#terrible thing about living in a tourist focused city is that things will most likely be in hotels

[acrosstimeandspace]

trying to figure out something to do for my birthday while i’m at home because while it’s not for another few weeks i also won’t be able to come home until like. july if i’m able to get time off but also i’m trying to make it cheap and also disability friendly for my mom but so many things are in the fucking hotels. i’m going to tear them down with my hands they need to stop having things in them

[inatelescopelens]

amsterdam 16th december

This morning I woke for the first time in my shoebo—that is the name the hotel affectionately gives to my size of room, which is just large enough to comfortably contain its desk, cabinet and single bed. With the curtains drawn it is dark inside even when the sun has risen, and no natural light penetrates the small tiled washroom adjoining it. As usual I’ve somehow managed to litter the contents of half my suitcase across the wood-board floor in the space of a day, so I hang the do not disturb sign from the door handle on my way out. For four euros at the hotel they will leave a small paper bag of breakfast—muesli bar, bit of fruit—on a hook outside your room, waiting for you when you get up.

We only had to round one corner and cross the canal to reach our first destination of the day’s itinerary in Dam Square, where the Royal Palace of the Netherlands sat catching the first rays of sunshine in a near-silent city centre. This was a much quieter state than I remembered Amsterdam’s tourist heart being in the height of summer, but the buildings were the same—I remembered sitting around in just about the same spot waiting in the same way for the palace to open its doors at ten o’clock for visitors. The only people besides ourselves hovering before the entrance were a few other over-enthusiastic sightseers and an excursion group of high school students whose attention was not very focused. We collected our audioguides and headed into the public rooms to start our tour.

It was all familiar to me from the last time I’d been—the palace’s history as a pre-Napoleonic era royalty town hall, the relics of Dutch trade in the form of half-accurate marble maps in the floor, the halls of ornate statue motifs. What had changed was the palace’s sense of its own golden age, an age not rendered so golden for the benefit of tourists anymore and unmasked by the post-colonial. Because the buried Dutch plundering of the world emerges not only through the columns of monkeys and exotic fish and other appropriated things, but by the presence of the stone in the first place—the obscene wealth, and how it was made. Every symbolic statue contributed its own meaning to the mythos; I liked the decrepit skeleton of Time best, or bare-breasted Artemis, standing over her quarry of fish, freshly hunted for a nautical society.

Between the palace and lunch we visited a few other places on my list, beginning with Begijnhof, a tiny historic religious community for women walled off in the heart of tourist Amsterdam. Its former inhabitants were not nuns but they were known for their little chapel and their good deeds—today, still only women live within the houses surrounding the green square. As a visitor one can have a look around the garden and inside the chapel, while the rest is reserved for present-day residents. This was one of our first looks into the religious past of Amsterdam, a history of revolt and reformation and other things more recent, and more terrible.

After a quick walk around the American Book Centre, probably the most impressive and extensive English-language bookstore I have ever visited, we bought fresh sandwiches from a local chain food store and sat over the canal to eat. Mine was on brown bread, which they do much better here in Europe than they do at home, with jackfruit, avocado and vegan sriracha mayo. It tasted like being on Brunswick St or within the wilds of a Collingwood hipster cafe, exactly what I have always meant about Amsterdam being so like Melbourne in some ways. Also as in Melbourne the young people in this city love queuing up for super-trend food opportunities. I found I was already pointing out to Mum one of the latest viral cafes or restaurants on every second corner. So we left the busier part of town and went east, by the narrow bridge and the Netherlands branch of the Hermitage, facing the wide grey Amstel canal. 

We walked past the National Holocaust Names Memorial on our way. 

Part of this trip for me, particularly now in Amsterdam, has been trying to do things I missed out on before, go places I haven’t been. The De Plantage neighbourhood is an island of green surrounded by canals and streetscape, here we visited the Hortus Botanicus, a doll-sized botanic garden with greenhouses and its own cafe. We went from freezing European winter to the heat and humidity of the tropics in seconds as we entered glass halls containing reconstructed rainforests and collections of palm trees. Precarious iron spiral staircases led up to bridges suspended at ceiling height. The smaller greenhouses were home to colonies of butterflies, the creatures left lethargic by the wintery day. We saw a robin redbreast in the bushes outside as though we had stumbled into a secret garden—the key to the gate had been the digital ticket on my phone.

The exterior gardens were just as interesting as the greenhouses, though distinctly colder, and some parts were buried in a layer of frost. Others had varying ground covers of orange and brown and vivid green, under trees and shrubs in turn gone bare or still weighed down by their leaves. It was the wilder sort of garden, left to pursue its own interests, except for in the parts of the park restored to a version of its seventeenth-century existence as a repository of medical plants. In parts of the hedge-lined semicircle garden were pools home to aquatic plants—these were frozen over, as was the large pond, with a layer of ice so thick it looked like it had formed over many days. Even in the late autumn chill the Hortus was a beautiful place and the frost had far from devastated its charm; I think it added to it.

As we walked back towards our hotel, cutting through the centre of town rather than trailing through the outer streets, we noticed how much the city’s tourist community had grown in the space of a day. Plane loads of the populist young English had arrived for the weekend, and passing through bits of the Red Lights District we saw some of the crasser types already wandering about on their way to poor life decisions. We stopped to look inside the oldest building in Amsterdam, the Oude Kerk. This church, boldly facing the dormant walls of adult entertainment, was cavernous within. It was stripped of former glory during the Reformation, left bare but for a few patches of paint on the roof that the angry mobs had been unable to reach. The bleak interior plays host to art exhibitions in the modern day and we spent some time exploring the current installation—a collection of sculptures, Garden of Scars, by artist Ibrahim Mahama. Under our feet were hundreds of tombstones. They made up the entire worn-down floor.

Tonight we were kindly invited by our Amsterdam friends Camilla and Rob to come to their house to have dinner and to hang out with their son Oscar, who was only a small baby when we saw him last. Having picked up a bottle from a local wine shop, we boarded the tram at Leidseplein and travelled down through De Pijp to reach their home. It reminded me so much of staying with them in a spare bedroom three years ago and Camilla made us a really delicious dinner of vegetarian lasagna and fruit crumble for dessert. We made plans to meet again on Sunday, before Mum and I had to leave for London once more. I realised how much I had missed them and this city where I first really came to know them in a different era for us both—we left not too late and took the tram home again, deposited less than five minutes from our door where the boorish Friday night throng could not reach us.

[butwhatifidothis]

I have thought it would have been a hella better game if Sothis had been the protagonist too! Here’s how I imagine it would be like:

Byleth is the actual reincarnation of Sothis and the child-Sothis we see at the start of the game is actually her subconsciousness. Sothis/Byleth is still the emotionless mercenary with no social skills when the game starts, but she does become more and more emotional and expressive as she begins interacting with specifically Rhea, Flayn and Seteth, her old family. They do form a bond with the lords and the students though (I think the dynamic in AM as a close friend is nice) and most of Byleth’s thoughts are shown through child-Sothis’ commentary.

They can still have the “protagonist being ignorant about Fodlan” thing going on, but with a little twist that it is actually because Sothis keeps confusing the old Fodlan of her era with modern Fodlan and gets blinding headache all the time but actually that is her getting flashbacks. Because of this Jeralt took them away to Morfis (which didn’t exist in her time yet) and they only returned recently after being hired by Rodrigue who had them take care of some bandits in the Kingdom (that is why she has heard of the Tragedy but doesn’t know the details of it).

For example, when she leads the class to the Red Canyon, she mistakenly thinks it is a big, prosperous city that is supposed to be the capital of Fodlan and the lords and Rhea have to explain to her the legend of Zanado. Then she faints and gets a flashback of a beautiful city called Zanado with many humans and dragons living together in peace and unimaginably sophisticated technology located in the exact same valley. She confuses a lot of places with old Fodlan too. To her, Arianrhod is still a small fishing village, Fhirdiad is a food paradise and tourist’s attraction, Goneril is the capital of Agartha, a neighbouring belligerent nation, Enbarr is an ordinary small town where she landed when she first crashed into Fodlan, the Valley of Torment is a fertile valley with a large population focused on agriculture, the Church of Seiros is supposed to be called the Church of Sothis instead and she doesn’t know what the knights are because such concepts did not exist in her time nor Morfis, etc.

Of course, because she often gets so confused by the current Fodlan, the lords and Rhea still have a lot of explaining to do every time they have to travel somewhere like they do in the game. Claude becomes very suspicious of her too.

When she gets attacked by Solon, child-Sothis merges with Sothis, now reincarnated as Byleth, and regains her memories and power as the goddess and from now on her emotions and stuff are back. Then a cutscene showing Sothis’ memory of how and why she came to Fodlan as an alien, how she created the Nabateans and passed her knowledge to the humans in Fodlan, how Fodlan thrived as a nation of Nabateans and humans living together, how Agartha rose as a highly technologically advanced belligerent neighbouring country in the east and how Fodlan and Agartha fought in a war that devastated the entire world so much that she spent centuries healing it until it finally began prospering again and she went to sleep. In her memory we are also shown that the Nabateans all had symbols like the current crests of the 12 Elites and we are misled into thinking those with the crests are the descendants of the Nabateans. The cutscene then ends abruptly when Sothis is jolted from her sleep and the last thing she sees is a wicked man (Nemesis) raising an axe on her and a young girl’s screams that she knows it’s her daughter Seiros.

She is very confused right now because apparently the world she knew is just completely forgotten by the people, and apparently five of her children founded an empire called Adrestia with a human an entire thousand years ago. She knows they can live longer than 1000years and realises they must still be alive now and wants to find them. She also doesn’t know how she died too and is rather panicked that she will be killed again if word gets out she is Sothis. Ah, and she is very curious of the true identities of the 12 Elites as their first names were not recorded and shared the same crests with some of her children. Sothis worries if they were her children who adopted a different surname because that would mean her children fought amongst each other and may be they destroyed each other to the point that Fodlan was in such a ruin that no one remembers the old Fodlan now.

After this cutscene showing the old Fodlan under Sothis’ guidance ends, Byleth who has now remembered her life as Sothis and regained her full power, wakes to Rhea singing a lullaby very popular in old Fodlan so Sothis thinks Rhea may know something about the old Fodlan, but she is paranoid because she thinks there are parts of her memory missing and does not know for sure if Rhea is trustworthy. As a result, she doesn’t immediately tell Rhea she is Sothis and Rhea is not aware that her mother has already come back.

Rhea suggests having Sothis sit on the Holy Throne to jolt her memory and she accepts, hoping to remember what happened to her after the man with the axe showed up. However, before she can sit on the actual throne, Edelgard comes in with her soldiers and battle begins. Then the Imperial army attacks the Monastery before Sothis gets a chance to investigate and talk to Rhea/Seteth/Flayn. Sothis is completely stunned when Rhea turns into a dragon to protect the people because she finally realises Rhea is Seiros all along. She goes back immediately to protect Seiros when she is in danger but gets hit by Thales’ magic energy balls and falls down the cliff. She manages to tell Seiros she is Sothis before falling down the cliff though.

From this point, the route differs into the three non-CF routes.

SS will be a more personal story about Sothis trying to recover her memory and finding out what happened to her family. Sothis will also slowly realise Seteth and Flayn are her family and Macuil and Indech will also join them on this route to help rescue their little sister. Unfortunately, none of them can tell Sothis what exactly happened on the day of the Red Canyon Tragedy because Seiros was the only survivor and the four of them weren’t present in Zanado at the time. They can only tell Sothis that the five of them banded together with Wilhelm, a human and later Seiros’ husband and fought with Nemesis and his 12 Elites who tried to conquer the southern half of the continent and subjugate them to his tyranny. They can confirm the 12 elites were not their siblings and just magically got the crests of their family via unknown means. In the end Sothis rescues her daughter and storms Shambhala. The family are happily reunited and strive to rebuild Fodlan together after Rhea explains what she did to Sothis in her infant state.

VW will be a story about Sothis and Claude learning about what happened to old Fodlan and Agartha. Claude notices that Sothis has been reading up on the founding of the empire/church and the legends about the 12 Elites/saints too. He suggests they team up because he is also doing the same thing. Sothis tells him about the truth of her identity, her missing memory and the old Fodlan she remembers. This clarifies things up for Claude so Claude actually opens up to Sothis and begins trusting her as a friend and the rest follows canon. Rhea will explain what happened in the Tragedy and the fates of their family. Sothis and Claude take down Nemesis to avenge herself and her family. They also learn that Agartha is why Almyra and Fodlan fight all the time.

AM will still focus on Dimitri and the Kingdom but this is how I would frame the story: Sothis thinks the Kingdom nobles descended from the 12 Elites are the descendants of the Nabateans and may know something about her children and what happened to them. Sothis asks Dimitri if he has heard of the Nabateans. Dimitri doesn’t know anything but promises he will help Sothis investigate into this. Everything follows canon until Cornelia’s death, who not only taunts Dimitri about his stepmother but also mocks Byleth that she is assisting the descendants of the 12 elites who slaughtered her entire family 1000 years ago in a war against the descendants of her own children. Sothis in the end comes to term with the possibility that Dimitri’s ancestors might have killed her and her family and continues to support Dimitri as she believes he will make a good king while Edelgard is currently a terrible ruler who has caused the suffering of thousands of people.

CF, on the other hand, will be a much darker story. After Sothis wakes up to Rhea singing to her, she gets to choose between “ask Rhea” and “ask Edelgard” about the saints and the elites. If “ask Edelgard” is chosen, Edelgard will ask why and you can choose “tell Edelgard the truth”. She will lie and convince Sothis into helping her by telling her that Seiros and the four faints did a major cover-up and they were the ones who killed sothis and turned their blades against the rest of their siblings for power. The man Sothis saw in her memory was a bandit hired by the five saints to kill sothis and the other children, known as the 12 elites now, banded together to resist Seiros around a heroic mortal that is Nemesis. When they lost, Seiros hunted down the 12 elites, crafted weapons from their bones and gave their blood to her own allies. The church then lied to the people again that the 12 elites were helping her because one of the five saints didn’t want people to remember their siblings as villains forever. Her own ancestor wilhelm helped Seiros in her unjust war for power and she intends to make things right now and asks if Sothis wants to be a part of that. If Sothis refuses her offer and expresses her scepticism of Edelgard’s claims, the game will immediately end because Edelgard will kill her.

If chooses “yes” then you enter the CF route. Edelgard tells Sothis she intends to declare war on the church to take down Rhea and take back the lands occupied by the evil descendants of the people who slaughtered Sothis’ children, aka Faerghus and Leicester. Edelgard, however, tells Sothis she intends to capture Rhea so Sothis will be able to ask Rhea the same questions to prove her claim. They do not return to the Monastery for the Holy Throne ritual and the coronation scene and war declaration scene play instead. When Sothis returns to the Monastery, she is with the Imperial army intended to conquer the Monastery. Sothis confronts an infuriated Rhea, who is extremely mad about her betrayal, and asks why Rhea/Seiros sent the assassin on her and killed her siblings. Seiros quickly realises Byleth/Sothis is in fact the reincarnation of her mother, but Edelgard notices that and has Thales attack Sothis from behind to prevent Seiros from telling Sothis the truth and swaying her to their side. Sothis falls off the cliff and Seiros tries to kill Edelgard for turning her mother against her and killing her again before she retreats to the Kingdom.

Five years later, Sothis wakes up and rejoins Edelgard’s army only to find out the Empire is on the brink of collapse against the combined might of the Kingdom-Church-Alliance with only Garreg Mach, Gronder, Fort Merceus and Enbarr left in their control. Not all of the Black Eagle students are fighting on their side either - Ferdinand, Dorothea, Petra and Caspar have abandoned the Empire and are fighting for the Kingdom-Church-Alliance army while Linhardt and Bernadetta simply refused to join the war. Instead, Ladislava, Fleche, Randolph, Count Bergliez, Arundel and Jeritza have become your new units.

Sothis continues to help Edelgard in the war and they quickly reclaim the territories lost to the allied powers. As they continue to push forward, Sothis encounters Seteth and the other three saints too (Indech and Macuil joined Rhea after learning of what Edelgard did to Sothis) on the battlefield. They will try to tell Sothis the truth and you have an option between “question Edelgard’s claims and spare them” and “believe in Edelgard’s words and kill them”. If the former is chosen, the game will end immediately as Edelgard will backstab Sothis instantly if she knows Sothis has turned against her. The rest follows canon, but Seiros will try to tell Sothis the truth again on Tailtean. Sothis will be killed if she believes Seiros instead of Edelgard here too. Heartbroken and traumatised by the fact that her mother has killed all of her only remaining family members and has already tried to kill her twice and is about to come and kill her again, Seiros transforms into a dragon in Fhirdiad and sets the city to fire once the citizens have been evacuated, hoping to bring down all of her enemies including her mother with the fire in order to avenge her friends and family.

In the end, Sothis kills Seiros as canon but loses her power and immortality as a goddess because it was Seiros’ magic that kept the creststone alive, and without the protection magic on the stone it would just be an ordinary stone and couldn’t function as a heart. Sothis almost dies without a working heart but the Agarthans save her by a heart replacement surgery on her using Seiros’ heart on the condition that she will give them the Crest of Flames creststone and the sword and share her blood with them regularly. Everything else continues as canon and the route can end with a realistic dark ending (everything crashes and burns) or a fake happy ending (the one in the game).

YOOOO dude this is great! Byleth as a character is so uninteresting, at least to me, because the only actually interesting thing about them is something that was done to them, not something they did. Byleth was born without a heart and was given the heart of a long-dead Goddess to let them live - neat! Intriguing! But nothing else catches your eye like that about them. They live on as a mercenary who apparently only wanted to ever ask questions about anything ever at all once they get to the monastery. The biggest thing they’ve done is make a name for themselves for how well they fight in battle. 

Now, we pivot the idea of Sothis being the protagonist, that’s where things start getting interesting. She fell from the stars and created new life? She helped humans prosper in knowledge only to have that knowledge be used for evil? She healed all of Fodlan from the devastation caused by the war humans enacted and fell into a sleep because of it? Those are all things she does that are worth getting to know more about. Her being murdered during her rest by another greedy human and was reduced to nothing but a dormant consciousness for a thousand years being coupled with the “being given the heart of a long-dead Goddess” being what was done to her isn’t the only interesting thing about them anymore. That’s all stuff that offers so much to the player to want to delve into, especially with a character who is gradually more and more vocal about their want to learn about themselves, with thoughts and feelings about what happened to them, what happened to their family, what they did in the past they can’t remember. 

I especially like all the ways you can just get a game over in CF - in a way that reminds me of that one mission in Sacred Stones where if you beat the boss you get an insta-game over since he was your only way to progress the story lmao, except this is turnt up to 11, and instead of punishing you for being a dingus and fucking up the plot, in a way it’s trying to save you from becoming a kin-killing pawn to a tyrant.

About the only thing I might have a bit of a ehhh with is Agartha being why Almyra and Fodlan feud, just because I find them feuding due to themselves and not a third party to be more interesting to me (personally! That’s just for me lol, it’s not an inherently bad notion!), but thanks you so much for sending this!! 

[script-nef]

Interview Time | Oikawa Tooru

Category: fluff

2k words; an eventful interview with Oikawa and his girlfriend

Today we are joined by the phenomenal setter of Club Athletico San Juan, Oikawa Tooru, and the manager of the team, [Name] [Surname]. They are the iconic couple who have brought laughter and joy to many matches by their interactions. 

“Hello, [Name] here!”

“Hi, I’m Oikawa! And [Name]-chan, is that a reference to Zuko?”

“It most certainly is. It’s good to see you finally recognise some of my pop culture references now. I was wondering when you’d finally get a hobby outside of volleyball.”

“I have one!”

“Searching for alien conspiracy theories is not a hobby. Tooru, you’re weird as hell.”

“But you still love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Hey!”

You guys are so cute and lively together! Today’s interview will be focused on your relationship, but feel free to reject some of the questions if you’re uncomfortable. Is that okay?

“Sure!”

Q. How did you two meet?

“Oh, I was working for San Juan as one of the managers when he was brought in. Since I’m fluent in Japanese, the head coach asked me to help him around because his Spanish and English was atrocious.”

“Eck, [Name]-chan! I wasn’t that bad!”

“You were terrible, who are you trying to kid? Literally no one could understand half the things you were saying. I was basically your translator for the first year.”

“[Name]-chan!! You’re breaking my heart!”

“As long as your body works for volleyball I don— Okay, okay, I was kidding! Don’t pout, Tooru. You learnt it quick enough and now you don’t have any problems! Besides, it’s thanks to your previously horrible language skills that we got to spend more much time together, right?

“I guess that’s true… Was I really that bad though?”

“Absolutely horrible. Everyone can back me up on this.”

Q. What is one quality about each other that you admire and love the most?

“Tenacity, I guess. In volleyball and everything else. He stays behind all the damn time for hours, none of his teammates can keep up. I once had to conk him on the head and drag him out so he would rest.”

“It hurt! You’re stronger than Iwa-chan sometimes, I don’t even understand how that’s possible.”

“You think I’m stronger than the arm-wrestling champion Iwa-chan?”

“Yes. Anyway, what I love most about [Name] is her perceptivity. Did you know that I once had a small kink in my leg muscle which was uncomfortable and she caught it in a second? No one else noticed except her! And this was before we started dating!”

“Yeah, well. I did spend the most time with you and you constantly tell me things about yourself. Even when I didn’t ask.”

“[Name]-chan is so shy. It’s okay, I know you loved me since the moment you laid your eyes on me.”

“Eh…”

“Hey!”

“I didn’t fall in love with you at first sight, I don’t believe in that. You slowly grew on me because you incessantly hit on me.”

“That’s the best kind of hitting!”

“...hm. Do you, um, like any other sort of hitting—”

“[Name]-chan, we’re on camera! Stop that!”

I’m sorry, please keep this PG, there are young fans who might be watching. Moving on!

Q. What was your first date like?

“First date, huh? It was like, ages ago…”

“It was 6 years ago, in August. We went to the Tango festival in Buenos Aires. I had such a fun time with you then!”

“You had fun stepping all over my feet. It’s honestly appalling how much you sucked at dancing back then. You were bad at a lot of things, huh.”

“She complained about it all night, but even then she was so cute and brilliant. She led me for the second half, stating that she had enough of her feet getting trampled on.”

“Thankfully you picked it up fast. You’re pretty fast at learning new skills.”

“Aww, is the ever-so stoic [Name]-chan praising me? How rare!”

“Well, if you don’t want me to, then…”

“Wait, no don’t stop! I was kidding, praise me more!” 

“Ah, don’t latch onto me, this is on cam— Tooru!”

Now, now, please calm down. Straight onto the next question!

Q. Do you have any memorable dates or events?

“Oh, there was this one time.”

“I already said sorry for that!”

“That doesn’t mean it never happened! My jaw still hurts when I think about it!”

“I said sorry every single time!”

“Still! Okay, the story is that I wanted to surprise him when he came back home but it went horribly. The first part, at least. “He didn’t know I was coming over because I wanted it to be a surprise, which in hindsight was a bad idea. I made dinner and turned the lights off when I heard the door unlocking. In my head, it was like ‘pop and and surprise him’, but when I did, he got spooked and hit me in the jaw.”

“It was reflex! [Name]-chan, you popped out screaming ‘surprise’ right in front of me!”

“Yeah, but still. That’s how I now know he has a great right hook. Nearly knocked me out. But his crying and screaming stopped me from falling unconscious.”

“I thought I really did knock you out!”

“Yeah, but you kept on screaming even after I said it was okay. You’ve probably heard of it too, there were news articles about how he came into the emergency room crying his eyes out.”

“I really am sorry about it, [Name]-chan…”

“Hey now, no need to be sad. It’s just a funny memory to tell everyone now.” 

At least you can laugh about it now.

Q. 6 years is a long time. You must have a lot of anniversaries. What do you do for them?

“Nothing special, we just get presents for each other and spend the day together. I used to just tell him what I wanted but he can figure out what I want now.”

“That shows what an amazing and observant boyf—I mean fiancé I am! Have you ever been disappointed with anything I gave you?”

“Well, no, not yet.”

“See? And you get me all the things I want and need. We’re a perfect couple.”

“We sometimes go on trips to neighbouring countries, visit some tourist spots. I bought him a camera for the anniversary last year, and now he takes tons of photos everywhere we go. There’s a huge stack of polaroids in our bedroom.”

“[Name]-chan, don’t ignore me! Aren’t we a perfect couple?”

“I think we’re the best we can be. Perfection doesn’t exist, but we can strive to be the best we can be, right Tooru?”

“Yup! You’re so wise when it comes to things like this.”

Q. What do you do in your spare time?

“We recently started watching TV shows like Umbrella Academy and Doctor Who. Tooru likes them because of all the aliens and superpowers.”

“They’re all so creative! Like the Weeping Angel, that makes me freak out whenever I see a statue now. Some of them give me nightmares.”

“Weeping Angels are messed up. Wait, why do you watch it if it gives you nightmares? You need to take care of your mental state as well, national representative!”

“But you hug me when I sleep if I have night terrors! I would sit through a hundred horror movies if it means you would hug me.”

“…”

“Are you… blushing?”

“No.”

“Aw, [Name]-chan, you’re blushing! I love you so much!”

“Tooru, stop! I’m going to fa—”

*Technical difficulties please hold*

Q. You recently announced your engagement, congratulations! How was the proposal, if you don’t mind me asking?

“I took her to her favourite restaurant! It’s this fancy place in a building near the training centre and she loves the pizza there.”

“It is delicious. He can’t see how good it is, this uncultured child.”

“It’s not my type! I like other pizzas, just not that one. Her face absolutely glows with happiness when she takes a bite but I can’t understand it. They have those really salty fish—”

“Anchovy. And I usually don’t like it either, but they make it taste amazing!”

“No, it still tastes like clumps of salt. Thankfully I like other dishes on the menu. We go there so often that the owner has a special spot reserved for us. It’s by a window and since the restaurant is in a tall building, it looks over the lights of the city. It’s very beautiful.”

“He was looking skittish than usual, so I was worried for him. I actually thought he wanted to break up with me. But instead, he showed me the ring and asked me to marry him.”

“Why would I ever break up with you?”

“Couples split apart! It’s what happens to a lot of them, I have never heard of someone who lived forever with only one person.”

“Tobio-chan did!”

“Are we considering volleyball as a person now?”

“[Name]-chan, we went to their wedding!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just kidding! He was pretty cute, all twitchy and red. His wife was even cuter though, so shy and embarrassed. Very beautiful as well.”

“You’re going to be even more radiant at our wedding. I can see you in your dress already.”

“Wow, you must be able to see into the future, since I haven’t even looked at the catalogue.”

“It’s a figure of speech!”

Now, now, please calm down! Onto the next question.

Q. You guys had been dating for quite a while before getting engaged. When did you realise you wanted to spend the rest of your life with each other?

“Oh, you never actually told me this.”

“It was actually when I was away for a game! [Name]-chan couldn’t come because she had to work back in Argentina, so I was all alone in a foreign country.”

“Literally everyone else on the team came to the game, you weren’t alone.”

“But none of them were you! Let me be romantic and tell my love story!”

“Alright, alright, no more interruptions. Proceed.”

“Thank you. It was the first day there. I finished the practice for the day and did our daily night call, because we always talk before falling asleep. I dozed off to her talking, so I thought she would be there when I woke up. But when I opened my eyes in the morning, and she wasn’t there, this wave of panic came over me until I realised I was overseas. “That moment was probably it. I thought there, lying on the bed, that I would never be happy unless I wake up next to her every morning and see her sleeping face. Unless I could start off my day by kissing her and holding her in my arms.”

“…That— that’s what you thought when you woke up?”

“Yeah? And I thought that every morning since the— wait, are you blushing?”

“No, shut up and go away, Tooru.”

“AWWWW [NAME]-CHAN IS BLUSHING AND TRYING TO HIDE FROM ME!! YOU’RE SO CUTE AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! I WANT TO SQUISH YOUR WIDDLE FACE AND CUDDLE YOU FOREVER MY AMAZING AND PRECIOUS WIFE!”

“Ack, Tooru, I’m going to fall agai—”

*Another technical difficulty, please hold*

Well, I think this has been a very cute and informative session. Quite eventful as well.

“If by eventful, you mean him trying to hug me so tight my ribs break and I get concussions from falling all the time, then yes, eventful.”

“Sorry, [Name]-chan, you were just too cute!”

“Not another word, volleyboy.”

Well, I’m sure your fans will be thrilled to see how cute the two of you are!

“His fans do seem to like knowing little stupid stories we have.”

“They’re our memories and I wouldn’t ever trade them for anything else.”

“…Me neither.”

“Aw, you’re so affectionate today, [Name]-chan. Maybe we should come again next time so I can see you blushing even more!”

We are completely on board with tha— 

“Okay, this is the end of our interview and I hope it was fun for the viewers! Bye-bye now!”

“Ah, she’s escaping! Wait for me, [Name]-chan! Thanks for watching! Bye!”

[an-apocalypse-of-magpies]

On the world of Mortal Engines, class, and the metaphors of consumption

This is less an essay and more a collection of thoughts. Basically I just saw a video on the Mortal Engines film and its being a civilisation too stupid to exist. I got fed up, mainly because so many of the criticisms amounted to ‘the book did it better’ with little elaboration but also the arrogantly grating voice of the presenter got on my nerves, but I cannot deny the points made and in fact wanted to elaborate further on the worldbuilding of this series and, while unrealistic, look at why the books were so engaging.

Some background to start off - Mortal Engines is a four-book series (and three-book prequel sub-series) written by English author Phillip Reeve, and depicts a bleak post-apocalyptic world. North America is uninhabitable and lost to the sands of time, irradiated, poisoned, and flattened by war. Eurasia is mostly barren plains. And, of course, the central premise - towns and cities have raised themselves onto mobile platforms and trundle about. Well, mostly. A major antagonist to this system is the Anti-Traction League, a collective of nations hiding out in old east China, the Indian subcontinent, southeast Asia and some of Africa. They are seen as barbarians and heathens by much of the world for refusing to mobilise, instead hiding in stationary citadels behind their mountains. The Traction Cities near-universally engage in a philosophy of Municipal Darwinism, a savage system of bastardised pseudo-biology where cities literally predate each other and ‘consume’ each other for resources. Cities eat towns, towns eat smaller towns. Some towns and cities deliberately adapt to cheat the system and make themselves a less appetising target, or for that matter a more aggressive and efficient hunter.

THE TRACTION CITIES

The first three books tend to focus their action on one or two cities, whereas the last is a bit more of a road trip. The other consistent thread is multiple characters’ stories running concurrently, usually reconnecting near the end. This allows the books maintain an open, almost global scale - you’ll nearly never not be moving, even sitting still on a city, which reinforces the theme of unnatural life. The first book focuses on London, which has been sulking in what was once Britain (by sheer happenstance on their part and pure irony on ours), and is suddenly running at full pelt back into Europe and eastward as fast as her engines can carry her. Why? London’s not the biggest city around, and the vast expanse of Eurasia is now the Great Hunting Ground - it’s where the big boys play, and by play I mean ‘savagely predate each other’. It’s dangerous territory for a little city. But over the first book, it becomes increasingly apparent that Traction Cities are increasingly non-viable option for existence. Fuel is scarce, prey moreso, and what morsels London can confidently snap up will not sustain it for long. There is an ecosystem at play here - static settlements can farm resources, but are universally seen as food, either by small bandit settlements to raid for supplies or for larger towns to just straight-up eat. Small towns too small to hunt tend to be miners or gatherers, either mining minerals to use or trade, or gathering resources like wood from natural deposits or sifting through the waste heaps left by bigger cities. Most cities bigger than that are ‘urbivores’, or hunter towns, that hunt and eat smaller prey or opportunistically scavenge the ‘carcasses’ of dead cities. I mentioned specialisation earlier, and like in nature, species and cities can occupy a niche that gives them an advantage and thus increased chance at survival. Airhaven, for example, is a politically-neutral city in the air that floats around Eurasia seasonally and serves as a rest stop, fuelling station and trading exchange for airship pilots the world over, Tractionist or no. Tunbridge Wheels is a pirate-run town that has a lightweight wooden chassis and flotation devices to hunt amphibiously in a world where many small towns escape threat by setting up on islands.  Panzerstadt-Bayreuth is a conurbation of four massive cities, too big to survive long without prey, they banded together to take down the biggest of prey (it’s unclear whether they achieve this through sheer size or whether they decouple and become a pack hunter). Anchorage, the last American city, neutered its own jaws to increase mobility, skating around the frozen north too fast for threats to catch up with, and survives on trade. Brighton is a pleasure city that paddles around the warm Mediterranean, technically still a predator but with no real agenda and about the only city left that can be called a tourist city (it’s run on the back of brutal slave labour). And these are just the major ones. Throughout the books, cities are treated like living things ... like mortal engines.

And like living things, they need resources to survive.

