#so three of the connection points are snapped off from the glass pane and I’m just holding out hope that the fourth and final one won’t snap

[crypticarchivist]

The books in the work space. More books at your desk than on your bookshelf because you need to check your references damn it.

Leonid Pasternak  (Ukrainian, 1862–1945) - The Torments of Creative Work

[subbing-for-clones]

She Who Walks the Line Between Part 3

Maul x GreyJedi!Reader

Word Count: 2682

WARNINGS: blood, fluffy fluff starts picking up

PREVIOUS         NEXT          MASTERLIST

       The few hours of sleep he was able to achieve were filled with nightmares that consisted of his memories returning. His life played out behind his eyelids charging his sadness, terror and his fury. Yet before his mind could plummet to unreachable depths, he sensed a calming presence in the back of his mind. A hand that reached out for him to hold onto. He had no idea that during his rest he became quite vocal and Y/N stood in his doorway using the force to ease him back into a relaxed state. Pulling him further away from the unseen dangers that threatened to pull him down and drown him.

    He woke with a start, not remembering where he was. His first thought was why it didn’t smell like fire and burning fuels mixed with humid gasses. When he felt his legs shift under the blankets the events that took place yesterday flooded back to the forefront of his memory. He smelled the sweet sugary aroma of a plate towering with baked apples and honeyed meat sitting on his night stand but before he indulged his groaning stomach, movement from outside the window caught his eye. It was his savior.

    Not covered in the same make of dress she wore yesterday. Today she adorned a fitted white cloth binding across her chest and beige trousers that bagged around her thighs but were tight just below her knees. Barefooted, she dual wielded white lightsabers in the Ataru style. Dodging quickly and lunging aggressively toward an invisible attacker. Gracefully she connected the two sabers so they appeared to be a single double sided weapon. Twirling them so quickly and dancing on her feet so lightly his eyes had trouble keeping up. She was working through forms he both recognized and ones he had never seen before. He could see a light glimmer of sweat slicked across her form catching in the early morning sunlight. She must have been training for hours already. Strands of hair falling out of the bun she had tied up to keep the majority of her locks out of her eyeline.

    He took and ate the breakfast she prepared slowly, studying her through the glass with admiration. Obviously satisfied with her efforts she hung her now sheathed sabers from the gate and tended the goats and chickens within the pen. Despite her hostile training they were calm and trotted up to her as she passed through the gate. He watched her feed the animals and her mouth form words he couldn't hear, assuming they were praises as they danced around her.

 ~~~~~

      The next two weeks were more of the same every day. You meditated and trained in the mornings before tending to your animals. You knew his eyes were on you while he ate the food you always left for him, always watching. You feigned ignorance and never mentioned that you caught him staring, surprising yourself with the fact that you kind of liked the attention. When you had finished your morning routine you would find him dressed in his room practicing the basic movements and exercises you assigned to him for his physical therapy. Satisfied he was actually doing them you would go shower and dressing in your usual slitted dresses that you preferred.

    You would eat again together and continue helping him work his legs. After the first few days he joined you in your afternoon meditation followed by more exercises or flipping through one of your many books, light music always on in the background. The longer he was in your care the softer his eyes looked, the stronger his legs got and he came to be more comfortable in your proximity. You had both gotten used to one another's company. You had spent so much time alone on this planet you had forgotten what it was like to have a companion. A rather agreeable one at that. It was nice.

 ~~~~~

      Now able to walk on his own with only the help from a cane he joined Y/N outside every morning. Still unable to train as she did, he practiced walking around the pen surrounded by the animals. He could see a smile grace her lips when he interacted gently with them. When she had finished, she strode over to him leaning up against the fence with her arms crossed and her brows furrowed.

"What is it?" He asked, honey eyes filled with concern that he had upset her somehow. He tended to revert back to the frightened apprentice she realized he had been at one point in his life if she wasn’t careful. Despite the fact that he had never one been the cause of even a slight frustration within her.

"I have to leave for a day or two, stock up on some things this planet doesn't have. I need you to stay here, I fear a storm is coming and I don't want to leave the animals unattended. Would you be alright with that?”

Sighing with relief he agreed and watched as she boarded her ship and took off.

      The next day after she had left, he must have looked up to the sky every hour impatiently waiting for her to return. He ate much less without her, swearing to himself that it didn't taste as good if it didn't come from her hands. He did however keep up with his exercises and spent much of his free time with the goats and chickens. That night he had even more trouble falling asleep than he usually did; missing her company. After tossing and turning until daybreak he made a daring move, striding toward Y/N's room without his cane for the first time.

    He had never been inside of it but he had caught glances after noticing she had been sleeping with her door open, starting a few days after his arrival. Sheer white curtains hung in front of the transparasteel panes that overlooked the garden. Like the rest of the house, not a single chronometer in sight. The need to keep time didn't really exist in this place, he enjoyed that small detail over the past few weeks. It was starkly different from how he was raised, every moment of every day planned down to the second. Even a slight deviation always resulting with a beating. He had to keep reminding himself that she was not his master. When he did forget she would always lend a kind reminder she was master of nothing and no one.

    The pine-colored rug under foot was exceptionally plush and extended across most of the floor, the polished dark wooden flooring peeking out only around the edges of the room. A long desk was situated beneath the large viewport. Atop it lay several data-tapes and empty books. She must be copying the information by hand he assessed. Actual paper writing was extremely rare and her home was filled with paper sheeted books bound in various leathers. One of the books sat open with a pen resting on it, the entry was short but he loved seeing her handwriting nonetheless. Without lifting the journal, he stood and read the page entry, curiosity getting the better of him.

Maul- Day 17:

‘He is recovering faster than I had originally anticipated but I am also not surprised. He has to be strong to have survived as long as he did on his own in the condition he came to me in. Already walking on his own supported only by a cane by day 10. He is gaining weight slowly but is starting to look healthier. He will snap back quickly once he can walk on his own again, unaided by a crutch. His eyes aren’t nearly as blood shot and the lighter shade of color in his horns and nails indicates he is getting proper nutrients and that his hormones have balanced out.

His mind seems to be healing as well, I haven't asked about his memories but I know they come in the form of nightmares. He responds well to my attempts to calm him in his sleep. They still come every night but he has gone from an excessive number of fits to only two or three a night. He is still wildly unbalanced but the scale is starting to tip in the right direction. I have come to realize that I enjoy his presence. He seems to be more comfortable with small talk. I like his voice, alas my mind wanders.’

    Maul hobbled over to her bed and hesitantly laid down on top of it not daring to mess up the bedding too much. Several realizations crossing his mind. One, she had actually come to care for him as he was starting to care for her. Two, he learned why she slept with her door open now. His hearts raced at the thought of her standing in his doorway calming him while he slept. Three, she liked his voice. He had always been scolded if he spoke unnecessarily, taught to be silent as shadows. But she liked his voice. He could smell her on her pillows, a sweet earthy scent that lingered in his nose. Very quickly sleep took him.

    He awoke that evening as the sun was starting to set to the sound of thunder ripping through the sky. His belly growled, he had grown accustomed to several meals a day and his hunger had caught up to him. Being sure to straighten out the blankets on her bed he stood and made his way to the kitchen. Opening the cooler for the first time, he found a plate with a large cooked steak and a note.

‘You had better eat this before I return. You have to eat even if I'm not there. -Y/N’

    He smiled at her sentiment. As usual with everything she made, it was like ambrosia in his mouth. The moment he finished eating he sensed the animals were distressed. Not bringing his cane he made his way slowly outside to the barn. The rain came down almost violently, lightning streaking across the now black sky while thunder crashed angrily.

    He was soaking wet by the time he got inside to check the animals who were immediately calmed when they saw him. Sighing he sat in the middle of the floor and began his meditation to stave away his and their anxiety of the storm. He had hoped she wasn't flying in this but she was already away longer than she said she'd be. That didn't help the knot of worry growing in his belly.

 ~~~~~

      When you came out of hyperspace and entered the atmosphere you realized you must have put the coordinates in a digit off. You were on the wrong side of the planet, jungle stretched out as far as you could see. This wouldn’t be the first time you had accidently come home in the wrong hemisphere. You sighed at your own antics. It was too dangerous to fly back out to space so you had to navigate through the storm down here. Your ship seemed to attract the lightning but you managed to sense it a split second before it struck, narrowly dodging the persistent bolts. Before long you could just make out the break that gave way to the grasslands. You started lowering out of the sky but were distracted to see Maul coming out of the barn. It was just a moment of distraction but an important moment, you didn't sense the lightning. You were struck and it killed the power sending you nose first straight into the soil with a loud crash. Your vision blacked out after hitting your head on impact knocking you unconscious.

 ~~~~~

 No...NO... fuck.

