#then it should be easy to tack on two us cities that are right next to each other and a third that's just across the canadian border

[ellcrys]

still blows my mind that

portland > seattle > vancouver

is a longer distance than

venice > ljublana > zagreb

[erosofthepen]

Letters From Amad pt.2

After about five months of not knowing how to continue it, i have finished part 2!! There will be a third part, not nearly as long, and i already have most of it written, so it should be out a lot sooner lol. BUT, i hope you enjoy it, and thanks for putting up with me lol.

-Part 1

-Words: 4,898

-Warnings: blizzard/storm, injury, hypothermia, some swearing

-Tags: @grunid, @elvish-sky, @sassyscribbler, @whore4fictionalhoes11, @smaugs-guardian, @bitter-sweet-farmgirl, @jotink78, @marvel-ous-hobbit, @anjhope1, (if i forgot you, im sorry, i have trouble keeping track sometimes)

It was moments like this that reflected Thorin’s terrible decision making. In actuality, his decision to not put anymore lives at risk was very wise. But still, it was Fili who was out there. And Kili. And since Thorin would not send a search party out, it was time to take matters into your own hands.

First things first, you went back to your chambers and put on your warmest, fluffiest, most wind-resistant coat. Rabbit fur covered the insides (the hides were hunted and tanned by Fili, a courting gift to you), and thick leather made up the outside, keeping the cold out and the warmth in. Next, you pulled on your winter boots (you had actually just had them made last week, and there were three little pockets perfect for concealing knives in), as well as a hat, gloves, and a scarf, all knitted by Ori, his way to show gratitude after your help in the libraries. You then proceeded to gather up some salted meat and cram, walk down to the entrance of the mountain, and enter the stables.

You choose a faithful companion to keep you company, namely, Daisy. The Mare had a thick wooly mane, and an extreme proclivity towards sweets. This was not to be your first venture with the pony, and now you knew better to bring him anywhere within five leagues of a bakery. You had not been amused when he had eaten an entire box of pastries meant for you and the scholars, though Kili and Fili had thought it to be the most hilarious of stories. However, despite his tendency to devour pastries, Daisy was reliable and resilient, and you hardly rode any other steed.

Several stableboys tried to dissuade you from leaving in the storm, but you brushed off their remarks as you tacked up Daisy. Thankfully, they didn’t try to block your path as you left, though they did warn you to be careful. You weren’t too concerned, for the storm had grown tamer in the day, and the frost was not biting your face. Yet, that is.

You reached Dale in about an hour. It took much longer than expected, with Daisy being nearly up to his belly in the fallen snow. Dale was practically devoid of men and women, most of them having the brains to stay inside during the storm. The only exceptions were some watchmen and one or two passersby.

“Oi, it’s a bit too cold for a morning ride lady, have you lost all sense?” A guard asked as you were leaving the gate on the other side of town.

“No my good fellow, I'm just looking for my friends. Have you seen two dwarrow come this way?”

“Can’t say that I have, but Maurice said he saw a pair last night, a few hours before the snow started.”

“Did Maurice mention where they were headed?”

“To the caravan, where else? It’s about fifteen miles from here, I would guess. You’re not considering going out there, are you?”

“I’m afraid that I must. Good day to you sir,”

“And a very cold day to you, lassie. Best of travels.”

“And to you as well.”

You quickly left and mentally cursed yourself for wishing him best of travels in return. He wasn’t traveling, you idiot!

The embarrassment faded as the wind began to pick up. The blizzard was steadily getting thicker, the puffy snowflakes turning more compact and icy. The city of Dale had long disappeared behind you in the snow, and you could only hope you were headed in the right direction.

However adventurous and bold it sounds, riding bare-back on a pony in the middle of a freezing cold snow storm was not at all an easy task. Your scarf had been moved to cover most of your face, and your hood was tied tightly ‘round your head, yet the flakes still stung your flesh. You were definitely starting to rethink your whole “making sure the brothers were alright in a storm idea.” Especially since it was pointless to look for them in between the caravan and Dale, as you couldn’t even see ten feet in front of you. Your goal now was to simply make it to the caravan without frostbite.

Around noon, you tried eating a bit of the bread you had packed, only to find it frozen. As well as the cheese. And the dried meat. It wouldn’t do good to gnaw on it either, as that would just make your innards cold as well, so you just went with your stomach protesting.

It was starting to get quite dark when you finally saw what seemed to be a glow in the distance. As you drew closer, it grew apparent that it was the caravan, and you sighed in great relief.

The dwarrow on watch were very suspicious. Of course, once you explained your purpose, they grew less so.

“I come from Erebor, in search of the Princes. Prince Fili and Kili left last night with the intention to travel here, have they arrived?”

The guards started to look a bit nervous.

“No my lady, no one’s seen anything of them.”

Your heart dropped to your feet.

“Are you sure?”

“Aye, the whole group would have known.”

You might’ve cried, but your eyes felt nearly frozen. You turned your pony, with full intent to head back out into the blizzard and look for your love, when one of the watchdwarrow stopped you.

“You’ll freeze out there my lady, as will your pony. Stay and get warm.”

“Aye lass” another said, “Besides, if the Prince’s are out there, her Lady Dís should be informed.”

Ah, that’s right. Dís.

One of the guards led Daisy off to get warm with other animals, while the other led you to Her Ladyship’s tent. He announced your presence, awaited approval, and then lifted the flap of the tent, beckoning you inside before letting it fall behind you.

Dís was a truly stunning Dwarrow, even for her age, with long black raven hair and a beard to match. Some strands were turning silver, much like Thorin’s, and her blue eyes were more piercing than an orc’s. She looked incredibly confused when you walked into her tent.

“Good Mahal lass, what the hell were you doing out in that storm? You must be senseless.” She said, looking up from a book she had been reading and furrowing her brows.

“I was looking for the Prince’s. I should introduce myself, my name is (Y/N).”

Dís’s eyes widened and she stood, showing off quite an impressive height.

“Why would you be looking for my sons out in this storm, (Y/N)?”

“They… Fili left a note this morning, he and Kili were coming to the caravan to see you. The watchdwarrow said they hadn’t arrived.”

The Dwarrowdams jaw went slack for a moment, and then she cursed, banging her hand on a small table that held a bottle of whiskey.

“Foolish boys! Have they no sense? I was to be seeing them in only a few more days, but they could not wait, could they? Och, the beasts!” Dís continued her rant for a while longer, before she turned her gaze back on you.

“And you journeyed out here in the storm?”

“Aye. I could not rest well knowing that they were out in this foul weather. I will be going to head back out to look for them as soon as I’ve warmed up a bit,” you replied, very conscious of the Mother’s piercing stare. She was quiet, until she breathed a worried sigh.

“It’s no use to search out in this weather, lass. Especially at night. Rest here with me, we’ll go searching first thing on the morrow. I must talk with the guards for now, make yourself comfortable, I will return soon.”

And, just like that, Dís left the tent. Her talk was brief, and left you standing dumb in the center of the tent. For some time, you debated on whether or not to go out searching anyways, but the fire was surely inviting, and something in you knew Dís wouldn’t take kindly to you leaving against her wishes.

Your travel bag, heavy and frozen from being exposed to the elements for so long, left your shoulders as you set it down by the entrance. Next came your gloves, and then the outer coat, snow and ice caked on it making your fingers fumble whilst trying to unbutton it. Eventually, it joined your bag, as well as your boots (if you had thought the coat was difficult to get off, the frozen buckles on your boots were torture). After you had stripped the burdensome clothing off, you simply stood in the center of the room, close to the fire. There were blankets nearby, piled near a bedroll, but you dared not touch them, seeing as they belonged to Dís. It was rather awkward, simply sitting in a stranger's (of sorts) quarters, and weren’t sure what to do.

Your eyes did some exploring for you, falling first on the book that Dís had been reading. ‘The Heart of Hrund’. Huh. You recognized the title, from the Great Library, but you knew very little about it. You’d have to read it now. Your eyes then fell to the whiskey bottle. ‘Breaker’s’. Ah. Memories you shared with Kili at the beginning of the journey returned, however hazed they were due to your drunken state. Strong stuff, Breaker’s was. Bofur managed to get his hands on a few bottles from a merchant, and you and Kili had stolen one from him, much to Thorin’s disappointment and Fili’s annoyance (he was upset to be left out of the fun). Your eyes then drifted to a leather-fitted box, beautiful khuzdul runes and designs etched into it, however, before you could get a closer look, footsteps crunched through the snow outside the tent.

Dís and a young dwarrow entered, carrying stew, bread, and a plethora of blankets and pillows.

“Mahal,” Dís started, placing the tray of food down on the little table and grabbing a quilt from the other dwarrow, “Have you just been sitting here freezing? You could have taken a blanket, you know.” She said, wrapping the quilt around your shoulders and moving you to sit down.

“I, er, I didn't want to be rude.” You replied, now sitting cross-legged on the floor. Dís screwed her face at you.

“Lass, it is never considered rude to take a blanket in the cold. Only exception is if someone is already using it.”

You didn’t reply, feeling very uncomfortable social-wise, despite finally starting to warm up physically. Dís grabbed the rest of the supplies from the other dwarrow and nodded at him to leave. As he left the tent, Dís set the other blankets down and started making a bedspace for you near the fire.

“I can help with that,” you said, starting to get up to help.

“Nonsense lass, you get yourself warm.” Dis stood and grabbed the food tray once more. “However, I do request that you eat.” she set the tray down in front of you, and you thanked her, feeling a bit guilty as you started on the stew.

“Uh, have you eaten yet, My Lady?”

Dís scoffed, resuming her work on your bed roll. “Don’t call me that child, call me Amad. I can hardly stand to be addressed in that way by servants, let alone my sons One. But yes, I’ve had my fill.”

Her words shocked you, having only ever heard Fili refer to you as his One. You hardly expected Dís to accept you as Fili’s lover, let alone his One.

“Alright.” You replied, once more feeling dumb and without anything to contribute. So you sat in silence, trying hard not to slurp and watching Dís make up your bed. Eventually, She moved up and away, surveying her work.

“Thank you, that was very kind.” you said. Dís sighed and nodded, sitting down on the other side of the fire. You were quiet once more, and were now re-considering going out to search for Fili and Kili, if only to avoid the discomfort of the situation.

“I hope you are only not talking because of the storm. I expected a much more chatty lass, if i’m being honest.” Dís remarked, eyeing you carefully.

Panic flashed through your eyes as you tried to think of something to say, but Dís let out a soft chuckle before you could make a fool of yourself.

“I’m only joking, child. You needn't be nervous here. Tell me, how was your journey from the mountain to here?”

“Cold,” You blurted out, shuddering as you imagined the wind biting your face. Dís smiled at your bluntness.

“Indeed, I imagine it would be, especially if you’ve been out all day. Tell me, was there any sign of them as you came over?”

You shook your head. “Unfortunately no, I could hardly see past my nose once the snow grew thicker.”

“I swear, those boys will be the death of me,” she muttered.

“Just be glad you weren’t Thorin trying to deal with all three of us,” you said without thinking. Dís locked eyes with you, and then started chuckling.

“I do not envy him, based on what I've read of you three. It seems that you made it your entire purpose to create trouble for my brother dear.”

“Well, we tried to. For the first half of the journey, at least. He was much more willing to withstand our meddling before we crossed the Misty Mountains. Then came the orcs, and goblins, and Mirkwood, Laketown, the dragon… and the battle too.” Your face had fallen whilst you spoke, and Dis reached out her hand to comfort you.

“You mustn't dwell on the hardships of the past, child. It does nothing but cause trouble for the mind. Believe me, I know.”

At that moment, Dís seemed to age very quickly, and the wisdom and experience that this dwarrowdam had became clearer. You knew her story well-enough, from nights Fili had needed to find comfort in you, telling you about his childhood and family. Dís had wed Víli Heptifilissøn, and twelve years after Kili had been born, he had fallen ill from the Black Lung*, and had spent months growing weaker and weaker until he perished. Fili was able to remember the wretched coughing, and his Adad’s ragged breaths, as clearly as the day it happened. It was the reason he refused to go deep into coal mines, or else made up excuses. If those memories still hung onto Fili, you could only imagine how horrible it must have been for Dís, who had to watch her husband suffer such a death. Looking at her now, you never felt more in awe of a single person.

“You speak truly, my Lady-”

She looked at you sharply, but with a twinkle in her eyes.

“-I mean, Amad.”

That satisfied her, and she relaxed her hand away. “I do indeed, child. Never has a lie crossed my lips. Except when I told Thorin that he had a mighty spider in his beard.” You chuckled at that, but it quickly turned to a yawn. Dís raised a brow.

“It’s time for sleep then,” she commented, “I’ll leave you in peace to finish eating, and then it’s straight to bed.” Dís stood and went back to her chair, and resumed her book, leaving you to scoop that last of the stew in your mouth. It was not long before you were warm and cozy in your makeshift bed, and Dís bid you goodnight before blowing out the lanterns.

You woke to shouting. In your groggy state, you couldn’t make out the words, and you blinked in the dim light of the fire.

“What new madness arises?” You heard Dís murmur, followed by the sounds of her fumbling about. The shouting grew nearer. “Are you awake, (Y/N)?”

“Only partly,” you replied, trying to untangle the covers from your legs. You shuddered as the extra warmth left, but hurried to your feet, only stumbling slightly. The noise was becoming considerably louder, and your ears could start to make out the words being yelled.

“Get a healer, lads!”

“He looks frozen stiff!”

“SHOVE OFF! WHERE IS AMAD?” Kili’s furious shout snapped you into alertness. At that moment, Dís was able to find a lantern, and finally the tent’s interior was more visible. The flap in front of the tent lifted, and Kili stumbled in, hair frozen with bits of ice and face bright red. With horror, you realized he was supporting another dwarf who was barely conscious. Fili.

You jumped to your feet and rushed towards your betrothed, supporting his other side and lifting his head. Fili’s lips were tinged blue, and his teeth were chattering bitterly, clacking together in a terrible rhythm. Dís was there not a second after you, and she helped guide you all to lay Fili down in the space you had slept just moments before.

“Strip him down,” Dís commanded, starting to work on his boots. You followed her orders without hesitation, helping Kili with Fee’s coat. It didn’t take too long for the three of you to undress him to his underclothes, and you winced when you saw his shoulder looked… definitely not normal. Dís pressed on it gently, and Fili made a weak groan that twisted at your heart.

“He fell off his pony,” Kili said.

“Of course he did. Kili, fetch a healer.” The younger prince sprang up, filled with energy even after being out in a blizzard for nearly an entire day. But he was hardly at the entrance when a grizzled old dwarrow entered, a satchel in hand and a hard look set in his features.

‘‘Hanarr,” Dís welcomed, nodding her head. The old dwarf grunted in acknowledgement before kneeling down by Fili’s shoulder, feeling along the bone. He grunted once more, before looking up at Kili.

“Hold down right here lad,” Hanarr instructed, moving Kili’s hands to rest on Fili’s other shoulder and chest. “Right, hold it firm.”

Hanarr outstretched Fili’s other arm, and began to move it towards his head. A click sounded, and Fili called out, however weakly. His shoulder looked back to normal again, and Hanarr quickly folded his arm against his chest, before searching through his medical pack and pulling out a sling.

“Sit him up, lad.” the healer instructed Kili. He propped Fili up against his side, and this time, Fili held his own head up, his gaze landing on you. Confusion flitted across his nearly-frostbitten features, and he mumbled your name despite of his state.

But Hanarr was upon him again, and soon the sling was fastened to his arm, and the Healer was moving his legs so that they were tucked against his chest. He addressed Kili once more, “Get rid of yer tunic, and stay close to yer brother” and then turned towards you, “do the same, but mind his shoulder lassie.” Without hesitation, you followed his command and soon Fili was sandwiched between yourself and Kili. Dís (with the permission of Hanarr), wrapped several blankets around the three of you, and soon set to work on making some tea. Hanarr presented her with a root of ginger, and, after seeing that all that could be done was done, decided to take his leave.

“He should be fine in a few hours, I'll come back to check on him soon. Keep him awake.” were his final words before departing.

The silence that followed his departure was intense, interrupted only by the sound of the fire, the kettle, and a knife. Dís was the first to speak.

“I would have your hides, if I was not so glad to see you again.” She said in a low voice as she shredded the ginger.

“I’m sorry Amad,” Kili said, eyeing the movement of his Amad’s knife, “Patience has never been my strong suit.”  Beside you, Fili shifted and rested his forehead against your temple.

“Indeed not,” Dís replied, her voice heating like the water she was boiling, “How did you convince your brother to join you in this endeavor?” Fili moved again, this time nuzzling his face into your neck and hair, his nose startlingly cold.

“Who said it was my idea?” Kili argued. However, Dís turned her glare on him, and He flushed and murmured, “he wanted to see you too, it didn’t take much to convince him.”

“(Y/N)” Fili said, drawing the attention away from arguing. “ ‘m tired.” He let his head rest heavy against your shoulder, and you (reluctantly) moved him away.

“You must wait to sleep, Kidhuzel,” You said, bringing your hand up to brush his hair away from his face. He opened his eyes wider, in sheer betrayal. You could have smiled, knowing Fili’s tendency to become unreasonably cross when denied sleep, but instead you kissed his cheek.

“Your Amad is making tea for you, and when you drink it, you’ll warm right up.” The blond prince’s eyes dropped once more and he tried moving back to the crook of your neck, only to be refused a second time.

“ I’d prefer Ale,” He muttered bitterly. At this, you did allow yourself to smile.

“Not a chance. Your heart might stop.” He grumbled and detached his uninjured arm from Kili, taking your hand and squeezing it with what feeble strength that had returned to his veins.

“It won’ stop as long as you’re ‘ere.”

Kili snorted, but was silenced as Dís sent him another glare, and you laughed softly, shaking your head and squeezing his hand back.

“If it worked that way, then I would gladly give you the finest Ale, however, I do believe tea would be a better option.”

When the tea was ready, you helped Fili to drink it. At first, the prince had winced at the heat, but soon he drank it gladly, becoming more alive with each sip. You sensed Dís watching you and Fili carefully, but brushed it off, telling yourself she was only concerned for Fili, not observing how you interacted. A small part of you that wouldn’t be silenced said it was both. Soon the mug was empty, and it had apparently helped Fili along much more than you anticipated, and soon he had detached himself completely from his brother and was pulling you closer.

“Careful of your shoulder,” you reminded him.

“ ‘s fine.” He replied, pressing flush against you. His skin had already warmed, thus proving the hardiness and hot blood of dwarrow. Kili scooted away, seeing that he was no longer needed, readjusted the furs covering yourself and his brother, and pulled his tunic back on. Dís immediately walked over and threw another fur across his shoulders, and pulled him into a tight hug, which he returned just as tightly. You averted your eyes when Kili started to sniff and tremble.

“I missed you,” he said.

“And I as well, inùdoy” Mother and son stayed in once another’s embrace, until she drew away and made him drink his fill of ginger tea as well.

A half hour later, you were struggling to keep Fili’s eyes open, and Kili had already crashed on Dís’s bedroll. The dwarrowdam herself grew impatient for Hanarr’s return, and had gone out searching for him. She reentered the tent with him not ten minutes later, and Hanarr (as grumpy and irritable as he was, he was an excellent healer), inspected Fili. Truly, your prince was proof that dwarves were nothing more than portable furnaces, and his temperature was more or less back to normal. He still was a bit out of it, but it was nothing a good night’s sleep wouldn’t fix. Soon Hanarr declared that it was safe for Fili to sleep, and almost immediately, the blond sank into your bedroll and began to snore.

Diís left after Hanarr, telling you to rest and call her if need be. You didn’t question where she was going, and she did not share it with you.

However tired and exhausted you were, sleep would not come. You sat in front of the fire for hours, feeding it and stoking it, keeping your mind entertained with the images dancing in the flames.

You had just finished adding another log to the fire, when a hand lightly gripped your wrist.

“Ghivashel” Fili said faintly. Your head turned towards him, and you smiled despite all things; for while Fili’s face was still red, his hair undone, and his eyes bleary, he was alive and conscious.

“Khuzd allakhul” you scolded, bending down to lean your forehead against his, “What sort of prince are you, to go out in the snow and frighten your lover?” You kissed his lips softly before drawing away just enough to wait for his answer.

“A very foolish prince indeed,” He murmured, his hand on your wrist pulling you back towards him. “But what sort of lover are you, to worry so greatly and come after me in the snow?”

“A very devoted lover, who has half a mind to leave now that you’ve insulted my care of you.” Fili’s eyes widened and he summoned his strength to pull you down, nestled in his side.

“Forgive me, I was not thinking of insulting you, amrâlimê. I just don’t want to see you suffer for my sake. Menu Tessu.” He said, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple. The beads on his mustache braids still felt frozen, but his lips were warm. You smiled and took his hand, entwining your fingers together.

“All is forgiven. So long as you won’t do anything as stupid as that ever again.” you replied. Fili sighed and kissed the side of your mouth.

“I shall try my very hardest not to.”

“That isn’t very reassuring.”

“Then you must forgive me once more, for I cannot make such bold promises whilst Kili remains my brother.”

You both chuckled at this, before settling into comfortable silence. Slowly, your eyes began to drop, the crackling of the fire and the steady rhythm of Fili’s breath making it harder and harder to evade sleep. The fact that the lion prince had begun to rub circles into your shoulder with his thumb wasn’t helping. After the third time you startled yourself awake, Fili’s voice was near your ear.

“You can sleep now, Amralime. I won’t be going anywhere.”

His words were nothing short of a spell, and in less than a minute, your eyes closed and sleep overtook you, a comforting, dreamless sleep, the best kind.

When next you woke, indeed, Fili was still right next to you, awake, but only just. He was blinking the sleep away, and you suspected that his movements had been what had woken yourself. Cold winter light was shining through the tent flaps, cutting like a blade through the warm glow that filled the inside, and a conversation was taking place.

“We left in the wee hours, m’lady, just before dawn. You can imagine the state Thorin was in when he heard that the entire future of Erebor was out in the snow.” The voice of Dwalin more than successfully brought you to awakeness, and you sat up, looking around for the source of his voice.

“Indeed, I imagine he would be weathering the floors with pacing. I expect we’ll be leaving soon, no?” Now Dís spoke, and by this point, you and Fili had turned behind you to see the pair talking over mugs of mulled wine. Kili was also there, however, he was still dreaming on Dís’s previous sleeping roll, limbs sprawled out wide and mouth hung open almost comically.

“Aye, as soon as these three are dressed and ready.” Dwalin said, turning his gaze onto you and Fili, brow raised and the slightest of smiles on his warrior face. “What a lot of worry you and your brother had us in,” he continued, addressing Fili specifically, “I swear to Mahal, you’ve no idea what sort of panic you caused. Course, when yeh come back with your shoulder like that, everyone’ll be doting on yeh. ‘The poor heir who got caught in a blizzard trying to see his Amad’, not ‘the fucking idiot who didn’t have any patience and went out in the night despite knowing there was a storm brewin’.” But all while saying this, there was humor and relief in the warrior's voice, betraying how glad he felt that the boys were not frozen under three feet of ice and snow.

“Both versions are correct,” Fili pointed out, his voice still croaky from sleep.

“Aye, but only the first version will get told.” Dwalin replied, to which you laughed. He turned his focus to you now. “Don’t think you’re innocent lass, Thorin nearly had a heart-attack when we couldn’t find you. Both the heirs missin’ was bad enough, but the lady who’ll be adding to the heirs disappearing made it all worse.”

“Och, Dwalin, she had a noble cause to come out in the snow, you needn’t blame her for anything.” Dís said, coming to your aid.

“Was our cause not noble and justified?” Kili’s voice piped up. The Prince's eyes were hardly opened, but he was more than ready to defend himself from accusations.

“Not when you were to be seeing me in less than a week. If I was able to refrain myself from going out into a blizzard in the late hours, you should have been able to as well.” Dís retorted. A sour expression crossed Kili’s face, but he dared not argue with his Amad.

“Right then,” Dwalin said, “Get yourselves up an’ ready, we’ve not much daylight left to get back to Erebor.”

*Black Lung: Coal miner’s pneumonia. 

Kidhuzel: Gold of Gold

Inùdoy: Son

Ghivashel: Treasure of Treasures

Khuzd allakhul: Stupid Dwarf

Menu Tessu: You mean everything to me

(part three will be out soon)

[writebycandlelight]

Bread Rolls

Prompt: Reader’s attempted act of kindness goes awry. 

Word Count: 1.7k

Pairing: Erwin x GN!Reader

Genre: Fluffy, Mild

A/N: It’s been a whole year I think but I’m back for today after seeing some BEAUTIFUL art by @ thisuserisalive on Instagram. I heard people have been thirsting for some Erwin fic so I hope you enjoy this little cute fic.

By the Walls, there was nothing more demoralizing than having the scouts return in their terrible conditions time and time again. As you shoved past an unruly crowd, gathered to shout insults as the scouts returned in single file, you clutched your covered basket filled with warm bread rolls to your chest. Times were tough but you were sure the scouts were in need of something to lift their spirits. Bread was the most common military food but surely freshly baked would bring some comfort. Freshly baked bread was always something people liked. In your humble opinion, there was nothing better.

 You scanned for a good spot to approach, unsure of whether you might cause too much of a disruption to the scouts. Your eyes fell on their commander, blonde and blue eyed, you were certain he’d look handsomer with his head held high. Perhaps a bread roll might make him smile a little. Determined to put a smile on at least one scout, you slowly pushed to the front of the crowds. You were just in range to approach when you tipped forward, jostled harshly into the incoming scouts. Your startle cry was interrupted by your face slamming into something hard and metallic. Your head throbbed with pain as your vision began to cloud. A startled voice came and went. Blue eyes stared at you. Two pairs, no, just one pair. So shimmery, they danced as the edges of your vision turned black.

--

Sunlight peeked through your lashes as you blinked awake. Groggily, you looked around. Nothing was remotely familiar. Where were you? What happened? Weren’t you just at the city gates? Blinking in recognition you looked around frantically. Your bread! You were supposed to give the Scouts some bread rolls! 

“Bread rolls-” you said aloud. Startled, your hand reached for your throat. How was your voice so dry and hoarse? Looking around, you spotted a table to your left, and lo and behold, a pitcher of water!

You glanced around the room, taking in its neat and pristine appearance as you slowly made yourself stand. For a moment you felt your body sway, but reaching out you took a few unsteady steps to the table and steadied yourself upon it.

Your hands grabbed greedily at the cup and poured, downing the water in moments.

“You should have called for someone to assist you,” a deep voice said from the door. 

You nearly dropped the cup as the man you knew to be commander entered the room. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said gently. “Are you feeling better?”

You raised the glass with a small smile, “A bit yes. The water helped.”

“Good, good. Please, sit. You should be resting,” the commander urged and motioned to the bed. You glanced at it and then back at him. He made the motion again and you slipped back onto the bed, cup in hand. 

“I am Commander Erwin Smith,” he smiled, and then with a sheepish chuckle added, “I feel I owe you an apology. It was my ODM gear that you hit.”

You felt your face flush, he may not be able to see it, but your face felt as hot as the furnace you baked those rolls in!

“O-oh! Oh no, no! You don’t have to. If anything the idiot that shoved me owes me an apology. Not you...sir-” you stuttered, feebly tacking on ‘sir’ at the end. Despite using the word every day with customers and garrison soldiers, it felt strange to use it on such a man. His whole demeanor commanded a level of authority and respect that made your heart thud. Nerves? Most probably.  

“Unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll be able to find them,” Erwin said with a sort of frown, or perhaps you thought, a rather neutral expression for his face. 

“Either way, I hope that it is alright that we brought you here. The Scouts headquarters,” Erwin continued, “We have a fine doctor that said you should feel alright within a few days.”

“I guess I hit my head pretty hard,” you murmured, touching your forehead. Your fingers flinched when they touched the bandage around your head. 

“Thank you for all this,” you murmured bringing your hand back to the cup, “I’m so sorry for all the trouble. I was just trying to bring out some hot bread rolls to your soldiers. I thought it might help boost morale a little. I hate when those crowds go out and bother you all. They have no idea what you all go through no doubt. I mean, you’re all so brave!”

Your eyes shone in a way that made Erwin pause, he hadn’t seen such a look in ages. Not since he first became commander.

His staring at you, with a look you couldn’t quite place, made you realize you were staring right back. You felt the heat to your face return and you glanced down at your cup.

“Thank you. That is very kind of you to say. However, have your bread,” Erwin said, “Captain Levi saw it fall from your arms and we brought it here. It is untouched-” “Untouched!” you exclaimed in exasperation. “Well I hope they like cold bread rolls. By the Walls! All that work to ensure they were warm and oh so lightly buttered and I still only get you cold rolls.”

Erwin chuckled at your sudden change of mood, “They may still be warm. You’ve only been here for about an hour. You did a wonderful job in wrapping them in that basket. I do believe only one fell out.”

“Only one. I guess I’ll take that one,” you joked awkwardly and felt your face flush again. What were you doing?! What kind of dumb joke was that? By the Walls, why were you telling them to the commander of the Scouts!?

Erwin laughed, deeply, he would have taken more time to be surprised if he hadn’t found your demeanor so endearing. For the briefest of moments, he felt wildly afraid by the sound he made, laughter. How long had it been since he’d laughed?

Your eyes widened as his features broke into laughter, the complete opposite of how it had looked like not so long ago. He really was handsome when he smiled like that.

It was gone in a moment though and he looked at you calmly. The silence was short and you stared at one another, but it was enough for you to want to stop it. You’d die if those water blue eyes stared at you like that for another second!

“If you would like to, you can tell the soldiers. To eat the rolls I mean, not that I’ll eat that one roll. The bread rolls, they’re for them of course. And for you! As you know..” you bumbled and had to actively force yourself to smile as your body fought to hunch over and bury your face in your hands in sheer embarrassment. You couldn’t even speak right anymore. Walls you hoped he thought it was because of your head injury.

Erwin felt himself smile, she was surprisingly shy and outspoken at the same time. It was refreshing and charming. He shook his head to focus for a moment and then stood.

“I’ll go tell them, if that’s what you’d like. I’ll have someone bring you something to eat and more water,” he said. 

You nodded and watched him go. His shoulders were so much wider now that you saw them from behind. You watched mesmerized until he turned around. You almost squeaked, averting your eyes. You could NOT be caught staring.

“I’m going to apologize again. I didn’t ask your name,” Erwin said shaking his head, a disappointment to himself really.

“Oh, that. I’m (Y/N), it was nice to meet you Commander Smith” you replied, your heart beating a mile a minute from the startle he’d given you seconds ago.

“(Y/N),” Erwin said with a furrowed brow, “Stay resting,” then turned and left.

You sank into the bed and threw an arm over your face. You’d made a fool of yourself hadn’t you? Of all the people you could have talked to, it had to be the commander of the Scouts himself. Well it’s not like you knew meeting him would make you a whole fool, you thought bitterly. You settled into the bed at last and closed your eyes. Better not to think about it.

---

When you awoke the sun had set considerably. You rubbed your eyes and with a glance remembered where you were. You sighed and turned your head to the table. Your brows lifted in surprise and you sat up. Swinging your legs over the bed, you shuffled toward the table that now had water, soup, and a bread roll on a tray. 

Taking a seat at the chair Erwin had used, you lifted the bread roll. It was one of yours. You had a distinct pan mark on your bread that made it easy to recognize. You pinched the bread and it tore softly, with an ever so slight shimmer to your fingers as the drop of butter at it’s top. It wasn’t warm but you were surprised at how soft they still were. Good on you. You were about to give yourself a pat on the back when you noticed a folded paper just beside the bread roll. You flicked the white note open and blinked at it dumbly before laughing aloud. 

From the room next door, Erwin sat at his desk and lifted his head at the sound of your laughter. He looked to the far wall and smiled. You’d found the note. He felt rather proud and yet silly for having left it. He felt like he had as a young scout. Writing the note has been a very strange thing for him to do but he found himself writing it anyway. He didn’t think the note was particularly funny, but your laugh was worth it.

In your room you moved the note to stay unfolded on the tray, glancing at it as you ate. The neat block letters made you smile as you reread it out loud, “I can promise this is not the fallen bread roll.” Unaware, you and Erwin shared the same smile at the same silly note, and somewhere, a little pang of joy beat in both of you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Duplicitous

Warnings: noncon/dubcon elements (rough sex, oral, cuckolding), deception.

This is dark!Loki and ft. some Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Loki is new to the team but receives a cool welcome from those at the Avengers compound. Assigned to complete his orientation, you try to start anew with the former villain of New York.

Note: Still working on Omerta and From Eden. Tbh, the last week has been a tough one mentally but I’m working on that. I’ve also been all over the place helping my mother get settled after moving to town. Whatever, life is life. Thanks to all your wonderful people.

Leave some feedback, like and reblog if you can <3

It was a long morning. Much of it had been spent with Tony and as any other meeting with the man, it swung between amiability and antagonism. It was easy to guess why he was agitated as he was determined to thrust the crux of his displeasure upon you. Tony was never one to just roll over and he held a grudge well, but he wasn’t heartless and Thor was one of his best. 

It was only unfortunate that the Asgardian had deemed himself a package deal. If his home was to be Earth, it wouldn’t be his brother’s too. Loki was different now, he sought redemption, to right his wrongs. It was a hard sell but the god was relentless and as usual, he prevailed.

“I want you to make this hell,” Tony’s words echoed in your head as you flipped through the workplace standards binder. “You are going to go through this with a fine tooth comb until that jackass can’t take anymore.”

These things were never easy. Going over protocol, safety regulations, workplace behaviour and etiquette. Usually you did your best to condense it all to make it more palatable; as much for you as the new hires. Now Tony wanted you to torture this man via dry ordinances as he wasn’t allowed to do so physically. The boss wouldn’t sign off until he was sure Loki suffered, though you were just as certain Tony had no plans to sign off on anything.

You checked the clock, it was almost noon already. You’d set up the conference room for your first session. The binders and files stacked neatly on one end as you sat in the middle. 

You rose and looked through the transparent wall. Pepper’s heels raced by as she hurried to Tony’s office with her phone at her ear. The usual chaos of the tower.

You stepped out into the hall and made your way to the kitchen and popped a capsule in the machine before you found a mug. You added water to the machine and listened to the whir as it spat orange pekoe from its nozzle. You hated the little pods of leaves but you didn’t have time to wait on the kettle. You added a touch of milk and checked your watch before you stole one of the scones left in the box Pepper had strolled in with that morning.

You cradled the crummy scone in a paper towel and as you neared the conference room, you found a broad pair of shoulders awaiting you. You had still not grown used to Thor’s lack of hair. Loki’s dark head appeared just on the other side of him and your dread sank into your stomach.

“Hey,” You approached. “Just in time.”

“My lady!” Thor boomed as he turned to greet you. “How are you?”

“Well, and you?” You couldn’t help but smile. “How is the city treating you so far?”