A DYING WAY OF LIFE

The books are inconsistent on the origins of Traction Cities, as it turns out deliberately - history is written by the winners, after all. But it’s all closely tied to the ‘apocalypse’ part of the post-apocalytic I mentioned earlier. Long ago in-universe, long into our future, was a terrible event known as the Sixty Minute War. This war tore the world asunder with nuclear and quantum energy weaponry. America, the epicentre, is simply no more (it turns out there are some fertile areas in Nova Scotia, but for the most part America is dead). Entire new mountain ranges were born, notably the Tannhäusers in East Asia that shield the heartland of the Anti-Traction League. There was a long period of geological and tectonic instability. According to legend, Traction Cities arose to escape these instabilities. In other words, like animals will flee a volcanic eruption, cities first became mobile to escape and survive. Trade was likely facilitated by towns literally being able to park next to each other. Ironically, London was also where everything changed. After Nikola Quercus conquered (static) London with his mobile fortresses, he decided to upgrade and raise London onto wheels to become the first fully-mobile city. And he did it for war. After all, there’s no better comeback to ‘you and what army’ then literally rolling up with your entire city. By the series present, the idea had caught on and grown into the ideology described above. But herein lies the problem. Early Traction London was a tiny little thing. Now it’s not even the biggest fish in the pond, but it’s still HUGE. And, as we all know, big things need lots of energy to go. London is described as having a top speed of about sixty miles per hour at the height of a hunt. So, you need fuel. There is still oil in this world, mainly because they now have no qualms about mining Antarctica, but if you think there’s nearly enough crude oil to run a world full of cities like London you are sorely mistaken. Wood’s not much better off. And, of course, Traction Cities tend to run on some form of internal combustion engine - it’s only at the very end of the traction era that science has advanced enough for a town to experiment with magnetic levitation. So what do they burn? Well, bits of other prey towns. Do you see the problem? Use fuel to hunt towns, burn those towns for fuel. What next? And it’s not just fuel. London captures a little salt-mining town called Salthook at the beginning of the first book to introduce us to the concepts at play, and we see what goes on in the Dismantling Yards - part of a system literally called the Gut, in case the metaphor wasn’t clear yet. Everything is recycled. Bricks, mortar, steel, wood, everything. Because the state of technology is so weird in this world, Old-Tech (technology from before the SMW) can be incredibly valuable to history and/or science, and London is keen to snaffle that up too. The people are interred into refugee camps, though if you know anything about how real-life Britain treats refugees you can probably see where that is going. And it’s not enough. It’s never enough. Food is an even more pressing concern. Unless you’re very rich (more on that in a mo), food is mostly algae-based, then hardy vegetables that grow quickly like cabbage. And it’s running out fast. And London’s a big city with a lot of resources at its disposal. Most cities don’t even have that. A lot of cities are starving on the wheels, city and populace alike. A lot of cities run on slave labour, and feed those slaves as little as they can get away with. Shan Guo, home of the Anti-Traction League, is a green and vibrant land only because it doesn’t have cities running over or eating its farmlands every other day (and, again, city folk generally don’t know this - they’re given endless propaganda that Anti-Tractionists are barbarian warbands a la Mad Max). A lot of the A story is told from the point of view of Tom Natsworthy, who until the events of the book had never left London. He’s never seen bare earth or walked on mud before. He’s never seen a horse. The idea that you can survive, much less thrive, outside of a Traction City is alien to him. But on the city he came from, everything is rapidly running out, and some cities are turning to desperate measures to survive, including Arkangel openly bribing pilots to sell out the locations and courses of nearby cities. A chilling scene in the first book even has Tom see, from the safety of the air, the corpse of Motoropolis, a city not unlike London that literally just starved to death, running out of fuel and helpless as the scavengers closed in. It’s been weeks since the city stopped, and the narrative description evokes the grotesqueness and sadness of a whale carcass. Sheer Jingoism is about the only thing keeping Municipal Darwinism alive - Traction good, stationary bad.

CLASS, CLASSISM, AND OTHER SOCIAL OPPRESSIONS

In a world so starved as this, compassion is hard to come by. Cities still exist mainly by virtue of rigid social stratification, and often that stratification is literal - most medium-to-large cities have tiers, and will generally arrange those tiers based on social class. London, for example, has seven tiers. The bottom two tiers are dominated by the Gut, the engines, and homes and communities of the workers who keep them running. Tiers 4 and 3 are miscellaneous proles of increasing social standing. Tier 2 is mostly what I’d call ‘tourist London’ - lots of the nice bits and the establishments that London likes to be proud of. Because of his work at the London Museum, this is the quality of life Tom Natsworthy was most used to. Tier 1 is High London, where all the rich live and have their amenities and nice parks (and even that doesn’t last - London’s food shortage means even the High London parks are eventually, begrudgingly, turned over for food production). Katherine Valentine, the hero of the first book’s B plot, lives here. Finally there’s Top Tier, which is purely administrative. The only buildings are the Guildhall (the seat of government), St Paul’s Cathedral (which the Engineers’ Guild have secretly been installing a deadly superweapon in under the guise of ‘restoration’ work) and the headquarters of the Guild of Engineers, the most powerful of London’s Guilds. Social stratification is nearly non-existant, and people are shown to get very uncomfortable when out of ‘their space’. Tom is sent to work in the Gut during the capture of Salthook as a punishment before the plot ejects him from London, and he notes being actively intimidated by the claustrophobia, the dirt, the rough and burly labourers, and the noise. But despite Tom’s relatively privileged life - he lives near High London, above the heat and noise and smoke of the engines, in the care of one of the top four Guilds of London - he is of very low social status. Tom Natsworthy is an orphan; his parents were Historians, but were killed when an accident occurred and part of Tier 3 collapsed, crushing anything on Tier 4 beneath. Even before that, the Natsworthys were middle class at best, but being orphaned meant being left to the care of an orphanage run by the Guild of his parents, the Historians. The Historians were Tom’s only source of education, and eventually they would employ him, but with no parents or money, Tom can only afford a Third-Class apprenticeship. He has no upwards mobility within the Guild, and with no money he can’t leave and train with another. His dream of being a pilot trader, or better yet adventurer, will never come true under normal circumstances. The rich live in a completely different world yet. Katherine Valentine, daughter of the Head Historian and the Lord Mayor’s ‘right-hand man’ Thaddeus Valentine, has a positively bougie lifestyle with not a care in the world. Ironically, though, it is through Katherine’s eyes that the horrors of London’s class system are revealed. Trying to find information about her father’s would-be killer, Katherine finds herself regularly travelling to the Gut, eventually befriending an apprentice Engineer who witnessed the attack. But in the Gut, life is very different. It’s not just a life of hard labour and smoke - petty criminals and the aforementioned ‘refugees’ are tasked with working dangerous and sickening jobs like managing the city’s sewage. And by that, I mean ‘harvesting literal faeces to be converted into food and fuel’. The foreman overseeing their work admits they feed such criminals nothing else. And he has the gall to be annoyed that they keep dying of diseases like cholera and typhoid! These people are denied medical care, denied treatment, denied even basic food other than being told to literally eat sh*t. And when they inevitably die? They get sent to the Engineerium to be turned into robotic zombies that can never get sick, tired or unhappy. And, eventually, they’ll be put right back to work. The crimes these criminals did to deserve this, remember, include petty theft, criticising the Lord Mayor, and living aboard a town that got eaten. The foreman literally cannot fathom why Katherine would care about these people’s wellbeing - after all, they’re just criminals. The Engineerium’s end goal in all this is, again, to staff the entire lower tiers with robot zombie workers who will never grow tired, get sick, complain or protest their lot in life, and will never disobey orders, and just enough human overseers to keep things running smoothly ... because that’s what these people are worth to London, cheap, unending labour. Katherine can’t even bring herself to tell her high-class peers about what she learned down there, because it’s such a different world that they would never empathise, much less care. Again, slave labour is common in this world, especially child slavery - Brighton runs on it to maintain its image as a floating Caligula’s Palace, and in Arkangel slavery is so normal that we watch a rich man beat a slave nearly to death for the crime of bumping into him. In the second book, we see the logical end-point of this. Anchorage’s social structure has completely fallen apart due to a plague in recent years that turned to once-proud ice city into a ghost town manned only by a skeleton crew. The margravine, Freya, is only 14, but with her parents dead, she finds herself in charge of the whole city. She has no household staff, apart from Smew, who finds himself constantly juggling outfits to adopts the roles of steward, chamberlain and so on. His official role before the plague was ... erm ... the Dwarf. He was there in a manner similar to a court jester, for the amusement of the margrave due to being a little person. But the head navigator is just ... the woman who kept the maps. The head engineer is going half-mad, seeing his dead son staring at him from the shadows, and the only reason the town’s still going is because his systems are the best on the ice and can mostly run on automatic. They have no doctor. The only other people of consequence in Anchorage are the Aakiuqs, the Inuit couple who run the air-harbour. The common workers of Anchorage number in the mere dozens. And yet, because they’re so fixated on their traditions, nobody will drop the formalities and just admits that they’re trying to uphold a class system that doesn’t work anymore. No, that’s not quite right - everybody realises it’s pointless to maintain the artifice of Anchorage’s social heirarchy, but nobody wants to be the first one to say it out loud. Much like Municipal Darwinism, nobody want to address the elephant in the room, that the system is broken and that people hold onto it because it’s comfortable in the face of uncertainty. Only in Anchorage’s darkest hour, when everything has been turned upside down and the conquerors are on their doorsteps, do the agree to drop the formalities, drop the artifice of class, and address each other as people, say what they think, and work to save what they have left. And of course, there’s the racism in the world. Life on mobile cities has made cultures smaller and more insular, considering we mainly see this series from the point of view of culturally-English towns. Throughout the first book there is a clear west vs east divide - the Traction Cities are generally English-speaking or multicultural enough that English will get you by. The Anti-Tractionist League, meanwhile, are south or east Asian, or else African, and are commonly understood to be ‘those brown people’. The only ethnically white Anti-Tractionists are from ‘Spitzbergen’ (likely Scandinavia/Finland and northwest Russia) and Hester Shaw’s family, and the latter lived on a town that floated out to an island and gave up running from predators forever. The way Tom reacts to this attitude calls to mind the way racists might refer to ‘race traitors’. There’s even an in-universe slur for people who live in static settlements; ‘Mossies’, because ‘a rolling town gathers no moss’. However, when Tom is taken to Shan Guo itself, he realises that all the propaganda he’d been fed his whole like is exactly that - propaganda. Shan Guo is described as beautiful - an endless patchwork of rolling fields and farms, colourful, bright, vibrant, heaving with life and energy. The Anti-Tractionists aren’t vicious savages, they’re just ... people. Tom can’t understand it at first. He wonders how people can live without the hum of engines or the vibrations of deckplates - he subconsciously equates city life with, well, life, and the absence of that makes him uneasy. But he can also see this culture before him, thousands of years old, outlasting even the end of the world, and he realises there is another way. The next time he sees London, he sees it from outside, from the side of the hunted, and he realises it’s not beautiful or efficient, just dirty, and huge, wrapped in its own waste smoke and driven only by destruction. For the rest of the series, even with the rise of the radicalised Green Storm (Anti-Tractionists Lv2), large Traction Cities are consistently the enemy. Tractionism as a culture is understood to only represent imperialism, destruction, and consumption, literally and figuratively.

SCIENCES SANS FRONTIERES

It should be noted that science and technology are not universally reviled by the series. As a dieselpunk series, a certain degree of technology is fundamental to the series existence. But this is a very different world than the one we know. On the one hand, engines exist that can drive entire cities. On the other, computers basically do not exist. The rare few that still exist are not in working condition, and nobody knows how to restore them. Heavier-than-aircraft don’t really exist - the third book introduces some, but they’re small, experimental ... barely more than short-range toys designed for flashy air shows but not real travel. The main form of personal locomotion in this world is by airship, and this world’s airships are far beyond anything we’ve made in our time. But lost technologies are heavily associated with the hubris and destructiveness of the Ancients. Until now. Like I said, the most powerful Guild in London is the Engineers’ Guild. And they got that way under the leadership of now-Lord Mayor Magnus Crome. It should be noted that Crome genuinely loves his city and wants it to survive no matter the cost. But under Crome, the Engineers began to dabble in sciences considered unethical to downright taboo. Most notable is the MEDUSA Project. Through Thaddeus Valentine, London came into possession of an energy weapon from the SMW ... and, more importantly, the working computer that runs the thing. In terms of Darwinist Evolution, this is like giving a monkey a gun and teaching it how to use it. MEDUSA exhibits a level of power no other force on Earth can match, and London is forced to deploy it early in a crisis. Originally, the plan was to march up to Batmunkh Gompa, the Shield-Wall that represents the only break in the mountains around Shan Guo big enough to permit a city, and blast it to cinders. Unfortunately, London attracts the attention of a bigger, hungrier city about halfway there, and is forced to fire MEDUSA at it to save its own skin. The sheer terror of what that weapon represents is revealed then. Panzerstadt-Bayreuth was the fusion of four massive cities, each one bigger and more powerful than London. MEDUSA killed it dead in one stroke - the energy beam set the entire city ablaze and ignited its fuel stores. Her engines nearly immediately exploded. When the fires go down enough for an Engineer scout ship to investigate, the people had been almost flashed into glass. The flash of light from the attack is so bright that, hundreds of miles to the south, Tom and Hester see the sky light up like a new dawn. The people of London are relieved, of course, that they didn’t all die that night, but more than that the entire city become suffused with the excitement of just how easy it would be to kill ... well, anyone they like, really. London doesn’t even stop to devour Panzerstadt-Bayreuth, as the Engineers can’t afford for the Shield-Wall to prepare for their arrival. Appropriately, and karmically, the finale has an accident lock down the computer lock down, with MEDUSA unable to fire but unable to stop gathering energy, and London melts under the heat of MEDUSA’s glare. But that wasn’t the only scientific sin committed by London’s engineers. I’ve already mentioned London trying to repurpose faeces as food, but we need to talk more about the Stalkers. Stalkers are kinda like discount Cybermen from Doctor Who - dead bodies, threaded with weird old machines and coated in armour, their brains hooked up to simple computers. Originally conceived as soldiers, they were believed long dead. However, one survived to the modern by sheer survivor instinct - Shrike. Through negotiations that are not the purview of this essay, he allowed the Engineers of London to take him apart and figure out how he worked, and hoo boy they did. The Engineers figured out how to manufacture their own Stalkers. The first batch are used as law enforcement like the Worst Robocops, but, again, the plan was to have Stalker workers all over Low London. Katherine, learning this, likens it to London ‘being a city of the dead’ (Apprentice Engineer Pod, to whom she is talking, grimly notes that the Deep Gut Prison is so awful, so callous with human life, that it already feels like that). Logically, the end-point of this idea is to have all workers in London be the resurrected dead, with just enough living to keep things in order ... oh, and they’d all be loyal to the Engineers, because remember, no Freedom of Speech here, and you can be sent to do the worst form of prison labour for dissenting against the Lord Mayor. With Crome being both Lord Mayor and Head Engineer at once, the Engineers’ creed is as good as law - traditionally, London Lord Mayors forsook their former Guild allegiances to show their representation of all of London, and Crome’s refusal to do that caused a bit of a stir. The Engineers are also keen to arm their security teams with some form of energy pistols, despite guns being outlawed in London and the police are only allowed crossbows. Crome’s rationale is the same as every two-bit mad scientist villain, of course - that science should not be held back by moral restrictions, and that progress for progress’ sake is essential for London’s survival. Really, it’s the Engineer’s survival, as they’re rather loathe to share these advancements except to exert power on those around. London isn’t the only example of technology being used to leverage control and benefit the ruling classes. Grimsby is a sunken wreck of a city somewhere in the north Atlantic, yet due to a complex series of airlocks the interior of the city is a secret hideaway of the Lost Boys, a society of children stolen from aquatic towns and trained to be thieves under the watchful eye of the mysterious Uncle. They will then take submarine walkers, attach to passing towns, steal whatever tools, fuel, food and riches they can carry, and vanish back into the depths. Uncle, naturally, takes the lion’s share of the haul. But Uncle maintains his power by careful access to technology, only letting the Boys have what they need and juggling the power structure by choosing team leaders, and punishing insubordination harshly and publicly. Uncle sees and hears everything in Grimsby with his surveillance network, and can address any give Boy in a heartbeat, training the Boys to never expect privacy from him, so that when he demands a progress update from a mission, they never question him. He rewards Boys who do well on burglaries, but more importantly than that, he chooses team leaders according to apparently inscrutable whims. The Boys believe it’s a mark of favour from Uncle, and thus social status, to be trusted with the limpet command and all the tech that comes with. Really, Uncle carefully give command to people he can trust to remain loyal to him, even if that means passing over a more talented Boy who might get a bit uppity. Even in a more mundane way, higher status in the Lost Boys means you can move closer to the heart of Grimsby, where you’re less likely to wake up and find your bedroom wasn’t as watertight as you thought and flooded in the night. Uncle, naturally, doesn’t care if a few Boys drown, so long as he doesn’t lose anything useful. Technology, and in particular access to unusual technology, is the dimension on which power is really decided.

THE END OF AN ERA

We’ve already established that this world is not a sustainable one. There are only so many cities. The inherent entropy of Municipal Darwinism is really showing. Once upon a time, big cities could ‘reproduce’, creating little satellite towns that could grow and become independent - even London had some - but those are no more. In a greedy desperation to keep moving, the predators are not reproducing, and static settlements can’t spread and grow fast enough to count there. The attack of London, and MEDUSA, turned staunch opposition into outright war, with the Green Storm being willing to doublethink their way into using the weapons of the Traction Cities in their fight to stop the Traction Cities, even recruiting ex-London Engineers to make weapons and stalkers for them, and eventually even seeking out another ancient superweapon - an orbital laser called ODIN - without a hint of irony. The Green Storm eventually face internal resistance, from Anti-Tractionists who disagree with the outright terrorism angle, and eventually crumbles. The last great Traction Cities stop. The last mobile city is New London, no longer a hunter but a trade platform, and even that probably stopped hovering about at some point. The ending is told by the great survivor, Shrike, who has cheated Death again and again, who outlived Tom Natsworthy and Hester Shaw, Valentine, Magnus Crome, and a thousand other heroes and villains. When he awakes, long in the future, Traction Cities are not even ancient history. They’re a dream, a fantasy, too incredible to be true. But Shrike remembers, and he teaches people the story of London and Anchorage, Arkangel and Airhaven, Brighton and Harrowbarrow. Did they learn the right message from Shrike’s story? Did they learn that ruthless imperialism is like hunting faster than the food can come back, and that you will starve before you have everything you ever wanted? Did they learn that hoarding resources, gatekeeping knowledge, will lead to ruin? Did they learn, or will the repeat the same mistakes of the greed and gluttony of the Traction Era? Well, who knows.

[padfootagain]

Girl Crush (XV)

Chapter 15 : A Time for Christmas Roses

 Here we go with a new chapter!! Lots of cuteness!!! London in winter will settle for the next few chapters! Next update in 48 hours, as I've finished the next couple of chapters too!

I hope you like this new part, please, tell me what you think!

Word Count: 5326

Spending New Year's Eve in London ought to be a dream.

If you had imagined only a few months before that you would travel to Europe for the holidays, you would have shaken your head at yourself and your crazy imagination.

And yet there you were, incredibly jetlagged, pulling your suitcase behind you as you walked out of your terminal in Heathrow Airport, looking for your friend across the estranged faces that filled the cold halls.

The little crowd that had gathered in the centre of the building did give you a hint of where Harry was though. You had told him that it wasn't a good idea for him to come and pick you up. But as usual, he didn't listen. It was kind of him to come, of course. Still, it was pretty stupid considering how famous he was.

It seemed to be a rather calm crowd though, and when you spotted Harry in the middle of the group, he seemed relaxed enough, taking pictures with everyone who had gathered around him. You headed for the exit and sent him a text to tell him you were waiting for him outside.

It was terribly cold in London, and you missed the Californian sun already as you stepped outside of the airport and under a grey sky. People were hurrying to and fro in a busy waltz, dragging their luggage behind them, but you settled a few meters away from the door in a quieter corner, leaning against a wall. You watched the cars passing by and strangers rushing in and out, wondering where they were coming from and where they were going. What exotic destination would they go to? Where they coming to London to see a friend, family, a lover, or was London an exotic destination to them as well?

"Sorry about that."

Harry's deep voice tore you away from your thoughts, and you didn't miss a second to lean in his open arms to hug him close.

"Oh, I've missed you so much," he breathed into your hair.

He breathed in the smell of your shampoo, the fragrance making him feel light-headed. It was almost painful to have you back when he had missed you so much. A good kind of pain. The ache that made a heart beat a little faster as one's longing is over. The stinging sensation that settles in to replace what had been wanted.

"I've missed you too," you answered, burying your face a little deeper against his shoulder. "It's so good to see you."

He tightened his hold on you before letting go.

"I'm parked close, let's go."

He took your suitcase and guided you across the parking lot to his car, his warm breath creating strange shapes into the cold air.

"God, it's so cold," you squealed as you climbed on the passenger's seat.

"It's winter, what did you expect?" Harry laughed at you, turning on the engines.

"Thanks again for inviting me over, this is amazing! I couldn't stay long enough to really visit anything when I came for your first show, so I'm glad I have a second chance to discover London."

"I'm sure you have an entire list of places where you want to go…"

"Of course!"

You grinned, reaching in the pocket on the inside of your warm coat for a little piece of paper where you had written the name of all the places you wanted to visit during the week.

Harry couldn't help but laugh, but his eyes and smile were tender, filled with fondness. Because it was just so you… and you were too adorable for his heart to handle.

"I also count on your expertise, obviously," you went on, ignoring his laughter. "Maybe you can show me around a few places?"

He frowned.

"Well, we'll be together for two weeks, I don't think you've really got a choice in terms of who's going to be your guide around London…"

"I… I don't know… don't you have things to do while I'm here?"

"No, I've cleared my schedule because you were coming."

"Oh…"

"Are you… disappointed that I'll be around?"

You rolled your eyes.

"Don't be silly. I've just travelled across the globe just to see you, remember? I just thought that you would be busy. But I'm glad you aren't. I'm gonna drag you to all the tourists' favourite spots!"

"I didn't expect anything less coming from you."

You seemed to think for a moment, which was always a moment to be dreaded, for all your craziest and cutest ideas emerged from these reflective times.

"What's going in there? I can see the smoke coming out of your ears," Harry commented, stopping at a red light.

"Will it be okay for you to come with me to all these places? I mean… people recognized you at the airport."

His hold on the steering wheel tightened, but his voice was calm when he replied.

"It's winter: coats, hats, scarves… I should be alright. But if you're worried it'll be a problem, you can go on your own, it's okay."

But you shook your head.

"If you're okay with taking the risk, then so am I. And you're right, even I could barely recognize you with that gigantic scarf of yours," you added, pointing at Harry's brown knitted scarf.

He exploded with laughter, and relaxed.

"I'm more than ready to take the risk. I've missed spending time with you."

"I've missed you too."

"I'll come back to L.A. for a while after the holidays."

"Really?" you asked, excited.

"Yeah… I have some time off in the tour, much needed time off. So… would like to try to escape the cold of London in winter."

"I'm sure you would!" you playfully laughed at him. "Well, I won't complain. L.A isn't the same without my best friend."

If your words still made him smile, there was also a string being bitterly pulled at his heart.

Best friend… no need to remind him of that.

"How is work, by the way?"

"Everything's fine. I got a raise before Christmas!"

"Wow! Congrats! Mary really can't do anything without you anymore, huh?"

You became a little shy, but wore a proud smile on your lips still.

"Well, I'm good at my job, apparently."

"You are amazing at your job, Y/N."

You wanted to nudge him playfully and tell him to shut up, but his voice sounded too earnest for you to react this way. You lowered your gaze to your shoes instead and let out a shy thank you.

"What about Gareth?" Harry asked in a casual tone, resting his elbow at the base of the window to hold the wheel.

"He's fine. He's spending the holidays with his family, so he couldn't come, but thank you for inviting him too, it means a lot to me."

I know it does. I wouldn't have done so otherwise.

"You'll have him again soon."

You shrugged.

"It's okay. It's just for a couple of weeks. Oh, which reminds me, he asked me to text him after I landed.""

"Everything's fine between you two?" Harry wondered while you texted your boyfriend, letting him know that you were in safe hands and that all had gone well.

"Yeah… it's going fine. Nothing new. He gave me a nice book about plants for Christmas… that I had already, but it was kind," you laughed fondly.

"I'm glad you've found someone nice. Someone who treats you right," Harry earnestly said. "And for his defence… you have almost all possible books that one can find about plants so…"

"I know, it was cute. But what about you?"

"Me and Gareth? We're over the moon together."

"Not you and Gareth, you silly!" you joined his laughter. "I mean, do you have someone these days?"

But Harry shook his head.

"Nope. No one."

"No one serious or no one no one?"

"Uhm… no one… no one… What…?"

"I don't know, I mean… you never talk to me about this stuff."

"Because there is nothing to say?"

"I mean… Sandra tells me about her one-night stands all the time, Jasmine tells me everything about her and her boyfriend. So… I hope you don't avoid telling me things because you feel like you can't. Cause you can. I mean… you get it, right?"

He chuckled.

"I don't have any one-night stands to talk about either."

"No?"

He shook his head.

"Nothing since…"

He frowned hard, going through memories. But then, his expression changed from focused to surprised.

"Since… before my album came out. Wow… perhaps I should work on a one-night stand after all… that… that is a long time without sex…"

"Just a few months," you rolled your eyes.

"Almost a year."

"Almost a year?"

"Almost ten months," he nodded.

"Maybe you should try to find a one-night stand," you admitted with a teasing smile.

"Good resolutions for the new year: getting laid," he joked, making you laugh as well.

It wasn't that late in London, barely the beginning of the evening, and yet by the time you needed to drive from the airport to Harry's house the sun had set, turning the clouds from grey to a deep shade of brown, almost black. The yellowish light of the lampposts helped the moon to light the world. But London was a busy city, and even with the low light and the cold, the streets were filled with strangers walking around. Despite the early time in the evening, your journey had greatly tired you, and you asked Harry to stay in for the first night. He didn't protest, it meant getting some quality time with you after all.

You were surprised though when you entered Harry's home when you found no Christmas decorations whatsoever.

Yes, it was the 27th, and Christmas was theoretically over, but you reckoned that Christmas time ought to last at least until the second week of January, or else it wasn't worth it.

What about the aftermath? Eating all the chocolate you got for Christmas? All the extra cookies? Keeping the lights on for New Year's Eve?

The most surprising fact was that there was a tree in his living room, it was simply…bare.

"You've already put all your decorations away?" you asked, taking in your surroundings, not being surprised to find the place looking exactly like Harry's personality.

A little old and a little new. Soft and warm and full of chairs and couches to gather a lot of people at once. Tasteful and personal, the kind of home that made you feel like it could become yours if he agreed to let you stay for a little longer than a few hours. The plants you had helped him nurture were thriving.

You loved the place already…

"Huh… no, I didn't put them on actually," Harry answered, taking his warm coat off and pushing your suitcase down the hallway and towards the stairs. "I was at my mom's for Christmas, and didn't have time to decorate before leaving."

"But you have a tree!"

"I just had time to pick it up, and then something came up, and I didn't decorate it."

You pouted, seeming a little disappointed.

Harry heaved a sigh as he knew perfectly what that meant…

"Do you want us to decorate it tonight?"

You gave him a grin and nodded enthusiastically.

"Even if Christmas is over?" he asked, but you shrugged his remark away.

"I haven't given you your present, yet."

"You got me a present?"

"Of course!"

"Good, because I got you one too."

Your grin only widened, burning through the room.

"I can't wait to see what it is."

"Alright, what about I get your suitcase upstairs and get the decorations while you make us some hot cocoa, huh? Feel free to open all the drawers in the kitchen, my home is yours. I also bought the cookies you like, they're next to the sink."

You got to work, humming to the Christmas song stuck in your head while Harry fumbled through boxes he had put away upstairs and the warm scent of sugar and chocolate filled the entire house.

When he finally walked back downstairs with a box filled with decorations and he saw you standing there, humming in his kitchen in your warm woollen pullover, your pair of old jeans and your colourful socks, busy making the most comforting drink in the world, he couldn't help but feel like this was right. You, there, in his kitchen, relaxed and happy and making cocoa… that was how things were meant to be. It felt so right. It felt so real.

His throat tightened and jaw clenched, his hold tightening around the box.

He wished that it could be meant to be, at least. A shame you didn't seem to feel this way too.

He shook himself, pushing these thoughts away, because for now you weren't with Gareth, you were with him, in his kitchen and he intended to enjoy every moment he could spend with you.

"Found them!" he told you as he entered the kitchen, right when you were pouring the hot beverage into two large mugs.

"Great! Let's take a look! Here you go, be careful, it's very hot."

You handed him his cocoa and he put the box on the kitchen table so you could inspect what it contained.

And you were far from impressed.

A few lights, but there were barely any garlands and other goodies…

Now, that wouldn't do.

"Okay, no. No, we can't decorate this grandiose tree with only these!" you admonished, shaking your head. "Is there a supermarket close?"

"Huh… yeah, down the street. Why?"

"We're gonna make some decorations."

"Make?"

"If we find a few cute things we can buy them too, but I reckon that as Christmas is technically over we're gonna have to do the hard work ourselves. Come on! Get your coat and your keys, and there we go!"

"But… the cocoa…"

"I'll make more when we come back, come on!"

You did take the time though to grab one of the cookies Harry had bought for you - chocolate chips, your favourite, as usual – and then dragged him out again.

At the store down the street, you filled Harry's arms with glitter, and paint, and glue, and an awful lot of paper and pencils and even more glitter. Your friend didn't really dare to question your actions, he had seen you in this kind of creative mood before, and was well aware that you were an unstoppable force then. You were way too stubborn, all he could do was nod and accept that his evening would be spent creating adorable Christmas decorations with you. And as the thought crossed his mind while you were both waiting to pay for your items, he didn't really want to complain about it after all. There was a dreamy smile on his lips, tender and happy, because when given a little bit of thought, making Christmas decoration with you was a lovely way to spend an evening.

That's how you soon found yourself sitting on Harry's white carpet, before his tall Christmas tree, surrounded with scissors, paper and pencils, your fingers covered in glue and glitter all over your face, laughing with Harry while Ella Fitzgerald sang Christmas Carols in the background.

"I think you're missing some pink glitter on your left cheek," you stated, disregarding the little paper star you were folding in yellow paper, examining Harry.

He had some silver glitter on the bridge of his nose, and a little bit of gold on his forehead, some blue and green on his chin and his cheeks adorned each a line of a bright orange glitter.

"Okay, go ahead," he accepted his fate with an amused smile and leaned forward to allow you to apply some pink glitter over his cheeks.

"Better!"

"You need more red."

"Red?"

"Yes, on your cheeks."

It was your turn to lean forward, presenting your face to him and closing your eyes, waiting for him to paint glittery shapes all over your skin. And as he applied some glitter on his finger and then onto the soft skin of your cheek, Harry couldn't manage to prevent his heart from beating too fast.

God… how he wanted to run his fingers across your cheek for hours…

Instead, it lasted less than a minute, but that was more than enough for him to blush and feel like his heart was ready to explode, and how was that humanly possible to get so many butterflies in one's stomach?

You got back to your tiny star with a smile on your face, singing along to the Christmas songs Harry had put on. It was a mess, the whole room was messy by now, but the tree looked more and more psychedelic, which was all Harry's home deserved.

But you had made a mess of his house already, when you had landed only a few hours before in London. And a comment that Gareth once made about you echoed in your mind once again as your eyes roamed the space around you.

I love that you're passionate about things, but sometimes you get carried away and you don't even realize it, and you kinda make a mess of things. You're… you're a bit childish sometimes.

As you took a look around the room, at all the pieces of paper and the glue, and all the mess, and even Harry's face covered with glitter, and some shiny pieces stuck in his brown curls too… you had to admit that Gareth was right. You did make a mess of things sometimes, even if you had the best of intentions, the result was the same.

Harry was inviting you to his house for the holidays, and you had decided to decorate his home for Christmas, dragged him to a shop to buy some stuff he would never use again, and then moved on to make a mess of his living room to make some childish Christmas decorations.

Gareth was right. Maybe sometimes you forgot that you had to stop behaving like that… you were too old for these things, too old for making your own Christmas decorations, too old for spending your rainy afternoons in pyjamas…

"You're alright, Y/N?"

Harry's deep voice shook you out of your own head.

"Hmm… Yeah, yeah… all good."

"You don't look like you are. What's wrong? You don't like my decoration?"

"I love it, it's very cute."

"What's wrong then?"

You shrugged, but asked the question that tore your heart and burnt your tongue anyway.

"Harry… do you think that… I'm sorry for tonight."

"Sorry? For what?"

"You… Don't you think I'm a bit too much sometimes?"

"Too much? What do you mean?"

"I… I mean… Like right now? You've invited me to stay at your place and now look… it's all a mess."

Harry laughed.

"Yeah, it's kind of a mess. But… that's alright."

"I shouldn't have asked you to decorate the tree, it's not my house. I'm sorry."

You seemed sad now, and really, Harry couldn't have that. For the next two weeks, he would work at making you the happiest woman on Earth. He couldn't start failing in the first evening.

"Don't apologize, I love decorating the tree with you."

"Really?"

"I've been laughing almost non-stop ever since we've started, in case you hadn't noticed. Thought it would give me away…"

"I… I don't… it feels like intruding."

"Intruding? No, you're not. You're… you're just being you."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged.

"I don't know, you're just… always finding nice things to do. Things that we used to do as children and have kinda forgotten when we shouldn't have, cause they're fun to do. You're… you make simple things more valuable. You give value to simple moments, and I think it's important to do that, to know how to appreciate simple things that money can't buy. And I think that… in our society right now, it's easy to forget about those things, but you don't. And it's nice. But why are you thinking about things like that?"

"Gareth told me that sometimes… I get a bit carried away with things… like tonight, for example. And that I should tune that down."

Harry's jaw clenched, but he struggled to only reveal his emotions through a raise of his eyebrows.

"Well, I think he's wrong, don't listen to him."

"I mean… he is right."

"How did he tell you that? What were the circumstances?"

"I wanted to play to a boardgame with him. But it was more of a… like… long-line-of-similar-things kind of stuff, I guess."

"He… he isn't talking down on you, is he?"

You could see now, despite Harry's best efforts at hiding his emotions, that he was getting angry. You shook your head and gave him a reassuring smile.

"No, he's very nice. He didn't say that to be mean. It was just a remark. Nothing mean intended. Still, it made me think and… he is right… sometimes I get overexcited and have silly ideas."

"Well, I love your silly ideas."

"You do?"

"Yeah… Do you really think that I would be making all of these if I didn't like making them with you?"

"I… I don't know, you're very nice. You could have said yes just to make me happy."

"Well, I didn't. I love that about you. I love that you're earnest and silly in an adorable way. I love that you've made a mess of my living room tonight. It's fun, and sweet, and it's who you are. And I don't think you should change for anybody, especially not a boyfriend."

"I thought that the people we love were supposed to make us be better."

"I think that… we want to change to be better for the people we love. But I don't think that if you truly, unconditionally love someone you would ask them to change. I want to change to be worthy of the people who love me. But I don't want the people I love to change for me, nor for anyone else, for that matter. If you're to change something about yourself, it should be because you want to do it, not because someone else told you to. Besides, what you're talking about changing is you being absolutely adorable all the damn time, that's not the worst trait of character a human can have."