Maul watched as the bolt hit her ship and she crashed out in the field. Eyes wide with panic he ran as fast as his new legs would carry, almost giving out several times before he reached the fallen ship. He raised his arms, using the force for the first time in weeks he opened the door and lowering the ramp. It didn't reach the ground due to the crafts hazardous angle. Force jumping inside he landed on his feet with a shocking pain that radiated through his torso. Snarling he made his way to the cockpit where he found her starting to wake up.

 ~~~~~

 You felt strong hands on your arms gently squeezing, you sighed into the touch rubbing your head and your eyes. When they finally opened the first thing you saw were two brightly glowing golden orbs. Rubbing your eyes again, your vision fully returning, you realized they belonged to a very worried looking Zabrack. Who was covered in...straw?

    Remembering what distracted you in the first place you burst into laughter. Hard, rolling laughter.

    The worry on his face shifted into confusion. He slowly wiped the blood off your temple from where you hit your head. Then he lifted you bridal style and started walking out of the ship. Finding a new reserve of strength and determination he carried you all the way to your home. Although you stopped laughing you still giggled, picking pieces of straw off the back of his tunic. Finally realizing what you found so amusing he smiled, "the storm scared the goats so I meditated with them. I ended up falling asleep out there."

    He now stood in the living room, still in his arms you replied, "I kind figured as much." You pressed your forehead to his for a moment, butterflies dancing in both of your stomachs. He set you down on the couch slowly and fetched a cool wet cloth. Tenderly, he dabbed at the cut. You watched him closely, a slight blush fanning across your cheeks. He was so soft, so careful in this moment, so near you, a stark comparison to the man who had first landed in your field not long ago.

    He heard your heartbeat quicken and saw your blush, causing his face to deepen slightly along with yours. Quickly he stood, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck looking anywhere but at you. "I think you'll be alright," he stammered. "It's just a shallow laceration."

    You also stood, inches from him. He was taller than you were, not by much, but it was noticeable when you were this close to his body. "I could've told you that but noooo you had to cast aside your cane and come to the rescue... Thank you." You batted your long eyelashes at him and he gulped, gaze not leaving your own this time.

"I have a present for you."

"You do?" He asked now distracted from your devilishly plump lips.

"Yeah, quick stop on Naboo, few broken necks, spines and bribes later aaaaaaand.." you reached behind your back unclipping a third lightsaber from your belt. Still rough where it had been sliced in half you presented it to him. "Tada!"

"You did this for me?" He asked slowly taking it in his hands. It seemed.. heavier than he remembered. But it was his.

"Yes I did,” you stated matter-o-factly. Now that your obviously strong enough not only to walk but to carry me across the field, like the damsel in distress that I was, covered in straw no less. We will start training together. But for now, I'm exhausted. It's the middle of the night and I've had a maker damned day." You took a chance and leaned up into him, pressing your lips against his cheekbone with your hands on his chest, holding them there for a few seconds you felt him go ridged.

    Turning on the ball of your foot you wandered back into your bedroom. "Goodnight Maul." You called without turning to see his reaction.

    He held the place on his cheek where your kiss landed just before, mind reeling and melting at the same time. "Goodnight Y/N," he murmured. Not leaving his spot.

[thedubiouspeach]

The Eye Of The Beholder (Qrow)

This is a project of mine where I'm writing, what I call, perspective pieces.

This is Part One of an undetermined series length so enjoy the ride, this one is about Qrow and the topic is: Reading.

______________________________________________________________

After months of reconnaissance, he was able to return home for a few days and unwind. It had been a long while since Qrow spent any real time in his apartment; wondering why he was even paying rent for the damn place if he only lived in it for maybe two weeks out of the year.

Inside settings were like a cage anyhow, they created an ever-growing need to escape that would sit in his chest when idle. It wasn't until the raven-haired scythe wielder was out and about in the world of Remnant would the dread silence itself. What he felt when on missions couldn't be comfort...no, far from it. But it was leagues better than suffocating within the confines of four walls.

With every day that passes it's become increasingly more difficult to calm his nerves, especially when sober. Qrow's fingers ghosted over the hip flask on his person, contemplating on taking preventative measures against his flighty mind.

The thought was interrupted by the sudden pitter-patter against the apartment's windows, moving to take a look at the looming gray clouds outside. Silvery light shone into the room and reflected off pastel red eyes that were gazing back at a more muted mirror image on the pane. If he didn't know any better he'd guess this was a staring contest.

Taking note of how unkempt his facial hair had been getting, but that was soon overshadowed by a more important priority: Whatever chance he had to go see his nieces had diminished.

So much for not being trapped here, huh? That's just great.

What started off as inconsistent droplets patterning on the glass became a steady downpour. In favor of not dwelling on the odds of whether or not his Semblance had anything to do with it; he turned away from the window and headed towards the bookshelf across the room.

Every book was a plethora of knowledge waiting to be opened and taken a gander at, however, he's read almost all of them three times over. Among all the dust-covered hardbacks, one stood out in particular: The Great War.

The bookmark within its pages indicated he'd already begun reading up on it, perhaps before the last mission. Unable to recall, he plucked the book off its shelf and took it over to the couch. Thumbing through pages and scanning for familiarity in the words. Upon reaching the bookmark where he supposedly left off, it dawned on him that this was the book Ozpin sent a while ago.

From looking at the piece of literature alone he guessed it was about as old as he was, from the inside anyway. The outside, having probably passed through multiple hands in its lifetime, still appeared fairly new.

Without wasting more time staring at the damn thing, he started reading. Progressing through the pages, the corners of his mouth began to wilt into a frown. It talked about one of the most important points in history and the second saddest divide humanity had ever known, the first being between mankind and Faunus.

The Great War, what a shitty name. Who wrote this thing?

Annoyed, he flipped the book over to search for an author and as expected there wasn't one.

The bastard sure has a cruel sense of humor, they knew the title was problematic and still chose it.

Having tossed it back over to continue reading, a scowl now sat on his face. Almost hesitant on finishing it, but he pressed on knowing that this was valuable information that could be used at any point during his travels.

Each kingdom's population had a general consensus of how the other kingdoms acted. So to have this under his belt would shut up a few loudmouths who think where they hail from gave them bragging rights. A vile reminder that all of them are flawed in one way or another; some...more than others.

Qrow snapped the book closed, getting up to put it back on the shelf to sit for another year or so. It was already clear to him that Atlas and Mistral had very skewed ways of taking care of government affairs, but the events that lead up to the worst war to date were suspicious to him. Pausing in deep thought, his hand rested on the book:

Did Salem have a hand in this war or was it the making of two corrupted kingdoms of their own volition?

He could never be sure so he tucked the idea away to be brought up to Oz at a later date. Now back on the couch and glancing up at the clock on the wall, it was later in the evening. The storm had cleared up, but it was well past typical visiting hours at the Xiao Long-Rose household.

An aggravated sigh escaped pale lips as he grumpily reached for the flask. Not wanting to sit here and pick apart every detail about the war that the book gave or address how these walls were beginning to pin him down, cold metal pressed against his lips polishing off whatever was left inside. The whiskey was noticeably more bitter this time around and probably just enough to get the job done.

Mistakes were made, not uncommon, but now he was focused on the contents of The Great War and drunk. Of course this would happen, it always does, and yet this is what he mistook for an answer.

The newly opened bottle of wine he scrounged the kitchen for was nearing halfway to empty because he kissed it every time passages of literature crossed that saddened head.

Unable to distract himself from trying to connect Salem to The Great War, the night dragged on with stone feet.

Scroll in hand and pale blue glowing on his skin, through one open eye, Qrow stared at Tai's contact on the screen. An exasperated scoff hissed against his teeth as he tossed the scroll off to the side along with the idea.

No...no dealing with my shit is the last thing Tai needs. What was I even thinking? Right...I wasn't.

Hands now resting over his eyes to shield from the glaring lamp lights, he wanted this to be over. Longing for the sunlight to pry itself through the darkened curtains and signal a new day so he can finally go check up on Ruby and Yang; a momentary abatement before having to launch himself back into the fray of a huntsman's work.

At this point sleep would never come and seeking solace was but a distant wish that would forever evade him.

[avinrydarchive]

hallow’s eve, saint’s day

Author: AvinRyd Fandom: The Bartimaeus Sequence Rating: G Pairing: Gen Word Count: ~8500 words

When in Prague...

--

Some lighthearted spooky shenanigans for you this October.

Written for the Bartimaeus Fic Exchange 2020. Check out the collection on AO3 to see everyone else’s awesome fics!

Read on AO3

Chapter 1: Somewhere: Sometime

 22,643

“...”

“Hello, glad to see you’re awake.”

“Um, hello. Where am I? How long was I...asleep?”

“Well, twenty-two thousand, six hundred and forty three spirits have passed by since you arrived, so I’d assume about five days on the mortal plane? Hard to say exactly, but I’ve had a while to put a model together. “As to where you are? Stuck.”

“Stuck?”

“Stuck. I have many theories as to where and how, but the fact is that we’re stuck here between the two dimensions known to my people—and yours, I’m assuming, since you came from the same direction I did.”

“Oh…

“You said you’ve been here for a while? Is it permanent, then? This being stuck?”

“In theory? No. I believe it’s possible for us to leave, should the right situation arise. However, in practice? I’ve yet to see a situation that would afford an exit so...it might be permanent, yes.”

“...”

“...”

“How long have you been here?”

“I lost count a few centuries ago.”

 1,962,573

“Hey, the gates haven’t done that before.”

“Oh, that usually means someone on the mortal plane came up with something interesting. What… Oh. That’s  very interesting. I wonder…”

“What? No. No, stop—whatever you’re ‘wondering’ it’s a bad idea.”

“Hmmm, doubtful.”

     4,747,821

    “...”

“Finally! That was way too long, don’t do it again.”

“How long?”

“Thirty thousand, six hundred and fifty seven. I didn’t think you were going to form back up that time.”

“I was  so close though. It closed just a fraction of a second too soon. Next time—”

“Next time?! Did you hear how long I said you were gone? You’re going to get yourself dispelled at this rate, and there’s no guarantee it’ll work!”

“It will.”

“Oh, so when I say stuff like that, it’s arrogant, but when you do it’s just fact?”

“It’s not arrogance when my previous hypotheses have all been correct. It’s based off the same knowledge, there’s every chance I’m right. I  know I’m right. I—

“Wait, there’s another one.”

“Ah, no. Hold on—”

“I’m going to do it. This time for sure.”

“Wait! What if it doesn’t work? What if it  does?  Will you— That is, I’ll be…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll work out the method, then come back for you. I promise, my friend.”

“Friends? Is that what we are? I—wait, no!”

“...”

“...”

“I didn’t even ask his name…”

Chapter 2: Prague: Hallow's Eve

“—so there’s no need to worry about it. Piper and Harold can badger me all they want, send all the nastily worded imp messages they like—it’s not like I’ll run out of 'fuck,no's. I’ve got an unlimited supply.” Kitty sighed and shifted, trying to ease the ache in her back without smudging chalk lines. Sitting on the hardwood floor was murder on her over-taxed body, sending sharp spikes of discomfort up the curve of her spine and into her creaking hip joints, but this circle was so fragile she didn’t dare risk throwing a chair into the mix. The ringing at the base of her skull wasn’t terribly comfortable either, but it was a side effect of this spell they’d been unable to mitigate. Over the slight resonance, Bartimaeus’s voice replied, “Alright, alright. And since you’ve left Bruges they’ll probably have a time finding you for a while, at least. How’s Prague?” “Beautiful. Old. Rainy. A bit spooky, but I suppose that’s to be expected.” The laugh ringing through their connection wasn’t just one voice, but many. That was the interesting thing about this; she was speaking to Bartimaeus, but he was only separated from the Other Place just enough to exist as “Bartimaeus”—the rest of the Other Place was nearly an equal part of their conversation, which had taken some getting used to. “See, that’s the appropriate response. Certain modern magicians I’ve known—particularly young, bratty, British ones—have no appreciation for the old magic that city is steeped in. And speaking of magical detritus from a thousand failed spells, you did bring your instruments with you when you left Belgium, right? This is the longest we’ve ever had the portal open, and—” Kitty sighed again, much put-upon. “Yes, Bartimaeus. I have them and they’re set up and everything is stable. There was a tiny spike a few minutes ago, but everything is normal otherwise. I left Bruges to get away from the hovering protective people, you know. Please don’t you start being one now.” Bartimaeus scoffed, but the humming presence behind him was at least half on Kitty’s side, she was sure. “Fine, far be it from me to care about silly humans doing insane experimental magic with minimal education. I place full faith in your absolute knowledge and will immediately cease worrying that the portal will explode in your face and leave a Kitty-sized crater in one of the oldest standing magical cities of the mortal realm. I wash my metaphorical hands of it.” It was Kitty’s turn to laugh, bright and clear in a way it’d taken years for her to get to. “You do that. Anything in particular I should know about the city: places I should go, things to avoid?” “Eh, just keep your wits.” Kitty got a strong, almost visual impression that, had Bartimaeus been in a material form, he’d be looking on with an unimpressed twist to his mouth. This was such a weird spell. “If you’ve got that aura-viewing skill on tap still, keep a sharp eye out. Avoid any bridges without auras—they’re most likely falling apart internally. And costumed men with ‘distinctive’ candles!” “O-o-okay? That’s highly specific, should I be concerned?” The suggestion of a shrug and his words came through crackled with interference. “Not really, he was just a bit creepy by human standards, and that candle… Not a thing for polite company. Thought you’d prefer to steer clear of anyone similar. Don’t go to graveyards tonight, either.” The ringing at the back of Kitty’s mind was escalating to a high whine and she reached up to massage the base of her skull. One of the glass phials outside the circle, sealed and full of swirling gas, was starting to pulse with a faint glow. “Alright Bartimaeus, we’ve got to stop. The spell’s starting to break up. I’ll try again after I’ve spoken with the print master, okay?” “Good, this was probably too much strain on you anyway. Have fun bullying old men into changing books!” The djinni’s voice sounded further away than before, and before Kitty could reply, the connection snapped off. There was a sharp pop and a flash of sparks in the air above her as the spell collapsed—another issue to work on. She’d love to reach out to Button for ideas on a fix, but that would invite more pleas to return to London and Kitty was so, so tired of those. Government was not for her, not even a little bit. Even her drive for activism had waned, though she suspected it was simply burnout—and as Bartimaeus and Jakob and everyone else had said, this was some well deserved burnout indeed. Standing up was a process for Kitty these days: gingerly uncross legs; wait for the shriek of pain to stop; get knees under herself with careful movements; press up using stiff wrists to stand with popping knees; roll slowly upright, feeling every sore vertebrate slot into place. Painkillers. She had a couple left from the drugstore in Burges, right? She hoped so. She was far too tired to be exploring the city for a drugstore—or an apothecary? Who knew what this place had. Her travel bag lay on the bed, flap sagging open to reveal her essentials. The white plastic of a drugstore bottle peeked out from under the sweater Mrs. Hyrnek had made for her, and she’d just reached for it when— “Did you know that, when a djinni is dismissed, the gates between our world and the Other Place are open for precisely eight-point-five-two seconds?” Kitty whipped around. The room was empty; the disembodied—familiar?—voice already just an echo bouncing off the window panes. Light from streetlamps flickered strangely through wavy glass and water droplets. Somewhere, thunder rolled. “Second—” There it was again, but there was nothing to see, no matter how hard Kitty looked. “—and you must know some of this, having visited the Other Place yourself—but did you know that a human soul is, pardon the pun, in essence the same composition as any spirit? Though with a deep affinity for the earth element that other spirits abhor. And that, if sufficiently stimulated and accustomed to the act, a soul can exit the body—voluntarily or not—and bridge the worlds; even following another spirit on its way away from our earthly plane?” The voice was familiar, and yet...not. Kitty could swear she’d never heard this person speak—a boy with an absolutely unfamiliar accent. And yet? And yet, in her mind she heard an echo… What do you presume…?   “And thirdly: did you know that your absolutely ingenious bit of spellwork holds the Elemental Gates open longer and with more stability than any spell used in the last two thousand years? And that, if a spirit were somehow stuck in a crevice of those gates, your spell provides an opportunity for escape not given in those same two thousand years?" The voice came from behind her now, and this time Kitty turned slowly—mindful of the crick in her neck her last turn had caused, and also not near as fearful. She knew now that there was nothing to fear from this voice. On her bed—or rather, floating slightly above it—sat a teenage boy, visible at last. Yellow lamp light and the watery orange glow of the street lights did not bring up warm highlights on his dark skin as they should have. He was nearly transparent and so washed out the ends of his curly hair faded out of sight. Seemingly unbothered by this, he grinned up at her, flush with the satisfaction of solving a millenia-old conundrum and shining with an emotion Kitty suspected might be gratitude. Cautiously, she returned the smile and—in a very steady voice, thank you very much—quipped, "Ptolemy. Are you aware you're floating three inches above the bedspread?"

Chapter 3: Prague: Hallow's Eve  

“Ptolemy. Are you aware you’re floating three inches above the bedspread?” Ptolemy’s face twisted. “Am I? Irritating. Rekyt made this material form business look so much easier than it is.” “Well,” Kitty said reasonably, moving to sit on the bed as well, “he has had quite a bit more time to practice. And human souls aren’t terribly used to having to keep themselves in a form, are they?” Brows drawn in concentration, Ptolemy drifted downwards about an inch and muttered a distracted, “I suppose so,” before managing to drop the remaining space. Now he was flush with the worn bed quilt, but didn’t make so much as a wrinkle in the fabric. Kitty watched in fascination as, with experimental movements, Ptolemy brought his hand to the bedspread, then pushed it into the bedspread, then waved it in and out a few times. In a sudden flash of mischievous inspiration, she grabbed the drugstore bottle she’d reached for earlier and turned to Ptolemy, lobbing the rattling object with a quip of “Catch!” The boy’s reflexes were not quick—even in the best of circumstances he would have ended up bonked in the nose—but it didn’t matter. The bottle phased through his fingertips, then through his face and chest to land with a clatter on the pillows behind him. Kitty met his unamused stare with a grin, absolutely unrepentant. “Had to check. Scientific method and all that.” Still looking a bit miffed, Ptolemy pulled his foot up to “rest” on the bed and wrapped his arms around the bent-up knee. “If you hadn’t built that spell, I’d be tempted to say you’re the least scientific person I’ve ever known.” Kitty rolled her eyes and leaned back to reach around Ptolemy for the bottle she’d thrown—her joints really did ache after that long conversation’s worth of sitting on the floor. Pulling herself back upright after the extension wasn’t exactly painless either, but she was very sure it would be rude to reach  through her visitor to grab something, especially since she’d been the one to throw it through him in the first place. Deftly, she twisted open the puzzle cap and tapped two tablets into her hand before closing it and trading it for a waterbottle in her travel bag. When she’d done, she met Ptolemy’s interested stare with grin. “You’ve only just met me, but you are pretty close to the truth. I didn’t do much with the technicalities of inventing that spell. It was my idea, and I know how it works and how to monitor it, of course, but the construction was a collaboration between Bartimaeus and two magicians I know back in London. They did most of the actual science.” The water tasted strongly of mineral and metal, filled at the last petrol station her bus had stopped at, but it wasn’t awful and got the job done. The moment also gave her time to consider how the hell to move on from here. There was a boy dead more than two thousand years sitting in her boarding room, and she had no idea how he’d gotten there. He seemed to have minimal purpose other than just...arriving—not indicating he had any message or any particular reason for not being able to move on. If his opening remarks were to be believed, he was back on the mortal plane because of a magical glitch in the system. He’d gotten sucked away before death had fully taken hold. Her musings were interrupted by Ptolemy moving, reaching to pull a book from her bag, then huffing when his fingers slipped right through the corner. “This is not going to work,” he muttered, focus completely on the stubbornly stationary book. He made two more swipes at it before giving up that approach and staring intently at it instead. Nothing happened and he flopped back dramatically to stare at the ceiling, hair falling right through the bed. “This is not at all workable. Kitty, I think I need your help.” “I don’t know why. You seemed to be doing quite well on your own.” “Are you always like this?” Kitty snorted in a very unladylike fashion. “Pretty much. Why do you think Bartimaeus likes me so much?” A moment of contemplation, then: “That does make an unfortunate amount of sense. Still, I really would appreciate a moment of sincerity, this is a matter of utmost importance.” “Utmost importance, huh?” Kitty laid back on the bed with a groan. “What’s that, then?” Ptolemy’s face was solemn as he looked over at her. “There’s someone else who’s stuck, and I promised I’d get them out.” “They can’t just...fall through? Same as you did?” Ptolemy snorted a laugh, serious moment broken. “They could, but they won’t. Too unsure of the results. If we’d had physical forms, I’m pretty sure they would have tackled me to keep me from doing something this reckless.” A day’s hard travel and spellwork dragged Kitty’s eyelids down—an inexorable pull. She hummed in exhausted consideration, then said through a yawn, “I don’t suppose a normal summoning would do the trick, would it?” Her jaw cracked mid-yawn, nearly drowning Ptolemy’s reply of, “Probably not…” Then, “I sense we may need to continue this conversation in the morning?” “Mmhm…” She’d given up the fight to keep her eyes open. “Well then.” His laugh was softer, almost fond. “Until the morning, Kitty.” She tugged her feed up onto the bed and shifted a bit, trying to find a comfortable spot on the lumpy mattress. “G’night, Ptolemy.” Kitty’s last thought before slumber was a deep confusion as to if this was not all just some elaborate dream, caused by magical backlash-induced unconsciousness. Quietly, she hoped not.

Chapter 4: Prague: Saint's Day  

Early morning sunlight cutting across her eyes pulled Kitty to consciousness. She’d forgotten to close the curtain before going to bed. Odd. She was usually quite conscientious about that—woe betide wherever woke her up too early, up to and including the sun itself. Still, last night had been quite strange, hadn’t it? Her fuzzy brain struggled to remember. Movement in the room drew her gaze. A boy, crouched next to the circle she’d forgotten to clean up. Habit moved her mouth before her brain caught up; she mumbled, “Bartimaeus, we don’t do magic science early in the morning, remember?” His face turned, familiar in shape but not in expression, and everything clicked back into place. Ptolemy looked rather bemused. “Does Rekyt take my form often? Or are you just so unused to any company other than his?” Oh. Right. “...both.” Kitty scrubbed at her eyes and pushed messy bedhead from her face as she sat up, the last night’s events reordering themselves in her mind. Two thousand years’ death seemed to have little effect on the boy sitting on the dusty floor of her sleepy, second-floor boarding room in the middle of Prague. He looked at her expectantly, fingers sketching circles on the floor and making no trace in the scuffed dust. With a groan, she flopped back onto the bed. Ptolemy’s intent gaze was still trained on her, she could  feel it, but her too-tired brain wasn’t up to meeting it and thinking through the morning’s problems at the same time. She stared at the cracked plaster ceiling for long moments before sighing heavily. “Alright then. We’ve got your business of ‘utmost importance’ to get to, right?” An affirmative sound, so she continued. “Well, I’ve got some business of importance to get to today as well. You’ve obviously been awake, thinking about this. What do you want to do?” A glance over at Ptolemy proved Kitty’s suspicions—the boy was practically shaking with the effort of not simply spilling all the plans he’d made overnight. Ghosts, apparently, didn’t sleep. She quirked an eyebrow and he immediately began: “We need to summon Rekyt. You said he helped design this circle, and I want to use it as the basis for mine, but I don’t understand a good third of how it’s build. Magic has moved on and—oh, but Kitty this is fascinating, I never could have dreamed—” He stopped, catching Kitty’s second raised eyebrow and pulling himself back on track. “Right. Between us and Rekyt and some intensive research, I think I can put together a spell that will do the trick. So. First: Rekyt; second: library.” Pushing upright once more, Kitty shook her head. “Other way around. Library first, Bartimaeus second.” She continued ahead before he could interrupt. “A summoning, a real one like that? That isn’t a small undertaking for me. I’ll be knackered for the rest of the day afterwards so—unless you figured out how to conduct an entire summoning while insubstantial last night?—we’ll go to the library and printers’ first, then come back with your research and summon Bartimaeus. Agreed?” Ptolemy studied her closely, quietly, and she felt a blush threatening to flood her cheeks. Ridiculous, really. He’d barely been able to  stand  after his trip to the Other Place; she had no business being embarrassed by her trip’s cost of physical stamina in front of him. A long, long staredown later, he nodded. “Agreed.” Good. She stretched and swung her legs off the bed to stand at last. There was a washroom just down the hall, communal for the boarders but Kitty was the only guest at present. She was glad of it—sharing washing up space with strangers was  not  something she wanted on top of everything else. After digging out her toothbrush, she turned to Ptolemy. “Stay here. We don’t know if anyone can see you yet. I’ll be back in a second.” Ptolemy looked just the slightest bit abashed. “Actually, I do know. A little after midnight I may have...taken a stroll? No one else can see me, or hear me.” “Oh. Well then. That’s good to know. I’ll...still be back in a second.” And she stepped briskly into the hall.