“We have seen many things,” He announced. “Many delicious foods.”

Loki was silent, his eyes dull as he resisted rolling them at his brother. 

“And are you doing more exploring today?” You wondered.

“Eh, I gotta see Tony but I figured I’d see Loki in for his first day,” He lowered his voice. “I told him to behave.”

“I can hear you,” Loki grumbled.

“Yes, well you already know I told you to behave,” Thor said. “So… behave.”

“Yes, mother,” Loki replied snidely.

Thor huffed and shook his head.

“I fear I’ve set him into a mood already,” Thor said. “I apologize.”

Loki blinked in exasperation but said nothing.

“Well, I guess we should begin and you should see Tony sooner than later,” You offered. “He called for the jet so he might not be here much longer.”

“Thank you,” Thor clapped your shoulder. “I promise, he has changed.”

You nodded and gave a weak smile. Thor left you and you turned to Loki. He stared at you a moment then his eyes drifted to the transparent door.

“Allow me,” He pushed the door inward and stepped inside to let you past. 

You looked down at your full hands and thanked him as you entered. You set your mug and scone down but didn’t touch them. You had hoped to enjoy them before his arrival but for once, Thor was timely. Or perhaps that was Loki’s doing. He seemed the more stringent of the two.

“Loki,” You waved to the chair across from you. “Nice to meet you.”

“Again,” He neared slowly and grabbed the back of the chair. “Did you forget?”

“A brief meeting, yes,” You said. “But I’ve been told you weren’t yourself.”

He sat carefully and leaned an elbow on the arm of the chair.

“I remember it though,” He assured you.

“I tend to remember other events that day a little more clearly,” You countered. 

“Mmm,” His brow twitched. “Yes, you Midgardians do cling to the more extreme details of my last visit.”

You wanted to scoff. Your last meeting had very nearly killed you. As creatures flew upon strange machines outside the windows of Stark Tower and buildings were decimated, you had caught a piece of shrapnel as one of the invaders crashed through the windows. You still wore the scar across your side; still remembered the god behind Tony’s bar, lecturing you upon your inferiority.

“This is a new start,” You slid a binder over to him. “Though not an exciting one.”

His fingers tapped on the blue cover as you opened your own and took a sip of your tea. 

“What is this?” He opened his slowly.

“The rules,” You answered. “Combat regulations, mission protocol, office standards… the fun stuff.”

“And did my brother have to sit through this tripe?” He asked.

“Your brother didn’t try to invade New York,” You said sharply. “And Tony likes him.”

“Ah, Stark,” He smirked. “Of course.”

“Did you want a tea? Anything to drink?” You asked.

His eyes flicked up and he considered you. “Very kind, but I’d rather we just begin.”

“Right,” You looked down and took a breath. “Probably best.”

🐍

The clock at the end of the room read past six. You yawned and rubbed your eyes. All the little quizzes and evaluations Tony had tacked on were taking a lot longer than you expected. Loki looked just as uninterested though he read along all the same and had yet to falter. 

You sniffed and leaned back in your chair. 

���Ready to call it a day?” You asked.

“Up to you,” He said coolly. “To be honest, it has been slightly preferable to my brother’s grating presence. Slightly.”

“He’s not that bad,” You chuckled.

“He’s not your brother,” Loki countered. “Have you ever had the pleasure of eating with him? It’s disgusting.”

You held back another laugh and shook your head. Your eyes caught a figure on the other side of the clear wall. Steve squinted through and pointed at Loki with a tilt of his head. You blinked and shrugged. Loki noticed and glanced over his shoulder.

“Ah,” He slowly turned back. “The golden avenger has returned.”

“Well…” You tapped your fingers on the table. “I am, uh, late.”

“Late?” He raised his brows.

Steve went to the door and opened it carefully.

“Sorry to interrupt,” He poked his head in. But I’ve been, uh…” He looked at Loki warily. “Texting you.”

“We were just finishing up,” You assured him. 

“Hello, Captain,” Loki pivoted his chair.

“Steve,” The other man corrected. “Thanks.”

“Ah,” Loki’s mouth twitched and he looked between the two of you. He stood up and turned back to you. “I didn’t realise. I shall see myself out.”

“We’ll pick this up tomorrow. Same time,” You said. 

“I look forward to it,” He said dryly.

Loki took the black jacket he’d slung over the back of his chair halfway through your session and nodded at Steve as he slipped past him. He strode along the wall and offered a two finger wave before he disappeared. Steve watched him with hands on his hips.

“What--”

“You haven’t talked to Tony?”

“I didn’t think he was serious,” Steve turned to you. “He didn’t--”

“Oh, you guys need to calm down,” You rolled your eyes. “He was perfectly… tame.”

You pulled out your phone and saw several notifications from Steve, along with a few emails. One was marked with a red exclamation which deemed it urgent and you opened it up. You glossed through it quickly.

“Steve,” You looked up. “You didn’t?--”

“It was Bucky too,” He said evasively. “We were just doing our job.”

“You collapsed a bridge,” You frowned. “Why is it always you?”

“No casualties,” He pleaded.

“Only me,” You scowled. “I’ll be buried in the paperwork.”

He lowered his chin guiltily. He neared shyly as you packed up your bag.

“How can I ever make it up to you?” He touched your arm.

You narrowed your eyes at him as you collected your mug and half-eaten scone.

“Cheesecake?” He smiled. 

“You can’t buy me with dessert,” You brushed past him and he followed you out into the hall.

“Really?” He said. “I know you like a little whip cream on top.” You entered the kitchen and rinsed out the cup and placed it in the rack. “But… we could try it on something else.”

You faced him and fought not to smirk. You shook your head.

“So the cheesecake is… foreplay?”

“Part of it,” He got closer and his hand settled on your hip. 

“Hmm,” You hummed as his lips hovered over yours. “Strawberry cheesecake?”

“My favourite,” He purred and kissed you. 

🐍

The next day, you found Loki waiting in the conference room. You had spent your morning trying to clean up after the super soldiers. You pushed through the clear door and rounded the table as you greeted Loki.

“You’re early,” You said as you took your seat. The binders were as they had been the day before.

“All the better to get this over with,” He said as you sat and rolled your chair closer to the table.

“You know, I am starting to think it would be a lot easier if you and Tony just had it out,” You opened the binder. “Well, easier for me.”

Loki snickered and flipped through his own binder.

“You and the golden boy,” He ventured as you found the right page. “Adorable.”

You glanced up at him and furrowed your brow. You cleared your throat and looked back to the pages.

“So, we were going over required training.” You said.

“Is that allowed in your little Midgardian handbook?” He prodded.

“We will cover that,” You assured him. “Not that I think you need to worry about it.”

“Hmm, no,” He mused. “I wouldn’t.”

You sat back and sighed.

“It might be easier if you at least tried to make friends here,” You said. 

“Friends?” He lifted a brow. “Who should I start with? Stark? Oh, I’m sure he’d be open to a little reconciliation. Or maybe Rogers? Hmm? He really seems the forgiving type. Or that little redhead thing? She seems peaceable.”

“You could begin with me,” You offered. “I’m not here to provoke you.”

He blinked and shifted in his chair.

“Have I been unkind?” He wondered.

“Not exactly,” You answered. “But not everything needs to be a… snipe.”

He considered you and his hand spread over the binder.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” He said evenly. “I bear you no hostility, though perhaps I do owe you an apology.”

“Apology?” You echoed.

“Regardless of the circumstance, I said what I said that day, it was cruel and there is no excuse,” He said. “You were wounded and I would have watched you die. It might have been a different version of me, but it was me. I apologise.”

“You don’t have to--” You touched your side without thinking. “Thank you.”

“And I will do my best to withhold my contempt. You do not deserve it.”

You were a bit shocked by his candour. You pressed your lips together and straightened the binder in front of you.

“That’s a good start,” You said. “So, now that’s cleared up…”

“What page was it?” He nodded and looked to his binder. He leaned it against the edge of the table as his eyes roved over the tight font. 

🐍

The rest of the week went much the same. However, Tony’s plan to chip away at Loki seemed not to be working as your patience wore away and the Asgardian remained ever stoic. He was almost amused as he humoured your Midgardian codes. 

Your weekend was well earned but didn’t allow for much rest. Steve was due to leave again that week so you had to squeeze what time you could out of him. It could be a couple days, or a week, or two. He could never really say and you never expected him to. You knew how it was when you got into the relationship.

All the while, you tried to catch up on the work delayed by Tony’s pointless ploy to drive Loki out. You hated that he had chosen you for this though you doubted he’d trust any other to do so.

On Monday, Loki was late. You were surprised. He had always been annoyingly early. You texted Steve and he replied with a heart emoji. The door whisked open and had your phone face down on the table. Loki sat heavily across from you, a scrape across his forehead and a split in his lip. His cheek was slightly swollen beneath his eye but he seemed barely fazed by his injuries.

“Oh my god,” You said. “What happened to you?”

“Training,” He smiled and hissed as the gesture pulled at the cut. “My brother… got a bit carried away.”

“And how does he look?”

“To the detriment of my pride, better than I do,” He said. “I did try to restrain myself, though my tongue does not obey me as well as my body.”

“Let me get you some ice,” You stood.

“Really, I’m fine.” He insisted.

“You’re bleeding.” You said as blood began to trickle from the split in his lip.

“I thought I’d stemmed it,” He reached up. “Forgive my lateness.”

“That’s the last thing I’m worried about,” You scoffed. “One second.”

You went to the kitchen and grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and the first aid kit from beneath the counter. You returned to Loki and set your wares down. You flipped open the metal box and grabbed an alcohol wipe.

“Did you clean the cuts at least?” You asked.

“I can handle it,” He assured you.

“Sorry, sorry,” You flicked the packet. “I sound just like my mother right now.”

“I do appreciate it though.” 

He took the little paper packet and tore it open. He blindly wiped the cut along his hairline and that on his lip. You offered him some gauze and he thanked you before he pressed it to his lip. When the blood slowed, he grabbed the ice pack and held it to his cheek.

He stood and you quickly backed away as he tossed his mess in the bin. You packed up the kit as he sat again.

“Thank you,” He said again and you pushed aside the metal box.

“You know, it’s not too uncommon to have a bloody lip here,” You rounded the table and sat across from him. “You good though?”

“Very,” He said with a slight smirk. “I have been anticipating this section most fervently.” He opened the file before him. “Office etiquette. I suppose I am sorely lacking in that.”

You almost laughed at his quip. He wasn’t so cold as that first day and you no longer saw the villainous invader before you. You saw someone wildly out of place. For a moment, you felt bad for him. The glimmer in his eyes quickly smothered it and you wondered for a moment. This was Loki; he could more than handle himself.

🐍

Steve showed up only a couple hours later and waved at you through the glass. He had his bag. He was leaving. You tried not to stutter as you continued reading through the clauses before you and Loki seemed barely bothered by your momentary lapse. You swept a paper out of another folder.

“So, another pop quiz,” You said sourly. “While you fill that out, I’ll just excuse myself for a moment.”

“Very well,” He accepted and played with the pen. 

“Ten minutes.” You promised as you stood and slid the paper to him.

He nodded and looked dully at the sheet. You hurried around the table and out into the hall. Steve retreated and you followed so you could not be seen through the transparent wall.

“Going?” You asked glumly.

“I shouldn’t be long. It’s an easy in and out.” He rubbed your arm.

“Oh? And who’s going with you?” You asked.

“Um, Sam,” He said.

“Ha, sure, easy,” You kidded. 

“And what about him?” Steve nodded to the conference room. “How long’s this gonna take?”

“Well, with all Tony’s bookmarks, probably the rest of my life,” You grumbled.

“Gee,” He frowned. “I don’t envy you.”

“Rub it in,” You huffed. “I’ll miss you.”

“You too,” He leaned in to kiss you.

Your lips met and you grabbed onto his shoulder. You wanted to kiss him forever just to make him stay. But he had to go and you had to get back to work.

“While interoffice relationships are permitted so long as the proper legal protocol is followed, open displays of affection are prohibited as they are unprofessional and unseemly in the workplace and may lead to discomfort of others.” Loki’s voice cut through the air.

You pulled away from Steve and looked to him aghast. You heard Steve sigh and he hitched his duffle up on his arm. Loki held up the paper and grinned.

“Sorry to interrupt but I finished and… well, I think I’ve learned a lot,” He taunted.

“Apparently,” You turned back to Steve as he glared at Loki. “Sorry, I gotta go but… let me know when you can that you’re safe.”

“Of course,” He tore his eyes from Loki. “I love you.”

“You too,” You patted his chest. “See ya.”

“Yeah,” He shook his head and shot Loki one last sneer. “Bye.”

You watched Steve go and turned back to Loki. You hid your irritation and neared to take his paper.

“Thanks,” You said as you swept back into the conference room.

You sat and checked his work. Perfect, as ever. You were certain he didn’t care about any of this but he never wavered. You added it to the pile and looked up at him. He leaned back in his chair coolly.

“Did I pass, teacher?” He teased.

“Why did you do that?” You asked.

“Just practicing my learning,” He smirked.

You shook your head at him and flipped the page.

“Moving on,” You said.

“Must be difficult. Being apart so much.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” You said. “It’s personal.”

“Apologies,” He said. “I was only attempting small talk.”

“It’s okay,” You said. “I just… to be quite honest, I’m cursing Tony as much as you probably are.”

🐍

Another week of tedium and you were ready to tap out. And you were further irritated that Loki showed no sign of distress. He was just as cool as ever as you went through the ridiculous mandates. Just as irksome as you glanced at your phone between sections. His curious, almost taunting eyes, lit up along with your screen.

But you kept on and on Friday, you let him leave a full twenty minutes early. You stayed another hour as you caught up on the rest of your workload. You barely made a dent but you just wanted to go home and hide in bed. Your empty bed. You hoped Steve would return soon.

You yawned as you drove to your building. Your fatigue mounted as you rode the elevator to your floor and neared the door of your condo. It was unlocked. You hesitated and pushed inside. You blinked as you looked around. The lamp in the living room was on but no other light shone and nothing seemed out of place.

You stepped further inside as you dug your hand into your purse and clutched the can hidden in its depths. Another light came from your bedroom door and you carefully crept down the hall in your heels to peek inside. You pulled out the can and screamed as a shadow appeared in the doorway.

You didn’t have a chance to spray the mace as it was batted out of your hand and the surprised chuckle eased your fears. Steve grabbed your arms as he steadied you. He was freshly showered and smelled of his sandalwood soap. He wore only the pair of old grey sweats with the hole in the knee. You shook your head at yourself and smiled.

“When did you get back?” You asked.

“About an hour ago. Didn’t think I’d beat you home but I had to try,” His hands slipped from your arms and he embraced you. “You miss me?”

“Did you miss me?” You countered.

“Of course,” He bent and kissed your lips, rocking you slightly. He pulled away and lifted a brow. “You look tired. Too tired?”

You giggled and hit his chest. He released you and slid your purse from your arm.

“Don’t worry, I can do all the work,” He offered. “You just get… comfortable.”

He backed away and set your bag on his dresser. You glanced at the chair where you usually put it and shrugged. You stepped out of your shoes and tucked them down beside the dresser. You stood and removed your blazer. Steve moved slowly to the bed and dropped down on his stomach as he watched you, his head cradled in his hand.

You felt like blushing. He hadn’t been like this in a while. The last few times he returned, he’d been tired; quiet. You gave him his space and he came to you after a while. You knew he needed the chance to decompress but sometimes it felt like he thought your time without him was easier. That your job was easier.

You unbuttoned your blouse and tossed it over the chair, shimmied out of your trousers and let them wrinkle on the seat. Your back ached from sitting all day in the chair and your muscles were tense from weeks sitting across from Loki. He was easier to deal with but that little glimmer of paranoia remained.

You unhooked your bra and swung it around before you let it fly across the room. You laughed as Steve hummed and you teasing pushed your fingers under the elastic of your panties. You paused and gave him a cheeky look. He groaned and perked up.

“You need help?” He asked.

“Well, not with these,” You shoved the panties down your thighs and they fell to your feet. “But I wouldn’t mind a nice massage. My back is killing me.”

“Hmm,” He sat up. His pants did little to hide his impatience. “I could do a massage.”

He patted the bed as he shuffled back to the edge. You went to the bed and climbed up. You eased yourself down onto the mattress, your face nestled between the pillows as you sighed. His hand brushed your leg and ran up to squeeze your ass. He urged your legs apart and moved between them.

“You’re tense,” He said as he pushed his hands over your ass and up your back. His fingers traced the scar along your side and lingered there. It was always so sensitive and made you shiver.

“It’s been a long week,” You turned your head to speak.

“Oh yeah?” He wondered. “He… giving you a hard time?”

“Not really but… I don’t wanna think about work.”

“Then don’t,” He ran his thumbs along your shoulder blades and drew a groan from you. 

You turned back to the pillows and stretched your arms up around your head. His hands kept moving, firm, attentive, magic. Your voice got louder and louder as he found the knots and the little aches perfectly. It was rare for him to be so thorough. Often he was thinking so much about what came next, he barely glossed across your flesh.

He gripped your hips and you felt his breath on your skin. He laid a trail of kisses along your back; lower, lower, lower. He dragged his lips over your ass and nibbled your thigh, then your other. He urged your pelvis up and you obliged. You bent your legs just a little to support yourself, your head buried in the pillows.

He got down on his elbows as he pushed his head between your legs and slid his tongue along your folds. He gently began to lap and your thighs began to tingle. The flick of his tongue grew more deliberate as he brought his hand up to tease your clit. He poked your entrance with his tongue and hummed.

Your fingers closed around the duvet and you lifted your head. You whined as you felt the pressure building. You breathed through your teeth and your entire body shook. You were surprised by your orgasm, how quickly it swelled and crashed. Your thighs quivered and you bit down on the corner of the pillow as you came.

He kept on and you whimpered. Your voice floated around you as your entire being buzzed. His purrs sent a shiver along your spine as his tongue kept on. Then you heard your name. A hollow tone. Confused, familiar.

The warmth of Steve’s mouth left your cunt and you turned. Frantic you stared at the man in the doorway of your bedroom. You looked between him and the identical figure kneeling on the end of the bed. What the fuck?

The Steve in the doorway stormed the other. They met at the end of the bed and you were almost crushed beneath them as you backed up against the headboard. Scared, you watched them tussle until they rolled onto the floor with a crash. The grunts were startlingly similar.

You crawled across the bed and looked down at the struggle. The panic brewed in your chest. You hopped off and grabbed the naked Steve’s shoulder.

“Get off! What’s going on?!” You pulled and found yourself flung back. 

You tried to grab him again and found yourself drawn back by an invisible force around your neck. You were dragged back to the bed, almost choking as the blankets wrinkled beneath you as you tried to latch onto them. You stopped at the headboard and felt along your throat, a searing pain in your palm as the unearthly bound tightened.

You kicked out and the sounds of struggle seemed to fade. You heard Steve groan and watched the naked one stand. He went to the chair and dumped your clothes from it. He carried it to the end of the bed and lifted the other onto the seat. Eerie green lights wrapped around his wrists and ankles, a thicker one snaked around his throat and his lashes fluttered as he tried to blink away his daze.

“What--” 

As the naked Steve turned to you, his blond hair darkened to black and his broad shoulders shrunk, a slightly slimmer and taller figure before you. You wriggled and tried to pull at the restraint at your throat once more. You hissed as your hands burned terribly and rescinded them.

“Why?” You kicked your legs and they were stilled by the same odd green glow. “Loki! Stop.”

“Stop? Why, dear…” He turned and slapped Steve’s cheek. Steve shook his head and his blue eyes seemed to focus. “...you were just starting to have fun.”

“Leave him alone,” You tried to get up but were drawn back even more. Your arms were forced out and your ankles tugged further apart. “Loki!”

“Oh, I love to hear my name on your lips,” He purred as he came closer. 

He drew a slow circle in the air and your body turned so your head was at the foot of the bed. He knelt and turned your head as he pressed his lips to yours. He devoured you as he pushed his tongue into your mouth.

“Loki!” Steve barked and you heard the chair creak slightly before he cried out. “Lo-ki!” His voice was strained. “Don’t touch--”

Steve’s shouts fizzled out as Loki drew away. You were flipped sharply onto your stomach and you squealed as your head spun. Loki climbed up swiftly and straddled your ass. He ran his hands over your back and squeezed your shoulders. 

He leaned over you and grabbed a handful of your hair. He lifted your head so your eyes met Steve’s. 

“You want to hate me, Rogers, but you haven’t any reason,” He taunted. “So let me give you one.”

“What do you think Thor will do when he finds out? Tony will--”

“You can tell my brother but he’s forgiven me worse and Tony, well, he could have an unfortunate accident in that lab of his,” Loki slithered. “Or maybe this darling little toy might break before I’m done with her. Pity.”

“You--”

“Would.” Loki insisted as he dropped your head and sat back. He hit the back of your head roughly. “This isn’t love, Rogers. It’s not even a crush. This is just… fun.” His fingers crept down your back as he slid back. “Oh, wouldn’t it be a scandal; the golden avenger murders his own lover. Even if it was an accident, well, that serum of yours… dangerous stuff.”

“No one would believe--” Steve choked before he could finish.

“You think I couldn’t make them? What reason do I have to frame you? And it would be easy enough to stage it all.” Loki preened as he poked between your legs. He rubbed your folds as he spoke. “What they believe hardly matters if she’s gone, eh, Rogers?”

You croaked as the force squeezed your neck and you flailed as you gulped for breath. 

“Stop! Stop!” Steve pleaded. The pressure relented and you coughed and gasped. “Loki, please… don’t hurt her.”

“Oh, I never intended to hurt her,” Loki shoved his fingers inside you and you whimpered. “In fact, quite the opposite. Weren’t you having fun, darling?” You closed your eyes and he pinched your thigh. “Darling?”

“Y-yes,” You murmured into the mattress. “Please--”

“Shhh, you don’t have to beg,” He keened. “But I do love to hear it.”

He pushed his legs between yours as he continued to finger you. You could hear Steve’s heavy, angry breaths. Your own were shallow and frantic. Loki spread his fingers and you felt another prod at your entrance. He held you open as he slipped in; two fingers still in you as his cock stretched your walls. 

He impaled you and pulled his fingers out. He sighed as he wiggled his pelvis and lifted your ass. He got even deep as his hands grasped your hips. You sniffled as you fought the heat behind your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Steve uttered. You heard the chair wobble but still again as he let out an agonized growl.

“No,” You gulped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t--”

Loki pulled back and slammed into you. You squeaked and he did it again.

“You can have your little reunion when I’m done,” He thrust so hard the bed jolted with each tilt of his hips. “Oh, look at her. She’s shaking again.”

He sped up, a little at a time, until he was hammering into you. You ached from his relentless rhythm and tugged against the bonds. He bent over you and hooked his arms under your shoulders and pulled you up. He bounced you against him, your thighs draped over his as he worked your body.

You bit your lips and turned your head. You couldn’t look at Steve.

“He can’t look away,” Loki whispered in your ear. “I made sure of it.”

You whined as he continued to use you. His hand slid down to your clit as his other arm wrapped around your chest. He pounded into you from below as he began to rub. You felt the same sudden rise. The same irresistible tickle. You gritted your teeth and moaned.

You let out a pathetic sob as you came. Your entire body convulsed and you pushed your head back against Loki’s shoulder. His breath glossed over your cheek and he bent to press his lips to your flesh. He nuzzled further down and bit into your neck. He snarled as he thrust into you hard and deep.

He shuddered as his hips spasmed and he rocked through his orgasm. He came inside you, a sickly flood of warmth. Your arms were kept suspended to either side of you as you struggled to get away from him. You hung your head and squeezed your eyes shut.

He pulled out and let you fall forward. You caught your breath and slowly moved your hand to your throat. You raised yourself shakily and looked to Steve. His eyes were glassy, his lips parted, his face pale.

“Steve,” You reached out to him. 

As you made to climb off the bed, you flew back to the mattress, flat on your back. Loki strode around the bed as he snickered. He pushed his long hair away from his face.

“Now, now, you don’t think that’s it, darling.” He licked his lips as he came to the end of the bed and stood between you and Steve. “We have two weeks to make up for. Two. Grueling. Weeks.”

[jaxsteamblog]

Ice Queen

Click here to read the full fic on AO3!

After the borders were tacked down, and things returned slowly back to normal, the mundane aspects of life started to bubble back up. Thuy was off with her group, still working on the brand new world that opened in seemingly random points around the world. The Earth Empire was restructuring, a delightful task full of awkward meetings and forgotten names on Katara’s end, and so they were all expecting new ambassadors.

Zuko had to return to the palace for that. They had discussed for days what to do about Izumi, wondering what the best course of action was. Katara decided to meet her appointment in the new central palace in Republic City, figuring that Izumi could more easily spend time with her father should the need arise.

Not that they could figure out what was going on with their five-year-old since the news broke.

“Auntie!” Kya bellowed as she ran through the wide entry hall. Her small voice bounced off the cool marble and echoed in the empty space. Sokka and Suki followed; Sokka’s arm was thrown nervously over Suki’s shoulders.

“Hello dear one.” Katara murmured as Kya ran into her, putting her small arms around Katara’s hips. Her niece was the spitting image of Sokka, with only the faint reddish hue in her hair linking her to Suki. It made her heart ache sometimes, seeing the South Pole face and saying her mother’s name.

It was in these moments that she was relieved Kya had been born first, securing Sokka’s claim to the name.

“Can we practice now?” Kya asked excitedly.

“Don’t you want to see Izumi?” Katara asked curiously, too quick to think.

Kya’s face smoothed and she stepped back.

“Oh. Right. Sure.” She said and darted past Katara into the palace.

“She’s been really excited about this trip.” Suki said, looking after her daughter’s retreating form.

“Should we really be doing all this formal stuff so soon?” Sokka interjected and Suki sighed heavily.

“She’s a Waterbender. Everyone knows it and they’re asking questions.” Katara answered.

“I seem to recall someone being extremely pissed off about forced expectations and public announcements.” Sokka countered.

Katara gave him a stern look but he didn’t budge.

“I’m not taking her away or anything. She’ll just have to come for training sometimes, which of course means you both will be staying.” Katara glanced over at Suki, who smiled. “And if she chooses not to be my heir later on, then we figure something else out. It’s up to her.”

“How is Izumi taking it?” Suki asked.

Katara looked back over her shoulder, as if her daughter would appear.

“Zuko thinks she’s a late bloomer, but I know. I don’t know if that makes things worse or not.” She said and then sighed, turning back. “She’s not really talking about it.”

“And Lu Ten?” Suki inquired.

“He’s definitely a Firebender, but no fire yet. Which is a blessing I think.” Katara shook her head and shrugged.

“We’re doing the best we can.” She added.

“You think this would be easy, since we saved the world twice.” Sokka muttered.

“It is what it is.” Katara said, waving her hand in an attempt to dispel the lingering mood. “I’ve got some tea waiting.”

Kya, having forgotten her earlier disappointment, ran screaming through the halls with Izumi, two Swamp Tribe children, and a North Pole boy. Katara kept her amusement to herself as she watched the flinching security guards as something crashed in their earpieces. With the carnage, she assumed the younger brother of the Swamp Tribe matriarch was babysitting this time.

“So I assume I’m keeping my appointment?” Sokka asked as he plucked a red bean bun from the platter. Now deeply in their thirties, Katara had hoped he would stop eating like a child but half of the bun was shoved unceremoniously into his mouth.

“Nepotism at its finest.” Katara said as an answer. “No one else really wanted to go, seeing how Zuko spends most of his time here and the Prime Minister is kind of…”

“Dull.” Suki finished for her and Katara pointed back at her.

“I really liked that other guy.” Sokka said, taking a drink from his mug.

“Sato? Very nice man. His son Hiroshi always played so well with Izumi. Maybe next time.” Katara said and sat back. The banality relaxed her, and she wished her work would go no further than this. “I’ve finalized my schedule with Dong-Lee and dad, and nothing has really changed.” Katara continued.

“Still ignoring him?” Sokka asked.

“I’m not ignoring him.” Katara snapped. “I just think he needs to spend a little more time at the South Pole. With the people he actually represents.”

“Malina really isn't all that bad.” Sokka said and Katara glared at him. He responded by shoving the other half of the bun into his mouth.

“Look, the point is, the Earth Empire has finally selected their ambassador and he’s arriving tomorrow. There’s going to be a big, fancy dinner and I’ll introduce Kya as my heir.” Katara said.

“So where’s dad?” Sokka asked, his mouth still mostly full.

Katara slammed a hand on the table. “This isn’t about dad!”

“He’s on the triumvirate.” Suki said gently.

“And I am the head.” Katara retorted. Shaking her head, she deflated. “He’s flying up this evening. I figured he would’ve told you.”

“We haven’t caught up in a bit. Did you see what’s happening in the news right now?” Sokka replied and Katara snorted. For weeks there had been almost nothing talked about that wasn’t related to the spirits.

A knock at the door made them all turn.

“Come in.” Katara called. The door opened and a guard poked her head in.

“Excuse me, your Majesty, but Prince Lu Ten has woken up from his nap.” She said.

Sokka jumped up, shoving the back of Suki’s chair as he moved.

“Hey!” Suki exclaimed with a laugh. “You can’t monopolize all of the baby time!”

“Those freaky twins aren’t here, so I’m taking what I can get.” Sokka yelled back, sliding past the flustered guard to run into the hall.

After everyone was unpacked, and had a proper lunch, Sokka and Suki took Izumi and Lu Ten out into the gardens for a walk. Katara and Kya then made their way down to the practice grounds. The talk of her dad and growing stress of the next few days weighed on Katara and she hoped that this moment with her niece would cheer her.

The sun was shining, and it was a crisp day that she cherished in the early spring. The sea was a few miles away from the palace, but the building was situated atop a bending made hill so Katara could see ripples of blue-gray between the skyscrapers. A particularly strong breeze would occasionally bring the scent of salt water to her doorstep.

Kya held Katara’s hand as they walked over the small footbridge to the flat square. The training ground was covered in soft gravel and bordered by channels of water. It was a place they could all practice together, though more recently it was used to smooth out Toph’s plans for her new sport.

“Auntie?” Kya asked as they walked onto the gravel.

“Yes dear?”

“Is Uncle going to teach Izumi firebending?”

Anxiety plucked at a tendon in the back of Katara’s neck.

“Izumi isn’t a Firebender, sweetie.”

“Uncle says you don’t know yet.”

“Well…” Katara drifted, letting go of Kya’s hand and looking off into the empty air. “Your uncle didn’t have a strong spark at Izumi’s age, but he still had one. Izumi doesn’t, and that’s okay.”

“But how do you know? Is it because you’re a Waterbender?”

“I think so.”

“Will you teach me?”

“In time.”

“Auntie?”

“Yes dear?”

“Who taught you waterbending?”

Katara’s entire neck spasmed and her shoulders shot up to her ears. Muttering nonsense under her breath, she called some of the water from the channels and smoothed out the knots in her muscles.

Kya, her mother, had been there when Katara found her first instructor. It was Kya’s blood that Katara used in her final test with Hama.

“An elder taught me.” Katara said, using a truth to blur the unsaid horror. “She lives in a village somewhere in the South Pole now.”

It went against everything she had ever been taught to even consider killing Hama. Revenge took more than it gave, and Hama was not only an elder, but the only other South Pole Waterbender alive. She had returned Hama to the South Pole under heavy guard and with charms a Kyoshi Warrior had picked up from a guru in the Earth Kingdom. Hama had promised no further violence, being overcome with the promise of going home. She did not return to her village, to Katara’s village, but she was taken back home.

Kya had been buried at the prison, with hopes that she would be returned as well.

They were still waiting.

“Auntie?” Kya asked cautiously.

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Katara said brightly. “Did you say something?”

“Were you thinking about the war?” Kya asked and Katara flinched.

“Why do you say that?” She questioned.

“Papa looks like that too sometimes.” Kya answered.

“I’m fine sweetie.” Katara forced a smile and juggled three balls made of water. “Ready to practice?”

They practiced for a couple of hours before Kya inevitably got tired and asked to get a drink. By then, Sokka and Suki returned and Katara had to finish business of her own. Dong-Lee, the Swamp Tribe matriarch, was waiting for her with a dense looking folder.

The afternoon wound down that way, with Sokka making a call to Zuko about their next meeting. Suki took charge of all the children currently in the palace, telling stories and generally keeping the chaos relegated to one room. By dinner, most of them had calmed. Just in time for Hakoda to arrive.

Although completely expected, Katara still grumbled as Malina stepped into the main hall.

“Gran-Gran!” Kya and Izumi both yelled and Malina knelt down to hug them both.

“You’re going to pull something Tara.” Sokka said, keeping his voice low, and patting her upper back firmly.

“Shut up.” Katara grumbled, idly twisting the anchor bead of one hair loop.

“Oh look-” Sokka started just as Katara registered the third figure coming into view.

“Bato!” Katara said, her voice amplified by surprise.

Bato dropped his shoulder bag and strode forward, his arms open. Katara met him and they embraced each other tightly.

“What are you doing here?” Katara asked as they stepped apart.

“Can I not come pay homage to my queen?” Bato said with feigned shock. Katara laughed and swatted at him.

“If your father insists on sending me all over the frozen blue yonder doing his dirty work, I deserve the perk of visiting the High Queen in her fancy new palace in Republic City.” He explained.

“Good to see you Bato.” Sokka said and the two men hugged with the same type of loving force.

“Young man, fatherhood looks good on you.” Bato said, holding the back of Sokka’s head and pressing their foreheads together.

Sokka smiled, his eyes squeezing shut and a pin prick of water poked out the corner.

“Is Zuko not here?” Hakoda asked from behind them.

“His court is in session to approve the new Earth Empire ambassador.” Sokka said, moving off to the side. He stood between Katara and Malina, but that still put her in Hakoda’s line of sight.

“Daddy is going to bring me a present when he comes back.” Izumi interjected and Hakoda chuckled as he bent down.

“Oh is he now? I guess I better give you my present first!” He huffed as he stood up, swinging Izumi into the air.

“How are you Katara?” Malina asked softly. Katara watched her father carry Izumi, with Kya hopping at his side.

“I’m fine.” She said tersely and started walking. “Dinner is nearly ready.”

“That was ice cold.” Sokka said, jogging up to walk with her. Katara snapped sharply, sending sparks of frost into the air.

“Don’t you forget it.” She retorted.

“It’s okay that she’s not mom.” Sokka said.

“No Sokka, it’s not.” Katara replied, her words clipped short.

Despite their political positions, they took their dinner in the private family room, away from the other tribal members. Even with the separation, politics still dominated the table conversation.

“Who is the Fire Nation sending out?” Bato asked. Katara settled in her chair with Lu Ten wriggling in her lap. He had begun refusing the high chair, but was still too small for a booster. So Katara had to feed him while her own food cooled just out of reach.