You gave him a warm smile, before he reached for your hand.

"Promise me you won't change that about you," Harry whispered, his thumb dancing over your knuckles, making your heart trip behind your ribcage. "It's a good thing. Don't change… don't change for him. He's not worth you changing for him. No one on this Earth is worth that much."

His hand left yours and despite his house being warm and comfortable, your fingers felt cold without his to cover them.

You gave him a small but earnest smile, the gesture reaching the corners of your eyes.

You had been right, Harry wouldn't want you to change that about yourself… he wouldn't want you to change at all…

"Alright, I won't."

You resumed your activity, but it wasn't long before Harry spoke again, his deep voice covering the tune of White Christmas.

"So… what do you want us to do while you're here?" your friend asked while drawing little flowers over a ball of paper.

"I guess… the usual tourists spots. Kensington Gardens, St James's Park, Buckingham Palace, the National Gallery, Big Ben, the Tower Bridge, St Paul's Cathedral…"

"The clichés then…"

"Yeah, the clichés! And for the cute little places that I don't know about, you're gonna help me!"

"Alright… But tomorrow, I have something planned for you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's Sunday and… I know about a place you'll like."

You grinned, making Harry's heart miss a beat or two.

You really were a ray of sunshine every time you smiled…

"What is it?"

"Nope! Not telling! It's a surprise!" he shook his head, and despite your pout, he would not waver. "I'm sure you're going to love it though."

"I trust you."

"It won't take the whole day though. I guess, we could go there in the morning, eat something there, and then move on to another part of town."

"Sure."

"It's about… I'd say it's about a thirty-minutes-walk from the Tower of London, we could spend the rest of the afternoon there."

"Perfect!" you frantically nodded, your grin never leaving your lips.

"Alright, let's do that then."

You got up to place your star on the tree, and Harry handed you his decoration so you could choose a spot for it too. And you reckoned that this tree looked absolutely fabulous.

"I think we're done," you announced proudly. "What do you think?"

"I think this is the weirdest Christmas tree I've ever seen, but I love it."

"It looks amazing."

"It looks unapologetically bizarre, it's great!"

"Should we clean up?" you asked, but Harry shook his head.

"Let's exchange gifts first, then we'll clean up. I can't wait to give you your present any longer."

A moment later, and you were eating a cookie, both of you sitting before the illuminated tree, with a little pile of gifts in front of each of you.

"Alright, you start," Harry nodded towards the two boxes in front of you, one rather large but thin, and the other a tiny squared one.

You didn't need any more encouragement to excitedly grab the little box and tear the paper apart. Your action revealed a dark velvety box, that you slowly opened as well, wondering what could be inside.

Your eyes opened wide at the sight of a beautiful pendant in the shape of a delicate peony, shades of silver and copper making the patterns of petals and leaves.

"Wow…" you let out in a breath.

You took the jewel out of its box and ran your fingers across the delicate shapes. You noticed that something was engraved under the two petals, and when you took a closer look, you realized that it was yours and Harry's initials.

"So… do you like it?" Harry asked anxiously, trying to read through your expression, but your silence confused him. You usually were overjoyed when you received a gift, but you were barely reacting now, only studying the piece of jewellery he had chosen for you. "I know you don't like… diamonds and stuff, so I thought that this was more discreet… do you like it?"

"It's… it's gorgeous, Harry," you whispered. "It's so beautiful."

You finally looked up at him again with withheld tears in your eyes.

"I… I don't think anyone's ever offered me something that looks this precious before," you admitted in a weak voice.

"Well, you only deserve precious things."

You stared at each other for a moment, none of you truly breathing, none of you able to look away, as if there was an invisible string connecting the two of you and pulling to make you lean closer to each other.

But you looked away first, finally able to draw a full breath of air for your shouting lungs, and Harry looked down at his laps, trying to hide how he was blushing.

"I love it, it's gorgeous," you reassured him. "Can you help me put it on?"

"Sure, come here."

You scooted closer to him, turning your back to him so he could close the silver chain around your neck. His fingers struggled a little, shaking because of the scent of your shampoo overloading his senses, and he was grateful for being seated on the floor, because he could feel his legs weakening against the floor. His eyes weren't focused on the chain at all, but instead on the back of your neck, and it took everything in him to not lean down and kiss the soft skin that was revealed to him. Instead, he closed the clasp and let go of the chain.

"Done," he whispered, his voice too out of breath, but there was nothing he could do to hide how shaky his tone had turned.

"Thank you!"

You sat back behind your second gift, running your fingers across the delicate flower falling perfectly around your neck, a smile glued to your lips.

"Okay, open the other one!" Harry urged you, and you happily complied.

Tearing the wrapping paper apart, you revealed a beautiful scarf, a purple velvet embroidered with golden threads.

Once again, you were left speechless. Instead, you traced your fingers across the soft fabric and the embroidered flowers that ran across it.

"Wow… that's beautiful, Harry. But you… you shouldn't have bought me all that…"

"Why not? You love scarves. You have too many of those already, I know, but I thought that this one would suit you. And you don't have so many purple ones, you keep on saying that you need to find new ones in that colour."

"I know but… it's… it's too nice."

"Too nice?"

But you shook your head. You were being silly. Harry really was the best… these gifts were so right for you.

"It's perfect, Harry," you grinned, wrapping the scarf around your neck. It was soft and warm.

Harry shot you a cheeky grin.

"Yeah, I know, I'm good at giving gifts."

You wanted to retaliate with a clever word to wipe that annoying expression off his face, but you reckoned that he deserved to wear it this time. So instead, you leaned forward to hug him and kiss his cheek, unaware of the butterflies that had invaded Harry's stomach at your gesture, or the shot of electricity that ran through his spine as your lips touched his skin.

He was excellent at hiding all his symptoms, indeed.

"Thank you, Harry."

"Merry Christmas, Y/N."

"Alright, your turn!"

"Hang on, hang on… I'm admiring how good my gifts look on you!" he replied, slowly taking the wrapped object you had placed in front of him

"Open it!"

Harry laughed at you, shaking his head at how excited you were, but he tore the paper of his gift anyway.

It was a notebook, bound together by a black leather cover, upon which were written in silver Future hits. Harry couldn't help but laugh at the message. He guessed that you had customized it for him, and he ran his thumb across the words in a tender stroke.

He opened it, and found that you had written a little note on the front page.

So you can keep on making everyone's life better thanks to your music.

With all the love,

Y/N

PS: don't forget to be careful on the road.

He remained silent for a moment, his throat too tight to speak, feeling tears threaten to escape from his eyes.

But when he looked up at you again, he was wearing a touched smile on his features.

"Thank you," he breathed in a voice deeper than his usual tone, and you could hear the emotion in the way he sounded as he wrapped an arm around you to pull you into a tight hug.

"Do you like it?" you shyly asked while you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"I love it. Thank you. Thank you for everything."

"Merry Christmas, Harry."

Harry's smile widened as he let his forehead fall to rest on your shoulder.

"Merry Christmas, Y/N."

There was a mess around you waiting to be cleaned. And you hadn't eaten dinner yet. And you were exhausted and dreamt of a comfortable bed.

Yet, none of you had any intention to move. In fact, you remained for a long time like this, holding on each other, enjoying being together, probably for too long for a mere hug between friends, but none of you were ready to admit that fact. It was so much easier to push the thought away for now and simply be together, even if for just a little while…

***********************************

Tag list :   @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet@notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky@snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity@i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters​ @staringmoony​@madamrogers​​​ @cronias13​​​ @stylesfics-xx​​​ @mellamolayla​

[rpd-rookie]

Under Her Extra-Large Umbrella - Chris Redfield x Reader (PART 1)

Summary: Chris Redfield has always been an honourable man but the things he's seen at Spencer Mansion leave him no choice. He must infiltrate Umbrella's French laboratory, whatever it takes, even if it means manipulating you. But how far he is ready to go?

Author’s Note: This fanfic involves a Post RE1 / Pre-Code Veronica version of Chris Redfield since it focuses on his trip to Europe that is mentioned in RE2. You will probably notice that I used the letter Chris wrote to his S.T.A.R.S. friends. It is actually what inspired this fan fiction in the first place. Gotta be honest with you, this fanfic made me shed blood, sweat and tears. I guess I rewrote it twice before coming to a rather satisfying version and I must have tear my hair out quite a few times when I was struggling with grammar. (BTW, tell me if you see some terrible grammatical mistakes so that I can correct them) Anyway, as usual, I hope you will like it. Please don’t forget to like/reblog and tell me what you think of it in the comment section.

Tags: Romance, Fluff, SMUT, Explicit Language, Manipulation and Treachery. Angst is come ;-)  

Also available on AO3

“Better failing with honour than winning by cheating, son”.           Chris could perfectly remember his father telling him those words. It was in 1990. Chris was a seventeen years old teenager finishing his Junior year, and they were driving back home from driving school right after learning he had failed his theory test contrary to that asshole Colin Monroe who had aced it thanks to a crib cheat hidden in his sock.       He could also remember that his father’s wisdom had barely consoled him on that day - despite what he had let him believe - and that it had taken him quite some time to swallow the bitter pill and even more time to admit that his father was indeed right and that he should live by this motto. Months actually. Plus a tombstone with his parents’ names on it.       Chris never regretted listening to his father. He never regretted promising him that he would do his best to become the man he would have wished him to be. That promise had made him the man he was today. A man who would never stray from the right path however tempting treachery could be. Someone loyal, upright and honourable. Someone his parents would be proud of.

And yet here he was, eight years later, a twenty-five years old cop, breaking the promise he had made his father and doing something so deceitful and selfish it would certainly make him roll over in his grave or wish he were still here to give his son a earful.     But today, it was not something as silly as his driving licence that was at stake. It was the justice he owned to his fellow S.T.A.R.S. members, those he had lost at Spencer Mansion and those waiting for him in Raccoon City. It was the security of god knows how many people. This time, Chris had a burden on his shoulders that was way too heavy for him to accept a possible failure. And as terrible as it sounded, he was ready to do something bad for the greater good, whatever the cost, whatever his dead father may think of him from beyond the grave.

                      “To my bestest S.T.A.R.S. buds,

           How are you all doing in that drab, old station? Hanging in there against old Irons? Me? I just got back from a date with a hot chick. Bet you can guess what we got up to under her extra-large umbrella.            Europe is amazing. One month is in no way enough to even scratch the surface. Maybe I’ll extend my vacation for another six months.                Barry, don’t even think of coming join me. Wouldn’t want to make all the cute girls cry, yeah? So you just leave the babes to me.              Jill, if Claire tries to contact you, please let her know I’m OK.”

Chris put down the pen on his nightstand and took a look at his letter one more time with a proud amused smile. He knew that his friends, contrary to Irons, would get the hidden message behind that lame womanizer persona that was so unlike him. And hopefully, maybe the police chief would tell his friends at Umbrella his S.T.A.R.S. poster boy was nothing to worry about and just currently cruising for pussies in Europe.  

“Writing to your friends again?” Chris looked up to see you standing in the doorway to his bedroom. You looked very tired, exhausted even, judging by the dark circles under your beautiful eyes, your loosened bun and the way you were leaning against the framework. “Yeah, to give them a small update on my vacation.” Chris folded the letter and put it in the drawer of his nightstand; not very keen on letting you read it. “Tough day?” “You have no idea.” You dropped your bag at the entrance of Chris’ room and went to fall down on his bed, your head on his crossed legs. “Wanna talk about it?” Chris asked as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You know I can’t say much. Professional confidentiality and all. ”         “I didn’t know working for Umbrella was like working for the CIA.” Chris joked, trying to tone down the disgust he was feeling each time he had to pronounce the word Umbrella. You smiled, too tired to laugh and glanced at Chris who was staring at you.            

God, why did you have to be so beautiful and so sweet and yet so not good for him? Why did you have to work for Umbrella? And how did he allow things to be that way between the two of you?

Chris could remember the day he had first seen you, the day he had chosen not be moral and honourable for once in his life.       It was almost a month ago. He had been in Paris for a couple days, trying to find a way to infiltrate Umbrella’s French laboratory, which was even more impenetrable than Zone 51, the lab being a real fortress (with automatic secured doors, CCTVs, guards and a severe ‘no visitor allowed’ policy) only accessible if you were the lucky owner of a white and red badge. And you had happened to be one.       Leaving the lab for lunch break, happy to finally feel the warm sun on your face, it hadn’t been your beautiful [h/c] hair loosely tied back in a high ponytail or your twinkly [e/c] eyes that had caught Chris’ attention (even though yeah he had noticed). No it had been that badge, that stupid badge carelessly hanging from the front pocket of your lab coat. And it had also been that badge that, unfortunately for you, had made him organise a plan to trick you and get his hands on it, that badge that had made you the victim of his very first treachery.  

Your meeting was – unbeknownst to you – the most unnatural meeting ever. Chris had calculated everything. When? Lunch break. Where? The nearby boulangerie where you used to be eating. What to say? “Désolé. Bonjour. Puis-je m’assoir avec vous?” which meant “Sorry. Hi. May I sit with you?” in French of course, because Chris had figured that playing the part of the poor American tourist with a terrible French accent trying to adapt in the city of love would be much more appropriate for the situation.       And it had worked. He had sit at your table, had exchanged a few words with you and had found you surprisingly friendly and adorable for an Umbrella employee.             But of course, as the majority of Chris’ plans, the meeting hadn’t ended up the way he had imagined (meaning him discreetly stealing your badge) simply because of a tiny detail he hadn’t thought of; you had forgotten your badge at the lab, leaving him no choice but to improvise and organise a second meeting that he had dared called a rendez-vous.

And here he was, weeks later, sharing your apartment and occasionally your bed and definitely bogged in a way bigger deceit that the one he had originally planned, one he knew he would not be able to get out easily.     And to answer the question, did Chris manage to get his hands on your badge? Well, yes and it was now safely hidden in his room to be used at the proper moment. If only he could shut his guilt away as well. Things would be much easier.

“What did you do today? Sebastien told me he barely saw you.” Sebastien was your other roommate. A nice redhead guy as well as a curious unstoppable chatterbox. “Oh, nothing interesting. I woke up early to jog at the Bois de Boulogne then I spent the rest of day wandering in the city.” That was half a lie. Yes, he had gone for a run at the Bois de Boulogne but he hadn’t spent the afternoon visiting Paris. No, he had spent his afternoon trying to reach the FBI from a phone booth in order to know if they had some news concerning Irons or the Mansion Incident. Unsuccessfully.           “If you want, we can spend this Saturday together. I’m sure I can show you few places you haven’t seen yet.”           “Aren’t you working this Saturday?” You were always working on Saturdays. “I need a day off to clear my mind a bit.” That didn’t sound like you. You were too much of a workaholic to prefer spending your Saturday playing guide to your American roommate. “Now, consider me worried. What’s up at work?” Chris asked, concerned not only because he knew something terrible could be happening at Umbrella but also because he couldn’t help but caring about you, Umbrella worker or not.         “Those last days have been a bit tough that’s all.” You wouldn’t tell him more. You couldn’t. For so many reasons.     “Well in that case, what do you think about me running you a nice hot bath?” You glanced up at Chris. He had drawn your attention in a very interesting way. “That depends. Will you be with me in that bath?” You asked cheekily.         “Do you want me too?” He smirked and you put your hand on his neck to pull him closer to your face. You pressed your lips softly against his; sighing in this kiss you had been dreaming about all day, as Chris brought you against his broad chest, his strong arms now holding you tight against him. You felt so safe in his embrace and that’s what you needed right now.        

Chris pecked you a couple times before laying one last kiss on your forehead with a tenderness that made you melt in his arms. “I’m gonna go run you that bath, okay?” You nodded. “Join me in ten minutes.”       Needless to say that those ten minutes were the longest you had ever experienced. Probably because they gave you plenty of time to dwell on the things you had experienced today at the lab, the things you had seen, the things you wanted to forget and yet couldn’t.           You got up and grabbed the bag you had left by the door to search for a small notebook that you opened with a desperate sigh. Then, you took the pen on Chris’ nightstand and started scribbling notes and drawings in it. A habit you had taken a few months ago and that somehow helped you from not cracking up.  

You guessed you took more than ten minutes when you heard Chris clear his throat by the door, only wearing a small towel around his wait. Goodness, what a sight.         You quickly closed the notebook as soon as you spotted him and put it back in your bag while he pretended not to notice. “Haven’t you forgotten something, mademoiselle?” He smirked and you giggled. “Have I?”     “Yes. I think there is a naked man waiting for you in the bathroom.” He joked and you approached him with a amused yet cheeky smile. You put your hands on his chest, feeling his muscles against your palm, as you looked up at his face with a mischievous look. “Is he hot?” “Right now, he is very hot.” He confessed, absolutely in the mood to play with you. “Better not keep him waiting, then.” You purred and you put your hand on one of the straps of your summer dress to gently make it slide along your shoulder.     That small sight of your naked skin made Chris hiss and unable to resist the urge to lay a trail of soft warm kisses from your neck down to your shoulder. You could tell the smoothness and the perfume of your skin were driving him crazy as his mouth soon started devouring you and muffled growls began vibrating in his throat.     His calloused hands roamed down your back, making you instinctively move your hips closer to his crotch, and he unzipped your dress. It dropped at your feet revealing your body that Chris gazed at with his brown eyes darkened by desire. They lingered on your breasts and you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to touch them. He loved them too much for that. And so, his hands cupped them and his thumbs brushed your hard nipples. “Gosh, Y/N.” He breathing in, trying to calm his heart pounding in his chest “I can’t wait any longer.” Chris suddenly grabbed you and hoisted you up with incredible ease, hands under your ass, which made you yelp.     Nevertheless, you instinctively wrapped your legs around him, making his towel fall to the floor. “Oops. That was not voluntary.” You giggled. So did he. “Right.” And he rushed towards the bathroom, with you in his arms, his lips devouring yours in a hasty burning kiss on the way.

He set you up on the double washstand and quickly locked the door behind him, giving you a brief view of his divine firm behind, though you liked the front as much if not more right now. “What are you looking at like that?” He smirked. Well, his chiselled chest, his carved abs and that big hard cock. What a silly question! But you couldn’t say that and so instead you urged Chris to come closer to you, spreading your legs to welcome him between them.   He obeyed but instead of giving you that lustful hug and passionate kiss you were expecting, he crouched in between your legs and remove your panties, kissing your smooth legs, from thighs to feet, as he did. You clearly knew where that would eventually lead but you moaned anyway when you felt Chris put your legs on his shoulders and burry his face in between your thighs. “I told you I’d help you relax.”         “What about the hot bath?” You tilted your head towards the bubble bath he had run for you few minutes ago.     “Oh don’t worry, we’re getting there. But first you know how much I like licking your pussy.” He winked and his tongue lapped your slit up to your clit without waiting another second. A loud moan escaped your mouth as Chris sucked your bud loudly, pulling it between his lips, and he looked up at you with a proud smirk before focusing his attention back on your pussy.     He was good, very good even, way better than any other men you had ever been with. He knew exactly how to please you. He knew where the tip of tongue had to swirl to make you shiver, knew the right spot to suck to make you moan and when to add his fingers to make you cry out his name - which was right now by the way. “Oh my god, Chris!” You mewled loudly as you felt one of his fingers entering you, his mouth still eating your pussy up. Your legs instinctively clenched around your lover’s head while one of your hand found its way in his short hair. Then you heard Chris hum in between your thighs as he kept on licking you and fucking you with his finger, adding one more in the process. You pulled his hair back, forcing him to look at you. “Fuck me, please. Fuck me now.” Chris complied and, after his tongue slid one last time in between your lips, he stood up to catch your lips in a new passionate kiss, making you taste your juices on his expert tongue. You could feel his cock against you, hard and slightly throbbing already, showing how impatient and aroused he was.       “Enter that bath, quick.” He ordered with a deep voice that made you shake against his body.

You obeyed and gladly let your burning body sink in the bubbly water, the lukewarm water cooling you off a bit (which wasn’t a bad thing). You were soon followed by Chris who entered the bath with a brutal eagerness that made the water waved a bit too much around both your bodies. “Don’t flood the apartment.” You giggled as you spread your legs to make him a place in the tub. “I can’t promise you that.” He confessed amused, as he grabbed his length in his hand to jerk it off a bit and guide it towards your begging entrance waiting for him under the water. He tickled your swollen clit with his tip before entire you almost smoothly making you draw a sharp breath.         “Damn, you’re so tight.” Chris growled as he took hold of the edge of the bathtub above your head to push himself deeper inside of you, enjoying your wet walls around his cock. “You’re fucking big, you mean.” You said with a painful hiss that brutally calmed his ardour and made him consider immediately pulling out of you. “Sorry. Am I hurting you?” He worried, aware his girth needed get some getting used to and afraid that he hadn’t given you enough. “No, no. It’s okay. Just give me sec.” You cleared your throat and adjusted yourself underneath Chris, spreading your lips with your fingers to welcome him the way you both desired. Hard, big and rough. “Okay. Good now.”           “You sure?” He asked, definitely not willing to hurt you. You nodded and pressed your lips against him to show him how much you wanted him right now. He got the message and started moving inside of you, slowly yet deeply for now.

You dug your nails in his biceps and started moaning; taking delight in feeling him going in and out of you. It was just the most divine sensation in the world. He filled you so perfectly. “Chris. Please. Faster.” You begged.             He complied and started pounding you more quickly, hands still on the edge of the tub, towering you with his muscular body to assert his dominance over you the way you liked it. But it wasn’t enough for you and so you wrapped your legs around him forcing him to go balls deep inside of you. Chris smirked, loving your initiative. “You like it deep and rough, baby?” You cried out.   “I didn’t hear you”   “Yeeess.” You whimpered with small tears in your eyes. He hammered you harder, spilling water on the bathroom floor, and you clenched your walls around him. “Oh god!” You yelled, out of breath.

He was relentless, so strong, so fast, so deep you could hear his body slam against your skin and echo the splashes of the waves in the tub. “Come here.” He lay on his back and urged you to come and straddle him. And so you climbed on top of him, admiring how handsome he was underneath you. “Guide me into you.” You did as he said and directed his throbbing cock to your wanting pussy, welcoming him again inside your wetness, Hands pressed against his pectorals, you immediately started undulating on top of him, feeling the pleasure coming back in your lower stomach.         “That’s it. Keep going.” He whispered, gazing at you.

Chris’ hands crawled up your body to reach your breasts and play with them a bit, delicately pinching your pointy nipples, as you kept riding him. You knew he loved groping them and you also knew how much he loved them in his mouth as well. Therefore you decided to bent over him a bit, just enough for his face to reach your chest, holding on to the wall in front of you with one hand to keep your balance. Chris smiled, understanding perfectly your little game, and pulled one of your tits to his mouth to catch one nipple between his lips and suck it greedily.       It was apparently very pleasurable for him (even maybe more than it was for you, and it was a lot) since he started humming and growling loudly. You enjoyed hearing and seeing him like this very much, so much you stopped riding him to focus on this spectacle.            

It didn’t last long though as you soon felt you lover’s strong hands gripping your ass to make you bounce on his cock again. “I so want to cum, baby. Please make us both cum.” His words made you shiver of excitement and you locked your lips with his as you started rolling your hips onto him again.       But it was certainly not enough for Chris since after few seconds he suddenly grabbed your hips to slam deep in your pussy and relentlessly pound you from underneath. You screamed his name and hold on tight to him. He was very rough, so rough you could barely breathe, but you didn’t mind at all.     Soon, you felt your face become so red and your bundle of nerves become atrociously sensitive. You knew you were ready to explode. “Chris. I’m gonna cum.” He put his hand on your clit to stimulate it and help you reach your release, his cock hammering you even harder than before.       You clenched your pussy around his throbbing cock, making him groan because of how tighter you suddenly were. “Tell me I can cum in you, baby.” He asked, panting. He was very close too. “Yes, cum in me.” You didn’t need to say it twice as Chris immediately growled in your ear, slowed his pace, and spread his cum in your pussy with a last animalistic grunt as you came undone on top of him, yelling his name, your powerful orgasm almost knocking you out.

You collapsed on him, incapable of remaining straight. “Wow. That was something.” He chuckled, exhausted and out of breath, and so did you.             “You’re okay?” You looked up at him, raising your eyebrows. What a ridiculous question. “No, I’m being serious, Y/N. Wasn’t I a bit too rough?” He asked.       “You were perfect.” You admitted before kissing him tenderly.           “AND SO FUCKING LOUD!!!” You heard shouting from behind the wall. You both looked in the direction of the noise, understanding that your roommate had probably heard everything but despite the embarrassment you couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Poor Sebastien.       “Why don’t we get out of that bath and cuddle a bit in bed? The water is getting cold.” Chris offered.   “I’d like that very much.” You smiled and managed to leave the tub, using the little energy you had left in your sore body.            

As you dried yourself, you saw Chris head towards the door with a towel draped around his waist. “Where are you going?” You asked.   “Taking some briefs in my room. See you in your room in a minute?” He smiled and you nodded, impatient to spend the night in his arms. “Can you bring me back my clothes and my bag while you’re at it?”           “Sure.”

Chris closed the door behind him and headed towards his room where he put on some clean underwear and picked up your stuff as you had asked. But the moment he grabbed your bag and caught a glimpse of the black notebook he had previously seen you inside, he knew he would probably not join you as soon as he had told you.         He watched it first, hesitant, knowing perfectly well that what he had in mind right now was very bad. It was one thing to steal a badge, but spying on you, that was going too far. “No, Chris. No.” He whispered to himself. And yet, he grasped the notebook and opened it.   It was a diary of some sort judging by the numerous dates he noticed as he quickly leafed through it. And if it was a diary then it was indeed very private, intimate even, certainly not his to read. He thought about putting it back in your bag for a second, but what if something valuable to his investigation was inside that notebook?         “Argh, fuck.” He cursed as he went to the first page.

“May, 14th 1998

Today made me regret the time I was just the intern bringing Professor Rochois his morning espresso. Umbrella is asking more and more of me, and the pressure they put on us workers is driving me insane. But what’s worse is that I’ve got the impression they are not telling us everything, especially concerning the experience the seasoned scientists are conducting in the north wing. But I guess I’ll soon have answers to my questions since Professor Rochois said that he was genuinely impressed by my devotion and was thinking of promoting me.”

Chris frowned, apprehension knotting his stomach. That didn’t sound good at all. He needed to learn more about that even if the moment was far from convenient. You could show up anytime and catch him red-handed.         He turned a few more pages, rapidly skimming through some notes he would definitely read another day, until he spotted a weird drawing of some octopus-like creature. What the hell was that thing?

“June, 7th 1998

The NE-a parasite. A parasitic species indented to retain intelligence. It has been developed by Umbrella Europe for years. At first I thought it was just a revolutionary way to cure brain damage. After all, that’s how it had been advertised to me. But the more I study it, the more I believe Umbrella may be up to something else other than treating brain injuries or Alzheimer. I don’t know what and I’m not even sure I want to know.”

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. His body was shaking and he could feel fear eating him up and he started imagining terrible things.   What if you were involved in the Spencer Mansion incident? No, no. You couldn’t be. And yet, Chris decided to have a look had the entries you wrote in July. He needed to reassure himself. One immediately drew his attention.

“July, 28th 1998

My superiors have been quite on edge lately, something to do with an incident that happened with the American branch of Umbrella from what I overheard. I don’t know what it is though, but I’m sure it must be pretty big because they doubled down security in the lab. The team and I have the impression we are living in a 1984 remake. The CCTVs are always recording and I sometimes have the strange sensation I’m being permanently spied on, even in the locker room. Maybe they have doubts about me because of the many questions I often ask about Project Nemesis.”

Project Nemesis? Y/N, what the hell were you working on in that lab?

[rickthaniel]

Trial Slice-of-Life Avatar Fanfic

Tbh I’ve never written fanfiction before but wanted to try some in-universe stuff as a writing exercise. Had a lot of fun and will likely continue on my own, but am curious if there’s interest for this kind of thing here? If people would want to read it? My suspicion is it’s not really the kind of thing folks would be into, but maybe I’m wrong! So be gentle I guess but figured I’d put out a little trial piece. If you’d read more of this, I’d love to hear from you!

________________________________________________________________

The first morning, Kuyon awoke a full hour before dawn. It was the heat that did it, he thought – but then again, it could have just been the change in surroundings. Time off the water always took some getting used to. His first sea voyage as a child was fraught with sickness and insomnia, even though his mother had done everything she could to make him comfortable during the long journey south. The fear of the ocean itself was still present then – strong in him – and he worried that if he dozed off at the wrong moment, the ship would be swallowed up in his sleep. Years later, when he took his first post on a ship, it took him three months to finally get comfortable with the constant, quiet movement.

Now, it was the opposite. Being on land was what gave him restless nights. But it certainly didn’t help that the Fire Nation was also about as hot as the name suggested, even before summer had begun. It wasn’t just the heat either. It was the weight of the air, the dampness. So different from either of the homes Kuyon had known. As a child, it had baffled him how a city built on ice could be so very, very dry. And when he heard the stories of masters pulling water from the air itself, he’d been so excited to try – only to discover that in the heart of the Water Tribe, there was nothing in the air to bend. Maybe that was why the technique was only mentioned in distant rumors – something waterbenders did in foreign places.

Kuyon had unintentionally become that waterbender. Of course, this particular visit wasn’t his first to the Fire Nation, but every other time he’d only seen the ports, and he’d had the welcoming belly of the ship to fall asleep in. Besides, Ember Island didn’t feel like those places. For all the blackened, rocky shorelines and volcanic landscape that was the nation’s signature, he somehow expected the beach would not have sand. A rock beach would have been more fitting, but the stones on the island were smooth – nothing like the jagged rocks he’d seen elsewhere. And for all the explosions that had created the surrounding islands thousands of years ago, Ember Island felt serene. Despite the fact that it was a resort, Kuyon hadn’t actually expected it to feel peaceful. He didn’t think the Fire Nation could have peaceful places.

Unable to fall back to sleep, he got dressed in the dark and walk out to the beach. It was still black out, but there was enough starlight to see the way down to the water. The moon was barely there – just a sliver of a thing in the sky – and that too might have contributed to the restlessness he felt.

It wasn’t that he felt weak when it was waning. It was a latent thing – a scar of fear left over from when he was eight and saw the full moon in the sky go dark. From his window, he could see the warriors’ water fall, limp and useless, and he was sure at that moment that he was going to die. Even at such a young age, it had been instilled in him that men of the Northern Water Tribe did not run from a fight. But when the sky went red with the blood of the spirit – as the story would later be told – he saw the men if his tribe flee in panic. Every month since then, a part of him still feared that when that sliver vanished, it would not come back; that the sacrifice the chief’s daughter had made would wear out somehow.

At the water’s edge, Kuyon sat down in the sand and felt the edge of the tide wash over his toes. With his left hand, he gently pulled with its ebb and flow, barely bending it, just following the water’s lead. The breathing exercise had always calmed him, especially during his early days in the South Pole. At the time, his mother told him they were going to rebuild their sister tribe. Years later, he realized that most of the northerners who joined Master Pakku’s expedition were really looking to rebuild themselves. They had either lost someone in the siege, or were exhausted of hiding behind the city walls, waiting for the war to end. A whole generation had lived and died while the North was frightened to sail too far from home, and when reports started coming of what had been done to the benders in the Southern Tribe, an even greater fear set in.

In those early days in the south, his mother would take him down to where the ice became water and show him how to breathe into the tide. The same night he saw the moon go dark, Kuyon saw the great spirit rise from the waters of the city and wash the invaders out. It had taken weeks to sort through the wreckage left by the decimated navy, and though the spirit had saved them all, it had frightened him too. In the whole voyage south, he’d never spoken to the Avatar. Part of him had wanted to of course. At eight and twelve, the two weren’t so far apart in age. But despite his quiet demeanor on the ship, Kuyon was afraid of the airbender, for the same reason that for that whole journey he was afraid of the sea beneath him. That thing those two had become together – the boy with the tattoos and the spirit of the ocean – had both saved him and terrified him on the night the moon was killed. Pushing and pulling the tides with his mother, he remembered that the ocean could be peaceful too.

Even the water was different in the Fire nation though. The waves that splashed up on the sands of Ember Island were frothy and white; nothing like the perfect blue of the northern waters, or the icy stillness of the south. Once, after word had come that Ba Sing Se had fallen, he’d asked his mother why the Ocean Spirit didn’t simply appear on the shores of the Fire Nation as it had during the siege of the north. “It could wash away the whole army,’ he’d said, almost pleading with her, “like how it washed away the ships. Why doesn’t it?” Of course he knew vaguely that the spirits didn’t work that way, but his mother didn’t tell him that at the time. Instead she just sat beside him and put her arm around his shoulders, and said “I don’t know, Ku. I don’t know.”

Feeling the pulse of the Fire Nation’s ocean, Kuyon watched as the bottom of the sky began to bloom with pink, then orange, then yellow light. He focused his gaze on the water’s surface out by the horizon, in search of the thing that had brought him there, but with no luck. It would still be a few days before the migration passed by. Until then, he’d have to get used to sleeping in the heat.

Some members of the Water Tribes had developed a scorn for sunrise over the course of the war. Kuyon had never understood that. It was a beautiful thing, still.

The sky alight with early morning, he pushed himself up off the sand and began to walk down the beach, toward the town square that lay inland a ways further along the shore. There was no one else in sight as he went. Kuyon wondered if Ember Island’s stream of wealthy vacationing Fire Nation aristocrats had slowed in the past decade; if the shadow that had loomed over the country for the last fourteen years in the wake of its defeat extended even to the tourist industry. The families who owned homes here had taken major hits in reputation to be sure, but their fortunes likely suffered as well. He’d heard that the new Fire Lord had ousted most of Ozai’s true loyalists from the inner workings of government, but he doubted those expulsions meant any real severity for families with so much ancient wealth and power.

Strolling up the beach and through one of the town’s winding footpaths, Kuyon came eventually to a small plaza. Shops and restaurants lined the perimeter of the square, but almost all were still closed. Only one tea shop seemed to be awake at such an early hour. Inside, Kuyon found a tidy arrangement of wooden tables, and a small counter at the back. A woman, maybe ten years his senior, was wiping down one of the tabletops when she glanced up and saw him standing in the doorway. She squinted at him, straightened, and tucked the rag into the front of her apron.