***

Ten minutes later—longer than her usual habit but hell if she didn’t need a good five minutes of overwhelmed solitude—Kitty returned to her room to find Ptolemy floating cross-legged a foot off the bedspread, exactly level with the windowsill so he could look out. At the creak of the door, he didn’t turn so much as roll backwards, ending upside down with curls falling to and fading through the bed. Inane as it was, she couldn’t help but grin. Bartimaeus held such a reverence for the memory of his old friend; Kitty wondered if that was the source of his gravitas in the guise, or if the new freedom of insubstantial spirithood was breathing new mischief into an otherwise solemn boy. The grin stayed as she moved to pack up her travel sack once more. She saw the grey chill outside the window around Ptolemy’s inverted form and tugged her jumper from the side of the bag where it’d gotten jammed. It was grey-blue wool and knitted by Jakob’s mother—a gift. She saw Ptolemy’s eyes catch on the textured fabric as she finished tugging it on and offered her arm. “Have you figured out how to touch things yet?” He shook his head but reached out anyway. As expected, his fingers swiped right through it. Less expected was the world-wringing sensation of his fingertips passing through her wrist. Early on in their experiments with the communication spell, Kitty had directly touched their “spectral conduit” to the Other Place, as Mr. Button had called it. Before Bartimaeus had snatched her back, she’d felt her self, her essence, tenuously bound to her body at the best of times, begin to be siphoned out and up and away. It felt like that, except in reverse. Connection was made and into the vacuum of her not-quite-full body flowed another gust of person. She felt him for a moment, entranced and inexorably drawn to the lure of earthen control once again before she was able to batten down all hatches and shove the presence away. With a jerk, Kitty yanked her arm back. She could feel her eyes popped wide in panic as she stared at Ptolemy, who was also wide-eyed but in fascinated joy. “Kitty,”  he breathed, wonder under his words, “Kitty, let me try that again. That. It was… I could have— we could have—”   “No!” Her voice was too loud in the quiet room and Ptolemy flinched. “What? Why? I just want to try it. If we were a bit more careful, I might be able to—” “You might be able to do quite a lot! And you won’t be trying, thank you very much.” His brows furrowed in consternation. “Alright, then. I can try it with someone else, I suppose. I wonder if you need their true name to—” “No, Ptolemy.” She didn’t yell that time—her voice was as flat and cold as London pavement. She cut off Ptolemy’s next attempt at speech with a harsh, chopping motion of her hand. “No. That is an invasion of self no commoner can even attempt to consent to, even if you did ask, which it sounds like you weren’t going to do.” Hideous silhouettes danced behind her eyes, though she tried to push them back. Glowing, demonic eyes in the faces of helpless puppets that haunted her nightmares. Breathe. She just had to breathe through it, just like she did all the other times. Through sheer force of will, her heart rate slowed down to something resembling healthy and she was able to bring her vision back into focus. Ptolemy was staring at her—very human, but also not quite. She forced down a shudder. “Come on. We’re going to the library. I’ll explain why you can never, ever do that, but I’ve only got it in me to do it once, so you’ll have to hear it along with the master printer.” She didn’t wait for an answer, just turned, snatched up her satchel, and headed out the door, closing and locking it behind her. Ptolemy was a ghost, he’d be able to follow just fine. He did. She couldn’t hear him coming behind her, but she now had a disturbingly unerring sense of his location that she hadn’t possessed a moment ago. Possessed. With a shudder, she rubbed the skin of her wrist under the jumper, trying to scrub off the sensation even as she mentally tracked Ptolemy’s progress behind her back. They went in silence like that—Kitty walking at a brisk pace with Ptolemy trailing behind—for nearly ten minutes of winding through dreary streets. Kitty had a map, and directions from the proprietor of the boarding house, which she trusted more. Concentrating on the confusing tangle of twists and turns busied her nervous mind into calm—calm enough that when Ptolemy cleared his throat, her quiet “hmm?” was genuinely amicable once more. “Where is this?” His voice was soft, awed. “I know I’ve...been gone a while, but I’m fairly sure this not Alexandria.” Kitty snorted and replied, “Prague,” before snapping her mouth shut. The street wasn’t busy by any means, but there were still people about who might look sideways at the out-of-place British girl talking to thin air. Quickly, she stepped from the sidewalk to stand under the awning of a cafe. The map made crisp sounds as she unfolded it and brought it up to her face, hiding the movement of her lips as she whispered, “We’re north of Alexandria, by a lot. Across the sea, past Rome, up where we call Eastern Europe, now. I’ll find you a map when we get to the library, yeah? For now, I can’t be talking to myself all the way across the district.” “Right.” He agreed with a quick nod, already distracted by the pastries displayed in the cafe window. Rolling her eyes, Kitty folded the map once more and headed off. The grey above threatened more rain and she quickened her pace. It wasn’t a short walk to the Holy Roman Archive and she’d rather not have to make the last third of the trek getting dripped on. Ptolemy was at her side now, gasping and exclaiming every other second at some new thing he’d glimpsed, and she had to actively suppress a wide smile. Grinning inanely at nothing wasn’t a look she wanted to project either. As they began to emerge from Old Town’s winding alleys, though, the city’s mood began to pick up and match Ptolemy’s joy. They stepped onto the larger, more toured streets around the great Charles Bridge, where tourists and business people alike made their way on foot regardless of the weather. Ahead, the bridge’s towers loomed and, just off to the left, Kitty saw the large buildings of the Klementinum. She made straight for it. The tourist traffic was, thankfully, a bit dimmed by the unpleasant weather and it was only another few minutes walk through ornate, baroque halls and courtyards blanketed in autumn-hued ivy before they reached the Holy Roman Archive. Home of what was left of Prague’s magical lore, it was  also adjacent to the most influential of the Czech Publishing Guild’s members: Petřín Printers. They handled all of the magical texts to come out of Prague; all of the magical knowledge of Eastern Europe flowed through this print house and into the Archive. Kitty stepped past the enticing hush of the Archive, hoping Ptolemy would follow since she couldn’t physically drag him like she was afraid might be necessary. A glance to the side showed the boy’s feet were indeed dragging, eyes gazing with longing at the doors. “Soon. We’ll go there next.” He followed with an insubstantial sigh. “Yes, alright.” Kitty blinked. She hadn’t meant to say that aloud. It was so quiet in these halls, anyone could hear. The lobby of Petřín’s was unassumingly quiet, but Kitty wasn’t fooled. The walls hummed with the aura of a spell, most likely a silencing charm to keep the workings of the printers from disturbing the immediately nearby library. At a desk just inside, a man sat scribbling in a ledger with a fountain pen but he looked up at Kitty’s approach. His cheerful greeting was in Czech—thankfully one of the phrases she’d picked up staying with Jakob and his family. She replied in kind, following up with a somewhat abashed, “English? That was about all the Czech I know.” The man laughed and nodded. “How can I help you?” “I need to speak with Mr. Pavel Vlastislav? I’m here on rather urgent magician’s business, as well as with a delivery from Karel Hyrnek, of Hyrnek and Sons. I think he sent word ahead that I was coming?” “Hmmm, let me take a look.” The clerk flipped through his ledger, then ducked behind his desk to grab another book. As he did, Kitty looked around and saw Ptolemy studying a world map to the left, artistically rendered and nearly as large as the wall it was painted on. She couldn’t see his face, but she had an idea as to what it might look like, and what he was going to sound like in three…two...one… Right on cue, as the clerk popped back up into view, Ptolemy’s voice flooded into her ear as if he were standing right next to her and not ten feet away. “Kitty. Kitty this is— Is this the whole world? The entire globe? Have people truly been to all of these places?” The clerk was chatting at her as he flipped through his notes with Kitty nodding along distractedly, trying to pay attention as Ptolemy continued, “—and this map! It’s nearly as good as the cartographers of Alexandria’s work! Rekyt described many of these places to me, but they were not all in places I could plot on an available map… You said we’re in...Europe? To the east—oh! Yes, this must be it! You’re right, we are much, much further north. I wonder—” “Ptolemy! A minute? I need to focus,” was what Kitty thought to herself in a moment of irritation, mouth clamped tight over the words, but the boy stopped rambling immediately. “Ah, my apologies.” Well, that was fun. Maybe that mishap back at the room had been good for something after all? It was the only thing she could think of that might have caused such a strange phenomenon… Distracted, she had to once again refocus on what the clerk, Radim, was saying. Frankly, she’d missed what he’d last said, but then he was standing and ushering her through a door on the right and chattering about the privilege of being able to see inside the prestigious print house and Kitty was tuning him right back out. She was here on business, not to see the inner workings of yet another magical publishing shop. This was her third one in the past year; they all sort of looked the same at this point. Pavel was in his office when they arrived, Radim knocking a quick rap on the doorway before entering. The man inside stood, head still tilted towards a jet black sparrow perched on his shoulder—the imp’s presence explained ease with which he greeted her, a heavily accented but cheerful “Ms. Jones!” before Radim even had time to speak. He and Radim had a quick exchange in Czech too fast to catch, then Radim stepped out and Pavel gestured her to enter. “Come in, come in, Ms. Jones. You have news and a package from old Karel in London, hm? Please, sit down and tell me why he needs send such a lovely lady friend, rather than this news in the post.” Kitty swallowed. This was the hardest part, always the hardest part, and she’d already done it twice. Out of her bag she pulled a plain book, bound in brown cloth and printed on scrap: a manuscript printed by Mr. Hyrnek. There was also a pamphlet. Assuming today went well and Pavel accepted her request, she would need write her friends back in London and request him to send her another copy before she left Prague. Hands shaking, she set the book on Pavel’s desk and took a deep breath. Ptolemy perched on the edge of the desk, invisible to Pavel and watching her intently. Another deep breath, trying to dislodge the shaking behind her breastbone. Her trimmed down, bare bones narrative of the London Disaster was practically recited by rote now. Only by keeping it clipped, clinical, and precise was she able to get through the worst of the story without stuttering, but she’d told the story before and she’d tell it now. Unfortunately, the shuddering terror of the hybrids needed to be the focus of the tale—that’s why she was here. Magicians, the humans who practiced the enslavement of spirits, needed to know what happened from a first-hand source, told with compassion and urgency, or they would simply take the whole incident as either fairytale, or use it as a way to further demonize both the British Empire and the spirits themselves. If this came out wrong, the enslavement of spirits would worsen, not move closer to eradication. When she’d finished, wrapping up with a quick note of the Interim Council’s formalization of an integrated Parliament and the supposed plans for the country, both members of her audience were silent. Staring. This was a normal reaction, she’d gotten it from the print masters in both Paris and Madrid, and she didn’t blame them or Pavel. It was a lot to hear. It’d been a lot more to live through. Eventually, Pavel spoke. “That is...a harrowing tale. We’d heard of some horror from across the channel when the empire broke two years ago, but to think…” He swallowed. “Yes, this needs to be recorded. I assume this manuscript is the account?” Kitty nodded. “Yes, originally published by Hyrnek and Sons, but we all agreed that something like this should be shared. If nothing else, please, we request you bring this to the Archivist and have it included in the archive. If you are willing to print and distribute it, that is for the best, but I understand—” “I will, of course, do my best to ensure it is placed in the archives. And we will see what can be done about distribution.” Reaching out—just missing Ptolemy, who jumped away before his arm could be brushed—Pavel picked up the pamphlet. “And this?” “A list of the spirits who perished in the disaster, to update the newest editions.” And maybe a few others, but who was to know? Pavel flipped through it and Kitty stood, scooping up her satchel once more. Alarmed, Pavel stood as well. “Ms. Jones! Surely you don’t mean to leave so soon?” Exhaustion weighed her voice, two haunted years dogging her steps. “I’m sorry, Mr. Vlastislav, but I need to be going. I’ll leave the address I’m staying at with Radim and I’ll be in town for a few weeks. Find me there if you need anything.” That was the nice thing about her situation—after all the horrors and all the insanity and quite literally visiting another plane of existence, social niceties were near the bottom of her priority list. With a parting nod, she let herself out of the office without another word. Ptolemy was silent as she retraced their steps back to the lobby, still silent as she left her contact information with Radim, silent all the way until they’d reached the Archive once more. He didn’t suggest a book to start with, so Kitty made her way to one of the study tables and pulled another book from her satchel, rather than any of the shelves. Delicate pages with scorched edges crinkled as she turned them, scanning the handwritten translations in the margins. She’d been offered a fresh copy of Ptolemy’s Apocrypha with an English translation printed in, but Button’s book was special, and translating it with Bartimaeus’s help was a good memory. Credit to his perturbation, when Ptolemy finally spoke it wasn’t about the book she held. “I’m sorry. What happened… I can’t imagine. I didn’t realize the kind of trauma what I did would cause you.” “You couldn’t have,” Kitty replied diffidently, blithe tone slicking her thoughts to icy smoothness. “Like I said, it’s something no commoner would be able to understand, and most magicians too. The only ones who could come close are those of us who were there, and even then… The one who would best understand the bond you were trying to attempt is— Well, he’s dead.” Silence again, then: “And you? Would that make you the closest living authority?” “Actually, no.” She was able to look up and smile. “That would be Bartimaeus, so let’s hit the books and then you can ask him yourself, yeah?”

Chapter 5: Somewhere: Sometime 

 4,752,256

Dread emptiness pressed in around him. Is this how his friend had felt, all those years alone? When the spirits passed—back and forth and back and forth—he could sense their movement, know their passing, but there was no sound to hear, no sight to see. Even this place he was stuck, a place he felt should have something of substance to perceive was just...nothing. To stave back the madness, he began to study the passing spirits with whatever senses were available to him. Thousands upon thousands passed before his examination, and on every few he focused his attention. Going one way, they seemed to mournfully coalesce from liquid freedom into a speeding, aerodynamic form to rocket through the other side of the gate; coming the other, solid misery flared and flittered out in joyous reaching for the far bank. Nowhere did the strange, fluid channel appear again. Only cold, clinical, slippery-walled openings to pull the beings to and from. He’d reached out to one once, only to find himself sliding off, lacking whatever was needed to be included in the transference. Probably for the best. Once the temporary madness left him, his logic reasserting itself over the crushing loneliness, he drew away from the traffic in fear. To be loosed in the fearful current without anchor or guide? No, he couldn’t… Or at least he thought that. And thought that. And thought that until he came to the point—singular and horrifying—that he could.   His watching took on a new edge: analytical, searching. Time barely existed here, but some amount of it had passed before something caught his attention. Another direct stretch, calling for a specific being, but something about it was...softer. It was inviting but wary, familiar but fearful, like a stranger singing a long-buried song from childhood. Carefully, not flinging himself with abandon like someone had, he approached. It was tenuous, as all of these were—temporal and not meant to last long, unlike the fluid path they’d seen before—and this one was even more ephemeral than most. Holes in the weave, it could have been described. From one end, movement came, barrelling closer and closer and...familiar. Yes, the being speeding down was definitely a construction of substance he recognized but couldn’t put a name to. Names were hard here. Names were hard, but suddenly decisions were not. As the spirit sped past, he impressed some effort upon the pulling force, imposing himself on the construct until he fell through in a flurry of movement that he could suddenly feel, not just perceive in an abstract sort of way. He could feel it and he still felt it as he tumbled through. The portal did exactly as all the others did. He felt himself being compacted and compressed, separate from the being it was actually meant for thankfully, as he’d hopped in a good moment past it, but the bonds were ill-fitting. A familiar word that wasn’t his word. And so, when both he and the other tumbled out the other side, he felt himself spinning and drifting, formless and dazed as his traveling partner took form in a circle.

Chapter 6: Prague: Saint's Day  

In a brilliant bit of foresight, the first thing Kitty asked Bartimaeus to do once he’d arrived was cast a nexus about her room to silence all noise coming from within. A good move, as her explanation of the situation first garnered her a bemused “what?” Followed by some silence. Then some contemplation of the figure who was making a concentrated effort to appear on the mortal plane to more than just Kitty. Then followed by a roar of the same word that had come before. There was a lot of yelling for a short time. Possibly some crying as well, not that Kitty would ever tell. But when it was done, and all explained and settled and understood, she might have asked Bartimaeus to remove the nexus. Absentmindedly, she forgot. This turned out to be a good thing as, five hours later, both she and Bartimaeus stared at Ptolemy over their sketches of runes, figures, and half-circle diagrams in consternation. Together, their query was definitely loud enough to have been heard by the good matron downstairs. “You don’t have their name?! ” Kitty groaned and set her pencil aside. They’d been at this for hours, and only now did Ptolemy mention he was lacking this key piece of their puzzle? Bartimaeus looked just as crestfallen in his guise of a young, dark skinned man, wearing a traditional desert kilt and bedecked with a necklace of amethyst, but also not terribly surprised. “Ptolemy, my friend. I always knew your disinclination for names would come back to bite us in inconvenient places. Admittedly, this is the furthest situation from what I could have imagined, but still.” The ghostly boy in question was not meeting either of their gazes. He was staring at the bedspread he sat on, stunned silent. Then quietly, obviously not in reaction to what either of them had said, he breathed a word Kitty had never heard in her life. Bartimaeus, however, choked on his non-existent spit, indicating that it was probably something foul. After a few more moments of unintelligible invective that had Bartimaeus’s jaw on the floor, Ptolemy muttered, “I can’t believe I forgot. We were there for what must have been years, how did I not ask? I promised. I’m a magician, I know how important names are. How could I have forgotten?” Kitty winced. They had maybe been a bit harsh. “It’s alright, I’m sure we can figure something out…” Ptolemy stood up and began to pace, making circuit after circuit of the tiny room. Amusingly, every time he turned a corner, he also stepped upwards about an inch, beginning to spiral upwards as he muttered to himself. Kitty glanced over at Bartimaeus, who shrugged, leaned over and whispered, “Don’t look at me, this is new. He didn’t used to pace.” “Hmm…” A ghost pacing was a strange phenomenon in that you couldn’t hear them, the fact that they were pacing of above your head at this point notwithstanding. It was painfully quiet. Kitty and Bartimaeus went back to fiddling with their designs, pencil and quill scratching loudly in the silence, but still working around a glaringly blank space where, in all of them, a name had to be placed. “I need a calendar!” Ptolemy’s voice, loud in the room, had Kitty jumping nearly a foot out of her chair. He was suddenly right next to her, face intent and determined. “I had a formula, I just need to do the calculations and we can figure out when my friend arrived. From there— Well, only a few specific circumstances could cause this, so maybe someone will have heard about it happening?” “Well, it’s somewhere to start…” Bartimaeus hedged, and Kitty agreed with the hesitant tone. How on earth were they going to sus out a single death of magical happenstance, even if they could narrow it down to an exact date? Kitty caught Ptolemy’s gaze again. There was a light, one she felt mirrored in her own past. Hope. And hell if she could ignore that. She’d wrestled demons, ransacked governments, and crossed dimensions for a hope like that, and well—Ptolemy had been the source of a lot of that hopeful vision. It was the least she could do to try and help him in turn. As Ptolemy still hadn’t managed enough substance to actually touch anything, Kitty was the one to walk to her duffel and dig out yet  another   book. She was becoming quite the librarian herself, these days. This one was worn, thick, full of cramped handwriting with a ribbon bookmark between the last few pages. Returning to the small table, she set it down. “Not a calendar, but close. My journal goes back two years, almost. Think your friend showed up in about that timeframe?” Ptolemy nodded firmly. “It couldn’t have been longer than that. Now, let me just…” He trailed off, fingers tracing invisible numbers on the table. With his brows drawn together in a focused frown, Kitty thought privately that he’d never looked less like Bartimaeus’s replication. Similarly, the fond expression Bartimaeus watched him with was a brand new thing to see on the spirit’s face, and something warmed in her. For the span of about an hour, a long time ago, Kitty had cared about a djinni and a boy more than anyone else in her probably-about-to-end life. This wasn’t the same, couldn’t ever be the same, but she liked it anyway. Across the table, Ptolemy was now rattling off numbers to Bartimaeus, who flipped through the journal pages—first in large swaths, then fewer and fewer at a time. Closer and closer to the front cover until— “That’s the end of it.” Both of them were staring down at the first entry on the first page of Kitty’s journal—a date, five words, and a tiny shard of glass taped to the paper. Bartimaeus continued, “How much further back?” “Two days.”   Kitty looked at them blankly. They both looked back—Ptolemy glowing with the triumph of a puzzle solved, Bartimaeus with...something. Probably the same something building somewhere in the pit of Kitty’s stomach. “There’s no way,” she managed eventually, voice hoarse, throat suddenly dust dry. Bartimaeus’s reply was just a nervous chuckle while Ptolemy glanced between them, his high fading into confusion. “What’s the matter?” It took Kitty two tries to clear the lump from her throat. “Erm, well. You remember what I said about the only person who would understand possession by a spirit being dead? And what Bartimaeus said about the Glass Palace?” “Yes?” “That all happened two days before my first journal entry. I didn’t think to start recording events until— I was a right mess, basically, until then.” Understanding dawned on Ptolemy’s face and brought a smile to his face. The smile grew, bit by bit as he looked between his two friends. “Well then, shall we try? It’s our best guess, and the worst that will happen is it doesn’t work.” They both watched as he breezed over to where Kitty and Bartimaeus had left their sketches. A moment of careful study, then he pointed to Bartimaeus’s page—the djinni smirked at Kitty, who stuck out her tongue. “This one. Let’s try this one.” He bounced on his toes, each bounce taking him higher into the air. “Come on! I still can’t hold the chalk, help me draw this!” So they did. The dingy, dusty boarding room was a flurry of activity for long minutes. Bartimaeus did most of the kneeling and drawing while Kitty held the string guides and lit the few candles they needed for the spell. Ptolemy supervised, directing them in drawing a half-circle diagram. Lines stretched out from it in rays, similar to Kitty’s communication spell, but with a few slight adjustments. More geometric than ornate, the completed spell was chalked innocuously on the floor as Bartimaeus scratched out the last few runes. At the apex of the arch, a blank space had been left. Almost reverently they all knelt, Bartimaeus handing Kitty the chalk as she regarded the bare patch of floorboards before bringing the chalk down. Her handwriting was nowhere near as calligraphic as Bartimaeus’s—her chicken scratch legible but not beautiful as she spelled the name out: Nathaniel   Chalk still in hand, she traced under the letters with a finger, the spell still cold and not yet activated. Together, Ptolemy and Bartimaeus reached out as well—and then another transparent finger traced along the top of the word. Glancing up, her gaze met with blue eyes, happy and calm in a way she’d never seen them while he was alive. “That’s what it was. I guess I just needed someone to write it down before I could form up properly. Took your time about it, didn’t you?” Surprise jerked her hand and brought her in contact with all three of the other beings in the room. Her vision spun and everything was very mixed up for a very confusing moment. Kitty was, for seconds or hours, not just Kitty anymore. Four souls rushed around and around in a feedback loop, bringing nausea to a body that wasn’t even really hers to experience it. It was like being back in the Other Place. Actually, it felt exactly like that, and the similarities echoed through their loop loud enough to bring the chaos to a balance. Carefully, they all extracted themselves from the morass—all but Nathaniel at least understanding the mechanics of the feat—and another moment brought Kitty solitude in her mind once more. She had fallen onto her backside, legs twisted awkwardly, and three beings of unearthly substance lay sprawled nearby. On seeing their mess, pushed up on her elbows, a giggle bubbled up from her throat. Then another, and another, until she couldn’t hold them back and collapsed onto the dusty floor, laughing until their was no more breath in her body. Around her, Ptolemy joined in first, then Nathaniel, then Bartimaeus, until they were all cackling like maniacs for long minutes.  Good thing the silencing nexus is still still up, Kitty thought faintly, which sent her and her friends off into more gales of laughter. They laughed until all their surprised energy had been spent in joy. Jittery adrenaline rush settled to a wondrous warmth in Kitty’s chest as she looked at her friends. There was no telling what they would need to do now. But as far as she was concerned, it didn’t matter. They were together, no one was dead in the traditional sense of the word, and the world hadn’t tried to end for two whole years. She didn’t get sappy often, but today seemed like the day to try—the most pleasant Hallows Eve and Saints’ Day she’d ever experienced, by far.

[toreii]

Connection

Ieyasu Tokugawa x Mai Mizusaki

A gift for our winner of the NSFW giveaway on @goddess-of-writing-wars last year. Requested by @widzziciclesatmidnight. Thank you for your encouragement!💕 I had this sitting around since then. After all this time, it seems like a shame not to post it. My first IkeSen NSFW fic featuring my lil nugget. Sorry if it’s awkward, lol. Enjoy?😆

Mai Mizusaki forced a smile on her face as her current partner continued to go on and on about his passion for trains. He had lost her from the very start as the middle aged man seemed too far gone for her liking. He looked to be another salaryman looking to score with anyone who was willing to give him a chance. Mai supposed these mixers were his only opportunity to do so. In truth, Mai didn’t have the slightest desire to be here. She had been invited by a few of her friends from the office. It was supposed to have been a group date, but Mai lost sight of her girlfriends an hour into the mixer. As much as she tried to sneak away, it seemed like another uninteresting man got in her way.

The bell chime sounded, and Mai felt an overwhelming sense of relief wash over her. She watched as her partner reached in his suit producing a business card to hand over to her. It was her tenth one.

“Please, promise me you’ll think about me,” the man implored.

Mai did not miss seeing how he rubbed his hands together rigorously. He obviously gave her a bad feeling. Mustering another false smile, Mai beamed at him cheerfully.

“Of course!”

She ran once the man left. Thankfully, she was close to the double reception doors, and was finally able to dart out into the empty hallway. Mai exhaled loudly almost as if she had been suffocating for the last few hours. She breathed deeply hoping to calm herself as she remembered that she still held onto the business card given to her by her last prospect. She stared disdainfully at it and promptly tore it in half. Mai was done. Her friends had ditched her, and nothing good came out of the mixer. She tore the other business cards that were given to her, and promptly deposited them in a potted plant nearby.

Mai marched down the hall searching for the exit. As she walked along the adorned hallways full of paintings, busts, and artwork, she found a set of french doors open leading out onto the balcony of the building. She stopped in her tracks peering through the sheer, white curtains at the person standing outside. Mai could imagine they stepped out for privacy, but her curiosity got the best of her. She wondered just who could be standing out in the balcony. She crept towards the doors as she came into view of the person.

Despite his back turned to her, Mai still took note of his appearance. He dressed in a gray three piece suit. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled all the way to his elbows. The satin gray backside of his vest was stretched taut as he leaned against the stone crafted guardrail. Her eyes traveled past his waist taking in the plump round shape of his ass. She nodded appeciatingly.

Mai planned to leave right then. She knew she had no business interrupting the man’s privacy. Her heels scraped against the floor giving her presence away. She wished to bolt, but she stood frozen in her spot. Her stomach tightened when the man turned around to face her. Her breath hitched now that she saw him clearly. He wasn’t much taller than her despite being leveled with each other because of her heeled pumps. He had wild, light blond hair which seemed to glow ethereally under the moonlight. His green eyes narrowed suspiciously at her further pinning her to her spot. Mai gulped.

“Who are you?” He asked defensively.

“Me? I was just… I was leaving just now. I’m looking for the exit,” she fumbled, gripping the edge of one of the glass doors.

“Then, get lost,” the man spat.

Ouch! Harsh… Mai thought.

“Look. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drop in. I got concerned because the doors were open.”

He scoffed. “Right. I bet you were hoping to catch me out here alone.”

She stared blankly at him. “Um… Have we met?”

“You’re here for the party right?” He asked motioning to the right with his arm.

Mai looked away uninterested. “I was. I don’t know why I bother coming. These mixers are pointless.”

“Yet, you still found interest to come. Are you planning to secure your future with a wealthy man?” He prodded.

She frowned. “I’m not that shallow. I just turned down ten men in that room that look better put together than you.”

He shot her a glare. “What was that?”

Mai smiled haughtily. “I bet you’re just pretending, right?”

He matched her smile taking a dangerous step towards her. “Pretending… Of course, I am. Who would believe a Tokugawa came to a mixer?”

MC nearly choked. “Did you just say Tokugawa?”

Ieyasu shrugged. He turned his back to her again looking out a the gimmering city beyond the security walls of the property. He felt his hair tussle in the gentle breeze as he resumed his previous position.

“Does the name impress you that much?”

“Well, I wasn’t…”

“Right. You’re just like the others. Empty, airheaded girls.”

That definitely stung. Who wouldn’t know that surname? They were a prominent clan involved in numerous businesses in Japan, namely the medical field. She was a mere designer in a fashion house, but even Mai had the honor of making pieces for the Tokugawa family. There was no guarantee that her pieces were chosen, but she still made her clothes with meticulous care for them. However, she never expected to meet someone from such a clan much less be called an empty airhead.

“I’m sorry. I…” The rest of her words caught in her throat. What did it even matter explaining? He obviously didn’t think any better of her.

He heard her walk away without another word. The young, blond haired man pushed off the railing turning to see her retreating form through the glass panes. He dashed back inside and called out to her.

“Wait!”