“Zuko has made his appointments but the ministers have to approve them as well. I like the lady he sent to Ba Sing Se though, so I don’t see that changing.” She replied.

“Ugh, remember the ambassador last year? What a piece of work.” Sokka grunted, reaching over to cut Kya’s food. She fussed, insisting that she could do it herself, while Izumi smiled demurely with her chopsticks in hand. The mixed menu was always a struggle, and Izumi was leaning more toward Fire Nation fare while Kya was used to the knives and spoons of the South Pole.

“Who is going from us to Ba Sing Se?” Malina asked, of no one in particular.

“I have always wanted to do some proper travelling.” Bato said. “More than just the horrible marching in the war.”

“That might be pushing it.” Katara said. “Dong-Lee’s sister is going to Ba Sing Se, and I’m sending Hahn to Omashu.”

“HAHN?” Sokka cut hard and the knife in his hand went skidding across the plate. With a huff, Kya pulled her plate back and started sawing the meat with her own knife.

“Two ambassadors?” Suki asked.

“Omashu is the largest seat of power in the south, and it makes sense to have people in both places. Kuei won’t let the Fire Nation send more than one though.” Katara said.

“But why Hahn?” Sokka demanded.

“He’s grown up a lot, Sokka.” Katara said, sounding tired. “And no one could accuse me of favoritism since you hate his guts.”

“Fine.” Sokka said forcefully. Suki leaned over and rubbed his upper back.

“Paw-Paw, look what Auntie taught me!” Kya said suddenly. Everyone looked just as Kya levitated the tea from her cup, pushing it high above her head.

“Careful!” Katara warned.

“Mo-om! Kya shouldn’t play with her food!” Izumi said.

“I’m not playing, it’s waterbending.” Kya stated.

“That’s very nice Kya.” Hakoda said carefully. “But let’s make sure not to drop it.”

“I won’t!” Kya fussed.

“Even if I do-” Sokka took a finger and moved it toward Kya. “This?”

Cold tea fell on Kya’s head, causing her to burst into tears and Izumi started pummeling Sokka’s arm.

“Izumi! We don’t hit!” Katara jostled Lu Ten, who was still eating peacefully, as she tried to get up.

“Don’t be mean to Kya!” Izumi yelled while Sokka chuckled. Suki bit her trembling lip as she used her napkin to mop up as much tea as she could.

“That’s enough!” Katara said, keeping one hand on Lu Ten - who was starting to fuss - and using the other to bend away the tea.

“Izumi, go to your room!” Katara said.

“Katara, it’s fine.” Sokka said.

“Don’t tell me how to parent!” She snapped.

Sokka leaned back, holding up his hand.

Izumi, sniffling, stomped out of the room.

“I didn’t mean to get her in trouble.” Kya murmured.

“You didn’t.” Katara sighed.

“Kat, how about I take Lu Ten so you can eat?” Hakoda, suddenly at her side, asked.

Katara whirled around, grabbing hold of Lu Ten with both hands.

“I certainly don’t need your help.” She said sharply.

Hakoda’s eyes went hard but he didn’t move.

“I raised two children, Katara, I know what I’m doing.” He said.

“When? When mom was still alive and Gran-Gran lived with us? Or after you went off to fight, taking mom with you and leaving us behind? Or was it after mom died and you decided to stay in the North Pole to court a new woman?” Katara shot back. “Because it certainly seems like Gran-Gran raised two more children after you abandoned yours.”

“And where’s your husband then? He’s not here to raise them himself.” Hakoda said darkly.

“Zuko is the Fire Lord! And, if you really want to get technical about it, dad, he’s a five hour flight from here to the middle of the spirits be-damned palace!” Katara shouted. “Now sit down before I decide to make Bato the new chief of the South Pole and kick you out of my home.”

Turning on her heel, Katara shifted Lu Ten onto her hip and walked out the dining room. Ice crunched under her feet, grinding into her soles like diamonds. Goosebumps rippled on Lu Ten’s arms and Katara let out a worried breath as she moved down the hall to the bedrooms.

“I’m sorry baby-boo.” She whispered, kissing Lu Ten’s chubby cheek. “Let’s go call daddy.”

Katara grabbed a phone and went into Izumi’s room, letting her talk to Zuko first. Izumi immediately related what had happened at dinner, telling him all about Katara’s unfairness and tyrannical rule. Then, letting Izumi go back to dinner, Katara stayed in her daughter’s bedroom, letting Lu Ten play on the floor beside her while she talked.

“So what else happened?” Zuko asked.

“I got into a fight with my dad.” Katara answered.

“I know all about that.” Zuko said and she snorted.

“I just don’t get him.” Katara said with a sigh.

“Well of course. You lived with him for the first six of years of your life, while only being conscious of it for two, three years tops. Then he went off to fight when he was younger than you are now. He came back to his children being adults, and one of them bonded to the ocean spirit.” Zuko replied. Katara patted Lu Ten’s diapered backside while she listened. They were nearly done potty training, but it was a busy time and accidents happen. Lu Ten grumbled at the attention, pushing himself up to rummage through Izumi’s things.

“So you’re saying I should just forgive him?” Katara asked.

“I am the last person to ask about forgiving fathers.” Zuko quipped. “But more I’m just trying to break through your stubborn insistence to be mad at him.”

“I want to be mad at him?”

“Yes.”

“Zuko!”

“Katara, you know this. We’ve talked about it in therapy. If you feel like you’re justified in being mad at someone, it means you can get away with being mean to them.” Zuko replied calmly.

“I do have a right to be mad!” Katara countered.

“I agree. But do you think Dr. Matsuzawa would think you’re handling this in a healthy and loving manner?” He questioned.

“Mmmmm.” Katara rolled her discontent in the back of her throat. Lu Ten repeated the noise, bouncing up and down as he did.

“Let’s talk about Izumi.” Zuko said, his tone shifting.

“What do you mean?” Katara asked.

“You don’t normally blow up at the kids.” He clarified.

“Yeah.” The pit of her stomach twisted, shooting sour bile into her throat.

Zuko kept quiet, giving her space to process her words.

“I’m just worried about her.” Katara said.

“Why?”

“Why?” She repeated, incredulous.

“Yeah, why are you worried about her? Has she said anything?” Zuko asked.

“Well, no. Not yet.” Katara admitted.

“Izumi and Kya adore each other. I don’t think she’s jealous.” Zuko said.

“I don’t know.” Katara said.

“Are you jealous?” Zuko questioned gently.

Katara sat up, her stomach wrenching horribly.

“What?” She asked.

Zuko didn’t reply right away, but sighed.

“I’ve been trying to find a way to talk to you about this, and now probably isn’t the best time to bring it up.”  He said.

“Well you brought it up!” Katara said sharply.

“Katara.”

“You think I’m jealous that Sokka had a Waterbender and I didn’t?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? You’re weird about Kya.”

“How am I weird about her?”

“You nearly never say her name!” Zuko stated. “Maybe you’re not jealous but maybe you want Izumi to be, so you can have an excuse.”

“How can you say that?” Katara gasped.

“Katara, this isn’t an accusation. I think you’re hurting, a lot. The spirit world thing got us away from it all, but now we’re back. And there’s a little girl named after your mom, needing to learn waterbending, when you don’t really have the best experiences in your own instruction.” Zuko explained carefully. “I went through something similar with my firebending.”

“Zuko…” Katara whispered. Her throat tightened as her nose went numb and started to run.

“I’m coming home.” Zuko said softly.

“No, Zuko, you have things to do.” Katara said.

“I’ve already approved the ambassador, the ministers can handle the next part.” Zuko said dismissively.

“You can’t keep running from the palace. It’s pissing a lot of people off.” Katara said, sniffing and rubbing her weeping eyes with the heel of her hand.

“So what? What are they gonna do, depose me? None of these governors want to go up against me, my father is rattling around in a prison, Azula is quite happy in rehab, and Iroh is convalescent. Unless they want to go on a search for Ursa on their own, they’ve got no one to replace me.” Zuko scoffed. “Plus, Thuy likes me.”

“Having the Avatar in your pocket sure is handy.” Katara murmured.

“Thuy?” Lu Ten chirped, tottling back with his arms full of Izumi’s dolls. He held out one hand, dropping most of the dolls, and reached for the phone.

“Thuy?” He repeated and Katara laughed.

“It’s daddy.” She said.

“Daddy!” Lu Ten said excitedly, dropping all the dolls, and starting to bounce again.

“May I talk to my beloved youngest child?” Zuko asked. Katara laughed again and handed the phone over. Lu Ten took it with both hands, pressing it to the side of his face. A couple of the buttons beeped.

“Daddy coming home?” Lu Ten asked. Pushing herself back to lean against Izumi’s bed, Katara watched as Lu Ten babbled into the phone.

She wasn’t looking forward to their time apart.

With the call done, Katara gave Lu Ten a bath and put him to bed. Assigning a guard to act as a baby monitor, she then went in search of Izumi.

The residential wing of the palace was small compared to the rooms she kept in the North Pole and in the Fire Nation, but it was still much bigger than what she had grown up with. Being back in Republic City, Katara almost wondered if she was expecting her old college dorm. She hadn’t even returned to the campus, though they were certainly bothering her about it, but her mind kept returning to the uniform, beige buildings, relics of the war.

This palace was made with snow white marble, iron colored lumber from the Fire Nation, and miles of Omashu crystal to remind her of ice. The rooms were a mix of styles, some with low furniture and some with the more modern style of ornate desks and heavy pieces meant to be dusted, not moved.

Going through the rooms on the main floor, Katara found them all empty.

Not wanting to try the other bedrooms, she descended into the basement. This was the space Sokka had designed, and sure enough, it was where everyone important was hiding.

Sokka had built a pillow fort in the theater, a trail of popcorn leading to the draped blankets. An animated movie Katara vaguely remembered played on the large screen and she could hear both Izumi and Kya giggling. Deciding to leave them to it, Katara retreated.

With Zuko’s flight still hours away, Katara puttered around. She made more tea, put on a hoodie, and meandered out to the main courtyard to look at the stars. The sky was different here than the North Pole, and neither was at all like the sky in the South Pole.

Pulling her legs up higher on the lounge chair, Katara reached underneath for a folded blanket. She often spent nights out here and the staff was good about leaving cushions and blankets about for her. Folding herself over the arm was difficult with her tea in her other hand and Katara strained to reach.

“Let me.” A man’s voice said and the mug left her grip.

“Thanks.” She muttered, leaning further over and finally grabbing the blanket. As her hand folded over the fabric, the voice registered, and Katara looked down while she spread the blanket over her legs.

“Here you go.” Bato said, handing back her mug. Katara took it, holding it in her lap with both hands wrapped around it.

“Did you come to scold me?” Katara asked.

“You’re a grown woman.” Bato said with a grunt, sitting down in the grass beside her. “I want to make sure you still know your stars.”

Tilting her head back, Katara gazed at the stars.

“I’d rather you scold me.” She groaned.

“Really?”

“No.”

“I’ve already yelled at Hakoda.”

Katara rolled her head to the side to look at Bato, but he was still looking up at the sky himself.

“At dad?” She asked.

“You weren’t totally wrong Katara. He wasn’t around, even if he hated being away from you and Sokka, it doesn’t change the truth. Trying to pretend that he was still a dad is his way of telling you that he didn’t want to leave in the first place.” Bato explained. “But it doesn’t fix anything.”

“But I shouldn’t have said what I said.” Katara admitted.

“Sure, but where do you think you got your temper? It wasn’t your mother.” Bato scoffed.

“I never asked you about her.” Katara said softly, rolling onto her side to look at him better.

“Sokka did, but I wasn’t sure you would.” He replied.

“Will you tell me?” Katara asked.

“Of course.”

~

Banging rattled the thin door frame and Bato jolted upright, still tangled in his blankets and furs. As the banging continued, he clawed his way to freedom and shoved his arms back into the longjohns he was wearing. Moving from his bedroom in the back, he paused for a moment to put his feet into his unlaced boots before heading to the front door.

He yanked the shuttering door open, swearing in the bright summer sun.

“May you and your namesakes drown for a thousand cycles.” Bato growled.

“Oh come on Bato, too much sleep is bad for your health!” Hakoda said briskly.

“Did Kanna kick you out again?” Bato asked. He moved sleepily back to his bedroom, letting Hakoda close the door and follow. Kicking off his shoes, Bato began picking through the pile next to his bed while Hakoda leaned in the open door frame.

“She was up late for a birth.” Hakoda said, avoiding the truth.  Bato found his pants, pulled them on, and then searched for his parka. When he found it, he shook it out sharply.

“Is Kya up yet?” Bato inquired, pulling the parka over his head.

“That’s why I’m getting you. You know her father hates me.” Hakoda said.

Bato straightened his parka and avoided his friend’s gaze.

He couldn’t put into words what his life was like at the time. His parents had died last winter when there was another outbreak of tuberculosis. There were relatives he could have stayed with, or even gone to live with Hakoda and Kanna. Instead he chose to stay in his family’s house. They weren’t adults yet, but life on the ice and a blockade cutting them off from the rest of the world, it wasn’t like there was enough room for a childhood.

Hakoda was trying, and so was Kya. They had grown up together; all of the children in the village had grown up together, but it was different for the three of them. Bato had known they all loved each other, but two summers ago, he found out that Hakoda loved Kya differently, and it made him feel strange.

But it was difficult not to love Kya, in one form or another.

Bato punished Hakoda by forcing him to wait as he got ready. Bato dressed properly, shaved, and put together a meager breakfast. Ever the spoiled one, Hakoda bemoaned the bland food, which got Bato in for whatever Kanna had bubbling away on her stove that day.

Being back at Kanna’s wasted another hour and finally, finally, they were out on their own.

Bato was sent to get Kya and he grinned weakly under her father’s glare. Whatever he had against Hakoda, Bato was sure it was both misunderstood and completely deserved.

“Ah Bato, I wish we were children again.” Kya said, hanging off of his shoulder. “I miss penguin sledding.”

“You know, I think there’s an old canoe out back of my house. My dad and I were supposed to mend it this summer.” Bato said.

“We can’t go fishing in a broken canoe.” Hakoda stated.

“But we might be able to go sledding.” Bato countered.

The sledding worked, but somehow Hakoda decided that what they really ought to do was hitch a polar bear dog to the sled and really get going. Figuring they wouldn’t even get close to a den, Bato agreed.

This resulted in them running full-tilt through the snow away from a pack of polar bear pups with their milk teeth still in.

Wanting to hide their injuries, Hakoda then decided it would be a good idea to sift through Kanna’s unguents while she was sleeping.

That turned into Hakoda and Bato being temporarily blinded and Kya laughing so hard she fell into a slush pit at the coast line.

From there, they all piled into Bato’s bathroom, sectioning off the shower stall for Kya while he and Hakoda squeezed into the tub.

The room was covered in clean, but cracked, white tile squares. Steam filled the space, making their vision foggy even after clearing away the odd unguents.

This was the pair he had done his ice dodging with. All of their parents had been alive and watched proudly as they completed the ritual. Hakoda was the brave, Kya was the wise, and he was the trusted. It felt like their fate had been sealed then, and Bato relaxed into the grip of it. When Hakoda’s father died in a fishing accident, he went right back into the sea to make sure he was taking care of his mother. Kya always knew how to draw Bato out when he was pulling away. It was how they would always be.

“What do you think will happen in the future?” Bato asked, watching the steam curl within itself.

“How far are we talking?” Hakoda asked in reply.

“Ten years.” Bato answered.

“Hopefully this war will be over.” Kya remarked. The sound of the water hitting her skin sounded different than the tile. It was a sound Bato hadn’t heard in his house for many months.

“I hope to have children.” Hakoda said.

“Oh?” Kya intoned, turning off the faucets. She stayed behind her curtain, and Bato heard the splash of water as she wrung out her hair.

Hakoda looked away and Bato chuckled.

“What if the war is still going on?” Bato asked.

“Well, we’ll have to fight in it I suppose.” Kya said dreamily.

“How do you figure?” Hakoda asked sharply, sitting up so quickly the water sloshed over the side.

“If you want to have children, you’re okay raising them in a world like this? Where we can’t even trade up north anymore for fresh food?” Kya asked. “No one’s buying our fish, the Waterbenders have already gone off to fight and none of them have come back, and we don’t even have a local hospital.”

“But there’s so much to lose if we enlist. There’s no guarantee it’ll turn out in our favor.” Hakoda said.

“And here I thought you earned the mark of the brave.” Kya chided.

“So are you not having children until the war is done?” Bato asked.

“I think if I married the right man, I’d have to win a war for my children.” She answered.

Hakoda, sinking back into the tub, sighed happily with a smile.

~

Katara looked at the cold remains of her tea as Bato’s words swirled in her head. She didn’t see any of her mother in Malina, and she couldn’t work out if that made her happy or not. Perhaps Malina was the type of woman Kya would have picked out for Hakoda herself, someone to comfort him, not challenge him.

“Losing Kya is different for your father and me. We all got separated, so I keep thinking Kya’s just waiting in an Earth Kingdom city somewhere, waiting for us to find her.” Bato added.

“I know where she is.” Katara murmured.

“I know. And it kills me that you do.” Bato said. “Your mother didn’t deserve any of this. She deserved to see her children grow up and to meet her grandchildren. She shouldn’t have a namesake yet.”

“So what about dad?” Katara asked.

“Hakoda deserves peace. If you hadn’t gone through what you did, I would say he deserves to reunite with his children and live comfortably to grow old and fat. But you also deserve a father not blunted by years of imprisonment.” Bato shook his head, now looking at the ground. “You both deserve better but there is no substitution.”

Briefly, Katara thought about Noriko, but banished the seed before it could plant itself in her mind.

“What do I do then?” She questioned.

“My advice? Start over. Your father is a good man, and he loves you very much. We went away because we really thought we were going to protect you, to save you. He never wants to be far from you.” Bato said.

“Then why does he only ever stay with Malina? He was barely in the South Pole until I ordered him to go back.” Katara said sharply, her anger returning faster than she expected.

“You were supposed to be in the North Pole more than you were, remember? But someone decided they were better off traveling with the Avatar, or hiding out in the Fire Nation. Places your father couldn’t easily get to.” Bato said. “And how often did you want to see Malina when you were home?”

“Mmmm.” Katara grumbled, assenting to his point.

“Zuko is coming, correct?” Bato asked.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be glad to see him again. I haven’t had the chance to really talk to him.” Bato stood and stretched his back. Katara could hear the succession of pops from his joints.

“I think you’ll like him.” Katara said.

“Really? The son of the man who slaughtered my people? Who kept medicine from our village and killed my parents? You think I’ll like the Fire Lord, hmm?” Bato asked casually. Katara sat up, alarmed, and tried to see Bato’s face in the dark.

“Most of all, Katara, I think you need to understand just how much Hakoda is willing to deal with because of how much he loves you.” Bato said. “I hear that your husband is a good man, and I trust that you wouldn’t marry an evil person. But we have suffered differently, you and I. And I don’t have love to help me forgive as easily.”

Without another word, Bato turned and walked back to the palace, leaving Katara alone in the dark. Revenge was not sought in their tribe. Harming another person meant weakening the community. But there was still the matter of justice. Bato would not hold Zuko accountable for the sins of his father, but politics changed things. Katara understood that, and she understood Bato knew the difference as well. His hostility toward the Fire Lord was not the neutral friendliness he used to talk about her husband.

Hakoda had only ever fought with her about politics when he learned of her relationship with Zuko.

Heading back inside herself, Katara went straight to her private rooms. She showered and took extra care with her routine, wasting more of her time before Zuko arrived. Brushing out her hair, Katara’s shoulders sank seeing the wide swaths of black in her normal brown. The past two years had been exhausting beyond a physical way and had tapped into her spiritual reserves. So much had changed, but there was still that feeling of loss over what had been left behind or broken.

Very similar to how she felt at the end of the war.

While smoothing lotion into her arms and legs, Katara took a moment to examine the scars. She remembered Zuko’s fingers tracing them years ago, his pale skin somehow paler than the raised lines on her body.

Standing in the mirror, Katara saw the other scars that sank into her body. The stretch marks that rippled over her stomach and down her thighs. Ebony threads were like embroidery over her dark skin making no pattern but beautiful still.

Pulling on a robe, Katara tied the belt and walked silently to the bed. Purple sheets, made of silk to protect her hair and cool to the touch. There were places in the midlands of the Earth Empire that considered purple dye to belong to the royals. Apparently King Bumi was fond of it, mixing it with the typical green attire of Earth Kingdom citizens.

Katara just loved the blend of red and blue.

Sliding into bed, she shivered as her damp and lotioned legs brushed against the sheets. Tucking herself in, Katara shuddered deeply once and then relaxed. She thought for a moment that she was jealous, but not about Sokka or Kya specifically. Katara had hated everything she and Zuko had to go through in order to even have this place. She hated the schedule and the weeks away from her children and husband, or missing just Zuko.

If the world hadn’t been placed in peril yet again, they may never have won this small victory in the first place.

So in a way, Katara was bitter that she hadn’t earned any sort of simple ending. Her father, Sokka, even Thuy were uncomplicated by their relationships. Either no one was high enough or, as it was for Thuy, the Avatar was someone who could simply do whatever they wished.

A life where she graduated from medical school, became a doctor, and lived with her little family back in the South Pole would never happen. Instead, she had to worry about her daughter’s inheritance, take on her niece as her heir, and run three different nations while also sitting as the lady of another ruler.

And Thuy. Of course, she always had a duty to her Avatar.

Picking up her phone, Katara scrolled through the messages to see if there was any update from Zuko. The flight app showed his plane still in the air, but near enough to Republic City. With almost a decade of ruling as a monarch, her social media was limited, but it was still nice to see what her friends were up to.

Jinora’s daughter Bumi was in elementary school and had bonded with her Sky Bison. Ikki had adopted another flying lemur, bringing her total up to four. Meelo, while not specifically posting about it, was still living near the rehab center where Azula was staying. He was actually incredibly helpful, despite the strange stories Rohan had told her. Meelo seemed to care a lot about Azula and brought his trained, monastic calmness with him when he visited her.

Rohan was on radio silence, again, as they were doing something mysterious out at the Eastern Air Temple.

Thuy’s new account for “the family” was called The Dream Tweem, tweaking the pronunciation of Thuy’s name for the pun. It made Katara snort every time she saw it.

The Dream Tweem was heading to a remote village tucked somewhere in the Xishaan mountains. Jae-hwan, despite his numerous trips with Thuy, was still not a fan of the cold and there were plenty of pictures of him dealing with snow.

Just as Katara was flicking through the album, she got a video call.

“Good evening Auntie!” Thuy said cheerfully.

“Is that Lady Katara?” Suzu’s voice came from behind Thuy and Katara watched her push her shoulder back.

“The kids are in bed!” Thuy said sharply.

“You’re lying!” Suzu retorted and shoved Thuy’s face aside. Katara laughed as she watched the excitement drain from Sula’s face.

“Hello Fire Lady.” Suzu said sadly.

“I’m sorry Suzu, had I known Thuy was going to call, I’d have collected the children.”

“It’s fine.” Suzu replied, dragging the last word out on a sigh while she slunk of view.

“Have you met the ambassador yet?” Thuy asked, her face returning to the screen.

“He comes in tomorrow.” Katara said, shaking her head.

“Oh, Zuko got his then right?”

“Blazes, how can you just call him that?” Zula asked.

“Because my parents weren’t crazy Fire Nation royalists?” Thuy asked, annoyed and confused.

“Are you talking to Auntie?” Jae-hwan came from over Thuy, pushing down on her head.

“Auntie, it’s cold!” He whined.

“I’m not you’re Auntie.” Katara said. “And your mother would lose her mind if she heard you whine like that.”

“Don’t tell mom.” Jae-hwan said quickly.

“I have Toph on speed dial.” Katara warned.

Thuy shoved Jae-hwan off her and sat up, looking at him offscreen.

“You know, sifu says you can’t be cold if you’re practicing.” She said and then laughed as Jae-hwan made an unseen gesture.

“Am I going to hear from Aktuk or Tashi?” Katara asked.

“They’ve gone on ahead to scout since they can handle the cold better.” Thuy said.

“Excuse me?” Zula interjected and Thuy rolled her eyes.

“My apologies madam inner fire.” She said sarcastically.

“Did you call for a reason Thuy?” Katara asked.

“Oh, right. I was wondering if you’ve done any more research on the energybending thing. Tashi and I were talking about it, after that spirit debacle, but we don’t know if we should try again.” Thuy said.

Katara was silent for a moment and Thuy was also still, looking perfectly innocent.

“Where in the mountains are you going Thuy?” She asked.

“A village.”

“What village?”

“A…. mountainous one?”

“Thuy, are you looking for the guardians?”

“Okay so, remember, you can’t really tell me what to do anymore now that I’m a fully awakened Avatar!”

“Thuy! We were all going to go once Iroh recovered!”

“I am so close Auntie! Tashi and I feel really good about this one.” Thuy began but stopped as Katara sat up.

“We don’t know anything about the lion turtles. It could be dangerous!” Katara said.

“Mister Whiskers isn’t even freaking out a little.” Thuy said, trying to calm her down.

“That’s probably because she’s brumating, let’s be real.” Jae-hwan muttered.

“Oh, big word from the street urchin.” Suzu said with what passed for friendly mocking between them.

“I am a Beifong you horrendous little bit-” Jae-hwan’s voice was cut off as Thuy stepped away.

“Are any of you taking this seriously?” Katara asked.

“Auntie, we just came off a world saving mission. We know the stakes. I don’t think anyone else expects to find anything, so they’re doing, whatever. But Tashi and I can feel something out here.” Thuy said.

“Well, don’t poke around there for too long. We’ll go to Ember Island this summer. You and I already know something is out there and we can go as a family.” Katara urged gently.

Thuy smiled and nodded.

“You know, my parents are getting kind of jealous.” She said.

Katara’s breath slowed from the coincidence.

“Oh?” She asked.

“It’s not a big deal, considering how we view family in the Swamp. But it is weird for them to have me be so distant.” Thuy said.

“Comes with being the Avatar I suppose.” Katara agreed.

“We all have things to deal with. Good thing they had other kids.” Thuy said jokingly.

Remembering what Bato said about substitutions, Katara stayed quiet.

“We won’t stay long. I promise.” Thuy said, taking her silence as a reproach.

“Be safe.” Katara said.

“We will Auntie. I love you.” Thuy said.

“I love you. Give the others my love as well.” Katara said.

“Of course Auntie. Good night!” Thuy said.

Before she ended the call, Katara could hear the chorus of other voices wishing her goodnight.

Laying back, Katara held her phone to her chest.

Thuy called her Auntie, but she had become more like a little sister. Thuy had picked her from the very beginning and nothing over the years could change her mind. From every bad mood to times of no communication, Thuy never wavered in her loyalty to Katara.

Her family was such a complex thing.

Katara found a video channel about an unseen man who made knives from all sorts of materials. Hours in, and in the middle of a video about making a knife from smoke, her bedroom door opened slowly.

“Katara?” Zuko called out softly.

Half-asleep, Katara roused and sat up. Her body was warmer now and her robe slipped off one shoulder from her movement. Zuko paused as he stepped in, light burning in his palm.

“Well.” He said with enough interest that Katara felt her pulse quicken. She laughed and straightened out her robe.

“Oh don’t go through the trouble on my account.” Zuko said, walking to the bed.

“Did you just get in?” Katara asked.

Zuko extinguished his flame as he put a knee on the bed, propelling himself into her arms.

“Yes. I went to check on the children first.” He said, his voice muffled as he pressed his face into the dip of her shoulder.

“Are they asleep?” She asked. She felt him begin to untie the belt and she chuckled.

“They were when I left.” Zuko said, sitting back now to properly attend the knot.

“I thought we were going to have a big talk.” Katara said as Zuko loosened the knot and undid the belt. He slid his hands through the small gap of the robe and around to her waist.

“You distracted me.” He said.

“By sitting here?” Katara asked and giggled as Zuko pulled her closer.

“Exactly. You know how beautiful you are, how dare you be visible when we have serious things to discuss?”

“You’re impossible.” There was laughter in her voice and Katara knew Zuko was smiling in the dark.

“I’m not sitting here flaunting such allure as if it weren’t enough to declare war.”

“War, sir?”

“War, my lady, and while I shall put up an earnest fight,” Zuko moved her, laying her back down as he straddled her and began unbuttoning his shirt. “I do believe you will best me yet again.”

“Oh but darling,” Katara said demurely, her fingers plucking at his belt buckle. “You may certainly try.”

And while she wished for light to see him, there had been enough years between them that she knew his body by heart.

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[thegoodgayshit]

Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Thirty-Six: I Have the Best Summer Ever

The rest of Luz’s summer was a total blur of the best kind of amazing, fantastic, demigod-ness a kid could even imagine.

Luz’s days were filled with training in the arena, playing capture the flag, and hanging out with her friends. Every morning that she woke up and put on one of her orange t-shirts was another reminder that as of right now, she really had it good.

Sometimes in the mornings she and Eda would head out into the arena and spar while King took his usual sunbathing position a few feet away. Eda would parry and block her strikes, give her dirty tricks to use in upcoming games or events, and sometimes Luz would even get lucky enough to disarm her or pull something new she wasn’t expecting.

“I swear kid, one of these days you’re going to be even better than me,” she’d say, reaching down to ruffle her hair and switch her weapon and get ready for another round.

More than once, she and her siblings in the Hermes cabin had banded together to play some light-hearted pranks on the other cabins. Viney and Jerbo were a mischievous force to be reckoned with, and while Luz liked to participate she never really got lucky in the “getting away” part. More than once, Lilith had caught her in the act while she was placing a prank and turned a blind eye, and Luz always felt a rush of affection for the daughter of Zeus. It was asking a lot for her to not snitch, especially since she was a stickler for rules.

Luz made it up to her once or twice by pranking Eda on her behalf with a little bit of help from Edric and Emira. When her mentor showed up to the dining pavilion once with her hair sticking straight up in the air thanks to some magic hair gel, the laugh that came out of Lilith’s mouth made it all worth it.

At nights, Luz and Amity would sneak out of their cabins and hide from the harpies, sitting with their sketchbooks in the strawberry fields. They would laugh, and talk, and kiss, and enjoy each other’s company until one of them inevitably almost fell asleep and they decided to head back.

The wall of Luz’s bunk was soon tacked to the max with drawings, some of them of her quest, and some of them with fond memories of camp. She always did her best to text one to her Mami once in a while, and let her know how she was doing.

Luz made sure her cabin would try and team up with Gus and Willow’s whenever they could. The three of them were officially a force to be reckoned with during capture the flag. Their combinations and chemistry in battle often resulted in very easy and very early wins, and some of the other cabins were quick to point out they had an “unfair quest experience advantage”. While Eda had just shrugged, Willow did her best to make sure the teams would sometimes even out a little better after that.

Gods kept visiting camp here and there, usually to come by and say hello to their kids. Aphrodite had the habit of showing up unannounced and snapping her fingers, giving everybody an unrealistically fashionable outfit and hairdo, while the clothes they’d been wearing got snapped back to their bunks freshly washed and laundered. While some of the campers hated it, Luz didn’t mind. Aphrodite certainly had her style down to perfection, and pocketing another free outfit was always nice. Amity had other opinions on the matter.

“I just don’t get why she has to do this!” She complained, adjusting the pink t-shirt Aphrodite had magically slapped onto her. “It’s so weird!”

“I think that really suits you,” Luz shrugged while pointing to the leather jacket slung over Amity’s arm. “And your shirt says Hexside! How cool is that!”

Amity rolled her eyes as Luz did a spin, showing off her new green jacket and beanie to Gus and Willow. “She gave me new shoes too! My old ones are torn to bits from the quest.”

“You have to admit Amity, it’s nice getting free stuff,” Willow said while examining her own yellow jacket. “And she’s not the goddess of beauty for nothing. These are nice clothes.”

“My clothes look exactly like the ones I already own!” Gus complained, looking down at his simple navy button-up and jeans.

“If it isn’t broken don’t fix it!” Luz teased with a smile, patting him on the back. Amity groaned in embarrassment, slapping her hands to her face.

When Hermes showed up the first few times to visit the camp, Luz said hello to him, but also made sure that her other siblings got to spend some one-on-one time with their dad. As he was leaving the third time he visited, he pulled Luz aside for a quick chat.

“I just want to let you know that the gods have talked about adding an additional reward for you and your friends after what you’ve done for Olympus,” he said quietly, and Luz’s jaw dropped.

“I… I don’t need another reward dad. The way you guys have been showing up at camp is more than enough.”

Hermes tilted his head, smiling softly. “Perhaps you don’t need one, but the gods want to give it to you anyway. You have no idea the gravity of the situation that Belos had created upon Olympus. He almost destroyed us all.”

He looked around to make sure nobody was listening, and then leaned in to whisper.

“As the god of messengers, I was responsible for delivering a package to your mother and the rest of your companion's parents. You should hear from them shortly.”

Luz gaped. “What? What do you mean…”

Hermes reached over and gripped her shoulders. “I am proud of you, Luz. And trust me when I say I will make good on my promise and be there more for you and your siblings.” He winced rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “And… don’t be the first one to use the shower this evening. Your siblings and I might have set up a bit of a cruel prank.”

With a flash of wind, leaving behind a thoroughly confused Luz, Hermes was gone.

Luz didn’t have to wait long to find out what exactly the gods had done, because her Mami was calling her on her cellphone almost immediately after.

“Luz! You’ll never guess what showed up in the mail today! You’ve been accepted for a full ride to a boarding school downtown…”

And she wasn’t the only one.

“I can’t believe this!” Gus had exclaimed while the four of them were sitting on the beach just after dinner. “We’re all going to the same school next year!”

“It really does seem too good to be true,” Willow grinned, handing Luz one of the illicit cans of Sprite that Viney had managed to sneak from out of camp in celebration. “My dads are sad that I won’t be staying at home in Wisconsin, but they had to admit it is a great opportunity.”

“I’m just excited to go to a school where I finally have real friends.” Luz had never been so happy to think about the start of a new school year before. “We’ll get to go see Olympus on the weekends! Working alongside the actual gods!” Luz turned to Amity, who was watching Luz with her own soft smile. “Are your parents… okay with this? After everything that happened…”

“Oh trust me, they’re more than pleased. They see this whole internship program to create a bridge between the gods and their mortal kids as a ‘once in a lifetime opportunity'. They’re even talking about paying for Edric and Emira to go with me and hope that my ‘success’ rubs off on them. They don’t love that you guys are also a part of it though…” Amity’s expression darkened for a moment, and Luz reached across the beach to squeeze her hand.

“I’m sorry,” Luz started, but Amity just shrugged her shoulders.

“Don’t apologize, this is a good thing. I’m going to get to stay here in New York full time.”

“We all get too!” Gus grinned, digging his hands in the sand like he was holding back a squeal. “Luz you’ve got to show us all your favorite moral spots in the city.”