“Would you like a table?”

“If you’re open.”

“Just the one of you?”

“Yes.”

She gestured from one wall to the other with an open hand.

“Wherever you like. What are you drinking?”

“What do people usually get?”

She walked behind the counter, pulled a set of spark rocks from a drawer he couldn’t see, and started a pot of water boiling.

“Our ginseng is the most popular.”

“I’ll have that then.”

She nodded and set to work. It was terribly quiet, despite the faint breeze that made its way off the water, through the plaza and into the room.

“Is this your shop?”

“Me? No. My uncle owns it. And I should warn you he only takes Fire Nation money.”

“I can pay.”

“I guess so if you’re staying around here. You a tourist?”

“I’m a fisherman.”

“Are you on vacation?” she asked, leaning over the counter toward him. Her hair was black like his, about as long, but worn up in the Fire Nation style. Her face was hard, but Kuyon couldn’t tell if it was because of his clothing or something else entirely.

“I guess,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to see the tiger dolphin migration. It only happens every four years, and they should be coming right by here in the next few days.”

“They got you in a shack down there?”

“It’s all I could afford. My ship’s in port at Hing Wa Island for the week, so I managed to get a little time away.”

“You should have stayed with them. Hing Wa is gorgeous this time of year. It’s ash banana season.”

“That’s why they’re there. My captain’s hoping to turn over our recent hauls for as much of the harvest as he can. They’re becoming something of a delicacy in the Earth Kingdom.”

She came out from behind the counter carrying a tray, the teapot and two small porcelain cups arranged on it, and set it down on the table in front of him. Steam rose from the neck of the pot. Without a word, she sat down in the chair across from him.

“Let it sit for another minute,” she said. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Please.”

“It’s just that I’ve never met a member of the Water Tribe before.”

Kuyon feigned shock, glancing down at his blue tunic, the blue rings on his fingers, the blue armband with the Tribe’s sigil.

“How did you know I was Water Tribe?”

She laughed.

“Which Tribe?”

“Both. I was born in the north, but we moved south when I was eight.”

“When you were eight.”

“After,” he said. “After the siege.”

She nodded, her arms crossed on the table before her, staring straight at the teapot and the steam rising between them.

“My husband was a technician on the Ilah’s Pride. It was one of the first ship’s to make contact with the wall. At least, that’s they told me.”

Kuyon looked at her, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. She picked up the teapot and poured them each a cup, but he hesitated to take his, suddenly tense and wary. Then she took a sip from her own and laughed again – a sharp, barking laughter.

“It’s not poisoned if that’s what you were thinking. I’m not a hateful person, really. And that whole naval crusade was an absurd vanity project to begin with.”

“Still,” he said, “I’m sorry. I saw what happened to those lead ships. It terrified me as a kid.”

“Yes, well, that’s what we get I suppose. Wei Ko should have known better than to join the navy. But that’s where all the advancement was in those days. He thought we needed the money. And why am I telling you all this?”

“I don’t know. You haven’t even told me your name.”

“Sung.”

“I’m Kuyon.”

“Well, I’d keep your head down while you wait for your dolphins, Kuyon. There’s a lot of naval heritage on Ember Island, and most folks won’t be as accepting of those Water Tribe colors as I am.”

[ineffable-snowman]

Fic: Maybe Someday

I finally finished a somewhat longer (7k) Good Omens fic. You can also read it here on AO3.

Many thanks to @tickety-boo-af, who was a super nice and helpful beta reader!

*****************

One Saturday afternoon, Aziraphale miracled the buttons of his vest a shade darker. Normally, he was against using miracles on clothes because he believed in tailors but it was only a minor change and it was meant as a symbol. Because he had a plan.

As far as Aziraphale knew, most humans put a lot of effort into their corporation to look nice for their, well, date. (There really was no way to still call this a “meeting” when neither Aziraphale nor Crowley had a job anymore.) Humans did it to give the other person something pleasant to look at, as Aziraphale understood. He was glad Crowley did not follow Hell’s fashion choices because he was not ready to put dirt or even worse on his face. There was no doubt what Crowley liked: black and tight-fitting clothes. But Aziraphale didn’t own any black clothes and he was pretty sure that trousers like Crowley’s would just look ridiculous on him.

Searching through his bookshop, he found some clothes from the last two centuries in a wooden chest squeezed under several books. After he had encouraged the moths and spiders to leave, he scrutinised the clothes. Most of them had moth holes and smelled a bit. But nothing a thorough miracle wouldn’t fix. He had liked the hats in the Victorian Age. But maybe not the best memories for Crowley. What about that cravat from the Sixties? Fashion had been crazy then and even Aziraphale had decided to purchase something new. But mostly he had tried to give Crowley a reason to live – because then Aziraphale had still worried that Crowley wanted to use the holy water on himself. It had been utterly frightening to find the fine balance between promising Crowley something more (but at the same time not promising too much and not too obviously) and stopping him from getting himself into even more danger.

But that was over now. And the cravat had looked a bit dashing, hadn’t it? It would be quite fitting to wear this again when Aziraphale wanted to take the next step in their Arrangement…or was it a Relationship now? He felt that it should be, but it was not, not really. Aziraphale knew what a romantic relationship looked like, he had read enough books. And the things that, according to human literature, were supposed to happen had not happened between him and Crowley.

Aziraphale had cautiously placed his hand on the table between them when they were dining at the Ritz. Crowley had not taken it. Aziraphale had lingered after Crowley had dropped him off at the bookshop and accompanied him to the door. Crowley had not kissed him goodnight.

After a few weeks of nothing happening, Aziraphale had had the sneaking suspicion that Crowley held back because of him. Maybe Crowley was trying to take things slow because he did not want to scare Aziraphale off like the last time when Aziraphale had told him that he went too fast. Aziraphale had always felt deep regret whenever he had had to stop Crowley from doing something dangerous. It had not seemed fair to stop someone from loving, of all things.

He told himself that he should be happy, and what if they were taking things slow? They had all of eternity. But there was still this nagging feeling that Crowley was holding back. It didn’t seem right after everything that had happened. Maybe it was now Aziraphale’s turn to move things forward. To grant Crowley permission. To show him that there was nothing to fear, that Aziraphale would not reject his love, ever again.

How to do it? It certainly was not Aziraphale’s strongest suit. But he had read enough to get an idea about…flirting? Courting? Dating? The words seemed terribly frivolous but then most humans would consider getting dinner together at expensive restaurants a date. So they were already doing it. Now it was up to Aziraphale to “spice things up.” Tastefully, of course.

And that is how his beloved vest ended up with miracled buttons.

When they had their next dinner date (Aziraphale had read a promising review in the newspaper about a fancy new French restaurant), he miracled the cravat clean and tied it carefully. He fretted a bit with his shirt and could not decide: Was it indecent to leave the top button open? He did not know that restaurant yet. What if they expected a certain dress code? What would Crowley think if he – well, no, Crowley certainly did not mind showing a bit of skin if his own clothing decisions were anything to go by.

Aziraphale left that button decision for later and focused on his hair first. He had decided to use a tiny bit of product to make his curls less frizzy and more defined as his barber had always suggested he do but so far Aziraphale had never seen the purpose of that. He had just finished his very careful application when he heard the familiar honk of the Bentley.

“Dear Lord, is it already time?” Aziraphale glanced at the cuckoo clock. Crowley was fashionably late as always. Aziraphale grabbed his coat, opened the top button in a desperate last minute decision and hurried outside.

Crowley was casually leaning against the Bentley, as he always did. He gave Aziraphale an intent look.

Aziraphale’s heart hammered, not only from the physical exertion. “Running a bit late,” he said with a quick nervous look to make sure no one was staring at his new outfit. He felt terribly exposed. “Please don’t make up for it by exceeding the speed limit more than is strictly necessary.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Let’s go?”

Crowley went 70mph, which Aziraphale took as a sign of goodwill on his part.

After ten minutes of silence, during which Aziraphale had to force his nervous hands down to keep them from closing the opened button, Crowley eventually asked, “What happened to your bowtie?”

“Oh, er, I thought it-it would be nice t-to try something new once in a while.”

Crowley gave him a sidelong glance. “That cravat is hardly new, is it?”

Oh, so he noticed! Aziraphale was not sure if that frightened or elated him. Somehow it was both at the same time.

The Bentley’s tyres skidded on the pavement, the car slid for some meters and Crowley hurled a very rude word at the street.

“Well, not everyone acquires new clothes every decade,” Aziraphale said reproachfully, gripping the door handle very tightly.

Fortunately they arrived at the restaurant without discorporating. Aziraphale kept nervously touching his cravat upon entering. “You don’t think it’s a bit too, well, risqué?” he said under his breath.

Crowley smirked. “We’ll see if they throw you out when they see you.”

“Oh, don’t mock me, you old serpent.” But it oddly helped calm his nerves.

No one threw him out and no one gave him funny glances for his attire. No one but Crowley. Now that they weren’t in the car anymore but seated opposite each other at the small table, Crowley looked at him all the time. Let him stare, Aziraphale told himself. I dressed up for him to look at me. He deserves this. No hiding anymore. It was exhilarating and frightening, Aziraphale’s breath was a bit quicker than usual and he was certain that Crowley noticed. But Crowley didn’t mention it. In fact, he was unusually silent. They did some weird small talk about the weather, about the menu and the wine… which Aziraphale almost spilled. Well, he did actually knock over his glass with his shaking hand but, with a quick-witted miracle, he saved the tablecloth and himself the embarrassment. Crowley noticed, of course, but he didn’t comment, just raised his brows.

Once they had their food, things went a bit smoother. The food was excellent and it made conversation easier. Aziraphale’s main dish, wild pheasant in mushroom and wine sauce, turned out to be a perfect choice, and Crowley let him try (and then offered him the bigger part of) his wonderfully glazed potatoes.

Again, Crowley did not take his hand when he placed it on the table after they had finished dessert.

When they left the restaurant, Aziraphale decided to be brave. “Could you give me a lift?” he asked, purposefully repeating the words from 1967.

Crowley stopped and turned to him. “’Course. What else would I do with -” He indicated first Aziraphale, then the Bentley. “Kidnap you?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind,” Aziraphale said lightly.

Crowley’s brows climbed up into his hairline. “How on earth am I supposed to take that?”

“Er. Probably with the knowledge that the wine has been a bit on the stronger side. Oh dear.”

“Right.” Crowley climbed into the car and waited for Aziraphale to follow. “So. Where do you want me to give you a lift to?”

Aziraphale briefly considered the notion of replying with something dramatic like, “To the stars,” but he had said and done enough foolish things for today. But then he couldn’t just say, “Back to the bookshop,” either, could he? He racked his brain. What to do at night in London?

“I was wondering, have you ever been on the London Eye?”

“Sure. ‘S nice. But I thought you hated it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You did. In a very polite but scathing way.”

“Well. I thought I could give it a try. If you were amenable, that is.”

Crowley shrugged. “Sure, why not?” He sobered up to drive them there.

Usually the London Eye closed at 20:30 but they were miraculously lucky that there was still a lovely young lady who was busy with cleanup. She agreed to let them into the VIP pod and turned the wheel on to move again. Aziraphale tipped and blessed her generously.

It was true, he had been reluctant when the London Eye had been installed, especially when he had heard that Crowley had somehow been involved. Tourist trap, disfigurement of the skyline etc. But once they were up in the air, he had to admit that the view was splendid.

“Marvellous what these humans come up with,” he said upon looking at the thousands and thousands of lights of the city below. They had seen how a small village had turned into a dirty industrial town, then a majestic imperial city, then a tourist destination. They knew all the buildings (and had met most of their builders).

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed softly. “Glad they’re still here. Would be a bit boring otherwise.”

Aziraphale turned away from the city lights to smile at Crowley. He had taken his glasses off to better enjoy the view and was leaning against the glass. At this moment Aziraphale felt like his heart could burst with love. For the world, the stars, the humans, and for this wonderful demon who had been here with him through everything.

“Yes. I am glad, too.”

For some reason the observation wheel took them on two more rounds.

“Funny, I only convinced it to go one more round,” Crowley remarked.

“Goodness. So did I.”

They exchanged a quick glance and a smile and then they enjoyed the view and each other’s company. During the next round they reminisced about the people, events and buildings they had seen during the last centuries. There had been fires, diseases, two wars, and yet nothing had ever stopped the humans from rebuilding and making things better again.

During the third round they had a heated argument about architecture. Crowley seriously argued that that horrible Gherkin was an enhancement of the city but St. Paul’s Cathedral was “not very inventive” when he knew Aziraphale had had a bit of a hand in it!

The last ten minutes they spent in companionable silence sitting very close to each other.

When Crowley dropped him off at the bookshop he wished Aziraphale a good night but still didn’t kiss him.

“Crowley, wait!” Aziraphale said urgently just before Crowley could get into the car and leave.

Crowley stopped dead and turned abruptly. “Yeah?”

“I-I-I just wanted to say.” His human heart was beating erratically again. “I really had a lovely evening. Thank you very much.” He smiled tremulously.

“It’s not like I personally caught your pheasant and cooked it.”

“No, thank goodness you didn’t.” They had never got the hang of preparing human food. Although Aziraphale had become quite experienced with tea during the years and had, once, succeeded at semi decent biscuits. “But, I believe you had a hand in the creation of the London Eye. Which was rather, er, nice.”

“Eh, I was mostly responsible for the pricing and marketing. The rest was all the humans.”

“Still. It was a lovely evening.”

Crowley made a sort of agreeing noise. “You, I mean, the – it suits, um, you – look good.”

Before Aziraphale could say anything, the car doors banged shut, the engine whined and the Bentley raced away, leaving him standing in front of his bookshop, lost for words but smiling giddily.

*

So the dressing up bit had been a success. Aziraphale decided to repeat it. He grew a bit more comfortable with the opened button, and asked his barber for recommendations for the best hair product. He even gave his wings a very thorough preening. One could never know what would happen.

He found that he liked dressing up for Crowley. He always felt nervous anticipation as he got ready before Crowley arrived to pick him up. That was probably what all those romance novels meant with “butterflies in one’s stomach” (which Aziraphale thought was a rather disgusting image).

He also liked it when Crowley looked at him for longer than strictly necessary although it made his insides churn at the same time. Funny, these inconsistent emotions.

Still, Crowley did not kiss him. Although his glances were so intent they almost felt physical, he had not even once touched Aziraphale purposefully. Every time they met, Aziraphale expected it to happen and was nervous and excited. Every time it did not happen, he was both relieved and disappointed. But most of all he was worried. He didn’t want Crowley to think that he wasn’t allowed. He didn’t want him to doubt Aziraphale’s love for him.

So Aziraphale did the bravest thing he had ever done, something that took even more courage than disobeying God Herself by giving the humans a flaming sword, or marching into Hell in Crowley’s body. When Crowley dropped him off this night at the bookshop, Aziraphale did not leave the car but turned to face Crowley.

“You can kiss me, you know,” he said in a very small voice. “If – if you wanted to, that is,” he added quickly. He did not want to presume anything.

“If I – what?!” Crowley’s mouth hung open.

Aziraphale expected hellfire or the holy army of angels to rain down on them but nothing whatsoever happened. It was very quiet in the car. He could feel his chest lift and fall quickly and he kept looking at Crowley, who was still gaping at him.

“What about you?” Crowley said eventually, still not looking away.

“What?” Aziraphale’s voice came out high pitched.

“Do you?”

“I’m afraid you will have to elaborate, my dear.”

Crowley finally turned away and spoke determinedly to the front window. “Do you. Want me. To… kiss you?”

“I…” Aziraphale trailed off. This was not going according to plan. And he did not have an answer to that question. Did he want Crowley to kiss him? He supposed he must. This sort of thing was supposed to happen, right? All the humans liked it, all the poets had sung its praises, so it must be good. “I-I-I wouldn’t mind,” he finally allowed.

“Right.” Crowley was still staring straight ahead. His fingers were drumming an erratic rhythm on the steering wheel. “Get out of the car!” he suddenly snapped.

Aziraphale winced in shock at the harsh tone. “I-I-I’m terribly sorry if I have overstepped any boundaries,” he was quick to apologise. “It seems I have not read the situation correctly.”

“I said,” Crowley reiterated and his voice was dark and faintly demonic, “get out of the car.”

“Crowley, please let me -”

“No.”

The door on Aziraphale’s side flew open. He gingerly stepped outside. “Well,” he said helplessly, hovering next to the car, wringing his hands, “have a lovely evening.”

*

Aziraphale spent the next few days brooding over how everything could have gone so terribly wrong so suddenly. They had had a perfectly fine dinner at his favourite Italian restaurant. Crowley had kept looking and sometimes even smiling at him and had offered him his tiramisu. They had reminisced about their time in Rome, and Crowley had good-naturedly mocked him (at least it had seemed good-naturedly at that time) for having tempted him with oysters.

So what had changed?

What was so horrible about the idea of a kiss?

Aziraphale had been so sure that Crowley loved him. Could he have been wrong? So maybe he did not love Aziraphale in the sense that he wanted to kiss him but was that a reason to be so offended and reject Aziraphale so rudely? Yes, it had hurt. And even worse was that he had not heard from Crowley since then. Since the averted Apocalypse they had hardly spent a week without seeing each other or at least speaking on the telephone. But no sign from Crowley for several days now.

His other idea was that it was Crowley’s usual offence when being called nice or any such thing that was not appropriate for a demon. But he had seemed free at last from those hellish expectations – or at least more relaxed (no one knew better than Aziraphale that you couldn’t just change 6000 year old habits), because there had been no more angry outbursts or even wall-slamming when Aziraphale had complimented him but he had only rolled his eyes, like he had needed to at least keep up appearances. Was insinuating that he loved just too much?

Whatever the reason, Aziraphale was deeply unhappy with the state of things. Oh, they had had much worse fights before. Aziraphale knew Crowley’s dramatic departures. He knew that Crowley could spend years or even decades sulking. But ultimately he had always come back, often to save Aziraphale’s corporation in an even more dramatic fashion. Yes, it had always been deeply touching (and also a bit exciting, if Aziraphale was entirely honest) and he did not doubt for a second that this time Crowley would come for him if he found himself in a dangerous situation. And yet, he did not want that. He did not want to spend years apart and he did not want Crowley unhappily sulking. No, he had almost lost Crowley in that blasted Apocalypse business, he was not going to let a stupid misunderstanding get in the way now. If Aziraphale had learned anything from reading and watching all the great tragedies of human literature, it was that a lot of these could have been avoided by sensible communication. (He had had a very heated discussion with Will about the ending of “Romeo and Juliet”. Will had unfortunately entirely disregarded Aziraphale’s suggestions for an alternative ending, which had led to the decision to keep his Shakespeare collection incomplete and to the steadfast refusal to ever watch that play again.)

So, communication. Humans did it all the time and they were amazingly successful considering they had such a short time. So he should be able to pull it off, too, with his millennia of experience, right?

He spent a week wondering if he should write Crowley a letter (he composed several drafts), contact him via phone (he dialled the number but always put the earpiece down at the last moment) or go to see him in person (he rehearsed every possible conversation in his head and some out loud).

Once, he thought he saw the Bentley speeding past the bookshop.

It was then that Aziraphale decided to go to see him in person. He did not put on the cravat or use hair product. His hand was shaking when he rang the bell. Crowley did not buzz him in but used the intercom.

“What?” he snapped.

“Er, hello. I – I think we need to talk.”

“Oh?”

“I think there has been a – a misunderstanding and I would really like to apologise and-”

“Right. Come in. Or – let’s go for a walk? Weather’s nice today.”

“I don’t really mind.” As long as they were together and talked this through and agreed to still be friends, Aziraphale was really fine with anything.

“Decide, angel,” Crowley’s voice came impatiently out of the intercom.

“Oh, well, then let’s head to St. James’s. The weather is rather nice, isn’t it?”

Just a few minutes later, Crowley was standing outside, hands in his pockets, looking anywhere but at Aziraphale.

“Thank you for, for agreeing to talk with me,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley just sighed but he followed him to St. James’s anyway, silent and moody and with his hands in his pockets but he was there and willing to listen and that was all that mattered for now.

Aziraphale needed three circuits through the park until he found his courage to start the actual conversation. “It seems there has been a misunderstanding because I misinterpreted certain things. I was operating under the assumption that you were interested in pursuing a…” He faltered. “A… romantic relationship. Romantic relationship in the sense of… a relationship. Not related to the Nineteenth Century, of -”

“I know what a romantic relationship is, for hea- whatever.”

“Oh, good. I mean, I’m terribly sorry that I offended you. But I’m afraid I am still not entirely sure if it was the insinuation of a, er, romantic relationship or a, a… Good Lord.” Aziraphale quickly glanced around to make sure that nobody overheard them, and lowered his voice. “A kiss. Or the, the suggestion of your capacity to love.” He cleared his throat. “So, obviously, you can rest assured that I will absolutely never mention the – the things again if any of them bother you. Although I should say that I firmly believe that you are capable of love, even though you may not be interested in a romantic relationship, because there are so many different types of love – I, as an angel, should know–“

“That’s not the point,” Crowley snapped.

“Well, then, pray tell what is the point,” Aziraphale retorted in much the same manner because he was getting a bit impatient. Communication only worked if both partners were willing to be open and honest and he felt like he was doing all the work here and was making a complete fool of himself by stammering and blabbering and talking about things widely out of his comfort zone while Crowley just sulked. “It would be jolly helpful if you could at least tell me what offended you so I can avoid it in the future.” He stopped in his tracks and stood in front of Crowley so he was forced to stop too. “You know, because I would rather like to salvage our friendship.” He relented a bit. “You are too important to me, Crowley,” he implored more softly.

Several complicated emotions flickered over Crowley’s face and Aziraphale regretted that they had not stayed at Crowley’s flat because then he could at least have seen his eyes and maybe understood a bit more. The emotions finally settled on a sneer. “Oh, so we’re friends now?”

“Please don’t be difficult,” Aziraphale admonished.

Crowley finally tore his hands out of his pockets and threw them in the air to gesticulate wildly. “Difficult, now that’s a bit rich! You are difficult, telling me to kiss you and – and talking about romantic relationships out of the blue!” He spat the word ‘romantic’ like it was an insult. Aziraphale felt insulted.

“Right.” He adjusted his bowtie and turned away to…to look at the ducks. “Oh, look, I think I haven’t seen this young swan before. Have you by any chance brought something to feed them?”

At the next moment, Crowley was shoving fruits, frozen peas, three sorts of bread and on top of all that a packet of oat flakes into Aziraphale’s arms.

“Oh. Oh, thank you.” Aziraphale balanced all the hastily miracled food in his arms and started feeding the ducks. He was ever so grateful when the ducks accepted the food that he carefully threw them with trembling hands. If Crowley could not accept what he offered, well, at least the animals were appreciative.

He heard Crowley sighing next to him. “Aziraphale, listen, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately.”

Aziraphale sniffed. “I think I explained it all just now and I told you it was obviously a misunderstanding, so why-”

“Why do you think you have to enter into a, nrhm, romantic relationship with me?”

Aziraphale kept his eyes firmly on the ducks. He was glad he had more than enough food to keep them and himself occupied for a while. “They are not really big on love in Heaven. They say they are, of course, but it’s very different from down here. Over the years you have been very helpful and generous with me, in a way that I was not used to, and I suppose that’s why I mistook your friendship for…love. I don’t want to belittle our friendship by that because it means the world to me and I wouldn’t want to lose it, not for anything.” He felt tears prickling at his eyes. He squatted down to pet one of the older swans that knew him and was therefore trusting enough to let itself be touched. It was only a small comfort. There was a long silence until Crowley cautiously knelt down next to him. The swan startled and fluttered away. Crowley cursed loudly and thus roused even more ducks nearby.

“Sorry -” Crowley stood up hurriedly and took some steps backwards. “Sorry, didn’t mean to…”

Aziraphale turned to him. He looked lost and like he did not know what to do with his long limbs. Aziraphale took a deep breath and stood up. “I’m being silly. Bit emotional. Goodness.” He forced a chuckle. “Don’t mind me, dear.”

“Stop it.” Crowley lifted a hand, made an aborted gesture, let it fall again. “We’re still friends, of course. No need to worry. You don’t have to do anything.”

“Oh, good.” Aziraphale smiled tremulously but gratefully.

“Can I…” Crowley looked doubtful, hesitated. “How about a hot chocolate? Some pastries?”

Aziraphale felt the tears prickling again. Dear God, he was so in love. “That would be lovely.”

“Good,” Crowley said in relief, Aziraphale suggested a café nearby, and when they walked there side by side things felt almost normal again. Almost. Somehow Aziraphale still did not feel like going inside the café and sitting there between all these humans. He felt too vulnerable.

“Can we maybe just go back to the bookshop?” he asked.

“Sure, of course, yeah, why not.” Crowley paid for the chocolate and the pastries and they made their way back.

When they arrived at the bookshop Crowley was oddly hesitant and hovered in front of the door.

“Won’t you come inside?” Aziraphale asked hopefully. “I couldn’t possibly eat all the pastries by myself.”

“Oh, no, it’s good, they’re for you.” Crowley shoved them into Aziraphale’s hands.

“Ah. I see. Thank you. I’m sure they will be wonderful.”

“Yeah, sure, enjoy.” And he was gone.

*

Again Crowley did not seek him out for days. The days turned into weeks and not a word from him. But then one day a plain package was delivered to the bookshop. Attached was a short note in Crowley’s familiar handwriting:

Got this at an internet auction. Guess this was still missing from your collection? C.

It was an edition of Christine de Pizan’s early poems. There was even a signature. It was a very rare manuscript and a wonderful addition to his collection but the other signature – the “C.” – was so much more important. Still using the abbreviation in case the letter fell into the wrong hands.

Aziraphale rummaged through his bookshop until he found the most beautiful stationery he owned. Then he chose his favourite fountain pen to compose a reply.

My dear C.,

Thank you ever so much for that generous gift! It was such a pleasant surprise when the postman delivered the package this morning. A signed work from Christine de Pizan was indeed missing from my collection. You might remember that I, unfortunately, did not really appreciate Christine’s writing choices during her lifetime and therefore never thought to personally ask her for a signature. I’m all the more looking forward to reading her poems today.

It seems I sometimes need a bit of time to fully appreciate good things for what they are.

I was really grateful for the thoughtful gift and was very glad to hear from you again. I hope you are faring well? After spending so much time together during the last years, I find myself missing your company. Please ring me up if you are in the mood to have lunch together or just to meet up and talk.

Yours

Aziraphale

He made sure to write his full name and hoped Crowley would understand it for the gesture it was.

Maybe he did because just two days later Aziraphale’s phone rang.

“So. I was thinking of going to the Globe tomorrow. Was wondering if you wanted to come, too. They’re putting on a new production of -”

“Yes!  Yes, that sounds lovely, I would absolutely love to go – sorry, I interrupted you. What production did you say they were putting on?”

“Romeo and Juliet. Still want to go?”

Aziraphale briefly hesitated. He had vowed never to see that play again. But then, it was not so much about the play but about the company. It certainly would not do to reject Crowley now that he was reaching out again. “Yes, why not?”

“I thought you didn’t like that one.”

“I thought you didn’t like the gloomy ones.”

“Ah. It’s a modern production. They could’ve changed everything, who knows.”

“Well, you know I’m not usually a fan of these modern reinterpretations but it could only improve Romeo and Juliet.”

Crowley snorted and just like that everything was easy again. They bickered over modern theatre, discussed Shakespeare’s works and reminisced about the good old times (Crowley especially missed throwing tomatoes and eggs at the stage when the play was bad).

They spent almost an hour on the phone. The only thing that struck Aziraphale as slightly odd was that Crowley did not offer to pick him up but just told Aziraphale to meet him at the Globe tomorrow afternoon at 3pm. It was fine, he told himself. At least they were going to do something together again. Small steps. It would all be fine.

*

They did change a few things about Romeo and Juliet, mainly it was set in modern day England and featured two young humans of opposing religious and political views falling in love. They did not change nearly enough. Aziraphale could not even stomach the pastries and the wine that Crowley brought him during the intermission. He knew it was going to end just as horribly as always and was tensing up more and more during the second part.

“You alright?” Crowley whispered just before Juliet decided to take the drugs.

“Yes, yes, totally fine,” Aziraphale sniffed and dabbed his eyes with his handkerchief.

“You want to leave?”

“Oh God, yes, please!”

He grabbed the pastries (wouldn’t do to waste perfectly good food just because of a stupid, miserable play) and, to the dismay of the humans seated around them, they hurried out of the theatre. They left just before Romeo discovered Juliet’s lifeless body.

“I really hate that one.” Aziraphale dabbed his eyes again. “I don’t see why a good writer like William Shakespeare would waste his talent on something like that.”

“You could’ve just said no, you know, didn’t have to come.”

Aziraphale decided not to point out that Crowley looked quite miserable, too, and did not ask why he had chosen to see that play in the first place. Instead he said, “Next time we go to the theatre, I pick the play.”

“Fine. As long as it’s not Winnie-the-Pooh.”

Aziraphale went on a rant to defend Winnie-the-Pooh and by the time they arrived at the Bentley, he had almost forgotten about the gloominess that was Romeo and Juliet.

“Alright.” Crowley hovered in front of the Bentley. “You want to head back or still do something else?”

“Maybe…maybe we could go for a picnic?” Aziraphale kept watching Crowley very closely. He did not want to make him uncomfortable again like with that disastrous suggestion of kissing.

“Uh, sure. St. James’s?”

“I was thinking more about heading out to the countryside.” Aziraphale would prefer some peace and quiet right now. Not the usual busy London places. No humans to worry about. “If – if that was alright with you.”

“You sure?”

“Well, yes, of course. I just suggested it, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, well, you sometimes say one thing and mean something else.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale smiled in regret. It had been their way of communication for more than 6000 years. Saying one thing, meaning another. Over the centuries they had become rather good at navigating the silent conversations that took place simultaneously, had developed their own code. It seemed that that code did not work anymore and that there were new rules now that they were free from their respective head offices. Aziraphale was determined to figure out how this new communication between them worked. He would make it work. “You are right, I did not really want to see Romeo and Juliet,” he admitted. “But I thought it would be nice to meet up again. And I’d very much like to spend some more time with you aside from that wretched play. We could also go for a stroll at St. James’s or have tea or even go to the movies if you don’t want to go for a picnic. Or just go back to the bookshop or your place to have a drink.”

“Hm, suppose I owe you one for making you sit through that stupid play. A picnic it is then. Where do you want to go?”

“Oh, how about a picnic at the beach?” Aziraphale suggested enthusiastically. The weather was nice enough for early May and he had not been to the seaside for quite some time.

“Okay. Uh. You want me to drive us there?”

“Obviously. How else do you expect me to go there? By public transport?” Aziraphale grimaced in disgust and was relieved to see Crowley grin at that.

The drive to the seaside was relaxing (as far as being driven by Crowley could ever be. To his credit, he did not go over 80mph). They did a bit of small talk to avoid getting hung up in miserable thoughts about Romeo and Juliet, greatly enjoyed the fact that the Bentley was willing to play something else than Queen’s Greatest Hits, and stopped at a little supermarket to get a bit of food and several bottles of red wine for their picnic.

When they arrived at the little beach, the sun was already getting low and it was a bit chilly. Nevertheless, Aziraphale greatly enjoyed their picnic. The wine and cheese were surprisingly good. Maybe it had been a little demonic miracle or maybe it was just that everything tasted perfect when you were having a picnic at sunset with the demon you loved. He did not really mind the wind or the sand that was getting everywhere either. Everything here felt easy, and Aziraphale chuckled fondly when Crowley tried to chase a bunch of seagulls away, who weren’t really bothered by his demonic threats.

“It’s all your fault.” Crowley flopped dramatically down next to Aziraphale. “Feeding a seagull. Really, angel. You should know better.”

“It looked very hungry,” Aziraphale said in apology and smiled down at Crowley. His limbs were spread everywhere, his chest was lifting and falling quickly because he was still out of breath and his sunglasses reflected the clouds of the evening sky. Aziraphale wondered what it would be like to run his hands through Crowley’s hair. He thought he would like that. Or sit a bit closer (after all, it was a bit chilly), their shoulders and thighs touching, maybe even holding hands. That would be nice, too. Or a kiss. Because that was a thing, wasn’t it? When you were drinking red wine at a beach at sunset with the one you loved there was meant to be a kiss, right? But he was not sure anymore if that was something Crowley wanted.

“You alright? Something on your mind?” Crowley put down his sunglasses and squinted up at Aziraphale. Always looking out for him – making sure he was comfortable, getting him his favourite food, chasing away seagulls... Aziraphale swallowed. God, he was so in love.

“Are you happy, my dear?” he asked softly.

“Huh, I – yes?”

“If there’s anything you wanted…,” Aziraphale prompted cautiously.

Crowley scrambled into a more upright position. “More of that wine.”

Aziraphale chuckled awkwardly. “Ah, yes, of course.” He handed the bottle to Crowley. He liked sharing a bottle. It was oddly intimate to put his lips where Crowley’s had been just moments before. He liked the brief, casual touching of fingers when they exchanged the bottle.

Crowley chugged down a large part of the wine. “Why -” He glared at the bottle so hard that the label crumpled in nervousness. “Why would you ever think that I’d – that I’d enjoy… kissing you against your will?”

Aziraphale froze. “What…what do you mean?”

“That’s what you were offering. Wasn’t it?” Crowley finally directed his glare at Aziraphale.

“Er, I, what? Who said it was against my will?”

“Oh, come on, you were scared shitless.”

“I really wasn’t.” Aziraphale was a bit affronted because he had felt it had been a rather brave thing to do and now Crowley was belittling him for it.

“You were. You were – were fidgeting like you were talking to Gabriel or the other fuckers.”

Aziraphale huffed in indignation. “I most certainly did not offer Gabriel or any of the other angels to kiss me.”

“Pff. Thank – Someone. My point is, I’m not – I’m – I won’t kiss you. So. You don’t have to be scared.” Crowley glared at the bottle again and it burst in his hand.