Mai stopped, glancing over her shoulder to look at him. He gulped. Naturally, he had gotten a good look at her out on the balcony. She wore a red knee length dress which hugged her figure. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a half knot at the back of her head showing off her slender neck which was adorned with a thin gold necklace. The small diamond studs on her earlobes glimmered in the moonlit night just as her lips did, as well. Mai turned to face him fully, her eyebrows knitting with concern as she pressed her black clutch against her.

“Is there something wrong?” She asked.

He snapped out of his stupor. She looked so simple, so plain, unlike the other women he was used to meeting at these mixers. Maybe he misread her? He cleared his throat.

“Do...Do you happen to have a ride?” He asked, averting his gaze.

“I’m sure I can figure something out. Thanks,” Mai replied.

“Not that I care, but the trains are going to stop running soon. It’s late for you to be standing out there for a cab, too”

“I’ll live.”

He sighed. “I’ll give you a ride. I’m also heading home.”

“Don’t trouble yourself for my sake,” Mai said.

The young man marched up to her clamping a hand down on her wrist. “Just come with me!”

Come with me, he says, Mai thought upon finding herself at his luxurious apartment.

The drive over had been uncomfortably quiet. Despite his expensive sports car, she appreciated his smooth driving, and was thankful to have made it in one piece. She looked around the spacious white living room taking note of the simple, yet sleek furnishings. The place practically looked like the display pictures in pamphlets and magazines. It felt lonely and cold to her.

He returned with a tube of cream and bandages, and placed them on the coffee table. He took a seat beside her giving her a pointed look. “Give me your right foot.”

Mai bristled. “Eh!?”

“When you were walking away, I noticed you had a slight limp. You even seem to favor your left foot than the right.”

“How did you…”

He sighed. “I’m a doctor.”

Right. The Tokugawas specialize in medicine, or so I read, Mai concluded.

“Look, if you don’t let me treat that, it’s going to get inflammed.”

Timidly, Mai raised her leg placing her injured foot in his lap. She watched him work rubbing the cooling salve around her ankle and heel. Mai thought back as she was making her way inside the building for the mixer. The thin heel of her pump got caught in the doorway, and she nearly lost her footing. She had managed to roll her ankle and bounce right back up, but there was still that dull pain lingering afterward. She tried to not pay too much attention to it, but her new escort obviously had taken notice.

“That’s why you asked if I had a ride,” she spoke softly. “You knew I hurt my ankle.”

He looked away yet she could see his cheeks lightly coloring. Mai giggled.

“So what? You should be more careful if you’re going to wear those monstrosities.”

“You’re right. I won’t wear them anymore.”

Mai bit her lip feeling how his fingers slid effortlessly along her skin. Even though her ankle throbbed with slight pain, he was taking great lengths to massage even her calf. She took note of his light blond eyelashes which veiled his emerald eyes from her. His fingers hit along the backside of her knee and Mai shivered.

“Mm…”

He looked up at her questioningly. Mai cleared her throat.

“I never got your name.”

“I didn’t get yours, either.”

She smiled. “I’m Mai Mizusaki.”

“Ieyasu Tokugawa. I’m sure you knew that.”

“Your surname only,” Mai admitted.

“I find that hard to believe,” he said.

“It’s true!”

Mai sat up reaching out and placing her hand on top of his. Ieyasu froze and completely stopped his ministrations on her leg. Mai gulped. Realizing what she had done, she withdrew her hand and prepared to stand.

“I should go.”

“I remind you that the trains have stopped running, and it’ll be hard to get a taxi at this hour. Besides, as your doctor, I don’t recommend you walking for the next two days.”

“My doctor?” Mai queried.

“I am treating you right now.”

“What about tomorrow? Will you still be my doctor then?”

She meant nothing by her question, yet Mai saw that Ieyasu was thinking about it. She smiled. Pushing herself off the seat, Mai rose to her feet intending to walk away. However, as soon as she put pressure on her ankle, a sharp pain shot through her leg making her lose her balance. She felt her gravity shift as she went down.

Ieyasu moved quickly grabbing onto her arm. He pulled her into him with a forceful yank causing Mai to slam into him. Ieyasu grunted at the impact, but he continued to maintain a firm hold on Mai as he held her against him. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and she peered at him through her disheveled hair. Ieyasu gulped once the shock wore off. He could feel her breathing profusely as their chest heaved in sync with each other.

“I-I’m…” Mai began, as she started to regain her footing.

Ieyasu stopped her brushing the stray locks of hair from her face. He cupped her cheeks as he took a good look at her face. Her pink lips were parted, her eyes conveying all the unspoken words she could not say. She was searching for an explanation, yet she wasn’t demanding it. Ieyasu had gone to the mixer on an invite expecting the same as always. He didn’t expect to come home with anyone, and somehow he ended up with Mai.

Mai placed her hands on his removing his hold on her cheeks. “Ieyasu…” she whispered.

Oh, her voice! Ieyasu felt his reasoning crumble at the sound of her voice. He licked his lips, and he saw her watching him do so. Yearning flickered in her eyes. Were they really searching for each other tonight? Ieyasu couldn’t recall coming across Mai at the mixer until she inexplicably came upon him on the balcony. Her brunette hair danced blithely against the wind and her warm brown eyes sparkled just like the stars above. Ieyasu could admire everything about her appearance, yet what drew him to her was her honesty. She wasn’t there for him given that she had no idea who he was. Whatever reason she may have had, they somehow found each other.

“Ieyasu,” Mai tried again. This time, she successfully pulled away from him. He watched her look down glancing at the soft carpet impishly. “Thank you for your help, but I really should go.”

He reached out tilting her head up to look at her. “Stay.”

“Eh?”

“I want you to stay, Mai. It’s not as lively as the mixer in here, but I’d like to have a drink with you tonight.”

“Are doctors really supposed to encourage their patients to drink?” Mai asked jokingly.

Ieyasu smiled. “Sit while I get something smooth to drink.”

“Smooth,” Mai repeated with a nod.

She obeyed taking a seat on the comfortable white couch. Ieyasu returned a few minutes later holding a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. He found her a fruity wine to drink assuring she wouldn’t easily intoxicate herself right off the bat.

“I don’t need you puking all over my carpet.”

“Who do you take me for!?” She spat. When Ieyasu gave her a look, Mai immediately paused. “Oh my gosh, don’t tell me someone actually did that here!”

The regret in Ieyasu’s expression made her laugh. Mai wished she could have witnessed the incident, but she promised Ieyasu she would drink responsibly for his peace of mind. Their glasses clinked in a toast and they began to talk about all sorts of things. They would refill each other’s drinks in between their conversation. Mai had since forgotten about finding a way home. Instead, she found herself enjoying the quiet night with Ieyasu. He kept her leg resting on his knees reminding her to keep her ankle elevated. His fingers occasionally gave her calf a squeeze. He apologized at the first two times, but Mai assured him it was nothing to apologize for.

“It feels good!” She purred.

“I’m sure it does,” Ieyasu mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he answered quickly.

He set his glass on the table, and turned his attention to her ankle. He pressed against a tender part causing Mai to moan in pain again.

“Mm! Oh god…”

“The good thing is that it’s only a minor sprain. You should keep this iced tomorrow.”

“What’s the bad thing?” Mai breathed.

“That I’ve been holding back from touching you more than I should.”

“Oh…”

“You should—“

He sighed. He could feel the heat burning against his cheeks as he ran a hand along her leg. Ieyasu kept his head down enough to obscure his face from her. He heard Mai set her glass on the table and then felt her rise. Ieyasu assumed she was getting up. Instead, Mai reached over and cupped his cheek shifting his gaze over to her.

“Touch me,” she murmured.

Ieyasu’s eyes widened. “M-Mai…”

She leaned in, her eyes half lidded, as she whispered his name again. “Ieyasu…”

The moment their lips met, Ieyasu felt an electric bolt course throughout him. He pulled her closer as he kissed her deeply letting carnal instinct take over. Her hand burrowed into his soft, pale locks of hair holding him in place. Ieyasu angled Mai’s head plunging his tongue into her mouth. He kissed her with fervent desperation unlike Mai had ever experienced in her life. It left her wanting more as his tongue caressed her own.

Mai shifted her legs and wrapped them around him bringing herself to sit on Ieyasu’s lap. His fingers searched for the zipper along the back of her dress making quick work of it as he pulled it down. Mai broke away from his lips panting loudly as Ieyasu began to slip her dress off of her. He kissed her on her chest savoring the delicious sensation of her hot skin against his bruised lips. Mai leaned a bit back, her eyes closed in ecstacy, allowing Ieyasu to move further down her bosom. He left a trail of tiny kisses in his wake as his hands came to cup her breasts through her brassiere. He gave them a firm squeeze before trailing his hands upwards towards her neck. Mai opened her eyes as Ieyasu sat her back up. Their eyes met and both could see their equal feverish gaze filled with so much longing and desire.

There were no questions asked. They merely reassured one another with a kiss. Ieyasu carefully stood on his feet as he carried Mai in his arms. He gingerly made his way towards his room trying not to stumble as she obstructed his view. Mai simply laughed holding onto him for dear life.

“You could help me,” Ieyasu grunted.

“Oh, I will in just a moment,” Mai teased.

With fortunate luck, Ieyasu reached his bed letting Mai fall against the mattress. She bounced a few times her laughter filling the once silent room. Ieyasu stared down at her with her arms splayed out beside her. Her smile… That lively look on her face… It didn’t seem like they just made out in his living room a moment ago.

She’s beautiful, he thought.

“So?” Mai asked, getting on her elbows.

“So?” Ieyasu parroted.

“Do you want to continue?”

Ieyasu was tongue-tied. Right. He was making love to her. He heard her hum as she sat up on his bed. Her fingers brushed along his clothes before reaching the buttons of his vest. It came off with ease, and then she focused on his dress shirt. Her eyes met his as she pulled the fabric out barely parting both ends apart. Ieyasu rolled his shoulders just as Mai finished undressing him letting his vest and dress shirt fall to the floor. She trailed her fingertips along his chest and torso feeling the crevices along his flesh. She mapped every contour of each muscle she came across until she reached his belt.

“I promised to help you,” she said.

Ieyasu took her hand in his, and promptly helped Mai to her feet. His arms quickly encircled her pressing her against him. She involuntarily flinched feeling a small stab of pain shoot along her leg.

“Damn…” she cursed quietly.

Ieyasu placed a kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

Mai shook her head. “I’ll live.”

Ieyasu trailed his hands down her back taking hold of her dress again, and pulled it off of Mai’s body letting it fall to the floor. His hands roamed once more feeling the new exposed skin of hers beneath his palms. Ieyasu squeezed her buttocks drawing her against him. Mai giggled as her arms came up to encircle around his shoulders. They kissed again clinging to one another as their desires reignited again.

He climbed on top of her nudging her legs apart with his knees. Mai fumbled to get his belt unbuckled as Ieyasu pleasured the crook of her neck with little nips and licks. While he braced himself with one hand, the other pushed past her bra cupping the tender flesh of her breast. Mai shivered as he began to tease her nipple with his fingers. She momentarily lost her concentration trying to unzip his pants as Ieyasu moved down to her breast. He exposed her bosom taking in the nipple he worked to get erect. He ran his tongue along the hardened peak as his hand now moved in between her legs.

Mai cried out in euphoric bliss. “Ah—!”

He felt her body hitch with his ministrations as he simultaneously stimulated both her breast and clit. Mai threw her head back relishing at the new sensations taking over her. She began to grind against Ieyasu’s fingers hoping to set a steady rhythm. Ieyasu abandoned her breast to kiss along her cleavage. He withdrew his hand from her womanhood eliciting a whimper from Mai.

“Ieyasu!”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured as he shot her a brief glance.

He returned to leaving a trail of kisses along her navel. Mai watched in anticipation as Ieyasu went further down on her. He started to pull down her lace panties exposing her completely to him. She barely saw where he flung her undergarment before Ieyasu was parting her legs open again. Without warning, he plunged his tongue into her warm sex. Mai squirmed at the new sensation. Her body came alive responding to Ieyasu’s actions as he pleasured her clitoris with his tongue. Mai wasn’t sure where to grab, so she settled for clutching a fistful of his hair. Ieyasu pulled her lower half closer as he encompassed all of her.

“Oh, god! Oh—!”

Mai could feel a strong ache beginning to manifest as Ieyasu swirled his tongue inside of her. She heaved deeply clawing at anything as the libidinous feeling grew with each passing second. Ieyasu changed tactics and inserted two fingers into her vaginal passage. Mai threw her head back once more crying out as he pushed past her opening. Not only did he begin to stimulate her within, but he returned to her clit amplifying the electric feeling. She was getting close to letting herself go. Ieyasu knew she would be orgasming within the next minute or two. He pulled back planting a kiss on her inner thigh as he pressed his thumb against her clit stimulating her that way now. He watched her lose herself in the throes of ecstacy, her chest heaving up and down, as she rocked against him.

Her body began to violently twitch and he felt her core tighten around his fingers. Mai arched for a second letting the orgasm power through her. Ieyasu was still stroking her making her convulse still even as she came off her high. He gave her time to recollect herself removing his hand from her sex. Ieyasu stepped off the bed for a moment, and unzipped his pants. Mai glanced over at him eyeing his boxers and taking note of the bulge behind the fabric. She sat up as Ieyasu undressed completely. Her breath hitched in her throat upon seeing him in all his glory. If he made her feel good with just his tongue and hand, she anticipated and wondered what the next experience was going to be like.

Ieyasu padded over to her. He placed a hand on her head, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Do you trust me?”

Mai smiled sympathetically as she cupped his cheek. “Of course.”

Ieyasu opened the small drawer in his nightstand rummaging for something. He produced a small square foil packet showing it to Mai so she could see it. She appreciated his honesty. By no means were they nervous about being coital, but there were concerns.

“Don’t worry about holding back for my sake.”

“I can get you a morning after pill just to be on the safe side.”

Mai nodded, a beaming smile on her face. She scooted over a bit as Ieyasu rejoined her in bed. Ieyasu took hold of her hands bringing them up to his lips to place kisses upon her knuckles. Mai leaned in just as he lowered their hands and pressed her lips against his. Ieyasu cupped her face in his hands drawing Mai closer to him. She settled upon his lap and wrapped an arm around him. As their tongues slid against each other in hot, open mouth kisses, Mai ran her other hand down Ieyasu’s chest. Her fingers trailed along his torso and further down until she took hold of his cock in her hand. Ieyasu broke away from the kiss with a groan as she began to pump him. He rested his head against her shoulder feeling jolts of pleasure shoot through him. His hands settled on her lower back pulling Mai closer to him wanting to bridge the gap between them as much as possible.

“M-Mai—“ Ieyasu moaned, thrusting into her hand as she continued to pleasure him.

She wished to keep going; to get him completely off in her hands. However, something else awaited. Something they were both well prepared for. Mai took the condom from Ieyasu and helped put it on. His hands firmly held her hips as Mai positioned herself. With a deep breath, she lowered herself on his cock hissing as Ieyasu began to push through. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh, as she paused for a moment.

“Breathe,” Ieyasu encouraged, a hand massaging her thigh.

Mai took a few quick breaths before resuming. A wanton moan escaped her lips as Ieyasu fully sheathed himself inside of her. He held her close allowing her all the time she needed to compose herself. Mai ran a hand through her hair, and then she began to move. She slowly rose before letting herself fall back on his lap. She could still feel the stinging pain inside realizing it was much different than just Ieyasu’s fingers. Ieyasu pulled back taking hold of Mai’s face in his hands again.

“Look at me.”

She met his emerald eyes in the dimly lit bedroom. Ieyasu brushed her hair back as he held her gaze. He kissed her once encouraging her to keep moving. Mai still moved slowly, but she did not stop. She continued finding a rhythm to settle on as she and Ieyasu moved together. Eventually, her discomfort began to ease. Mai clung onto Ieyasu burying her face into his neck panting hotly against his skin. Ieyasu threw his head back as he closed his eyes relishing on the warmth seeping into him. Mai felt so good rocking against him back and forth. He angled himself thrusting into her deeply. Mai arched in his arms allowing Ieyasu to kiss her neck.

“Ah—! Ieyasu—!”

He responded with equal fervor. “Mai!”

She bit her lip suppressing a whimper. Mai leaned in supporting herself against the mattress. The new angle allowed Ieyasu to hit a sensitive point along her walls making Mai finally cry out.

“Faster, Ieyasu!”

He complied. Her sweet cries filled him with absolute pleasure as he thrust into her relentlessly. Mai desperately clawed at the bedding as a new orgasm began to build inside. Ieyasu took her in his arms aiming for that bundle of nerves that made her lose all sense of herself.

“Oh god! There—! There—!”

It didn’t take long for Mai to come again for the second time. However, Ieyasu didn’t allow her any reprieve. He rolled her onto her back as he hooked her legs in his arms. He still thrust into her drawing out Mai’s orgasm. Tears rolled down the corner of her eyes as her body continued to convulse in ecstacy. Every touch and every thrust left her feeling sensitive, she couldn’t quite keep up with him anymore.

Ieyasu reached down resting a hand on her navel. Mai found his hand, and twined her fingers with his. Despite her flushed and tear stained face, she gave him a knowing look. She trusted him completely. He let go of her hand adjusting his grip on her once more. Mai gave herself to him as Ieyasu rolled her further back a bit. She braced herself as he worked to reach his own orgasm. Their pants and moans echoed all over them along with the constant squeaking of the springs in the bed. Ieyasu shut his eyes and finally allowed himself to release inside of Mai.

He pulled out without warning letting Mai’s lower half fall with a plot. She sat up right away, taking note of the milky white ejaculation seeping all over the bed. A tired smile graced her lips as she crawled over to Ieyasu. She kissed him sitting upon his lap once again.

“We should get cleaned up,” Ieyasu reminded her.

“I know,” Mai answered, nipping at his lip. “Let me catch my breath first.”

Ieyasu smirked. “Haven’t you had enough?”

“With you? No.”

He brushed her hair back, hooking a stray lock behind her ear. “I wasn’t expecting to meet you tonight.”

“Neither was I,” Mai admitted.

“Could we start over?” He inquired.

Mai smiled. “Of course. Away from that mixer, though.”

“Coffee?”

She nodded. “And a stack of pancakes.”

“Deal,” Ieyasu replied.

They kissed as they snuggled closer to each other. There was the promise of something new. Their meeting may have been unexpected, but they were willing to walk together along the same path. Whatever it may be, Ieyasu and Mai were more than ready to face their new chapter in life together.

[galaxy-parker]

Show A Little Loving (Shine A Little Light On Me)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Summary: Where you kiss Peter and then suddenly you’re dating him

Warnings: bad words, inconsistency, no editing

Word Count: 5K

A/N: to all the boys i’ve loved before au!

i rewrote this 5 times, i know it’s bad pls go easy on me life is hard ~~~

The day is already half done when MJ mutters the words under her breath, words that make your heart freeze in your chest and your thoughts clump together as if they were dipped in glue. ‘Flash is gonna ask you out.’

‘What?’ You whirl on her but the girl doesn’t dare to look up from her book. Her eyes roam over the yellowing pages and you glare at the side of her head. ‘How do you know?’

‘Heard him talking about it,’ She says with a certain nonchalance you wish you possessed. ‘Thought I’d let you know.’

Your throat feels dry and scratchy and you grab her arm, pulling her out of the way as a group of seniors barrels through the hall. She barely stumbles. ‘Yeah, thanks,’ You shake your head, trying to clear it from the incoherent thoughts threatening to drive you out of your mind. ‘I wasn’t sure he even knew I existed.’

The joke pulls a laugh from MJ and you let a triumphant smile slip onto your lips, but it falls twice as fast when you’re shoved into a locker. Michelle stumbles back, finally looking up and you wince.

‘Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,’ Liz Allen doesn’t deign to slow her stride as she calls the apology over her shoulder, flipping her dark hair back in the process.

‘Yeah, it’s no problem,’ You mumble, but the girl is already far out of earshot and the words fall on deaf ears.

MJ loops her arm through yours and pulls you forwards. ‘She has got to learn how to walk.’

You grin. ‘Rich, coming from you.’ Your friend rolls her eyes and bumps your shoulder softly and you shake your head. ‘Liz isn’t so bad.’

‘Maybe not, but she has the same energy as a Kardashian and they are crazy,’ She casts her eyes to the ceiling before glancing at you briefly. ‘Besides, I think she’s the one who doesn’t know you exist.’

You shrug, unable to disagree as MJ pulls you around a corner and releases you. ‘We’ve only been in the same classes for three years.’

She laughs and begins to walk backwards, offering you a two fingered salute. ‘See you after class.’

‘Yeah,’ You raise your hand, watching as she turns on her heel and paces to her destination. You book it to yours.

You manage to slip through the door of your classroom mere moments before the hoard of popularity reaches it, and you take your seat in the back monotonously- just in time to watch Liz and her peers flood in.

You lean your head on a hand as their shrill voices flood your ears- you’re quite sure that one day they’ll make you bleed.

Someone dodges through the door behind them, their gaze snatching to you almost immediately. Peter Parker shoots you a smile and you return the gesture before looking away and letting your gaze catch on the window.

Peter Parker was the first- and only- boy you’d ever kissed, and he used to be your best friend but post-middle school for reasons having to do with his popularity and your lack thereof, you are now decidedly not. Thankfully he keeps it civil, but whether or not that has to do with the fact that you know he’s really Queens’ own vigilante you can’t say.

The chatter dies down quickly after your physics teacher walks in, but despite the interesting subject you can’t help but keep your focus on the clear glass pane before you, on what lies behind it.

It’s only five minutes before the last bell that you finally snap out of your stupor and bolt upright. The rest of your classmates are chattering away, all indulging in their own conversations. You let your eyes roam across people and faces and you realize with a jolt that everything is the same. Everything is the same as it always was. You wonder if it’s the same as it always will be.

The loud ringing signaling the end of the school day splits the air and it’s quiet for a moment until the sound of voices builds up once more, but this time accompanied with the sound of chairs scraping against the tiled floor. You wait for the class to drain of people before you stand yourself, pushing your chair against your table and following the river of people towards the school exit.

You grip the straps of your bag tightly and scan the crowd for Michelle, eyes jumping from face to face and searching for the familiar bundle of wild curls. You’re so focused that you don’t notice the scattered posters on the ground until you’re slipping on them and falling back towards the lockers. Your back connects with something equally hard and soft and you hear a grunt of distress that definitely didn’t come from your mouth before you’re falling back, farther back, towards the ground back.

You’d always imagined falling on a boy to be romantic, but you realize now that it kind of hurts.

‘Woah,’ Peter Parker catches your arm before you can meet your unwanted destination and you grin sheepishly, eyes cast up to meet his gaze.

‘Oh,’ You say, straightening yourself and brushing imaginary dust from your arms. ‘Hi, sorry.’

Peter furrows his brows but grins all the same, the warmth of his hand seeps into your skin and you try not to balk at his touch. ‘You should watch where you’re going,’ He says, not unkindly. You swallow hard.

‘Yeah, yes,’ You shake your head. ‘Uh, sorry.’

His head tilts down and he glances at you from under his eyebrows. ‘It’s okay,’ He cards his fingers through his hair. ‘Think you can walk yourself out without falling?’

You purse your lips and wrinkle your nose. ‘Yeah, I think I’ll be fine.’

‘You sure?’ He laughs, squeezing your wrist and your suck on your teeth and nod, humming in response.

‘I’m- I’m good, but thank you.’

‘Alright,’ He starts, and you think he’s about to say more until Liz walks by, effectively grabbing his attention and MJ pops up in the crowd. She’s smirking as you slip away, pulling your arm from the boy’s grasp.

‘Shut up,’ You mumble, taking her arm and pulling her towards the exit.

‘I didn’t even say anything,’ She laughs. You shake your head, pushing through the front doors and escaping the stuffy air.

You turn to look at her and she arches her eyebrow suggestively. You shake your head. ‘No, not even a little bit.’

‘Not even a tiny bit?’ She stops walking and you stumble at the sudden jolt. ‘Hey Ned,’

‘Hey,’ The boy pops up beside you and you startle, pressing a hand to your chest. ‘So, Y/N, you and Peter?’ He wiggles his brows.

‘No,’ You scoff, brandishing your hands in annoyance. ‘God, get out of middle school you two.’

‘Get out of middle school because our behavior is reflecting that of a child, or get out of middle school because that’s when you and Peter-’

You yell loudly, closing your eyes to try and block out the horrifying words. Ned and MJ burst into a fit of giggles. ‘You guys are so mean.’

‘And you’re so into Parker,’ MJ says, crossing her arms over her chest.

‘And you decide this because I fell on top of him?’ You bark out a laugh at the ridiculity of the situation.

The girl shakes her head. And Ned pipes in, ‘No it’s because you were looking at him like you were so into him.’

MJ points at Ned with a smile and taps her nose twice. You shake your head, opening your mouth to respond. ‘You-’

‘Y/N!’ Peter bursts through the doors behind you, clutching a paper in his fist and you wince. Ned and MJ smile devilishly at you.

‘Cinderella as fuck,’ MJ mutters and Ned snorts loudly, smothering the sound with his hand.

‘You dropped this,’ He jogs to meet you as your friends begin to shuffle backwards not-so-subtly.

‘We’ll just give you two a moment,’ Ned says, whirling around. MJ grabs his arm and pulls him away swiftly and you watch them go reluctantly.

‘Uh, here,’ Peter shoves the paper into your hands and you glance down at it and balk. His face sits scribbled on the stray paper in blue pen, next to it the doodle of a heart that MJ had tainted the piece with. It was only for reference you want to say, but the words lodge in your throat and you think you might scream. Peter scratches the back of his neck. ‘Listen I’m flattered, really, but I just-’

You hold up a hand, affectively cutting off his speech. ‘Shut up,’ The boy nods, swallowing hard and glancing down at his feet. Your thoughts race a million miles a minute. ‘I have a really good explanation for that,’ You start.

Peter chuckles. ‘I’d love to hear it.’

‘But,’ You continue, glancing over his shoulder to see yet another figure appear through the door. Your heart stops in your chest and then spikes up ten times as fast. ‘I actually have to go.’

You turn around, pacing towards the front gate as Flash strolls out of the school. ‘Wait!’ Peter says, but you don’t.

Two voices call out your name now, mingling together and laced with confusion. You want to crawl in a whole and never crawl out. Peter grabs your arm, pulling you to a stop.

‘Hang on,’ He shakes his head. ‘What’s going on with you?’

‘A lot,’ Flash spots you over Peter’s shoulder and a sudden, rising panic fills your chest. ‘A lot, I am very sorry.’

‘For what-?’ He starts, but you’re grappling for a hold on his neck and pulling him down towards you before he can finish. Your lips crash against his and his hands land on your waist. A confused grunt sounds from the back of his throat when you break away a moment later.

You glance over his shoulder to see a smoldering Flash, already turning on a heel and walking the other way. The panic in your chest resides. ‘Right,’ You pat Peter’s chest lightly and start to walk backwards. ‘Thank you,’ You say, then furrow your brows. ‘And, uh, I’m sorry.’

He’s silent for a moment and you take it as your que to leave, but he speaks before you can make your escape. ‘Wait,’ You stop in your tracks. ‘What?’

You shrug and smile sheepishly. ‘I’m not sure.’

He furrows his brows. ‘Y/N, listen I’m really flattered, I am but-’

You laugh. ‘Are you really trying to reject me right now?’

He scratches the back of his neck again, a bright pink stripe settling on his cheeks. ‘Yeah, I don’t think you really got it the first time so,’ He trails off.

‘I’m really not trying to date you, Peter.’

He straightens. ‘Huh?’

‘I don’t want to date you,’ You cock your head to the side.

‘Okay,’ He nods. ‘Okay, well how do you explain this,’ He holds the drawing up for you to see. ‘And this?’ He motions vaguely to his face, then yours.

‘I just-’ You clear your throat. ‘The drawing was for a reference and I needed to throw Flash off of my scent,’ You suck on your teeth and hold out your hand towards you, in surrender. ‘Sorry, for jumping you.’

His brows are still bumped together and you’re almost afraid they’ll never relax again, until he laughs and leans forwards. ‘You didn’t really seem to mind.’

‘Oh please,’ You scoff. ‘I would have rather kissed Ned.’

He twists his face. ‘That’s kind of rude, Y/N,’

You roll your eyes and flip a lock of hair over your shoulder. ‘Because he’s my friend and I trust him.’ You shake your head. ‘But it seems I didn’t have much choice at the moment.’

‘You’re kind of weird.’

‘Thank you,’ You take a step forward and snatch the paper from his hand. He let’s you. ‘I’m sorry again,’ You nod before turning and storming towards Ned and MJ, both doubled over with laughter. You glare at the pair of them.

‘Wait,’ MJ gasps. ‘Did you say you didn’t have a thing for him?’

‘Shut up.’

