brown from hours spent in the sun, and though her face was lined with age, none would look on her and not consider her to be a great beauty.

They stared at each other, in shock and disbelief.

“Percy?” called Annabeth, faint in his ears. “I am in need of your assistance, as I cannot remember the world you taught me--”

“Oh!” wept the older woman, dropping the rest of the fruit she had gathered onto the street, opening her arms to hold him. “It is you!”

And with a deep, wrenching sob, pulled from his chest, Percy threw himself into the warm embrace of his mother.

“ Mater , mater ,” he moaned, burying his face into her chest as she held him close. “Oh, mater !”

“I knew it, I just knew it,” she was saying, over and over again, clutching him to her breast, kissing his forehead, “I knew you had made it out. Oh, lord of the sea, earth-shaker in the swelling brine, thank you, thank you, thank you for my son!”

So caught up in the sudden wave of emotion, he was rendered nearly mute. “Mother,” he finally croaked, taking in the warm, sweet scent of her--cinnamon and cloves and sea salt. To think that he had almost forgotten the particular details, hands calloused from years of cooking, eyes twinkling like stars on the surface of the water. “Mother!”

“My boy!” Sally pulled back, raking her hands through his hair, pushing it from his face so she could look on him more clearly. “Oh, my boy, I never thought I would see you again!”

“Nor I you,” he replied, tears blurring his vision. “How--how are you here?”

“I could ask you the very same,” she said, smiling the sweet summer smile which had lit his childhood as a candle in the dark, “and I will hear all of it--but for now, let me simply look upon you! It has been far, far too long since I have seen your smiling face.”

He was smiling, so wide and genuine that it caused his face to ache, a pain he was more than happy to bear, down on his knees in the middle of Messalia. “I have missed you, mater ,” he said, “so much.”

“Percy?”

Blinking, he came back to himself, emerging from the dream so suddenly made real. The populace of Messalia were not giving them so wide a berth, just barely sparing the two the indignity of being walked all over. Annabeth stood a little ways away, her hand resting on her protruding stomach, light concern falling over her face like a veil.

“Mother,” he said, seized with a strange kind of energy, “here.” With steady hands, he lifted her up from the ground, the ruined fruit forgotten. Annabeth stepped closer to them, trepidation slowing her pace. She had already met his mother a number of times--they had often taken rest at her house when a quest required them to take their leave from the agoge for several days at a time--but even he understood that to meet her as his wife was a vastly different thing.

But his mother, quick as ever, cottoned onto the truth of the matter. “Percy,” she breathed, full of disbelief, “is that--”

“You remember Annabeth,” said Percy, nerves seizing his tongue and nearly stopping it in his mouth, “my--my wife.”

How strange, that weeks ago, the two syllables represented one of the happiest truths of his life, and yet today, he felt as anxious as a baby colt learning to walk for the first time, desperate for the two most important women in his world to feel some sort of kinship.

His mother gasped, her hands flying to her face. “Annabeth!” she cried, taking her in her arms without hesitation. “Your wife! How wonderful! Oh, blessed day that made your way here!”

Annabeth stood there, quite shocked, before bringing her arms up as well.

“Oh, goodness,” said his mother, pulling herself back, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Look at me--I apologize for such unbecoming behavior. But you must come back with me--Paul and Esther will be overjoyed--I will need to purchase some wine--”

It was then that Percy remembered he had, quite indirectly, ruined her groceries. Fruit was not inexpensive, and neither was wine. Percy knew his mother, and he knew she would wish to cook for him in celebration, but he would not see her waste any more of her money on his account. “Allow me,” he said, placing a hand on her arm. “I shall pay you back in full, and then some. Ah, if,” he glanced towards Annabeth, seeking her permission, for it was her money after all, “if that is alright, of course.”

She looked at him, quizzically. “Of course it is alright.”

“Percy,” sighed his mother, “you do not need to--”

“It is settled, then!” Taking her arm in his, he directed them to the fruit seller whom Annabeth had been speaking to just prior, unwilling to let go of his mother for even a second. “We shall have a veritable feast!”

***

Paul, his mother’s husband, had wept upon seeing them. Dear, sweet little Esther refused to let go of her elder brother, stubbornly clinging to his leg. Eventually, she had tired herself out, the poor thing, only allowing her father and Annabeth to take her to bed when she had nearly fallen asleep in his lap. Percy had tried to persuade Annabeth to relax, but she had insisted, looking on Esther with such sweetness and doting in her eyes that Percy found himself hard-pressed to say no. Perhaps she would be so sweet and affectionate with their daughter, as well. The very thought excited him in ways he could not quite describe.

If she was forced to be a mother, then, perhaps it would not be the harshest of fates.

“I am so glad, Percy,” said his own mother, once he had recounted to her the whole, winding tale of his and Annabeth’s journey. Her looking at him with such fondness, it transported him back to that dark, bleak time, when they were all that each other could claim to call their own. Now look at them--families and children, both. Beneath the thumb of a monstrous man, sometimes it was difficult to imagine otherwise. “When the news of Constantinople’s fall reached us… yet I kept the faith. I knew you would survive, and I am so glad you had someone with you.”

He smiled, taking her hands in his, kissing the knuckles there. “All I learned of survival,” he said, “I learned from you.”

She squeezed his hands, warm and solid.

“But you must tell me how you came to Messalia,” said Percy, before he could begin to weep. “How is it you found your way to this place?”

His mother lifted her shoulders, tilting her head. “My story is not nearly so exciting as yours, I can promise you that. Our voyage out of Constantinople was swift and peaceful, and we arrived on the shores of this city far faster than we thought possible.”

“That was my father,” said Percy. “In Svealand, I had a dream of him--he bade me to send you his love.”

Her countenance transforming, she smiled, sweetly, knowingly, a glint in her eye which lifted years off of her face. “I had wondered,” she said, “for our voyage did seem unusually safe.” Then she shook her head, lightly, casting off whatever memories had come to her in that moment. “What else did he tell you?”

Much that he wished to keep to himself, though he was sure she would understand. “Have you ever heard of the city of old soldiers?” he asked his mother instead. He felt all of fourteen years old once more, seeking his mother’s guidance, begging for wisdom from a woman of keen sight and keener instinct.

Frowning, she turned her gaze towards the open window, to the stars which were beginning to show their faces. “I do not know this city of which you speak,” she said quietly.

Percy sighed, his shoulders slumping.

“Yet,” said his mother, “I, too, have had some extraordinary dreams as of late.”

At that, he perked up once more, leaning in to listen better. As she had told him, once upon a time, her sight had waned alongside her youth, though she could still occasionally perceive that which lay just beyond the comprehension of most mortals. “What have you seen?” he asked, breathless.

She closed her eyes, recalling. “In a city on a river,” she said, “there is a grand building--a church, made of marble, white and green, and above it rests a red dome, reaching towards the sky, as though it longs to return from whence it came.”

“A city on a river,” he repeated. Another clue--yet, just as many cities had rivers as they did old soldiers.

“I apologize, my son,” said his mother, opening her eyes once more. “This is all I know.”

He squeezed her hands, comforting. “Think nothing of it. We have already decided to seek our fortune in Venice--I have been told that their church there was modeled on St. Sophia. Perhaps this is the dome of which you speak.”

“Perhaps,” she said, unconvinced. “But must you leave us so soon? You will do well in Venice, of that I have no doubt, yet I do not know if I can bear to be apart from you once again. And,” then she grinned, her eyes suddenly sparkling, “I should very much like to meet your child.”

Percy blinked at her, processing what she was saying. Then he flushed, grinning weakly in return. “Ah, yes, well… I should like you to meet her as well.”

Certainly, he possessed no gift of prophecy--he was not, as it were, a child of Apollo--but he found himself dreaming more and more of that little girl with his wife’s lovely hair and eyes, like the children who dressed as St. Lucy. A little girl whom he could lavish all fatherly love and affection upon, rather than a wife who would find it a nuisance at best. She would be his princess; and if her mother could be persuaded, he would call her his Anja.

The lines on her face ran deep, carved from years of laughter and joy which poured forth from her like the sun itself. “Even at such a young age, I could sense the fondness and affection you had for each other. You do not know how happy I am for the two of you.”

A fondness and affection which had now faded on her part--but at least they had resolved to remain friends in a marriage of trust and support, if not love. “When I have made enough money,” he promised, to take his mind off of his situation, “I will send for you and your family, and we will never be parted again. In fact,” he said, struck with sudden inspiration. Rummaging through the various folds of his clothing, he located his purse which carried the rest of the money he had on him, then placed it in his mother’s hand. “Here. A gift, to a wonderful mother from her loving son.”

“Percy,” she tutted, brow furrowed. “Do not concern yourself with me. We are comfortable here, Paul and I; you must focus all of your resources on providing for your own family now.”

“Annabeth has more than enough to provide for herself, her dowry was immense. More land than I thought possible, sold for more money.” he said. “She and our children--our child,” he corrected, cursing himself for his weak tongue, and praying his mother had not caught it, “our child will be kept in comfort for the rest of their days. I carry only a bit for pocket change, so she need not do all the bartering for me. You have done so much for me--please, allow me to do this for you.”

“What do you mean?” his mother asked, picking up the purse, surprised by the weight of it. He observed as she untied the cord, and spilt the contents on her table, the gold coins clinking against each other ever so noisily. “Is it not your money now?”

“I suppose, legally , yes.” he conceded. “But the land we--she gained from her uncle is ancient family land. It would not do for me to leech such things away from her.” Bad enough that she had to be tied to him in motherhood and marriage, but he would not stoop so low as to usurp the use of her finances. “Once I arrive in Venice, I will then pay my own way,” he promised his mother, and his wife, though she was not there to hear him. “I will find work as a laborer, or if I am lucky, perhaps a ship will be in need of a sailor.”

“I suggest,” his mother said, “that you speak to your wife regarding such things.”

As much as he would have liked to protest, said wife reentered at that moment, helped along by Paul. “Percy,” she said, “the hour grows late, and we have left poor little Freya all by her lonesome.”

“Ah--of course,” said Percy, standing as well. Damn that cat, he thought. “Then I believe we must take our leave of you now, mother.”

“I understand,” she said, rising to see them out. “Will we see you again ‘ere you depart?”

“Tomorrow,” he promised. “I shall return to you once more.”

Then she swept him up in her arms again. “Until that happy time, my son.”

He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of oil and onion, cinnamon and cloves, hearth and home, and marveled again at the strength of his wife who had borne the pain of leaving her father to travel the world with someone like him. “Until then.”

[theyearoftheking]

Book Sixty-One: Under the Dome

“We’re calling it the Dome... but it’s not a Dome. At least, we don’t think it is. We think it’s a capsule whose edges conform exactly to the borders of the town. And I do mean exactly.” 

I’ll be the first to admit... I threw some shade at Under the Dome. To be fair, I threw a metric shit-ton of shade at Under the Dome. And I will also admit, this book did not deserve my snotty comments, my shade, or my dread. 

Under the Dome is a fantastic book. I mean that in the most sincere, un-shady way possible. The mounting sense of dread, the varied cast of characters and their development, the struggle of good versus evil... I loved all of it. I would not classify this book as horror, it’s a complete psychological read, despite the horror that occurs under the dome. So, please recommend this to your, “I don’t like Stephen King, he’s gross!” friends. But if you are a Constant Reader, there are plenty of Easter eggs to keep you amused: 

Shawshank Prison

Castle Rock

TR-90

“Lit out for the Territories”

“Exactly like in that movie The Mist” 

Derry

“Gunslinger style” 

The plot of the story is pretty basic: a large, impenetrable dome goes up and around the town of Chester’s Mill. Airplanes that fly into the dome explode, cars violently crash... there’s no way in or out of Chester’s Mill. 

The town pretty quickly breaks off into two factions: the power hungry who want to control the resources and the people (headed up by the uber-douche and Second Selectman Big Jim Rennie); and the people who want solutions, and to help one another (headed up by short-order cook and former Special Forces Operator Dale “Barbie” Barbara, and Julia Shumway, owner of the local newspaper). 