Luz’s smile had stretched wide, already imaging the kinds of shenanigans she and her friends would get up to running loose in Manhattan. “Obviously! The city’s huge; we could do something new every night!”

“You’ll never be able to get away from us now,” Willow teased, passing Amity an amused look as she sipped from her Sprite. Amity tilted her head back and laughed.

“Oh gods, I better stock up on Advil. Between you three and the twins I’m going to have a constant headache…”

As it started to fade to late August, Luz’s days just kept getting better. Thanks to Eda and her training paired with the other camp activities, she was faster than she’d ever been, she could scale up the rock wall in record times, and her sword skills had gotten incredibly good.

So good, that when the annual sparring tournament came up in the arena towards the end of the summer, she’d been able to knock Boscha into the dirt with the pommel of Aletheia, leaving the red-faced daughter of Ares extremely bitter and her final opponent being none other than her girlfriend.

“No chance you’re going to go easy on me?” Luz asked at the campfire that night, really only half-joking.

“Nope,” Amity replied with a little smirk. “I’ve won this tournament two years in a row. I’m about to make it three.”

To say the camp was buzzing with excitement would be an understatement. The whole camp had watched as Luz the newbie quest hero and Amity Blight had grown obviously closer, and in the three days leading up to the final tournament match, the discussion of which girlfriend would be the winner was as common as asking what the harpies would serve for dessert that night.

“Come on, kid, this is what we trained for!” Eda said, smacking her shoulders encouragingly the night before the match. “I don’t care if she’s you’re little girlfriend, she won’t be going easy on you so you shouldn’t either!”

“Knock her into the dirt!” King screeched from his napping spot on the ground.

While they were only trying to help, it wasn’t the most reassuring advice she’d ever received.

Luz tried to turn a blind eye to the gossip leading up to the fight, but it was hard to ignore Emira and Willow exchange a bet right in front of her at breakfast right before the right.

“Seriously?” Luz scoffed, crossing her arms.

“Sorry Luz, but Mittens has years of training under her belt, and I’m out of allowance,” Emira shrugged while she shook Willow’s hand.

“You don’t see the way Amity acts around her,” Willow retorted. “If she’s like that today, Luz has a good chance.”

Emira hummed, “Shoot. I didn’t think of that.”

“Oh my gods,” Luz groaned, slapping both hands to her face, sinking into the bench of the table, mortified.

Once Luz had been fitted into a set of finally well-fitting bronze armor, she drew Aletheia and met Amity in the center of the field, where Eda and Lilith were standing to referee the match. As she approached, she watched Amity coming from the other side, armor almost identical to Luz’s strapped over an orange camp shirt, the crowd of campers cheering in excitement. As her gaze flitted up to Amity’s eyes, there was a glint that reminded Luz that Amity was not the person she wanted to be on the bad side of.

It was too easy to forget weeks after their quest that Amity was a demigod force to be reckoned with and not the kind of enemy you wanted to have.

As the crowd quieted to an anticipated hum, Lilith raised her hand. Her mouth was cocked in an uncharacteristically juvenile smirk. It made Luz wonder if the campers hadn’t been the only folks at camp to place bets. When Eda shot Luz a cartoonish smile with two thumbs up, before patting her pocket knowingly, it confirmed her suspicions.

Gods. Now she really couldn’t lose. Eda would never forgive her.

“Amity! Luz! Are you ready?”

With a single touch to her own wrist, Dike sprung into its full form, lifted just high enough to cover the grin that was spreading across Amity’s face. She swung her sword experimentally in her hand, the little flecks of a glinting in the sun. “Yep.”

Luz took a deep breath and raised her own blade nodding once. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“No holding back, right?” Even though Amity had phrased it as a question, Luz knew better. It was a challenge. The nerves in her stomach faded, and a laugh escaped her lips.

“Since when have I ever held back? ”

She smirked, “good point.”

“Alright your adorable banter is literally making me sick,” Eda scoffed, “let’s just do this already.”

Lilith rolled her eyes, dropping her hand. “Begin!”

Without wasting another beat, Amity charged and swung, and Luz lifted Aletheia to deflect it. A loud metallic clang echoed around the arena, and the watching campers erupted into cheers.

It was Luz’s toughest match yet.

The two of them traded blow for blow, each pushing the other to their limit. Amity was, inarguably, better trained, with mastered precision and skill that left Luz reeling with each strike. But Luz was more creative. She was able to flick her sword at the right angle to push her off balance and shove, she was able to dodge and weave without the extra weight of a shield, and she was crazy enough to take steps closer to her and press into her personal space, forcing her to recalculate moves.

As the fight went on for some time, the cheering got louder, their arms got heavier as they began to slow down, and the fighting got dirtier.

Luz did it first, though it was kind of an accident. Amity went to swing when she’d knocked Luz off balance, and she knew she wasn’t going to be able to stop it before it cut into her armor. Amity would have taken it out on herself later if she’d seriously hurt Luz, so it came out as more of an instinctual shout.

“Too low!”

She closed her eyes bracing for impact, but it never came. With a woosh, the sword went right over her head. She opened her eyes and saw Amity’s misty eyes clearing, before changing to a completely indignant look.

“Did you just use your Hermes bartering on me?”

She smiled sheepishly and swung Aletheia towards her, and Amity barely had time to raise her shield to deflect it.

She could hear the snorts and chuckles from both Eda and the crowd, but Luz barely had time to be proud of herself. Within the next two swings back and forth, Amity got her revenge.

Luz swung upwards, flicking the blade and finally getting a decent move that knocked her off balance. But as Luz went to disarm her, Amity’s eyes flashed and a curled smile crept up her face right as Luz brought her weapon forward.

“Don’t!”

And for a moment, all Luz could feel was the thrum of her heartbeat in her head as her vision went blurry. There was an overwhelming urge to get rid of Aletheia, back away, stop herself from getting any closer to Amity. All she could think about was how she couldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t even try. When her vision cleared, she had backed up five feet, and her sword slipped from her hand and clattered in the dirt.

She blinked, trying to figure out what had just happened before it dawned on her that she’d seen Amity do this once before. Aphrodite’s passion.

Luz looked down at the sword, then up at Amity, scowling. “Really?”

Despite the smirk on her face, Amity’s eyes were sparkling with humor and affection. “You started it.”

Luz barely had time to leap out of the way from another swing, doing her best to make a grab for the sword, but Amity wasn’t coming to play. She stepped right over it, and for a couple of moments, all Luz had was her speed. She ducked and dodged and weaved between swings, doing nothing but buying herself a tiny bit of time.

It wasn’t enough. Luz tried to make one last grab for the sword and Amity reached out with her hand, grabbing Luz by the arm and honest-to-gods judo flipping Luz over her shoulder. With a comically loud “oomph!” Luz was thrown onto her back, looking up at Amity as she grinned, her sword lifted in a faux-threatening position just below her chin.

“Alright,” Luz groaned, slapping her hand against the dirt. “Mercy.”

As Luz heard Eda groaning behind her and Lilith’s positively gleeful “and the winner is Amity Blight!” Amity sheathed her sword, reaching down with one hand and pulling Luz up to her feet.

And yeah, it was a tiny bit embarrassing to lose to Amity. But as her girlfriend lifted her fist to the roaring crowd of campers and grinned, her own hand wrapped tightly around Luz’s, she couldn’t find it in her to care.

The following night was Luz’s last night at camp before her first summer as a camper was over. She sat at the dining hall for hours with her siblings, joking, laughing, promising to stay in touch over the school year. Viney ruffled her hair and passed her an emergency pouch of Hermes tricks, while Jerbo reminded her not to be too close to this one when it exploded.

Edric and Emira snuck up on Luz at the table and informed them their parents did in fact enroll them in the same boarding school come the fall, and while Luz loved Amity’s twin siblings, the devious grin on her face did make her a bit nervous.

Right after dinner, Luz made a point to go find Eda and King, who were in their usual spot at the arena.

“Kid!” Eda said as she approached. “That was some great swordplay today.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t win, I know Lilith is probably giving you a hard time…” Luz said immediately, but Eda just held up a hand.

“Gross, sympathy. You’ve accomplished more than most first-timers this summer, and you’ve… made me proud.” There was a crooked smile on her face as Luz looked up at her, and she realized that Eda really was going to miss training with her. “Don’t be slacking while you’re gone. Keep your skills sharp. Stay out of the bad trouble, but in the good trouble. Don’t die. Oh, and if you’re getting chased by another empousai and need a quick getaway, there’s a great alley on sixty-second street-”

Luz rushed in, pulling Eda into a tight hug. While Eda huffed out a little groan at Luz’s overwhelming need to be touchy, Luz felt a rush of affection as the daughter of Zeus leaned into it anyway.

“Thanks, Eda,” Luz muttered into her shoulder.

A hand came up to pat into her hair. “No problem, kid. If Lili and I are ever heading to Mount Olympus, I’ll make sure we stop by that fancy new school of yours and say hello.”

“You better.”

"Can I come too?" King called out from at their feet, and Luz bent down to pick up the tiny hellhound scratching behind his ears.

"Yeah, can he?" Luz pleaded, and Eda rolled her eyes.

"Gods, you two are just the cutest things ever. Fine, whatever, the next time I go to Olympus I'll let him tag along."

After a chorus of excited cheering from Luz and King, it was time for the last campfire of the year. Luz finally got the true Camp Half-Blood experience. As Eda was leading the campers in a final last hurrah of songs and games, she walked over to Luz and reached out, handing her a leather necklace.

“As you all know, per tradition, every year we give our campers a bead to celebrate another year at camp. This year, the Hermes cabin designed the beads, and there is someone very special they wanted to honor.”

Luz blinked at it, taking it gingerly, and as she did Viney stood up, the twisted smile on her face visible through the crackling orange, magical, campfire.

“Luz, not only are you our newest sibling, but you helped lead a quest that not only saved Camp Half-Blood but all of Olympus. So with permission from the councilors from all the cabins, we dedicate this year’s bead to you and your quest!”

There was a whooping of applause as the beads were passed out, and when Luz took a look at it her heart clenched, affection and gratitude washing over her in a whirl.

It was a beautiful deep purple bead with a very familiar-looking sword and shield, and as she turned it in the light of the campfire, the glint of the light made it glow a beautiful magical bronze.

“So, did we nail it?” Viney asked as Luz was left speechless. Willow and Gus were grinning over at her with knowing smiles. Next to her, Amity squeezed her hand, looking just as emotional as Luz felt.

Luz leaned over and threw herself into the embrace of her half-sister, and the campfire erupted into more whoops and cheers. And yeah, Luz might have teared up a bit as she sat back down next to her friends, but if anybody noticed they didn’t comment on it.

That morning as she packed up what few belongings she actually had, electing to leave a majority of the items she’d bought for next summer, she was digging through her backpack when her fingers touched something soft. She pulled out a stiff, slick, feather, and immediately broke into a smile. Carefully sliding it across the leather to dangle right next to her bead, she clipped the necklace on and slung her backpack over her shoulder. Saying one final goodbye to the Hermes cabin, she walked out the door to go meet Willow and Gus in the strawberry fields.

When she got there, she couldn’t help but grin. Around the growing collection of beads on their necklaces, five and four respectively, a single matching feather was dangling from the middle. While none of them said anything about it at first, Luz watched as both Willow and Gus glanced down, their eyes softening with affection.

“Well?” Willow asked as she reached them, gesturing towards the now distant Camp Half-Blood. “Give us the verdict. What did you think of your first year at camp?”

“I…” Luz didn’t even know what to say. Sure, there had been the lows. The hungry belly as she traveled across the Midwest, the sword slashes, the monsters, the horrible villain who’d threatened to destroy the world. But right now as Luz looked between her friends and her new home, she felt nothing but love for her new life. The mischievous half-siblings, the rivals between the cabins, the eccentric camp directing duo that was the daughters of Zeus, Gus, Willow, Amity…

Luz couldn’t ever recall a time in her entire life that she’d felt so full.

“All I can think right now is that I don’t want it to end,” Luz finally said, and Willow and Gus stepped forward to pull her into a group hug.

“It won’t end, at least, not really,” Gus promised, his voice muffled as he was shoved into Luz’s bicep.

“Yeah, it’s just a short break,” Willow nodded, leaning her head against Luz’s shoulder and wrapping her other arm around Gus. “And in two weeks, we’ll all be together again on a new adventure.”

Luz laughed, “yeah, because the life of a half-blood is never really quiet, is it?”

“Well, that’s half the fun of it,” Amity said from behind her, and when Luz turned her head she saw her girlfriend walking through the field to join them. Her own backpack was swung over her shoulder, and she had a genuine, at peace, smile on her face.

“Spoken like a true Blight,” Willow chuckled from next to Luz, and Amity laughed.

“Well, maybe I’ll get lucky and this year away from my parents will shake some of that out of me.”

“You’re sure you’re mom and dad are okay with you staying at my Mami’s for two weeks?” Luz asked for what felt like the sixth time that week, and Amity shrugged her shoulders.

“I’m back to being their number one, despite all the… drama, that happened the last time we saw them. Edric and Emira will pack my things for school for me. Honestly… it’s kind of nice not going back to Colorado.”

After getting a first-hand glimpse into how uptight and uncomfortable the Blight Manor was, Luz couldn’t help but agree.

“Don’t have too much fun you two,” Willow teased, and Amity flushed over the sound of Gus’ laugher while Luz bumped her with her shoulder.

Whatever retort Luz would have come up with died in her throat as she looked down towards the pine tree. There, a few parents were already waiting at the border, with some campers joining them and saying hello. Among the waiting ones, Luz saw a man almost identical to Gus, and two other men standing together with their hands interlinked.

“We better not keep them waiting,” Gus said slowly, but he looked back up at Luz with a frown. Willow was standing there as well, and for just another moment Luz felt that same rush of love.

“No, you shouldn’t. Amity and I will meet you at grand central in two weeks, okay?”

“Two weeks,” Willow affirmed, and Luz pulled the four of them into one last group hug before Willow and Gus grabbed their things and went to go join their parents at the pine tree.

It wasn’t a real goodbye, nowhere near it. But Luz couldn’t help but feel her throat close up at the sight of them reuniting with their parents. Gus’ dad scooped him up into the biggest hug, and one of Willow’s dads immediately took her backpack while the other one kissed her cheek.

She felt Amity’s warm hand close around hers, and when she looked back, the daughter of Aphrodite was smiling softly.

“It’s going to be okay.”

“I know,” Luz said, and she meant it. She squeezed her own hand around Amity’s, taking a moment to really let the gratitude she had for this camp, for these people, sink in.

It wasn’t long until she saw another familiar person join the other parents near the pine tree. Luz perked up immediately at the sight of her Mami, still dressed in her scrubs. She’d probably gotten off of a shift at the hospital and rushed all the way down to Long Island just to meet her and was looking around anxiously at the other gathering parents and campers.

“Is that her?” Amity sounded nervous, and when she looked over, she was reaching up with her other hand to self-consciously adjust her mint green hair.

“She’s going to love you,” Luz promised, giving her a reassuring kiss on the cheek. “She’s been talking about how excited she’s been to meet you for like, three weeks.”

“That… somehow makes me even more nervous,” Amity breathed out. Luz chuckled, adjusting the straps of her backpack over her shoulder as her Mami finally looked up and noticed them. She beamed so widely Luz could see it from all the way up in the strawberry hills, waving towards them.

“Well, then let’s do this together.”

Amity looked back at her one more time, taking a deep breath. “Alright. Together.”

And as they walked through the fields hand in hand, slowly getting farther and farther away from camp, Luz felt her anxieties about the coming months slowly begin to fade. That was part of the magic of Camp Half-Blood. The place wasn’t just a training ground for young demigods. It was a safe haven. A family. A place that, even miles and miles away from it, you always knew it would have your back. It would be there for you, whenever you wanted to return. So leaving it didn’t feel like a goodbye, not really.

Instead, it was the promise of another new beginning as a child of the gods.

[autumnslance]

Early ARR: On Aeryn's first mission for the Scions, she and Thancred have to make camp and talk. With no one else around, there's no need for facades from certain rogues--as if the Echo would allow that anyway.

((Worked on this on the FFXIV Write 2020 free day (when not chatting with my FC buddies). Been working on this for awhile so finally yeeting it out there. Below the cut if one prefers Tumblr to Ao3.))

The wind was kicking up, sand and grit blowing as they rode across the dusty old roads toward Drybone. Thancred looked up at the sky and frowned as the rented chocobos kwehed and shook worriedly. Aeryn looked to him, a questioning expression on her face.

“We’ve a sandstorm coming in,” he confirmed, familiar with the signs. “If we push, we can make it to safety before the worst strikes. Come on!” He urged his bird into a gallop, Aeryn’s mount keeping up easily.

He muttered a prayer or three as the chocobos’ talons ate the yalms of roadway, his eyes seeking the cut in the hillside walls that led off to a side road. He finally found it, and kicked his flagging chocobo forward again as the wind surged, the rumble of the coming storm at their backs.

He let out a coughing breath of relief when he saw it. The small house was tucked against a cliffside, well away from the main roads. Thancred had discovered the abandoned building during his surveys over the years, and often used it for camp as he passed through this region. Now it would shelter the two Scions and their birds from nature’s fury.

He leapt off his chocobo into a running landing for the door. He took more time than he liked--less than a minute, but still too many seconds--to find the hidden key and force the swollen old door open. Aeryn had dismounted in the meantime, and led the chocobos inside while Thancred secured the door again.

“That should do--Godsdammit!” Thancred looked at the broken window. He scrambled to the top of an old table, praying again that it held his weight, and leaned out to grab at the shutter. He had to wrench it, and his shoulder a bit, to get the old hinges to finally pull shut. He jammed the latch; no need to leave it open in any case.

Aeryn dug feed from the saddlebags, letting the winded chocobos soothe their nerves with dinner.

“Well, we are not going anywhere for some time,” Thancred said as the wind howled outside the old building. The beams overhead shuddered, but the walls were intact and the door remained latched. There seemed to be no other residents, either; his minor wards must have held.

Aeryn shook sand out of her coat with a grimace.

“Welcome to Thanalan,” Thancred said, dusting sand out of his fair hair. “I stocked some fuel by the fireplace when last I came this way; we shan’t freeze, at least. There’s a well, too, in the sideroom for drinking and bathing and all else.” He removed his chocobo’s tack, patting the tired bird as he retrieved his pack.

Aeryn did the same before joining Thancred at the fireplace on the other side of the small space. The ceiling was low and there were no other rooms; it had either been a single prospector’s house or was always meant to be a traveler’s waystation, forgotten as trade routes altered over time.

She set out bedrolls and rations while he crouched next to the old hearth, pulling a false brick from the wall with a small grunt of annoyance as his knuckles were scraped. In the hollow behind the brick was a battered camp kit and a meager amount of dry rations. “The tea shouldn’t be too gritty,” he said, using a cantrip to start a fire. Aeryn nodded in response, taking their canteens and the old kettle to fill with water while Thancred checked his stored rations alongside what they had packed for the journey.

Aeryn only had the aetheryte to Black Brush Station attuned, so they had had to travel the long way. Thancred had meant to camp at a more populated waystation on the main roads, another bell or two from now. He was glad after fifteen years working in Thanalan he had such eventualities dotted around the region; it paid to be prepared when the weather turned like this.

They settled in, amicably making camp, listening to the wind outside howl with the static of sand scouring the outside of the building. The chocobos were uninjured despite the final push to beat the storm, and fell asleep quickly after deep drinks of water and a treat of gysahl greens. The birds curled up together for warmth as the weather and night brought dropping temperatures.

“We should get to know one another better,” Thancred said as their supper warmed and the tea finished steeping. Aeryn looked up, raising a quizzical eyebrow. He shrugged. “We have the time, and we are colleagues now, are we not?”

She nodded again, a bit wary.

“All right, it may be a ploy to hear more of your lovely voice,” he teased, giving her one of his charming smiles. “Still; I shall start, if you prefer.”

Aeryn blushed, but did smile in return, at least.

Thancred remained crouched by the fire. “Now then; I bet you cannot accurately guess my age. ‘Tis an interesting effect of the--”

“Thirty-one.”

He blinked. “How did you--” He narrowed his eyes. “Yda.”

Aeryn giggled and nodded. “She explained a few things about the archons.”

Thancred sighed dramatically. “I can only guess what she said of me.” He gave Aeryn a pouty look.

She shook her head. “She said you’re a charming pain in the arse, and too clever for your own good. She didn’t speak poorly of any of the order.”

“Well that is something at least,” he replied. “She spoke rather well of you, too, if you were curious.”

Aeryn considered that a moment. “Hope I don’t disappoint.”

Privately, he agreed. Out loud, he answered, “From what Yda and Papalymo said, you arrived in Gridania only a short time ago. Where is it you hail from, if I may ask?”

“Originally, Coerthas,” she answered. “But Mother took us to her homeland in the Near East when I was small.”

“And you decided now that you are grown to return to the realm?” He asked, handing her a tin cup of tea.

She nodded in response as she accepted. “My brother returned a few years ago. I...came to find him.”

“Seems you have found plenty of adventure along the way,” Thancred said. Heroics in Gridania, and yet more with Y’shtola in Limsa, and what he had seen of Aeryn in Ul’dah; like she was always in the right place at the right time, and it all happened to coincide with the Ascians’ schemes ramping up again. A strange feeling, almost like a forgotten memory, tickled the back of his mind for a moment, but he dismissed it. “I know Ishgard’s gates are closed, but have you been back to Coerthas at all yet? Have you other family there?”

She shook her head. “No chance, while establishing myself with the Adventurer’s Guild, and then all that came after. I’ve heard Coerthas has changed since the Calamity, though I barely recall much of it.” Aeryn thought a moment, a small line creasing the space between her grey eyes. “I don’t believe I have any remaining family there.”

Thancred nodded. Before he could ask another question, she looked up, head tilting as she regarded him. “And you? Any family back in Sharlayan?”

“Ah, no, actually. I’m not originally from the City of Learning myself.” He idly rubbed the marks on his neck. “I am an orphan and immigrant; Sharlayan adopted me.”

“Like Yda.”

He raised a brow. “I’m surprised she said so much. She was...young,” he said, playing it safe. He wondered how much Yda had admitted to this young woman; it was easy to forget they were of an age, given…circumstances.

Aeryn only nodded and lapsed back into silence, watching the fire as she sipped her tea. It did not feel uncomfortable, and Thancred stayed quiet himself as he finished warming dinner. He passed Aeryn one of the cooked plates of rations.

“A simple meal, but it shall suffice for tonight,” he said. “Assuming the storm ends by morning, we can dig ourselves out and make it to Camp Drybone by midday. There will be better fare there.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking her share.

“You said your mother’s people are from the Near East. Hannish?”

Aeryn finished chewing the bite of jerky she had been contending with. “No; from an island off the mainland, actually. Traders; we spent half the year, after crossing over the strait, wandering usual routes, before spending the colder, wetter months in our village.”

“Grew up in a merchant caravan, then?”

Aeryn shrugged. “Partly, yes. Mother’s talents, when younger, were more of a minstrel’s.” She considered a moment, then smirked, eyes flicking a glance his way.

“What?”

“She’d have liked you, I think,” Aeryn said. “Probably would have seen through the charms, though.” There was a lilt to her tone; she was teasing him.

“Hrmph,” he couldn’t quite hold the smile back. “And warn me away from her pretty daughter, like as not,” he teased in return, pleased to see her blush once more. He noted again that it was not difficult to make that red appear on her tanned cheeks. “From my understanding, you’ve inherited some of your mother’s talents.”

Aeryn nodded again. “I can sing, and play the lyre and flute well enough.” She hesitated a moment. “I partially went to Gridania first because I’d heard rumors they had real bards in the Shroud. Luciane introduced me to one, but he wants me to practice awhile before teaching me more.”

“I’m sure you’ve the talent for it. We should sing together sometime,” Thancred said. She looked at him, blinking. “Good practice, yes? And the others would likely enjoy it.”

“I...Perhaps,” she replied, smiling. “What about you?”

“What about me, my lady?”

“You said you’re not from Sharlayan originally. What of your people?”

“Oh not much to tell there, I’m afraid,” he replied blithely, turning to the tea kettle. He caught a motion from the corner of his eye, and reflexively batted away the tightly wadded napkin she had flicked his way. “Hey!” He couldn’t help but grin; he recognized a test of reflexes when he saw one.

“You don’t get to deflect that easily,” she replied, grinning back. “Not after getting me to say so much.”

He eyed her a moment, then shook his head. “‘Twould only be fair, you’re right--but there honestly isn’t much to tell. No family to speak of, nor much of consequence occurred, before I met Master Louisoix and he brought me to Sharlayan--the colony in Eorzea, at least. I struggled to catch up with my education, learned to speak like a gentleman, and earned my Sage Marks at a younger age than most.”

She peered at him intently. He wondered if the Echo were showing her any of his memories. “Why do I feel as if some of that were out of spite?” Aeryn asked.

Thancred laughed, noting he had not quite kept a hint of old bitterness from his tone, and she had caught it. “Mayhap there was a bit; not all of the scholars were kind to a young guttersnipe. The ones who mattered though--well, you have met most of them.”

“You all seem close.”

“We’ve been colleagues for many years now.”

“Minfilia isn’t Sharlayan.”

“No,” Thancred said. “Like Yda, she’s originally Ala Mhigan, though she’s lived in Thanalan since she was a child.”

Aeryn gasped, her half-full tea cup dropping to the stone floor. She held her head, as if wracked by a sudden headache. “Are you all right?” There was no response, though she looked right at him. It seemed as if her eyes had taken on a silvery sheen. “Aeryn?”

She blinked, the odd reflection of light in her eyes gone. “I...saw….”

So the Echo did show her something. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath, smiling when he opened them. “A moment from my past?” Thancred asked quietly, resigned to explaining whatever the Crystal had deemed necessary to show her.

She nodded, reaching for the fallen tin tea cup and a spare blanket to blot at the spill. “Moments, really. It went quickly.” She closed her eyes. “A parade; a goobue; a miqo’te woman; a card game; a knife in a crypt…” Her eyes opened and she looked at him again. “Minfilia had a different name, as a child.”

He looked at the fire. “I could not save her father that day.” Thancred did not try to hide the old pain and shame; she already knew of it. “He had many enemies; I gave Minfilia her new name to keep her safe from them. F'lhaminn--the Songstress of Ul’dah herself--was part of the conspiracy of wealthy youths that led to all the events you saw. I ensured she took Minfilia in, though I also watched over her for years. Minfilia told me of her Echo when still an adolescent, and so I introduced her to Master Louisoix, via letters at first. The rest, as they say, is history.”

Aeryn nodded. “Papalymo gave me a brief history of the Circle of Knowing, the Path of the Twelve, and how they formed the Scions after the Calamity,” she said. There was still a thread of shakiness in her voice, but color was coming back to her cheeks, and her hands weren’t trembling as much.

“Does it take much out of you? The Echo?” He asked.

She looked at her own unsteady fingers. “Not as much as it did the first few times. Perhaps I’m getting used to it.”

He remembered her fainting at the Sultantree, and again outside the Sil’dihn ruins. The others had reported similar instances. “I hope so; you seemed ready to pass out.”

She grimaced and shrugged, and he feared she would lapse back into her customary silence. “You said you were looking for your brother, here in Eorzea?” He prodded gently.

Aeryn took a moment, then nodded. “He left home about six years ago, to see the realm of our birth and become an adventurer. I wanted to come with him, but Mother begged me to stay. She was ill even then, but had yet to tell us. And my own studies were not yet complete--though once she did take a turn for the worse, I had to give them up entirely.”

“What were you studying?” Something tickled the back of his mind again, but he shelved it for now to focus on her. Her breathing was steady again, and she wasn’t as pale; good.

“Magic. Magic theory, really, I...couldn’t do magic. Not as they taught in Thavnair, at least. I had wanted to learn so I could help my brother on his adventures. Instead I took up martial skills.” She frowned at the fire again, opting for water instead of more tea. “In Gridania, E-Sumi-Yan told me it’s strange I couldn’t learn; he says I have deep aetheric reserves, and it...suddenly seems to come easily enough, now.”

“Eorzea’s an aether-rich land,” Thancred pointed out. “Perhaps you’ll find a magic that agrees with you here. You certainly don’t lack the mind nor the talent, from what I have observed.” If anything, Aeryn's penchant for studying thicker tomes fit right in with many of his fellow archons.

She smiled, the pink tinge returning to her cheeks again as she ducked her head. “Thank you,” she said simply after some hesitation.

He smiled. “Quite welcome. Now, we should get our rest. Morning will come and plenty of work with it. Here, move your roll closer; we’ll have to huddle with the chocobos regardless for warmth, and I swear I shall be a gentleman.” He winked.

She nodded with a slight smile and an eyeroll, recognizing his joke. She shifted her bedding away from the spilled tea staining the floor. They ended up alongside one another, leaning on their chocobos, the chill seeping in even with the thick walls and the fire, the rushing of sandy wind now a constant background noise. The birds’ sleepy chirrs were closer and more comforting, the feathery bodies radiating a pleasant heat against the hyurs’ backs.

“Thancred?”

“Yes?”

“How exactly is my Echo supposed to help, if it still nearly causes me to faint when the visions come?”

He thought about his answer for a moment. “Well, you are getting better at not falling over when it hits you. Perhaps it will aid our investigation into the kidnappings.” He did not want to think about the alternative, the possibility that she might have to do more.

Aeryn’s quiet seemed thoughtful, as if she knew he was holding back. “Goodnight, Thancred,” she finally said.

“Good night,” he replied, staring at the flickering fire, shadows and light playing across the room.

What could one girl, talented as she was, do against something like Ifrit?

He hoped to all the gods they didn’t have to find out.

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

Insufferable (Poe Dameron x Reader)

Warnings: none?? Unless you count the fact that I don’t really know much at all about Star Wars oops

Description: The reader’s more than a little high-strung, so Leia pushes them to work more closely with Dameron. He has a way of making things more fun, especially when they get off base.

He’s insufferable.

Not that it bothers you. Much. Or that you’d ever let anyone know how peeved you are to not be the golden child of the Resistance.

Yes, you know this is a group effort and the only real thing that matters is saving lives. But back on your planet, you were important. People looked up to you. You worked your ass off to get into government, became the single youngest person on the council governing your city. They adored you. Here, you’re just another recruit.

If you had a therapist, they might tell you that you were covering for insecurities from your childhood or that you were trying to replace your fear with loathing. You’d probably agree with them. But is it so awful to want a little recognition?

Seeing him strut around the compound like he’s the Maker’s gift to all living creatures, hearing your fellow strategists whisper about “the best pilot in the Resistance.” It grates on you. You wish it didn’t, would give anything to not be this weak and arrogant and dependent on other people’s opinions. But you are, so you settle for avoiding Dameron as much as possible in order to keep yourself from making him victim to any... misplaced frustration.

It works, for awhile. The General is sharp as a tack, though, and she sees how you bristle when his name is mentioned. One day, after a particularly grueling meeting has ended, you almost run into her discussing an upcoming recon flight with the pilot. Just outside the door to the war room. Like she planned it or something.

Your suspicions are confirmed when she smiles at you in the least nonchalant manner you’ve ever seen and asks if you’ve had a chance to speak with him yet.

“(Y/n),” she explains to Dameron, “has only been with us for a few months, but she’s a brilliant strategist. Your upcoming mission may not be your most challenging one ever, but it’s always good to run through plans with someone who has a fresh perspective, yes?”

She’s looking at Dameron, but the question is addressed to both of you. The General doesn’t like friction in her ranks, unless it’s motivational, and this little one-sided rivalry has left you more discouraged than anything else. You swallow and open your mouth to agree, but Dameron beats you to it.

“Believe me, ma’am, I’m more than familiar with her work.”

A muscle in your jaw ticks before you can help yourself. It’s a small movement, but Leia catches it and declares that she will leave the two of you to discuss the details. You hope you haven’t made a terrible impression on her, but right now you’re more concerned with the way that Dameron is looking at you.

You don’t believe him. About your work, that is. He’s being polite. There’s no reason for the tiny spark of—what? Surprise? Satisfaction? It sits in your stomach, small but heavy, until he clears his throat.

“Listen, I don’t mean to inconvenience you or anything. I’m sure you have plenty of important work to be doing and I don’t want to add to the load.” His voice is sincere, but your feathers are a little ruffled anyway. Does he think you wouldn’t be helpful? That you’d be wasting your time?

“No, of course not,” you say stiffly. “You’ve probably had plenty of other people look over your plans. And it’s not, as the General said, the most dangerous mission you’ve ever undertaken.”

“You’ve got that right.” His smile is easy, if a little sheepish. You turn to walk back to your quarters, but what he says next stops you in your tracks. “D’you think... Maybe you would want to get a drink or something? When you’re less busy?”

You rotate back mechanically, blink at him until he blurts out, “I mean, I just feel like I don’t know you very well at all. And if Leia’s right about you, and I think she is, we’ll probably be seeing a lot more of each other. I like to have a good working relationship with my team.”

His team. You force a smile. “Sure. That would be nice.”

If you’re ever going to move up here, you have to play well with others. You can’t refuse Dameron outright, but you don’t have to like him.

You don’t even get to turning around this time when he says, “Well, I’m free after my flight tomorrow. I’m coming back from Tatooine, but I promise I’ll shower before I meet you. If that works for you.”

You can’t keep your eyes from widening. You thought that when he suggested getting together soon, it would be one of those things where neither of you could ever be bothered to find a time that worked and it just eventually faded until the promise was broken by default. But tomorrow is soon indeed. And you don’t even have any work to hide behind. All that has been going on for the past week is recon missions, and Dameron already said he didn’t need your help with that.

After a beat of discomfort, you come back to your senses and stutter out an affirmative. Poe — Dameron — the smile lines around his eyes crinkle.

“Great,” he says. This time, you think he means it. “I’ll see you around six?”

“Great,” you echo.

Your voice sounds off, even to you, but he doesn’t narrow his eyes slightly or cock his head in the way that you’ve come to associate with people who think you’re more than a little strange. He only gives you a jaunty and slightly awkward wave himself as he disappears around the corner.

—

You don’t know what to wear.

It’s not like you have a whole lot of choices, outside your standard-issue uniform, but still. Appearances are important, and you are meeting with the best pilot in the Resistance. For drinks, nonetheless.

Drinks suggest loose, casual fun, right? A blouse is loose. But maybe it’s a little nicer than what you normally see Dameron lounging around the compound in. Your uniform is definitely casual, but if Dameron’s going to the trouble of showering after his mission, it would be rude to turn up in your clothes like you just stepped out of the war room. Maybe you’ll just wear your black shirt and—

And you’re going to be late and that will no doubt make a worse impression than whatever you pull on. You leave your clothes to puddle on the floor as you step out of them, settling on the one white t-shirt you have and some pants made of a breathable fabric that your coworker Madyn picked up in Naboo. It’s not your most creative outfit, but materials here are limited and you doubt that Dameron will care much either way.