~~~

Peter only waits two hours to come banging on your door, hard and insistent like he knows you’re there, he knows you’ll be forced to listen to whatever he has to say.

You groan, pulling your comforter from your legs and sliding out of bed. You shuffle towards the door on sockless feet, each sharp knock feeling like a nail being driven into your skull. You open the wooden aperture with a sigh.

Peter is leaning against the door frame, head bowed and hair falling into his face. His hand is raised to knock again and you lean back. ‘What do you want?’

He glances up at you, the hint of a smile on his lips. His brows are bumped together. ‘Hello to you too.’

You breathe in deeply once more, steeling yourself and cocking your head. ‘What are you doing here, Peter?’

‘Can I come in?’ He asks, running his fingers through his hair- a nervous tick, you’d guess. You move away from the doorframe, motioning for him to enter and he nods, strolling past you. The door shuts behind him with a soft click. ‘We need to talk.’

You press your lips together and shake your head, crossing your arms across your chest. You tap your finger against an arm. ‘We really don’t,’ He laughs breathlessly and plops down on your coach, arms spreading out over the back of it. ‘Make yourself right at home.’ You deadpan.

‘Yeah I will, thanks.’

Your eyes roll on their own accord and Peter tilts his chin up. You join him on the plush cushion, perching on the edge as not to be too near to him. He clears his throat.

‘So, everyone thinks we’re dating,’ He starts and you shrug a shoulder.

‘Then set the record straight,’ You respond, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

‘Well, Flash will try and ask you out again.’

You furrow your brows and shake your head. ‘That’s not your problem, Peter,’ His head bobs up and down. ‘Besides, I can just tell him that I have a crush on you and he’ll leave me alone.’

‘Do you?’ Peter tilts his head towards you and bats his eyelashes mockingly.

You glare. ‘Not in the least.’

Peter scratches his nose. ‘Well that’s about to make this really awkward, then,’ He sits up straighter, laying his arms down beside him and faces you square on. You try not to feel intimidated. ‘What if we let them think we’re dating?’

You blink at him, the words barely sinking in. ‘I’m sorry,’ You shake your head. ‘I think I just hallucinated, what did you say?’