Big Jim Rennie takes a novel approach (sarcasm font) and feeds on the fear of the citizens. He starts limiting access to propane tanks, groceries (he incites a riot outside the grocery store), and healthcare. Meanwhile, he’s kicked back in his bunker, enjoying temperate climates, and eating all the food his fat ass and time-bomb heart can handle. It would be funny if we hadn’t just lived through four years of it... 

If 2020 (well, the entire Trump presidency, TBH) has taught us anything, it’s that people make conservative choices when they are afraid. As a result of the fear, Big Jim ends up putting together a police force of high schoolers, complete with armbands and everything. The only thing missing were Proud Boy’s t-shirts. 

Big Jim uses his popularity and the fear to convince the town Barbie is guilty of several murders (murders Jim and his psychotic son actually committed); and then he burns down the newspaper building; because he didn’t want Julia to publish anything untoward about him, or his police force’s efforts. 

Meanwhile, no one wants to talk about the fact all the propane tanks are stored at a Christian music radio station, which is secretly hiding a meth lab. Of course Big Jim knows all about that... how do you think he’s made his money? It sure wasn’t at his used-car lot. 

Oh, we also get a Corgi’s narrative voice, which was adorable. You can tell Steve really stretched his creative muscles with this one. I mean, he had to... the book is over a thousand pages long. 

Chaos ensues, people die, the temperatures under the dome rise (literally), and the air quality gets worse and worse. Barbie, Julia and their rag-tag crew of community members (Romeo Burpee is my personal favorite) and neighborhood kids figure out what is causing the Dome, and they’re able to save the day. Kind of. I mean, a lot of people are dead, but at least the Dome is gone. Oh, and Big Jim dies of a heart attack. Which is honestly too good of a death for him. I could have come up with a million more creative ways for him to die. But we don’t always see the justice we want. Someone put that on a coffee mug, please. 

There were two fun surprises. The first, was a Jack Reacher cross-over I wasn’t expecting. Jack gave a citation to his girl Jackie Wettington (Chester’s Mill police officer). That was a fun tip of the cap to Lee Child. I will only reference Jack Reacher books; because Tom Cruise is a gross human being that I refuse to acknowledge. Despite the massive crush I had on him in the second grade. It was the era of Cocktail. Sue me. 

Speaking of crushes, one of my other boos is mentioned as well! My man Lester Holt! I listen to Dateline podcasts almost every single day. No joke. He has those dulcet, angelic tones that make my drive time so much better. 

I just... Sigh. I need to stop fucking reading these books. The similarities between some of these stories and our current world is just too much. I couldn’t stop picturing Trump during every Big Jim scene. He claimed his actions were for the good of the community, but it was all about power and money. “...and praying, unaware that his prayer was basically a series of demands and rationalizations: make it stop, none of it was my fault, get me out of here, I did the best I could, put everything back the way it was, I was let down by incompetents, heal my heart...” 

At least our Kamala/Commala prophecy came true, right? That has to be a sign that better days are ahead. 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 40

Total Dark Tower References: 56

Book Grade: A+

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Wizard and Glass: A+

Under the Dome: A+

Needful Things: A+

On Writing: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Hearts in Atlantis: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

Stephen King Goes to the Movies: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Bag of Bones: A-

Duma Key: A-

Black House: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

The Dark Tower: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

Wolves of the Calla: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Song of Susannah: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

From a Buick 8: B

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon: B

The Colorado Kid: B-

Storm of the Century: B-

Everything’s Eventual: B-

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Cell: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Desperation: C-

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Faithful: D

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Lisey’s Story: D

Christine: D

Dreamcatcher: D

The Regulators: D

The Tommyknockers: D

Next up is Full Dark, No Stars... which, wow. I’m still turning the stories over in my head a week later. My apologies- I’m a bit behind blogging, but you’ll be reading my musings soon. 

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights, Rebecca 

[illshowyourhurricanes]

Heat Wave

This drabble turned 2000+ word one shot is brought to you by this fantastic request from @the-blind-assassin-12​:

This took forever and took a completely different direction than the one I had planned. Thank y’all for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Image prompt 8: Ryan Brenner x reader (related to Bah, Humbug and In the Line of Fire (part two) which can both be found in my masterlist)

Rating: PG for slight language

Word count: 2167

Tag list: @obscurilicious​ @the-blind-assassin-12​ @something-tofightfor​ @logan-deloss​ @lexxierave​ @madamrogers​ @yannii04​ @gollyderek​ @carlaangel86​ @bicevans​ @maydayfigment​ @thisisparadisemylove​ @malionnes​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @crushed-pink-petals-writes​ @delos-destinations​

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If anyone would like to be added to/removed from my permanent tag list, just shoot me an ask!

When you’d left home at the crack of dawn for a job interview— which had gone surprisingly well thanks to Starbucks and an extra shot of espresso— you’d needed something far warmer than the lightweight blazer you’d grabbed on your way out the door. Now, just before noon, you had shed your blazer that had proven to be insufficient earlier, yet you still felt hot in just your sleeveless blouse and pencil skirt. You thought a perk of moving farther up north would be the mild, temperate climate. It was your first Indian summer, though you’d lived in the area for a year, and you had decided it was bullshit. What had happened to the cool, crisp autumn you’d fallen in love with a year ago?

When you pulled open the heavy glass door of the post office, a cold blast of air  but your skin, and you stepped inside quickly. The air conditioning felt absolutely fantastic, and you briefly wondered if people would notice if you lingered for awhile, just to soak up the cool temperature, maybe until you were even a little chilly.

You smiled at the thought as you arrived at your box, smack in the middle of the wall of post office boxes belonging to other people. There was a wall of boxes on your left, another on the back wall— yours on the right—and there were more just down the corridor. You rummaged in your bag to find the tiny brass key for P.O. Box 257, tucked away in a zippered compartment in your purse. After the third time it had fallen off your key ring, you decided to hide it away in a more safe, reliable place. 

After locating your key and unlocking your box, you stared at the unexpected abundance of envelopes that had piled up over the last week.  Who knew so many people still send paper mail?  It took two times reaching into the small box to pull out every piece of mail, mostly tuning out to be junk or credit card companies offering you low interest rates. Only then was the box empty— almost. Retrieving the one remaining piece of mail at the bottom of your box, you smiled as you realized who it was from, locking the box back before giving the postcard a good look. It was rare that Ryan sent you postcards.

They were usually letters tucked away inside envelopes, words hidden for only you to see. The decorative side of the card displayed a vintage style print, a drawing of a wooden fence leading out onto a beach of white sand bordering sky blue waters. Welcome to Orange Beach! it boasted in a series of light green block letters, fading into yellow. 

You flipped the card around to see Ryan’s familiar handwriting, a mixture of print that sometimes led off to a few letters of scrawled script:

Just passing through. All the sunshine brings you to mind. See you soon. 

You could hear the cadence of his voice, the dropping off of the G at the end of certain  words, the slight twang that tugged at his pronunciation of vowels. Your smile grew into a grin as you glanced at the postmark, reading September 3rd. Your eyes widened into saucers as you recalled today’s date. Ryan’s postcard must have gotten lost in the shuffle of the mail circuit— the post date was over two weeks ago. 

You shrugged it off and secured your key back into the small pocket on the inside of your purse just before tucking Ryan’s postcard inside. With an armful of the rest of your mail, you braced yourself for the assault of the inevitable sweltering  heat.

 Fucking Indian summer. 

                                             ***          ***          ***

Ryan was just passing through after a rousing five days in Virginia,  where he’d met up with Georgie. Where he was going next was still on the table. Instead of restless, he felt fulfilled, still riding the high of busking with his close friend, both of them splitting the money they’d made halfway. He and Georgie played well together, and it usually paid off. He’d shedded his coat and hoodie, managing to stuff the hoodie into his pack and hang the thicker layer around one of the straps of the large bag. His ever-present guitar case, the black leather wearing off around the edges, was clutched tightly in his right hand as he paused near a crosswalk. Squinting in the sunlight, he was grateful for the small shadow the bill of his cap provided.  With the transition of the streetlights from green to yellow to red, he crossed the street and walked one more block to reach the post office. 

He was low on stamps, had just two left to be exact. Ryan kept in touch with a handful of people and had a flip phone, but he preferred writing letters. They felt more personal, gave him the time to think about what he was saying and write them in a way that he’d stumble on while talking. There were also times when his phone would be dead for days. 

It was mid-July, the thick of the summer, and he could feel beads of sweat forming along his forehead, though it was before noon. The old government building was once red-bricked, but had been washed with white in order to modernize the place. The upkeep added a nice touch as well, neatly trimmed bushes contrasting against the bright paint. He pulled at the metal handle on the right of a set of non-paned French doors, the temperature of the air inside bringing instant relief. The building was eerily quiet, the only sounds lowered voices at one end of the building, the light scraping of paper against metal as patrons picked up their mail. Turning toward the sounds of conversation, he walked down the corridor and turned with the layout of the building. 

He was surprised at the line of people waiting, a few solitary people in casual attire, one or two dressed in clothing appropriate for the workplace littered between. There was a mother with a stroller holding a sleeping toddler, an elderly couple, and one woman alone in front of him. He nodded politely as you turned your head to the side in curiosity in order to see what type of brave soul had come up behind you to patiently wait for their turn. You saw a man who was about your age, and offered him a friendly smile, turning around to face him.

Ryan instantly found you absolutely stunning. Your smile brightened your entire face, your features all striking, as if they’d been hand-picked specifically for you.. 

“Good morning,” you said, greeting him casually as if the two of you had been acquainted a long time ago, old friends. “How about that heat wave?”

Ryan chuckled, surprised at your unaffected manner and genuine friendliness. He noticed the way you surveyed his clothing, eyes quickly glancing to your guitar case before lifting to  his face again. Your expression hadn’t changed or faltered a bit, that smile still in place. That was a rarity, something Ryan hadn’t come across in quite some time. 

He returned your smile with a slightly crooked smile of his own. There’s some thin’ about this woman, he thought to himself.  She’s authentic. A good heart, a kind soul. A fire burning within her. Ryan thought that if she was burning bright, he’d volunteer to stand a bit too close to her flames and would pay no mind to the sharp sting of a burn. 

“Mornin’,” he replied good-naturedly. “I think I’m used to all sorts of weather, but then a heat wave hits and reminds me I’m wrong.” Ryan looked at you with warm eyes, spoke with a low drawl that made you weak. “Name’s Ryan, pleasure to meet you.”

                                          ***       ***         ***

It was eerily quiet when you got home, but the silence was just what you needed. You felt like you needed about three showers to wash away the sweat and sticky humidity that clung to your skin, and the only thing that delayed you was the kicking off of your shoes and dumping your purse and mail onto your couch. 

After your shower, water temperature lukewarm at best, you felt human again, revitalized. You’ve mulled around ideas for dinner in the back of your mind, made a quick detour into your bedroom, and returned to that couch you’d tossed your things upon, holding a shoebox. Opening the box as you sat and balancing it in your lap, you reached for your purse, pulling out the postcard you’d received, albeit two weeks too late. 

Lifting the thick stack of envelopes that were quickly outgrowing their box, you slipped the postcard picture-down into the bottom of the shoebox. Smiling softly, you brought your legs up, crossing them like a child, and plucked several envelopes from the middle of your stack, devouring the letters that you’d read dozens of times before. 

Y/N, 

Made a quick decision to hop off in New Orleans before heading off toward Chicago. The train station here is directly connected to a streetcar line that leads straight into the French quarter. Maybe I’ll take a ride next time. Maybe you’ll take one with me. 

I thought about you most of the day, the way you’d stop to listen to a three-piece zydeco band in Jackson square. I imagine how you’d look with powdered sugar on the tip of your nose from beignets, and the slow nod of approval when you taste real, authentic gumbo. 

I heard the roaring of a streetcar clacking over its tracks and knew that I needed to write to you that very  second. I miss you, Y/n. Wish it was me & you riding that streetcar to wherever it would take us. 