Oh. Without thinking, Aziraphale cradled Crowley’s hand that was sticky with red wine (and maybe even blood) in his hands. “Crowley, no, I’m not scared of you. Never.” He sent a quick healing miracle, just in case. “My dear, please don’t ever think that. And I’m sorry to say so but you are the least scary demon I have ever met.”

Crowley chuckled weakly. “Wow, insulting me now, that’s real low, angel.”

“Ah, well. I suppose you managed to scare the seagulls away. Eventually.”

“God, you’re such a bastard.”

Aziraphale smiled, squeezed his hand and then let go a little regretfully. He found he rather liked touching Crowley like this. But communication first. “Now, you may be right in that I was maybe a little, tiny bit nervous. But I’ll have you know it’s perfectly normal to be nervous before your first kiss.”

“Says who?” Crowley put his sunglasses back on.

“Books.”

“Aaaah.”

“Yes. Basically every love story ever. Well, every love story that features a kiss.”

“There don’t have to be, ah, kisses. This,” Crowley made a vague gesture that encompassed himself, Aziraphale, the beach, the dusky sky, the sea, “is just fine.”

“Are you sure? I’ve made you wait for so long -”

“No, no, no. It’s not – it’s not waiting, like this. It’s… good. Urgh, did I really just say that? I meant – happy. I’m happy. And I’d be happy if it was always like this. You don’t have to do anything.”

Aziraphale inhaled and exhaled slowly. He had never felt so free, so safe in his life. “I love you,” he said and the words came as easily and naturally as the waves rolling constantly onto the beach. He felt tears in his eyes, tears of relief and happiness, and he was glad it was almost dark by now so Crowley hopefully couldn’t see them and worry again.

“Y-Yeah?” Crowley croaked.

“Yes. I do. I absolutely do.” Oh, he had not known how much lighter he would feel when the weight of millennia of fear and guilt lifted from his chest! “I do, my dear,” he repeated, giddy with it that he was finally allowed to let it all out. And then, because he was feeling particularly daring, “I think I would like to try hand holding. What do you think?”

“Nmmm, yeah?”

Aziraphale offered his trembling hand, and just to be perfectly clear, he whispered, “I’m not scared.”

Crowley grabbed his hand and squeezed it so hard that Aziraphale was momentarily worried that he would break his fingers. Very slowly he rubbed little circles with his thumb on the back of Crowley’s hand to make him relax, trying to show him that he would not let go, never again.

No one said a word. They just stared into the dark sea and listened to the crashing of the waves, the cries of the seagulls and to each other’s breathing, which was eventually slowing down. Finally, Crowley’s hand in his unclenched a little. Aziraphale kept caressing circles onto it and savoured every minute. He liked that Crowley’s hand was still sticky with red wine and a little cold. In fact, now that the first excitement of the touch had worn off, Aziraphale noticed how cold it was. It was just spring and neither of them had thought to bring a coat.

“Are you cold?” Crowley asked. “You want to go back?”

“No! Absolutely not! Not cold at all!” Aziraphale said through clattering teeth. “Let’s stay.” He inched infinitesimally closer to Crowley but without actually touching. Huddling for warmth was probably a bit much as they were just figuring out hand holding. Maybe in a few months or years. Or even decades. They had all the time in the world. And hand holding was fine. In fact, it was so fine that Aziraphale never wanted to stop, no matter how much he trembled from the cold.

But then Crowley conjured up a little fire and it wasn’t only cosy and warm but also excitingly romantic. At night at the beach, hand holding in front of a fire! “Oh, that’s lovely,” Aziraphale sighed happily. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Nah. There’s a sign at the entrance of the beach that says that it’s forbidden to make camp fires here.”

“Ah, I see.” He squeezed Crowley’s hand gently. “Should I thwart you then?”

“You can try.”

“Maybe later.”

He did much later, in the next morning when the first humans came to the beach for jogging and walking their dogs. It was time for them to leave and go back to London. Aziraphale’s limbs were cold and stiff when he extinguished the fire, collected the empty wine bottles and leftover food (and he almost had a cramp in his left hand). But he couldn’t have been happier. The Bentley graciously played them piano preludes from Debussy when Crowley drove them almost slowly through the countryside.

They stopped at a little café to warm up with hot drinks. When Aziraphale put his hand on the table, Crowley’s own inched closer until their fingertips touched, like a silent question, and Aziraphale turned his hand open to welcome him.

[mermaidxatxheart]

Some Rules are Never Meant to be Broken Part III

Part I | Part II

Pairing: Paramedic!Bucky X Reader

Warnings: Some language probably, nothing too crazy, the feeling of being watched. IDK. This is kind of a mild chapter.

Word Count: 7143

Summary:  The reader is a Muse living life as a tour guide at a museum. Bucky is struggling with returning home from war and adjusting to civilian life. He used to be a paramedic and now works security, but what he really misses from his pre-war life is his ability to draw. Cue the reader, determined to do her job and get him back to a point where he can do what he loves most. But, spending that much time with anyone always leads to romantic feelings, which is against her laws. Will she be able to resist Bucky long enough to help him and not get her in serious trouble?

A/N: I haven’t forgotten about this story at all. I’m just terrible and my brain simply can’t stop coming up with new ideas. Also, work has been sucking my soul dry. But I’ve finally reached a point, I feel like, where it’s a full chapter. It might not be the most exciting chapter, but I enjoy it, and I hope everyone else does, too. Mood board below was made by the ever amazing @captainsteveevans​ I can’t stop staring at this thing, it’s so gorgeous!! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. If you do, comment or send me a message. They’re some of my favorite things and I can’t stop smiling when I see them.

(Look at it^^^ I’m in love!)

Between school field trips and tourists in town for the holiday weekend, the museum had never been busier. You had given six tours and it was barely two. 

 You miss Bucky. It had been three days since you’ve seen him and you’ve hated every second, especially since he left you so flustered at not being kissed.

 What a tease.

 “Y/N, there is a man in the Greek wing that would like to speak to the expert. I told him you would be happy to talk to him. He’s very charming.”

 Bucky!

 “Alright. I’ll head over there right now.” you try to stop the ridiculous grin trying to pull at your lips. 

 You step into the hall and look around, expecting to see Bucky’s muscular frame. It wasn’t crowded in the exhibit at the moment, a few families milling about, but he was nowhere in sight and you feel a sinking feeling in your stomach. 

 He’s not here after all.

 Nothing feels worse than getting your hopes up and then feeling them fall to the floor.

 “Excuse me, you are the expert in this area?” a man asks, coming up to you. You quickly fix your face into a pleasant smile. He’s average height, shorter than Bucky, but a few inches taller than you. His whole appearance is immaculate, suit crisply pressed, dress shoes polished and buffed, his hair is styled professionally-not a thing out of place. His skin is flawless, not a freckle, blemish or mark of any kind. Perfect in every way, it’s almost unreal. 

 “Yes, you were looking for me?” you reply, holding out your hand. 

 He shakes it, his hand is soft in yours and after getting used to Bucky’s calloused one, it’s a strange sensation. 

 “Yes. My name is Doctor Feldman. I was hoping I could pick your brain about an exhibit I’m putting together.” He has an accent, it’s familiar but something you can’t place. It’s not anything that you’ve heard in the last fifty years. Maybe you’re just too out of touch with the rest of the world. 

 “Absolutely.” 

 He releases your hand finally and pulls out a portfolio from his briefcase. It matches his shoes, right down to the embellished stitching. An unfamiliar sensation fills your stomach. 

 “This is the space that I have to fill.” he hands you a photograph. The space is large and your mind starts racing about all the things you could fit in there, so many statues of yourself.

 “Quite impressive.” you say, taking the photo from him, trying to avoid skin contact. 

 “Thank you. I was wondering, how would someone like yourself go about filling such a space with history?”

 “Oh, there are many ways.”

 He hands you more pictures of the artifacts to go inside and you’re able to easily recognize them. 

 “You could easily just set it up the Greeks on one side, Romans on the other, but I find that style quite boring.” you flip through a few more pictures, an idea forming in your head. 

 “Or, you could do an interactive style, in which you start with the oldest artifacts, and as history progresses you move through to the point where Rome invaded and then you could split it into two directions.”

 “I rather like that idea.” he says, taking the pictures back. 

 “I’m glad I could be of help.” 

 “I may come back to pick your brain once or twice more.” he tells you, shaking your hand again. “You have such wonderful ideas.” 

 A chill creeps up your spine as he smiles at you. Something is very off about him, something you can’t quite place. You want to tell him to find another expert, that you can’t help him anymore. You open your mouth to speak, but he releases your hand. 

 “Have a good day.” he bids before walking away. 

 Your face flushes in annoyance that he cut you off like that. You make a face at his back, wishing that your powers extended to anything more than just inspiring people. That wasn’t exactly great for defending yourself. 

 You find, not for the first time, that you’re missing Bucky. 

 Rubbing the mark on the back of your neck, you walk back to your desk, counting the minutes until, hopefully, Bucky shows up at five. 

 As it turns out, five o’clock passed about twenty minutes ago and he never showed up. And you’re miserable for it. You wait to leave, thinking... hoping that he was just stuck in traffic or left the office late.

 But as five-thirty passes, you’re forced to admit he’s not coming. Again. You retrieve your things and head out into the night air. Autumn is falling fast upon the city and the air is getting colder. 

 You wrap your coat tighter around you as you make your way home. You first notice something off in the subway car. It feels like eyes on you. You’ve volunteered for art classes over the years, students studying your body, learning how to draw, countless eyes focused on you. You’re intimately familiar with the feeling of being watched, of being watched with intent. 

 Subtly, you look around the car, trying to take in all the faces of the strangers around you. There are so damn many of them, it’s nearly impossible to remember. You shift your bag higher onto your shoulder, trying to ignore the feeling crawling along your skin. It’s a city with 8 million people. They have to look somewhere, so why not at a beautiful woman on a train. 

 The doors creak open, rocking the car slightly and you exit, making your way home.  Once inside the door, you drop off your bag, pulling out your phone and finding Bucky’s number. Your finger hovers over the call button, an internal battle between wanting to hear his voice, and not wanting to look like an idiot. Your thumb twitches, pressing the call button on accident. 

 Shit.

 Bucky

 “Stark, how long does it take to update? You’ve had it for three days.” Bucky sighs, leaning against one of the many lab benches. 

 “It takes as long as it takes, Barnes. You can’t rush science.” he gives a small shrug. “Also, consider me holding it hostage as payback for you breaking my very nice door.” 

 He groans in annoyance. Tony had physically removed his entire arm, claiming he needed it for a software update. What Bucky hadn’t realized was that it would take four days to do it.

 The door to the lab opens and Steve walks in like a man on a mission. “Tony, have you seen-” his eyes land on his best friend and Bucky gives a half-hearted wave with his one good hand. “Never mind. I found him.” Steve leans against the bench next to the dark-haired man.

 He’s uncomfortably silent but Bucky refuses to break first. Steve came in here looking for him, he can speak first. Bucky can feel his blue eyes on him as he studies his nails, trimmed short as usual. There’s nothing fascinating about them, maybe a little grease from working on the arm but it’s utterly boring and Bucky is rapidly running out of things to examine. 

 “You know it’s almost seven.” Steve announces finally. 

 Internally, he winces. Externally, he’s a stone, unmoving and unflinching. “Uh-huh.” 

 “Are you going to see her? You’ve been here late every night this week, later than everyone else.” he nudges Bucky’s arm a little harder than is necessary. 

 “Her who?” Tony pipes up, glancing up from his laptop screen. 

 He glares at Steve. “Thanks for that. And no, I’m not going to see her.” he crosses his arm across his chest, the action falling flat without the second arm to complete it. As much as he hates the stupid thing, he feels lopsided without it. 

 “Bucky! Have you even been out of the building in the last three days?”

 “Would it even matter? I’m not seeing her.” he retorts. 

 “Still waiting over here. Who’s the ‘her’? And why won’t you go see her?” Tony interjects. 

 Bucky’s phone rings in his pocket and he’s forced to dig it out awkwardly. Tony grabs it from his hand, his reflexes not as quick as they should be. 

 “Who is... My Muse? Is that her? Should I answer for you? Hello, Bucky can’t come to the phone right now, he’s a little shorthanded.” he chuckles at his own terrible joke. 

 He rolls his eyes. “Don’t answer it, let it go to voice mail.”

 Tony’s thumb hovers over the screen and he glares at him. He sighs loudly. “Fine. But in return I get to hear all about her.” he declines the call and turns off Buck’s phone. “You can tell her I banned phones in the lab-it screws with the equipment.” he leans against the counter next to him. 

 “There’s not much to tell. I met her at a museum a couple weeks ago.” he shrugs unevenly. 

 “And has spent every day since with her.” Steve adds. 

 “Dude, who’s telling the story?”

 “You’re not doing it well. She’s crazy about him.”

 He sighs, annoyed. “You don’t know that. We barely know each other.” Bucky reasons, but deep down where he doesn’t have to admit it out loud, he likes the possibility of her liking him.

 “Man, no girl that hot is going to hang out with some guy every night for two weeks when she just likes him as a friend.”

 “Every night, huh? Sounds like love to me.” Tony interjects and he glares at Steve. “And you’re avoiding her now? Why?”

 “I’m not avoiding her.” he says hotly. “You said it yourself, it’s been every night for two weeks, we need a break.” even as he says the words, he hates how they taste. Lies and bullshit. He wants nothing more than to go see her right now, to bombard her with questions about her day and to feel her fingers on his.

 “I don’t buy it. Aside from the fact that you broke my door, this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you. And the most normal, at the very least.” 

 “Will you let the door thing go? Fury bought you an even better one. You came out on top with that.” he snaps. 

 He grins widely and looks at Steve. “Aww. He misses her.” he coos and Bucky wants nothing more at this moment than to smack him through his fancy new door. 

 Steven, the traitor, has the nerve to laugh. “I have to agree with Tony. I don’t buy it. There has to be another reason you’re hiding out here with Tony, of all people.”

 His arm beeps on the table and he perks up, looking at it. “Is it finally done?”

 “I don’t think so.” Tony gets up and goes to look. “Nope, that was just part one.” 

 He feels his eyes widen. “Part one?”

 “How many parts are there, Tony?” Steve asks, doing a better job of keeping his cool than Bucky is.

 “Just two, but they’re both big files. Your arm is completely outdated at this point as far as technology goes. I’d compare it to the first telephone. I need to figure out a way to update the entire software system. Otherwise, there’s nothing else I can do. I update this every month, and the updates are getting bigger and bigger. Soon, I’ll just be keeping your arm on this table just to update it.”

 He groans, pressing his fist to his eyes. “It’s going to take another three days to upload that file?”

 “Maybe, I won’t know until it’s done. It could be less, it could be more. Look, if you like this girl, just call her and tell her you’re sick. Don’t leave her hanging.” Tony says.

 He sighs, knowing he’s right. But Bucky also knows that she’ll want to come over and make sure he’s okay. 

 Tony walks towards the back of the lab and Steve turns to him. “Why won’t you call her?”

 “Just leave it alone.” he shifts uncomfortably and Steve’s eyes drop to Bucky’s arm on the table.

 “Please tell me this isn’t a pride thing.”

 “What? Don’t be ridiculous.” he rolls his eyes.

 “Oh my god, it is. Bucky-” Steve sighs, closing his mouth. “Are you going to call her?”

 “Not tonight.” he hedges, and Steve rolls his eyes.

 “Fine.” he claps him on the arm. “Good luck with the update.” Steve shakes his head but leaves the lab without another word.

 “Back in a tick.” Tony jogs after him. “Steve!”

 Steve

 Tony follows him into the hallway. “In all seriousness, if I can’t find a way to update his arm, he won’t have it for much longer.” 

 Steve sighs loudly and rubs his face. “Okay. I still have a few military contacts, I’ll put out some feelers. Maybe someone knows something that can help. Just... do what you can. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

 Tony steps back inside and Steve heads towards the building’s exit. He has a pretty good idea of where he needs to go, but Bucky is going to be pissed at him.

 Too damn bad, pal.

 The drive only takes about twenty minutes. But then it’s another fifteen to find the right building. He’s read so many little white name cards he’s starting to go cross-eyed. He presses the buzzer and sighs in relief when he hears her voice.

 “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”

 “How about a trip to SHIELD?” Steve replies. There’s a brief pause.

 “Steve?”

 “At your service.” He waits for what feels like five minutes but probably was only one.

 “Throw in a snack and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

 “Done.” He readily agrees. 

 A few minutes later the door opens and Y/N steps outside, shutting the door behind her. He expects a smile from her but when she turns around, her pretty face is anything but pleasant.

 “What’s the matter?” Steve asks worriedly.

 “Is he okay? What happened? I haven’t heard from him in days. He keeps ignoring my calls.” She rambles before suddenly freezing like a thought just occurred to her. Her face scrunches up. “He’s not... mad at me?” She asks it like it’s a completely foreign concept.

 Steve chuckles, holding up a hand to stop her. “He’s being an idiot, definitely, but it’s not over something you did.”

 “I don’t follow.” She starts, her tone uncertain.

 “You’ll see when we get there. Trust me, if he wasn’t so hard-headed, he would have come to see you.” He watches as she nods, but she still seems distracted by something. “Is there something else going on?”

 “I was hoping...” she shakes her head. “I’m just being stupid.”

 Steve opens the door to his truck for her before going around to his side. “If something’s wrong enough to bother you, it’s not stupid. You can tell me.”

 “This guy came into the museum today to ask for my help.” She starts, fiddling with her fingers. 

 “Was he rude? Offensive?”

 “No, perfectly polite. Professional. Shook my hand, thanked me for my help.” Her tone suggests that she knows how she sounds, but whatever it is about this guy, it’s not something obvious.

 “Y/N, I’m trying to understand, but I fail to see the problem. Unless you tell me what’s bothering you, there’s nothing I can really do.”

 “He was just... too nice? Too immaculate?”

 “Too perfect?” Steve adds, understanding, and she nods with a sigh.

 “It sounds so stupid but there was just something off about the whole thing.” She opens her mouth to say something else but shuts it again.

 Gut instincts are to be trusted for a reason. “What else?” He prompts. 

 “On the subway home, I felt uncomfortable, like someone was watching me.” She rubs her face in frustration. “I feel so stupid! I’m probably just overreacting.”

 “Look, you’re a smart woman. If you feel something is wrong, don’t brush it off. Be aware of everything around you. Trust your gut, we have these instincts for a reason. Give me the guy’s name. I’ll see what I can find on him. That way you can rest easy.” If it’s within his power, he’ll help keep her safe.

 “Thanks, Steve.” She smiles wide at him. “Can I ask another favor?”

 “Sure.”

 “Can we keep this between you and me? I don’t want to freak Bucky out if it’s nothing and I’m just being paranoid.”

 Steve considers the request for a moment. There’s no harm in getting all the facts together. If it turns out it really is nothing, then Bucky will worry and stress for no reason. He’s finally starting to heal and be better. “Sure, but the second we find out anything other than you’re just paranoid, I tell him. He’ll be the best one to keep you safe if anything happens.”

 “That’s fair.” She agrees and he’s content with the arrangement. Bucky will understand why they kept it from him at first, he may not be happy with it but he’ll understand. 

 Now, bringing her to SHIELD, on the other hand, dangerous. Bucky won’t be happy at all, he may even inflict some bodily harm on Steve. But it’s a risk he’s willing to take; she deserves to know what’s going on. And whether Bucky wants to admit it or not, having her there will be good for him. Steve already thinks of her fondly because of how much she means to Bucky, and how much she’s helped him already.

 He pulls into his parking space and they both climb out, heading for the front door.

 “So, what’s the protocol here? They’re not going to take blood samples are they?” She asks and Steve grins.

 “Not a fan of needles?”

 “Something like that.”

 “Nah, nothing too invasive. We just have to take a tissue sample, run a background check, run your fingerprints.” Steve shrugs casually, watching her reaction out of the corner of his eye.

 She doesn’t disappoint. Stopping, she turns fully to stare at him. “I’d hate to see your version of invasive.” She says and he laughs.

 “Just sign in and get your visitor badge.” He gestures to the marble-topped desk where a guest book is laying open. She picks up the pen and signs it quickly, her elegant script standing out among all the others. She clips the visitor’s badge to her shirt as Steve leads her over to the elevators.

 It’s silent for a minute as the car rides up. Then a thought occurs to Steve. “I should probably warn you; Bucky isn’t going to be happy.”

 She looks up at him. “Because you’re bringing me? I thought you said-”

 “He wants to see you, I can see it in his face, but he’s being a prideful bastard. Tony... well, Tony has his arm.”

 “Has his arm?” She repeats, her pretty face going blank. “The whole thing?”

 “No, just part of it.” He replies sarcastically. “Yes, the whole thing. And Bucky is being...” he glances at her. “Well, he’s being a man about it, letting his ego get in the way. Just, something to keep in mind when you see him.” 

 Y/N nods and falls silent. Steve can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking about, however, before he has time to ask-the doors open.

 “This way.” He leads her out and down the hall to the lab. He holds the door open for her and she steps inside and stops dead. Steve touches her arm gently. “He’s over here.” 

 ***

 You don’t know what you were expecting when you walked into the room, but the sheer number of high-tech machines surprises you into stopping in your tracks. You can feel Steve behind you as he nearly walks into you. 

 He lightly presses his fingers to your arm. “He’s over here.” He says quietly, leading you around a corner of sorts. 

 Bucky is leaning against a metal counter, head hanging as his flesh arm is braced against the counter behind him. Somehow, he seems less bulky with only one arm. The other one is laying on a table hooked up to cords. He definitely seems a little more vulnerable without it, you can easily see why he doesn’t want you around. 

 You had a scathing comment all ready to fire at him for being so stupid but seeing him now, you realize that wouldn’t help. You swallow it down and take a step forward.

 “So, this is where you’ve been hiding for three days.” You say and his head snaps up fast.

 “What the fuck are you doing here?” He snaps and you try not to feel offended.

 “Steve brought me.” You take another step forward, looking around at the machines, an idea forming, maybe part of an answer to his problem. “I have to say, if you’re going to avoid me, this is a good place to do it. I would hide out here, too.” You don’t miss the way his eyes slide over to his best friend behind you, hardening into ice.

 “Steve.”

 “You were being ridiculous. I had to do something. And she’s here now, so... you know... you’re welcome.”

 Bucky’s eyes get wide and you can’t help but chuckle a little.

 “Probably not the best lead, Steve.” You tell him, taking another step towards Bucky. His eyes move back to you and you still see the anger there, but there’s something else. It takes you a minute to place it because you’ve never seen it on him before, fear. 

 “Where’s Tony?” Steve asks, looking around.

 “I may have threatened to rip his arms off so he may be hiding.” Bucky admits. 

 You break into a grin. “That wasn’t very nice, was it?” You take the last few steps and lean against the table next to him before he can move. 

 “He deserves it. After you left, he kept harping on me and I got annoyed.”

 You lean your head against his shoulder, getting comfortable. “Will I get to meet him?”

 “I guess. If you want to.” Bucky sighs, his arm tightening around your shoulders. 

 “Barnes! Are you calm now? Or do I have to call your boyfriend?” A voice calls from the back of the lab. 

 “Why don’t you come find out, Stark?” He calls back, his voice vibrates through you. 

 “Will you at least text your girl? You can blame it on me and tell her I banned phones in the lab.”

 “You mentioned that already.” Bucky replies with a grin down at you.

 “That’s what you were gonna tell me?” You ask incredulously. Raising your voice, you continue, “you know no one actually believes that, right?”

 “Why do you think I didn’t actually say it? I’m not out to insult you.”

 “Who’s that? Is that her?” Footsteps hurry forward.

 “So, I might have an idea.” You whisper to Bucky. He looks down at you curiously as a man appears in the doorway.

 “Wow, Barnes, I’m impressed. Hello, I’m Tony.” He offers his hand, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

 “Nice to meet you, finally.”

 “Has he been bragging about me? He has a man-crush on me.”

 You snort. “Not exactly. I have a question. Do you make your own computer chips here?”

 Tony opens his mouth to reply, but then shuts it, tilting his head curiously. “Why?”

 “Well, I’m just wondering why you haven’t made newly updated chips for his arm.”

 “They wouldn’t be compatible.”

 “Why not? Because of the attachment heads? That’s an easy fix. With everything in this lab, you can make anything.”

 “Well...”

 “Bucky, can I see the inside of your arm? I didn’t get a super good look last time.” You ask and he nods, an unspoken question on his face. You can feel Steve’s eyes on you as Bucky steps forward and unlatches his panels.

 You pluck the flashlight out of Tony’s hand and aim it into the arm cavity. There you spot a row of microchips nestled into a bar of receivers. You pull one of the magnifiers in front of you to blow up the bar. You study it for a minute, getting a feel for the technology.

 “Is this Russian made?” You ask, nudging some wires around.

 “How on earth can you tell that?” Tony asks. 

 “It’s obvious, really.” You stand up and snap off the flashlight. “Where do you build your chips?” You look at Tony.

 He leads you to a workbench towards the back. “We don’t have any compatible.”

 “Tony, Tony, Tony. Have a little faith, will you? Also, do you have a computer with all of his information on it? I’ll need that, too.” You scoot out the stool and sit. 

 “What are you going to do?” Steve asks, stepping up next to you.

 “I’m going to help.” You answer obviously.

 Tony comes back and sets a laptop next to you before moving away again. He starts gathering up some supplies as you begin to pull the tools you would need towards you.

 “Bucky? Hand me those glasses right there.” You point up to the safety glasses on the wall above you.

 “You’re making me nervous.” He mumbles, grabbing them and placing them gently in your outstretched hand. 

 You catch his hand and pull it to your mouth. “No need to be nervous.” You smile and press a kiss to the back of his hand before letting it go. Tony brings back over the boxes of pieces you would need. 

 You start assembling the first chip, not pausing to really think about it, just letting the pieces fall into place. Once you’re satisfied that you have everything you need on there, you set the tools down to let it cool. 

 Stretching your back as you straighten up, it cracks loudly. You glance around and realize you’ve been lost in your own head for a long time, a lot longer than you realized. Tony has gone off to work on something else, and Steve and Bucky are talking back in the room with his arm. 

 You tilt your head from left to right, cracking it before pulling the laptop to you. Searching through the different programs that make his arm work as a whole, you find the one that controls basic function. 

 You scroll agonizingly slow through the millions of code lines, adding what you can to improve the quality. It takes you forever. The lines are tiny and your eyes are ready to fall out. You sit back for a minute, closing your eyes and pressing the heels of your hands into them. 

 “You doing okay?” Steve asks, his hands coming to rest on the back of your shoulders.

 “Yeah. It’s a lot of code. It won’t be perfect, I’m not as familiar with this kind and it should probably be rewritten better, but I’m not that good.”

 “Well, how much do you have left?”

 “About six hundred and fifty pages, give or take.” You answer off-handedly.

 “Oh, shit.” 

 “Yeah, where did Bucky go?” You ask, looking around. 

 “To make some coffee.”

 “Oh good, I’m gonna need it.”

 “So, bad news. We’re out of coffee.” Bucky says, coming back and draping his arm around your shoulders.

 You tip your head back and look up at him. “How can you be out of coffee?”

 “Either that or someone moved it. Which would just be dumb.”

 “Well, with the amount of code that I have to correct, there’s no way that I can keep going without any.” You sigh and rub your face. “I can’t even fix it all.”

 “Who can?” Steve asks.

 “Super geniuses?” You reply sarcastically, then you have a serious, actually helpful thought. “Well, I’ve heard of this girl, crazy inventor good. She might be able to help if we bribe her with something good. But, she lives...pretty far.”

 “How far?” Bucky asks. 

 “Africa, Western Africa.”

 “Well, I better make some calls.” Steve says matter-of-factly. 

 “If you can get her here, I think she and I can fix this.” You tell Steve and he nods.

 “Then it doesn’t look like you can do any more tonight. Bucky, why don’t you take her home? You can come work on this tomorrow, Y/N.”

 “You sure?” You ask.

 “Yeah. Go home, get some rest.” Steve nods.

 Bucky steps back and holds out his hand for you. 

 “Are you sure you’re okay to leave?” You ask Bucky. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

 “I think I’ll survive.” He smiles and you slide off the chair to follow him. 

 “Goodnight, Steve.” You say and he kisses your cheek. “Bye, Tony!” You call as Bucky pulls you towards the door. 

 He’s silent on the elevator ride down to the lobby, across the wide-open space and outside. He’s walking slowly so you can keep up with him, but still silent. 

 “Are you mad that I came tonight?” You ask quietly. 

 He looks down at you, surprised. “Why would you ask that?”

 “Because now you’re not speaking.”

 “I’m just thinking. Definitely not mad at you.” He pulls you tight against his side. “Are you kidding? You were the best part of the last three days.”

 “I can’t believe you thought I would care about your arm.” 

 “I don’t have a decent response to that, so I’m just gonna shut up.”

 “Probably a good call.”

 “So, how forward would it be if I showed up tomorrow to walk you to work?”

 “It would be worse for you if you didn’t. Trust me.” You grin, poking his side. 

 A cold shiver trickles down your spine and you stop dead, looking around. You’re definitely being watched. You glance up to the windows on the side of the building but no one is looking out of them.

 “What’s the matter?” Bucky asks. 

 You want to tell him but there’s just so many benign explanations that you still don’t want to worry him over nothing. 

 “So, does this mean we can have dinner at your place now?” You ask, tilting your head to look up at him as you continue walking. 

 “Yes. I will pick you up from work, and then we can finally have dinner.”

 “Excellent.” 

 You walk in silence for a while, his arm wrapped around you and you couldn’t be happier. The implications of your happiness aren’t lost on you, you know what will happen if you fall in love but as long as he’s your favored, you can claim it’s all an act, that this is what he needed to get going again.

 But you know the truth.

 And it scares the Tartarus out of you.

 He walks you up to your apartment, hesitating outside your door again. If he leaves you a second time without a kiss, you’re going to throttle him.

 “You’re coming tomorrow morning, right?” You ask, tilting your head to look up at him. 

 “I’ll be here.” He promises, taking your hand gently. You lift it to his face, cupping his cheek softly. He lowers his face to yours and you meet him the rest of the way, capturing his lips with yours. Your skin prickles, nerves coming alive as he kisses you, backing you into your door slightly. Your fingers slide into his hair, curling into the strands and scraping against his scalp. 

 He pulls away breathlessly, his eyes unfocused. “I should go.” He mumbles. 

 You nod, hating to watch him leave. “Tomorrow morning.” You remind him. He smiles at you and turns for the stairs. You wait until he’s out of sight before unlocking your door and heading for the window overlooking the street. You watch him emerge and he glances up at your window, a broad smile on his face. You can’t stop the weightlessness of your heart. 

 This is bad.

 Really bad.

 But you can’t bring yourself to mind too much. Not after he kisses you like that.

 With a sigh, you turn and get ready for bed. 

  Bucky

 Why is walking to her apartment so difficult? He’s walked home from there plenty of times. He groans in frustration and reaches for his door handle again.

 “Just fucking open it, you coward.” He mutters. And yet, his hand hesitates just out of reach. He groans and pulls back, pacing away from the door. 

 “What are you so afraid of? She’s already seen you without your arm, and she wants to continue seeing you. She wants you to walk her to work.” He says to himself, pacing around his living room. 

 “And then what? Leave her at the museum while you go back to work and deal with Tony being insufferable? You’re no good for security with just one arm, so Fury makes you stay in the lab. You’re alone all day.” He sighs loudly and smacks his face a few times, trying to get himself together.

 “You like being alone, moron. It’s better than having to deal with Sam or see Nat. Definitely don’t wanna see her.” He catches sight of himself in the mirror and points at his reflection. 

 “Listen here, you little shit. Twenty minutes with Y/N is better than three days without her. Get your ass over there and walk her to work.” He snaps. 

 He marches over to the door, flings it open, and steps outside. He barely remembers to lock it behind him before he’s off, walking to her apartment before he can chicken out. But with every step, his stomach tightens into a series of knots and he can’t catch his breath. 

 “Damn it, Y/N, what have you done to me?” He mutters. 

 Her building comes into sight and it’s like his skin ignites with electricity, nerves ramping higher and higher. He steps up to her door and raises his finger to push her doorbell. His hand is shaking so bad he nearly pushes the wrong one.

 “Come on, man, get it together.” He shakes his hand as if that can expel all his nerves and pushes the right buzzer.

 “Hello?” Her voice comes over the box and he can’t answer. “Bucky? That better be you.” She says and he smiles, despite his anxiety.

 “Yeah. It’s me.” He replies.

 “Come on up.” She says, buzzing him in. He pulls the door open and goes inside, her voice echoing in his ears.

 He reaches her door and knocks nervously. His hand starts to go to his hair, maybe to flatten it down or fix it, but honestly, what good would it do at this point?

 She opens the door in her robe, with a tank top and long pajama pants on underneath, a big cup of coffee in her hand. “Come on in.” She steps back, watching him.

 He steps inside, trying to look anywhere but at the gorgeous woman in her pajamas. “You’re not ready yet?” He asks, turning his gaze to her living room. He wanted to be here twenty minutes ago, but now, with her swirling all around him, he just needs to leave. To get this over with.

 “I called in sick.” She says, giving a pathetic fake cough. 

 The knot in his chest loosens and he can breathe a little easier now. “You did?”

 “Yeah. I thought we could have breakfast, and then go back to SHIELD and work some more on your arm.” She says with a shrug. 

 “You did?” He repeats, stunned. She continuously surprises him. 

 “Is that not okay? I thought that since we haven’t really spent a lot of time together over the last three days that we could now, and under the pretense of a good cause.”

 “No! I like that idea. I just wish I had thought of it first.” He says and she laughs, walking passed him into the kitchen, catching his hand in her soft one as she goes. 

 “Besides, you still owe me for that kiss you withheld. Don’t think I won’t be collecting on that.” She warns and he can’t stop the grin on his face. 

 “I genuinely can’t wait.” He says as she pushes him into a chair, her hand trailing around his neck. 

 “Can you use a fork right-handed?” She asks, leaning down close to his ear.