He laughs and his head bobs with the gesture. ‘What if we pretend?’

‘W-?’ You sputter, head buzzing with questions. ‘Why?’

‘Well for one thing,’ He grins devilishly. ‘When Liz found out you kissed me she went nuts.’

‘Oh, so you want to use me,’ You mutter.

‘For another,’ He continues. ‘It would give you some experience you know?’

You stare at him incredulously, then shake your head with a laugh. ‘Yeah, I think I’ll pass.’

Peter sighs deeply and leans his head against the back of the couch. ‘Y/N, please, for the sake of friendship.’

You brush your pants off, needing something to with your hands and stand up. ‘Hard pass, but thanks for stopping by.’ You wait for him to stand and he stares at you for a moment, nothing in his piercing gaze but hesitance before he gives in, albeit reluctantly.  

‘Alright,’ He says, moving towards the door. You follow closely behind. ‘I respect your decision.’

‘Thank you,’ You say, stopping by the door and pulling it open.

‘See you at school,’ Peter says, stepping through the frame. Doubt it, you want to say. You nod, sucking on your teeth and the boy turns, pacing down the hall. The door squeaks on it’s hinges as you push it closed, but you only get halfway through the task when your phone buzzes. You pull it free from your pocket.

A text from MJ flashes across the screen, bright and abrupt and it makes you want to drown yourself in your bathtub.

Someone told Flash that you kissed P on a dare, Your eyes roam over the black words, heart seizing in your chest. He’s still gonna go for it.

The urge to stomp your foot like a child fills your gut but you refrain, instead pulling the door back open and peering down the hall.

Peter waits by the elevator, bouncing on the balls of his feet. The lights of the lift flash brightly against the dimly lit hallway and- ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ You mumble to yourself before booking it down the hall. Peter turns at the sound of your pounding footfalls, confusion flashing in his gaze. ‘Peter,’ You say.

‘Y/N,’ He answers, turning to face you fully. ‘What is i-?’

‘Let’s do it,’ You say, shrugging. ‘Let’s just do it, okay?’

He grins and the sight makes your heart beat three times as fast. ‘Great,’ The elevator opens the moment the words leave his lips and he walks backwards until you’re on one side of the frame and he on the other. ‘What made you change your mind?’

‘I just did,’ The doors begin to close. Peter nods his head.

‘I’ll walk you to school tomorrow.’

‘Okay,’ You start to say, but the doors are already closing and suddenly you’re alone.

~~~

True to his word, Peter appears in your apartment complex the following morning, two cups of much too sweet coffee clutched in his hands. He hands one to you. ‘I got you coffee.’

‘Oh,’ You smell, the beverage and try for a sip. The flavours explode on your tongue and you think you may have to get used to Peter and his frilly drinks. ‘Uh, thanks.’

‘No problem,’ He takes a long swig of his own before taking a step down the street. You hurry to keep pace with him. ‘So gameplan,’ He says. ‘How much relationship experience have you had?’ He glances at you.

‘Right,’ You grasp the warm cup with both hands and inhale the deep scent. ‘Well, remember that time we kissed in seventh grade?’

Peter chuckles. ‘Yeah.’

‘That’s about it.’

His pace stalls for half a beat, the only sign of a startled reaction. He swallows hard. ‘Okay.’

‘It’s bad,’ You cast your eyes to the clouds and breathe deeply through your lungs. The cool air stings your nostrils. ‘I know it’s bad.’

‘It’s not that bad,’ He tries to reassure you. Then shakes his head. ‘It’s a little bad, but we can work with it. Just follow my lead.’

‘Follow your lead,’ You repeat. ‘I can do that.’

So when, ten minutes later, Peter takes your hand and slots his fingers through yours, you let him. And when he takes your empty coffee cup and tosses it in the trash can right outside of school, you let him. And when he holds the door open for you and whispers nothings in your ear as you pass, you let him.

‘You’re doing great,’ He says, voice low and you look at him incredulously.

‘All I did was hold your hand,’ You whisper back.

‘Okay, sorry for trying to be supportive,’ He rolls his eyes but it’s playful and you laugh, head tilting back. Peter smiles down at you, squeezing your hand. You squeeze back.

Convincing the rest of the school and your friends of the relationship is surprisingly easy, MJ and Ned shooting each other knowing looks. Peter hits it off with the latter almost immediately but MJ sticks to your side, whispering I told-you-so’s between breaths.

~~~

‘We’re gonna have to kiss at some point, you know,’ Peter says around a mouth full of pizza, you whip your head up to stare at him. The early afternoon light hits him perfectly, and you’re sketching him during your lunch hour when he speaks the words.

You purse your lips. ‘Why?’

He laughs, taking another bite. ‘Who’s gonna believe we’re in a relationship if we don’t kiss?’

‘Maybe we’re just private,’ You shrug, your pen drifting over the paper.

‘Doesn’t have to be much,’ He says. ‘Just a peck before class or something.’

You can feel your cheeks heat up at the thought. They shouldn’t, you’ve kissed Peter before. Twice before but still the thought of pressing your lips against his in a way that has to seem almost normal feels strange.

‘If you’re really not comfortable we don’t have to,’ He tilts his head down to meet your eyes and you press a smile onto your lips.

‘It’s- it’s fine, Peter.’ You lay your pen down. ‘Follow your lead, right?’

He smiles gently. ‘Right.’

The warning bell rings a moment later and you stand, shoving your things into your bag while Peter throws your trash away. You wait for him by the picnic table you’d been seated at and he takes your hand, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

‘Ready?’ He asks. You nod.

Peter’s lips are soft, you realize, now that you have time to enjoy it. His hand is warm against your cheek and your eyes flutter shut for half a moment before he’s pulling away again, and you’re stepping back.

‘See you in seventh,’ He runs his thumb under your eye. You don’t respond, too breathless to even blink but he’s gone before he can notice. You shake your head, wiping the dazed look from your face. Can you really do this?

But you soon realize that fake-dating Peter is easier than you think. The stolen kisses in the halls before class, holding hands any chance you can get and movie nights almost every weekend, more often than not.

But despite the sweet gestures and almost real feelings you can’t help but constantly feel on edge, just waiting for him to break up with you, tell you it’s over and it’s enough. But he doesn’t, and you don’t tell him any different. You barely notice three months pass until Halloween is right around the corner.

The sun beats down harshly on your back and despite the blinding rays of heat the air holds a chill that outlasts even what should be the warmth of a burning sun and you suppress a shiver, pulling the sleeves of your sweater farther down your arms.

It smells of mint and oranges and you almost forget that the piece of fabric used to be Peter’s rather than your own before you swiped it from his closet near a month ago. The frosty air had been too cool for your thin t-shirt, but he never did mind.

You pad up the concrete steps leading to the rusty doors of Midtown Tech and shove them open clumsily. They squeak on their hinges, the frozen metal making your fingertips feel like ice but the heat emitting from the school halls hits you square in the chest, banishing most of the excess cold from your body.

You can barely hear anything beyond the chatter of students, mulling aimlessly around the school until the warning bell rings. You almost want to join them until you spot a familiar mop of brown hair over the crowds, leading to a lean body leaning against your locker.

Peter’s back is to you, but that doesn’t stop him from whipping around when you’re close enough, a lopsided grin plastered on his face. You do your best not to start.

‘Nice try,’ He jokes, crossing his arms as you skip past him to open the metal compartment. You feel his eyes follow you the entire way through. ‘You should know by now you can’t sneak up on me.’

‘Ah, but you have an unfair advantage,’ You grapple for your textbooks, fingers wrapping around the worn covers and pulling them to your chest. You close your locker door with the swing of your hip. ‘Radioactive blood? I never stood a chance.’

‘Hasn’t stopped you before,’ He falls into step beside you as you swing your ratty bag to the front of your shoulder and shove the books inside.

‘Can’t blame a girl for trying,’ You shrug, a grin playing on your lips.

Peter rolls his eyes and pulls on the edge of your collar. ‘This looks awfully familiar,’ His voice is teasing and you catch the glimmer in his eyes at the sight.

‘Does it? I found it in a dumpster, it’s garbage chic.’

He narrows his eyes and grumbles, ‘You’re a jerk.’

You laugh, bumping his shoulder before you link your arm through his and pull him along through the thickening crowd. ‘I’m kidding, Pete.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ He stumbles after you, speeding his pace to match yours and squeezes through the classroom door beside you. You release his arm and take a seat in the back right corner of the class and he plops down beside you, eyes landing on the pretty figure perched in the front. ‘Is Liz wearing a new top?’

You narrow your eyes, looking the girl up and down before humming. ‘Think so,’ Peter glances at you. ‘Should I be worried that you notice that?’

He smiles, lopsided and boyish. ‘I notice a lot of things.’

‘Like?’ You press.

‘Like how this is the third sweater you’ve stolen from me,’ He shakes his head. ‘Am I ever getting them back?’

You pull the fabric over your fingers and grin cheekily. ‘Nope, say your goodbyes Pete.’

He snatches the edge of the sleeve and grips your hand under it, pressing his lips against the soft fabric. ‘Goodbye,’ He whispers dramatically. You pull your hand back quickly and shoot him a sarcastic grin.

‘You’re annoying.’

‘But you love me anyways,’ He winks.

You shake your head. ‘Gross,’ You mumble jokingly but Peter’s attention is already elsewhere. Elsewhere being the back of Liz Allen’s head.

You feel a twinge in your chest and look away. ‘You still on that?’ You ask.

He whips his head to you, eyes wide in question. ‘What?’

‘Nothing, nevermind,’ You try to backtrack, but Peter’s eyes are glued to you now, and they won’t let go.

‘Are you okay?’

You breathe in deeply, trying not to snap and turn to him. ‘Don’t you think people will think it weird that my boyfriend keeps staring at another girl?’ You emphasize boyfriend, as if it’s a foreign subject, one that you don’t understand. ‘Peter, we should stop this.’

‘What?’ He leans towards you, sliding his hand towards yours but your fingers barely graze before you’re pulling away. ‘Y/N, you can’t do this in the middle of class-’

‘Then I’ll do it after,’ You whisper. ‘What does it matter, Peter? This was bound to end at some point.’

He shakes his head, as if it’s the last thing he expected to hear and turns to the front of the class. Neither of you speak for the remainder of it, a heavy silence settling over you. It’s safe to say you bolt out of the room the second you’re able, and Peter doesn’t follow you. You don’t know why you wish he did.

~~~

You’re almost asleep when three sharp knocks against your window send your blood racing and your heart pounding. It’s dark, too dark to see and with the thin curtain pulled across the window pane you can barely see but a dim figure outlined behind it.

You slip out of bed quietly, grabbing a book from your floor and hefting it high over your head. Steeling yourself with a deep breath, you rip the curtain back with a flourish.

Peter sits perched on your fire escape, his mask in hand and he looks startled for a moment before a confused grin splits his face. You slide the window open. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘Is that a book?’ He laughs, leaning towards you. ‘Y/N, what is a book going to do?’

‘It was the first thing I could find,’ You whisper harshly, stepping back and tossing it on your bed. Peter grips the top of the window frame and swings in, bouncing on his feet before standing still. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘We need to talk,’ He says, you roll your eyes.

‘No, we really don’t.’

‘Sounds familiar,’ he tilts his head and you glance away, trying not to think of how this horrid charade began. He furrows his brows. ‘Please?’

‘Peter, what is there to talk about?’ You breathe. ‘Flash lost interest, Liz is sufficiently jealous,’ You shake your head. ‘There’s no point anymore.’

He darts forwards and takes your hand, you try to pull away but he holds fast. ‘No, listen,’ He squeezes your hand, dropping his mask to the ground in the process. His eyes are filled with desperation. ‘There is a point.’

You glance up in ridicule, huffing out a breath and pulling away. ‘Well I can’t see it, Peter,’ You step backwards. ‘And it’s only gonna end up hurting one of us because-’ You choke on your breath, not daring to speak any farther.

The blue of Peter’s suit looks grey in the dim light, but the red is ever so bright. Peter swallows. ‘Because what?’

You shake your head again. ‘Because this is stupid, Peter. And hardly your typical relationship,’ You press your lips together tightly. ‘Please leave.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t want to see you anymore,’ You can feel your eyes brim with tears, whether from fatigue or heartbreak you don’t know. ‘I’m tired of being second best to- to someone who’s never going to see you that way,’ The words sting as they come out. ‘Go home.’

But Peter doesn’t move, he stares at you with nothing but pain until he’s surging forwards. Until he’s pressing his lips against yours in a very real way. Your hands clasp the back of his neck and his arms are tight around your back.

You’re kissing Peter Parker in a very real way, and you don’t think you want it to end.

But it does with a gasp and a grin. Peter nudges your nose. ‘You were never second best,’ The words are whispered against your lips like a prayer. You kiss him again and realize with a jolt that everything has changed. Nothing is as it was.

~~~

Taglist:

@minnie-marvel @celestialparker @lokis-sunflower-anna @magic-marvel @quxntumvandyne @lokiisragnarok @highlady-ofthe-summercourt @secondsineternity @sadicallyrad @laurfangirl424 @hedwigthelegend@spiderdudeparker @hazzyhollander @dontpanc @signed-potato @propertyofmarvel @awkwardnesshabitat @spideyboipete @thelivvylovegood @yoinksholland @moonkissedtom @candycornparker

@anxieteaandbiscuits

[the-walking-memelords]

Allegiances: Chapter 7

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 8

Series is rated M

Word Count: 3941

There has to be another way.

Read it on Ao3!

Read it on Wattpad!

The golden light of the sun warmed her cheeks as Clementine stared up into the bright blue sky. The dark grey clouds of an approaching storm peeked over the horizon, the faint roar of thunder in the distance just barely audible on the breeze.

The courtyard was unfamiliarly empty, lacking the presence of the other kids bustling around completing their daily tasks. If a storm was on its way, surely they would need to prepare, right? Yet the sound of the wind rustling the branches of the trees was the only noise filling the vacant area.

Where is everyone?

“Hello?” She called out to no one in particular.

“Hello, soldier.” A dreadfully recognizable voice answered her from behind. Clementine’s blood ran cold as she slowly turned.

“Lilly?” she gasped, looking around again for any sign of the others but finding nothing.

Clem didn’t even see Lilly’s hand swing before it made contact with her face, backhanding her to the ground. Pain shot across the left side of her face as she laid in the dirt, not daring to stand.

“That’s commander Lilly to you, you little shit.” The woman spat.

“You didn’t make it easy on yourself but a job well-done nonetheless.”

“I-I’m sorry, commander.” Fear and confusion raced through her veins.

“I don’t understand what you mean, my assignment isn’t over yet.”

I still have time here...

...don’t I?

Lilly grabbed a fistful of the girl’s hair, harshly dragging her off the ground by her curls. Clementine grimaced, scrambling to her feet to alleviate the pain. Once released from Lilly’s grip, she stood at attention. Clem tried to remain still as her body shook with anxiety through every breath.

“We have what we need.” Lilly declared with a smile that made her stomach twist.

“All thanks to you.”

A loud crash of thunder overhead made Clementine flinch as it caught her by surprise. A puffy storm cloud blocked out the sun, bathing the yard in pitch darkness as the wind blew vigorously. The light that came to illuminate the courtyard once more did not come from the sky, but from the ground as the brilliant flames torched the overgrown weeds.

The loud whistle of the winds became mixed with the sound of horrified screaming. Clementine watched as Delta soldiers burst from both the admin building and the dormitory dragging her terrified friends away as they struggled for their lives.

“No…” She mumbled. Her feet moved on their own, instinctively moving towards them to help.

“Where do you think you’re going, soldier?” Lilly whispered in her ear as she wrapped her arm tightly around Clem’s shoulder.

“This was your doing.”

She felt as if her heart had stopped beating as she watched them scramble helplessly. They all flailed helplessly, crossed between struggling against their own attackers and trying to reach out for each other. Clementine could do nothing but watch as this family was forcefully torn apart in front of her, all screaming each other’s names, fighting tooth and nail to retain their freedom.

All but one, it seemed.

There was one member of the group whose eyes were locked on someone different.

“Clementine!” Louis screamed her name, struggling against the woman pulling him away.

Time slowed. Her breathing stopped. Jagged claws seemed to tear at her chest as he reached for her, betrayal and panic in his soft brown eyes yet still he tried to get to her. She couldn't bring herself to look away no matter how much she wanted to.

I did this.

The freckled boy sharply jammed his elbow into his attacker’s jaw, managing to break free from her grasp. Out of the corner of her eye, Clem noticed Lilly’s hand reaching for her pistol. “NO!” She yelled, her fist connecting with Lilly’s throat.

The woman staggered backwards, gasping for air as Clem raced towards the boy.

Barely. Their fingers had just barely touched before the world faded into a flash of light and her back hit the mattress.

---

Clementine felt winded as she sucked the dusty air of the dorm room into her lungs. Her loose curls clung to her face, slick with both sweat and tears. Rays of early morning sunshine filled her room with a golden glow. She rolled onto her stomach, weakly propping herself up on her elbows as she tried to recover from that surreal nightmare.

Nightmare, or premonition?

Surely the images her mind conjured to torture her were not a far cry from the future.

She leaned back against the wall, running her hands through her damp hair. Flashes of what she had witnessed in her sleep continued to flash across her vision. It seemed yesterday morning was her only reprieve from the exhaustion that overtook her every other morning as she slumped limply back onto her pillow. Clementine groaned, forcing herself to stand on wobbly knees.

Leftover anxiety from her dream tugged at her chest as she walked down the empty dorm hallway. She stalled at the door, fingers tracing the rusted metal of the handle.

Get a hold of yourself.

Clem shut her eyes tightly as she turned the handle, walking forward until she felt the warm sun on her face. She opened her eyes slowly, feeling them sting as they adjusted to the bright light. A wave of relief washed over her when she saw her friends dispersed around the courtyard, all going on with life as normal. She caught sight of Violet who was seeing off the hunting party at the gates. Clem tried to catch her attention by waving to her. The blonde smiled as she waved back.

“What’s the plan for today?” Clem asked, looking for a distraction

“For you? To take a fucking break.” She laughed

“Things are going fine, and you could definitely use a day off.”

“Violet, for the last time I’m fine.” She huffed at the unconvinced leader.

Violet didn’t take the news well about what happened at the hardware store. Once she confirmed neither of them were dying, she made sure to give Louis an earful about not being careful enough.

“Clem, you got strangled yesterday.” Violet crossed her arms, shaking her head.

“I’m not gonna let you work yourself to death.”

Clementine let out an exasperated sigh, frustrated with her injuries making her seem frail.

“A couple of bruises never killed anyone, Vi.” She snapped.

“Louis had it way worse than me.”