                                                                                           Ryan 

Have you ever been to Vegas, Y/N? Beyond all the neon lights, the ritzy hotels and big-name shows, the electricity of the city shifts. Contrary to what other people might think, it’s a great place to play music, beyond the strip, along a street lined with benches and a slight change of pace..  more of a scenic, less chaotic feeling. People stop, and they listen. Really listen. Sometimes I’ll get accolades instead of money, but that’s what it’s all about— telling stories with hope that people can enjoy them and relate.

It’s time for me to go out for the day. Can’t wait until you’re the audience I’m singing to. 

                                                                                          Ryan

Y/N, 

I’m just writing to tell you that Memphis not only has the best bbq, but also the best peach cobbler. Georgia’s got nothing on Tennessee. 

                                                                                             Ryan

Sometimes, when you really thought about it in retrospect, it was wild. In the space of time that you and Ryan shared as a unit, an entire human could be born; the biology of. growing from cells into a living, breathing, viable human being. An entire new life could be created. 

And throughout the last nine months, you, with Ryan’s help, had created a new life of your own. You had a boyfriend, one who was absent far more than he was around, yet managed to never weaken his connection. No matter where in the country Ryan’s trains took him, he’d write. There was no way for you to write back to a man with no address, not in a manner of space and time anyway. But in your new life, none of it was liner. The only time that mattered was when Ryan was there with you, and that was when he got your letters. You always responded, saving your words to give to him next time. 

Next time. You slid folded paper back into envelopes, a grin breaking into your face as you heard the sound of heavy boots over your wooden porch. Dropping Ryan’s letters back into the shoebox right on time, you replaced the lid as the door opened and shut. There was a soft thudding of his guitar case being set into a corner, and you stood to pad through the house in bare feet. 

You met Ryan in the kitchen, watching him down almost an entire cold bottle of water. You adored this man who had needed to buy stamps while stopped in your town, stepping into the post office you’d been waiting in, all by chance. You had never been happier than when Ryan was home. 

“Good afternoon,” you greeted him. As he set aside his bottle of water, you rose to your tiptoes to give him a kiss, his lips chilled from the water. Snaking your arms around him, you leaned back and looked at him, a playful glint in your eyes. “How about that heat wave?”

[professor-fanalia]

Call Of The Wild Charity - Event 1 Part 2 - Event 2

Romaine chuckled, as Icarus flew back to her arm for one last sunflower seed before flying off whence, he came, disappearing where a staff member seemed to be waiting for him to take him away. Facing back to the seats, Romaine continued. “Taillows are may be the Flying type that relies on agility and numbers to out mauver enemies or attract mates much like its other smaller flying type friends, but it’s the speed and power that most flying types much prefer. Consider Blaise here as one good example.”

Like a strong gust of wind, a shadow flew over their heads as it showered embers from the gaps in its feathers as it soars through the sky. Circling like a bird of prey, eyeing down at them as it flew around the amphitheatre “Living mostly along mountain ranges, river valleys, coastlines, and increasingly in cities in the Kalos Region. Blaise’s Talonflame brethren are truly speedsters of the sky, reaching speeds of up to 310 miles per hour, its tough wings even don't allow fire to pass through them.” Romaine spoke in awe as she smiled at the large flying type that would be standing at her shoulder height.

“Talonflames are elegant when flying to an extent, due to which how they soar with long wings held at a dihedral, which is an upward angle from horizontal in a fixed-wing aircraft or bird wing from root to tip. And their long two forked tail twisting as it changes direction, but as you can see here Blaise is a rather different. Normally Talonflames have long black tailfeathers marked with three yellow V-shapes, where the tail ends in two points and has another feather sticking out of the base on each side, resembling of the fletching on the end of an arrow and show off their beautiful brightly flame like colours. But as you can see Blaise is grayer in colour, this is because Blaise is a North eastern Variant, despite a change in colour she remains a Flying and Fire Type.”

A black hooded plumage covered Blaise’s head, wings, and most of her chest and back before tapering off into a flame pattern that was blue-black in shade. Her underside and hindquarters were creamy white which was finely barred from the breast to the tail. The tips of her long, tapered pointed wings were black giving off a straight trailing edge in flight. While black spots speckle her underside. Large yellow talons extend from the shaggy feathers on her legs.

She still had a pointed crest atop her head, but it was slightly curled forwards. White-and-blue replaced the black-and-yellow mask-like markings around her eyes. However, her black beak remained hooked with a yellow cere. Unlike the long black tail feathers that were marked with three yellow V-shapes, Blaise’s tail was longer and much more pointed with three white V-shapes. Before her tail ended in two points and had another feather sticking out of the base on each side, resembling of the fletching on the end of an arrow.

“Blaise’s colouration is due to the environment she had to adapt to in colder climates and a change in diet, Blaise’s beautiful colours mostly adapted into melanism which causes Flying types or other Pokémon to have an excess of dark pigmentation and is generally caused by a genetic mutation, but can also be a result of certain diets. Some species have a naturally occurring melanic form or ‘morph’, such as Blaise here.” Romaine explained as she watched Blaise glide.

“Professor Fanalia, care to help me with this next part?”

The red-head professor nodded her head as walked over to stand next to one of the railings among the seats. “Alright! Now, its common knowledge that Pokémon trainers work hard to get that small flying buddies up to speed in strength however; people tend to forget even Pokémon can get sick of doing the same thing over and over again, so its always best to think of new ways to entertain and train your Pokémon friend and to ensure your buddy can bond with other types.” Romaine chuckled as she playfully lifted her hand as if to whisper to the crowd, “This is also a good way to spice up their training with a few games and tricks that they can play with their fellow Pokémon! Like capture the flag, or a ring relay!” Romaine stated with a gesture, “But today we’re going do air Volley, which is Blaise’s favourite game, because it hones her accuracy and dodging.” During most of the event, Romaine explained the rules as she tossed a light volleyball into the audience, where Fanalia proceeded to catch it while gaining Blaise’s attention.

It was basic game where Blaise could choose to be on the catching or dodging team, as the ball was thrown between the members of the Rehabilitation Centre – even Lucario and Gallade took turns in catching it; though it ended in a bit of laughter due to Kryspyn earning a red nose from an unexpected toss from Blaise who cooed in amusement at Kryspyn who merely laughed it off. From then on Romaine said goodbye to Blaise who took her favourite toy with glee, and continued on with the show – introducing many Flying types, from Chatot and Swanna who sung together, an Red Eastern Noctowl who had a very comedic personality, to a battle between a Staraptor and a Honchkrow and a beautiful dance done by Beautifly, Vivillion and Masquerain.  

“Thanks, you guys that dance was beautiful!” Romaine clapped as the flying bug types chirped happily, waving at the audience as they left the amphitheatre. Turning back to the audience Romaine gave a sadden smile, “Unfortunately we are nearly the end of our show, but we will end this with one final bang. As you may know a new region has finally opened its borders, and what better way to welcome the region than to show one of its wonderful Pokémon to the world.” Romaine began.

“It was a long process and with requiring a permit, we were given permission to study the behaviours and Rehabilitate any Pokémon that are in need from the Galar region! We still have so much to learn about our fellow companions, and there are still new Pokémon to meet and befriend! So, for a special day like today we like you to meet a special guest.”

Turning her head to the skies, Romaine grinned. “Everyone, meet Oath from the Galar Region.”

Like a cascading shadow, large avian Pokémon resembling a raven glided down onto the stage with a large flap of its metal wings it landed beside Romaine. Letting out a mighty screech, before settling down calmly as it towered over the green-haired groundskeeper. Its red pupils scanning the audience as he stood on stage. “Oath is a Corviknight, their feathers are tempered with steel. Its mantle, breast, belly, flanks, and scapular feathers are smooth and resemble plate armour. Corviknight's talons, head, and upper beak are similarly armoured.” Romaine gestured to the parts of the Steel and Flying Type, “It is said to be the strongest bird Pokémon in the Galar region, being able to scare off any Pokémon that tries to challenge it. Due to its intelligence and flying skills, Corviknight serves a company called Galar Taxi, where it transports people from one location to another.” Romaine lightly patted Oath’s side who cooed, preening under her touch, “Though one of the fascinating things we discovered about Corviknights, is that they mate for life. A mated pair usually constructs a nest by improving a crevice by dropping sticks into it; it is then built on top of the platform formed.” As she spoke, she pulled out a berry from her pouch and fed it to the large avian.

“So, who would like to come down and meet Oath?” Smiling brightly, as she instructed those who wanted to come and meet Oath to rise from their seats and come up on stage to greet the large Steel and flying Type.

-----

With greetings and goodbyes to the Corviknight signalling the end of the show. You – @ask-pokemonranger-rai, @prof-bramble, @prof-peach, @themadprxfessor, @professor-hemlock-headcanons, @a-pokemon-daycare, @breederpatmos were all guided to leave the amphitheater, back towards a building just across the Guest House. Made mainly of glass panes, it’s a decent sized building that keeps in a regulated temperature and humidity for the cultivation of delicate or out-of-season plants/herbs/berries. Before Fanalia stopped in front of the Greenhouse, “Before we go inside the greenhouse, I am here to tell you there is a little game you all have to play as you walk through the building. These Booklets that my co-workers are giving you now have zoomed in images with small riddles.” Fanalia explained as each of you were handed a booklet.

“This is a game of Pokémon Bingo, figure out the riddle of who it is with the zoomed in too close photo and proceed to one of the six locations in the Green house.” Fanalia gestured to the building.

“With each Pokémon you discover and meet they will give you stamp that you fill at the back of the booklet. There two Pokémon for the six areas, so twelve stamps in total!” Kryspyn added on grinning happily. “Once you have all twelve stamps, deliver those booklets to Romaine who will be waiting at the door with a special treat.” Kryspyn finished gesturing to Romaine and Florges who nodded their heads.

“So work with your Pokémon companions and let’s draw numbers to see where you will be heading to first!”

-----

Ready for a Game of Pokemon Bingo? Pick a number from either 1 to 6 and I shall message you a description of the area and who you will encounter! Can you guess with only a clue? 

How would your proceed with this game? Did you pat Oath or watch from Afar? What was you favorite part of the show? What did you Pokemon do?  Re-blog your Responses whether it be written or Drawn - What are your Reactions? What do you do? Thoughts and feelings?

[adraveins]

🔥🍂🌼💕 for Kit and Hakona?

Thanks! Going under a read more for length:

🔥 If your OC known for having temper tantrums? If not, what gets them really angry? What makes their blood BOIL? Is there anyway to calm them down or are they unstoppable? What are they like when they’re angry? Do they take it out on their loved ones?

Kit doesn’t get angry a lot. She might have a kneejerk defensive or pissed off reaction, but she’s worked hard to corral that and make sure it passes. When she does get really angry, it’s usually from a place of feeling powerless, which she hates, and it might be a little hard to snap her out of it then. She gets quiet and overly relaxed at first, and is an angry smiler, and then whatever she does next depends on the situation, though she’ll often fall back on her most vicious powers out of habit. But she makes sure not to take it out on loved ones. The most she’ll do is snap a bit.

Hakona definitely has a temper, which is something she deliberately stoked in her youth to heighten her fire godlike traits and later to build up that paladin zeal. She doesn’t react well to failure or despair or anything to do with Rymrgand. It isn’t easy to calm her down, but she’s not too bad at calming herself down once she channels it into a physical outlet. She is very intimidating when angry, on account of being a fire godlike Bleak Walker who dual wields axes. But while she has sometimes said things she regrets or walked out when angry, she tries not to direct her temper at loved ones.

🍂 What are their opinions on the different seasons? Which one do they hate and which one do they love and why?

Kit has been to a lot of places and not all of their seasons are the same, but overall, she loves autumn the most. Least amount of suffering when you’re overly sensitive to weather and climate, and for that same reason, she hates spring. Everything blooming and frequent rain? No thank you.