 Her perfume clouds around him, seeming to seep into his skin, fogging his brain and he can hardly focus on what she’s saying. All he can picture is pinning her against the wall and kissing her for all he’s worth. “Um, yeah. I got used to it before I got the arm.” He answers nervously. 

 “Good.” She straightens up and steps back, leaving him feeling empty like he’s missing something. 

 It’s quiet in her apartment as she moves about the kitchen. He feels pressure on his shoulders, something weighing him down. He gets up and goes to the bar to watch her.

 “I’m sorry.” He says after a long minute. 

 She looks up at him in some surprise as she cracks eggs into a frying pan. “Sorry for what?”

 “Avoiding you.”

 “I understand, Bucky. Probably better than you might realize. But I want you to know something, okay?” She puts down the spatula and walks around to stand in front of him, easing herself between his knees. She places her hands gently on either side of his face, her skin soft and warm on him. “There is absolutely nothing that you can do, or reveal about your past, or say to me that will make me leave. Do you understand? I don’t care if you have one arm, one eye, and one leg. I’m in this.” 

 He closes his eyes and nods. “I understand.”

 “Promise me, no more secrets.”

 “I promise.”

 “Good.” Her hands slide down his chest and she grips his shirt, pulling him against her, kissing him deeply. Her lips are soft, sweet on his, and yet so urgent. 

 He wraps his arm around her, pulling her against him. She pulls back, her beautiful eyes closed as she rests her forehead against his. “I should make breakfast.” She mumbles.

 “I’m not done kissing you yet.” He sighs and she chuckles.

 “We have time. We can pick up where we left off later.”

 “You miss the arm.” He says softly.

 “I like the way the hot and cold feels. And I don’t like that you’re uncomfortable.” She pulls back out of his grasp and goes back into the kitchen. 

 “I’m feeling better.” He shrugs lopsidedly. It mostly has to do with the fact that she’s so accepting of this whole situation.

 “Be that as it may,” she pauses and looks up at him with a soft smile. 

 He sighs and sits back. “Fine. We can finish kissing later.” 

 She laughs, grabbing a mug out of her cabinet. “Sounds like a plan.” She pouts him some coffee and sets it in front of him. He captures her hand, pulling it to his mouth, kisses her palm, inhaling the scent of her skin. Images of flowers, bright and full and oh so delicate, fill his mind. Peonies and roses and lots of others he didn’t know the names of. Soft pinks and deep purples and bright reds. So vibrant, so alive. He lets her hand slide out of his and his fingers itch to grab a pad of paper, but he doesn’t have his dominant hand. 

 Maybe she’s right, they need to finish his arm. 

 He lifts his mug and sips at the coffee, savoring the flavor of it. She hums softly as she cooks in the kitchen and a strange feeling washes over him. 

 The complete sense of domesticity about this scene. This gorgeous woman that he can’t get enough of, making breakfast for the both of them. The normalcy of it twists in his heart like a knife. 

 He knows he shouldn’t rush things, should take their time. It hasn’t really been that long in the grand scheme of things. It’s dangerous for her, he’s dangerous. 

 But he can’t make himself stay away from that look in her eyes when she sees him. Soft and affectionate, not disgusted, not terrified. She treats him just like he’s anyone else. And it’s been so long since anyone has done that. 

 Even Nat, when she came to see him. She had a hard time looking at him. She stayed across the room the whole time, afraid of him. It’s not her fault. She did what she needed to do for herself, to protect herself and he can’t blame her for that. 

 A plate sets in front of him and he blinks and looks up. 

 She’s smiling at him, teasing. “I think I lost you there for a minute.” She says.

 “Just thinking. This looks great.” Scrambled eggs with fresh tomatoes and spinach, sausage and toast. 

 “Just breakfast.” She shrugs, bringing her plate around to sit next to him. 

 “Well, unless Stevie and I go to a diner for breakfast, mine usually consists of protein bars.”

 “That’s boring.” She sighs, digging in. 

 They eat in comfortable silence. He can’t stop looking at her. The gentle way her hair falls like a curtain between us, the casual way she flips it out of her face. Her cheekbones are a work of art, her long eyelashes laying against her cheeks soft and delicate like a flower. He has a sudden urge to sketch her, to get her lines down perfectly. 

 “Mmm. That was good.” She hums, scooting her stool back. “I’m gonna jump in the shower really quick.” She carries her plate into the kitchen and sets it in the sink. “Make yourself comfortable.” She presses a kiss to his cheek and heads into her bedroom. 

 He slowly finishes eating before taking his plate into the kitchen. He draws some hot water and quickly scrubs the dishes, setting them to dry in the dish rack. He settles into her comfortable couch, looking around at all the pictures and artwork in her living room. 

 There’s a statue sitting on her entertainment center. It’s of a couple waltzing. The woman looks like she’s wearing a flowing dress but the only details visible are at the bottom, her sculpted back looks bare. She has her face tucked into his neck in an intimate moment, a private affair just for them. The rest of their world faded away while they’re in each other’s arms.

 Bucky stands up and crosses the room to the statue, picking it up and examining the couple. His finger traces across her back absently.

 “Do you like it?” She asks behind him. 

 He nearly drops it as he turns around. He sets it down carefully so he won’t break it. “Yeah.” He looks up at her in time to see her struggling not to smile.

 “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” She steps forward and picks up her shoes. 

 “It’s okay. Ready to go?” He asks, holding her hand as she balances on one foot.

 “Yeah. Can we call a cab? It would be quicker.”

 “Sure.” He opens her door for her and makes sure to lock it, handing her keys back to her. 

 Master List

Tag List (to anyone I miss, I’m sorry. If you’d like to be added, send an ask. Strikethrough means I couldn't tag you)

@everythingisoverrated​ @dsakita​ @shreddedparchment​ @bitsandbobsandstuff​ @after-avenging-hours​ @alexblrus​ @thinkingsofamadwoman​ @i-dont-want-to-be-called​ @thefridgeismybestie​ @fortheloveofallthatsholy​ @crazychaotic​ @pleasureoftheguiltiestvariety​ @redstarstan​ @septic-boye​ @justreadingfics​ @themistsofmyavalon​ @sebastianstanslefteyebrow​ @wkemeup​ @thiccbinch​ @glide-thru​ @moli1497​ @ellaenchanted91​ @part-time-patronus​ @janeyboo​ @jensensjaredsandmishaslover​ @thirstybitchqueen​ @uncledaddykelbo

[prophetandprincess]

The weather luckily held the next afternoon so Alex didn't have to change the meeting place with Olivia, though autumn had finally found its way to New York City as the leaves started to change. Alex found an empty bench at Washington Square Park after class and settled down to wait, having told Mrs. Nazari that it was still light and she would be safe getting home on her own. It had taken some convincing, but finally Mrs. Nazari relented and drove off.

There was a good deal of anxiety around this meeting, though Alex didn't think that Olivia posed a threat. She was more worried that Olivia was going to tell her that she was a lost cause. An even more terrifying thought was that Olivia was a terrible teacher and Alex would never know and continue to pay her to teach her the wrong thing. Still, even a little bit of assistance was better than just outright failing without at least trying to get some help.

It wasn't hard to spot Olivia when she rolled into the park on her bicycle, a little bit of sweat on her brow. The description she gave was accurate, she was a petite woman with black hair and wearing a leather jacket. However, she didn't mention that the bike would be battered, her jeans would be ripped, and the leather jacket looked as if it had been handed down from an older sibling. Still, there was something about Oliva that made it all look styled and not like a woman who had just thrown on old clothes. They met eyes and Olivia walked over, propping the bike against the back of the bench and swung her messenger bag off her shoulder.

"Sorry, I'm a little late and a lot sweaty," Olivia said as she took off her helmet and sat down next to Alex on the bench. Alex was surprised that her voice wasn't accented at all. "My last delivery was in Tribeca and I had to hustle to make it up here. Now, let's get to work and see how good your Russian is this far into the semester."

Getting down to business was something that Alex could appreciate, especially when she was paying for Olivia's time. Olivia did a basic greeting, which Alex could respond to, though Olivia winced at the pronunciation. However, it was only a sentence or two more before communication broke down completely. Olivia raised her eyebrow and Alex thought maybe her tutor realized she was going to earn every cent of that twenty-five dollars an hour. Either that or she was thinking about how to let Alex down gently.

"I'm going to be honest with you," Olivia started and Alex's stomach sank to her shoes, "this is going to take a bit more time and work than I originally thought. Would you be able to do two hours a week instead of one? You're already so far behind and if you fail the midterm there will be no coming back, especially with Kuznetsov."

"My scholarship is based on my GPA, I can't fail," Alex's voice wavered, trying not to sound too desperate. "I will meet with you every day of the week if you can save me and my GPA."

Olivia gave her a smile before shaking her head. "As much as I'd love the money, I don't think you're that far gone. Your problem is that you didn't grasp the basics and you're not speaking enough to get the pronunciation right. That means, the more we talk, the less we'll do it in English and maybe watch some kids programs in Russian. That will help."

"Watching Russian things I can do, however we aren't going to be saying much if we're only talking in Russian," Alex laughed before a thought struck her. "Before we shake on it, do you think you could translate something for me?"

"A bit of a test of my skills, I get it." Olivia nodded, turning serious. "What would you like me to translate? Chekov or Tolstoy?"

"A recording actually," Alex pulled out her phone and opened the voicemail James left her that first night he called when he sounded confused. "Just hit play."

Olivia took the phone and pressed it against her ear. After the first couple words her brow furrowed and she looked down to focus on the ground. Olivia listened to the message twice before she handed the phone back, looking very confused.

"Couldn't understand it?" Alex asked when Olivia didn't say anything right away.

"No, it just...doesn't make any sense," Olivia clarified after she gave herself a shake. "The man, whoever he was, sounds confused. He is saying that he is lost and needs information on the extraction location. He says that the rest of his team had been eliminated, but the mission was completed. However, the date and time he gave were not of this decade."

"That makes sense to me actually." Alex smiled as she put her phone back in her pocket, having made up the bare bones of a lie before having Olivia translate the message, though it had to be tweaked with the information provided. "I used to do volunteer work at a retirement home and one of the men was an immigrant from Russia. He had no family here, so I gave him my number to reach out if he needed something. As you can see, or hear, he has dementia and gets a little confused sometimes between present day and his time back in his home country. I think he might have been KGB or something."

"Ah," Olivia didn't look all that convinced, but didn't press Alex for more information. "So, I passed the test then?"

"With flying colors," Alex smiled. While she had no idea what that message said, there was no way Olivia would make up that information on the fly, it wasn't a believable lie, so she had to be telling the truth.

"Great, so when do you want to have your first session?" Olivia gave a small smile, though Alex got the feeling that the expression was one she didn't use often.

"Well, my apartment is in a bit of...disarray at the moment. I'm hoping that it will be set up soon. Do you want to shoot for Thursday afternoon? I can text you an address when I know where we will be." Alex didn't know what she would do if her apartment wasn't ready by Thursday. While she slept well last night, she had a feeling staying at Steve's apartment would get old. Especially when he returned wherever he was saving the world this week.

"It might have to be a bit later if I have deliveries, but I should be able to fit it in." Olivia grabbed her phone and sighed. "Sorry to make a deal and run, but I have something I have to go take care of. Exes, you'd think they'd take a hint after you dump them."

"No worries, I'll let you know about Thursday as soon as I do." Alex stood when Olivia did, not knowing if they should shake hands or something. "Be safe out there."

"Прощай," Olivia waved as she hopped on her bike.

"увидимся," Alex stumbled over before her new tutor was completely out of earshot.

Alex sat back down on the bench and took a deep breath. Well, at least that item was off her to-do list. Now, she had to figure out where she was going to sleep that night. All of her stuff was at Monica's and it was a bit weird to be staying at Steve's place when he was off saving the world, but there was something nice about being left alone. Alexandra Jade Harper, the woman who left her small Midwest town to be around people all the time, wanting to be alone. Maybe Hell would freeze over next.

Monica was still at her internship so Alex texted her saying she would be at her place when she got off work and headed that way on foot. While she could have taken the subway, it was a really nice autumn day and Alex wanted time to think over things. Even though Alex ran every morning, that was to keep her mind completely empty while her brain worked, focused on nothing but breathing and the music blaring in her ears. Walking calmed her in a different way, letting her thoughts wander but not trying to solve anything as she weaved through the businessmen and tourists. Alex arrived at the apartment building feeling a little less overwhelmed.

"Nice to see you smiling, Miss Harper," Raymond said with a bright smile as Alex started to head toward the elevator. "How are you doing with everything? Have they let you back into the apartment yet?"

"No, not yet and I'm taking it one day at a time, just like everyone else." Alex smiled as she walked over to the desk. "Have the rest of the residents calmed down or do you think I'm going to get kicked out once my lease is up for disrupting the peace?"

"A lot of questions, but everyone seemed happy that you're alright and their apartment was spared." Raymond whispered as if it was secret. "Then, there is Mrs. Dreyer, who swore that she saw a werewolf on the fire escape that night when the police questioned her. Then again, she had glaucoma and was watching old episodes of the Twilight Zone so loud that the windows were rattling when the police questioned her."

"Mrs. Dreyer, she lives on the fourth floor, right?" Alex had a vague recollection of a small woman with a bright red cane mumbling while Henry was helping collect her mail once. As the mailboxes were by floor, Alex could judge she was either on the third or fourth level.

"Yes, she has been living in this building since before her husband passed and Mr. LeBlanc bought the property. I think I heard that her husband was on Wall Street for a number of years, but I'm not sure if that's true. What I do know is that she gives great Christmas gifts to the staff, even though we have to swap them when she's gone because she can't tell us apart with her poor eyesight," Raymond said with a laugh.

"We're all going to get there one day, Raymond," Alex laughed as she tapped the front desk to show she was leaving.

"If we're lucky," Raymond said with a laugh.

"If we're lucky," Alex echoed, though her statement did not have the same playful tone.

Mrs. Dreyer didn't sound like the most reliable witness and Alex didn't know where she lived, so she just filed away the information Raymond had given her. She settled herself down on the floor of Monica's living room, hoping that maybe the conversation with Olivia would somehow magically improve her Russian. That was not the case, so Alex was more than happy for the distraction when the front door opened.

"You're actually where you said you'd be for once. I need to mark it in my calendar," Monica laughed as she walked in with a bag of food. "Gabe, I owe you a coffee."

"I don't know if I should be offended that you bet against me or flattered that Gabriel had faith in me." Alex smiled at the tall man, who winked at her as he kicked the door closed. "Then again, your distrust is a hundred percent justified, Monica."

"You're damn right it is," Monica laughed. "But since I love you, I brought you home Thai food anyway, along with a bubble tea because I want you to be happy and fed."

"You're an angel incarnate." Alex cleaned up her material and walked over to the counter where Gabriel and Monica were dividing up the food. Gabriel handed her the drink with a smile as Monica muttered to herself about Pad Thai and drunken chicken.

"How'd it go with that girl you were meeting?" Monica asked after popping a piece of shrimp into her mouth. "Do you have a tutor now?"

"I think so, we're supposed to meet Thursday for our first session so we'll see how it goes," Alex shrugged. "What about you guys, who was your day?"

"Well, Gabriel won't tell you because either he is running the longest con ever or he works for a very secret organization. I've yet to figure out if it is a good organization or if he is a hunchman to the next super villain." Monica said as she carted her food into the living room. "As for my day, there was another security breach so instead of working on the water filtration system and disbursement machine, I was interrogated yet again."

"That's awful," Alex shook her head as she picked up a Pad Tahi noodle that fell on the floor. " It just doesn't make sense. Oscorp is one of the most powerful corporations in the city, how is their security so easy to bypass?"

"It isn't," Gabriel said, which made both women look at him. "Don't ask me how I know that, but if someone has gotten through their security this many times is either one hell of a hacker or they already had access to the system, which would make it easier to get around the firewalls."

"Hence the interrogations," Monica sighed before a vicious stab of his fork. "However, if it was an inside job, you'd think they'd be able to track the individual using their clearance to get into the system. Right, Mr. Tech Genius?"

"I mean...not necessarily, but that also would take a bit of computer skill to hide that you were the one who accessed the computers," Gabriel shrugged. "However, after three security breaches, the hacker can't be that good if they can't find what they're looking for in the system. I'd give whoever it is two times, once to get into the system and then once to get the goods, but three times? It doesn't make sense that they are good enough to get in but not good enough to find what they're looking for."

"I'm guessing you don't know what they were looking for, Monica?" Alex asked, remembering the conversation she had with Monica about the two other scientists who had been attacked. "Did it have anything to do with the project that the other two attacked scientists were working on?

"Good to know that I wasn't going completely mad when I thought the same thing," Monica smiled between bites of food. "Unfortunately, they weren't telling me anything about the security breach and if I asked too many questions they would have taken it as a sign of guilt, so I don't have an answer. I know it sounds selfish, but I wish whatever the hacker wanted, he would just take so I can get back to my work."

"Speaking of attacks, how are you doing Alex? Mo told me about what happened to your apartment," Gabriel asked.

"Alright, though I think Monica is ready to get her apartment back and I'm ready to get back on a schedule."

Alex was pretty sure Monica mumbled something that didn't sound flattering about Alex's schedule, but when asked she shook her head. The conversation turned to the stories about other crimes in the city, which were numerous, along with the Devil in Hell's Kitchen and Spider-man. Monica and Gabriel had lively discussions about vigilantes and if they were helping or harming the city's efforts to catch criminals. Alex, tactfully, stayed out of the conversation given that she was friends with the aforementioned Spider-man and a few members of the Avengers, who some saw as only a step above vigilantes.

They played a couple rounds of Uno, Gabriel won almost every hand, and he said his goodnight as the Tonight Show started. Both Monica and Alex attempted to do some course work, but it wasn't much later before they said their goodnights as well. Alex really hoped that she would be able to have her second night of dreamless sleep as she settled down into the couch.

Alex wasn't exactly sure what it was that woke her up, but something brought her to consciousness in the early morning hours. At first she thought it was Monica getting up to go to the bathroom, but when there was no sound from that end of the apartment, Alex sat up to look around.

There was something looking through the window at her.

It had a terrible grin with horrid fangs, eyes glowing green as they caught the ambient light, and large ears. It was something right out of an old horror film, but far more effective when it was clinging to the wall of a New York City apartment building a couple stories off the ground. Alex was screaming before she even realized it and Monica was stumbling into the room, asking what was wrong.

"The window," Alex finally got out. She would never make fun of the heroine in a horror movie again, it was a natural reaction to scream and stutter like a broken doll when you see something that shouldn't exist.

Monica looked to where Alex was pointing, but the face was no longer visible through the panes. Alex scrambled off the couch and looked out all of the windows. There was no sign of whatever she had seen and turning around to see Monica's expression, Alex realized she must look like she had finally lost it. Unlike all the nightmares, Alex knew what she saw and that it was real.

"Something woke me up and when I looked out the window, there was some sort of creature looking in the window," Alex explained as she flopped down on the couch next to Monica, hand to her heart as it hammered away inside her chest.

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming again, love? I don't mean any offense," Monica said when she saw Alex's expression, "but you waking up screaming is not anything new for you."

"Okay, okay, that's fair," Alex sighed as she raked her hand through her hair as it had fallen out of her ponytail. "But this wasn't like anything in my nightmares. I swear to you, there was something outside that window, looking in."

"Well, one way or another, there is nothing we can do about it now. We can't call the police with no evidence and I'd rather not have them in here asking questions and looking for trouble. Even that cutie Sousa. Best to try and go back to sleep. We'll...we can figure something out in the morning," Monica gently rubbed Alex's back between the shoulder blades. "You want to come into my room? Safety in numbers and all that?"

"No, no you're right, it's probably nothing," Alex smiled as she patted Monica's knee. "I'm sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep."

"Are you sure?" Monica asked softly and Alex just nodded. "Okay, well, if you change your mind, I've been told I'm a fabulous cuddler."

Monica sat there a couple more moments, just to see if Alex would change her mind, before kissing her hair and headed into her bedroom. Alex waited until she heard the creaking of Monica's bedsprings before pulling out her phone. Peter didn't answer his phone when she called, though given that it was two-forty five in the morning that wasn't a huge surprise, so she sent him a text message. Monica was right, they couldn't call the police, so she went to the one person who would believe her. The message probably didn't make a lot of sense, especially because Alex was trying to be vague, but she felt a little better once it was sent. Still, there was no way she was going to be able to go back to sleep.

Peter called her at six-thirty. Another autumn thunderstorm had rolled into the city halfway through Alex's run, so she had cut her route short and was walking into the building when she took the call. As Alex climbed the stairs, not wanting to lose the call in the elevator, Peter apologized profusely for not answering the phone which was hysterical since she called him at an ungodly hour. Once he was done rambling, Alex told him exactly what she had seen in the window the night before.

"Well, that's terribly unsettling," Peter said with a sigh, "especially given where I was last night that I couldn't take your call."

"Another apartment torn to shreds?" Alex guessed, dropping her voice even though she was alone in the stairwell.

"This time with the scientist inside it. From the sounds of it, it wasn't pretty."

Alex didn't know if it was Peter's tone or some intuition, but Alex knew without asking that the scientist had not gotten out of the apartment alive. That meant the only reason Alex and the other two scientists hadn't been torn to shreds is because they hadn't been home. Peter taking her to that bank robbery saved her life, even if it had triggered some sort of stress response.

"Who was it? That was killed I mean," Alex asked softly. It wasn't as if she would know who the person was, but she felt that putting a name with the victim was the least she could do.

"Niall Coburn, part of the genetics division at Oscorp and by all accounts a brilliant scientist who was just starting to make his mark in the scientific community. He actually wrote a paper with Warren if you can believe it. Like most brilliant scientists, Niall lived alone, so thankfully there is only one casualty. However, the fact that the coroner was still there when I left and the death apparently happened around one in the morning will tell you everything you should need to know about how messy the death was."

"One this morning? Are they sure?" Alex felt as if all the air had been knocked out of her and not just because she was walking up stairs.

"I mean, it's not like they can pinpoint this stuff so early, but that's they're guess. Why?" Peter instantly sounded concerned.

"Because I saw the thing outside the window after two in the morning. That meant that he came over here after he killed that scientist. He could have killed me or Monica." Alex felt as if she was about to throw up at the thought of Monica being hurt. "Why didn't he kill us? Why did he just look in the window?"

"I can't answer that, Alex. Maybe he is staking out Monica's apartment or maybe…" Peter was quiet for a couple uncomfortable beats. "Maybe he was coming to find you."

"As in, all of the other scientists were supposed to die too and now he's going to try and finish the job." Alex leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. "That means those other two scientists are in danger as well."

"Well, I do not like that train of thought at all, but I'll look into it. If that's the case though, why didn't he attack you last night, no offense," Peter added quickly. "He has busted into that place before and a single scream doesn't seem like it would deter this guy."

"Parker, you'll know if I'm offended, so you can stop worrying about that," Alex laughed breathlessly as she continued her trek upward. "And I have no idea, but I don't hear you coming up with any better theories."

"That's because, like a good scientist, I am waiting to provide a hypothesis until I have more data to extrapolate from," Peter laughed at hearing Alex do so. "Also, I haven't showered yet today and that's where I have all my best ideas."

"Well, you better get on that and I'm going to attempt to have a somewhat normal morning." Alex said as she opened the door to Monica's apartment as quietly as possible. "See you in class."

"Be careful," Peter said seriously.

"Aye, Aye, Captain." Alex smiled at his concern. He was a good kid.

"Wrong Superhero," Peter pointed out before ending the call.

Getting ready was a nightmare as both Monica and Alex attempted to dance around each other in the small bathroom. Alex tried to think of a way to warn Monica about the creature, but nothing seemed to come out and Monica was smart enough she had probably come to the same collusion if she believed that Alex had seen something. By the time Alex stumbled out of the apartment, without breakfast, she decided that if her apartment wasn't ready that evening, she was staying at Steve's again. It wasn't just about the bathroom, though she was still dreaming of Steve's shower, it was to keep Monica safe. If Alex was a target for that creature, she wanted to be as far from Monica as possible. If it was after Monica...maybe Alex would ask Peter to watch the place.

"Miss Harper, a very good morning to you," Mrs. Nazari said as Alex slipped into the back of the SUV.

"Good morning," Alex said around a yawn. "Sorry if I kept you waiting."

"It's no trouble, it is what I'm paid for," Mrs. Nazari laughed as she pulled out into traffic. "Did you have breakfast this morning? If not, I think my children left some date-and-sesame balls in a bag in the back. They have walnuts in them, in case you're allergic."

Alex was about to politely decline, but her stomach rumbled loudly, so she reached into the back pocket and found a ziplock bag. She wasn't exactly sure what to make of the treats as she had never had dates before, but it would be rude to refuse now. After the first date-and-sesame ball, Alex really wasn't sure how she felt about them, so she had another one. Soon, the bag was empty.

"Thank you, for the food specifically, but in general as well." Alex said while she attempted to brush the loose sesame seeds back into the bag and not onto the floor. "How many children do you have?"

"Two, a boy and a girl, six and eight respectively." Mrs. Nazari's voice was soft and Alex could see her smile in the reflection of the rearview mirror. "They are very messy eaters so don't worry about the sesame seeds, I can always blame them when the car is cleaned later."

"It must be hard to balance work and two children that age. They're so rambunctious." Alex was exhausted after being with Sandy for an afternoon, she couldn't even imagine chasing after two. Parents are truly remarkable and Alex should check in on the Malones to see how they're doing.

"When they say it takes a village," Mrs. Narzari laughed. "My husband, thankfully, has no problem being home with the children and with the help of his mother and sister, who live in the same building, we make it work. It is a very loud life, but it reminds me of being back home."

Alex didn't say anything, though she had a thousand questions, every single one was insensitive or just plain rude. She was genuinely surprised that Mrs. Nazari was the breadwinner of the family and that her husband stayed home with the children, which made her feel awful. Then there was the question of where her home was, but that also didn't seem appropriate to ask. So, she just listened to the news station in a language she still couldn't identify and, for once, kept her opinions to herself.

The rest of the day didn't hold any surprises. Professor Warren showed none of the restless energy that Alex had seen on Monday though Peter was uncharastically quiet. Still, that wasn't surprising given the lack of sleep he had gotten and why he hadn't been in his bed. He agreed to keep an eye on her building tonight to make sure Monica was alright. Mrs. Nazari magically had more food on hand on the trip from campus to the Tower, this time just a bag of dried apple chips. Alex started to get the feeling that her bodyguard was feeling a bit maternal toward her. There were worse things in the world than someone who wanted to feed you, especially when that person did it in a very hands off way like Mrs. Nazari.

"I won't be needing a ride home this evening, Mrs. Nazari. I'll be staying in the Tower tonight," Alex said as she got out of the SUV in the garage. "Thank you so much for the treats today and I will see you tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Miss Harper. I will see you tomorrow," Mrs. Nazari had an almost knowing smile as she watched Alex get out of the car. Alex didn't want to know what she thought she knew.

Dr, Banner was gone yet again, probably with Steve and the others, so it was the group leaders who ran the internship. Liam drove Alex's group hard, but they had fun as well, and Alex was starting to understand the medical reason the serum worked inside the body. While she still felt as if she was the smallest child chasing after all the big kids on the playground, she was at least starting to catch up.

Steve's apartment was just as blissfully quiet and clean as when Alex walked into it the other evening. A look in the fridge let Alex know that not only did someone clean Steve's apartment, they did his shopping as well. She would have thought it was a charmed life if Alex didn't know the horrible things Steve had to do while he was out on the missions to save the world. Besides, she doubted that he would buy anything other than sliced lunch meat and white bread if it was up to him.

Alex showered, ate, and worked to catch up on the assignments that she was given an extension on due to her apartment situation. All of her classes, except Russian and Biochemistry, were thankfully not too stressful, though they were time consuming. By midnight, Alex was ready to call it a night after the early morning wake up call by a certain monster. She hoped she could get another night of dreamless sleep as she curled onto the couch underneath the blanket, which she didn't doubt had also been washed since the last time she used it.

A door closing woke Alex up immediately, shooting to her feet before she was even fully conscious. It took her a minute to even realize where she was before her eyes focused on the shadowy figure at the door. Alex grabbed the nearest item, which happened to be a textbook that she hadn't put away, and chucked it at the intruder. Whoever it was easily caught the projectile and Alex took a step backward.

"Alex, it's me," Steve said as he walked forward into the living room, textbook in hand. "I thought you'd be in the guest room. Why are you sleeping on the couch?"

"Steve, shit." Alex put her hand to her chest and took a deep breath. "Sorry about that, but you have to admit that was a good throw."

"It wasn't a bad throw after tumbling off a couch and almost slamming your head on the coffee table, I will give you that." Steve smiled as he walked over. "I also have to commend you on having the appropriate reaction to an intruder this time, but you didn't answer my question."

"I don't know, it just seemed weird to stay in there." Alex suddenly had some sympathy for Goldilocks and being caught sleeping in a home that wasn't hers. "I figured someone would tell you every detail of me being here, including where I was sleeping.

"Someone did and I've told you, you're always welcome, but they aren't spying on you so they didn't mention the couch." Steve set the textbook on the table before heading into the kitchen and pulling a beer out of the fridge. "Now, go back to sleep."

"Don't tell me what to do," Alex laughed as she sat down on the couch, tucking her legs underneath herself. "Come on, tell me where you were and how you saved the world."

"How about I make you a deal," Steve said, already heading toward his bedroom. "If you're still awake once I'm done with my shower, we can talk about my top secret mission with the Avengers while Jarvis listens in."

Alex hadn't even thought about the fact that Jarvis was always watching and listening, but she wasn't about to tell Steve that. "Deal."

Steve shook his head and closed the door to his bedroom. Alex did settle back down on the couch, figuring that Steve wasn't actually going to come back out. She was half asleep when she heard the bedroom door open. Steve was able to move without making a sound so Alex looked over the back of the couch to catch him sneaking into the kitchen to grab a bag of chips.

"Those late night snacks will always get you," Alex said, laughing when she watched him sigh and shake his head. "Bring those over here."

Steve grabbed a bag of pretzels as well and pulled dip from the fridge before carting everything over. Alex made space on the couch and he flopped down beside her, smelling of his shower gel and looking absolutely exhausted. For the first couple minutes they just focused on the food, crunching away side by side.

"So, tell me about what happened at the apartment," Steve said after they had taken care about half the bag of pretzels.

Alex got in the feeling Steve wasn't in the mood for her to be vague. She told Steve everything she knew, aside from anything to do with Spider-man because that wasn't her secret to tell. Then she told him about seeing the face in the window that morning and ended it all with telling him about the call from James, though she didn't mention his name because of Jarvis. They were quiet for a while after that particular confession.

"Well, at least he sounded like himself," Steve finally said as he got off the couch and went to grab another bottle of beer, bringing one over for Alex as well.

"We might also be able to guess what side of the world he's on given the time difference, but other than that…" Alex shrugged as she took a long swing of the beer. "As weird as it sounds, I almost feel guilty I haven't been focusing on him with everything going on. I haven't done a single night of research since my apartment."

"I think he'd forgive you," Steve said with a laugh. "Now I know that if I told you to stay here for your own safety, you'd tell me to go to hell. That begs the question, why are you here now on your own accord?"

"I don't want to put Monica in any danger if I'm the thing it's after," Alex said honestly. "Maybe he was there for her and I left her vulnerable, though I've done everything I can to ensure she's safe, but it wasn't her bedroom window he was staring at, it was at me. It was my apartment that was torn apart. So, I took a gamble. Now, your turn. Where in the world was Steve Rogers?"

"Obviously I can't tell you the details or Jarvis would report me to Tony and Miss Hill before either of us could blink," Steve leaned back and looked up at the ceiling.

"Which are you more afraid of, Stark or Hill?" Alex settled down on the couch and pulled the blanket up.

"That's an easy question," Steve laughed, "definitely Hill. She is also the point person on all our missions. We were told that there was a cell of Hydra agents hiding...in a remote location. A very humid and very hot location. Believe it or not, Captain America's uniform is not very breathable. I'm pretty sure I boiled inside my own sweat which is just as unpleasant as it sounds. However, the moment I mentioned it to Tony, he started sketching up plans for a new suit. I shouldn't complain though, Nat has it worse with all that dark, tight fitting, fabric."

"I can't picture Natasha complaining about the heat." Alex had only had one conversation with the Black Widow, but she didn't seem like the type of person to comment about the weather while they were on a mission to kill people.

"Oh, she doesn't, but Clint complains enough for the both of them," Steve laughed. "Anyway, we did some recon, hit their headquarters, did some interrogation, and then headed home. The usual and nothing to write home about."

Before, Alex would have believed him, but she had seen his sketchbooks. She had seen the visions that were burned into his brain he had to draw in an attempt to get them out. They weren't all from World War II or the Battle of New York. Steve was a soldier, the perfect soldier if the news articles about the serum back in the day were to be believed, and that meant that he was sent into situations where kill or be killed was the only option. He was also fighting Hydra, who were Nazis, so Alex couldn't find any sympathy for any lives that he had taken. However, she was concerned about what taking those lives was doing to Steve. It didn't seem tired so much as weary as they talked.

"How is Clint doing?" Alex asked, deciding to change the subject.

"The same disaster he always is," Steve smiled. "He's been working on something separate from our missions, according to Nat, which keeps him away most of the time. Not sure what it is, he wouldn't say anything about it when I asked."

"You all have so many secrets, I don't know how it doesn't drive you all crazy," Alex laughed as she finished her beer, only dribbling a little on herself because she drank it lying down. "I mean, how can you trust people who are out on missions that you know nothing about? If Clint isn't working for the Avengers, who is he working for?"

"Since when did you get so paranoid? Also, I don't think you have any room to talk about keeping secrets," Steve pointed out with a smile. "Clint is working on something that started back when he was with SHIELD. Apparently it is an initiative that he felt strongly enough about to continue to work on. That's enough explanation for me."

"You're too trusting," Alex laughed as she playfully nudged him with her foot.

"You should be grateful I am or I would have listened to Sam and dragged you into the Tower the first time I met you," Steve pointed out as he started cleaning up what was left of the snacks. "And you don't get to talk Miss 'let me invite a man who beat the crap out of another man into my apartment'."

"There were extenuating circumstances there." It wasn't like Alex could really argue with his assessment.