She remembered how pale Louis looked by the time they got back to the school. Exhaustion and blood loss taking a toll on him to the point where he had an arm around her shoulder to steady himself. The makeshift bandage had long since soaked through, blood still dripping down his sleeve.

“How is he?” Her worried expression was mirrored on Violet’s face.

“Sleeping in. Ruby checked on him a couple hours ago.” Vi glanced over Clem’s shoulder to the dormitory. “The wound isn’t infected, he’s just tired from the blood loss.”

I’ll have to go check on him later.

“He saved my life.” Clementine didn’t know Louis had it in him to attack another living person with such ferocity. This was the same boy who made Aasim snap the necks of the rabbits caught in their traps, bringing his bat down on the head of a human being.

“He almost killed someone for me.”

“He’s never killed someone before.” Violet told her.

“None of us have, really. It’s different from putting someone down.”

“Yeah, it is.” You never forget that last look in someone’s eyes right before it ends for them.

It was a look she never wanted to see in any of them.

“I know you said you wanted to bulk the defences…” Clem began.

“But I think we should take it a step further. Turn this place into a fortress.”

Her heart began to thump loudly in her chest.

What am I doing?

She didn’t quite know. Her brain came up empty but her heart seemed to know the way, so she decided to trust it.

“Do you know how to do that?” The leader asked.

“Where would we start?”

“I was once part of a siege in a town called Richmond.” Her arm burned at the memories of the New Frontier. The first time she really lost AJ.

“We should start with the walls. Repairing any weak spots and improving where we can.”

So much of the school wasn’t included in Marlon’s safe zone… there must be a breach somewhere.

“We used to keep barbed wire in the greenhouse.” Vi suggested.

“No one’s been out there in forever though. We lost someone out there a while back, walkers overran the place and Marlon banned us from going there.”

“Then that’s where we’ll start.”

---

“I guess I didn’t realize how long it’s been…” Ruby commented as she, Clem, and Mitch approached the busted up greenhouse. “...how much it’s changed.”

The glass panels were caked with grime cracked from years of neglect. Missing panes replaced with wooden planks acting as a limited fortification that wouldn't keep much more than the raccoons at bay.

Ruby tried the door, forcing her shoulder against it without success.

“Uh, this ain’t budgin’” Mitch stated the obvious.

“Well are you gonna stand there sulkin’ all day, or are you gonna do something useful?” Her southern accent full of sarcasm.

“Well, we need that barbed wire.” Clementine sighed.

“There has to be another way in.”

The three of them scanned the perimeter of the building, searching for a way inside. Clementine wiped her sleeve against the glass, disappointed to find most of the dirt was on the opposite side. “Ugh. I can’t see shit.” She grumbled, not being able to make out much more than foggy shapes through the windows.

“Yeah, there’s too much condensation on the inside.” Mitch said, flicking the glass.

“Condensation? That's a big word for you, Mitch.” Ruby laughed

“Shut up.”

Clementine smiled as she shook her head. Her eyes caught sight of a broken ladder hanging off the side of the greenhouse, the rung missing almost all the way up to the roof.

Bingo.

“I found something.” She called to the other two.

Part of the skylight near the top of the ladder seemed to have been busted in by a falling branch, the majority of the panel missing leaving just enough room for her to slip through.

“If I can just get up there I can get the door open from the inside without having to break more of the glass.” All Clem needed was a boost.

“Are you... sure you’re good?” Mitch asked hesitantly.

She switched her gaze from Mitch to Ruby, who also seemed to share his concerned look.

Oh for fuck's sake.

“Ugh. Not you guys too.” She groaned.

“Look, I already got an earful from Violet before coming out here and I don’t need to hear it again.”

She grit her teeth in frustration. Why couldn’t they realize she was tougher than they thought?

“We’re not insinuatin’ nothin’ we just-”

“Shut up and give me a fucking boost.”

They looked at each other before giving in to her demand, lifting her feet until she was able to grasp one of the few intact rungs. She pulled herself up to the roof, looking back down at them.

You're making them scared of you.

“Hollar if something grabs you. Otherwise, we’ll come once you give the all-clear.” Ruby’s words went unanswered as Clementine slipped through the broken window onto the table below.

Her feet landed on the old wood with a loud thump, boots crunching in the fallen shards of glass. The inside of the greenhouse seemed just as overgrown as the outside. The planter beds were overflowing with unkept vegetation.

This place certainly needs some work.

A low growl echoed through the building. A walker stood up from its spot against the wall across from her, it’s stiff joints cracking from disuse. It’s rotted lips almost formed a sickening smile as it charged towards her.

“Clementine! You okay?” She heard Ruby yell to from outside the door.

Clementine readied her knife, ignoring Ruby’s cries. She swung her foot, kicking out the walker’s knee and jamming her blade up through its jaw as it fell.

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, thank God.” Ruby gasped

Fine for now, at least. More moans came from behind her as two more walkers emerged from behind the plants.

Shit.

They came at her from two directions, cornering her. Clementine only had a few seconds to make a decision. She spotted another knife sitting on the table. She grabbed it, sending it flying into one of the walker’s skull with a thunk just as the other one reached her. The smell of death filled her nose as the corpse slammed her against the window. She struggled with it, its boney fingers locked around her wrist. She managed to squeeze her leg in between them.  Pressing her foot to its abdomen and using all of her strength to throw the walker off of her. The second its back hit the ground Clementine launched herself on top of it, sinking her knife deep into its head before it had the chance to attack again.

“More walkers? Didja get ‘em?” Ruby knocked on the door again.

“Do you hear any walkers? She got ‘em, calm down.” Mitch seemed to be having enough of her worry-wart demeanour.

“I’ll get the door open.” She tried to catch her breath as she removed the wood boards that had been jamming it shut.

Ruby gave her a smile and a nod before making a beeline for the planter beds to see what remained. Mitch examined the three dead walkers that laid around them. He seemed almost impressed.

“Not bad.” He told her.

“Never underestimate me.” She warned.

“Guys, look.” Ruby spoke excitedly.

“Wild ginger, eastern prickly pear, Jerusalem artichoke, false Solomon’s seal.”

Clementine followed her as she named the different plants she found. There was a sparkle in her eyes told her that Ruby really enjoyed gardening.

“Let’s just get that barbed wire and anything else that might be useful.” Mitch groaned, disinterested in any of the plant life.

“You can only eat the same bland rabbit stew so many times before you go crazy.” Ruby said to Clem, paying him no mind.

“Jeez, don’t let Omar hear you say that, or you might be in the next stew.” She joked.

“These herbs are going to do wonders for morale, you wait and see.” The read head smiled.

Clementine began a sweep of the building. Other than tangled weeds and empty pots, there wasn’t much left to see. Nothing really worth taking other than a few gardening tools and a prybar.

“I don’t see any barbed wire anywhere. Are you sure this is where you kept it?” It didn’t seem like a thing you could easily miss.

“Yeah, this is where we had it… I think.” Mitch didn’t seem too sure.

“Oh shit, maybe it’s in here.”

Mitch knocked on an old metal cabinet. It was the only place they hadn’t looked, so it seemed like a good bet. He tried pulling on the handle, frustrated when it refused to budge.

“Damn, lock’s rusted shut.” he determined.

“I got it.” Clementine lodged the prybar in between the two doors, breaking them open with a little force.

“Bingo!” Mitch cheered as they uncovered the three large spools they were searching for.

“This’ll do nicely.” Ruby said as she carefully pulled the spools from the shelf.

“We should get these back to Violet.”

“Hold up, we can use this too.” Mitch studied the fertilizer bags that had also been locked away inside.

“We can make bombs out of these.”

“Bombs… Are you serious?” It was at this moment Clem realized that this boy was going to get them killed.

“Totally!” Mitch was acting like a kid in a candy store.

“It’s... the kind of stuff I used to make back home.”

“He used to blow shit up.” Ruby said bluntly.

“That’s why he’s a ‘Troubled Youth.’”

“Guilty.”

Mitch seemed pretty enthusiastic about the idea, and if he really did know what he was doing…

This could be useful.

“All I need is some propane and something to create a spark. The, we’ll have ourselves a nice little homemade explosive.” Mitch laughed mischievously.

“Where would we find something like that?” Clem asked.

“There’s a science lab just off of this greenhouse.” He pointed to a set of double doors blocked off by a heavy metal shelf.

“Might just have what we’re lookin’ for.”

Clementine pushed all of her weight against the old shelves but could hardly get them to move an inch.

“Let me give you a hand.” Mitch and Clementine pushed against it together, heaving the metal shelf out of the way. It landed on the paving stones with a loud crash.

Hopefully, nothing on the other side heard that.

Mitch pressed his ear to the door. Everyone held their breath, listening for any sign of more of those things.

“I think we’re good.” He said after a minute.

“I’ll go in first.” Clementine gripped her knife as she slowly opened the door.

The science lab wasn’t what she expected. Another overgrown room with paving stones for a floor, weeds peeking in between the rocks.

Clementine had hardly taken a few steps into the room before something grabbed her wrist tightly. She dropped her knife in surprise as she struggled against the trapped walker. She pulled back, fighting against it until eventually, its rotted joint gave way before its grip did.

“Fuck. Fuck. Gross.” Clem gagged as she shook off the severed hand.

“Are you alright?!” Ruby asked, hearing her cry out.

“We had a scare, that’s all.” Mitch answered for her.

Rudy let out a shuddered gasp once she got a good look at the walker.

“O-oh no…” The redhead held her hands over her mouth.

This walker was a woman. Her remaining hand tied to the trellis behind her. She sat in one of the overgrown gardens, the moss and vines crawling over her corpse. Many different coloured flowers bloomed from her skin, creating something almost inexplicably beautiful about her.

“Who was she?” Clementine asked.

“Her name was Ms. Martin.” Ruby strained through her choked voice.

“She was the nurse here, at the school.”

Ruby couldn't take her eyes off of the former nurse, standing just out of reach of her missing hand.

“She was the only one who stayed when all the others left. God, she looks…” A few tears slid down her rosy cheeks.

“You can hardly recognize her. She’s… she’s just like all the others.”

“I’m sorry, Ruby.” Clementine put her hand on the girl’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

“I j- I just wish I could make her look like she used to.” Ruby had to look away, unable to face her former friend any longer.

“We came out here one day, lookin’ for food. Walkers attacked us. We thought we could fight ‘em off but… there were too many. Ms. Martin told us to run… and we did.”

A sad smile crossed her face as she reminisced her old memories.

“She’s the one who taught me to patch people up. Stitchin’, local anesthetics, painkillers, fever reducers.” A few more tears fell.

“I… I can’t do it. I cant… take care of her...”

“I’ve got it.” Clementine said softly, giving her one more pat on the back before retrieving her knife.

Ruby flinched at the sound of the knife piercing the decayed nurse’s skull.

“Come on, guys.” Mitch finally spoke up.

“Help me find that propane so we can get the hell out of here.”

Does he even care about her?

“Let’s take a look around then.” Clementine left Ruby alone for a moment to search the shelves.

She found a strange metal object in one of the boxes. Two connected metal rods leading to a round cap at one end.

“Uh, Mitch? Is this useful?” She held it up to him.

“Fuckin-A. I was hoping there would be one of those! It’s an igniter. We can use it to make a spark.” He took the metal contraption from her, flipping it over in his hands.

“Should go nicely with this bad boy.” Mitch lightly kicked a propane tank he had found in one of the cabinets.

“I guess that's everything then.”

“No.” Ruby said with a whimper.

“We have to bury Ms. Martin first.”

“Why bother? It’s a walker.” Mitch said coldly.

“Let’s drag it out back, we can burn it.”

“Wh-what? No! After everything she did for us?” The girl sobbed.

“Ms. Martin is the reason we’re all alive!”

“And?”

“Mitch, you can’t be that heartless.” Clementine was flabbergasted by his indifference.

“Getting to bury someone you love isn’t an option that comes by often these days!”

Clementine grabbed the shovel she had found.

“We bury her.”

---

“Did you find it?” Violet greeted the group as they reentered the yard.

“Yeah, we got it.” Mitch said flatly, pushing past the others.

“The hell’s his problem?” The blonde questioned.

“Long story.” Ruby sighed, also cutting the conversation short.

Violet turned, confused as she watched them leave.

“What happened out there?” She asked Clem.

“We found Ms. Martin.” Was all she had to say for Vi to understand.

“That was… long overdue. At least she can rest now.” Violet crossed her arms.

“By the way, Louis is looking for you.”

“He is?”

“Yeah, he kinda freaked out a little when he heard you went to the greenhouse.” She scratched the back of her head.

“Guess he’s still shaken up by what happened.”

Clementine hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to him much since they got back. She felt slightly guilty for leaving without saying goodbye.

“Where is he?” Clem asked.

“Dunno for su-”

“Clementine!” The freckled boy jogged up to them.

“Nevermind I found him.” Violet joked, leaving the two of them alone.

“Heh, I wake up and find out you’ve gone off on an adventure without me.” He laughed off his worry.

“You never slow down, do you?”

“That’s how I’m still alive.” She smiled devilishly.

“I’m just… really glad you’re okay.” Louis fiddled with the collar of his coat, still seeming on edge.

“Hey, I’m alright.” She said softly, her eyes moving to the bloody tear in his sleeve.

“How’s your arm?”

“Better, just stings a little if I try to lift something.” He rubbed his arm.

“But hey! Now I have an excuse to slack off.”

That made her laugh. His winning smile was contagious.

Why is he so damn… cute?

They just stood there for a moment, smiling and laughing with each other. The way he made her feel was almost intoxicating, making her want to spend every moment she could by his side. Something… Someone… she wanted to fight for.

Someone she didn’t want to slip away.

Someone she wished she could save.

Clementine knew she didn’t have a true plan, but maybe… just maybe… there was a way for her to get away with this. To rip that collar from her neck once and for all. But there was one issue... she wasn’t sure if she would be saving her boy’s life or certifying his death.

I can’t do this shit anymore.

Perhaps the light that she’d found here could guide her to a new home. If she would give it a chance instead of snuffing it out as Lilly planned for her.

I’m smart.

Smarter than all of them.

This time was different. It was only a thread, but still enough to grasp at.

I’m going to get you back, goofball.

I’m going to save us all.

[darley1101]

September 6: HOME (better late than never)

A/N Day 6 of the September prompt challenge hosted by @i-dream-so-i-write. I'm delving into another request from...you guessed it... @blackcatkita. This time it is for Damien and Ava from Perfect Match. The request combines today's (September 6th's) theme of Home and blackcatkita's request of what do they bring to each other. It combines canon from both books as well as little things I've written about this couple. Tag lists are after the story. If you would like to be added or taken off please let me know. Enjoy the show!

The coppery taste of blood lingered on Damien Nazario's tongue, a reminder of Cecile's earlier tantrum. Watching the normally compose woman come unhinged had been worth the momentary sting of the back of her hand across his face. The obvious panic, steeped in desperation, could only mean one thing: Rowan West's plans were starting to crumble. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Cecile muttered, pacing the sparsely furnished room where they had been keeping him hostage for the last two weeks. Damien tried to smirk  but ended up wincing when the bloody fissure in his lip split further. Damn it. He added 'ruined my chance to gloat' to the list of grievances he had against the woman. “I bet you're enjoying this,” Cecile sneered, stalking towards him, her eyes blazing and fists balled at her sides. She stopped just short of the chair he was tied to and lowered her face so it was close enough he could smell the sushi she had for lunch. “Enjoy it while you can because you won't be laughing when we get ours hands on the Park cousins or Miss Washington.” 

  Screw it. Damien smirked, settling back in the chair. He would have crossed his ankles and folded his hands on his lap if not for the damn ropes restraining him. “Your breathe smells like fish,” he mused, biting back a curse when her claws raked across his left cheek. Their attempts to break him with physical pain was  hilarious. This wasn't his first round of hostage, the only difference was the last guys had known what the word torture really meant. Rowan West and his lackeys were a joke. It would take more than cat claws to break him. Didn't they realize that? Hell, even the videos of Ava with fake Damien hadn't gotten under his skin. He'd rather enjoyed watching Ava question what was wrong with him, why was he acting different, rebuffing all physical advances except for one tame kiss at the Louvre, and then figuring out that he had been replaced. “That all you've got?” 

  “Don't test me Nazario,” Cecile bit out from between clenched teeth. Sweat beaded across her upper lip, panic dilated her eyes. She was starting to crack. One could almost smell the fear on her, mingling with her floral perfume and the stench of tuna and seaweed lingering on her breathe. 

  “Wouldn't dream of it,” he chuckled, his dark eyes clashing with her lighter brown ones. Her arm drew back, ready to strike him. They both froze as the monitor that had been connected to android Damien beeped and then flickered on. Cecile turned, her chest heaving, eyes glued to the screen, her nostrils flaring when Ava's face came into view. Damien's heart skipped a beat, his gaze hungrily drinking in the sight of the woman he loved. Her long, dark hair was pulled up in the space buns she liked to wear when she was struggling with an article and there were bruise like smudges beneath her eyes, which were shiny with determination and rage. 

  “Is it connected?” Ava asked, glancing to her left. Her chest expanded, her slender shoulders rising slightly before her lips pursed and the air gushed out. “Hello Cecile. I've given your ultimatum some thought and, well, it doesn't really work for me.” She paused, tilting her head slightly; a wisp of hair escaped the space buns atop her head, lying against her bare shoulder. “So let me tell you have its going to be.” Ava leaned forward a little, her eyes boring directly into the screen. “You're going to meet us at that little sushi place where you had lunch. There's a bench outside. Damien will be sitting on the bench in...” she glanced at something in her hand, presumably her phone, “thirty minutes. And, in case you're thinking about pulling a fast one I have three words for you  Pineridge Wellness Center.” 

The blood drained from Cecile's face, leaving her a pasty, grayish color. Her hands visibly shook as she fumbled with her phone. “Hello, this is Cecile Contreras. I would like to...” her voice trembled, her breathing accelerating as she listened to the person on the other end of the line. “Oh I see. Yes. Thank you. I wasn't aware that his father had done that. No, no. It's fine. Thank you.” There is a moment of stillness, suddenly pierced by Cecile screaming and throwing her phone. 

“By now you've called the Pineridge Wellness Center and discovered that Stephen is no longer there.” Ava let out a sigh, a small sympathetic smile tipping the corners of his lips. “Don't worry. He's safe. Not a single hair on his head has been harmed” Ava leaned forward a little more, “We'll see you in thirty minutes.” 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Cecile screamed, her face twisting into a grotesque mask of fear, rage, and anxiety. Her hands flew up, fingers that violently shook digging into her hair, ruining the perfect french twist. “They're dead,” she spat out, “do you hear me Nazario, I'm going to kill them! Starting with that little bitch Ava!” Chunks of her hair tumbled around her shoulders, making her look as disheveled as she sounded. “They had no right! No right!” Her voice started to fade, replaced by sniffles. A tear dripped onto Damien's forearm as she rapidly untied the ropes binding him to the chair. “No right,” she whispered. 