Hakona hates winter and loves summer because she’s from the White that Wends and hated it there. Heat doesn’t bother her at all, and she likes to see things at their most vibrant. Her opinion of the Dyrwood as a whole is not very high, but she loves how green it gets in the summer, and while she is not a fan of the ocean, she does appreciate the Deadfire’s climate.

💕 How is your OC like with physical affection? What are their boundaries? Do they enjoy being touched or is that a no-go? Is there any reason behind this?

Kit is fine with it to a point. She’s a little touch-starved after a long time of drifting and holding people at arm’s length, and so she appreciates her overly affectionate friends very much. But things like (too much) PDA between her and a partner, that’s a big no, as she has some hangups about privacy.

Hakona is the opposite, in that she’s not big on casual physical affection but is oddly fine with PDA. She’ll let her mother and sister hug her, and that’s about it, but then she’s perfectly fine with Xoti being overly clingy in public. 😂 It comes from living a fairly dangerous lifestyle, as she just isn’t relaxed enough in most situations, but a partner implies a level of trust that supersedes that caution.

🌼Write a short drabble from your OCs POV meeting their LI. (Or if they don’t have a love interest, their best friend. If you don’t want to do a drabble, describe their first meeting instead!)

 Kit and Edér, a.k.a. who’s this fucking weirdo?:

“Long as you’re not the one picking the sights.”

This one wasn’t telling her everything, but neither was he hiding things like Aloth was. The elf carried his secrets with a nervous energy that bubbled just under the surface. Edér carried his like they were too heavy to lift into the light.

His thoughts were there for the looking, like all thoughts were, but Kit didn’t. It was intent that mattered, not secrets, and if guile resonated within him, she would have known. Just like she knew that Aloth was on edge but didn’t mean any harm. Just like she knew that this town was on edge, and vicious in its misery, and that Edér was right about the desperate need for another scapegoat.

“I’m pretty sure you picked this place first,” Kit said. She was certain that she’d seen him here yesterday too. And he had the nerve to call her strange.

“Heh,” Edér said, with another tilt of his head, conciliatory this time. “Fair point.” His eyes flicked to Aloth. “Guess that’ll be your job, then.”

“I’ll do my best,” Aloth said, with an air that suggested he didn’t expect to find any sights worth seeing.

“I’ve got a few things to do first,” Kit said, “so if you need to grab anything…” She paused, and her gaze made it halfway to the tree and its grisly display before she caught herself. “… We can stop along the way.”

Edér noticed. It wasn’t in his face, but in a sudden warmth of his thoughts, concentrated on her. “Not much,” he said. “Won’t take but a moment.” He pointed in the general direction to go, then gestured for Kit to take the lead. “If you’re headed that way.”

“I am,” Kit said, putting the tree behind her as Edér and Aloth fell into step on either side. She wasn’t, but this town and this country felt a little less hollow with warmth at her back.

—–

Hakona and Xoti, a.k.a. more weirdos, and tell me more about death:

“I got an eye for stages,” Xoti said. “Life and death and in between. Like progressing forward… or sometimes backwards.” Her casual shrug was not as casual as she wanted it to be, Hakona observed, belied by the spark in her eyes. “It’s all just change happening in different states.”

“Change,” Hakona echoed. She hadn’t meant to let her attention get caught like so, but something in the words was… different. Even Berathians didn’t talk like this priest did. “I like that better than an end.”

The spark in Xoti’s eyes flared into something that seemed regrettably excitable. “You do?” she asked, edging a little closer. “Most folks don’t tend to see my way of things.”

It appeared that Xoti’s attention was caught too, riveted on Hakona now, and Hakona shifted her feet. “Your views are… interesting,” she said, pointedly ignoring the little smirk on Edér’s face. “They may be of use, if this gets as ugly as I think it will.”

“You should know that gruesome doesn’t bother me,” Xoti added, her eyes on the Walker insignia affixed to Hakona’s armor. “I reckon you see a lot of that, if you don’t mind me being forward.”

It wasn’t often that others weren’t intimidated by the symbol, and again, Hakona felt an involuntary tug of curiosity. She hesitated, though there wasn’t much left to consider when a lack of a proper healer was a dangerous thing, and her own healing abilities would be no substitute in dire circumstances. “Then come along.”

Xoti beamed happily at her. “I know an offer as rare as hen’s teeth when I hear it,” she said. “Yeah, I’m taking it.”

Hakona frowned. “Hen’s teeth?”

Xoti chuckled like there was some joke involved, then trailed away as Hakona continued to frown. “It’s ‘cos they don’t have any, you see.”

“You say many strange things,” Hakona observed.

A flush lit up Xoti’s cheeks, heralding a sudden suspicion with which she regarded Hakona.

“She’s joking,” Edér said helpfully.

“Oh!” Xoti said, and now her flustered glance, full of interest, bounced between both of them as a grin replaced the flush. It was Hakona’s turn to send the barest smirk in Edér’s direction, and his turn to ignore it. “Then I think we just might get along fine.”

And oddly enough, despite how eagerly Xoti was determined to edge into her personal space, Hakona agreed.

[cg29]

40 Questions — Meme for Fic Writers.

Thank you to @soniabigcheese @gumnut-logic @onereyofstarlight and Anon for the ASKS you sent my way. Since I wanted to answer in detail, I’ve had more than 1 question, and I’ve not had a lot of spare time today I thought I’d answer all in this one post…

So first up @soniabigcheese sent me: ‘How about ... 9 ... 15 and 19? Please.’

9: Which fic has been the hardest to write?

All have been challenging in their own individual ways. Yet, really thinking about it I’d have to say GONE. For various reasons – It was my first Thunderbirds Fanfic, the longest story I had ever written, at this point the one I’ve had to do the most planning and research, and finally because of the emotions that needed portraying. However, the elation at finally finishing the story was amazing and has certainly inspired me to continue.

15: If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

Oh my God, that would be amazing! I would definitely have to go for Bad Day (Virgil’s day keeps repeating. What will it take for it to end and a new one to begin?) I had so much fun writing this, it’s one that I’ve reread a few times since competing, and it still makes me giggle. I’m sure I’d be in stitches if I got to watch it on the big screen. Although due to some of the contents towards the final chapters it would definitely need a UK PG or 12A rating.

19:  Stephen King once said that his muse is a man who lives in the basement. Do you have a muse?

For Thunderbirds fanfiction my muse is definitely Virgil, The-Virg, It’s definitely his creativity and those eyes, plus that mouth, also those eyebrows, and his muscles… Sorry getting distracted – Actually, thinking about it, Virgil’s more of a distraction than a muse. Especially with my new mobile screensaver which I keep staring at.

Okay, back to the question. I don’t think I’ve got a muse – just a little voice in my head that won’t shut up when I have a story idea until I’ve written it down.

…

Next we have @gumnut-logic who asked: ‘Writer meme question thingy - 1 & 12.’

1: Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

I always seem to revert to the family dynamics rather than a full-on rescue story (which is probably why I’m struggling with two of my fics which need to  have rescue bits written in) Basically, I love to go deeper into the descriptions of the physical/emotional whump, and how the family deal with the situation (hidden feelings, tempers, how they bond) during and afterwards.

12: Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

Yes, for both TOS and TAG.

The original series: There’s a few – Terror In New York City (Yep, the beginning in particular) The Perils of Penelope, Sun Probe, The Uninvited, Edge Of Impact. After thinking long and hard to narrow it down I’d have to say that while Terror In New York’s my favourite. The Perils of Penelope inspired my naughty fic The Night of Anderbad (Penelope & Virgil pairing) plus the idea of Virgil having a secret crush on her in later chapters of The Tracy Family and a few other one of fics.

TAG: There are a few earlier ones which have inspired fics – Grandma Tourismo, Flame Out, Hyperspeed, SOS pt. 2, Signals pt. 1, Upside Down. There are probably others and these last few episodes have been really inspiring. However, I think I would definitely have to go for the more recent SOS Pt 1 & 2 and Signals Pt 1 & 2. (I’m sure the finale of Season 3 may change this answer)

…

Third we have @onereyofstarlight who asked: ‘2 and 37 for the ask meme.’

2: Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Yes, I would like to have a go at Were Virgil at some point. Also, would like to try doing the boys ages differently to see how the dynamics changed – Alan as the eldest, next in line is Gordon, then Scott in the middle with John then Virgil as the youngest.

37: Talk about your current wips.

Lol, I have a few so this could take a while :D

I will start with ones that I’ve posted on FF.Net & A03 (Probably also shared them here at some point.

1. Avalanche: TAG.

This story began as a prompt that suggested a story that begins and ends with the same line but the meaning/feeling of the line changes. I started it with the intention of writing just 1 chapter …hahaha… of course I ended the story on a cliff-hanger and couldn’t leave it there, so it’s been continued and I’m so glad I did because I personally feel it is nearing the top of my best written list. The story itself is set when the boys are just children and focuses on the tragedy of the Avalanche and the emotional repercussions. I’ve just reached chapter 14, and probably have another 2-4 chapters left.

2. Lucille: TAG

Synopsis - A story about the unseen woman who watches over International Rescue."I am a wife, I am a mother, and I am the one who watches over International Rescue, making sure I am there to catch them whenever they fall. My name is Lucille Tracy and this, well this is my story!"

A story told through the eyes of the boy’s mother. This is one that I keep stopping and starting, most likely because I hadn’t planned it out. It’s currently on-hold until I finish some others, but I will complete it.

3. The Games: AU - Thunderbirds Are Go mixed with the concept of the Hunger Games. (Although, only Thunderbirds characters will make an appearance)

Here’s my synopsis - Climate change, famine, war. In the end another major war lead to the richest creating the Global Defence Force and 'order' was restored. To celebrate and keep control the Hunger Games were created. This was the 100th games.

The fic started from the Whumptober Prompts and I decided to continue it, wrote half of the 2nd chapter then promptly forgot about it. I’ve recently been looking at this again and have started to reread The Hunger Games for inspiration. However, like Lucille this fic is currently on hold.

4. Virgil Drabbles: TAG.

Started out as a challenge to see how much I could get across in just 100 words. All chapters are based around the lovely Virgil - TAG (but with him being the middle child – started before the Grandma Tourismo episode and apart from a few fics where I write it the other way around I prefer it this way)

The story starts from Virgil’s birth and I’ve now got him attending Denver. I still have a fair few chapters to write but the rest is now all planned out.

5. Reflections: TOS.

Set after Virgil's crash during the Season 1 episode 4 of 'Terror in New York City.' Short reflections from each of the family on nearly losing a brother and son. (Previously Titled, Fallen Brother)

I had always wanted to write something based on my favourite TOS episode. Then Shane Rimmer passed away and this was inspired. Slow updates on this one but I’ve finished telling myself the story just need to edit/rewrite that into something coherent.

And now we’re onto the ones that I may have posted snippets for or just 1 section for on here, but nothing officially posted as yet.

1. Two Untitled Prompts: TAG.

Both prompts were given to me at the end of November and I actually wrote out both (Plotting, thoughts, and telling myself bits of the story) Then December knocked me sideways and my writing suffered. Back to working on these 2 again now and really enjoying them. Without giving to much away, the one features a heart-broken Alan and the other (which with Avalanche is at the top of my pile) features Virgil having a day from hell with added whump.

2. Two Whumptober Fics: TAG.

Posted 1 or 2 chapters for each of these back in October and decided that they could possibly be extended/completed before posting. (All short fics)

The first one is titled Coffee Shot: Virgil gets shot in a café and emotions will run high. Fully planned out but decided to finish some others before I continue working on this.

The second is currently titled Ransom and is set when the guys are children. Scott and Virgil get kidnapped – Only done some basic plotting for this and it’s currently towards the bottom of my WIP pile.

The third is untitled and at the moment my word file is saved under the imaginative title of ‘Virgil Whump’ (Posted 1 snippet that I wrote in 15 mins at the beginning of October then left it because of other projects) In this one the guys are all extremely busy with call-outs and Virgil needs to go to a rescue on his own that involves Fischler. Unfortunately he ends up getting trapped, injured, and because its Fischler left on his own. Fully planned out.