You’re on your way to Dameron’s room when he catches you by surprise in the hallway. His hair is slicked back, the muscles in his arms flexing through a semi-tight cotton long sleeve as he runs his right hand over his beard in a gesture you would almost call nervous, if you didn’t know any better. With his left, he’s gripping the neck of a brown-bagged bottle.

“You look nice,” you both blurt. The overlap makes him laugh and you flush. You hope it isn’t a sign of more awkwardness to come.

“Should we get going?” you ask finally. He nods, taking the lead as per usual.

You don’t bother to ask exactly where it is you’re going, although he passes right by the mess hall. You assumed “a drink” meant sitting down and having some of the stuff the pilots brought back from their various missions in an environment you both knew and were comfortable with. You should have expected Dameron to diverge from the norm.

“I thought we’d get you off base tonight, if that’s all right,” he supplies, trying to fill the silence. “You’ve only been here a few months, but all I’ve ever seen you do is work.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

If possible, you stiffen more at this comment. All through your school years, people had poked fun at you for taking work too seriously. You’d thought that ended when you got a council seat, but apparently you were considered uptight even in the Resistance, where matters were literally life-or-death.

Dameron’s voice is purposefully charming, soothing like the balm your mother used to rub over your calluses. “You’re a great analyst. Everyone thinks so. But part of what we’re fighting for here is a sense of normalcy, of the right that people have to enjoy their lives without having to worry about the First Order coming in and claiming them. Don’t you think you deserve the same?”

You’re still considering your answer when he leads you to the ship.

He seems to be a little more at home than you, here in this arena. You don’t have much experience with this type of outing. You don’t know what the protocol is. Dameron’s hitting dials and adjusting knobs that only semi make sense to you, even after your work at the base. Then he turns to you, brushing dark curls out of his eyes.

“Is this okay?”

For some reason, you can’t open your mouth to respond, so you settle for a nod that sets him back at ease. You sit down next to him and busy yourself with watching his hands move. You’ve got a sneaking suspicion that he’s doing more than strictly necessary, playing with the controls to impress you, but it’s working so you stay silent.

“Leia approved this, just so you know,” Dameron says, and you tear your gaze from where his long fingers have been playing on the dash to meet his eyes. Your face is burning.

“Good.” It’s an actual squeak that escapes from your mouth. Maker, it’s embarrassing how much you’ve started caring about the pilot’s opinion in the past few hours.

“Are you all set?”

“Yes.”

“All-righty then,” Dameron says, then immediately winces. “Forget I said that.”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling. Nothing else he’s done has made you feel as comfortable as this. Is it possible that he’s a little nervous too?

Before you can decide, you’re taking off, and the view literally takes your breath away.

You had almost forgotten how it felt to fly, to know that you were alone (or as alone as one could be in the space age) with the universe. You haven’t gotten to see much of anywhere yet and you can only link known coordinates to a name, so whatever Dameron has planned will certainly take you by surprise. You begin narrowing down your options.

He didn’t tell you to dress any sort of way, so you can’t be going anywhere too hot or cold. He brought his own bottle, so you’re likely not going anywhere with an established market. Somewhere isolated, maybe? Dameron strikes you as someone who would enjoy a little rugged wilderness from time to time, despite how much hair gel he uses. 

You sneak a peek at him. The dim, perpetual evening light of space bathes his profile in a glow that makes you dig your nails into your palms. It doesn’t seem fair that on top of being smart, funny, charming and the best pilot in the Resistance, he also gets to be drop-dead gorgeous. 

“We’re almost there,” he says, mistaking your glance for, what? Impatience? 

“I’ve got time,” you assure him. In reality, you have an early meeting tomorrow, but you’ll sacrifice sleep for whatever this turns out to be. 

Dameron’s normally goofy, relaxed manner has lapsed. The jokes he cracks are a little tense, like he’s not sure they land. You don’t know what to make of it. Sure, you haven’t been exactly nice to him, but surely you haven’t given him any reason to fear you, either. 

When he finally lands (effortlessly–– and you don’t think he’s just showing off), he hops off the plane first and helps you down. You don’t need his assistance. Much. But you accept the hand anyway, because it has been awhile since you’ve flown, and even though it was as smooth as could be, your body is unused to it and your legs are a little shaky. You’re so focused on the warmth of his hand in yours that it takes you a full minute to turn your attention to your surroundings. 

You’ve never seen trees like this before. The bark is almost golden, the leaves a firey red. They’re enormous and so thin near the top that they bend and sway with every breeze. Some strange birds you can’t identify drink from small white flowers that bloom in clutches. Poe gently pulls down a branch to pluck one so you can take a closer look. When he offers it to you, your stomach flutters.

“How did you find this place?”

“I do some exploring on my own from time to time. Helps to keep my flying fresh, going through different environments. But wait, I wanted to show you—”

He takes your hand gently and leads you back through the trees. You glance over your shoulder, trying to memorize where you parked, but before too long you come to an outcropping of rock that overlooks a lake as clear as glass and the directions fall away.

Tiny fish swim in the water, darting through the loopy green plants that sway at the bottom. Turtles sun themselves on floating logs. A few creatures you can’t identify crawl in and out of the water as a group, catching fish to feed their pack.

“This is...”

You’re surprised to find yourself tearing up. You’ve never been someplace like this before, where you could exist side-by-side with nature, without having to keep up appearances. You lived in the city before coming to the Resistance, and your parents had warned you of the dangers of going off on your own. But here it was as clear as the water below you that you were safe in your enjoyment.

“I thought you’d like it.”

Poe’s grinning like the cat who got the canary, and it occurs to you for the first time that he likes making the people around you happy. Not to keep up his rep as golden boy, not to get ahead, but just because he has a gift for knowing what others need.

You wrap your arms around him suddenly in an outburst of affection that you didn’t know you had in you. Your fingers brush the longer curls in the back as your arms lock over his neck and you hold for three seconds before you come back to yourself and pull away, flushed. He’s so taken back that he almost drops the bottle.

“Thank you. Really. I know I’m not the warmest person—” Not like him. He’s practically a furnace. “And I appreciate the effort you put in anyway. You didn’t have to.”

His eyebrows crinkle together and his ever-present confidence lapses. “I wanted to. Not just because we’ll be working together.”

For a moment, there’s some emotion that holds the two of you in place, but it almost dissipates when Poe brushes a hand through his hair and says, “So. Do you want to go for a swim?”

Almost.

“I thought we just came for a drink,” you say, but your tone is teasing, as it hasn’t been since you were a child. Poe seems stunned that you didn’t refuse outright. It takes him a minute to turn the charm back on.

“We can always have it after. Although I wouldn’t say no to getting you in the water a little tipsy.”

You can tell by the nervous flicker of his eyes that he’s worried he’s gone too far and you take a breath before responding. You’ve never been on a proper date before, if that’s what this is, and you’re not exactly good with romance in general. But if Poe’s making any sort of overture, you must be doing something right.

“As long as you promise to be my lifeguard-on-duty.”

You don’t know if that’s funny. Jokes don’t come naturally to you. When Poe starts laughing, you ease up, release a giggle yourself.

It feels good to be here with him, letting your laughter echo out without worrying about who’s watching.

He’s forgotten to bring cups, so you take turns drinking from the bottle, sharing stories and favorite memories until you’re steeled enough by the alcohol to make your way down to the lake itself.

It’s dusk, so there’s not enough light for him to see everything as you peel off your shirt and shimmy out of the pants, but he sees enough. You’re rewarded when he does the same and joins you.

You don’t know how long the two of you stay out there, but you join the stars reflected on the water and relax in a way you didn’t know you were capable of.

That’s when you realize that Poe Dameron is exactly as special as they say. And maybe, judging by the way he’s staring at you, he thinks you’re special, too.

[tackyink]

Why do I do this to myself, I ask, as I post the next chapter two weeks after the first one, which took four years, thus defeating the entire point of extensive editing and risking a huge tone shift. Then again, I’ve been whining about it so much that it would be odd not to share.

Chapter 1

— — — — — — — —

Chapter 2

The sun pounds down with criminal intent as Alex and her friend run across the terrace of Mrs. Isabel’s monumental house. They are adventurers this time, or maybe pirates. It doesn’t matter. The reflection of the light on the colorful tiles and whitewashed buildings is blinding, and her friend’s blonde hair makes her glow like she’s wearing a crown woven with sunlight. They are wearing matching pendants of stone that she picked for them while she was on a trip.

Laughing, her friend turns to Alex with a toy chest between her hands, but Alex can’t hear the sounds coming from her mouth and her face is a featureless blur that she can’t make sense of. Who’s this person? The stress of not being able to focus on her face makes the image vanish into white, then black, then...

When Alex woke up, she vaguely remembered dreaming about home, so she didn’t give it much thought. She very rarely remembered dreams, and dreams related to the past were the worst because they were filled with people she hadn’t seen in years, so she wasn’t going to make an effort to recall only to feel bad.

Getting up with a lot effort, she remembered she had gone straight to bed as soon as she got home the day before and she needed a shower. She groaned as she undressed and dropped on the nightstand the seastone pendant she usually wore under her clothes. It was a small, useless thing that may have at some point been used as a bullet and repurposed, but it was a gift from a family friend, and she liked how it looked. A good luck charm of sorts that clearly wasn’t doing its job.

The shower seemed to stretch to infinity as she reviewed the events of the previous day and what she needed to do from then on. She wished that had been a dream. If only things were always that easy.

True to word, the pirates had left with the rising sun. Alex didn’t get to see their ship, even though the first thing she did that morning was go to the port to sneak a glance and contemplate the fish-shaped submarine in its entire tacky splendor. She’d always liked watching ships, ever since she was a kid and sat down at the beach or near the shipyard to see them from up close.

The following weeks were a haze of bureaucracy and preparations to leave her post at the library. She booked a ticket for a passenger ship to the city-island of St. Poplar with the intention of catching another ship from there that could sail her to the Sabaody Archipelago. Then she’d need to request permission to cross the Red Line, and once she was there, well, it wasn’t like she was in a big hurry to return home. But if she didn’t enter the New World soon, there was a chance that once the Poneglyph was be discovered and she’d be held up as soon as she set foot on holy land.

Nearly a month and a half had passed by the time she was able to get all her ducks in a row: training her replacement at work, sending letters to friends and family telling them she was moving, as well as shipping a couple of boxes to the Sabaody Archipelago. When that was done, Alex spent the longest three weeks of her life inside that passenger ship, trapped in a vessel wondering where the heck was her life going, but after several stops along the way, in a very early morning, she arrived to Saint Poplar. She had about a month to go until the renovations started and she became officially a fugitive. Probably. The fact that she wouldn’t be able to know if she was overreacting unless shit hit the fan didn’t help her feel secure in any decision she took, but hey, if she was wrong and nothing happened in the end, she could always go back to Duster Town.

The first thing she did upon arrival was consult the ship schedules at the port. Several pages with timetables were tacked to a board with a glass cover. It was better kept than most information boards she had come across, but it was to be expected, since Saint Poplar and the surrounding islands were popular tourist spots.

By the looks of it, she had missed the last direct ship to Marineford by two days, and the next one wasn’t scheduled yet because there was an Aqua Laguna alert. Joy. She had to explain her predicament to a few locals until one of the women working at the port gave her something useful to work with.

“There should still be a liner leaving Water 7 in a few days. They usually wait until the last day so as many people as possible can leave the island before the sea gets too rough.”

Alex took this information as well as one would take a knee to the solar plexus. Another trip meant more money wasted. It was becoming increasingly evident that she’d have to pick up a job somewhere before she was able to cross the Red Line, because safe passage required money. Lots of it. And unless she robbed a bank, she didn’t think she’d be able to get it before the archive renovation started. She had a gun. And she entertained the idea for the entirety of two seconds before coming back to reality.

“Okay,” she said. If nothing else, she’d be able to sightsee. That was an island she had wanted to visit for a long time. “Do you know where can I take a ship to Water 7?”

“There are no ships to Water 7,” the lady replied, amused. “There’s the Sea Train.”

“Oh! I forgot.” It was very much like her to know the Sea Train was a thing and not remember that it had an actual purpose, besides making a city famous. “Is the station far from here, or…?”

“No, it’s…” She looked below the ship schedules in front of them. There was a faded map of the city behind the glass. She pointed one spot, on the opposite side of the city. It was mostly a straight line from where she was if she followed the main streets. “Here. It’s easy to find.”

She had to resist the temptation to pull out of her backpack a fountain pen and draw the map on the back of her hand, since she didn’t trust her memory all that much, and instead she said, “Thank you very much!”

The woman smiled at her, lifted a crate bigger than Alex without breaking a sweat, and went on her merry way. Meanwhile, she spent the following minutes staring intensely at the map to make completely sure that she wasn’t going to take a wrong turn even though there were absolutely no turns to make. Anxiety was a wonderful condition.

By the time she started moving, she was looking at the next hours in a different light. As inconvenient as this detour was, Alex felt more excited than anything else at the idea of riding a Sea Train and going to the city where it originated. She’d seen the pictures, and it was supposed to be all canals that the locals navigated with little boats instead of wheeled vehicles. May as well enjoy the trip as much as she could, right? 

Humming as she went, the trek across the St. Poplar brought her through streets of stone lined with tall buildings, some made of that same stone, but most of them in a more polished classical style. The pediments she saw suggested fifteenth century, so not too old. The less ostentatious houses were brick painted in light tones, with planters hanging from balconies that added little splashes of color to the otherwise muted palette and, in the case of those that were more worn out, provided the exciting possibility of said planters falling on a passerby’s head. Better to stay away from some of those cornices, too.

The atmosphere more than made up for the stoning risk, though. The city was as lively as it could be, and she found herself wishing that she had an excuse to remain in it for a little longer, but it was not to be. Come to think of it, wasn’t there a huge carnival going on in San Faldo around those dates? That explained the people walking around in costumes and elaborate masks. If she ever got to go on vacation again, she was making this area of Paradise her priority.

But if an Aqua Laguna was approaching, she needed to be out of its range as soon as possible, or she risked getting stranded in a place highly frequented by government employees where she could be spotted without backup. Moving swiftly was a priority until she could settle down and lay low to see how the situation unfolded.

She took longer to get to her destination than if she hadn’t kept getting distracted with every little thing that caught her attention, but eventually she was greeted by a platform and a white-gray building with a sign that identified it as Spring Station. She looked out to the sea, unable to see anything at first, until she noticed a shadow beneath the water. Railways swayed back and forth with the waves, a feat of engineering that she wouldn’t have believed had the train not been functional for over ten years. It even connected directly with Enies Lobby, so it had to be reliable. The government wouldn’t be using it to routinely transport their own people otherwise.

She walked into the station and headed straight to the timetable next to the ticket window. There were people sitting inside with bags, and many of them in costume. She wished she could spare the money and the time to join in, or at least run her hands over the velvety fabrics and intricate embroidery. She had done her fair share of sewing and the construction and materials of the costumes were seamstress porn.

The train was scheduled for departure in two hours. Better not to wander too far.

❦

There were many people inside Alex’s car, some dressed in regular clothes, some in costume. She would have liked to sit next to the window, but she was stuck in an aisle seat, and though she wasn’t uncomfortable by any means, she lamented having to spend the trip looking at her feet instead of the sea.

The seats were really nice, though. She wondered how luxurious first class had to be, if her butt was already on velvet and her feet on fluffy carpet. That was where the government agents must go, since when they stopped at Enies Lobby, nobody entered her car or the adjacent ones, judging by the lack of noise.

About an hour passed without incident until she noticed a faint smell, like smoke, and soon after, someone spoke through the PA system.

“Dear passengers, we inform you that the Sea Train is going to make an unscheduled stop at Shift Station for maintenance. The new hour of arrival to Water 7 will be 12 PM. We are sorry for the inconvenience. You may leave your seats until it’s time to resume the voyage.”

Varying degrees of protests filled the car, but Alex couldn’t say she minded. The train was starting to get stuffy with so many people, and she sensed an incoming headache from the nonstop chatter of the group across the aisle.

A scarce minute later, the train reduced its speed until it came to a halt, and immediately after, a stewardess appeared to unlock the doors. Alex decided to get up, find out in what kind of place this Shift Station was, and stretch her legs, because the seat may have been velvet, but the cushion under it was long flattened. First class was hoarding the good ones for sure.

The smell of saltwater hit her in the face with the subtlety of a Buster Call. She was very confused at how much water she was seeing until she realized that the station was little more than a platform on each side of the rails, a lighthouse, and a house in the middle of the ocean.

There wasn’t much to see once the first impression wore off, though she could have easily spent hours just watching the hypnotic swaying of the waves. There had always been something drawing her to it. She thought about how terrifying it had to be getting caught there during a storm, and how solid the little house on the platform must have been to still be standing there for a decade. The station master, if there was one, had to have nerves of steel.

Since she had nothing else to do, she stretched and began to pace around the platform, watching the passengers who had also gotten off the train. Not too many, considering the amount of people that were travelling in it, but she had to admit the platform amidst the waves was not for the faint of heart. She was certainly not going to get close to the edge. She saw mostly the same types of people she had been sitting with, but from the first car appeared a group dressed in expensive clothing and another of men in black suits.

She did a double take when she saw a familiar World Government insignia on the lapels of their jackets. Embroidery work was wasted on those people. They were Cipher Pol agents, and while their presence was more than reasonable, they still put her on edge. Best not to get close. How did one try their hardest to not look guilty without looking even guiltier?

Faced with this unsolvable conundrum, she diverted her gaze to look anywhere but at them, and out of the corner of her eye she noticed one of them look in her direction for a moment before going back to their conversation. Slowly and innocently, if steps could be walked in such a way, she ducked into the building and decided to keep to the shadows until the train was ready to go. Out of sight, out of mind, they said, and in case she actually became a fugitive, she didn’t need to be remembered by a member of an intelligence agency.

The fresh air was nice, though. Definitely worth sharing her vital space with government agents for a few minutes.

“Chimney got clogged again, didn’t it?”

Alex wanted to jump out of her skin when she suddenly heard a voice behind her, but the upside of being in a constant state of mild anxiety was that she just tensed up very hard when she got spooked. Shoulders squared and butt firmly clenched, she turned around to see an old woman with a grin so wide that it dipped into the uncanny valley. She was stocky, with lime green hair tied in braids, and wore a hat with Water 7’s initials that probably meant she worked there.

This was not how Alex had expected the station master to look, and if she had had it in her to worry about complete strangers, she would have been concerned about the woman’s safety.

A small girl with lips and hair conspicuously similar to the woman’s spoke up from behind her, annoyed. “I didn’t! I’ve been going every day!”

The older woman laughed loudly. “I meant the train, not you!”

The girl huffed and left, but the older woman stayed.

Now that she was facing her, her breath hit Alex, and it reeked of alcohol. Oh dear. She hoped the woman didn’t have a terribly important job there. She didn’t get what was so funny about the exchange, but she didn’t want to ask, either.

“I don’t know,” she replied with hesitation, realizing she had been asked a question. “They just told us we were going to stop for a while.”

“It happens sometimes.” She said. The grin was perpetually etched in her face. “They made the chimney too long, but Tom always said it looked nicer that way. You’d think Iceburg would have more sense once he took over, but he says he doesn’t want to change it.”

As soon as those names were dropped, Alex’s brain began to try and make connections like a madman with a wall covered in papers trying to make sense of a conspiracy theory. She didn’t know if the woman was assuming she knew who those people were or she was so drunk that she didn’t care.

Fortunately for Alex, she did know, marginally, who she was referring to – Iceburg, Water 7’s current mayor, was famous worldwide thanks to the Galley-La Company, and by Tom she assumed she meant the man who designed the original sea train. That name would have escaped her, had not a number of coincidences engraved it in her mind.

She couldn’t say if Tom had been forgotten as a relic of a past era or forcibly ejected from public memory as a result of being connected to Gold Roger and ever-present racism. He was a genius inventor, the one who put Water 7 on the world map by building the Sea Train, and the world returned the favor by executing him.

Most executions relating to the Pirate King had happened when Alex was still very young and didn’t pay much attention to anything that went on outside of her immediate vicinity, but Tom’s happened much later, when she was twenty and being aware of the world’s geopolitics was an indispensable part of her studies. They granted him a few more years to finish the Sea Train, and everybody back then had been convinced that his service would be repaid with a pardon, but that wasn’t how the World Government worked.

Unstoppable in their mission to purge every little thing that remained of Roger, they eliminated the man who built the Oro Jackson. Alex’s friend opened a bottle of his wife’s good whiskey, and then another, and suddenly it was four in the morning with him slurring and sobbing on the table, and his wife was halfway through the second pack of cigarettes of the night and Alex was so drunk in solidarity too that it was a good thing that her chair had a sturdy back and armrests, because otherwise she was pretty sure she’d have slid to the sticky floor and stayed there listening to old stories. He had a killer hangover the next day and Alex was just sleepy because young bodies were capable of amazing things, and then everything seemed to return to normal.

That had been a bad year, and a combination of everything happening at once and managing to torpedo her own academic career meant that putting it behind wasn’t an easy thing to do. Aside from Tom’s execution bringing down the mood considerably and her own personal problems, passage through the Red Line was also shut for months after queen Otohime’s assassination, meaning that Alex couldn’t return home at the time the country was going through the worst political unrest in centuries, and even if she had been free to go, the long absence would have made her flunk the year and lose her scholarship. Alex remembered that year like one remembered a fever nightmare: fuzzy, never ending, with huge gaps in the middle, yet sinking its claws so deep within that it was just a mention or reminder away from resurfacing. Sabaody got worse around that time, too, due to Doflamingo’s rise to Shichibukai and king status. His auction house started operating in the archipelago while Marines looked the other way, and kidnapping crews grew in number and activity.

All in all, not the best time of her life. In fact, current technically-not-on-the-run Alex was still faring so much better than past Alex that the thought wrapped around from depressing to funny.

She looked at the Sea Train, trying to imagine it with a shorter chimney. Two men were at the top of the smokebox with big brushes. “I can see their point. The proportions would be off.”

The woman must have been in a very good mood, because she chuckled. “I’m not an engineer or an artist, so I can’t say. Why are you here, anyway? Do you need anything?”

“Oh, no, sorry, it’s just—” She thought about the Cipher Pol agents out there. “There’s a lot of people on the platform.”

“And it’s windy, too,” she said, looking at the sky. “People have gotten blown away before, you know.”

“…Oh. That’s good to know, thanks,” she said, timidly taking a step back into the house so she wasn’t being hit by the wind anymore. Alex still had some time to kill and was curious about the woman, and talkative as she was, she assumed she wouldn’t mind a bit of prodding. “You mentioned Iceburg and Tom. Do you know them?”

The laugh that came next didn’t sound as happy as the other ones, somehow. “Know them? I’ve known Iceburg since he was a little brat. Tom was a good friend. Did you know that Iceburg was his apprentice? Not that these people care,” she nudged her head towards the Cipher Pol agents and Alex sank even deeper into the little house. “Tom died so they could save face, but they won’t touch Iceburg because he’s useful. That’s all they mean to them.”

Alex didn’t know very well how to respond, but she felt the need to say something. “I have a friend who said the same. He sailed on one of Tom’s ships years ago.”

The woman looked at Alex, and beyond the drunken stupor, some clarity shined behind her eyes. “Oh? And what did he think about it? Was it smooth sailing?”

Alex smiled just a little bit. “Not really, but he says it was the best ship in the world.”

The woman cackled, happily this time. “Of course it was! He made the best ships! Not even Iceburg or…” She trailed off, and Alex couldn’t tell if she had forgotten where she was going or she had done it on purpose. “Say, are you headed to Water 7?”

“Yes, why?”

“I need you to do me a favor. All this talk’s gotten me nostalgic and the Aqua Laguna will be here any day, so…” The woman walked to a counter, pulled out a notebook, wrote something, tore out the page and kissed it before folding it twice. She waddled back to Alex and gave her the paper. “Give this to Iceburg.”

Alex’s hand froze with the paper already in it. “I… don’t think I can do that. Isn’t he famous? How am I supposed to meet him?”

The woman brushed her concerns off like nothing, and Alex’s nerves didn’t appreciate that. “Nah, it’s not a problem. Go to Dock 1 in the afternoon, he’s usually there avoiding official duty. Tell them Kokoro sent you. That should be enough.”

“Okay…?” She said, still unsure. “I won’t promise anything, though.”

“No need for promises, just deliver it. I need a drinking buddy.” And she added, “You should go to Blueno’s bar while you’re there. The booze is cheap and the food is good, and that isn’t something you can’t say about many places in the city.”

“Oh?” This new topic was interesting. “Is it very expensive?”

Kokoro laughed. “You’ll see when you get there.”

That sounded ominous for her budget, and Alex didn’t feel too good about this ordeal she had been roped into because the last thing she wanted to do was enable an alcoholic lady. But maybe Iceburg would look after her…? They were longtime friends, according to her.

At any rate, there wasn’t much point in refusing the errand. If delivering the note happened to be too complicated, she could pass and no one would be none the wiser. Her priority was to find a ship and get to Sabaody the sooner, the better.

And when she was there, maybe tell her friends that she had met a friend of a friend.

❦

When Alex arrived to Blue station, she had to remind herself that she had several objectives in mind and sightseeing came second. She put on her sunglasses to block out the glare of the sun and its reflection on the water, and looked up.

In front of her stood a colossal city built upwards and turned fountain, with five different levels of construction that culminated in an upwards surge of water. It was collected by a series of canalizations that crossed the city from the top to sea level and divided the second tier in smaller areas.

Water 7 was one of the many independent state-islands in the area, and though not affiliated with the World Government – it hadn’t been a notable location at all, before the Sea Train that ironically connected it to Enies Lobby was put in motion – its globally renowned shipyards often worked on Marine ships and other vessels for people with important positions in the government. It was said that nowhere else in the world could you find better shipwrights than in Water 7, and the man famously acclaimed for it was Iceburg, current mayor and owner of the aforementioned shipyards. He had founded the Galley-La company a few years ago, recruiting the best shipwrights he could find for his behemoth of an enterprise, and it worked. Alex was actually excited to see firsthand what all the fuss was about.

But first things first, and before taking the mysterious note to the mayor, she needed to find the ship that would take her to the Sabaody Archipelago.

She got unnecessarily lost several times inside the labyrinth of canals and side streets because she refused to walk up to people and ask, but eventually, she found the Grand Canal of the island and the harbor where most ships docked.

It didn’t take her long to mind a means of transport, thankfully. The passenger ship departed the next day in the morning, and with a lot of pain, Alex had to fork over a good chunk of her remaining savings to secure a ticket on such short notice. It wasn’t the end of the world, since, she already counted on having to stay in Sabaody for a while to rebuild her budget, but it stung.

After the more pressing issue was dealt with, she took a walk around the area to find somewhere to eat, maybe try some local specialty, but she felt her hunger vanish when she looked at the prices of the menus outside. Kokoro had been right. What was the place she had mentioned… Bruno’s? Blueno’s? Yeah, that sounded familiar.

Unfortunately, a cursory glance didn’t reveal its location. If it was cheaper, it was probably somewhere less central, and if that was the case, she’d have more luck crossing the bridge to Green Bit unscathed than finding it without assistance.

Face with the unavoidable fact that she had to ask someone if she had any hopes of finding the place, she took a look around and decided she might as well procrastinate on it for as long as she could. She started to walk towards the upper part of the city, the Shipbuilding Island, where the docks were located, or so multiple signposts said. It really drove home that they were the main attraction of the city, more than the canals of the amazing architecture.

Getting there was going to take a while. She could have rented one of those cute Yagara boats, but she was cheap as hell, and, not less importantly, the critters seemed a little overenthusiastic. After the trip, all the walking she had done and the lack of food, she wasn’t in the mood to be social with anybody, human or not.

Maybe she would be lucky and come across Blueno’s place as she went to the shipyards. Yeah. That was a hopeful lie she could hang onto while she forced her body to walk way more than it was used to.

She hummed on her way up, singing to herself when she went through empty streets. As it turned out, the difficulty of reaching the shipyards by foot wasn’t finding the way up, but rather being in the proper sidewalk when she happened upon the next bridge or set of stairs, and after an hour she had lost count of the amount of times she had reached a dead end and had to turn back to the nearest bridge to cross the street and ascend, from the third instance onwards accompanied by a cranky ‘GAAAAH’ as she ran in the right direction. One would have thought this wouldn’t have won her any points with the locals, but she heard a few snickering at her and saying something in a language she didn’t speak but universally translated as ‘hahaha, tourists.’

She’d be the first to admit that going up that monumental city while carrying a backpack wasn’t her brightest idea, but she was damned if she was going to cave in at that point and rent the Yagara. She’d wash downstream on the way back if it came to that, but she had to get to the top now by her own means.

The moment she set foot on Shipbuilding island, she walked a few steps away from the staircase to not block it, dropped her backpack, and then her ass next to it to catch her breath.

When she recovered enough to raise her head instead of thinking how miserably sore she was going to be in the morning, she was greeted by an even better view than when she arrived to the Blue Station, and she pushed her glasses up for a moment to better see the colors of the city.

The lowest level of Water 7 extended below her, clusters of white houses and orange roofs covering the entire expanse of the island that wasn’t occupied by the canals. The wind blew harder at that level, too, with less obstacles in its path, since that part of the city was built on a steep incline, and it carried with it the spray of the central fountain, painting a timid rainbow across the sky. She imagined the view at night being just as stunning.

She chose to view this as the reward for her efforts, and then snorted at her the consolation prize of her own making.

As nice as it was to stare at the city and the sky and sea beyond, she was there with a double mission of getting the note to Iceburg and being a little nosy, so she looked at the monumental stone door she had just crossed with the number three painted on it. She was willing to go out on a limb and assume that that wasn’t Dock 1, so she began to circle around the area to find the next one, and once again she had to go the way she had come when she saw the next door had a four. Alex would be the first to agree that the most powerful force in the universe was cosmic irony, but after the sidewalk business while she made her way up there, this seemed a little excessive.

At least the circular shape of the area and the conveniently located bridges allowed her to cross over the canals with ease, saving her from getting lost again, and in a matter of minutes door number one, wide open, came into view.

At first she didn’t know where to go, since each dock could have easily been a town on their own. She began to walk upwards, wondering how was she supposed to find Iceburg and with little intent to go out of her way to find him if she didn’t have luck. A couple of minutes later, she noticed a group of townspeople standing in a half circle and staring at something. Alex decided to approach them and see what was going on. There was a good chance that the mayor himself was attracting the crowd, if he really was as popular as the rumors said.

Standing at a safe distance from the group, she realized that it was composed mostly by women, and she looked at whatever had them so interested. A man with his torso covered in tattoos was carrying a couple of long planks over his shoulder with surprising ease, and another one, farther away, was sawing a tree trunk so big that it couldn’t be for anything but a mast. He caught Alex’s attention because for some reason he was wearing a top hat that clashed horribly with the rest of his outfit and there was a pigeon sitting on a nearby pile of crates and watching him work with surprising focus. None of them, obviously, looked like mayor material.

Alex wasn’t sure what the crowd was doing there until she heard a hushed comment about the shipwright’s arms and being able to break concrete with those. Oh, God, they were there to ogle at the shipwrights? Alex wasn’t nearly straight enough for this. How was that even allowed? She took a step away from them, but by then a cheerful man wearing a tracksuit of questionable taste had noticed the group and acknowledged them with a wave and a smile. One of the girls swooned, and Alex died a little inside, then died some more because she had worked hard on leaving behind her ‘not like the other girls phase’ but the circumstances weren’t helping matters.

The other workers were busy, but the new face seemed to be free at the moment, he looked friendly, and she had come to the conclusion that she’d have to communicate with strangers if Kokoro’s note was to be delivered. She waved back at the man with the paper in her hand and something that resembled urgency on her face. She wasn’t hopeful, but to her surprise, he started to walk towards her. At the same time, the man with the top hat finished the cut he was making and the white pigeon stood up, cooed at tracksuit guy, and flew to rest on the shoulder of his coworker.

“Hattori is so cute,” one of the women said.

Alex didn’t know anymore who of the three was Hattori. She was even more confused when top hat guy passed near his colleague and the pigeon said, “I’ll take care of it.”

“Lucci’s coming our way!” One of the younger girls said, excited.

“Do you think he’ll pick another fight with Paulie today?”

“I hope so! Did you see what his fingers did to the—”

Alright, time to unplug from the conversation. She could guess that Lucci was the name of the man, because she didn’t think a pigeon, no matter how articulate, could inspire so much passion.

The name gave her pause.

Where had she heard it before? It sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Maybe she had heard someone talk about him at some point. He had to be a renowned shipwright if he was working in Dock 1 of Water 7, of all places. 

Lucci was tall, but she didn’t realize just how much until he was right in front of her, staring her down in a way that, in any other context, she’d have assumed meant that he was about to snap her neck. Was he taller than Trafalgar Law, or did the top hat made him look like he was? She only knew that if she ever had the back luck of bumping into the guy, she would likely split her forehead against his pectoral muscles. The man was built like a classical marble statue with facial hair, tattoos, and a serious case of resting bitchface. She could empathize with him on the latter.

“Can I help you?”

Alex didn’t know whether to look at the pigeon or the man, and in a panic, she settled on the man because it felt wiser to not lose sight of him than a bird.

And what a bird. That pigeon was easily the size of her head.

“I met a woman named Kokoro at Shift Station. She asked me to give this note to mayor Iceburg,” she said, showing the folded note to him.

He extended a hand for her to pass the paper, and she wasn’t sure how ethical it was to let another person read a clearly personal note with a kiss stamped on it, but to be quite frank, she didn’t care and he and the close attention his group of fans was making her anxious.

A pair of strangely-shaped eyebrows lifted when he read the message.

“Kokoro?” The bird repeated. There had to be a trick there. That was a pigeon, not a parrot, they weren’t supposed be able to enunciate like humans. It was probably unreasonable of her to revoke her suspension of disbelief due to that when she knew there were so many strange creatures living in the Grand Line, but she had to draw the line somewhere. “Mayor Iceburg is doing his rounds right now. He should be here in a few minutes. You can wait for him over there,” he said, gesturing with a wing at a pile of neatly stacked timber across from where his owner had been working, and Lucci returned the note to her. “Don’t be noisy.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she retorted with a mix of indignation and embarrassment, reflexively taking a step away from him and the group she had just been associated with. The movement telegraphed against her will that she found him intimidating, which only served to embarrass her more. “Thank you.”

There really was no way anybody with functioning eyes could mistake her for one of the group. The ladies looked nice, and Alex looked like… well, she couldn’t tell, but she was glad she didn’t have a mirror on hand, because if she looked as sweaty as she felt, she wasn’t a pretty sight. The boots and big backpack on her back were also clear signs that she wasn’t from around there.