"There are always extenuating circumstances," Steve got up and went into the kitchen. "Now, it's seriously time for you to go to sleep, given you have class tomorrow."

"What are you, my mom?" Alex asked as she settled deeper into the couch, stretching her legs out.

Steve laughed as he walked over to the couch. "You need anything else? Another pillow or blanket? Maybe actually sleeping in the guest room where there is a comfortable bed?"

"Goodnight Steve," Alex called as she rolled over so her back was to him.

"You are ridiculous," Steve said as he walked toward his bedroom. "Good night."

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 122

It was your sure surprise the very next morning, when WHiH ran an exclusive story about Fisk and his vision for Hell’s Kitchen. You would have thought he’d want nothing to do with them, but then again… he’d probably just been trying to bait you. There were still so many questions you had about this entire ordeal, but… Tony had said not to overreact. And that he’d look into it. So that meant he would, and you shouldn’t worry about it. 

Which was ideal. Because you had almost too many things to do, having double-booked yourself for lunch- twice, uptown, downtown, then uptown and downtown, and then midtown later for an interview. And before all that you had a few morning meetings to get to in similarly too many places. It didn’t leave a lot of time for you to say good morning or even goodbye to Tony as you rushed out. 

He was awake, of course. Working. But not in the lab. Distracted by this freshly new dangerous thing the two of you had seemingly gotten wrapped up in. You were only able to impart a meager kiss, one that was easy to tell he tried to drag out. But you simply couldn’t, a sorrow that you passed to him and promised to make it up later. 

Then you were off. 

A weird feeling followed you around most of the day. Though you were in and out of your car between each point of contact, it felt like- ...well. It wasn’t unusual for people to be watching you. Looking at you. Most likely paparazzi. Tourists recognizing who had just walked by their line of sight. Fans. That sort of thing. That had mostly become background noise in your daily life. 

But this was something different. You chalked it up to an overactive imagination and the lingerings of adrenaline after coming face to face with one of the darker shadows of New York City. But- ...but… 

The more you focused in, as you walked from the car- pointedly a few times to grab more coffee than you could handle at whatever cafe was nearby- no. Someone was definitely following you. And the more you tried to talk yourself out of it, the more time you lost to do anything about it. 

Quadruple lunch meetings had come and gone. A sturdier chill had set in as the sun had gone down. It was dark- and you were heading into the CNN building for a live interview- and someone was waiting outside. All of this you had to shove deep down because you couldn’t appear antsy on television, even if the CNN anchors were more friend than foe. You tried to forget about it for the next two hours as you prepped and then went on. But it was there. Lingering in the back of your mind. 

You thought to call Tony, as soon as you gave everyone a handshake and exited to the green room. Tony would come and get you. Tony would keep you safe. But if you were overreacting? What then? You’d be wasting his time… but if not? What then? What if Fisk had hired someone to follow you? 

What if Fisk was setting up some grand plan. Moving chess pieces. Clearly  Tony had covered for you at the gala last night. And anyone with eyes knew Tony would practically do anything for you. A thread a few had followed in the past. Liability that you sometimes were. But what if it was more than that? 

What if Fisk could orchestrate a murder? Tony was too smart for that, you reasoned. He’d see through something like that. Fisk couldn’t manipulate Tony that way. Use his anger as an outlet for whatever pretend greater-good he thought he was doing. Yet… it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, was it? 

And someone had been following you around- 

“LUNA, call Tony-” 

You had been waiting outside the building, pondering this all, and watched these words solidify in the air when someone grabbed your arm and a noise just short of a shriek escaped you-

A noise that startled Tony on the other end of the line. He shouted something unintelligible- your mind was racing too hard to hear him as you whirled on your heel, arm up to strike- 

“Hey!” Steve backed off immediately. “I’m sorry-! I didn’t-” 

“Steve what the fuck!” Your heart was racing a million miles a second. 

He put both his hands up. “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to frighten you-” 

In your ear, Tony’s voice furthered your embarrassment. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?” 

Trying to steady yourself, you shook your head at no one in particular. “Sorry, Tony.” Making it clear, as you held your hand up to press a few fingers at your earpiece. “I thought I was being followed. Turns out it was just Steve.” 

“I wasn’t following you.” Frowning heavily now. 

“Do I need to come down there?” “No, I’m fine. Sorry to bother you.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll leave you to it.” The line silenced out. 

Steve crossed his arms. “You alright? I know you weren’t expecting me but you-” 

“What the hell are you doing outside of CNN at eight PM? And why are you grabbing me?” Why was he here? 

He looked at you in frustrated disbelief. “I didn’t grab you- I touched your arm- I called your name but you didn’t seem to hear me. I startled you- I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to. Is everything alright?” 

So. He’d been watching you from… somewhere, for some reason- seeing you stand on the sidewalk in front of a building, probably staring off into space. He’d called out to you- you’d ignored him. Or been so in your own head that you just hadn’t heard him. Which would probably indicate something was off. 

You tried to get your agitations to dissipate. There was no value being upset with him. He really hadn’t done anything wrong. ...except… “It’s alright- I’m sorry. Just- what are you doing here?” Had he been following you around all day? Was that what you’d been feeling? ...god you hoped not. 

He struck a keenly defensive pose. “What- I can’t have business in the city, too?” And when you made a face at him, lips quirked in a pout and brows raised, he dropped his shoulders with a sigh. “Alright. I was just coming out of a dinner date.” 

“Oh?” Interest piqued immediately. 

“Don’t. It didn’t go well.” The tiny burst of blue from him seemed to suggest this was all true. Not that you thought Steve would lie to you. 

“Oh.” Now you felt extra bad. Steve had had a rough night and had been trying to talk to you and you’d basically screamed at and attacked him- and almost called Tony on him. What a mess. You gave him a little nudge. “Well. If you believe in fate…” 

“I’m not sure I do.” Though he perked up with a small smile. 

You shrugged. “Me either. But. How about some dessert? You can tell me all about her.” It would be terribly nice to have some normal after this entire shitfest. 

He seemed to warm almost immediately. “I’d like that.” 

A dessert date to cap off your night. Not the worst thing in the world. 

                                                  --- 

You took Steve to a not-so-secret place, which may have been a major folly, but it was close to the Tower. So less of a walk home. Which was what you wanted. While you were over the idea that Steve had been following you around (happy coincidences could happen sometimes, right?), you still had that lingering feeling that someone had been keeping their eyes on you all day. 

Calling ahead eased at least some of the attention as you took a private booth in the back. Aside ordering and refreshing drinks, the two of you were left mostly alone while he bumbled through trying to explain that dinner date hadn’t really been a date. 

Sharon Carter was the woman he’d been seeing this evening- a name that rang familiar instantly. “-she was one of the very first people who came to see you. After that mess at the Triskelion.” You hadn’t looked much into her after that, figuring she must have just been someone Steve had gotten friendly with during his time in DC. 

“Oh, yeah?” Clearly not having known that. He probably hadn’t been conscious during her time there. “Makes sense. She was put right next to my apartment by Fury. Keeping an eye on me.” 

“How like him.” Trying not to ruin the evening, but unable to help your massively dry tone. “Even knowing that- you’re okay with her?” Sounded like… even though the woman was just doing her job, she’d still been spying. 

He gave an uneasy shrug, sticking his fork deep into a piece of three-layer cake. “She was just following orders. Besides. Didn’t you just tell me after the job was done she came to check on me?” 

You couldn’t help a light smile. “I guess I did. ...so what went wrong?” 

“I’m not sure.” Said on a sigh. “She’s working for the CIA now.” 

“How nice.” 

“-said she was in town. Asked if I had time to meet up. But, when we sat down it was…” He struggled a little. Stewing lightly. 

“...awkward?” 

Looking up from his thoughts, he caught your gaze and then nodded. “I guess you could say that. I might’ve said uncomfortable, but… I don’t know who I’m being unfair to by saying it.” A small pause that finally led to, “I guess I don’t really know how to talk to girls.” 

“Maybe you two just need some more time together.” Trying to look on the bright side of things. He wouldn’t have said yes to a dinner if he didn’t like her in some capacity. And Steve deserved someone nice. 

“I think you’re being a little too optimistic.” Showing a shade of shyness, as his eyes dropped with a shake of his head, grinning. Although in a self-deprecating way. 

You tipped your head to the side, eyebrow arched. “What do you mean by that?” 

“I’m not uh…” Sitting in a small heap in his seat, like someone had cut his tensed muscles slack. At ease with being genuine with you, even if it wasn’t working out in his own favor. “It’s probably just me. I’m not- uh…” When you continued to stare at him, waiting for him to find whatever the hell he was trying to say, his grin turned a little bashful as he crossed his arms. “I’m no Tony Stark. Let’s put it that way.” 

The laugh that ejected out of you surprised the both of you, and you had to raise your hand to cover your mouth. “I’m sorry- I’m not- I’m not laughing at you-” 

He was grinning a little more fully then as he set his arms on the table, leaning forward to give you a look of implication. “Sure you’re not.” 

“Really! Really I’m not.” Trying to get your giggles under control. Reaching over you laid your hand atop his, giving him a little pat-pat. “No one’s asking you to be Tony Stark, Steve. Some girls- a lot of women in fact- don’t like the whole suave playboy thing. I didn’t.” 

“Uh huh.” Sassing you just a little. 

“I didn’t!” Trying to defend yourself. “Stop looking at me like that!” Giving his hand a little swat then. “I didn’t-” 

“You know, there’s a saying about protesting too much-” 

“Oh shut up.” Not meaning it in the slightest. The look you two shared was an easy warm one, all smiles. “It was gross. We didn’t start dating until he grew out of that. Check my timeline, if you have to.” 

He waved his hand at you. “I trust you.” 

“Yeah. Well. Anyway. A lot of women don’t like that.” 

“And what do women like? I’m pretty sure I have no idea.” Open again as he looked to you for some sort of catch-all answer. 

“Depends on the woman.” There just was no straight answer. No god-send that he was looking for. But when he implored you with those soft blue eyes of his, you couldn’t help but try. “I dunno. We like… someone genuine. And kind. Trustworthy… loyal… funny- you know- all things you’ve got in spades.” Trying just to give him a little boost. He seemed so down about his bad not-a-date. 

“Right. ...you think I’m funny?” 

“If I’d been drinking a minute ago, it would have come out of my nose.” It was nice, the soft laughter the two of you shared. You gave his hand another comforting pat before retreating so you could pick at your own slice of pie. “And you’re just fine, you know. Talking to women. You talk to me just fine.” 

Hesitancy circled around him. “You’re different. I’ve known you a lot longer. Some things are just… easier.” 

“Well I said maybe you two need more time together. You just need to get a little more comfortable, that’s all.” Hoping that was the case. It would suck to be wrong- more for Steve than for you. 

“I don’t know.” Another sigh. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just not meant to be.” Another ripple of sorrow touched over him. 

“Her? Or at all?” Already knowing exactly what he was getting at. 

His eyes dropped. “Maybe I already missed my opportunity.” 

There was a name here. Neither of you needed to speak it. Because you just couldn’t help yourself, you reached over again, settling both your hands over his then. You waited until he looked up at you. “I’m not Dr. Linnet, but, there’s definitely a lot of trauma and grief that you need to go through, before you feel comfortable. But- you went to see Sharon- you wanted to see her tonight. Even if it didn’t go right, that’s already more than enough to know that you want a chance to… not even start over. But. Just continue. You deserve to live too, you know? You deserve a life.” 

It was the easiest thing in the world to be gentle with him. Steve was tough, but he was also an incredibly soft soul. You’d figured that out a while ago. He had a lot he needed to process. You hoped he was going to therapy. His life had not been a fair or easy one. And he was clearly still holding on to a lot. But he shouldn’t be denied anything, because of what he’d had to leave behind. 

His eyes held steady on your hands over his, and then lifted, holding your gaze in silence for a little too long. But you let him, under the pretense that he was trying to think about all this. And when apparently he came to a conclusion, he drew a deep breath in and then let it out, his hand turning palm up to grasp yours lightly. A smile wasn’t too far behind. “Thanks. For all that. And… maybe you’re right.” 

“I am right.” Wedging just a little bit of levity in to ease the air. 

When he huffed out a laugh you supposed it worked. “Yeah. Maybe.” 

“You say maybe again and I’m gonna start charging.” Teasing him a little. 

He grinned again, in a lighter way, still staring at you. His mouth opened- the drop of your name quiet- almost a little hesitant- 

But it was so quiet that it got lost as the waitress approached, calling you at the same time. The both of you looked up. She was terribly uneasy and nervous- “Ma’am, I’m sorry… I’m not sure which of our patrons- I just wanted to let you know there’s a lot of people with cameras parked on the sidewalk outside.” 

Annoyance took a dark hold of you. “Fucking paparazzi.” Mood ruined. Couldn’t you ever have anything nice? Couldn’t you just be a normal fucking person? Go out with your friends without security? “Alright- just- can we have the check- and we’re going to need to leave around back.” 

She nodded helplessly. Not like she could say no. “Of course. Again- I’m sorry.” 

You waved her off. “It’s not your fault. It’s okay. Don’t panic. Everything will be alright. I really appreciate you letting me know.” At least you hadn’t walked right into a trap. It was easy to figure out exactly what had leaked to them. You and Steve had gone out for dessert at a classy restaurant all alone and had been laughing and smiling at each other all night. 

Because nobody understood what close friendships looked like these days. 

As she left Steve sat a little more straight in his seat. “What should we do?” 

“I’m gonna call Tony to come pick us up. Happy’s already out for the night.” Knowing your pick up at CNN was the last thing on his to-do list before he was off. He’d come get you, of course, if you asked. Without a word. But he deserved time to himself, too. “We’ll go out through the back and wait. No big deal.” Trying your very best to make it seem like that was the case. But… 

“Isn’t it?” 

“It’s not-”

“You seem pretty angry.” 

This stopped you immediately and you couldn’t help but feel awful. Your frown was immediate. “I’m sorry. It just- it sucks, you know? I’m so fucking tired of having to call security to watch my perimeters. I’m tired of having to worry about what story is gonna come out in the gossip mags the next morning. Not being able to go anywhere I want- having to ignore people taking sneak pictures of me- I just… I want a life too, you know?” Grinning then, although in a terribly frustrated way. 

He returned it. “Yeah. Yeah, I get it.” 

You hoped your smile got across your gratitude for his understanding. Deciding to try and look like a normal person, you went for your cell phone in your bag instead of quick calling him with your earcuffs. The waitress came back and laid the bill on the table- but Steve batted at your hand and then grabbed it up with a look of don’t try me- so you didn’t, instead rolling your eyes fondly and calling Tony instead. 

He picked up on the second ring. “I’m very popular tonight, it seems.” 

“Yeah, me too. Steve and I got caught at a dessert place. Apparently cars are parked everywhere on the sidewalk. If I send you the location can you please come pick us up around back?” Asking, not demanding.

“For you? Anything- well- for you and a slice of cherry pie.” 

“I’ll pick one up before we go.” 

“Thank you, honey. I’ll be there in ten. I love you.” “I love you, too. Thank you.” Knowing he’d already tapped your location, you put your phone away and quickly raised a hand to the waitress before she scurried off with Steve’s cash. “Can we actually get a piece of cherry to go?” 

                                                 ---

Steve was a little too tight by your side, in a protective mood it seemed, as the manager escorted you through the kitchen, out into a private hall, and then through the back of the building to the backside. She asked if you wanted her to stay, but you told her you’d both be fine to wait outside, so she excused herself, apologized for the trouble, and then closed the door- you also heard her lock it behind herself. But. You supposed that was fair. 

A chill crept up your spine. It was still pretty cold outside this early in February. “Tony said he’d be here soon.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Steve crossed his arms, looking left and then right. 

That weird feeling came back very suddenly, and had you stepping closer towards him. Steve hadn’t been following you around- someone far more opportunistic did. Seeing as it only took you a single minute to leave the building for them to drop down from a fire exit ladder on the opposite building. Despite yourself- despite knowing you could handle this- despite knowing better- for some reason you defaulted. 

Maybe it was just because this man- this man in black- had absolutely been fucking following you around all day. You knew it then. This crushing feeling of anxiety eating you up as you tucked yourself closer to Steve, grabbing at his arm as the man stood. He really was going all in on the masked marauder look. Black pants. Black shirt. Black gloves with wraps- but strangely he was hiding his eyes. Quite literally. Bandana tucked over his head and blindfold tied tight around his eyes. 

Steve’s fight-or-flight kicked immediately, and he half stepped in front of you, one arm out. “Hey- I don’t know what you think you’re doing pal, but-” 

“I’m not here for you. I just want to speak to her.” Voice unfamiliar. 

You felt Steve’s protest bubbling up but you stopped it with a firm voice, “You’ve been following me around all day.” An air of uncertainty suddenly swirled around this masked man. Maybe he thought you were stupid. “That’s right. You think I didn’t notice you?” Trying even harder. He hadn’t followed you around in daylight looking like this. If you could convince him you knew who he was-

“I don’t have a lot of time.” Side-stepping the issue. “I’m here to tell you to stop what you’re doing with Fisk.” 

“I’m not doing anything with Fisk.” 

“You were at his charity event.” Stepping just a little closer.

Both you and Steve held your ground as you spoke again. “I go to a lot of charity events. So what?” No need to overtly defend yourself. To say you didn’t know he’d been the one hosting it. You owed this man nothing. “If you were smart-” If he was smart, he’d know you and Tony would never get involved with Fisk. 

“Either way. Stay out of it.” 

You bristled. “You think I don’t know what he’s up to? What he is?” Or probably more accurately, what he did to people.  “Or do you think I’m just a helpless moron hoping he’s not?”

The man shook his head, light smirk on the corner of his mouth. “I’m not asking you to rely on some forsaken sense of mercy he does not possess. This is personal. And I don’t need your intervention.” 

“Who the hell do you think you are? You follow me around all day just to blow up my dinner, corner me in an alley, and demand I stay out of your way? You have no idea who you’re dealing with.” You would not be pushed around. It was obvious, now, that he was behind this. He’d gotten lucky with Steve. But fortune favored the bold.

And he certainly was a bold one. 

“Neither do you.” 

Tony’s voice called from the sidewalk, “Hey, Dread Pirate Roberts. I’d back off, if I were you.” Both you and Steve turned to look- the man in the mask did not. Tony was posing, car door open, half leaning on it. “Situation’s not looking like it’s gonna go your way.” 

The man suddenly wore a very bitter grin. “Good. You’re here. Easier to get this across once. Fisk intends to rain fire on Hell’s Kitchen. And I don’t need help. So I’m telling you-” 

Hands in his pockets, Tony sauntered a little closer. Seemingly terribly unbothered. “Would help if I were in more of a listening mood, but. I’ve yet to have my dessert, so. You’ll have to try again later.” 

“Do you people do nothing but stand around and quip?” He was getting agitated. 

“Fisk knows what you’re up to.” You said suddenly. “I’m pretty sure you’re a huge thorn in his side right now.” 

“Good. And I should be the only one.” 

Finally stopping in front of you and Steve (and you felt the heaviness of Steve’s confusion mixed with frustration about being left out on this one), Tony directed a tip of his head the man’s way. “So what’re you doing here, then? Menacing a woman and an army vet in an alley? For shame.” From his pocket he pulled a USB stick and held it up. “First one’s free.” 

The man didn’t even look at it. ...had he moved his head even once since he’d dropped in front of you? “I don’t need your help, Stark.” 

Tony grinned. “Of course not. That’s what they all say. But better safe than sorry- especially if you’re getting involved with Fisk. If he doesn’t go the murder route- which he probably will- he might try and bring the law into it. Vigilantism is illegal, for the most part. Something I’m sure you understand. And I'm sure he'd love to make an example out of you. If you get into trouble- and you will- I might be in a good mood. Stark Industries is pretty in the know for great lawyers these days.” Staring him down- ...if he could even see through that mask. Tony waited, letting the moment hang before waggling the stick. “Understood?” 

The fire that the man in black had dropped in with had been completely extinguished so suddenly. Killed so easily by something Tony had said. A certain fear gripped him. Icy and painful. Reaching up he took hold of the USB. “Understood.” Resentment and bitterness bubbled out of him as he turned and jumped up to catch the ladders he’d come down on, climbing and then twisting his way up higher and higher until he was out of sight on the rooftop. 

Just when you felt like you were catching your breath, Steve settled his hands on his hips. “Anyone gonna tell me what that was about?” 

Tony shrugged. “Superhero world’s getting bigger all the time.” 

Steve made a face at him. “Who is Fisk? And who was that?” 

You put a gentle hand on his arm. “Let’s get back to the Tower. I think we’ve done enough talking about this out in the open.” 

His ire backed off as he looked at you. “Yeah. Alright. ...this the word I was waiting to hear back on? Because it’s a little late.” Ribbing you. But… taking it a little personally, too. 

Tony sighed. “Better late than never.” 

[calligraphist-artemisia]

The Sun Prince (Chapter 6)

Summary:  It was an accident. A simple misstep that sent him plunging into the darkness and waking an ancient magic. Now Prompto has to deal with the consequences of making a deal with an Astral and learn how to control the magic blooming inside of him.

Also posted on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the username “kishirokitsune”

I now have an incredible beta-reader to help me polish up chapters and stay on track for where I need to be! And also has been super patient in helping me find and fix mistakes, as well as flesh out scenes. 

-----

6. Across the Great Ocean

There were only so many interesting pictures he could take when they were surrounded by the sparkling blue waters of the Cygillian Ocean. He got plenty when they first left, including a selfie of himself with the lighthouse in the background, as per Noctis' request to take more pictures of himself, but his interest waned the further they got from the shores of Lucis.

Prompto flopped onto the bench seat next to Noctis, who was turned so he could stare into the water. “See anything cool?”

Noctis shrugged. “Hard to see anything when we're going this fast.”

Prompto refrained from looking over the edge, knowing his motion sickness would kick in hard if he did so. He was doing well so far, but he wasn't going to tempt fate. He looked at his camera instead. “Yeah, it's too bad we can't stop and let you fish; I bet there’s lots of big ones here, too. But we shouldn't keep Lady Lunafreya waiting.”

“It'll be good to see her again, though,” Noctis said with a soft sigh.

Prompto deleted a blurry picture of the shoreline and then looked away from the camera to face his friend. Noctis moved so he was sitting in what Ignis would consider a manner befitting a prince.

“Wanna look?” he asked, holding up his camera.

Noctis nodded and scooted over until they were nearly touching.

Praying that his blush wasn't obvious, Prompto turned the screen so his friend could see as well, and began the process of saving the pictures they liked the most.

“But that one's awful!” Prompto burst out when Noctis indicated he should save one of his selfies. The sun had caught at a bad angle in it, making his face look much redder than it really was. “No way, dude!”

“I like it,” Noctis said.

“Nope. No, I'll take another one, but we're not saving that. I look like I've been outside all day and got a terrible sunburn!” Prompto said, erasing it even as Noctis made a sound of complaint. “Hey, look how silly Gladio looks in this one!”

Gladio, who was sitting on the bench in front of them, glanced up from his book, but made no move to turn to see it for himself. He listened to them for a moment before going back to his reading.

Prompto saved that one and Noctis tried to stifle his laughter.

After a while, Ignis exited the bridge where he'd been talking with Cid about what they should expect once they arrived in Altissia. The old man insisted on coming along after all the hard work he put into the repairs, and they were all grateful for his presence, especially when it meant the Regalia wouldn't be unguarded while they went ashore.

Ignis joined them just in time to see a photo featuring Noctis with his mouth wide open in preparation of biting into a juicy burger.

“I think Lady Lunafreya will quite appreciate that one,” he said with a note of amusement in his voice.

Noctis shot his adviser a dirty look. “We're not keeping it.”

“I dunno, I kinda like it,” Prompto teased, pretending to think about it.

“You deleted the selfie you didn't like!”

“My camera, my rules,” Prompto decreed, holding it out of Noctis' reach as the prince stretched forward and tried to snatch it from his hands. Prompto grinned, silently daring his best friend to try again… and forgetting that Noctis was never one to back down when his pride was on the line.

Noctis lunged and Prompto squawked as they both went tumbling from the bench, landing in a heap on the deck of the Royal Vessel.

Gladio chuckled at the sight they made.

The camera slid out of Prompto's reach, but before he could scramble to retrieve it, Noctis rolled over on top of him and pinned him in place. Prompto felt like his face was on fire, his heart beating so loudly that he was sure everyone else could hear it, even over the pounding of the waves against the boat as they sped across the water.

“I won't let you up until you promise to delete it,” Noctis said, his mouth twisted up into a triumphant smirk.

Prompto blinked, his mouth suddenly dry. “I, uh, no?”

Why were words so hard?

“Then I guess we'll be here for a while,” Noctis said.

Prompto was absolutely not staying in that position for any longer than he needed to. Nope. No way. Either his head would spontaneously combust or something else bad would happen, like the ocean swallowing them all to bury his mortification, and both of those would require too many explanations.

He made a half-hearted attempt to wiggle free, but Noctis' hold was firm. “Okay, okay! I'll do it.”

The pressure lifted and Noctis stood so that he could ease himself back onto the bench seat, his back evidently bothering him after their little tussle.

Prompto retrieved his camera and checked it over for damage as he sat back down next to Noctis. His finger hovered over the delete button and for a moment he entertained the idea of saving it instead.

He pressed down.

“There. All gone,” Prompto told him.

“Thanks,” Noctis said, flashing him a smile. “Have any good ones of Iggy on there?”

Prompto grinned back. “Let's find out.”

Ignis remained impassive as they scrolled through to find any of him that could be deemed silly or embarrassing, but no matter how hard they looked, they found nothing. He remarked that he had no “bad sides”, which only encouraged the pair to try harder.

As they drew closer to Altissia, birdsong filled the air. A flock of seagulls flew in circles overhead, never breaking away to land on the rocky outcrops.

“How odd,” Ignis murmured, adjusting his glasses as he watched them.

“What's up, Iggy?” Gladio asked.

Prompto and Noctis looked up from their plotting.

Ignis gestured to the birds above them. “The behavior of the seagulls here is unusual, is all. I don't believe they typically fly in a formation like this for so long.“

A low cry echoed across the water, almost haunting in tone, and the Royal Vessel began to slow. Prompto was about to ask Cid why they were stopping, when a horn jutted up out of the water, followed by the massive form of a whale-like creature. It breached completely from the water and then crashed down, making the boat rock violently.

“Wh-what the hell is that thing?” Prompto asked, gripping the side of the boat so hard that his knuckles turned white.

Noctis leaned over the edge, his eyes wide with delight. “Whoa, look at all of those fish!”

“The fish?! That's what you're focusing on and not the giant creature trying to capsize us?” Prompto asked incredulously.

“Well now,” Cid's voice cut across the deck. “Never thought Ah'd get the chance to see the Legendary Bismarck. Count yerself lucky, boys. The fishermen 'round here count his sighting as a blessing.”

Noctis was still gazing at the sea creatures as though he were seconds away from leaping in to join them.

Ignis gave a hopeless sigh, removing his glasses to clean off the ocean spray. “I suppose we could stop for a short while.”

Noctis had his fishing rod out before Ignis stopped speaking, quickly switching lures to something better suited for the ocean. He settled into a comfortable position and cast out his line, lost in his personal joy of fishing.

Best friend that he was, Prompto dutifully raised his camera and captured him in action.

 -----

Before they disembarked at the Altissian docks, Ignis made them all change out of their Crownsguard uniforms and into something that would allow them to walk around without attracting too much attention. Prompto didn't see how a white shirt and black cap was going to stop anyone from recognizing the Crown Prince of Lucis, but it was worth a try.

Cid waved them off, promising to keep an eye on things from the Royal Vessel. As agreed, he would take off first thing in the morning, retreating to a safe distance in case things went poorly with Leviathan.

“You can find Weskham down at a little place called 'Maagho'. He'll help,” he told them.

The only problem was actually finding it.

The streets were built like a labyrinth. Walkways crossed over one another, stairs led up one way and down another, some into dead-end streets. Everywhere they turned, there were fancy stalls set up with unique trinkets, all designed to attract tourists. At one, Noctis found a cactuar figure and couldn't resist purchasing it. Talcott would appreciate the gesture for sure.

Ignis had a map, but it was virtually useless for anything except vaguely pinpointing where they were standing within the city limits.

Gladio peered over Ignis' shoulder, trying to help make sense of which way they needed to go. By the way Ignis kept frowning and shaking his head, Prompto assumed they weren't having much luck. Really, they would be better off asking for directions from one of the locals.

He left them to it and joined Noctis in investigating one of the many market plazas. Everything was so colorful and lively that it was hard to figure out where to start, so they picked one to their left and began to work their way around, taking a look at everything there was to see.

It was easy to forget they weren’t on vacation.

He and Noctis stopped near a stall selling a number of unusual hats. Prompto spotted a captain’s hat and wondered if he should get it for Cid as a small way to thank him for everything he’d done for them.

“So, when do you want to tell Ignis and Gladio?” Noctis asked as they moved away without buying anything.

Prompto’s mood soured. “I dunno. Figured we’d get settled in first and then I’d do it.” He met Noctis’ gaze and something about the intensity he found in those dark eyes made him look away with a shiver.

“Do you want to talk about it some more? We never had time to go over what Rhyos told us and work it into your explanation,” Noctis said, keeping his voice low. It was doubtful that anyone around them would glean anything important from their conversation, but it never hurt to be careful.

Prompto shook his head. “Probably better not to mess with it. Look, let’s just worry about finding Maagho’s right now. That’s what’s important.”

Noctis studied him for a moment and then gave an exhausted sigh. “Fine.”

Prompto swallowed, fighting back the sickening feeling that he was a disappointment. Why couldn’t he do the one thing he promised both Noctis and Iris? Why was it so hard to find the strength to tell Gladio and Ignis?

He kept his head down and was only able to muster up a fake smile until they reached the very last stall, which had a sign proclaiming that they sold the World’s Best Gelato.

Prompto had seen at least three other places proclaiming the same thing since they began their walk from the docks.

“Do you think we should?” Prompto asked, glancing back at Ignis and Gladio. They were still looking over the map, though they had acquired help in the form of a young woman whom Prompto assumed was a local. It never ceased to amaze him how easily Gladio charmed the ladies, despite his intimidating stature, but she looked perfectly at ease as she stood next to him and helped map out their best path.

“We'll get them some, too,” Noctis said, choosing not to remark on the fact that they'd finally asked for help. “What kind do you want?”

Prompto took a few minutes to deliberate before settling for a vanilla swirled with Duscaen orange, while Noctis got one called sea-salt for himself, a simple chocolate and vanilla for Gladio, and one ulwaat berry for Ignis.

By the time they rejoined their friends, the woman was gone.

“So, did you figure it out?” Prompto asked.

“I believe so,” Ignis said as he folded up the map. He made no complaints about having dessert before dinner, wordlessly accepting it from Noctis. “Maagho is only accessible by gondola, so we will have to take a ride to reach it.”

“We also heard that Lady Lunafreya's wedding dress is on display somewhere around here. Sounds like something we should check out,” Gladio mentioned. He took a huge spoonful of gelato and stuck it into his mouth, the very taste morphing his face into one of bliss.

Prompto looked down.

He was sure it was a beautiful gown, perfectly suited for the Oracle, but it was also a reminder of a wedding that never happened. A wedding staged by Niflheim in a pretend gesture of peace. A wedding that he could have sworn was still going to happen.

He frowned, trying to remember when they had gone from “going to Altissia to get Noct hitched” to “going to Altissia to wake Leviathan and earn her blessing”. Had it been when Insomnia fell and he just never caught on to their change of plans? Was it some unspoken thing?

A spoon appeared inches from his nose and Prompto went cross-eyed to look at it.

“It's weird. You should try it,” Noctis said before shoving the ice-cream into Prompto’s mouth.

“Wha-mmph!”

Prompto refrained from spitting out the gelato as salt hit his tongue. There was a sweetness behind it, easing the taste, but it didn't stop him from making a face. “Oh, that is weird.”

“Told you,” Noctis said as he swiped a scoop of Prompto's in return.

“Hey!”

A small scuffle broke out between them, which by some miracle didn't leave either of them with their dessert melting on the ground. Ignis attempted to calm them, while Gladio stood by and did nothing.

“If you're quite done,” Ignis said sternly, swiping Noctis' cup of gelato and replacing it with his own. He took an experimental bite of seasalt. He frowned. “May I inquire as to why you chose this flavor?”

“Some kids were talking about how good it was. You're always telling me I need to branch out more, so I figured I'd try it,” Noctis said, shrugging. He looked much happier with the flavor of ulwaat berry.

“Clearly they have poor taste.” Ignis gave Gladio a look as he snuck in to try it for himself.

The shield hummed thoughtfully and swapped his half-eaten cup for the sea-salt. “It's not that bad.”

Once they finished eating, Ignis took out the map and guided them through the streets. It took them a few wrong turns to find it, but it wasn't too long before they were standing at the store front where Lunafreya's wedding dress was on display.

Prompto snapped a quick picture and tried not to think about how something meant to bring renewed hope to the people of Eos was instead the centerpiece of horrific tragedy.

Noctis took his time standing there, voicing none of his thoughts to his companions. It was only when he began to walk away of his own volition that anyone dared to break the silence.

“Now we just have to find one of those gondolas, right?” Prompto asked. “Shouldn't be too hard.”

It wasn't.

Everyone was able to breathe more easily once they were on the boat and off the winding streets. They relaxed and enjoyed the slow voyage, and Prompto could tell that Noctis spent the time making mental notes of every fishing spot, just in case.

As Ignis said, Maagho was only accessible by boat and was located in the underbelly of the city. It allowed for a crystal-clear view of the broad Cygillian. Fishing vessels were able to dock around the back of the restaurant, allowing easy access to fresh goods.

An older gentleman - whose hair had long been gray - stepped forward to welcome them, introducing himself as Weskham Armaugh, proprietor of Maagho.

He regarded Noctis with fondness and invited them to order whatever they liked from the menu.

For all that Altissia was the capital of Accordo and had a busy tourism industry, there was a peacefulness to the city that was different from anything they'd felt before. Insomnia was busy in an anxious way, constantly moving and never staying still. Even Lestallum, which was way more laidback than Insomnia, had a presence that moved with a sense of urgency or purpose.