3. Working Title – Shattered Hope. TAG

A story idea that came to me over a year ago, written some short bits, planned out most of the story but because of one small element I need to wait until TAG Season 3 finishes.

Here’s a bit from it that did get shared to Tumblr…

‘How had it come to this?’

Just a short time ago they’d been happy, enjoying some rare downtime in the sun, five brothers together. It shouldn’t be like this… With him cradling one brother who was bleeding from a bullet wound after saving the youngest from certain death. The other two close-by. One with a dislocated shoulder, the other with a broken leg, he himself had a stab wound to his arm... All of them with numerous other injuries… Beaten, bloodied, bruised… And praying that someone would rescue them!

…

Fourth we have anonymous who asked for ’35, 38 and 39.’

35: Would you ever kill off a canon character?

I’ve killed poor Scott off a few times HERE ... HERE and another time as an old man where Virgil also got killed off. (The fic scarred me – But, at the same time I think it’s the best short I’ve written - It’s called White Light if you want to give it a read)

I’ve not killed any of the others yet, and I keep telling myself that I won’t do it again, but it will probably happen again at some point…

39: Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them? 

I’ve had a couple, but they are usually anonymous ones. I normally just delete them and move on because people like that have nothing better to do and are not worth any upset. But if it does affect my confidence then I’ll reread a couple of nicer comments, then when I’m ready I’ll continue writing. I think there was only one that really knocked me for six and that was an anonymous rant on my Bad Day fic because I’d dared to pair up Virgil and Brains. (I’m sure you can imagine the content)

38: Talk about a review that made your day.

Even though 38 comes before 39 I wanted to save this one for last.

Every single comment I’ve ever got. No matter how short or detailed has brought a smile to my face and helped inspire me to continue writing – If I had to single out one then it would actually be a private message that was sent to my Fanfiction.Net inbox. It was over 2 years ago and unfortunately I can’t find the message now but whoever sent it to me said that they’d loved my Fics, in particular Gone which they had read several times and that I was their favourite writer. I was beaming for weeks afterwards.

So, whoever you were thank you - and to all who comment, re-blog, like or kudos my stories. Thank you from the bottom of my heart… Seriously you all make this fandom such a lovely place to be!

All my current posted fics and their status can be found via my: Thunderbirds Fanfiction Masterlist 

[allisondraste]

Temperance (26/?)

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland

Story Summary: Nathaniel and Elissa were childhood friends, but time and distance tore them apart. In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, and Ferelden’s Civil War, both Elissa and Nathaniel must attempt reconstruct their tattered lives. As a series of events lead them to be reunited, both are reminded of so many years ago when things were much simpler.

Chapter Summary:  Starkhaven is the worst.  Or is it? Nathaniel receives some unfortunate postage and has an encounter with an infamous Prince. 

First Chapter Previous Chapter [AO3 LINK]

Starkhaven, 9:24 Dragon

Insulting was not quite strong enough of a word to describe what it was like to be squired at the age of eighteen.  It was a boy’s occupation: carrying shields, saddling horses, tending to armor, and completing whatever menial, and often embarrassing tasks a knight commanded.  Nathaniel could name a thousand things he would rather do than dress and undress that pompous arse, Rodolphe, every bloody morning and every bloody evening. One would think that being a knight would mean that a man was exceptionally well-versed in the daily tasks of living, adept at putting on and removing his own Maker-forsaken armor, but no.  That was a squire’s job, and Nathaniel loathed every single moment of it.

Starkhaven was a pleasant enough place to live, he supposed, with its glistening streets and architecture that boasted of its immense wealth.  The city, which straddled the Minanter River, spanned the expanse of an entire valley, surrounded at the far edges by towering walls and a mountainous terrain. Nowhere in Ferelden compared in cleanliness or opulence.  Still, Nathaniel found himself missing home. Starkhaven’s climate was too forgiving, with its mild winters and occasional rain showers. There were not enough dogs or fur-lined, grim-faced people. There was no Liss.  

That was his problem, wasn’t it? He should have been thrilled to be out from under Father’s thumb, happy to be in a new country with nice weather and the chance to learn new things. As humiliating as his daily tasks were, it was nothing compared to living at home with Father.  He should have been grateful for his newfound freedom, yet his separation from Liss was still an open, gaping wound that wouldn't heal.

His plan had been to pretend she no longer existed, to throw himself into his training entirely, to meet new people, to forget about her.  It was supposed to be simple, and it would have been, had she not sent that damn letter. She loved him, and it made everything difficult. How dare she say such important things in a letter a year after he needed to hear it?  She complicated everything and he’d chosen to be angry about it, because that was easier than feeling how he actually felt. He had stuffed the letter in the top drawer of his dresser, slammed it shut, and it remained there ever since.

Nathaniel stood by the dresser, staring at the drawer in question and tracing the brass knob with his fingertips .  Who was he trying to convince, anyway? It wasn’t as if hiding the letter under a pile of socks made him any less aware of its presence.  Every single day, he bit back the urge to read it again, to sit down and write out a response to her. Every day he told himself that it was for the best that he didn’t.  The last thing he wanted was for Liss to waste her time waiting for him to return when he could make no promises that he would. He desperately longed for her to be happy, even if he couldn’t be there to see it.  To write to her, to confess his feelings to her would be a cruel extension of a childish fantasy. They would never be together, and he had to believe that.

Still, he tugged at the knob, sliding the drawer open so that he could pull out the small envelope with his name on it, written in Liss’ elegant swirls of black ink.  His chest tightened like a vice just looking at it. It tightened again as the door to his room swung open with such force that it slammed against the wall.

“Howe,” chirped the young man standing in the doorway.  His toothy grin sat on a freckled face, framed by coppery red locks. “What’re you still doing up here, lazy arse.”

“Kenric! There is this thing called ‘knocking,’” Nathaniel spat, “You should try it some time.”

“It’s my room, too, you know.”

“I am well aware, Ben,” he sighed, “I listen to you snore every night.”

Benedict Kenric was the third son of some minor lord in Starkhaven, and he’d been squired at the same time as Nathaniel, despite being four years younger.  They had been roommates since the first day, and he got onto every last one of Nathaniel’s nerves. He was kind, with boundless energy and enthusiasm, but he was nosy and undisciplined.  It was difficult not to slap him from time to time.

Ben entered the room proudly and closed the door, leaning against the wall next to the dresser as he glanced between Nathaniel’s face and the letter in his hand.

“Don’t,” Nathaniel warned, returning the letter to the drawer and shutting it forcefully, “I know what you are going to say, and… just don’t.”

“What?  You mean you can’t handle a little prodding about that Fereldan lass of yours?”  Ben’s grin spread more widely across his face. “She must be something else, huh?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, words clipped.

“Well, if you don’t want to talk about it, then I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested in this,” Ben drawled sarcastically, pulling a small envelope from his coat and waving it in front of Nathaniel’s face. It was difficult to make out what the writing said due to all of the movement, but he would recognize Liss’ handwriting anywhere.

Nathaniel snatched the envelope from Ben’s hands so that he could see it more clearly.  It was addressed to him, and his pulse jumped. She’d written to him again, even though he had not replied.  

“Where did you get this?”

“Came with a bird this morning,” Ben answered, lifting his shoulders into an awkward shrug, “Ravenmaster told me to give it to you.”

“Oh.  Right.” He looked down to the envelope in his hand and then back up to the copper-haired boy in front of him.  “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, Nate,” Ben said without an ounce of resentment for the way Nathaniel had been speaking to him.  He motioned to the door with his thumb. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Yes.” Nathaniel nodded, eyes fixed on the letter in his hand as he moved to sit down on the edge of his bed. “I will see you at the sparring ring in a bit.”

“Don’t take too long.  You know how Rodolphe gets about punctuality.”

“Rodolphe can bite me,” Nathaniel muttered under his breath, flinching when the other boy cackled. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

“You have my word,” Ben said, placing his hand over his heart solemnly before exiting the room, closing the door behind him.

It wasn’t until Nathaniel attempted to open the letter that he realized his hands were shaking.  His heart pounded behind his ears and he fought stubbornly to keep the tears that welled in his eyes from falling.  Andraste’s blood, he needed to hold it together. Breaking the wax seal that bore the letter “C” surrounded by a wreath of laurel branches, he pulled out the folded piece of parchment inside.

Dear Nate,

I hope this letter finds you happy and well in Starkhaven.  If I am honest, I was rather shocked and disappointed that you never responded to my last letter.  Papa tells me that you are probably just too busy to write. Fergus says that you are being, to use his exact words, “a little shit head.”  I am not certain how to feel about it. After speaking to Delilah, who has also not heard from you since you left, I decided that I am — at the very least— worried about you.  

I understand if you chose not to answer me because of the things I said the last time I wrote.  It was a lot, and after I sent it off, I immediately regretted it. Nothing has changed about how I feel, but I shouldn’t have told you in writing.  You deserve to hear those words in person. You know me: impatient and thoughtless as ever. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.  

What I don’t understand is you not writing to your sister.  She and your brother are alone with your father now, and Tom isn’t handling it well.  Delilah is worried about him, and you, and you should really write to her. She misses you.

My family and I miss you, too.  It is wild, but last year when I wrote to you, Fergus and Oriana were just getting married, and now they have a baby.  I have a nephew! His name is Oren, and Nate, he is the most adorable little baby in the entire world. (Thankfully, he took after Oriana, so everyone is thrilled about that.)  You should have seen Fergus. He was a blubbering mess. He is going to be such a good father, I can tell. As for Aunt Liss? Well, I intend to spoil little Oren until he is completely rotten.

I wish you could meet him.

Your father has been insufferable since you left.  Any chance he has to make it known that Bryce Cousland’s “little spitfire,” is still “unattached,” he takes it.  If I ever once implied that I wanted Rendon Howe to be my personal matchmaker, I take it back. I swear to the Maker, I take it back.  I’m sure you don’t find this as hilarious as I do, but just know, I’m laughing for the both of us.  

You also won’t find this funny either, but since you haven’t spoken with anyone back here in Ferelden, I feel like I need to tell you:  Ever since we danced at Fergus’ engagement festival, rumors have been spreading like the Blight. Did you know that my parents have been hiding my secret, illegitimate pregnancy with your bastard child?  That’s why you were sent away, and I’m not seeing any suitors. That’s one of the tame ones! At first I was bothered by them all, but I’ve started to use them as jokes at parties. Made King Maric snort wine out his nose with one of them.

Anyway, look at me rambling.  I have so many things tucked away in my head to say, so many things I want to tell you.  I miss our talks. I miss holding your hand. I am jealous of Starkhaven for getting to be near you. Maker, I’m being such a sap. I know. I’m sorry.

I still love you.  One ignored letter changes nothing.  If you want me to stop, you’ll have to write and tell me so.

Love, Liss

Tears dropped from Nathaniel’s eyes and onto the parchment, and he reached up to wipe them away with his sleeve. Damn Liss and her letters that tore down every last inch of the wall he’d been building over the past two years. Though he knew she did not mean it, each of her words was a twisted knife into an already open wound, reminding him that it was, in fact, still there.

Frustrated with himself, he folded the letter, stuffed it back into its envelope, and tossed it into the dresser with the other letter.  He slammed the drawer shut, grabbed his archery gear, and headed outside to the range. He still had an hour before his actual training began, and he needed to clear his head in the best way he knew how.  The only way he knew how.

Archery required a high degree of concentration and bodily awareness, things which made it an ideal distraction from any sort of stress or emotional turmoil.  It was impossible to hurt so deeply while he minded his posture and attempted to gain control over his breath, as he noted the force and direction of the wind, and as he nocked and released arrow after arrow.  After so many years of practice, the motions came as naturally as breathing. If he closed his eyes, he could almost convince himself he was back at home.

Something flying past his face snapped him back to Starhaven, just in time to see an arrow split one of his own arrows in half, and sink into the target.  Nathaniel snapped his head in the direction from which the projectile came. A young man, around his age, stood several feet behind him wearing a smug smile across his face.  He had dark skin and dark hair that sat in direct contrast to his bright, piercing blue eyes. His armor, his bow, everything was gilded, and it was no stretch to assume that Nathaniel was looking at one of the Vael princes.