Wordlessly, Lucci returned to his job while Alex was left with the impression that she had just been made fun of, not that anybody could tell by the shipwright’s stony face. She relaxed a little when he left her alone, not in small part due to the attention of the group being lifted from her.

That place was nothing like the shipyards she was used to. Canals ran through it, same as in the city below, and led to other slide-like canalizations that connected to the lower levels. There were a lot of those all around the city, she had noticed, acting as roads for the Yagaras, and, she guessed in the case of the larger ones, to help transport the newly built or repaired ships from the docks to sea level.

Some time had passed when she caught sight of a blue-haired man in a striped suit walking in her general direction, closely followed by a blonde woman with a strict expression, and while he was busy inspecting the work of a shipwright, she noticed Alex was away from the crowd and made a beeline for her.

“Excuse me.” The tone of the pleasantry suggested that it was actually her who was excusing Alex’s presence. “Do you have any business here?”

Alex didn’t enjoy being talked down to, so the reply came out harsher that she meant. “As a matter of fact, I do.” When she realized how snappy she had sounded, she explained quickly, “I was told by Kokoro to deliver a message to mayor Iceburg, and he,” she gestured at Lucci, who was busy with his job and not paying them any mind, with the note, “said I could wait for him here.”

“Did he, now,” she replied, sending a skeptical glance at the man, and she extended her hand towards Alex. Someone must have pissed in her coffee that morning. “Let me see.”

That note was going to places, she thought, but the woman must have found its contents acceptable, because she returned it to Alex and told her, “Wait here.”

Alex was about to start having flashbacks of all the bureaucratic mess involved with her recent move out of Duster Town. The woman went to the man in the suit and directed him towards Alex while she walked over to Lucci to tell him something she wasn’t able to hear because she now had to pay attention to the mayor of the city.

“Hello,” he said, sounding much politer than the woman. “Kalifa tells me you have a message for me.”

It was curious, comparing the old descriptions she had heard of the man with his current appearance. He wouldn’t have been caught dead in a suit twenty years ago, for instance.

“Yes, from Kokoro. Here,” she said, finally giving the note to its intended recipient and feeling like she was set free from a curse.

“Hm?” He opened he note, and after just a split second his face turned into a grimace. “Ugh, gross!”

“Uh, what?” The note had already passed two filters, so she couldn’t imagine what could warrant that reaction.

He showed her the note and Alex read it for the first time. Same place, same time? It said. The lipstick imprint of the kiss was smudged and stained the whole page. Iceburg didn’t waste any time in crumpling the paper and tossing it over his shoulder.

“Thank you for delivering the message.”

“Mr. Iceburg! No littering!” The woman from before warned, but someone else replied to her.

“Don’t speak like that to Mr. Iceburg, you wretched woman! And show some property while you’re in the docks!”

The woman didn’t reply, but she sent a death glare to the man who had spoken up, and Alex could have sworn that she pulled down the zipper of her jacket lower than it already was, drawing an even bigger reaction from him.

“Nmaa, don’t mind them,” Iceburg said, sounding bored. WYou don’t seem from around here. Are you visiting?”

“Just passing by before the Aqua Laguna comes,” she replied. “But I wish I could stay longer.”

He smiled with something akin to pride. “It’s a good city, isn’t it? What have you seen so far?”

“Oh, well, I walked around the Grand Canal and the shopping district earlier, and I saw a bit of the city while I walked up here, but—”

“You walked here?”

Oh, this was so awkward. She should have tossed that note into the sea. “I’m a historian,” she replied, because that was an excuse that always curbed people’s curiosity. “I wanted to take my time exploring.”

“If that’s the case, have you seen the maritime museum yet? It’s near the Grand Canal, and there’s a showcase about the origins of the city right now.”

She wasn’t a big fan of museums, truth be told, but professional habit compelled her to go anyway. The list of places she had to visit didn’t seem to shrink. “No, but I’ll be sure to—Oh, that reminds me!” Might as well ask while she had his attention, she thought. “Kokoro recommended going to Blueno’s bar while I was here. Where can I find it?”

“Ah, good idea!” Iceburg’s face lit up. “Let’s see, what can we do… Since you don’t have a Yagara, let me ask Kalifa if she has a map of—”

“No need, Mr. Iceburg.” Someone else piped up. “It’s time for my break, so I can show her.”

The guy in the tracksuit from before was walking up to them, showing a warm smile.

“That would be perfect,” Iceburg replied, and the said to Alex. “This is one of our foremen, Kaku.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Kaku looked young and sounded old at once. “Likewise,” Alex replied. “I’m Alex.”

“Well then, Alex,” he said in a suspiciously cheerful tone. “I don’t have long, so we’ll have to get there in a jiffy. Are you ready?”

As ready as she was ever going to be until she had a good night’s sleep. “Sure. Whenever you…”

A not so inoffensive grin spread on Kaku’s face and he broke into a sprint in Alex’s direction, so fast that she couldn’t duck from his path before he threw an arm around her, easily lifting her from the floor, extra weight from the backpack and all, and he kept running toward the edge of the level and jumped.

She thought she yelled, but she couldn’t hear her own voice against the roar of the wind in her ears and her blood pressure rising at the absolute certainty that she was going to become a pancake, the only doubt being whether she’d be dry or wet at the bottom of a canal.

On reflex, she grabbed tightly onto the only thing available, which was Kaku’s arm firmly wrapped around her torso, and her grip was met with stone hard muscle. What was up with these shipwrights?

She saw Dock 1 get smaller and smaller at breakneck speed as she fell backwards, and she braced for impact and shut her eyes as the first rooftop approached, but they didn’t crash against it because Kaku did something before he hit it. She felt it in the shift of his body, like he had bounced off the surface.

Alex paid more attention to his feet after she realized she wasn’t going to die splattered against a rooftop, and the second time she saw it: right before his shoes touched the roof tiles, he jumped again, stepping on air, effectively creating the illusion that he was jumping from building to building.

The adrenaline-fueled fear of impending doom was suddenly replaced by cold dread.

She had seen that before. She knew what that was.

A civilian couldn’t possibly know how to do that.

So who was the man carrying her right now? The only thing separating her from certain death? Could he have learned to do that anywhere else or could it be a different technique? There was always a chance that he was retired, but he was so young, and already so skilled, and she knew for a fact that the Marines didn’t like letting go of those.

…Marines?

Where… where had she heard the name Lucci, again…?

She had to be imagining things, for sure, but she also had a strong feeling that she needed to take her leave from the island as soon as possible. She was sleeping with a gun under her pillow that night.

With a few last hops, Kaku landed on firm ground and Alex thanked her lucky stars when he put her down safely. She felt lightheaded, and wasn’t sure if it was because of the sudden freefall or that her all-consuming paranoia had her doubting the intentions of one of Galley-La’s foremen, which sounded increasingly stupid the longer her feet where in contact with solid stone.

“Here we are,” he said, gesturing at something behind Alex’s back.

Her reaction was slow, but when she turned around, she saw a door with a big red sign above that said Blueno’s.

She felt a pang of guilt for being afraid of the guy when he had done her a huge favor, albeit in a kind of dickish way. Dock 1 was a good ways away, and she would have given up if she had had to walk there. She looked at him and admitted, “That was pretty cool once I got over the heart attack.”

She still sounded kind of breathless and didn’t know if asking how he had learned to extreme parkour was a good idea.

Kaku laughed with joy that rang true. “My apologies about that. I rarely ever have company on the way down.”

She tried to picture Kaku grabbing Lucci the same way he had done to her and jumping down, and her brain broke during the attempt. “Yeah, I can’t imagine that colleague of yours with the top hat jumping down the…” She trailed off, interrupted by her own thoughts and questions about that other guy, and the pause became awkward. “Anyway—”

“You can ask,” he said, smiling.

She jumped at the opportunity. “Is he a ventriloquist?”

“It’s a hobby,” Kaku replied, amused, as he pushed the door open. “Ladies first.”

Alex didn’t know what it was with every strange man he came across lately that their courtesies sounded vaguely threatening, but she entered the venue, nonetheless.

It was much nicer than she had expected. The bartender was a wide man with a circle beard and hair sticking out like horns, and he was appropriately wiping a set of glasses behind the counter, like every barman should during their first introduction.

“Good afternoon, Blueno!” Kaku greeted him before Alex could say anything, going inside after her.

“Same as always?”

“Please.” He leaned against the bar. Alex sat on a barstool near him and tried to be emotionally ready to be the third wheel in two strangers’ interaction. “Oh, and something for the others, too. Whatever it is. We’re finishing a big repair today and you know how it goes.”

“Is it the Marine warship?”

“A windjammer for a private client. Working metal is a pain, and they want it yesterday.” He sounded displeased for the first time since they had met. “You can’t rush a good job.”

“The customer is never right,” Blueno agreed.

Kaku raised an eyebrow at him. “I hope that wasn’t directed at me.”

“Of course not,” Blueno’s reply sounded paternalistic. Alex could sense the history behind these two. “It’s odd to see you with someone else.”

Kaku put aside his mild annoyance to introduce her. “She’s Alex. She was visiting the shipyards and I brought her along on my way down.”

“Hi,” she said, looking for any other words she had learned during the course of her life and drawing a blank. Someone kill her, please.

“I see. I thought the landing sounded heavier than usual,” Blueno observed.

“Attentive as always.” Kaku commended him. “But what an awful thing to say to a young lady. She’s light as a two-by-four.”

“No offense meant,” Blueno said to her in good humor. “It’s part of the job.”

“None taken, I’m at least a four-by-four.”

There was a hint of a smile, on his face when he asked, “What will you have?”

“Whatever you recommend. I haven’t eaten since I woke up.”

“Can you believe she walked all the way to Dock 1 to sightsee?” Kaku chuckled. “I didn’t think historians were the sporty types.”

“You heard that?”

“I have pretty good hearing, too.”

“I can’t imagine what type of madman wouldn’t ride a Yagara to make that trip,” Blueno replied. No doubts about who he had in mind this time. “A historian, huh? I suppose this city’s fairly old.”

“The architecture’s really interesting.” She replied, finally reaching a topic that she could talk about. Though she was a bit concerned that they knew what she was because Suspicious Foreman was suspicious, she didn’t see what harm could come of it. “It’s impressive to think this is all supported by wood pillars.”

“They keep sinking year by year, though. At this rate, there won’t be a city in a few decades,” Kaku said, surprisingly grim.

“Thanks for showing me the rooftops while they’re still visible, then,” Alex joked in a weak attempt to bring his good mood back.

It worked. He had such a cute smile. “You’re more than welcome.” He turned to the bartender. “Now then, Blueno…”

“Right away,” the man replied, going into the kitchen and leaving Alex and Kaku alone for a few minutes.

A companionable silence, until Kaku broke it and his question put Alex on edge again. “Where do historians in the making study nowadays, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Marineford, mostly. There aren’t many places left.” The same people offering the current curriculum had made sure of it.

“And what drives someone so young to be so interested in history?”

She had been asked that question so many times, and the real answer was always curiosity. To learn the truths that shaped the present. She had the folder with the Poneglyph transcript in her backpack to account for that.

But even partial truths could be dangerous given her current situation, so she replied, “I could ask the same of you. How does someone so young get so good at building ships?”

There was a flash of surprise in his face at the question being turned against him. It was quickly substituted by one of his smiles, but Alex had the impression that he was very aware that she was deflecting on purpose. “I’ve liked them since I was a kid,” he said. “I couldn’t tell you why.”

She shrugged, mirroring his smile. “There’s your answer.”

He laughed lightly and turned to look at the bottles behind the bar with an amused expression. He didn’t insist or say anything else, and the more at ease he looked, the more anxious Alex grew.

It wasn’t long until Blueno showed up again with a bag full of sandwiches wrapped in paper in one hand and a towering plate of pasta with black sauce on the other that she set in front of Alex.

“Thanks,” Kaku said, putting the money on the counter and grabbing the bag. “See you later.” And he faced Alex one last time, lifting his cap a little in a polite gesture and revealing a blonde mass of curls. “It’s been a pleasure. Good luck on your travels.”

“Thank you!”

He left the bar, and his departure added to the leaning tower of pasta made her think that her day was starting to look up until she remembered that she had only mentioned she was leaving soon to Iceburg.

How long had he been listening in?

❦

She couldn’t sleep.

Despite her misgivings, the rest of the day had passed without incident. She booked a room for the night at an inn off the beaten path that Blueno had recommended, checked out the maritime museum, and nearly fallen asleep after half an hour because that was the effect that, sadly, most museums had on her. But she did see an old picture next to a Sea Train model of Tom, his two apprentices, and the master of Shift Station.

Time didn’t wait for anybody, she thought as she flexed her aching hands.

She ended up walking around again, this time only through the lowest district, rejecting even the mere sight of stairs, and saw a cape where someone had built the weirdest and most colorful house of the city. Near it was a scrapyard, and though she had no intentions of going close to either, a couple of locals told her to watch her belongings while she was there. It was a bit nostalgic.

It was difficult to believe, she thought as she stared at the ceiling of her room, that such a vibrant city was sinking under its own weight, and that as soon as the sea swallowed it, there would be nothing but stories being told about it. Maybe that was how those legends of ancient islands that disappeared came to be. Maybe Water 7 would become a legend to, a few centuries down the line.

She fidgeted with the stone around her neck, a nervous habit had for as long as she’d been wearing it. It was better than biting her nails, at least, but it looked weird when she wore it inside her clothes and unconsciously reached for it, so she did her best to avoid it.

She was very tired and sore from all that walking, but try as she might, she couldn’t turn off her thoughts. After way too much tossing and turning, she decided she would rather see more of the city than waste her time in bed. She could catch up on sleep when she boarded the ship to Sabaody, anyway.

She picked up the same pair of jeans she had been wearing all day, the black tank top she usually wore under her sweaters, and tossed around her shoulders the same red shawl she used to wear like a scarf in Harlun. It wasn’t cold outside, but the night breeze was somewhat chilly. Better safe than sorry.

She debated whether to pick up the gun in her backpack or leave it there, and she decided on the former. A present from her father when she came of age for the sake of her safety, and one she had never liked.

It wasn’t too late yet, only a few minutes past 10 PM, and there was still a healthy flow of people on the streets. Alex made her way to one of the many Yagara rental shops still open and paid for one of the small ones. There she went, defeating her own purpose like the hypocrite she was.

“One question,” she told the shop owner as she settled on the boat, “Are the docks open at this hour?”

“They usually leave the doors open, yeah. Sometimes there’s people working at night.” He replied. “Why, you want to go now?”

“I was thinking of checking out the view from the highest part of the city.”

“That so? Then you just need to go up one of the main canals in the Shipbuilding Island.”

“Thanks!” She said, and then patted the Yagara on the head. It was cold, wet and scaly. “Can you bring me to Dock 1? There’s no hurry.” She had seen one of them speeding through a canal early and she was not ready for that.

The Yagara uttered a high-pitched guttural sound that no fishlike creature had any business doing and started to swim at a relaxed pace.

Alex didn’t know how long it took them to get to their destination, distracted as she was watching the city from a different viewpoint, but the higher they went, the less people that seemed to be out. By the time they reached Dock 1, the area was devoid of human presence, and all the ship parts and materials Alex had seen in the morning had been either moved somewhere safer or covered by tarps to protect them from the weather.

The Yagara continued its slow ascent through the canal that separated Dock 1 and 2, and the base of the fountain wasn’t too far when she heard hammering sounds. Someone was still working.

Curiosity, as was usual, got the best of her and she told the Yagara to slow down. Whoever was there also noticed her presence, because the hammering stopped.

A man stepped under the light of a streetlight, hammer in hand, to check out the canal, and Alex realized with surprise that he was none other than Water 7’s mayor, though he had shed the jacket and shirt. He was wearing only an undershirt with those awful striped pants from before and business shoes.

“Who’s there?” He asked.

Alex realized the light didn’t reach her, so he was probably just seeing a shadow, and in the deserted dock it had to be more than a little unnerving. She nudged the Yagara towards the light and replied, “It’s me from before! Sorry to interrupt, I was just passing by!”

Iceburg looked at her with interest and approached her, so she thought it was only polite to step out of the boat.

“Where are you going at this hour?” He asked, stopping at arm’s length of her.

“I was trying to get to the top of the city.” She smiled apologetically. “I’m sightseeing.”

He relaxed upon hearing the explanation, and with a smile, he said, “Glad to see that the scare from earlier didn’t kill you.”

It was official, everybody in Dock 1 had decided to pick on her. “It could have!” She replied. “Does he do that often?”

“Jumping? Yes, but most of the time he doesn’t take people with him. He did it to Paulie once and he was foaming at the mouth when they landed. Never heard the end of it for a week." The fondness with which he spoke betrayed that he hadn’t minded the aftermath as much as the words suggested.

She didn’t know who Paulie was, but he was justified in being upset. She also thought that it was nice to meet a boss that seemed to appreciate his workers. “I don’t see other shipwrights around. Are you working here alone?”

“Nmaa…” he started lazily, “I sent them home. The heavy lifting was done; I can finish it myself.”

Iceburg may have been a shipwright before becoming president of the company, but Alex hadn’t expected him to do manual labor when he had paid other people for it. “The windjammer?”

“Kaku told you?” He sounded pleased, and he answered the unspoken question from before. She assumed he got it a lot. “My day job is meetings, papers and ass kissing all day long. I prefer this.”

This was much easier to reconcile with the stories she had heard of Water 7. “I can’t say I’d mind the papers, but the rest sounds exhausting.”

“Bodies need to move. Weren’t you doing field research today?”

“By accident.” She couldn’t help the smile that appeared on her face. He was easy to talk to, and seeing this side of him, she didn’t feel like she had to watch her words so much. “I’m trying to find a way home. Train and ship schedules brought me here.”

“You chose a difficult time of the year to sail. Is it far away?”

She nodded lightly. “It’s still a ways away.” Nonetheless, she was glad for this detour. Maybe that was why she found the courage to say, “I have a friend who came to this city about twenty years ago. He said you worked on his ship.”

Maybe it was because she lost filters when she was tired.

“Is that so?” He said, curious. “I’ve worked in many ships. Things were very different back then.” He glanced away, at the district that had only taken this shape a few years ago, thanks to him. “Did the ship do its job?”

She wondered what to say. Nothing that could do it justice, for sure. “Brought them to the end of the world, in fact.”

She wished she had been there to see it.

Iceburg’s eyes widened with surprise, and after a short, contemplative silence, he said, “That ship took much from us.” There was hurt in his voice. “I think Tom knew it would be one of his last, so he put his everything in it. He would have done anything for his friends.”

It was easy to forget that every great story had real people behind it. “Sorry for bringing it up.”

He shook his head. “We never regretted it, so… don’t. It was a magnificent ship. Tom’s best work, after the Sea Train.” He paused. “Is your friend okay?”

“Doing alright for sure. He’d be all over the papers if something happened to him.”

“That’s good to hear.” A smile that reached his eyes came back only to morph into a sigh in an instant. “Well, I need to go back to…”

“Of course!” She said very quickly. “Sorry for holding you up. It was a pleasure to meet you.” And to put a face to the stories, too.

“I should say the same,” he said, and it didn’t sound like an empty pleasantry. “Fair winds on the way back home.”

“Thank you.”

As he started to walk away, Alex hopped back on the boat and pulled the shawl tighter around her. Perhaps she should have put on a jacket, after all.

The view from the top of the district was as spectacular as she had hoped.

❦

She wasn’t sure how she got up from bed the next morning. Must have been the fairies that pushed her upright, because everything hurt and she was so exhausted that she couldn’t even open her eyes after a thorough face wash. Somehow, she managed to drag her feet to the dining room and have a light breakfast. Bless the laziness that had prevented her from changing into her pajamas again before she dropped on the bed when she returned from the docks, because she didn’t think she’d have been able to stick her legs in the right holes of the jeans.

She returned to her room, triple checked to make sure she wasn’t leaving anything behind, and checked out of the inn.

Despite the brief but intense stay, and the uneasy feeling she had since she had met Kaku, she didn’t really want to go, but she had done the right thing booking passage for the ship to Sabaody. Imagine getting stuck in a city next to one of the government’s main islands because of a high tide. No, thanks, she hadn’t come this far to fail when she was a week away from her destination.

So it was with a bit of regret that Alex boarded the passenger ship that would carry her to the archipelago, but she had always been good at ignoring what she felt like doing in favor of what had to be done, and this was going to be no exception.

From the deck, she saw a pirate ship sail past them, black flag with a straw hat billowing in the wind.

[boreothegoldfinch]

chapter 10 paragraph xvi

Gyuri left us out in the Sixties, not far at all from the Barbours’. “This is the place?” I said, shaking the rain off Hobie’s umbrella. We were out in front of one of the big limestone townhouses off Fifth—black iron doors, massive lion’s-head knockers. “Yes—it’s his father’s place—his other family are trying to get him out legally but good luck with that, hah.” We were buzzed in, took a cage elevator up to the second floor. I could smell incense, weed, spaghetti sauce cooking. A lanky blonde woman—shortcropped hair and a serene small-eyed face like a camel’s—opened the door. She was dressed like a sort of old-fashioned street urchin or newsboy: houndstooth trousers, ankle boots, dirty thermal shirt, suspenders. Perched on the tip of her nose were a pair of wire-rimmed Ben Franklin glasses. Without saying a word she opened the door to us and walked off, leaving us alone in a dim, grimy, ballroom-sized salon which was like a derelict version of some high-society set from a Fred Astaire movie: high ceilings; crumbling plaster; grand piano; darkened chandelier with half the crystals broken or gone; sweeping Hollywood staircase littered with cigarette butts. Sufi chants droned low in the background: Allāhu Allāhu Allāhu Haqq. Allāhu Allāhu Allāhu Haqq. Someone had drawn on the wall, in charcoal, a series of life-sized nudes ascending the stairs like frames in a film; and there was very little furniture apart from a ratty futon and some chairs and tables that looked scavenged from the street. Empty picture frames on the wall, a ram’s skull. On the television, an animated film flickered and sputtered with epileptic vim, windmilling geometrics intercut with letters and live-action racecar images. Apart from that, and the door where the blonde had disappeared, the only light came from a lamp which threw a sharp white circle on melted candles, computer cables, empty beer bottles and butane cans, oil pastels boxed and loose, many catalogues raisonnés, books in German and English including Nabokov’s Despair and Heidegger’s Being and Time with the cover torn off, sketch books, art books, ashtrays and burnt tinfoil, and a grubby-looking pillow where drowsed a gray tabby cat. Over the door, like a trophy from some Schwarzwald hunting lodge, a rack of antlers cast distorted shadows that spread and branched across the ceiling with a Nordic, wicked, fairy-tale feel. Conversation in the next room. The windows were shrouded with tacked-up bedsheets just thin enough to let in a diffuse violet glow from the street. As I looked around, forms emerged from the dark and transformed with a dream strangeness: for one thing, the makeshift room divider—consisting of a carpet sagging tenement-style from the ceiling on fishing line—was on closer look a tapestry and a good one too, eighteenth century or older, the near twin of an Amiens I’d seen at auction with an estimate of forty thousand pounds. And not all the frames on the wall were empty. Some had paintings in them, and one of them—even in the poor light—looked like a Corot.

I was just about to step over for a look when a man who could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty appeared in the door: worn-looking, rangy, with straight sandy hair combed back from his face, in black punk jeans out at the knee and a grungy British commando sweater with an ill-fitting suit jacket over it. “Hello,” he said to me, quiet British voice with a faint German bite, “you must be Potter,” and then, to Boris: “Glad you turned up. You two should stay and hang out. Candy and Niall are making dinner with Ulrika.” Movement behind the tapestry, at my feet, that made me step back quickly: swaddled shapes on the floor, sleeping bags, a homeless smell. “Thanks, we can’t stay,” said Boris, who had picked up the cat and was scratching it behind the ears. “Have some of that wine though, thanks.” Without a word Horst passed his own glass over to Boris and then called into the next room in German. To me, he said: “You’re a dealer, right?” In the glow of the television his pale pinned gull’s eye shone hard and unblinking. “Right,” I said uneasily; and then: “Uh, thanks.” Another woman—bobhaired and brunette, high black boots, skirt just short enough to show the black cat tattooed on one milky thigh—had appeared with a bottle and two glasses: one for Horst, one for me. “Danke darling,” said Horst. To Boris he said: “You gentlemen want to do up?” “Not right now,” said Boris, who had leaned forward to steal a kiss from the dark-haired woman as she was leaving. “Was wondering though. What do you hear from Sascha?” “Sascha—” Horst sank down on the futon and lit a cigarette. With his ripped jeans and combat boots he was like a scuffed-up version of some below-the-title Hollywood character actor from the 1940s, some minor mitteleuropäischer known for playing tragic violinists and weary, cultivated refugees. “Ireland is where it seems to lead. Good news if you ask me.” “That doesn’t sound right.” “Nor to me, but I’ve talked to people and so far it checks out.” He spoke with all a junkie’s arrhythmic quiet, off-beat, but without the slur. “So—soon we should know more, I hope.” “Friends of Niall’s?” “No. Niall says he never heard of them. But it’s a start.”

The wine was bad: supermarket Syrah. Because I did not want to be anywhere near the bodies on the floor I drifted over to inspect a group of artists’ casts on a beat-up table: a male torso; a draped Venus leaning against a rock; a sandaled foot. In the poor light they looked like the ordinary plaster casts for sale at Pearl Paint—studio pieces for students to sketch from—but when I drew my finger across the top of the foot I felt the suppleness of marble, silky and grainless. “Why would they go to Ireland with it?” Boris was saying restlessly. “What kind of collectors’ market? I thought everyone tries to get pieces out of there, not in.” “Yes, but Sascha thinks he used the picture to clear a debt.” “So the guy has ties there?” “Evidently.” “I find this difficult to believe.” “What, about the ties?” “No, about the debt. This guy—he looks like he was stealing hubcaps off the street six months ago. “ Horst shrugged, faintly: sleepy eyes, seamed forehead. “Who knows. Not sure that’s correct but certainly I’m not willing to trust to luck. Would I let my hand be cut off for it?” he said, lazily tapping an ash on the floor. “No.” Boris frowned into his wine glass. “He was amateur. Believe me. If you saw him yourself you would know.” “Yes but he likes to gamble, Sascha says.” “You don’t think Sascha maybe knows more?” “I think not.” There was a remoteness in his manner, as if he was talking half to himself. “ ‘Wait and see.’ This is what I hear. An unsatisfactory answer. Stinking from the top if you ask me. But as I say, we are not to the bottom of this yet.” “And when does Sascha get back to the city?” The half-light in the room sent me straight back to childhood, Vegas, like the obscure mood of a dream lingering after sleep: haze of cigarette smoke, dirty clothes on the floor, Boris’s face white then blue in the flicker of the screen. “Next week. I’ll give you a ring. You can talk to him yourself then.” “Yes. But I think we should talk to him together.” “Yes. I think so too. We’ll both be smarter, in future… this need not have happened… but in any case,” said Horst, who was scratching his neck slowly, absent-mindedly, “you understand I’m wary of pushing him too hard.” “That is very convenient for Sascha.” “You have suspicions. Tell me.” “I think—” Boris cut his eyes at the doorway. “Yes?” “I think—” Boris lowered his voice—“you are being too easy on him. Yes yes—” putting up his hands—“I know. But—all very convenient for his guy to vanish, not a clue, he knows nothing!” “Well, maybe,” Horst said. He seemed disconnected and partly elsewhere, like an adult in the room with small children. “This is pressing on me—on all of us. I want to get to the bottom of this as much as you. Though for all we know his guy was a cop.” “No,” said Boris resolutely. “He was not. He was not. I know it.” “Well—to be quite frank with you, I do not think so either, there is more to this than we yet know. Still, I’m hopeful.” He’d taken a wooden box from the drafting table and was poking around in it. “Sure you gentlemen wouldn’t like to get into a little something?” I looked away. I would have liked nothing better. I would also have liked to see the Corot except I didn’t want to walk around the bodies on the floor to do it. Across the room, I’d noticed several other paintings propped on the wainscoting: a still life, a couple of small landscapes. “Go look, if you want.” It was Horst. “The Lépine is fake. But the Claesz and the Berchem are for sale if you’re interested.” Boris laughed and reached for one of Horst’s cigarettes. “He’s not in the market.” “No?” said Horst genially. “I can give him a good price on the pair. The seller needs to get rid of them.”

I stepped in to look: still life, candle and half-empty wineglass. “Claesz-Heda?” “No—Pieter. Although—” Horst put the box aside, then stood beside me and lifted the desk lamp on the cord, washing both paintings in a harsh, formal glare—“this bit—” traced mid-air with the curve of a finger—“the reflection of the flame here? and the edge of the table, the drapery? Could almost be Heda on a bad day.” “Beautiful piece.” “Yes. Beautiful of its type.” Up close he smelled unwashed and raunchy, with a strong, dusty import-shop odor like the inside of a Chinese box. “A bit prosaic to the modern taste. The classicizing manner. Much too staged. Still, the Berchem is very good.” “Lot of fake Berchems out there,” I said neutrally. “Yes—” the light from the upheld lamp on the landscape painting was bluish, eerie—“but this is lovely… Italy, 1655‥… the ochres beautiful, no? The Claesz not so good I think, very early, though the provenance is impeccable on both. Would be nice to keep them together… they have never been apart, these two. Father and son. Came down together in an old Dutch family, ended up in Austria after the war. Pieter Claesz…” Horst held the light higher. “Claesz was so uneven, honestly. Wonderful technique, wonderful surface, but something a bit off with this one, don’t you agree? The composition doesn’t hold together. Incoherent somehow. Also—” indicating with the flat of his thumb the too-bright shine coming off the canvas: overly varnished. “I agree. And here—” tracing midair the ugly arc where an over-eager cleaning had scrubbed the paint down to the scumbling. “Yes.” His answering look was amiable and drowsy. “Quite correct. Acetone. Whoever did that should be shot. And yet a mid-level painting like this, in poor condition—even an anonymous work—is worth more than a masterpiece, that’s the irony of it, worth more to me, anyway. Landscapes particularly. Very very easy to sell. Not too much attention from the authorities… difficult to recognize from a description… and still worth maybe a couple hundred thousand. Now, the Fabritius—” long, relaxed pause—“a different calibre altogether. The most remarkable work that’s ever passed through my hands, and I can say that without question.” “Yes, and that is why we would like so much to get it back,” grumbled Boris from the shadows. “Completely extraordinary,” continued Horst serenely. “A still life like this one—” he indicated the Claesz, with a slow wave (black-rimmed fingernails, scarred venous network on the back of his hand)—“well, so insistently a trompe l’oeil. Great technical skill, but overly refined. Obsessive exactitude. There’s a deathlike quality. A very good reason they are called natures mortes, yes? But the Fabritius…”—loose-kneed back-step—“I know the theory of The Goldfinch, I’m well familiar with it, people call it trompe l’oeil and indeed it can strike the eye that way from afar. But I don’t care what the art historians say. True: there are passages worked like a trompe l’oeil… the wall and the perch, gleam of light on brass, and then… the feathered breast, most creaturely. Fluff and down. Soft, soft. Claesz would carry that finish and exactitude down to the death—a painter like van Hoogstraten would carry it even farther, to the last nail of the coffin. But Fabritius… he’s making a pun on the genre… a masterly riposte to the whole idea of trompe l’oeil… because in other passages of the work—the head? the wing?—not creaturely or literal in the slightest, he takes the image apart very deliberately to show us how he painted it. Daubs and patches, very shaped and hand-worked, the neckline especially, a solid piece of paint, very abstract. Which is what makes him a genius less of his time than our own. There’s a doubleness. You see the mark, you see the paint for the paint, and also the living bird.”

“Yes, well,” growled Boris, in the dark beyond the spotlight, snapping his cigarette lighter shut, “if no paint, would be nothing to see.” “Precisely.” Horst turned, his face cut by shadow. “It’s a joke, the Fabritius. It has a joke at its heart. And that’s what all the very greatest masters do. Rembrandt. Velázquez. Late Titian. They make jokes. They amuse themselves. They build up the illusion, the trick—but, step closer? it falls apart into brushstrokes. Abstract, unearthly. A different and much deeper sort of beauty altogether. The thing and yet not the thing. I should say that that one tiny painting puts Fabritius in the rank of the greatest painters who ever lived. And with The Goldfinch? He performs his miracle in such a bijou space. Although I admit, I was surprised—” turning to look at me—“when I held it in my hands the first time? The weight of it?” “Yes—” I couldn’t help feeling gratified, obscurely, that he’d noted this detail, oddly important to me, with its own network of childhood dreams and associations, an emotional chord—“the board is thicker than you’d think. There’s a heft to it.” “Heft. Quite. The very word. And the background—much less yellow than when I saw it as a boy. The painting underwent a cleaning—early nineties I believe. Post-conservation, there’s more light.” “Hard to say. I’ve got nothing to compare it to.” “Well,” said Horst. The smoke from Boris’s cigarette, threading in from the dark where he sat, gave the floodlit circle where we stood the midnight feel of a cabaret stage. “I may be wrong. I was a boy of twelve or so when I saw it for the first time.” “Yes, I was about that age when I first saw it too.” “Well,” said Horst, with resignation, scratching an eyebrow—dime-sized bruises on the backs of his hands—“that was the only time my father ever took me with him on a business trip, that time at The Hague. Ice cold boardrooms. Not a leaf stirring. On our afternoon I wanted to go to Drievliet, the fun park, but he took me to the Mauritshuis instead. And—great museum, many great paintings, but the only painting I remember seeing is your finch. A painting that appeals to a child, yes? Der Distelfink. That is how I knew it first, by its German name.”

“Yah, yah, yah,” said Boris from the darkness, in a bored voice. “This is like the education channel on the television.” “Do you deal any modern art at all?” I said, in the silence that followed. “Well—” Horst fixed me with his drained, wintry eye; deal wasn’t quite the correct verb, he seemed amused at my choice of words—“sometimes. Had a Kurt Schwitters not long ago—Stanton Macdonald-Wright—do you know him? Lovely painter. It depends a lot what comes my way. Quite honestly— do you ever deal in paintings at all?” “Very seldom. The art dealers get there before I do.” “That is unfortunate. Portable is what matters in my business. There are a lot of mid-level pieces I could sell on the clean if I had paper that looked good.” Spit of garlic; pans clashing in the kitchen; faint Moroccan-souk drift of urine and incense. On and on flatlining, the Sufi drone, wafting and spiraling around us in the dark, ceaseless chants to the Divine. “Or this Lépine. Quite a good forgery. There’s this fellow—Canadian, quite amusing, you’d like him—does them to order. Pollocks, Modiglianis— happy to introduce you, if you’d like. Not much money in them for me, although there’s a fortune to be made if one of them turned up in just the right estate.” Then, smoothly, in the silence that followed: “Of older works I see a lot of Italian, but my preferences—they incline to the North as you can see. Now—this Berchem is a very fine example for what it is but of course these Italianate landscapes with the broken columns and the simple milkmaids don’t so much suit the modern taste, do they? I much prefer the van Goyen there. Sadly not for sale.” “Van Goyen? I would have sworn that was a Corot.” “From here, yes, you might.” He was pleased at the comparison. “Very similar painters—Vincent himself remarked it—you know that letter? ‘The Corot of the Dutch’? Same tenderness of mist, that openness in fog, do you know what I mean?” “Where—” I’d been about to ask the typical dealer’s question, where did you get it, before catching myself. “Marvelous painter. Very prolific. And this is a particularly beautiful example,” he said, with all a collector’s pride. “Many amusing details up close—tiny hunter, barking dog. Also—quite typical—signed on the stern of the boat. Quite charming. If you don’t mind—” indicating, with a nod, the bodies behind the tapestry. “Go over. You won’t disturb them.” “No, but—” “No—” holding up a hand—“I understand perfectly. Shall I bring it to you?” “Yes, I’d love to see it.”