Altissia was all about moving at your own pace.

It was nice.

If he had the time, Prompto knew he could spend days, maybe even weeks, exploring the city and not get bored of it. He mused on the odds that he could come back and do that one day as their food arrived and everyone began to eat.

They had chosen to sit at the bar, and Prompto was tucked between his best friend and Gladio, while Ignis was on the other side of Noctis, likely because the prince was the least likely to try and sample his food.

He listened to the conversations around him, hiding his grin into his food when Ignis broke away from talking to Weskham in order to scold Noctis for nonchalantly moving his vegetables over to his plate.

At least Weskham looked amused by their antics.

The peace couldn't last forever, of course. As Noctis requested a look at the dessert menu, a hush fell over the bar. The four of them turned around, fearing the worst, but saw no imperial guards coming for them.

Instead, there was a stern-looking woman with short blonde hair, dressed in a stylish turquoise suit. She carried herself with an air of importance as she made her way towards them.

“I believe that is First Secretary Camelia Claustra,” Ignis quietly told Noctis.

Prompto was sure they were about to be asked to leave the city. Why else would the First Secretary of Accordo travel down to speak with them personally? Just having them in the city meant her people were at risk of encountering imperial soldiers.

They all listened as she stated that she was aware that they were in Altissia to wake the Hyrdraean. She had already spoken about it with Lady Lunafreya, who was being kept in a safe location and hidden from the empire, but she still had reservations about allowing them to rouse the Tidemother.

It was with that information that Noctis agreed to speak with her at her private estate, and it was the most diplomatic act Prompto had ever witnessed from his friend.

“So, what do you think, Iggy?” Gladio asked once she was gone.

“I believe that speaking with her will be our best chance. Unless I'm mistaken, she has no desire to allow the Empire to gain complete control over Accordo. She must believe that allowing you and Lady Lunafreya to call upon Leviathan will be in her best interests, but we will not know for sure until Noct speaks with her,” Ignis said. He turned to Noctis, who looked stiff and uncomfortable at the reminder of why they were in Altissia. “I believe it's time for us to retire for the night. Tomorrow, you will be able to speak with her and we can make plans from there.”

Noctis nodded.

-----

Morning came bright and too early for Prompto, even after a night of restful sleep. A feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach dragged him down, preventing him from being his normal ray of sunshine. Luckily for him, Noctis was far grumpier in the mornings and all of Ignis' focus was on getting him ready for his meeting, while Gladio tried to help.

Ignis forced Noctis into a chair so he could properly fix his hair, and that was when Noctis’ eyes met Prompto’s from across the room.

Normally, there would be some form of silent communication which would pass between them, like Noctis begging his friend to save him from Ignis’ perfectionism, but all Prompto found was an unreadable expression.

Again, he was struck by the thought that he was a disappointment. That Noctis was angry with him for not keeping his promise. It was the only thing that made sense.

Suddenly, the airy room they’d been given felt suffocating.

He stood up, trying to remember any breathing exercises that would help, but his anxiety only rose as he garnered attention from Ignis and Gladio as well.

“Prompto, is something the matter?” Ignis asked.

“No!” Prompto blurted out, mild hysteria flooding his chest. “No, um, I just need to step out for some air, I think. Good luck with your meeting, Noct!” He gave his friend a thumbs up and then practically ran for the door and yanked it open.

From behind him, he caught the start of Gladio saying “Hang on, I’ll come--” but didn’t stop to hear the rest.

It was much easier to breathe out in the fresh air, and Prompto quickly hung a right to head out into the wider city. A walk was just what he needed to clear his head and calm down.

He let his thoughts drift, trying not to let himself get bogged down by the negative ones. He moved to the unfamiliar beat of a foreign land, standing out even as he went with the crowds, letting them direct him for a while, until finally he came to a fountain in an area that had less crowds.

Prompto took a seat on the raised edge and tilted his head back to look at the blue skies, letting a soft sigh pass over his lips.

Noctis was likely speaking with the First Secretary by then. He hoped his friend was faring well and that he hasn’t messed things up by running out on everyone, but he did feel better after his walk around the city. His mind was finally clear.

He knew he could tell them. Iris had helped him practice until his voice went hoarse and he was sure he had everything straight, and he didn't want to let her or Noctis down.

“What am I going to do?” he asked himself.

Prompto hadn't expected an answer, so when a dog barked right next to him, he nearly fell over in surprise. His eyes went wide at the sight of the white-and-cream dog staring up at him. He blinked, frowning as though he was having trouble believing what he saw.

“It can't be... Tiny?”

She barked again and wagged her tail in excitement.

Prompto laughed and reached out to pet her, his worries ebbing away as he lavished her with attention. He sat up after a moment and she hopped into his lap, clearly enjoying herself as she settled in.

“I'm really glad to see you, y'know? I was worried when you disappeared. When I was a kid, that is. If not for Lady Lunafreya's letter...”

If not for her letter, much of Prompto's life would be different. He never would have found the courage to reach out to Noctis and become his friend. He wouldn't have gotten to know Gladio or Ignis. Would he have made it out of Insomnia during the invasion? So many hadn't...

Tiny whined to get his attention and Prompto resumed petting her.

“I owe you a lot,” he told her. “Maybe you can help me again? I have to tell my friends something really important and I'm afraid of how they'll react. It's silly, I know it is. They'll be disappointed that I've hidden it from them, but maybe that's what scares me the most... I don't want to disappoint them. I've worked so hard to prove that I can stand by Noct's side and not get in the way. Some secrets are necessary...” His hand strayed to his wristband. “...but not this one.”

Tiny nudged his hand and he smiled at her.

Prompto was sure he made an odd sight, sitting on the edge of a fountain and talking to a dog, but being able to voice his thoughts to Tiny was helping his nerves settle. She was a very good listener.

“I just need to go up there and tell them. Like ripping off a bandage, right? It's too bad I can't take you with me when I do it, but you belong at Lady Lunafreya's side, not mine. She needs you,” Prompto told her.

A figure in white. The glint of light on the trident.

Prompto closed his eyes and pushed the vision away. “I don't think she's safe, Tiny. There's something – someone – who wants to hurt her. I know the First Secretary told us she's safe here, but...” He trailed off as he looked down at Tiny, whose twitching ears were the only indication that she was still listening. Her eyes were shut, as though she were asleep. “I guess you wouldn't be here if you thought she was in trouble. And this is a nice place to think.”

He sat there, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the laughter of children around him, the feel of soft fur between his fingers, and the chatter of the locals and tourists as they went about their daily routine. There was just enough going on around him that he didn't lose himself to negative thoughts.

By the time Tiny woke with a wide yawn, he felt ready to march back to the Leville and tell his friends everything.

She gazed up at him for a moment, and then stretched up to lick his cheek. With a soft bark, she jumped down and vanished into the crowds.

“Thank you,” Prompto whispered after her.

-----

Noctis didn’t know what to do.

After Prompto fled the room as though a pack of daemons were clawing at his heels, Ignis and Gladio turned to Noctis for answers. He had them, but they weren’t answers that were his to give. He stayed silent, just as he promised he would, and shrugged each time they asked.

He wished he could help somehow. Prompto was clearly struggling, and Noctis assumed that it had to do with his powers and the fact that he still hadn’t come clean about them, but it didn’t seem to matter how much he tried to reassure Prompto. All he could do was continue to be there for his friend, though if it went on for much longer, he doubted he would be able to stop Gladio and Ignis from tying Prompto down in order to get their answers.

Ignis sighed heavily. He did that sometimes, when he thought Noctis was being particularly stubborn about something, but was willing to let it go for the moment. “The two of you will have to tell us what’s going on eventually. I believe I speak for both of us when I say that we hope it is sooner rather than later.”

Noctis grunted and hoped that he was right and that was as far as Ignis was going to push.

“Still can’t believe he ran off like that. What the hell happened to the three of us escorting you to the estate?” Gladio asked grumpily.

“Plans change,” Ignis said, his tone one of patience. “I believe you are now ready to speak with the First Secretary, Noct. Shall we go now?”

Noctis breathed in deeply. “Yeah… Actually, could one of you stay in case Prompto comes back first? I don’t want him to feel left behind.”

“Very well,” Ignis agreed. “I will stay and look over our supply of curatives. It would be prudent to stock up before your Trial with Leviathan. Gladio, do you mind?”

Gladio stood up and stretched. “Sounds like a plan to me. Let’s get going, Noct.”

Hoping that he hadn’t just left Prompto to fend off Ignis on his own, Noctis left with Gladio. He was sure they’d be fine.

[elviefm]

is that [JOE KEERY]? no, that’s just [ELVIE CROFT]. [HE/HIM] is [TWENTY-FIVE] years old and is a [NIGHT JANITOR AT CURTAIN CALL]. rumor has it they’ve been in town for [ONE MONTH]. on a good day, they’re [JOCUND & PERSPICACIOUS]. but watch out! they can also be [SCATTERBRAINED & OBSTREPEROUS]. [SCRAWNY BY WALLOWS] plays in my head whenever i think of them. can’t wait to see them around Springhill! [sam, 23, est, she/her]

hey there demons! *ba dum tss* i’m sam and this is one of my favorite muses ever so without further ado, character info is under the cut and please message me if you would like to plot!

i. stats

ｆｕｌｌ ｎａｍｅ：elvin tupelo croft

ｐｒｅｆｅｒｒｅｄ ｎａｍｅｓ：el, elvie, spooky guy

ｈｏｍｅｔｏｗｎ：salem, massachusetts

ｄａｔｅ ｏｆ ｂｉｒｔｈ：october 31st, 1994

ａｇｅ： twenty - five

ｚｏｄｉａｃ：scorpio

ｏｒｉｅｎｔａｔｉｏｎ：demisexual

ｏｃｃｕｐａｔｉｏｎ：night janitor at curtain call movie theater

ｐｏｓ． ｔｒａｉｔｓ：jocund, perspicacious, loyal, open - minded.

ｎｅｇ． ｔｒａｉｔｓ：scatterbrained, obstreperous, flippant

ii. history

elvin tupelo “elvie” croft was born in salem, massachusetts ( yes, really ) on halloween day ( yes, really ). he's an only child and his father is the district attorney for essex county, massachusetts while his mother owns a small local business that sells witchcraft supplies such as crystals, herbs, grimoires, and more. interesting fact: she’s the descendant of an accused witch, meaning that elvie is as well.

as it turns out, beneath of the surface of the few tourist attractions that it has to offer, salem has a small town, stuck in the past vibe. it’s the sort of place where everyone knows everyone all their lives because no one ever leaves and no one ever moves in. he grew up in this…eccentric…environment, living in the same house all his life and only ever leaving to visit his grandparents in boston.

he was five years old when he saw his first horror movie ( an apathetic teenage babysitter let him stay up long past his bedtime to watch nightmare on elm street ) and from that moment on he was HOOKED.

when he started school, two things about him became apparent: 1) he was highly intelligent and 2) he struggled greatly with tasks such as sitting still and staying focused. he was tested ( a few times, much to his irritation ) and it turns out that he has a genius level iq and adhd.

he could have been one of those child prodigies who finished high school at the age of ten and then college at the age of fourteen, BUT his parents decided that they didn’t want him to miss out on the experience of going through school with peers his own age.

HOWEVER, as the smartest kid in class with glasses and braces and an insatiable obsession with all things horror and halloween, he…was picked on. mercilessly. he never had many friends, but he was content to go right home after school and spend the rest of the day reading comic books or watching horror movies or researching local urban legends and paranormal stories.

so, when he got to his senior year of high school, he was a shoe - in to be named class valedictorian ( he was ) and he was even getting ivy league offers. of course, his parents mainly his father were really pushing him to attend college and elvie, genius level iq and all…didn’t want to go. he had a van ( a turquoise monstrosity painted to look like the mystery machine ) and he just wanted to drive. alas, his dad was absolutely NOT having it.

he attended harvard for both his pre law and law school studies, breezed through classes, graduated with honors at the top of his class and once he passed the bar exam there were countless job offers waiting for him. elvie ignored them all and finally embarked on that road trip he had been meaning to take.

he’s been on the road for about a year now and he’s traveled all over the country. he often breezes into a town or a city, lives in his van, and takes up some odd jobs to squeeze a few dollars out of before he inevitably gets fired for messing up or not taking the work seriously or getting high on the job. he arrived in springfield a month ago, continuing his pattern or having fun and exploring somewhere he’s never been before.

iii. extras

his name is elvin but basically no one ever calls him that. his own parents don’t even particularly like the name. long story. most people call him elvie and some who are super close to him just call him el.

BIG RYAN BERGARA ENERGY. a huge believer in the paranormal and urban legends, and one of his favorite things to do when he goes somewhere new is check out the local cemeteries and haunted locales. unlike ryan, the poor guy he’s definitely NOT a scaredy cat in fact, all his life there’s been this running joke that he doesn’t seem to be scared of anything, and who knows? maybe he isn’t.

has the most cartoonishly exaggerated boston accent that one could ever hope to hear, except he doesn’t seem to realize it at all.

10/31 blaze it he’s a HUGE stoner.

he’s got jokes. stay vigilant.

he’s OBSESSED with all things horror, halloween, and 80s. he makes a lot of film references that are often so obscure that most people don’t even catch them.

he’s a lawyer! at least in the state of massachusetts. however, this is not at all common knowledge because…

most people don’t know how smart he actually is as he intentionally plays dumb and he’s really good at it. being high all the time and his natural chaotic energy is quite helpful in hiding his intelligence. he just doesn’t like to be seen as smart, so the whole once - brilliant law student thing? not common knowledge whatsoever. he tries not to mention the college he attended by name at all, but if he has to then he lies and says that he went to salem state.

and yes, he has SO MUCH chaotic energy. he’s the kind of person who will stick a fork in his microwave just to see what would happen out of sheer boredom. he has two pet mexican redknee tarantulas named freddy and jason who he just…fucking loses track of every other day. his favorite drink is literally black coffee mixed together with a can of monster energy and 5 ( f i v e ) teaspoons of sugar. he is c h a o s. he has absolutely NO IMPULSE CONTROL whatsoever.

he has slight Daddy Issues™. slight. when he was born, his dad was hoping that he would get a star athlete kid who would go on to follow in his footsteps and one day become a successful, respectable lawyer but instead he got…elvie. he’s never outright said that he’s disappointed but he didn’t need to. elvie’s a really difficult person to rattle but every time, without fail, he ends a phone call with his dad and he’s in a bad mood for the rest of the day.

his car is this PIECE OF JUNK giant turquoise van that he painted to look like the mystery machine. her name is laurie strode.

even though he makes constant pop culture references about horror movies and the 80s, but outside of those areas he’s completely clueless about pop culture. like, he can recite the entire scripts of the shining and empire strikes back and ferris bueller’s day off word for word, but if someone tried to talk to him about the new beyonce song or the latest marvel movie he would just stare blankly.

he has a HUGE sweet tooth. his favorite food is halloween candy and his favorite candy is black licorice disgusting i know.

he takes adderall for his adhd and he’s usually good about keeping up with it. started keeping them on his person in college because he realized that his meds were getting stolen and it’s a habit he’s held onto that doesn’t really keep his shit from getting stolen.

he’s good at…A LOT of things because he’s a really fast learner. he can play the guitar, he can draw, he did drama in high school. he just has to watch someone do something once and then he can usually immediately do it himself. this skill doesn’t extend to physical activities such as sports, however. he’s terrible at those.

he’s basically a cartoon character

iv. wanted connections

best friend from salem who travels with him *will probably submit as a wc

friends

cousin ( their grandparents would probably be from boston but otherwise anything really goes for this )

his weed dealer

smoking buddies

people who don’t like him / find him annoying

i know there are a lot of business owners so : people he worked for who have since fired him for being an all around awful employee.

has stolen his adderall

maybe someone who knows how smart he really is

romantic connections!

( these are just ideas and i’m trash at coming up with these, so please don’t feel limited by what’s listed here. )

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Not to sound stupid but are you okay in Paris? Just watching the tragic fire that is burning down Notre Dame cathedral in Paris. We are left speechless at the scale of this horror as it unfolds. Our thoughts and prayers go to the people of France at this time. How are the French coping?

It’s very surreal to be in Paris this evening. I just got back home myself with my visiting sister. 
She is asleep as I soon will be after finishing writing up this post. But I have a dram of whisky to keep me company until then.

I was running late to have dinner at one of my favourite traditional restaurants in Saint-Germain area of Paris. My uncle and his French wife and my visiting sister were waiting for me there patiently. I didn’t understand at first why there were a throng of people in my way - I felt like a trapped salmon swimming the opposite way. They were bustling through the street leading to Notre Dame; I thought it odd because it’s a small street hidden away from the tourist trap area around Saint Germain. 


Only when I sat down at the table to make my apologies to my family did the waitress and other small number of diners started to openly talk about something bad happening at Notre Dame. 


We stepped out and the small street was filling out of more people. It was surreal. It felt like there was some alien ship had landed nearby and people were going to see what was going on. It was only until one looked up into the clear Paris sky could one see the plumes of smoke and the first wisps of fire on the tower. 


It was a surreal sight. 


We stood there and watched open mouthed. In shock mostly. Around us were a mixture of Parisians, white, black, North African as well as foreign tourists of every nation it seemed. We all just stood there in shocked awe. 


We really didn’t get a great view as the police set up a cordon and everyone was pushed back. 


Many around me were in tears. Others took selfies and shared their disbelief with friends. Most watched in stunned silence. 


The thought had crossed people’s mind that perhaps it was a terrorist attack but that argument was quickly extinguished as clearly there was no explosion. 
All the signs pointed towards some disastrous and tragic accident. 


We left the scene and slowly walked to the Île Saint-Louis, the island in the middle of Paris next to the Île de Cite where Notre Dame stands on. We went back to my uncle’s apartment and had a stiff dram of whisky. We watched the French national news on television whilst also looking out of the apartment bay windows at the terrible sight of the roof and steeple reduced to an ashen shadow of itself.

My French aunt, a medieval historian by background, was inconsolable. She was in tears. Besides being a devout Catholic she has an infectious enthusiasm to point out historic things the rest of us would miss when we would often go for brisk winter walks after Sunday lunches, usually around Notre Dame. 


Here she was again but this time in inconsolable lamentation. Notre Dame de Paris was as she said the cradle of late medieval music. Much of the imagination of those involved in European, religion, culture and music is tied to this place she would never tire of pointing out. Late 12th and early 13th Century polyphonic repertory created at Notre Dame has provided an understanding of how musicians learned to capture rhythm in their notational systems. The innovative musicians Adam of St. Victor, Leonin, and Perotin were all connected to the cathedral in the 12th and 13th centuries. 


Although the building has been constantly reshaped over time, much of the architecture and sculpture dates back to the original building, which was completed in around a century beginning in the 1160s. 


It was much mutilated during both the Renaissance and the 18th century. It was desecrated during the French Revolution and by the early 19th century, the cathedral was was crumbling and half-ruined inside. 


The crowning of Napoleon as emperor followed by the success of Hugo’s novel focused attention on the building, prompting major restorations in the mid-19th century. Indeed it needed all the 19th century labours of Prosper Merimee, Victor Hugo, (Eugene) Viollet-le-Duc and (Jean-Baptiste) Lassus which allowed the Gothic art to be restored to its rightful place.

Notre-Dame de Paris is much loved by the millions of French people and foreigners who visit each year - yet they enter and go out again, I am sure, without quite understanding just what this cathedral is. 


Yes, it is the cathedral of French cathedrals, with one of the longest and richest of histories: the site of royal weddings, the consecration of Napoleon Bonaparte as emperor and the beatification of Joan of Arc. It is also where the public celebrates the lives of the great and good.

It was at Notre Dame in 1431 that Henry VI, king of England, was crowned king of France, and James V, king of Scotland, married Madeleine of France in 1537. Requiem masses were held there for presidents Charles de Gaulle and François Mitterrand.

But Notre Dame to be honest has been more revered by foreign visitors than the locals. This is not out of contempt for religion or for anything traditional. But more because of the over familiarity of having it permanently there that you forget that it is actually there. 


It’s a sin we all make with the places we live near to and even forgetting the traditions that underpin them. We just take them for granted and lazily neglect their importance of what they symbolise or represent. 


To many Parisians, the 850-year-old landmark is quite simply the heart of their city, its two Gothic square towers rising above surrounding buildings along the river Seine. But many forget - including many Parisians - too that Notre dame is the main spot from which all distances to other cities from the French capital are measured. 


And for good reason because Notre Dame Cathedral - commissioned by King Louis VII - was to be a symbol of Paris’ political, economic, intellectual and cultural power at home and around the world. The city had emerged as the centre of power in France and needed a religious monument to match its new temporal and spiritual status. In other words how much the religious life and proud traditions centred the life of a nation. But alas no more. Just as the political centre has been swept away in secularist revolution and reforms from the 18th Century onwards, so has the place of religion and tradition been blown on the winds of change. 


My suspicions are that Parisians will mourn the damage and the loss of Notre Dame but not necessarily feel the weight of the religious loss - outside of the Catholic faithful within France - in equal measure. This is the real loss. The church - whatever one may think of it - without question helped shape the idea of a French kingdom from the 13th Century onwards. So even though France has been a democratic secular state since the French Revolution, many French understand the cultural importance of Notre Dame as symbol intimately tied to the development of the idea of a French nation. As Victor Hugo put it, “La cathédrale était un lieu de refuge. Toute justice humaine expirait sur le seuil.”

My hope is out of the ashes of tragedy a spiritual as well as a cultural renewal might awaken France to respecting its roots and honour traditions that brought them greatness. As my French aunt reminded us this evening that Notre Dame was deliberately designed to inspire awe and to pull your gaze upwards, to think about things transcendent, whether it was God or the Catholic version of Christianity or the transcendent power of human engineering and ingenuity.

We need to restore Notre Dame not just to its former physical glory but to its cultural importance to help all of us to rise above pettiness of politics and think upon the transcendent values of faith and ingenuity. Victor Hugo thought of Notre Dame as a work of art authored by humanity itself, with no individual artist. It surpasses anything an individual can do and therefore becomes the best of what all of us can do.

The question that I ask myself from time to time is that how can we call ourselves culturally advanced Europeans when we lack the imagination and the ingenuity to even dream of building structures worthy of outliving us?

These are questions for another day….

Nil desperandum!

[otheroutlandertales]

@scotsmanandsassenach sent us the following picture as a prompt: 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 

Witches - Part 6

by @whiskynottea

Claire had spent all morning trying to track down Raymond while cursing the fact that her time-travelling abilities hadn’t landed her in front of him -- even though she had focused as hard as she could on her beloved frog-man while touching her necklace stone.

But she was, at the very least, in the right time.

She had forgotten how terribly loud everything was in the future. It gave her a headache, to listen to the hum of mechanical sounds all around her, ongoing, everlasting, annoying. Her mind ached for a chirp, for the rustle of leaves dancing in the wind, for simple, beautiful things.

Belatedly, she realized she didn’t long for 18th century Paris. What she missed, was Scotland. Lallybroch.

But she had a purpose here and time was pressing.

She had checked every pharmacy in the area. After awkward conversation upon awkward conversation with clueless pharmacists, she arrived at the conclusion that Raymond owned none of them. Which was totally unexpected. Wasn’t a pharmacist the modern translation of an apothecary? What was he doing, now? Where was he?

It was relentlessly hot, and she was sticky with sweat. She was thirsty and tired, and even though time travel had been easier this time without carrying Jenny and Ceana along, and nausea had subsided within the first hour in the future, she felt weary. And impatient. Time was wearing thin, and fear crept inside her heart.

What if she failed at finding Raymond?

Claire drew a deep breath and shook her head to scatter the ominous thoughts.

She continued walking on the sidewalk, looking at the Parisians as they passed by her in hopes that he’d simply appear before her eyes. Nobody graced her with a second glance, and, for once, she felt grateful for the self-absorption of the modern world.

She walked by a boulangerie, and the scent coming from inside, butter, sugar and flour mixed in heavenly doughs made her stop in her tracks. Without meaning to do it, her head turned for an infinitesimally short moment, to look longingly at the baguettes and fresh croissants.

Her eyes got wide, and she felt her heart dance in her chest at the echo of a tune he had taught her when she was a child. Raymond was there, smiling at the cashier and turning to leave with a pain au chocolat in hand.

Good gracious!

His eyes went as wide as hers the moment he glanced at the door. Claire stood shock-still and Raymond assumed a nonchalant walk until he was by her side.

“Pretend you don’t know me,” he murmured.

Claire tried to suppress the urge to hug him and scowled at him instead. She didn’t speak. Still wondering what all this was about, she noticed the small gesture of his hand as he stepped in front of her; she followed him, a few steps behind.

She kept a reasonable distance behind him until they were outside the crowded part of the city centre. She had almost lost him among the tourists in front of Notre Dame, and a feeling of despair rushed through her. Just as panic started to set in, she spotted him again. Raymond had reduced his pace allowing her to catch up to him. Finally, when they left the busy streets, they walked alongside one another.

“It’s not safe,” he said, still not looking at her. “You’re not safe.”

Her throat suddenly was too tight for air pass through. She felt her heart constrict in her chest, her palms slick with sweat. This was not what she expected to find in this time.

They were supposed to be safe. They left home and split up for this exact reason -- to be sure no one could trace them. Maybe seeking out Master Raymond was wrong. She could see what he meant now. He had taken the hardest path, traveling to the future to draw them away from her.

Flashes of enemies calling her La Dame Blanche in that narrow Parisian alleyway made it difficult for her to process the words he was saying. It was daytime now, but that terrifying night still had the power to wake her in the dead of the night, when her guard was down.

Claire matched Raymond’s every step, thinking. He had sent her to the Scottish Highlands to be safe and she had ruined everything by traveling back to him. She dared a glance at Raymond. His face was somber, his eyes fixed on the end of the street. But his lips were pressed together, in that thin line that was indication enough of how irritated he was.

They took two more turns, the sun now hidden between tall buildings. Raymond checked the vacant alley carefully, then dipped a hand inside his pocket. Keys clinked for a moment midair, then the largest one was in the lock, and he softly opened the door. He didn’t look at Claire, just entered the building and let the door swing back, stopping it a moment before it slammed shut.

Claire moved towards the door, repeated Raymond’s inspection of the alley with a quick turn of her head, and followed him.

He was waiting for her just behind the door, and his grim expression vanished the moment she smiled at him.

“Ah, mon cherie,” he whispered, then crushed her in his embrace. “What in God’s name are you doing here?”

“I needed your help. And your advice,” Claire said with a bashful smile.

“I see. Let’s go upstairs.” He looked at the narrow stairs, then back at her. It was as if he didn’t mean to, but her smiled again. “You will tell me everything over a cup of hot chocolate.”

“Oh, hot chocolate,” Claire moaned in a dreamy voice, then followed him up the stairs.

His apartment was small, but it held a warmth in it. Bright sunlight shone through the wide windows, flourishing ethereal, streaks of dust above the furniture. A small table, overloaded with books, a comfortable couch, two armchairs. The walls were covered with bookshelves, interrupted by two impressionist paintings that looked suspiciously like originals.

Raymond nodded towards the kitchen, then asked her, in a serious tone, why she had come. She saw displeasure and fear in his eyes. “I told you to avoid risks, especially so soon.”

Claire nodded, aware of the peril of the situation. “I won’t stay long.”

“No, you won’t.” His voice was determined, and she saw the man Comte St. Germain had learned to be afraid of. Raymond reached for the milk in the fridge, then turned to look at her and his expression softened. “Are you well? In Scotland?”

A wide grin spread on Claire’s face. “I never expected to say that after parting with you, but I have found something as close to a family I can ever get.” At Raymond’s raised eyebrow, she continued. “I know I’ve not been there that long, but it feels like family. And my sister, Jenny, is an oracle -- a very powerful one. She’s the reason I knew where to look for you.”

Raymond sighed, his shoulders dropping a few inches, and a soft smile loosened up the tension on his face. “At least you brought me good news, Madonna. I was concerned about you.” Pouring hot chocolate into a large mug, he passed it to her. He took his own from the counter and headed to the formal living room.

“Why do you think it’s not safe here?” Claire asked once she was seated in the lavish armchair.

“It’s not what I ‘think’. I know it’s not. This is the third apartment I’ve lived in since being here.” He scratched his jaw, avoiding her eyes for a moment, selective with his next words. “Life is dangerous, Madonna.”

“Why don’t you go somewhere else? To another time?” she asked without giving it great thought. It was the obvious thing to do.

Raymond smiled wistfully. “The more I travel, the more he’ll travel. I’m not a young man anymore, and I’m tired of getting chased across the centuries.”

Claire nodded without fully comprehending. If he asked her opinion, she would advise him to run to another time and let the Comte search for him.

“It doesn’t matter.” Raymond’s voice was sweet and made Claire’s head pop up to look at him. He looked older than the last time she’d seen him. “What matters is to keep you safe. So you better tell me now, why are you here?”

“I want to save someone. A boy who’s to be executed without a trial, by an abusive redcoat, drunk on power.” Raymond lifted both eyebrows, but didn’t say a thing. “I need a poison, something that will make him look like he’s dead. I’m thinking of a neurotoxin that would induce paralysis. And the antidote, of course.”

“And how exactly is this plan going to work?” he asked, placing his now empty cup on the table.

“He will drink the poison the morning of his execution. When they’ll visit his cell he will seem already dead. And then we will retrieve him and I will heal him -- if I can.”

“I’m happy to hear doubt in your voice, Madonna, because healing a person when he’s so close to the other side is not an easy feat.” He paused and looked at her for a long moment. “But then, you should trust in your power.”

“It’s not something I have tried before…” Claire trailed off when she saw him shaking his head.

“In life, mon cherie, we do things we’ve never tried before. Things that lie in an unknown, terrifying ground. It’s not the deed itself, it’s who we are that determines our success. The most important step you have to take, is to believe in yourself. And then, to learn your limits and push through them. It’s the only way you’ll become better, even if that means you’ll fail again and again before gaining a victorious smile. No one ever gained a full life by staying in their comfort zone. And you’re the White Raven.”

Claire buried her face in her hands and rubbed her temples. “I’m the White Raven and I found you on accident. How pathetic is that.”

Raymond chuckled. “At least you’re lucky. Luck is often underestimated.” He looked at Claire, with another wistful smile. “But you can’t count on luck. Anyway,” he said. “Now we have to decide on the poison. I’m thinking atropa belladonna or hemlock. Maybe aconite. I’m also thinking that if you had read the books I’d given you, you would know by now what is safe to use and you wouldn’t have to travel through time to consult me.”

Claire grimaced and placed a hand over her heart, as if a deadly wound had been inflicted on her. Raymond laughed.

“I wanted to be sure,” she said a moment later. “I don’t want to kill him by accident. I thought of curare, too. It affects the lungs, but not the heart. Maybe it will be easier for me to bring him back.”

“Oh yes, good choice,” Raymond murmured. “Very good choice. Maybe sharing my herb encyclopedias with you hasn’t been in vain, after all.” He grinned slyly, then shot out of his chair and hurried toward the door. “I have a pharmacist or two I can trust. I’ll go get the curare. And you'll need some pyridostigmine or neostigmine, too. As an antidote.”

“Or edrophonium!” Claire shouted, still seating in her armchair. Her limbs were still heavy, and she luxured in the feel of the slippery silk that covered the sturdy dark wood.

Raymond stilled at her addition, nodded, and opened the door. “Don’t leave the house,” he warned, and left.

Claire distracted herself while waiting for Raymond first by looking out the window, then by perusing his library. Her eyes widened with elation when she saw A Review of Chemical Literature (Specialist Periodical Reports) standing thin next to an immense tome of human anatomy.

It was published only a few months ago. This must be her lucky day, afterall. Thirty minutes later, she knew that the duration of curare’s action had a range from 30 minutes to 8 hours, depending on the variant of the toxin and dosage. Alex’s respiratory system would paralyze and even while being conscious, he would be unable to control any muscle of his body. It would take four to six minutes to make his heart stop. Four to six minutes to get him out and heal him.

Mere minutes. Claire’s own heart shrank inside her chest, threatening to stop as she held her breath. She would have too little time. She might not get to him fast enough.

The door opened and Claire started at the intrusion. She hadn’t heard Raymond walking up the stairs.

Claire turned slowly to face him, waving the journal in her hand and grinning, ready to show him how she had embraced his love for reading. Before she had fully faced the door though, she froze.

It wasn’t Raymond. This man didn’t wear the silken brocade vest and coat she had last seen him in, but she would recognize him everywhere.

The Comte.

His expression was not belligerent; instead, his posture was relaxed. He was grinning at her, calm and arrogant. He stood tall, with beautiful blue eyes and strong cheekbones, and she thought he might have been beautiful if he were not so terrifying. His cold stare made a shiver run down her spine and all she wanted was to recoil and hide.

“Finally,” he said, and Claire could almost see triumph thick in the air around him. “We meet again.”

She stepped back and her shoulder hit the bookcase. She was trapped. But she wouldn’t be defeated. She looked the Comte in the eye, defiant, daring him to approach her.

A chuckle left him, low in his throat, in a way a hunter might laugh at his prey. Claire didn’t trust herself to talk. Her hands were shaking. As though he had sensed the nearly imperceptible movement of her long fingers, a scent of her fear, he took a step, coming closer. “You’re coming with me.”

It was then that realization dawned on her. He didn’t want her dead, as she had thought all this time. He needed her to be alive, because this was the only way he could benefit from her.

She was ready to decline his offer when she heard Raymond’s voice from behind the Comte. “No, she’s not.”

Claire saw the small man crouch, then slid a package on the wooden floor to her. The moment she got it in her hands, Raymond spoke again, his voice clear as a bell. “Fly. Now!”

“Don’t you dare.” The Comte’s menacing voice made her look up at him. He was holding a gun, pointing it at her.

Claire shot a last, regretful glance at Raymond, clutched the package close to her chest, and touched the stone of her necklace with her free hand. She didn’t have time to think. She closed her eyes, and felt the stone’s vibration running through her together with a burning flash on her shoulder.

She squeezed her eyes tighter, heard the Comte walking closer to her, and disappeared.

Part 7