“You are a skilled archer,” the prince said genially, taking several steps toward Nathaniel.

“Not as skilled as you, Your Highness,” Nathaniel mumbled dispassionately, attempting to hide his annoyance over the ruined arrow.

“Ah, so you know who I am, then?”  To his credit, the man looked genuinely surprised. “What gave me away?”

“The gold.” Nathaniel remarked.  And the arrogance. He wouldn’t say such things allowed, but every royal person he’d ever met held some degree of arrogance in their posture, the way they spoke. It was unintentional, and likely the result of being worshipped from the time they were born. Still, it grated on Nathaniel’s nerves.

The prince laughed, and extended a hand to Nathaniel. An odd gesture for royalty, but Nathaniel shook it nonetheless. “It appears I am at a disadvantage.  I am Sebastian Vael, youngest prince of Starkhaven, and an eternal thorn in my father’s side. Who are you?”

“I am Nathaniel,” he replied, his own name like cotton in his mouth, “Howe.”

“You are the Howe that was squired a year ago,” Sebastian asked, raising his eyebrows, “I have to say, I was expecting someone less... competent.”

“How do you know I’m not,” Nathaniel joked.

“Incompetent noble sons do not carry themselves as you do,” Sebastian explained, a sad smile quirking up at the corners of his mouth as his eyes seemed to focus on something off in the distance. He shook his head and brought his gaze back to meet Nathaniel’s.  “Not to mention, you are damn good with a bow. Did I see you shooting with both hands?”

“I… yes,” he spluttered, “Thank you.”

“I haven’t been able to do that no matter how hard I try.  Impressive.”

An awkward silence filled the air between them before Nathaniel dared to speak again.  “Pardon my frankness, but you are an unusual prince.”

Another laugh.  “‘Unusual’ is a kind way to put it.  I am usually referred to as self-indulgent, shallow, vain, lecherous, unrefined, ill-mannered, and so on.  My father’s personal favorite is ‘useless.’”

The sting of the prince’s relatable words caught Nathaniel off guard, and he flinched before snorting out a laugh.  “My father likes that one, too.”

Sebastian’s face fell into a somber expression. “I would rather be useless than be what my father wishes me to be.”  

Though he had never thought about it before, Nathaniel felt the same.  Why had he worked so hard to earn his father’s respect, when he did not want to be what his father found respectable.  He would rather be himself, his father be damned.

“Anyway,” Sebastian said, clapping Nathaniel on the shoulder, “I have to go.  Some boring something with some Revered Mother. It was nice to meet you, Nathaniel.  We should speak again sometime. We could get a pint and complain about our fathers some more, yes?”

Nathaniel smiled and nodded. “I would like that, Your Highness.”

“Please, none of that,” the other man said as he walked away, “Just call me Sebastian. It’s more fitting.”

Nathaniel watched as Sebastian sauntered away, gait still so proud despite his talk.  He found himself a bit enamored with the prince, or at least the idea of him. He was attractive, certainly, and it was rare to find someone with whom he had so much in common.  It was even rarer to meet someone who understood his complaints with his father. He shook his head. No. A deep breath. He was just sad, lonely, frustrated even. He would not cover up his heartache with ridiculous infatuation.  Besides, he could not even be sure that Sebastian would be open to the idea of being with another man.

Maker. What was wrong with him? This was completely out of character, wasn’t it?  Or had it simply been hidden behind his dedication to Liss for so long that he had never experienced what it was like to be attracted to someone else?  Did this mean he was getting better? He certainly hoped so. He could not continue on forever with a seeping hole in his chest. He was nowhere near ready to pursue anything with anyone, let alone a prince, but at least he had some idea that it might be possible.

He walked forward to the target and removed the arrows, including Sebastians, which he placed in his quiver.  A voice rang out behind him, causing his back to stiffen.

“I see you finally met Prince Sebastian.” It was Rodolphe’s booming voice that called out. “Poor lad.  He’s been handed everything he’s ever wanted from the moment he was born, and he’s thrown it all back in his parents’ faces.”

Nathaniel cleared his throat and turned to face Rodolphe. “He seems like a good man, Ser.”

“He is,” Rodolphe admitted, with a touch of affection in his voice, “ I just wish he’d act like it.  He is going to get himself into a situation he will not be able to weasel out of.”

He’d never heard the knight be so open and it was clear he cared for Sebastian, so he pressed for more information. “Like what, Ser?”

“The boy has slept with half of Starkhaven.  He’s a deviant.”

“Sounds like he knows how to have a good time.”

“Don’t get any ideas, Nathaniel,” Rodolphe scolded, unable to sense the sarcasm behind Nathaniel’s words, “Your honor is mine.”

“I shall endeavor not to besmirch it, Ser.”

There was a pause as Rodolphe shook the smile from his face, clearly bothered by the lapse of his stern, pompous exterior.  It was good to see that he had a softer side to him. He looked down at Nathaniel’s bow and then out to the target.

“I know that you favor ranged weapons, but bows are useless in melee combat,” he stated, grasping for something to criticize, “So they are useless for a knight.”

“Not necessarily,” Nathaniel replied, pulling Sebastian’s arrow from the quiver, nocking, and releasing.

“Oh?”

Nathaniel shot another arrow, more rapidly than the first.  “You just have to be faster than your opponent.”

“And if you are not?”

Nathaniel’s lips quirked up into a grin as he aimed his arrow precisely, releasing it so that it split the prince’s arrow in half, before turning and facing Rodolphe.  “Well, Ser, a bow works as well as any other blunt object if you swing it hard enough.”

Rodolphe appeared to stifle a chuckle, raising his eyebrows instead.  “That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble.”

Drawing his shoulders up into a shrug, Nathaniel said, “If I am going to get into trouble, I would rather it be for speaking my mind, than for nothing at all.”

Rodolphe met his gaze and nodded knowingly.  Perhaps he was not such a pompous arse after all.

[fenrys-moonbae]

A Bright Star in Centuries of Darkness--Chapter 4

Eleanor had been avoiding the male like the plague, skirting around him in the palace like a mouse desperately fleeing a hunting feline.  She’d been at this since their awkward exchange days prior when he’d come to check on her and she’d halfheartedly muttered her thanks before claiming she felt faint and shooing him out.

Not that he’d been seeking her out; on the contrary, he’d been a right gentleman about respecting her space.  She hadn’t caught a glimpse of him since that night, and she fully intended to keep it that way until he departed.

Grousing internally, she pulled her scarf about her shoulders and frowned.  Men weren’t allowed to be that endearing, weren’t allowed to be that sincere and certainly weren’t allowed to be that pretty.  He should have been a ripe ass, full of ego and entitlement like the other men she’d had the misfortune of knowing.

It was unnatural.

Walking briskly, she slipped into the hallway and down the stairs, taking them two at a time as she shuffled toward the kitchen hoping to snag a tray of tarts and some stew before lunch was served.  She’d been skulking around in the shadows, only leaving her room when she was certain she could avoid running into anyone.

As far as Glaston was concerned she was still recuperating, healing from her unfortunate accident and unable to handle company and therefore free of her hosting obligation.  Even as gossip ran rampant through the palace like a pox, every recollection of the tale growing grander and more outrageous.

These retellings had included such nonsense as the fae soldier having faced fifty feral boars with nothing more than his bare hands to protect their dear and precious princess.  Eleanor had nearly wept when the tale had cycled back to her, Evalin in fits at the absurdity of it all as she recounted all the stories she’d gleaned.

Eleanor noted that it was most unfortunate they did not possess a moat in which she could drown herself and be rid of such nonsense. Perhaps if she died she’d return as a banshee, wailing her woes and drowning the servants who kept the wheel spinning.  

They’d learn to stop moving their lips then.

Eleanor was nearly to the kitchens when she heard the tap of footsteps and cursed as she glanced around. What if it was Gavriel?  She could not bear to face the male any more than she could bear to sit through another of Dennor’s nasally speeches.

Quickly she darted to the great window on the left of the hall and slipped behind the golden curtains, pulling the thick fabric around her.  Surely even the fae warrior wouldn’t notice her if she remained entirely still and held her breath?

She waited several long seconds, breathing slowly as she heard the footsteps pause before rapidly approaching.  She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head to the side as the curtain was torn back away from her.  She could just pretend she wasn’t there---

“Elle, what in hell’s realm are you doing?” She peeled open one eye, relieved to see Evalin holding the curtain back instead of a certain golden-haired male.  She deflated.

“I was dusting!” She ran her hand over the window, already immaculately scrubbed.  “See? Good as new.” Evalin narrowed her eyes in a way that assured Eleanor that she didn’t buy into such nonsense for a second.  “Are you still hiding from our guest?” Her cousin pointed a lovely finger at her slippers.  “A word of advice: if you’re going to hide, do so in a way that your shoes aren’t sticking out from the bottom of your hiding spot.” “Did you ever consider that the curtains may have started wearing shoes?” Eleanor poked her head out from behind the curtain, glancing sidelong to ensure she and Evalin were alone in the hallway.  “It’s the newest in Adarlanian fashion, as you should know.” Evalin rolled her eyes as she dragged Eleanor out from behind the fabric.  “I’ll make sure to note it.  When was the last time you left the palace?  You look dreadfully pale.”

“Not since the incident, if that’s what you’re asking.  Do not fear, dear cousin, I’ve taken to the idea of becoming a cryptid, pale and monstrous, lurking through halls at night and preying on the innocent.” “Enough nonsense out of you,” Evalin shoved Eleanor forward, “you’ll go outside this instant, or so help me.” “Fine, fine!” Eleanor grumbled, stumbling forward as her cousin guided her toward the archway leading to the gardens.  “Might we grab tarts first?  I’m famished.” “You’ve eaten nothing but sweets for a week,” Evalin clicked her tongue.  “Too much sugar.  Get something with more sustenance.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes.

“Of course, Nan, forgive my ignorance.”

Evalin flicked her ear.

“Ow! Anneith’s bosom, Eva, I have need of that.”

“Then don’t call me Nan.”

She’d still snuck a tart regardless of Evalin’s lecturing after they’d taken an early lunch, nibbling on the edge of the pastry as they strode through the extensive gardens.  Many of the flowers were dormant with autumn beginning to take hold over the earth, but the gourds and changing leaves provided an easel of color for their enjoyment.

Eleanor sincerely hoped the winter might bring a rare ice storm, though with the temperate climate it was highly unlikely.  It did not stop her from wishing for it though.  She’d always had a love for the cold, for the scent of pine and snow she’d had the pleasure of experiencing once on a trip to one of the mountain estates that their family owned.

She’d always wished to live in it, to enjoy the brisk chill and warm herself by the hearth.  Not the continuous drone of heat and humidity that Wendlyn provided.   And perhaps she’d get the chance, if she chose to follow Evalin.  Gods knew she’d been getting her fill of snow when she went north to Terrasen.

“You’re going to become a queen of ice,” Eleanor murmured as she strolled lazily down the path next to Evalin, “encrusted in snow and holly.  We should add more fur to your wardrobe.” Evalin gave a small laugh, her slim shoulders shaking. “You do know there are summers in Terrasen, yes? It was quite lovely during my visit.”

“Oh yes, they brought you there to give you the impression of how lovely it is before it’s buried beneath heaps of frozen ice crystals,” Eleanor put a hand to her mouth, Ashryver eyes twinkling, “I do hope that Prince of yours will be enough to keep you thawed in the dark, frozen nights.  I have heard he is quite . . . delicate.”

A lie.  Eleanor knew just how athletic and strong the young Prince of Terrasen was, but what fun was acknowledging that when it came to teasing Eva?

“He . . . he’s just yet to grow into himself,” Evalin griped indignantly, giving a rare flush as she defended her husband.  “He’s very lean, mind you, and fast as an adder.” “Mm, excellent in a battle but agility will do little when you are turning into an icicle,” she finished off her pastry and dusted the powdery sugar off her fingers.  “You will be queen; however, you can always hold a tourney to acquire yourself a bed warmer.  Or two.”