“I must say, I’ve grown so fond of it, I’ll hate to see it go. He dealt paintings himself, van Goyen. A lot of the Dutch masters did. Jan Steen. Vermeer. Rembrandt. But Jan van Goyen—” he smiled—“was like our friend Boris here. A hand in everything. Paintings, real estate, tulip futures.” Boris, in the dark, made a disgruntled noise at this and seemed about to say something when all of a sudden a scrawny wild-haired boy of maybe twenty-two, with an old fashioned mercury thermometer sticking out of his mouth, came lurching out of the kitchen, shielding his eyes with his hand against the upheld lamp. He was wearing a weird, womanish, chunky knit cardigan that came almost to his knees like a bathrobe; he looked ill and disoriented, his sleeve was up, he was rubbing the inside of his forearm with two fingers and then the next thing I knew his knees went sideways and he’d hit the floor, the thermometer skittering out with a glassy noise on the parquet, unbroken. “What…?” said Boris, stabbing out his cigarette, standing up, the cat darting from his lap into the shadows. Horst—frowning—set the lamp on the floor, light swinging crazily on walls and ceiling. “Ach,” he said fretfully, brushing the hair from his eyes, dropping to his knees to look the young man over. “Get back,” he said in an annoyed voice to the women who had appeared in the door, along with a cold, dark-haired, attentive-looking bruiser and a couple of glassy prep-school boys, no more than sixteen—and then, when they all still stood staring—flicked out a hand. “In the kitchen with you! Ulrika,” he said to the blonde, “halt sie zurück.” The tapestry was stirring; behind it, blanket-wrapped huddles, sleepy voices: eh? was ist los? “Ruhe, schlaft weiter,” called the blonde, before turning to Horst and beginning to speak urgently in rapid-fire German. Yawns; groans; farther back, a bundle sitting up, groggy American whine: “Huh? Klaus? What’d she say?” “Shut up baby and go back schlafen.” Boris had picked up his coat and was shouldering it on. “Potter,” he said and then again, when I did not answer, staring horrified at the floor, where the boy was breathing in gurgles: “Potter.” Catching my arm. “Come on, let’s go.” “Yes, sorry. We’ll have to talk later. Schiesse,” said Horst regretfully, shaking the boy’s limp shoulder, with the tone of a parent making a not-particularly-convincing show of scolding a child. “Dummer Wichser! Dummkopf! How much did he take, Niall?” he said to the bruiser who had reappeared in the door and was looking on with a critical eye. “Fuck if I know,” said the Irishman, with an ominous sideways pop of his head. “Come on, Potter,” said Boris, catching my arm. Horst had his ear to the boy’s chest and the blonde, who had returned, had dropped to her knees beside him and was checking his airway.

As they consulted urgently in German, more noise and movement behind the Amiens, which billowed out suddenly: faded blossoms, a fête champêtre, prodigal nymphs disporting themselves amidst fountain and vine. I was staring at a satyr peeping at them slyly from behind a tree when, unexpectedly —something against my leg—I started back violently as a hand swiped from underneath and clutched my trouser cuff. From the floor, one of the dirty bundles—swollen red face just visible from under the tapestry—inquired of me in a sleepy gallant voice: “He’s a margrave, my dear, did you know that?” I pulled my trouser leg free and stepped back. The boy on the floor was rolling his head a bit and making sounds like he was drowning. “Potter.” Boris had gathered up my coat and was practically stuffing it in my face. “Come on! Let’s go! Ciao,” he called into the kitchen with a lift of his chin (pretty dark head appearing in the doorway, a fluttering hand: bye, Boris! Bye!) as he pushed me ahead of him and ducked behind me out the door. “Ciao, Horst!” he said, making a call me later gesture, hand to ear. “Tschau Boris! Sorry about this! We’ll talk soon! Up,” said Horst, as the Irishman came up and grabbed the boy’s other arm from underneath; together they hoisted him up, feet limp and toes dragging and—amidst hurried activity in the doorway, the two young teenagers scrambling back in alarm—hauled him into the lighted doorway of the next room, where Boris’s brunette was drawing up a syringe of something from a tiny glass bottle.

[theasteriae-arc]

THE INTERVIEW. 

( or, when sebastian met katherine. the discord thread between @epiitaphs & myself, feat. our muses squabbling over @diabolicaltendencies’ jim ) 

WHITEHALL, c. 2009. 

Her heels make an impressive racket on the tiles, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the corridor like there’s an army of interrogators on their way to sink their teeth into him. Sebastian Moran. The slick haired, sharp tongued politician she had never liked—not even before she’d found out Jim was screwing him. It was just a shame that the thick carpet in his secretary’s office—in his office—muffled the quick ratatat of those stilettos. Her war cry. “No. Excuse me, madam, you can’t- Have you got an appointment? You can’t go in there without an appointment.” Kate ignored her and opened the door to Sebastian’s office. “My name is Katherine Conway,” she said crisply to the man behind the desk. “You’ll want to see me.” And without waiting to be invited, she took a seat across from him, putting her handbag down, and folding her hands expectantly in her lap.

Sebastian is, as always, busy. Everything's manageable at the moment - neither the country nor the party are falling into the abyss, but that doesn’t mean that he's got time to rest. There’s people and policy to keep up to date on, and he can't afford to ever fall behind. Which is why he makes sure to keep a couple steps ahead of where everyone’s supposed to be. It's what got him through school and through the first years of his job. It's also what keeps him at the office late, though that's decreased over time now that Jim's around. Much more appealing to be able to come home to someone and not just the cats. There was a commotion outside, Sebastian looking up from his work just as the door opened. “An interesting opening statement, Katherine Conway,” he replied. The name seemed familiar but not enough to be someone he kept active tabs on. “Will I?” It seemed very much like he would, given that she had clearly decided to make herself home. A nod at the secretary in the doorway and the door was shut. “In that case, I suppose I'd like to know just what it is that you think is so important to require an urgent, unscheduled meeting. My time is valuable and I have later meetings, so brief is best.”

“Cancel them. I’m here to talk about James, and knowing him, that could well take all night.” 

And wouldn’t he just love that? There was a bitter twist to her lips as she continued, “He called me last weekend, told me about the two of you. How serious would you say it was?” He had a pot of pens on his desk, sleek and black with shiny gold hooks so that he could slip one into his pocket without fear of it falling out. She reached forward to take one, testing its weight in her hand, twirling it in between her fingers. “Serious enough for him to call, I suppose. But not serious enough for him to have told you everything, am I right? Didn’t want you to run a background check on him?” Her free hand disappeared into her pocket and came out with a card. Katherine Conway, Named Partner at Conway O’Kelly, an all-female chambers in Dublin. There had been a glint of recognition in his eyes when he’d repeated her name back to her and she was sure this was why; he knew of her work, not her history with his boyfriend. She’d enjoy telling him then. “Well, let me clear up some of the confusion. I used to be his girlfriend. And he wants to introduce you to the daughter we share. So, I wanted to meet you first, to make sure I was happy with that. Politicians, you know, they’re not the most trustworthy people.”

“James, you say? That sounds rather serious.” He made no move to cancel the meetings. He was fairly certain the first one could go on without him, though he’d miss out. But they'd cross that bridge if they came to it. If this was about Jim, he'd rather hear what she had to say, but he didn't intend to be pushed into any particular action. Jim had called her? What could he possibly be up to? “Quite serious, I’d say. I assume you read the news.” If she wanted details, she could refer to that. He watched as she took a pen, wondering just what her intentions where, what her connections to Jim might be. Sebastian didn't indicate an answer one way or another to the first question. “He’s told me more than enough and I have respected his privacy when asked to do so.” Jim’s privacy. Not that of others, but that wasn't something he was going to admit to. Not when she'd given him one small fact - that Jim had called. Fact 2: Sebastian hadn't known. Fact 3: Sebastian didn't know everything. 

She pulled out her card - as if that would give him much more information. It’d give him information that he could find, which was exactly what this meeting was not about. This meeting was about gaps in knowledge and Sebastian hated being on the wrong side of that. She was more than simply her job and title - if she knew Jim, that is. “Thank you for the clarification. It's much appreciated.” The thin smile on his face suggested otherwise. That she was the mother was a surprise, but she didn't have to know that. “I’d be happy to meet his child, should I pass inspection.” That information hadn't been as much from Jim. “Some might say the same for your profession. I’d know - did you look into me at all?” He really hoped so, or he'd be sincerely disappointed. She'd shown initiative so far and it'd be unfortunate if that ended up being a false lead. Time for a little bit more of a gamble. “He did mention you, by the way. As a detail. Youthful mistakes, you know.”

Nothing about her expression, her demeanour, changed. She didn’t miss a breath or move a muscle. Not quite relaxed, because from her posture it was clear that she meant business, but authoritative. Refusing to be riled. Did you look into me at all? Ha. She wanted to scoff—the Dubliner in her who’d grown up in the wrong part of the city wanted to spit—but she didn’t. Instead, she smiled. “Of course. Sebastian Moran, graduated top of his class from Magdalen College, Oxford. Fast tracked into politics, no doubt helped by his Daddy, who’s the Labour Whip in the House of Lords. Sebastian Moran who dislocated his shoulder climbing up the drainpipe of his family home during a scrap with a sibling.” The information about Oxford and his father, she could have got from anywhere. The more personal details, though, they’re not such common knowledge. She could feel his eyes scanning her face, trying to determine her source. “Your sister told me. Moira. Well, obviously. Alex doesn’t talk, does she?” Kate’s smile grew wider, more pointed. “Still managing to cause a lot of trouble up in Manchester though, I hear. Moira and I work the same cases occasionally—opposite sides, of course, but it’s always good to have a glass of wine and catch up. I’d heard rumours about you and James and she all but confirmed them, but he’s never been one for commitment, so.” The comment about her being a mistake more than stung, but she couldn’t let herself lose her cool just yet. She brushed the hair out of her eyes and looked at his steadfastly across the wide expanse of his desk. “You’ll understand if I don’t want my family being dragged into the centre of a political scandal just for the sake of some fling?”

She didn't react, which told him only so much. Either it could be that neither of his hits had landed or that some of them had - and he wasn’t going to be able to tell which ones until she’d started on the offensive again. He didn't like her, but he had to admit she had at least done her research. Plenty of it, it seemed, given the much more personal anecdote tacked on the end. “A good summary of my CV. I’d keep the assumptions to a minimum, if I were you, though. I have an entirely different constituency from him - no handover there. Speaks just a little bit to his position on merit, wouldn't you say?” It was a blow that set him off each time he heard it, but Sebastian wasn't going to reveal weakness. “It's hardly surprising that it'd be easy to find inspiration in his work.”

An eyebrow raised as he stared, wondering just who she might have had access to - ah. Moira. Of course. No family loyalty - he should have known. They'd have to talk about that next time he saw her. In all, the story wasn't too damning, as long as no one looked too closely at how old he'd been at the time. The fact that Moira somehow approved of Conway was both a red flag and a promise that this would be interesting, no matter the way it turned out. “Oh, no, Alex simply has better judgement of who she speaks to.” The jab at Alex was another blow that landed. Conway really had done her research. A smile. “You know, given how close she and Jim are?” Just how far he’d gone since leaving Kate. He wouldn’t give her information that she didn't deserve - that Jim had been committed for far longer than the press knew. “I think he can be, with the right person. Maybe you didn't have enough faith.” The personal angle seemed a far richer vein for now. “I understand perfectly, though really it's up to you - when have I ever been implicated in a scandal, after all? It’d be awful to lose the reputation you've made, wouldn’t it? And I'm sure the scrutiny on the rest of your family would be uncomfortable as well.” It wasn't an outright threat. “All the same, I do understand the value placed on family - did Moira neglect to tell you about the times I've looked after her children?”

“I have plenty of faith, thank you. Actually, I found it was his that was lacking.” Tucked beneath the sharp collar of the severe white shirt ( court clothes; really, she should be at the hotel, prepping her closing statement for tomorrow ) was the battered gold crucifix her parents had given her for her First Communion. Her fingers tighten around one another in her lap so they don’t fly up to fiddle with it. No clues. “And reminding me about his lifestyle choices—" As if that was necessary. “—Won’t help you make your case, Mr. Moran.” Once upon a time, it had been James’s lack of conventionality that she had loved, the fact that he wore leather and make up and made her mother spit with fury whenever she saw them together. When had that changed? When she’d found out she was pregnant and the father of her child had fucked off to England, leaving her unmarried and in trouble and— 

Kate took a deep breath to calm herself, recentre her thoughts, and continued. “I’m sure you’re a fine babysitter,” she said stiffly. “But this is different. And the fact that you can sit there and threaten my family tells me everything I need to know. Unless you have anything else to add, this interview is over.” She pocketed his pen and bent down to retrieve her bag, getting back on her feet before she said, “You can give James my answer, and that is if he ever brings up introducing her to you—or attempts to do it behind my back—I shan’t let him anywhere near her again. We can take it to the courts if we have to; we all know who’s going to win.”

“A strong judgment, I'd say.” Perhaps not entirely unfair, depending on what sort of faith they were discussing, but still. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t. But one of my sisters is willing to avoid gossip about the family, and it’s not the one you’re friends with.” He’d really have to talk to Moira about tattling like that. It was annoying, more than anything, but all the same. She took a breath and - clearly, he’d set her off with one his remarks - this wasn't really how he'd wanted this to go. “I don't see how it's different. In fact, I'd say it's even more low risk than babysitting, given that all Jim has asked of you is an introduction.” He considered asking for his pen back. With her standing, ready to go, he’d have to take this seriously - more seriously than before. He might have told her not to be so sure about the outcome, but that would drive the wedge further between them. For Jim’s sake, he shouldn’t. 

“I know the statistics of custody awards, Miss Conway. There is no need to threaten.” Really, there was no need to resort to outright threats. “You do realize a court case would bring exactly the sort of eyes you’d like to avoid?" He stood as well, finally. “I appreciate how much you're willing to do to protect your family and I won't tell you how to do so, but I do think it incredibly unfair of you to not tell him your decision yourself. Not because I don't want to be the bearer of bad news, but because he - maturely - asked you for permission to do the barest minimum of actions and you're making assumptions based on a five minute interview that you began with no pretensions of civility.” She’d come in on the offensive and he’d replied in kind. "You don't have to like me - I hardly expect you would, but that doesn't seem like just grounds to punish Jim. Or your daughter, really, who I believe is old enough to ask questions. If I find that you've ever actually prevented him from seeing her because of me, then I really will take issue." Maybe a bit of a threat.

“Mrs.” She paused with her bag over her arm, glowering down at him until her got his feet, and then, even in heels, she was forced to look up. “I don't know what kind of woman you think I am, sir, but I'm not a single one, that's for sure. I've been married eleven years next month.” For their anniversary the year before, she and Richard had hoped to go to Italy. Perhaps this year, if they could find someone to mind the children for a long weekend, they'd actually make it to the art galleries in Florence, the catacombs under Rome. Maybe if Jim could take them ... There was no one else she trusted, but could she even trust him anymore? “You said you were short on time and I believe in getting straight to the point, so please forgive me if I didn't pause to make small talk; we're busy people and there's not a whole lot to say. I don't like to be threatened and that’s twice in five minutes you've threatened me and my family. I don't like you, and your attitude certainly isn't helping. How long have you and James been together?”

“Mrs. Conway, then.” They were past pretending to polite, but he might as well be correct. "Yes, that is what the records say, isn't it." Seb hadn't looked into Jim, but he had done some digging. Just to see what he could find. He'd looked less at her, still trying to keep from directly disobeying Jim's wishes, but the brother had been an opportunity. “I did, didn't I. It's still true, but at the same time you did say it could take a while. You seemed less bothered by time limits at the beginning of this.” Which meant most likely that he'd offended her. Which he'd been trying to do, to be fair. “Neither of those were direct threats, Mrs. Conway, but neither of us have time to argue semantics. You rudely marched in here, implied that I was courting scandal and have since mentioned cutting Jim off from his daughter as well as the possibility to take all of this to court. You're hardly innocent.” 

Here was the choice. They were at the rumor stage of the plan. Technically they'd been more or less together for a year by now, but no one else knew that. “You said you read the news - if they're to be believed, then I think you have your answer - that it all came together after his track.” A breadcrumb. “Moira would perhaps tell you that over a year ago, I was in charge of driving him to and from one of our family's gatherings.” And another breadcrumb dropped. If she wanted to pick them up, follow the trail, she could. Everything he'd said was true in its own way. The interpretation was up to her.

One of Kate's eyebrows went up. “If all I was interested in was second-hand gossip and the suppositions of the press,” she said coolly. “Do you think I'd be here? No. So, it doesn't take an Oxford-educated intellect to infer that what I would like to hear is the truth, straight from the horse's mouth, as it were. An alien concept to you maybe, but I’ll wait if I have to.” And so saying, she slipped out of her coat and sat back down, making a show of settling in for a long stalemate. “How did a politician and a musician who has publicly lambasted him on more than one occasion become a serious item?” Her tone was cold, but she was genuinely curious. Not so much in the how, though, more the, why this man, James? What the hell does someone like you see in him?

That had gotten her back, at least. Sebastian sat as well. “I haven’t lied to you, Mrs Conway,” he replied. He had perhaps misrepresented the truth, omitted, assumed, but he hadn't outright lied just yet. And sure, he'd threatened too, but only vaguely. “And did you ask Jim for the truth?” That was - though perhaps a bit of an attack - mostly just curiosity. “Or is he next? Making sure we can't coordinate our stories?” That was an unfair accusation, but he saw no reason to play fair with her. He shrugged, seemingly relaxed. “Maybe it's the public lambasting that makes it fun,” he replied, trying to think of just what he could or should tell her. She didn't deserve the details of their relationship - certainly no more than the general public did. “As much as it may shock you, we get along well. I think we represent a bit of a challenge to each other, and that's what keeps things interesting.”

TO BE CONTINUED ... 

[writerofshit]

Secret Santa:X

(This is half headcanon, half fic, all fun times and emotions)

(Shoutout to the Penthouse discord server for help on some of the gifts, would have been lost without you)

The last Christmas they have in the penthouse, Ryan brings up Secret Santa again. It’s partly a joke, partly a nod to the nostalgia that’s been eating at all of them the last few months. He brings it up when they’re all gathered in the living room, watching Gavin try and prove his stealth abilities in Hitman.

(“Just because you can be stealthy in a video game doesn’t mean I’m letting you come with me.” Jack had said at the beginning of it all.

“If I get silent assassin you have to take me!”

“This is your fourth run through!”)

Anyhow, Ryan brings it up, all nonchalant. “Remember that year we did Secret Santa?”

“No?” Jeremy says honestly.

“Before your time.” Michael says with a smile, patting him on the head.

“It was fun. We should do it again.”

(”Goddamnit!” On screen, Gavin dies again.)

The next day they have a meeting of all the ‘movers and shakers’, as Geoff has taken to calling them. He announces that Secret Santa is yet again a thing, and no, Matt, you can’t get out of it. There’s no budget, because they all have access to more money than they know what to do with.

They throw eleven names in a hat and go from there. Geoff calls first pick because he’s an asshole like that, and his choice picks next, so on and so forth.

 “Just get your shit done by Christmas, and we’ll do it then.”

--

Geoff pulls Gavin, and only panics a little.

The kid has everything he could ever want, what’s he really supposed to do? He considers what he might need, ends up crossing ‘bulletproof vest and a helmet’ off the list because it feels a little impersonal. He could do liquor of some sort, but he suspects there will be enough of that floating around on Christmas day.

He considers a camera, knows Gavin is into that kind of shit, but he’s lost a lot of knowledge in that department over the years. The only person who knows enough is Gavin himself, and that kind of defeats the point.

He ends up going for a new pair of gold shades, because the old ones are pretty worn out after six-plus years, and he’s almost positive Gavin has lost them. (Probably in Ryan’s room, but that’s neither here nor there) He gets a pair that have diamonds along the arms, and even though they’re ridiculously expensive he thinks it’s worth it.

Gavin adores them, has them on within 30 seconds of unwrapping them. He pokes himself in the eye, and that feels like a bonus to Geoff.

--

Gavin pulls Trevor, and while he plays it off at first “Oh, this will be easy, I got this person for sure!” he absolutely has no idea what to do.

��There’s a weird bit of time where he tries to get to know Trevor better. He learns absolutely nothing new, despite following the guy for almost a week.

There’s a night he lays in bed with Ryan, bitching about this whole thing. “What the hell do I do? This was terrible for me last time, why would you suggest this?”

He ends up calling Barbara from the Roosters to try and figure out something, who promptly makes fun of him for not knowing anything about the guy he’s worked with for years. She does give one bit of new information, so he goes with it.

He gives Trevor tickets to the next Motocross event, because it’s apparently something he’s into. He throws in a NASA t-shirt as a joke, a nod to the world Trevor left behind.

Both items go over well, Trevor immediately pulling the shirt on over what he’s already wearing. He won’t shut up about Motocross for the rest of the day, either.

--

Trevor pulls Ryan, which he’s immediately terrified of.

 He knows Ryan well enough to know that there won’t be any serious repercussions if he fucks it up, he won’t get gutted over a poor gift choice. But he also knows he’ll get that weird stare Ryan does when he’s pretending to consider whether or not to hurt someone. Plus he won’t live it down from the rest of the crew.

At first he goes to Gavin for help, because apparently nobody is taking the ‘secret’ part seriously. Gavin absolutely refuses to help him, mostly for the laughs. He knows Gavin’s getting a kick out of watching him squirm over this, which is so unfair. Then he asks Jack for help, who just shrugs. 

“You’re a smart guy, Trevor, you’ll figure something out.”

He does, sort of. He gives Ryan a 24 pack of diet coke (because what else?) and an actually beautiful rainbow knife. It seems pretty heavy duty, and he knows its right up his alley. He also throws in some earplugs as a joke.

 “So you can tune out Gav’s idiocy whenever you need.”

“Come on, Trevor. I’ve had years of practice at that. The knife is gorgeous though.”

--

Ryan pulls Alfredo, and he’s not too worried about it.

Alfredo’s their go-to sniper these days, and a new sniper rifle seems pretty obvious. Maybe a gift card to Ammunation or something? It does feel a little lackluster, even to him, so he brings it up to Gavin one night, while Gav is still debating t-shirts from Amazon.

“That’s a bit boring, isn’t it?”

“You’re buying a NASA shirt for an ex-aerospace engineer. I’m gonna need you to rethink your stance on this one.”

“Nah. You gotta do something better for Fredo, he deserves it.”

Which. alright, then what the fuck is he supposed to do? He gets his answer the next week when he sees Alfredo on a motorcycle for the first time.

“I’m going to teach you how to actually ride that thing.” Which is good, a chance to catch up and hang out. Bad, because Ryan’s method of teaching is ‘learn by doing’ and does in fact result in shouting.

Ryan still gives him the sniper rifle, which he is far more excited about.

--

Alfredo pulls Fiona, and it’s the first time he marginally regrets joining the crew.

He’s got no fucking idea what she’d like, what gift she’d appreciate and not hit him over. He tries to be casual about asking around, hoping someone might have better insight. The rest of the crew catches on immediately, and they flood him with false information.

“She loves chocolate. Favorite Halloween candy, in fact!” Michael tells him, but the grin he has says otherwise.

“She mentioned something about wanting to learn a new language.” Jack says seriously.

“Get her an English to French dictionary, she’ll love it.” Gavin tacks on.

“French, yep. She definitely wants to learn that one.”

Lindsay is the only one who actually helps him. “She’s been known to enjoy a drink or two.”

By sheer luck he happens to walk into one of the thousand arguments Fiona has with Michael over the whole ‘Halloween candy’ debacle, and he knows immediately that's a bad route to go down.

He ends up making a gift basket full of liquor mini’s and various candies. He makes sure not to include any chocolates, and throws some extra blowpops in, just to be safe.

Thankfully, she does appreciate the thought he put in, and she says she’ll only share with Alfredo since everyone else is an asshole.

--

Fiona pulls Lindsay, and it’s not hard to figure out what she’ll like.

 She considers something chaotic, the two of them wreaking havoc on the city together. It makes sense. She also thinks about organizing a ‘girls day’, getting all the ladies of the crew together to go out and fuck some shit up. There’s a lot of logistics involved in that one, including convincing some of them to be out in the field like that.

It crosses her mind to bring Lindsay to a shelter to play with cats, because if there’s one thing Lindsay likes more than chaos, it’s cats. That’s also a bit of a logistical nightmare, not to mention the strength it would take to pry her away.

In the end she goes with cat merch. It’s a basket full of goodies, including a mug with a cat holding a bi-pride flag, a dress with various cartoon cats on it, and a cat necklace that has her birthstone as the body.

It’s beautiful, and Lindsay just about cries. She too, immediately changes into her new clothing, and she drinks everything out of the mug for at least a month.

--

Lindsay pulls Matt, and at first she panics.

She knows him fairly well, but like... He’s a real weirdo, what’s she supposed to do with that? She wonders what games he could use, if there’s anything he hasn’t bought himself.

Her confusion lasts until she mentions it to Michael. (Only after he let it slip who he’d picked.)

“Are you fucking kidding me? Matt’s the easiest goddamn one!”

“Bullshit! Name one thing you know about M.att B.ragg!”

“He eats like shit! Give him a box of donuts and he’ll lose his fuckin mind.”

Her response of  “Oh my god.” is barely heard.

She spends a week trying out different recipes, much to Ryan’s delight. He’s happy to play taste-tester while she finds the perfect flavor combination.

She winds up going with a double chocolate espresso concoction. Matt is, of course, super stoked about his cupcakes, and damn near has to fight Ryan off to protect them.

--

Matt pulls Jeremy, which is pretty much a slam dunk.

Whiskey is the obvious choice, one he’ll absolutely go with, thank you very much. Who said taking the easy way out never got you anywhere?

And it would have, if it weren’t for Geoff.

There’s a debate that happens about a week before Christmas, something about the necessity of going to the liquor store. Michael and Jeremy are firmly pro-trip, and Geoff just wants them to “stay home and do some goddamn work. Besides, it’s not like half of you guys aren’t buying each other liquor anyway. In a week I’m sure we’ll be fully stocked.”

Which, alright. Fuck Matt then, huh? He’d genuinely thought it was a good idea, a mix of thoughtful and practical.

He decides to pair the whiskey with- well, it’s kind of a joke gift, but at least he won’t be accused of only buying liquor.

He commissions a customized cowboy hat. Half purple half orange, split right down the middle. There’s a neon yellow buckle on it, and it’s the ugliest thing Matt has ever seen in his life.

Jeremy loves it though, thinks it’s goddamn perfect. He wears it for the rest of the day, and for the next heist.

(Michael is less enthused.)

--

Jeremy pulls Michael, and that-

That’s harder than it should be.

He and Michael have been doing this... Whatever the fuck it is for over six months now, and they haven’t goddamn talked about. Not really. They’ve had moments,sure, here and there when they’re both drunk and thinking far too much about it. Reminding each other that they’re happy, that this is a good time, wouldn’t change it for the world-

But there’s still nights they sleep alone and they don’t talk about why. They still don’t really mention it to anyone else, even if they all know. Jeremy still doesn’t know how to answer when someone asks what the deal is with him and Michael.

So it’s hard, right, to come up with a relationship- appropriate gift. Too jokey and he’ll feel bad. Too serious isn’t their style at all. Plus like… how’s he supposed to do that in front of everybody? Just because they know there’s something there doesn’t mean they need to put on a show.

He settles on the obvious, nice bottle of tequila and a couple of shot glasses. It’s not exactly personal, but it’s good enough to show the room.

Later, in a quiet moment they can steal away, Jeremy offers to take him out the next night.

“We’ll do the bar thing, just you and me. My treat.”

“Oh yeah? You’re buying my drinks all night?” Michael asks him with a sly grin.

“I uh- I’ll get your drinks for as long as you’ll have me.” and it doesn’t come out exactly right, but they both know what he means by it.

Earns him a smile and a sweet kiss, and that alone is worth it.

--

Michael pulls Jack, and he runs through a few options.

He considers buying her furniture, because he knows she'll need it when they all finally do move out. But Jack has a good head on her shoulders and probably already has that shit on lock.

He looks into custom shelving, for all the knick knacks she's collected over the years. He could get it designed in colors she'd like and shell out extra for lighting and all that shit. But she doesn't have a new place yet, as far as he knows, so that's kind of a bust.

He could give her what amounts to a gift certificate, an offer to pay for whatever she wants made, but that seems kind of… Empty?

There's the age old alcohol gift, but that's been done before, and is probably being done by almost everyone else.

He mentions to Lindsay how weirdly difficult it is to buy something for Jack, get’s zero advice but somehow helps her figure out the whole Matt mystery.

In the end he decides to help her out and piss her off, a little bit of a win-win kinda thing. He buys her a couple of new shirts, bold and flowery and almost as bad as Jeremy’s Rimmy Tim shtick. He hates them but he knows she loves them, so it’s worth it.

He tells her it’s because her old shirts gotta be falling out of fashion, an opinion she is not happy about.

But it’s fine, because he also gets her tickets to fucking Disney World, of all places. He even offers to go with her, which she absolutely takes him up on.

It’s more fun than he expects, and it’s a really good chance to actually spend some time with her. He hadn’t realized it had been so long.

--

Jack pulls Geoff, which.

It’s no secret that Geoff is a sentimental bastard when it comes to the crew. It’s exactly why he’d spent months talking to her about the possibility of selling the penthouse, trying to figure out exactly how everyone would react, trying to figure out how he would react to not having them all so close anymore. She spent countless nights listening to him wonder what it meant that he wanted his own space.

Objectively, he was probably a bad person but his love and fierce loyalty to the crew made up for that, in some ways, right? So how can he kick them out, how can he do this to them, he’s being selfish-

And she had just explained to him that he had to do what was right for him. That it was understandable. That he was right, they could all use the opportunity to be a little more independent. She was looking forward to having her own space, and in time the rest of them would too.

So when she pulls Geoff’s name, she knows she’s gotta lean into that a bit. She could get him some books, some puzzles maybe. He’d mentioned off-hand that he missed having the space for them, because the kitchen table was always covered in some sort of crew shenanigans.

She does get him those, because she knows they’ll get some use.

But the big thing is the collage.

She’s had pictures of the crew on her phone for years, dating all the way back to her and Geoff in a shitty apartment. She’s got some of Ray, curled up on the couch with a DS in his hand. Gavin and Michael wrestling one drunken night. Ryan, nodded off on the couch after a heist, face paint still on and a complete mess. Jeremy trying to teach Matt something resembling self-defense. Lindsay cuddling a stray cat she had taken in. Trevor and Alfredo in matching clothes, playing up the ‘twin’ joke that had been going around. Fiona in that bright yellow suit, modeling for her Instagram.

There’s one she gets at the last minute, gets somebody from the support team to take right before their latest heist. It’s all eleven of them, full heist get-up, masks and obnoxious fashion choices and guns tucked here and there. They’re in the boardroom, running through it one more time before they take off, and in retrospect, it’s probably the last time they’ll do that in that room.

She sets that one in the middle, surrounded by all of these moments from the last 12 years.

“For your new place, when you find it.” Jack says.

It’s beautiful, and it makes Geoff cry. It brings some sniffles from a lot of them, even if they all deny it.

Leaving the penthouse isn’t the easiest thing for any of them, but it’s the right move. After all, they’re still a family.

[likecastle]

Witcher Noir AU, pt 19

More Witcher noir AU! Previous parts here.

“You were looking for me?” Cirilla asks.

Geralt heaves himself upright with a grunt. “Yes.”

She sits back on her heels, staring at him curiously, as if she can’t quite believe he’s real. He takes the opportunity to get a good look at her. She’s grubby but appears to be unharmed, dressed in a shirt and a pair of trousers that must belong to her friend, judging by the way they’re rolled up at the cuffs. She’s grown up since the last time he saw her, and yet there’s still so much of that wide-eyed little girl about her. The thought of her spending the last several days on her own, with no one but another child to help her, makes his chest clench in a way that has nothing to do with the pain in his ribs. But there’s no time for regrets now.

“We should go,” he says.

“Like hell,” the kid cuts in, stepping out of the shadows. His grip on the remains of the broken chair is tight, and he looks ready to use it. “Ciri’s not going anywhere with you.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” Cirilla replies sharply.

The kid lets out an incredulous huff. “Are you really going to trust this guy just because he used to work for your family? A lot of people have worked for your grandmother, Ciri. That doesn’t make them good people. In fact, I’d say there’s a good chance it makes them really, really bad people.” He seems to realize he’s gone too far as soon as he says it, but he keeps on trying, taking a new tack. “So what if he was nice to you once when you were a kid? You haven’t seen him in years. For all we know, he could be working with the man in black, or somebody even worse.”

The haughty look Cirilla throws him is distinctly reminiscent of Calanthe. “Maybe, but it’s my choice, not yours.”

“He’s right,” Geralt says. “You don’t have much reason to trust me.”

Both of them look at him in surprise.

“There’s a lot we need to talk about,” Geralt admits. “You deserve to know the whole truth—and I promise to tell you everything I know as soon as I can. But it’s not safe here right now. My friend took care of the man who was trying to hurt you—at least for the time being—but the cops will be here any minute, and you need to believe me when I say you don’t want to get mixed up with them.”

The threat of the police seems to cut through the kid’s reservations. Cirilla glances at him and nods, her expression serious beyond her years.

“All right,” she says, “we’ll come with you.”

Before Geralt can reply, Jaskier appears in the doorway, panting heavily. “Thank god you’re all right,” he gasps. “Sorry, I know you told me to stay put, but— What are you doing on the floor? Never mind, there’s no time. The cops are here and they’re searching the alley.”

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters. He didn’t even hear the sirens. “Is there another way out of here?”