“I refuse to be as uncouth as my dear aunt,” Evalin’s lips downturned, her features pinching.  “I have no intention of keeping men as pets for my own pleasures.” “Really? That’s the one thing I think that queen got right, I’d be quite content with a palace full of lovely, pretty men to do my bidding.” “Funny, considering you won’t even talk to one of those pretty males.” “Note the difference there, dear cousin, males not man.  I prefer mine mortal and capable of death. What point would there be if I couldn’t become a widow if the need were to arise?” Evalin stopped, looking incredulously at Eleanor.  “You jest.” Eleanor kept her face neutral, willing seriousness to her features even as she felt a smile creeping onto her face.  Evalin merely sighed and shook her head.

“Well, at least I shall never have to fear for your wellbeing.  I’m starting to think I should be more concerned for your future love, however.” “That would be the wisest course of action.” She winked at her cousin, who gave a breathy laugh in reply.

“Nonsense.  You speak nothing but nonsense.”

“Not nearly as much as the rest of the stuffy airheads in court,” Eleanor barely realized they’d wrapped around to the gardens in front of the palace, the training grounds stretching out before them where the palace guard sparred, the sound of practice swords clashing echoing across the grounds.  “Have you heard the newest deliberations?  Apparently, the latest argument is over whether the minstrels for the spring ball will wear blue or teal.  It’s preposterous.” “I’m not even certain Glaston could tell the difference between those colors,” Evalin mused, stepping over a loose stone on the path.  “He’s likely letting them bicker amongst themselves to buy himself a moment’s peace.” “Not a bad strategy, honestly,” Eleanor turned her attention towards the training grounds, hoping to spy some of the young and shirtless recruits training.  “It’s the sole bit of proof that we’re related to soulless husk he’s become.” “He has changed in recent years,” Evalin agreed, longing entering her eyes as she no doubt reflected back on her brother’s youth when he’d been nearly as fierce as the two princesses in the garden.  “Ruling has done him no favors.” Her voice trailed as though she thought to say more.

Eleanor took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly.  A decision had formed in her mind as she spoke, one she’d been mulling over for the last few days when she’d confined herself to her room to wait out the rumor mill.

What better time to tell her than now?

“I assure you will never become so unbearably stuffy, it’s not in your nature.  Besides I will be there to shake sense into you if you ever start acting so foolishly.” She squeezed her hand once more, hoping to the gods her cousin understood.

Evalin wheeled on her, blue eyes sparkling at the implication. “You intend to come?”

Eleanor shrugged noncommittally, “I suppose Terrasen couldn’t be too dreadful,” she nudged Evalin gently, “especially if the men are lovely enough to enrapture someone as levelheaded as you are.”

Evalin took both of Eleanor’s hands in her own, true joy sparking across her lovely features.  “Swear it to me, swear you’ll come, and we’ll never have to be apart.” Eleanor rolled her eyes before conceding.  “I swear it, Eva, I’ll join you in your little castle of ice.” Evalin swept her into a hug that nearly squeezed the air from her, her cousin’s grip tighter than any vice.

“You have no idea what joy hearing that brings me,” Evalin stepped back, relief glazing her features, “to know you will be by my side.  I could ask for no better news.” “Don’t forget, Eva we’ll still have to break it to Glaston.”  Eleanor wasn’t exactly keen on telling her cousin and family that she’d be flitting off to a foreign land on a whim, especially when she hadn’t so much as asked their approval to do so.  “We might want to serve him several decanters of wine before we broach the subject.”

“We’ll make it work, I swear it.”

“I’m certain, but in the meantime,” she nodded toward the training field, “I would like to continue our walk and enjoying the view.”

Evalin gave a high laugh before linking arms with her cousin.  “Well, don’t let me keep you from your afternoon’s entertainment,” her voice dropped down to a conspiratorial whisper, “perhaps they’ll take off their shirts off if we’re lucky.” “That is the hope.” Eleanor murmured back just as quietly, her spirit lighter than it had been since Evalin’s engagement.  “If needed I can throw a bucket or two of piss on them to encourage it.”

Evalin snickered.

They quickened their pace as they trailed down the stone path, keeping quiet as they approached on silent feet.  The sound of swords clashing, and shouting grew louder as they approached, trying to keep their presences unknown.  How many times had they made this very walk as teens, feigning interest in their training when all they cared for were the bodies doing the training.

“Oh look, Captain Liam’s even joined the fray,” Evalin’s eyes were fixed on the man she’d held unrequited love for the better part of her teen years, a fleeting infatuation that had crumbled when Evalin came to the harrowing realization that said captain had a wife and a child nearly her own age. “Must be someone keeping him on his toes if he’s getting involved.” Eleanor rose slightly on her tiptoes, trying to see past the dark-haired Captain’s heaving back as he circled his opponent, the sword in his hand held tight, his movements calculated.  It must have been some new recruit with exceptional skill, she’d never seen the man so much as winded when he trained.

She leaned closer, willing Liam to move more quickly so she could get a peek at just who was giving him a run for his money—

She sucked a in breath of disbelief, her eyes glazing as she caught sight of Gavriel circling on the other side of the captain, looking all the world like a storm of seduction that had her clamping her knees together.  She hissed.  What god deemed it appropriate to give him a torso like that, rippling with lean muscle?  Even in his thin shirt she could see the panes of his taut stomach, smooth and no doubt glistening with sweat.

And his hair, pulled up in that half ponytail showing off that elegant jaw--

Were all the fae this forsakenly beautiful?

It was a sin for someone to be that damned attractive.  Tawny eyes flickered briefly towards her before focusing back on his opponent as the captain rushed him in his moment of distraction.

“By the gods, Eva,” she wheezed, her eyes trailing over the thin shirt that clung to his torso, “look at him.”  She missed the look of amusement that overtook her cousin’s features, even as her own eyes kept trailing toward the training warrior.  “He’s not real, I swear it to all the gods.”

She watched, transfixed, as he easily sidestepped Liam’s blow and matched it with one of his own, sending the Captain of the Guard flying.  Liam hit the ground with a resounding thump and let out a groan of pain.  Gavriel immediately sheathed his training blade ad strode forward to offer a hand to the grounded captain, easily lifting him to his feet.

Evalin clicked her tongue.  “He’s a bit broad for my taste.”

Eleanor’s dress suddenly felt too warm, too tight and chaffing, the words mindlessly tumbling out of her slack jaw as she murmured, “I wouldn’t mind if he walloped me like that.”

“Excuse me?” Evalin inquired, laughter coating her tone.  Realizing she’d said the words aloud, Eleanor snapped her mouth shut, heat racing up her cheeks.

“I mean training, perhaps I should ask him to train me,” she finished weakly, her knees wobbling a bit beneath her dress.  He was nothing but a menace in her life, a pest that needed to take its beautiful self back to Doranelle at the earliest convenience—

Gods, even the way he moved was enticing.  She watched as he strode for the table set beside the training ring, his thighs and backside lovely in his tight breeches, and lifted a pitcher of water and promptly dumped it over his head before shaking the excess water free, sending glittering droplets dancing into the late afternoon sun.  She nearly squealed.  She needed to leave right that moment—

“Come on, Eva,” she started tugging at her cousin, willing her to move as she dug her feet into the stone path beneath her.  “We should head back to the palace, go do some needlework or something, anything—”

“Why?” Evalin’s lips had quirked as she remained solidly rooted to the spot.  “He’s headed this way to say hello, I think we should stay and greet him.” “Eva, please—”

“Your Highnesses.”  Eleanor snapped her attention towards Gavriel as he approached, his tawny eyes alight with the rush from sparring, broad shoulders shifting beneath his now translucent shirt—had he no decency?  “I am glad to see you are finally well enough to be up and about, Princess Eleanor.” He stopped opposite the path and inclined his head toward her.  “I assume your shoulder is not giving you any trouble?” She swallowed, letting go of her hold on Evalin’s arm before turning to face him, scrambling for the words.  “It’s . . . fine.”

How terrible would it look if she just bolted for the palace?  She could claim she’d got a severe case of nausea, feign illness again--

“Good, I had hoped as much.”

“I see you’re training,” Evalin noted, nodding towards the training ring, something tightening in her voice, “I assume our training protocols are satisfactory to you.  I know they are vastly different than what you are accustomed to in Doranelle.”

Eleanor hadn’t expected the bite that came with the question, the way Evalin had straightened her shoulders as she stared him down.  It took her a moment to realize the reason for Evalin’s discomfort—she feared he was gleaning tactical information, noting their forces and their abilities.

Understanding filled Gavriel’s tawny eyes.

“Ah, you’re correct, Highness,” he nodded over a shoulder, looking almost sheepish as though he hadn’t thought about what he was doing.  “Some of the men asked if I’d be willing to show them a few of our maneuvers during my stay, I’d hoped to help them, and as I’ve had a large amount of free time . . .”

Even though it shouldn’t have, hearing the words from him gave Eleanor comfort, his tone lacking the manipulation and hatred she’d expected of one of Maeve’s personal soldiers.  It seemed Evalin felt the same as the tension fled her shoulders, her tone softening. “Then please continue, do not let our presence hinder your drilling.  I imagine the men are grateful for any instruction you have to offer them.”

“I’m happy to teach what I know.” He gave a polite smile, “It was a pleasure to see you both.”

“Likewise, my lord,” Evalin said with a curtsey, something like shame flitting over her features.  From the way Gavriel bowed graciously in return, Eleanor got the feeling he did not blame her for the suspicion.

Which was such foolishness, given that he was one of Maeve’s personal guard.

“And, my Lady Eleanor,” a nod to her, “might I expect to see you tomorrow for our early morning ride?”

Eleanor went rigid.  “Err, I suppose so.”

“Then I shall meet you in the stables at sunrise.” Another smile brightened by golden sunlight.  “Hopefully we can avoid any wild boars this time.”

@seekingformangoes

[thecrazydragonlady]

Pride Zine 2020 Piece

Summary: After travelling, Aria and Magnolia get a moment’s rest in a hotel. However, they’re still learning about each other and with it, comes some pretty open talks about identity. How does one classify a half-dragon anyway? 

Author’s Note: Happy Wrath Pride Month everyone! This Zine was established by @kestrelmakesart​ and is available for free download at gumroad. There are optional tiers for some extra goodies. All proceeds are going to global charities. Please check out the hardwork of all the amazing creators who put a lot of work into it. 

One last note, this is an original character story. Aria and Magnolia are the main protagonist for a novel I’m planning for my Dragon Breeder’s Daughter series. I hope you enjoy this small snippet from their world!

Aria sighed as she sat down on the edge of the bed. The heat was high in the village they were in; it was much different than the comfortable, temperate climate she was used to with her teacher, but that was a past, many days, and months now removed. Thinking back on it almost seemed like a dream. One minute she was training to be a town doctor. Then she was on this journey, trying her hardest to help her friend find her mother.

Who could’ve imagined that this was how her life was going to turn out?

Speaking of her friend… Aria opened her eyes and assessed her sitting on the windowsill, her tail’s tip twitching back and forth as her ruby red eyes scanned the ground below. A soft rumbling noise came from her throat. She pressed her face closer to the glass as something caught her attention. The two horns that protruded on both sides of her head, circling a bit towards her face, made a soft tapping noise as they hit it. Aria giggled into her hand. She wasn’t sure how aware Magnolia was of her cat-like behaviors, but it was always cute to her when she spotted them, especially in the calm moments.

The room they were in was pleasant. It wasn’t big but had two beds for the both of them, a table and chair for writing, a basin for washing, and that was roughly it. The walls were made of sandstone. The floor, a hardwood harvested from the odd trees she had seen in their passing. Aria was not sure what to call them, but she would be sure to ask. The door had a deadbolt on the inside, which was good for them since this was where Magnolia was going to spend most of her time during the day, just to keep her perceived unnatural appearance out of sight of the common people. It made her feel a bit sad. After everything that they had been through, this type of situation fit their current lifestyle, but she hoped that, one day, after they found her mother, Magnolia was going to be able to live the life of freedom that she deserved.

“I’m sorry that you can’t be in the sun,” she said. Magnolia turned from the window to face her. Aria looked at her with soft eyes. Magnolia shrugged.

“I am dragon,” she returned, “Dangerous if in front of humans.”

“Your language is getting better,” Aria praised. Magnolia beamed a bit. Aria reached into her satchel and pulled out her notebook and quill, documenting the brief exchange. Magnolia leaned her head to the side.

“Why write?”

“I’m documenting.” She smiled when the word elicited another turn of her head. “It means I’m copying down what just happened. It makes it easier for me to remember things.”

“Why write instead of remember?”

“Well,” Aria mused, “Sometimes, my brain does funny things. It can change what I remember so to be acc- correct, I write what I need to as soon as it happens, so I don’t forget.” She held the book up for Magnolia to see, and the half-dragon squinted at it. “See? I wrote down ‘She claimed to be a dragon today by saying, ‘I am dragon’. That way, I’ll remember how good your language was and I can figure out how to help you more.”

Magnolia’s tail hit the ground a bit harder, “Why she?”

Aria froze. She placed the book down on her lap and looked calmly at Magnolia, taking in the signs of irritation: the tail twitching, mouth at a slight angle, eyes narrowed, pupils narrowed like a cat, tiny wings twitching a bit. After a few moments, she asked, “Do you not identify as ‘she’?”

Magnolia huffed. “Am dragon. Not she.”

“Yes, well,” Aria started. The words were caught in her throat for a second as her head spun. How in the world was she going to explain supposed gender identity to Magnolia?

“Not he or she,” Magnolia repeated. “Dragon.”

Finally, Aria released her breath, “Okay.” Magnolia perked up.

“Okay?”

“Sure,” she smiled. “It’s how you identify.” She paused and the smile turned a little bit sadder. “Magnolia, I know you don’t like it, but I have to ask you something really serious.” She moved a bit closer, pulling the wooden chair nearby closer so that they could have this conversation. Magnolia allowed her. “Magnolia, there are some dangerous people in this world. You know that, right?”

“I remember,” the half-ling growled. “Circus. Bad men. Stole me. Hurt Mama.”

“Yes, just like them,” Aria confirmed. “However, there are people out there that are dangerous for other reasons.”

“Different… dangers?” She shook her head. “All dangers are the same. They hurt.”

“You’re not wrong.” Aria took another breath. “There are people out there that aren’t going to care that you are part dragon, like my teacher. You remember her, right? The nice lady I was with when we pulled you out of the stream?” Magnolia nodded. “But there are people that are going to seem like they don’t care about that, and they won’t, but if you say you are not a ‘she’, they will… hate you.”

“Hate me? For that?” Aria nodded.

“It’s sad, and pathetic,” she confirmed, “but cowardly people can be afraid of people who don’t always fit their ideas. Gender, the ‘she’ and ‘he’ thing that you don’t like, is one of those ideas.” She reached out and gently grabbed Magnolia’s hand. Aria could feel the heat radiating off the golden scales embedded into their skin like tiny metal plates, the claws gently brushing the skin of her wrist; there was a stark difference between Magnolia’s golden color and her darker skin. “It doesn’t make sense. Humans don’t always make sense. However, I’m telling you all this so that I can ask you if you would be offended if I used ‘she’ and ‘her’ to talk to other people about you? I want to protect you and sometimes, if we don’t know that person is going to be dangerous for that reason, it would be best if we used the ‘she’ and ‘her’ to keep you safe.”

Magnolia’s tail thumped again, “Don’t like…but understand.” She nodded. “May use when talking to strangers.” Aria smiled softly.

“Thank you, Magnolia.” She released their hand. Aria looked out the window as a small flock of birds flew past it, up into the crystal blue sky and white fluffy clouds. “One day, I pray that someone changes the laws and the mindsets of the people. I hope that people can learn to love everyone, no matter their type.”

“Speaking from sadness.”

Aria turned, surprised. “What?” Magnolia huffed again but didn’t divert their attention from her, ruby red meeting hazel brown; they sparkled with a wisdom that was yet to be voiced and Aria made a mental note to document her questions into her journal later: was it Magnolia, the human-dragon hybrid, speaking now or was it something much more ancient? Could she truly carry the knowledge of her parents as dragon legends often proclaimed? Would the dragon blood make her that perceptive?

“You speak from sadness,” Magnolia repeated. “You know.”

Aria sighed-chuckled. “You did much better that time with the sentence. You added in the subject at least.” She looked back out the window. “Yeah, I do speak from sadness. I know what it’s like, being attacked by people who hate you because you don’t fit their narrative.”

“Skin?”

“Oh no. That was thankfully not one of the reasons. My hometown was fairly good about that; I don’t recall anyone ever attacking me for my skin color or its condition.” Her shoulders slumped a bit. “In fact, nobody there hated me for anything that I am. They were pretty accepting when I finally was old enough to tell them.”

“Tell what?”

Aria looked down at the people. She spotted a couple passing by and she pointed to them, “You see that couple down there? They’re together because they love each other and what is traditionally supposed to happen next is that you’re supposed to be attracted to them sexually.” She could tell that the last part escaped Magnolia’s understanding, so she explained, “Having sex between a male and female is how more humans are made. They make a baby together.”

“No egg?”

“Well there is an egg, but it’s really complicated, and not important right now. I can explain it later to you if we can work on your language first. Okay?” She coughed. “Anyway, I do not feel that kind of attraction. I love people, and I have had relationships like that in the past, but I do not feel that need to make a child with anyone.” Her head dipped forward a bit as she looked at her hands in her lap. She squeezed her skirt as the memories came back to her, to the harsh words that were thrown her way after visiting the capital for the first time. “My family was visiting a cousin,” she whispered. “I had never met him before, but he was related to my dad. I was so used to the safety of my hometown that I didn’t think anything of it, when I explained what I felt to them.” She sighed. “They called me broken, told me that I was less than human, and failing my job as a woman. For a long time, I thought that I was broken because of it and I tried, I tried hard to feel something for someone, anyone, for years after that. But… I never could. I was a kid. They hurt me, a lot.”

“You are not broken. You are Aria. Aria is Aria. Aria is whole.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, “You’re right. I am Aria and I am whole.” She sniffed a bit. “I am better now. I promise. My teacher helped me to understand that when she agreed to take me in as her student.”

Aria looked down, in surprise as she felt the warm scales of Magnolia’s tail wrap around her left arm. Her little wings flapped a bit. She knew that this was one of a few ways that they showed affection; many nights, she had found them curled around her when they were sleeping in the woods or a nearby cave. Their tail was often wrapped around her arm. Aria closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth they gave off, even if it was already so hot in the room from the desert sun. It was comforting to be supported.

“I like you.”

She had to catch her breath for a moment, remembering that Magnolia’s “like” was not a normal human’s like. The dragon part played a role in this so Aria smiled, and softly said, “Thank you, Magnolia.” She stood, allowing the tail to gently slide from her arm. “I’m going to purchase lunch. I’ll make sure to grab your favorite grilled meat if I can find some.”

“Travel safe,” Magnolia chirped, another sign of happiness. Aria waved to her as she opened the door and stepped outside, pulling the hood up on her travelling cloak to protect her from the glaring sun.

[awakenedrp]

SALATHIEL GODKILLER HAS JOINED THE STARS

THEY ARE A 28 YEAR OLD CREW MEMBER WITH FORCE SENSITIVITY THEY ARE A HUMANOID FROM AN UNKNOWN PLANET

KNOWN TRAITS:

+ confident, assertive, strong-willed, goal-oriented - argumentative, insensitive, intolerant, stand-offish, belligerent occasionally

BIO: THE UNIVERSE DEMANDS BALANCE; ARE YOU OF THE DARK, OR THE LIGHT?

it begins like this: in the midst of space, surrounded by unquenchable blackness, a new star is born.

burning from his very first breath, the boy is a havoc imposed on his pocket of the universe, learning to walk by the long, aching corridor lines of his father’s star-destroyer warship, learning to speak and listen with the understood weight of a thousand lives hanging in the balance. his father instills lessons on him with heavy branding, sharpening him with blades and books and poisons, rearing the child up in his particular class of strength, in his particular style of gravity, assuring the boy that the force runs strong in their family.

he doesn’t know what that means until he watches his father raise a hand and cut off the air supply to one of his generals’ brains (lungs malfunctioning, throat squeezing shut, eyes bulging, lips purpling), murdering the man on the spot. his father turns to him and explains that this is power. this is the force.

it begins like this: angels fall along the edges of the universe and if you listen closely enough, you can hear them scream.

when he meets the young woman who is carrying his half-sister, he already knows she is going to die. ten years old and this solar-strewn child has already come to terms with how the dark side permeates through their massive ship like a fog, tendrils of dark, translucent energies coiling all over the matte, onyx walls and ceilings. his father’s insatiable hunger, a gaping blackhole in the center of his chest, takes an almost-physical toll on the interior climate, and he already knows how flowery women wilt in such harshness.

as soon as she gives birth, he is the one who takes the babe out of the room, ignoring her pleas, ignoring her cries, ignoring the chaos, her nursemaids desperate to save her life while she begs for a single glimpse before bleeding out. he focuses on the little girl instead, his new sister, swaddled in white and desperate for sleep, and he knows right away that they will be nothing alike each other. but he’s going to give her everything.

between battle practice, sparring lessons, private schooling, and genocidal excursions with his father, he spends as much time as he can with his baby sibling, reading her books and bringing her trophies from the rim planets they ransack. she grows happy and giggly, safe and content aboard the ship, white and pink and soft and feathery, the dove of her aura in constant bloom. he loves her, despite his shortening temper, despite the boiling blood in his veins, despite the crests of solar flares flickering off his personal atmosphere like flashing warning signs– he loves her.

it ends like this: what is the point of shooting across the sky if there’s no one to make a wish?

his father is called away, loyal to an ideal his son has never aligned with before, loyal to an emperor his son has never heard of before, but when he leaves, this firestorm child takes the mantle of the star-destroyer across his shoulders as though he is born to it, as though he is harkened to it, as though he is not merely sixteen years old, and not completely and entirely out of his depth. which of course, he is. severely.

he manages to tether the ship together for about a year by the tendons in his arms and legs, his fury and drive and sheer force of will keeping everything operational, but a coordinated attack from their enemies sends the hulking metal monstrosity into a tailspinning cascade through hovering planets and meteorite dust, cracking and shifting apart like a breaking curse. when the rebels breach the ship, they find most of the crew escaped and their commander, the son of a sith lord, a star-scorched tyrant, the sunslayer, the godkiller, murderer, pirate, hellion, kneeling in the wreckage of his life, surrounded by heaps of rubble and crumbling walls, holding the broken body of a dead little girl against his chest.

it ends like this: gravity is the great creator, named in both a grasping black hole and an expanding red giant sun. it’s time to choose.

he learns about his father’s death, the death of all sith, and the end of the first order’s antics and floundering grip on an ever-inhaling universe, from cell #92445, on the fontaine war-house prison planet, off the edge of the southern quadrant rim system. he watches the announcement and one of the other inmates asks why he’d give a damn, when the rise and fall of regimes mean nothing to men who grow up on the jagged edges of a hateful, pitted hellscape like this, their lives forfeit to the universe at large, all their names wiped from reality, wiped from memory, wiped from importance. after six years here fighting for survival, this is the day he decides it’s finally time to live.

it takes him a year to escape, a year to find a ship, find a crew, find a name. godkiller. salathiel. the derelict. operating on the outskirts of the universe, he finds he fits himself into the chaos like coming home to his own rib cage, returning to the stars as though he owns every last one of them. he determines to drink their fire until he goes supernova himself, determines to live in the free and clear, determines to stay a step ahead of all controlling factions, be they light or dark; nothing can touch him now. nothing can catch him now.

it begins like this: the sun isn’t gold and neither is he.