Ciri’s friend snaps quickly into action, beckoning for them to follow him. Cirilla goes after him without a moment’s hesitation and, after a searching glance at Geralt—which he can only answer with a shrug—Jaskier follows, too. The kid leads them back down the corridor and up the next flight of stairs. They pass one landing, and then another, until, finally, they emerge onto the roof.

After the deep gloom inside the building, they all have to stand there for a moment, letting their eyes adjust. The sound of the cops down in the alley below gets them moving again. The kid takes them across the roof and climbs handily over a waist-high dividing wall onto the roof of the neighboring building. Of all of them, Geralt has the most trouble scrambling over the barrier, his much-abused ribs screaming in protest as he hauls himself to the other side.

“You going to make it?” Jaskier asks in an undertone, hanging back behind the kids to talk to him.

“I’ll have to,” Geralt says.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Jaskier chides. “You can’t just tough out a concussion—”

“I don’t have a concussion,” Geralt insists.

“—and hope a your bruised ribs will just clear up on their own. You need to take it easy.”

This is far from the worst he’s endured, but he has to admit that the effects of the past few days are starting to add up. He thinks of Yennefer’s admonishment to him right before he kissed her—You’ve got to be playing the long game, from now on—for her. “I don’t have a choice,” Geralt says, more harshly than he intends to. “I can’t take it easy until this is over and I know Cirilla’s safe. Until then, I’ll do what I have to.”

Jaskier shoots him a worried glance, but Geralt doesn’t have time to indulge his anxiety when there’s another wall to climb over—and then, mercifully, the kid is jimmying open the lock on a door, and they’re descending another dim stairwell. At the bottom of the stairs, they find themselves in the crowded storeroom of a corner delicatessen. When they step into the shop, the woman behind the counter doesn’t even seem surprised to see them.

“Morning, Dara,” she says, as he staggers into her shop with battered and bloodied strangers in tow all the time. For all Geralt knows, he does.

“Morning!” the kid—Dara—replies cheerfully. “If anyone asks, you didn’t see us, OK?”

“See who?” she asks, without glancing up from the jars she’s stacking on one of the shelves behind the counter.

They emerge onto the street and Jaskier immediately steps to the curb to hail a cab. Despite having possibly killed a man today, he’s still the most respectable-looking of the four of them. If Geralt tried to call a cab in the shape he’s in, there isn’t a single car in the city that would stop for him. It’s only once they’ve all piled into the cab and the driver asks, “Where to?” that Geralt realizes he hasn’t had a chance to decide where they should go next.

Except that, before he can think about it, he’s giving the driver an address—one he hasn’t been to in a long time. But they need somewhere safe to hole up for a while, and he can’t think of anywhere safer.

Up front, Jaskier is chatting companionably to the driver, as if he doesn’t have blood on his hands and a stolen gun in his jacket pocket. Beside Geralt, Dara and Cirilla are holding another one of their silent conversations. Finally, Cirilla seems to win out, because she turns to him and says in a low voice, “Where are you taking us?”

Geralt glances at the driver, but the man is deep in a heated debate with Jaskier about the best routes of the city. He can feel Jaskier’s attention refocus on him, however, listening in on the conversation going on in the back seat even as he keeps baiting the driver with inane questions about traffic patterns and toll rates.

“It’s—” Geralt realizes he almost said home, but that hasn’t been true for years. “—where I grew up. We’ll be safe there, until we can work out what to do next.”

“And then you’ll tell us what’s really going on,” Cirilla says firmly, as if she’s afraid he’ll hold out on her when the time comes.

“I’ll tell you everything I know,” Geralt promises again. “But I expect the two of you to do the same.” He fixes them both with a serious look. “We can protect each other, but not if we don’t trust each other.”

Once again, that look of silent communication passes between the two of them, and they both nod solemnly. Not for the first time, Geralt wonders what the past few days have been like, for them to have built such deep trust so fast. Then again, he and Jaskier have forged a pretty tight bond, themselves, so perhaps it isn’t such a mystery.

[phoenix-downer]

Brought to Life

Roxas/Naminé. Alternate Universe. Romance. Based off of the Greek myth Pygmalion. ~3000 words. For @scoobysnack1107​. 

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There was nothing Naminé liked more than art.

She started out by drawing on spare scraps of paper her father left around his workshop. Little scrawls and scribbles with pencil stubs as she watched him sculpt works for his many clients. He was the most respected sculptor in the city, and he always had a long list of commissions to work on. 

When Naminé wasn’t helping her mother with chores around the house, she spent every spare moment watching her father at work. Once she was old enough, he enlisted her help and then formally signed her on as an apprentice. From then on, every spare moment she spent in his workshop honing her craft. She learned to work with a variety of mediums—wood, stone, clay, metal—but marble was her favorite. It was easy to mold and yet resistant to shattering, and she loved the feel of its texture beneath her fingers and its slight translucence that mimicked human skin. 

As the years passed, Naminé developed a reputation as something of a prodigy. People began to ask her to craft special orders under her own name and not her father’s. And when she wasn’t working in her father’s workshop, she worked with a master painter in the city and learned his secrets, too. By the time her twentieth birthday had arrived, she had quite the following of her own and was set for a life of steady work and happy clients for both sculpture and painting. 

There was just one catch. She had no one with which to live her life, and her parents were not getting any younger. They worried about who would take care of her once they were gone and urged her to find someone to marry.

“The two of you are still young,” she told them as she added the finishing touches to a painting of their splendid city during its summer festival for the goddess Aphrodite. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I have clients enough to last me for the rest of my days.” 

“Naminé, we’re not worried about your ability to provide for yourself,” her mother said as she took a seat on one of the workbenches. Her blond hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her blue eyes were filled with worry for her daughter. “Ever since you were little, we’ve known you’re talented, and your hard work has ensured you’ll be able to take care of yourself for the rest of your days.” 

“What we’re worried about is that you’ll be lonely,” her father said. His dark hair had a few streaks of gray in it now, but his blue eyes were as intense as ever, and Naminé knew he had many years of life ahead of him yet.

“Lonely?” Naminé set her paintbrush down. Why should she be lonely with such a happy family and so many happy clients? Her parents’ friends were wonderful too, and she never lacked for company if she so desired it.

“Don’t you want someone to spend the rest of your days with?” her mother said. 

“Oh, like a husband?” 

Her parents both nodded, and she glanced outside. She often saw young men pass by their shop when she worked into the twilight hours; it was on the way to a rather seedy part of the city, and she was less than impressed by the effects of alcohol, gambling, and prostitutes on the young men. Didn’t they have any respect for their wives and families?

Naminé sniffed. She had no use for a husband who would drink himself into a stupor, gamble her hard-earned money away, and then spend the night using the body of some poor woman whose name he couldn’t even be bothered to remember, all while his wife waited lonely and unsatisfied at home for him to come home at the crack of dawn to pass out and sleep the morning away while she did the chores. She would rather be alone forever than be miserably married to such a man. 

“I’m not interested in any of the men I’ve met,” she said. “I’m not interested in marriage at all.”

Let her parents think what they would about her words, but she would not be persuaded to chain herself to a miserable marriage. She had never met a man she would be interested in marrying, and she doubted that would change. There were plenty of good men in the world, but the ones she knew were all already married, and she had no taste for adultery or affairs. 

Her parents dropped the subject for now, but every now and then it would come up in conversation. One breezy autumn day, as they ate lunch on the terrace of their home, it came up again, and with a vengeance.

“Naminé,” her father said, not even trying to hide the exasperation in his voice, “if you don’t ever meet any young men, how would you know you’re not interested in marriage?” 

“It’s true. You spend so much time in the workshop and hardly any time at all meeting people your age,” her mother said as she sipped her goblet of wine. 

“I have a lot of work to do,” Naminé replied. “If I work hard now, I can build a good reputation for myself and have more flexibility when I’m older. Then I can think about marriage.” 

There was no point in rushing. Right now, her career took center stage. Marriage could come much later… if at all. 

Her mother daintily patted her mouth with her napkin. “Do you even know what you want in a husband?” 

Naminé thought for a moment. “Someone kind and caring, someone loyal and true. A man who would defend me from harm and never betray my trust. A man who would love me and want to be with me always.” 

Her father brightened. “Those are all good qualities. Why don’t I inquire with a matchmaker about—”

She shook her head. “It’s okay, father. I don’t think such a man exists. Or if he does, he’s already happily married to someone else.”

Her parents dropped the subject once more, but their conversation haunted her. She had little faith her dream man existed, but her life as an artist had taught her that she could create things out of nothing. She could make things a reality that had only existed in her head before.  

She stayed in the workshop after she’d finished the day’s work. A big hunk of marble had been delivered yesterday, and she had let it sit there, unsure of what to do with it. It was far too big to make a bust out of, and no one had commissioned her to make any full-body sculptures lately. 

But tonight, she had just the idea. Grabbing some wire, her fingers worked swiftly and deftly to craft a basic human figure. Then she took a large lump of clay and shaped it around the frame to get an overall idea of what she wanted the sculpture to look like. 

Content with what she had so far, she went to bed, physically tired but mentally alert. The next few weeks she spent building a full scale model and then added tacks at key points. Once she was happy with their locations, she transferred the tacks to the block of marble to get a sense of scale. 

This next part was what she’d been looking forward to the most. Mallet and chisel in hand, she went to work bringing out the man trapped inside the marble. A dynamic pose to emphasize his movement, to make him seem real. A broad chest and wide shoulders, strong enough to wield a sword and protect her from harm. A resolute expression on his face, because he was passionate and driven. And yet his eyes needed to look at her just right; had to be both both determined and gentle. 

This process took months, especially because Naminé still had her clients’ commissions to work on. She usually only had time to work on the sculpture of the man during the evening after her other duties were fulfilled, and she spent many a late night working on him. But as he became more and more lifelike with each passing day, she was more determined than ever to finish her work. Now she was using a more specific set of tools; tooth chisels and claw chisels and rasps and rifflers. 

When at last the sculpture before her matched the image in her head and the models she’d made, it was time to sand the uneven parts down with a special rough stone called emery. The color of the marble shone through in this process as a thin patina developed over its surface, and she also added a sealing compound to make the marble practically glow. 

Now for the reason she’d studied painting: so she could paint her own statues. She gave the man blond hair and blue eyes with Naples yellow and Egyptian blue. His hair was brighter gold than her own, so bright it was like the daffodils that grew in her family’s garden. And his eyes were darker blue than her own, as blue as the water in the fountain reflecting the color of the tiles beneath it. She painted his skin and clothes with a variety of other fine pigments. Dragon’s blood, lead white, and lamp black contrasted nicely with his hair and were what she largely used for his clothes. 

At long last, after over a year’s worth of work, she was finished. She set her paintbrushes down and stared at her creation. This was what she had worked so hard on, what she had poured hundreds of hours of sweat and tears and the occasional drop of blood into. Her ideal man. His golden hair swept up towards the sky, and his blue eyes gazed down at her. The robes draped from his arms and legs were so realistic they almost seemed like actual clothes, and his striking pose made him look like a warrior or messenger coming down from the heavens to protect her.

She brought her hand to her cheek, and it was hot. Was she really… blushing? Just from looking at a statue she’d made? How was this even…

She ducked her head and then looked back at the statue, mesmerized by her own creation. He was handsome and dashing, tall and strong and true. Loyal and faithful because he knew only her, knew only her touch which had spent hours bringing him into being. 

It was a good thing he wasn’t real. Otherwise he would be disloyal, just like the others. Just like her first love who had—

She cleared her throat and looked away. She wouldn’t think about that man and how he’d broken her heart, finding shelter in the arms of another woman instead of her arms. Because now she had a man that would never leave her, never abandon her, never betray her. 

Maybe he wasn’t real, but she couldn’t risk her heart on a real man again. 

Right?

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Though the statue was, by her father’s estimation, her greatest work yet, Naminé refused to sell it. She didn’t even want other people seeing it lest they get any ideas. Very rarely did she keep any of her works for herself, but this one was an exception. She was keeping it for the rest of her days.

She found her eyes drawn to it often as she worked, and her blush returned when she glanced at it. It was so lifelike, so realistic, that she couldn’t help but be drawn to it. No, to him. Referring to him as an it felt wrong. The more she looked at him, the more she felt he had a soul trapped in the rock, much like his form had once been trapped in the rock.

Late at night, after her father had gone to bed and the other workers had gone home, she’d taken to lingering in the workshop to spend a few more moments with him. As she gazed into his eyes one summer night, the moonlight shining on his face, a thought occurred to her.

“I haven’t given you a name yet.” 

She pressed her fingers together as she thought. He needed a name, a fitting name…  

“You were hewn out of marble, out of rock…” She smiled. “Roxas. Your name is Roxas.”

He gazed at her steadily, and her blush spread up her cheeks. The name was perfect, just like he was perfect. She reached for his hand and wrapped her fingers around it. Her hand fit perfectly in his, and she sighed. 

“Roxas, I think I love you.” 

Her breath caught in her throat. Had she really just said those words out loud? Was she really in love with a statue? How awful, how could she have let this happen—

Ashamed, she fled from the workshop and retreated to her room and buried herself under her blankets. This had gone on for too long. Roxas had bewitched her, heart and body and soul, and a statue so powerful must be cursed with evil magic. She had to get rid of him as soon as possible before some disastrous fate fell upon her and her family. 

But the thought of losing him, the thought of losing her beloved Roxas, made her heart sink. Could she so easily throw him out when she had made him? Cast him aside like her first love had cast her aside? 

Still, this obsession wasn’t healthy. She needed to do something about it. Tomorrow was the first day of the festival for Aphrodite. Maybe, if she went to the goddess’s temple and prayed, Aphrodite would send her a real man that would make her forget all about her infatuation with a statue. 

Yes, that was what she would do. Satisfied now that she had a plan, she was able to go to sleep. But as she slipped from consciousness, it was Roxas’s chiseled marble face that lingered in her mind.

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Naminé rose early the next morning for the festival so she could carefully select some choice flowers from her family’s garden to offer as a gift to Aphrodite. It wouldn’t do to approach the goddess empty-handed, and so Naminé made sure she had an offering worthy of the city’s deity.

The flowers selected, she made her way to the sanctuary of Aphrodite, where the altar of Aphrodite rested. Throngs of people surrounded her, as the festival was already underway, and it took quite some time before she made it inside the sanctuary, let alone to where the altar was. But at last it was her turn to offer a gift to the goddess, and as she did, she made a wish, her voice barely above a whisper.

“If it so pleases you, Aphrodite, I would like to wish for a husband in the likeness of my Roxas.” 

In her heart of hearts, she knew the wish was not entirely true. She didn’t just want a husband in the likeness of Roxas, she wanted Roxas to be her husband. But she was still too ashamed to admit her true desire, so she went home and returned to the workshop. A particularly wealthy patron had requested a bust of him and his wife, and she wanted to get at least a little work done for his request today. 

But when she entered the studio, Roxas was there waiting for her. He looked even more handsome and lifelike than ever, and a strange urge came over her. Her feet carried her to him, as if she was being carried along by the breeze. She cupped his cheek, and she could’ve sworn his skin felt soft beneath her touch. 

“Roxas,” she said, her voice breaking. “My dear Roxas. How badly do I wish you were real.” 

His blue eyes steadily gazed back at her as she stroked his face. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed her mouth against his in a sweet kiss, her eyes fluttering shut as she indulged the fantasy that had taken root in her heart from the moment she’d named him. To her surprise, his lips felt warm. She leaned back a little, her lips parting and her eyes widening, then kissed him again.

This time, she didn’t stop kissing him, even when his lips grew warmer and his skin grew ever softer against her touch. And then his arms went around her and he was kissing her back. A soft cry caught in her throat as he did. This was real. He was real, and he was holding her in his arms like she’d dreamed he would.

She remembered. She remembered everything. Why no man she’d ever met could satisfy her. No man in this life, anyway. Why her heart was so drawn to a statue of him, to this man she loved with all her heart. Her Roxas was in her arms, and all was right in the World again. 

When they finally broke apart, she was breathless. She would’ve fallen if he hadn’t caught her and gently pulled her up.

“Naminé,” he said, his voice breaking as he looked into her eyes and caressed her cheek. 

She hugged him again. “Roxas—”

He held her and comforted her as she cried, reassuring her that their long separation was over, that he was here and they were together again. 

“We promised, remember? ‘We’ll meet again,’” he said, smiling as he repeated the words she’d told him so long ago. “So here I am. It wasn’t the way I was expecting, exactly, but what matters is that I’m here and we’re together.” 

“Yes.” She found his hand and held it. Even when her mind had forgotten him, her heart hadn’t. Her body hadn’t either; it had guided her through the long process it had taken to bring him back to life, and it was responding so wonderfully to his touch. 

He scooped her up in his arms. “Shall we?” he said as she laughed lightly. 

“Yes, we shall.” 

As he carried her out of the workshop and to the house, she couldn’t take her eyes off of his face. They were together again at long last, and she wanted to make the most of every moment.

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A/N: This fic was written for @scoobysnack1107​! Rokunami is dear to her heart, and she’s poured so much love and effort into the Rokunami fandom. I wanted to write something for her to thank her for that, as well as to thank her for supporting me :) 

This guide was really helpful in terms of how to make a marble sculpture, and I drew heavily on it when I wrote the descriptions of Naminé making the sculpture of Roxas. Also, thank you to @rapis-razuri​ for looking over things for me and providing suggestions and feedback!

Hope you all enjoyed! 

[millennial-star-gazer]

The Draconic Demon Within: Chapter 4: A Demon’s All-Consuming Rage

The Draconic Demon Within

Genres: Romance, Friendship/Family, Drama/Angst, Hurt/ Comfort, & New Adult Fanfiction

Vera's April 2018 Prompts: Soul, Empyrean, Savage, Memory, Trust, Fear, Unstoppable , Resilient, Supernatural (Implied) Lost (Implied) and Loathing.

Nalu Lovefest 2017 Prompts: Dreams

Nalu Week 2019 Prompts (Implied:) Lost, Curse, Trial, Treasure, Chance and possibly Bare.

Pairing: Nalu/EndLu,( Natsu x Lucy/ E.N.D. x Lucy)

Rating: M for language, steamy and mature adult sexual content (all consensual) in these and future chapters. Reader Direction is advised.(You have been warned!)

Summary: Now faced with the reality of who he is truly is, the son of Igneel must contend with the new darker instincts of his new demonic identity- all while navigating through his ever-growing, intense feelings for a particular celestial wizard. Originally a Submission (semi -au) for Nalu lovefest 2017 (on my previous celestialgeekmage account and now an entry for nalu week 2019 with chapter 3. (Also was on my earliest previous accounts of teamedwardjace/Twishadowhunter in the past. Also part of Vera's April 2018 prompt challenge from fic-writers appreciation on cosmicdragonwizard).

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Chapter 4: A Demon's All- Consuming Rage

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A/N: Hey guys, it's your girl back again with another installment of TTDW! Fun fact: Being temporarily off work for a few weeks due to pandemic has provided some extra free time to edit and posta new chapter for this fic ( which is on account of the temporary closures of public institutions, and public spaces along with non-essential businesses/services in Ontario-the Canadian province I'm from). This isn't to suggest I'm not without fear or concern about the pandemic or potential effects on global infrastructure but at least I'm mostly coping as best as anyone can at this time. Hope you guys are all too. ( A bit more on this in the A/N at the end of this chapter .) Anyway, hope that this chapter and my other fanfics along with those from amazing writers can help you all while stuck at home. All right, that's pretty much my whole spiel for now. Without further ado, here's Chapter 4 of TTDW-Enjoy! 

(Note: Scroll down past the read more button/cut for the  designated legend menu and actual story content).

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Disclaimer: Fairytail does not belong to me, but to the most honourable Hiro-sensei instead, for whom without this work of love wouldn't be possible. 

Read Previous Chapters of TDDW and on platforms here:

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Previous (Click Here:)  (or here: https://millennial-star-gazer.tumblr.com/post/185917542578/the-draconic-demon-within-chapter-3)

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C. A03 (Click Here:) (or here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17365061/chapters/40861307)

2. Ongoing Master  Post Of All My Writing (Click Here:) (or here: https://millennial-star-gazer.tumblr.com/post/179665258923/master-fic-rec-post)

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Legend:

Italic: Song Lyrics/Quotes (or flashback dialogue)

Bold: First Person Thoughts

Bolded Italics: Empathized, stylized Word(s) or bloodthirsty fantasies

Bolded Italics (Within and Outside Bracket) including for author's side notes also known as (A/N:) within brackets (though none for side-notes in this chapter ).

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"Your body is full of rage.

Every sinew. It is easy to read.

You speak volumes with a clenched fist."

( Paolo Bacigalupi: The Drowned Cities)

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"Seriously? Luce's alive?

That…. I can't...

A wave of overjoyed relief was washing over Natsu from the spectacular news about his best friend still breathing.

"Hear that Luce?!" He sobbed, not bothering to wipe the moisture from his eyes." You're alive and gonna be okay— Thank God! Really... don't ... know what I'd do without ya…," Scarlet-red eyes remained focused/trained on the face on the motionless angel in his arms.

"Pretty sure the guild and the rest of the people we know would be just as devastated if they lost such an incredible person and wizard . Glad you're okay either way though." Natsu's hands were stroking sweat-plastered strands of Lucy's hair back from her eyes with delicate care .

Really glad she's still in fact alive and kicking…

In that very moment , it was as if the world had fallen away; leaving just the two of them. Nothing else seemed to matter then . Not cold-blooded enemies in the room, or the recent battle just moments before; Not even E.n.d's unnerving metamorphosis. Just a dragon-demon and his most precious star with those subtle breaths, the visible rise and fall of her chest that somehow escaped any kind of major notice before.

Words can't even describe how relieved I am . Digits combed through Lucy's blonde tresses from crown to tip in a physical display of tender affection.

Hmm... Lucy's hair feels really nice. Natsu couldn't help but marvel at texture of her beneath his fingertips .Don't think I've ever stopped to fully appreciate it before .

"Gotta say that your hair feels really nice, Luce." Natsu voiced this innermost thoughts aloud; though his words were coming in soft. ."Smells real amazin' too."

Damn was the appealing fragrance of jasmine with a hint of cyclamen flooding his senses beyond intoxicating."like jasmine and that other flower we saw once— cyclamen, I think. . You've been using a new scented shampoo again, I see. Not that I'm complainin'."

"Psh—Listen to me" Natsu tacked on with a rueful chuckle that was still a bit thick from all that weeping before. " Gettin' all sentimental and crap. Hell... stripper would never even let me live it down if he heard . Still be damn proud of you though just like I am for how well you handled yourself in battle. Why don't we tell him all about it once you're awake and we're out of here?. Bet he'd like that . Till then, the two of us just need to sit tight and figure out our next move, okay?"

Wait ...

The fire demon's hands continued their fond movements- only for blood to freeze in his veins when noticing an unsightly contusion on Lucy's forehead; accented by a small gash just above her brow.

When did this happen? I swear those injuries hadn't there been seconds before .. .

Crimson eyes scanned his best friend's battered frame for further damage in alarm . My God... Natsu's breath caught in his throat at the sight of that line of discolorations on her legs . Not to mention all those scratches along with the small gash peeking out through the tattered remains of Lucy's Star dress .

"Oh Luce..." He sighed, remorseful voice breaking on her name. "Can see that you're in pretty rough shape right now. I'm so sorry. Honestly don't know how or why you had a delayed reaction to all the damage. But this wouldn't have happened if I only had grabbed you and run or got your spirits to transport you to their world, Hell— Maybe we could've both escaped and I could've helped kept you safe while figuring out this new demon form means for us together. Anyways, time to put pressure on your wound."

A hand tore a loose piece of fabric to apply pressure on the hemorrhaging wound. "See? You'll be okay . Gonnal get ya' all fixed up and good as new in no time ."

Damn Luce stills looks like an angel to me, Natsu mused in reverent admiration . Even with those injuries...

"Ooh- how cute!" Jackal's dervisie voice cut  through  the other demon’s reverie; whose arms automatically protectively tightened around Lucy's frame out of fierce instinct-automatic without a second though. Not to mention those two pair of eyes he could sense that set him on edge."

"Aw Damn." Jackal broke in again with a gleeful taunt that bordered on sadistic."That poor,pretty girl of you is covered in ugly bruises and scratches, Dragneel."

That little ...

Natsu's head automatically snapped around to meet Jackal with a baleful snarl. Damn was that all that black rage roaring in his veins all too consuming.

"There's that growling again" Jackal cackled, clearly unfazed at by the alpha demon's bared canines ." Bared fangs and what not. Such a shame what happened to Blondie here , or is it? You really did a number on her, huh Tempester?"

"Huh," Tempester mused, bland disinterest colouring his tone."it seems I did . Kind of forgot that my curses can sometimes have o delayed side effects on people . Who knows? That pathetic wrench might even have internal bleeding.

"You goddamned bastard!" The flame- eater raged, fury boiling over. "Lucy ain't pathetic or some kind of toy to play with ... God.. All those injuries… are you fault and . I swear that You're both gonna pay for what you did to her!"

"Oh-You think so?" Jackal scoffed with let out another infantilizing laugh —beyond infuriating .

"Someone's rattled." Tempster pointed out, listless eyes trained on the stone-brick wall ahead. "Unfortunate."

"You don't say," Jackal deadpanned, with a disdainful roll of the eyes ."But Seriously Though , E.N.D, do you even hear yourself? .I mean getting all riled up over a human girl in that way —talk about pathetic. Sure said girl is extremely beautiful with a killer bod and feisty personality to boot—I'll give you that. But is she worth losing your cool over or fraternizing with? I don't think so and neither should you . God knows all that pent up rage and aggression would be far more suited for another cause. Not to mention, you'd better off without her life tainting your judgement and hindering your full potential as the most powerful of all etherious. So let's resolve this, shall we? Hand over the celestial wizard and I'll gladly dispose of her for you . Sound good?"

" 'Sound good?'Sound Good?!’ Are you kidding me?"!

Good God did those last words only serve to incense the snarling dragon further.

" There's no way in hell I'm gonna give Lucy up or let either of you touch her!"

"Come on Dragneel-be reasonable."

"No-rot in hell!"

"Oh honestly E.N.D.-"

"My name is Natsu!"

"Well okay then, Natsu— Just calm down ." Jackal's couldn't seem to resist reprimanding the fire demon; as if he were some errant child pitching a fit ."You're being ridiculous. Anyways, tell you what. I promise to make her death as qui-"

"Shut up!"

" Quick and mostly painless..."

"I said shut up!" En.d's voice rose to an ear-splitting roar that could've struck terror into the hearts of the gods themselves. "Try anything on her and I swear I'll kill you!"

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To Be Continued

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A/N: Well that's Chapter 4 folks- hope you enjoyed! Now a bit more about the pandemic situation in Ontario . Like many other provinces and countries around the world,, the government of Ontario has opted to shut down/ temporarily close non-essential services, businesses, public spaces and institutions to help curb the spread of the virus for a few weeks (or more) before spring break. Such institutions include all schools and childcare centres/ services in those settings which applies to the childcare company I'm currently employed with. You know on account of most of their centres and programs being based in public schools. (Independently-run Daycares also remain closed. And yes i'm a ECE by trade for any who were wondering or didn't already). Schools and child cares were tentatively scheduled to reopen after April 5th; though the closures have been extended for another month (according to Doug Ford (the premier/leader of Ontario). Not ideal but at least it gives me some extra time for me to work on things alongside my writing(i.e editing upcoming chapters for fics and WIPS). All right folks, that's all I have to say on that subject.

As usual, please feel free to let me know what you think by leaving a comment/review , through a reblog or by any other means. Be sure to check out the rest of my writing while staying tuned for future updates of my fics and new projects along the way! (Links above, in the navigation and in bio If on tumblr . Also on fanfiction.) Anyway, take care and stay safe! Ta ta for now!

[graaythekwami]

Love Square Fluff Week: Day 2, Trust

Also read on ao3!

Paring: Marichat

Note: This takes place in an animal/shapeshifting AU I’m working on. Instead of superheroes their Miraculouses turn them into animals, and the general public is scared of them and their powers.

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Marinette was woken up by a scratching on her skylight.

She groaned as she turned over in bed, having never been easy to wake up. She muttered something as the scratching continued, eyes cracking open to see darkness. She blinked weakly in confusion, because this was no time to wake up. She let out a yawn, stretching as she sat up, looking about at her dimly lit room. Nothing seemed out of place, except for the fact that Tikki was not curled up next to her.

This jolted her awake, a wave of panic running through her. Marinette’s hands flew up to her ears, but her earrings were still in tack. She opened her mouth to call for the kwami, when the scratching began once again, more persistent than before. She looked up at her skylight, were a pair of green paw pads could be seen scratching away at the glass.

“Chat,” she whispered, a smile tugging on her face, and she threw her covers off. The presence retreated from the skylight so she could push it open, and she pulled herself up onto her balcony.

Curled up on her pink chair was a mass of black fur, a pair of bright green eyes staring up at her. The cat let out a loud purr as she plugged in her fairy lights, its tail curling around his lean body. He looked like your average stray cat– cuddly, a bit on the scruffy side– save for the neon green markings on his chest, in the shape of a cat’s paw print.

She put her hands on her hips. “You know it’s the middle of the night, right?”

The purring paused, Chat Noir letting out a meow after a moment. Marinette wouldn’t say she could speak cat, but after working alongside one for so long she could interrupt their body language fairly easily. She could tell that he wasn’t ashamed of waking her up at all– if anything he was smug. He even had the nerve to give her an innocent look, blinking his bright eyes blankly at her.

“Silly kitty,” she whispered, scratching the top of his head. The purring started up once again, the cat pressing up against her hand for more. His fur was silky, something she could never really appreciate when she was transformed herself– both because they were usually in the middle of a battle, and her senses in that form were different than when she was human.

“Mrow,” he meowed after a moment, leaping from the chair to her railing so they were closer to the same level. He walked around the edge so he was in front of her, flicking his tail.

“Do you need me to cover up your paw print?” She asked after a moment, reaching out to touch the bright green fur on his chest.

Sometimes she used makeup, sometimes ink, but more recently she had been buying temporarily black hair dye. None of which should be used on a real cat of course, but she figured on a human-magically-transformed-into-a-cat it should be fine.

Of course he didn’t know that she knew he was human– revealing that information to him could reveal her identity.

She didn’t know why the kwamis insisted that they hid their identities from each other– what was the worst that could happen? No one else in Paris was aware that the magical animals that ran through the city were really human under the fur and elytra, and if she was able to contact him when they weren’t transformed they could coordinate so much easier, be more prepared when an akuma struck.

“Mrr,” he rumbled, hesitating, before shaking his head. To Chat she was just another civilian– but a civilian that recognized he was smarter than just an average cat. As comfortable as he was around her, he was still cautious to just what he revealed to her– including his intelligence. 

“Then what do you need?” She asked, surprised that he didn’t want help hiding his symbol. It was something she had done for him several times to help have the chance to wander the streets without people scattering in fear. To just be a stray cat instead a monster of destruction.

There was a cruel irony to it all, when they had first appeared in Paris Chat Noir had been the least feared of the two of them. A cuddly cat was much more appealing than a giant insect after all, but once the city had grown used to their powers a stigma towards the cat had quickly formed.

They now easily favored the ladybug that healed them than the black cat that could destroy things with a single touch.

Cat Noir looked down for a moment, before throwing himself into her arms. She was startled for a moment, before wrapping his arms around him to support his form. He pressed up against her, purring contently, and a smile spread across her face. She closed her eyes as she held him close, running her fingers through his fur.

“Just want some company, huh?” She whispered, and the purring became louder.

Sometimes it hurt that she couldn’t tell him that she was Ladybug, the partner he trusted so much, but sometimes she preferred things this way. Knowing how much Chat trusted Marinette, without knowing her as anything else but a civilian... it was something special.

“I got you a gift,” she said after a moment, setting him down next to her potted plants. Chat blinked, tilting his head in confusion as she hurried back towards the skylight. “Wait there, I’ll be right back.”

With that she slipped into her room and out of her loft, heading towards were she kept all of her sewing supplies. She saw a pair of blue eyes peering out at her from behind her sewing machine, Tikki clearly disapproving of these visits from Chat. She didn’t say anything to her kwami, just grabbing the red object sitting out and heading back towards the balcony.

Chat was peering down at her through the skylight, ears pricked curiously. She knelt down next to him, not giving him a chance to look at the item in her hands as she wrapped it around his neck. Chat Noir let out a confused meow as she secured the ribbon around him, looking down to try to get a look at what she had put on him.

It was a red ribbon with black dots, a nod to Ladybug, tied in a bow. Stitched to the center of the bow was a golden bell. He tried to bat at it a few times with his paw, though it didn’t make a noise. She knew how much he loved his stealth as a cat, and she didn’t want to take that away.

“You look adorable,” Marinette said with a grin, and he glared at her with his ears back. She couldn’t hold back a laugh, and could only imagine what he could be saying as he let out a string of meowing, so she just enjoyed his flustered expression.

“Mrr!” He said with a huff, turning his back on her.

“Come on Chat, it’s just a joke,” she said, poking him in the back. “It’s velcroed right under the bow, you should be able to take it off easily. You shouldn’t take it off though, it’s better for a cat to have a bell after all.”

“Mrow?” He snapped, turning towards her with what was clearly a frustrated ‘why?’. It was moments like these she could clearly see the human in him, and she desperately longed to know what he looked like when he wasn’t transformed.

“Because a cat with a bell has a home,” she said with a smile. “Paris may be scared of you– but you’re always welcomed here.”

He quickly went still as she said this, giving her a look she wasn’t quite sure how to read.

He stopped trying to bat the ribbon from off his neck, and he threw himself into her arms once more. She closed her eyes as she held her kitty close, his comforting purr rumbling through him. He rubbed his head against her chin, paws kneading into her arms, doing everything he could to get closer than the contact they already had.

They ended up on her chair under her awning, Chat curled up on her stomach as she laid back, fingers absently running through his dark fur. The night was cool, yet his presence was warm, and she found herself starting to drift off in the calming silence of it all.

---

When she woke up the next morning she was alone on her balcony. The rising sun blinded her as she twisted in her seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. She wrapped her blanket around her, something she knew she had not had last night.

She slowly sat up, looking about, half hoping to see a certain feline watching over her. Instead she just saw that her fairy lights were off and her skylight was shut– several more things she knew that wasn’t how she left them. She fingered the blanket, her heart thumping, knowing that he must have brought it out here for her, but for him to do that effectively...

He must have detransformed.

Her heart raced at the thought– had he really risked his identity being found just to bring her a blanket? To make sure the lights were off so she could rest in the dark? Risk not only his identity, but the fact that he was human as well? She knew Tikki would not have approved if she had done such a thing, and she wondered if his own kwami had given him a hard time for it. It wasn’t something he should have done, but she knew why he had.

Because he cared about her– not just as Ladybug– but as Marinette. He trusted her.

And that meant the world to her.