It was on the tip of Damien's tongue to remind her that she, along with Rowan West, had done a lot of things they had 'no right' to do, but what was the point? People like West and Cecile could never see past their twisted visions to the damage they were causing. Hell, West equated himself to God. Still, whoever this Stephen was, he meant something to Cecile and that, combined with her already cracked demeanor, meant there was a shot at swaying her to turn on West. “You know, Ava and Nadia aren't like West or you. They won't hurt this Stephen.” 

 “Shut up,” Cecile snapped, her nails digging into the skin above the ropes that secured his ankles to the chair. “I don't want to hear another word out of you.” “I'm serious, Cecile.” Lowering his voice to the soothing tone he used with high strung witnesses, Damien forced himself to offer her a reassuring look. “I can tell that you're scared, that you're worried they're going to treat Stephen the way you've treated me.” Equal amounts of fury and terror filled her eyes, affirming that he had had hit the nail on the head. “They're not that way-” Cecile's head snapped up. “Do you think I enjoy this? That I want to be this way?” She shook her head, more of her hair tumbling down. “Well you're wrong. I just....” her mouth snapped shut and she narrowed her eyes. “I know what you're doing and it won't work. You, more than anyone, should understand what it's like to be in too deep, with no way out.” The last of the ropes fell to floor. “Get up.” 

  Rolling his wrists, then his ankles, Damien worked the circulation back into his extremities. “There's always a way out,” he corrected her, rubbing a burn the rope had left on his wrist. 

  “Not for me.” Cecile narrowed her eyes. “And you better be right. There better not be a single hair on my so...Stephen's head that's been harmed.” 

Son, Damien deduced. She'd been about to say son but corrected herself. It made sense. During her phone call to the Pineridge Wellness Center she'd mentioned 'his father.' That was what West had on her, what kept her loyal to him. Was West the father? Or was he just supplying the funds for treatments Cecile couldn't afford otherwise? “I told you. Ava and Nadia aren't like West. They don't get off on hurting innocent people like your son.” 

  “I never said he was my son,” Cecile retorted in a tense voice. She turned away, punching a code into the keypad next to the door. Stepping back, she gestured for him to walk through first.“Lets go. And if you know what's good for you, you'll keep your mouth shut.”  

Damien didn't know what surprised him more. The fact that Cecile was actually crossing West and doing as Ava asked or the fact that the room they'd been keeping him in was little more than a storage room over what smelled like a sushi restaurant. Probably the same place they were supposed to meet Ava in front of, he realized. The staircase they took was narrow and steep, with room for single file descent. With each step they took, his heart pounded harder. Through the glass door at the bottom of the stairwell he could see a bench and there, his heart skipped  a beat, next to it stood a familiar figure with their dark hair pulled up in space buns atop her head. Ava. Just thinking her name, seeing her through the frosted pane, instilled a sense of peace,  a sense of home. He'd spent most of his captivity thinking about her, about everything she had brought to his life and that single word had stood out: home. Ava was his home.

“I've upheld my end of the bargain,” Cecile sneered the moment they exited the building. “Now uphold yours. Where's Stephan?” 

  “Somewhere safe,”Ava said softly. There was a sympathy in her dark eyes that Damien didn't quite understand. “I have the information here,” she held up a large, thick manila envelope. “It contains everything you need to know, as well as a chance to leave. The choice is yours. But first...” she turned to look Damien. “But first, I need for Damien to get into that cab right there.” She nodded towards a small vehicle that was idling nearby. Everything in him screamed to stay there, to protect Ava at all costs but she had a plan, one he didn't know. He had to trust her. Clenching his fists to keep from reaching out to touch her, Damien slowly walked to the cab. 

  “Hello Damien,” Alana greeted when he slid into the backseat of the car. “Good to see you're mostly in one piece.” 

  “What can I say, they don't know shit about torturing prisoners.” Every nerve in his body stood at attention, ready to launch into action should the need arise. He fidgeted, twisting to look out the back window. Like a trained professional, Ava was making her way to the cab while keeping an eye on Cecile. “Want to explain to me what was in that envelope?” 

“A chance at a new life,” Alana told him. “One where she can take care of her son and not have Rowan West pulling the strings.” 

  So the mysterious Stephen was Cecile's son. Damien wanted to ask more, to press for details on how they had found the boy and how they had gotten him out of the facility where he lived, but Ava chose that moment to slide into the cab. “Let's go,” she ordered, snuggling up next to Damien. “I'm sure Damien is ready to go home.” 

  “We've been over this, freeing him from Eros does not mean you can go home,” Alana chided. 

  Damien wrapped his arms around Ava's tiny form, pulling her on to his lap. “I'll settle for a taste of home then” he murmured before capturing her lips in a kiss that left him wincing and longing for more home.

perma tag list: @debramcg1106 @josieschoices @boneandfur @speedyoperarascalparty @christopher-powell @tmarie82 @blackcatkita @mfackenthal @hamulau @endlessly-searching-for-you @umccall71 @damienazariostan @drakelover78 @penguininapinktuxedo @eileendannie @kingliamthirst @stopforamoment @writtenbycandy @lizeboredom @alicars @choiceslife @leelee10898 @choicesfannatalie @liamxs-world @hopefulmoodobject @katurrade @boneandfur @speedyoperarascalparty @umccall71 @eileendannie @hopefulmoonobject @lizeboredom @liamxs-world 

Damien x MC tag: @clarissafics @confessionsofabrokegirl 

@choices-september-challenge 

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Fortitude [an all-new Reveal ficlet]

(AKA the reveal fic that no one asked for but wouldn’t leave me alone and so here it is. tagging @ohhsoadorkable and @storyiicharacter because I’m pretty sure you two like this sort of thing??)

They grabbed her in the carpark. Lena was tired, and rushed, and either of those would be excuse enough for letting her guard down. But truth be told, she'd gotten complacent. She simply hadn't thought to be on edge.

So she didn't expect the hands that grabbed her from behind, and had no defense against the prick of a needle against her neck, or the darkness that swiftly followed.

She woke in a pale room, wearing clothes that weren't her own. Her arms were locked over her head, held in place by heavy manacles sealed to the wall she rested against. Sitting as she was, she had full view of the room before her-- and the pair of men grinning down at her.

"What do you want?" Her voice remained steady. This part was familiar at least.

"Information," came the gruff response.

Lena eyed him, unafraid of the unspoken threat of how he intended to get that information. "L-Corp doesn't negotiate for information. Money, we can talk. Anything else, you're wasting your time."

The man smirked, and crouched beside her, leaning in to peer eerily into her eyes. Lena pulled back, until the back of her head smacked the wall behind her.

"Relax, beautiful." Rough fingers chucked her under the chin. "You're not the target."

Suddenly, the room plunged into an unnatural red glow. A door opened in the far wall and two new men entered, dragging a third body between them. Lena's heart lifted to her throat when she saw the cape and boots and long blonde hair of Supergirl.

Manacles matching Lena's already adorned the hero's wrists. All the goons had to do was press them against the wall until they beeped, and there they stayed, leaving Supergirl slumped against the wall, as pinned as Lena.

Lena stared, her hope dwindling as the unconscious hero, red light, and her own presence came together to form one chilling picture.

"You're leverage."

Kara came to slowly. When she finally had the strength to raise her head, she made out blurry figures on the far side of the room-- two men, one beefy and muscled, the other wearing a cruel smile. A third figure sat shackled to the wall between them, and with a jolt Kara realized it was Lena.

Long banks of lamps sat deep in a ceiling high overhead, bathing them all in a sickening red glow.

Kara focused on the smirking man across the room. "Let her go."

"No," he replied. His smirk grew.

"What do you want?"

"The location of the Fortress of Solitude."

Kara's mouth ran dry. The Fortress-- her people's entire knowledge. Their culture. Their technology. Its location was secret not just to remain a refuge for her and Kal, but also to keep Krypton's science out of the hands of those who would abuse it.

She looked to Lena, who shook her head in warning.

Silence hung between them, eerie in the red light of the lamps. When no answer was forthcoming, the man broke into a full smile.

"I was hoping that would be your answer."

With a snap of his fingers, his muscle man withdrew a hinged hoop of metal. Crouching next to Lena, he snapped it around her neck and once closed, it flashed with a slow pulsing light where the connection was made.

"Your friend's new necklace is going to cause her a great deal of pain," the man said. He lifted a remote, and waggled it tauntingly as he held Kara's gaze. "It won't kill her, though. Not yet. So I'll be back in the morning to see if you've changed your mind."

He pushed to his feet, and the two men on Kara's side of the room filed out.

The man who had spoken before pressed a button on the remote he held. There was a beep, and Lena's wrists were free, and she surged to her feet. Before she could take a single step, the man tapped the remote a second time.

The pulsing light at Lena's throat flashed bright and solid. Lena dropped like a rock, every muscle snapping tight as her entire body seemed to spasm at once.

"LENA!"

"We'll be back in the morning," the man sneered, passing Lena's seizing form without a second glance. "Enjoy the show."

The three men exited through a door in the opposite wall, while the two still hovering near Kara silently filed out through another. A soft beep sounded once the doors closed, releasing the magnetic seal between her cuffs and the wall. With manacles still latched around her wrists, Kara darted across the room towards Lena, only to bounce off a pane of reinforced glass at the halfway point.

"No, no, no!" Kara pawed at the partition, looking for a seam, a weakness she could use to break it. But the red light had already dampened her powers: her arms felt leaden, her legs like wood. Driving her shoulder against the window did nothing but hurt her.

"Lena!" she called. Lena didn't, couldn't, respond. With her eyes squeezed shut and fingers twisted into tight fists, her body arched against the floor involuntarily, and the only sound Kara could hear was the shallow, strained breaths of a woman in agony.

"Lena, I'm here. I'm right here," Kara promised, struggling to keep the tears from her voice. "It's going to be okay. I promise, I'm right here with you. I’m right here..."

What felt like hours later, the solid light of Lena's collar flicked off and resumed a lazy pulse. In an instant, Lena slumped, gasping as the torment abruptly eased. Kara straightened from where she'd been leaning against the pane between them, and pressed her palm against the glass.

"Lena? Can you hear me?"

After a long moment, Lena's eyes opened blearily. When they finally focused on Kara, her face twisted into a grimace. Clumsy fingers reached for the collar around her neck, seeking to break the seal and remove it, but it remained locked no matter how she pried and pulled.

Kara watched helplessly, until Lena gave up.

"Lena, I'm so sorry..."

"Don't you dare give them anything," Lena ground out, her voice rough.

"Lena--"

"The second you give them what they want, they'll kill me and try to kill you. Or sell you to Cadmus." With a grunt, Lena managed to roll herself over and push herself to all fours. Her arms shook with the strain, and her head hung low, the effort to lift it too great. "They can't get their hands on whatever you keep there."

Kara stared at her, desperate to protest but unable to ignore the truth of Lena’s words.  In the silence, Lena managed to sit herself up and lean one shoulder against the glass, not unlike Kara had done. Bloodshot green eyes met hers through the partition.

"Promise me."

Duty settled heavily on Kara's shoulders, its mantle greased by Lena's resolute acceptance of whatever fate awaited her.

"I promise."

"Will you tell Kara what happened?"

"You can tell her yourself," Supergirl retorted.

Lena tried to smile, but the muscles in her face didn't want to respond. As confident as Supergirl sounded, as much as she vowed she had people looking for her, people who would find them, Lena knew she couldn't afford to be naive.

Not when her hands shook, and every new session left her muscles tight and twitching longer and longer, even after the hum of electrical current went silent.

After four days, Lena barely had the strength to hold her head up. In the sickly red glow, she was sure she looked a sight, but couldn’t bring herself to care. An open bottle of water sat clutched in both hands. On Supergirl's side of the glass, two sandwiches sat on a paper plate beside her knee.

That was the way of things here, apparently. Lena received only water, every other session, and Supergirl received only peanut butter sandwiches. Lena's stomach growled at the sight of food, but the thought of eating only added to the nausea that had taken hold after the first round of spasms.

As it was, she could barely bring the water to her mouth to sip. The cuffs still locked around her wrists were solid, and heavy, adding extra pounds for her to lift. Sometimes they were activated when the collar was, but more often than not they left her unrestrained. Somehow, that was worse. When the collar clicked on, Lena's own body became her prison, and through it all Supergirl remained just out of reach.

Supergirl looked about as rough as Lena felt. Haggard and drawn, her features only hardened with every round of pain. But she was always there when Lena opened her eyes, pressed as close as she could get through the glass that separated them.

Looking at her now, Lena swallowed against the lump that rose to her throat. "Will you tell her I'm sorry?"

"No."

Lena almost laughed.

When the man with the remote returned, he tore the untouched bottle from her weak grasp, and backhanded her across the face.

"Stop!" Supergirl commanded, rising to her feet.

"The location!"

Lena didn't see what happened next. All she knew was the pain the swallowed her a moment later. As her muscles locked tight around her bones, contorting her spine and limbs, relief mingled with agony.

Supergirl had kept her promise.

Kara stared at Lena through the glass. The light at her throat had returned to a placid pulse nearly two hours ago, but her limbs still remained locked in rictus. The last session, one arm had refused to unclench, leaving the limb curled tight against her shoulder in a macabre spasm.

Tears glistened at the corners of Lena's eyes, slowly trailing down to get lost in long, tangled hair.

Kara had never felt so powerless. Not when she'd solar-flared, not even on Slaver's Moon. Nothing compared to the helplessness of seeing Lena in so much pain, and being unable to even touch her. She had to give them something-- anything to give Lena more time to recover, for Alex to find them, to escape.

"Su--supergirl..."

Her name came grunting from Lena's grimacing lips, ground out behind clenched teeth.

"I'm here! Lena, I'm here..."

"Y-you-- pr'mised."

A sour taste curdled Kara's already dry tongue. This wasn’t the first time she’d considered giving in. Every time their eyes met through the glass, when the man returned with remote in hand, Kara had to fight to keep from spilling her entire life story. Each time, Lena somehow collected the strength that drained from Kara and shared it back. With only a glance Lena reminded Kara of the vow she’d made.

Before Kara could respond, a pained groan worked its way out of Lena, sharp with agony. But at the end of it, the spasms released. Lena lay there, trembling, gasping for breath. A sob of relief pulled from her chest, mingling with the gasps that returned air to tortured lungs.

"You promised."

This time, Lena made no move to sit up, or maneuver herself closer to the barrier. She simply lay there. Tremors traveled through her, and her hands clenched and unclenched as the aftershocks continued to work their way through her nervous system.

"You asked me to apologize to Kara Danvers," she said, pulling Lena's teary gaze to hers. "Why?"

For a long moment, Lena said nothing. Her eyes pressed shut, but from pain or regret, Kara didn't know.

"She's already lost so much," Lena rasped. She blinked, dislodging more tears to course down her temple as she turned her gaze to the ceiling.

"I never wanted to join the list of her dead."

Kara lost track of the days. All she marked was Lena's decline, as her friend grew weaker. Now, the spasms barely ended before the man came back for the next round. Their conversation dwindled to nothing, and Kara could barely manage to catch her eye between Lena's agony and the unconsciousness that now chased on the heels of the convulsions.

"She lasted longer than the boss said she would," the man said, as Lena writhed at his feet. He met Kara's gaze. "But her body will give out, and soon. I give it another day."

"Let her go," Kara spat from the far side of the glass. "Use that thing on me."

"You're willing to die for your secret, and maybe your friend is too. But are you willing to let her die?"

He flashed her a disarming grin.

"See you tomorrow. Same time?"

He disappeared with the hiss and click of the door locking behind him.

Kara's night passed slowly, as she counted each and every ragged breath that strained against her locked jaw. Painful whimpers escaped with every shallow exhalation, stabbing Kara's ears and scraping the inside of her chest.

She only found some margin of relief when Lena's body finally went slack, long after the solid light at the base of her throat had returned to a slow and steady blink.

Their peace didn't last long.

Barely five minutes later, the cuff on Lena's left wrist beeped loudly, then shot towards the wall, dragging Lena with it. Lena cried out when it slammed into the wall, then slid upwards, pulling her to the tips of her toes.

"Lena!" Kara pounded against the glass, kicking and clawing at the barrier as alarm crawled up her throat. A beep was the only warning she received when her own cuffs activated, slamming her against the far wall and pinning her there as the door to Lena's cell opened.

"LENA!!"

Lena tugged weakly at the manacle with her free hand, only to fall limp when the man with the remote twisted his fist in her shirt and pressed her sharply against the wall.

"Last chance," he called over his shoulder, turning his chin. "The location of your Fortress!"

He lifted the remote. Lena's gaze followed the device for a long moment, then slid across the room to lock with Kara's. Kara stared at her, heart lurching when she saw weary acceptance in her glassy eyes. This was it, and Lena knew it.

The man waited another moment, then shrugged. "Fine with me."

His thumb lifted over the button, and--

"WAIT!"

The call pulled from Kara's throat almost unbidden. Once it started, she couldn't stop.

"I'll tell you. I'll tell you where it is, please, just stop. Don't hurt her. I'll tell you."

"Supergirl, no..." Lena groaned. She reached for the man's hand, as though to press the button herself, but he dropped her, leaving her to sag against the wall unsupported.

He crossed to the partition, taking a pen and notepad from his pocket. "The coordinates?"

Kara froze. "I-- I don't know."

She didn't use coordinates. She found her way by landmarks, and the sun and her keen eyesight. She never had to know the coordinates. She never learned them.

The man sighed in irritation, flipping the notepad shut. He rose, turning back to Lena.

"No!" Kara cried. "Please I don't know! I can show you. I'll take you there myself--!"

"You’re not going anywhere near the sun," the man cut her off sharply. "Either you give us coordinates, or you both get to sit through another round."

"I don't know the coordinates! Please, leave her alone, she didn't do anything!!"

"Supergirl..." Lena met her gaze, blinking heavily. "It's ok--”

Lena's head snapped back the second his thumb tapped the button. Her spine arched against the wall, her free arm locked tight in spasm. Her entire body strained against the single point of restraint in gruesome contortion.

"LENA!! NO!" Kara bellowed and thrashed against her bonds. She called on every ounce of strength still in her, straining to break free. But the locks held, and she could do more than watch as blood slowly trickled from Lena's nose, and her eyes rolled back in her head.

Kara roared, straining with all her might. The room went silent as fear and rage washed over her, and her vision narrowed to Lena and Lena alone.

Suddenly, Kara's cell erupted into chaos. For a split second, she thought her heat vision had momentarily sparked, but no-- the sudden explosion of debris and smoke came from the new hole where the door had been, admitting a flood of bodies clad in familiar DEO-black.

She caught sight of J'onn and almost sobbed right then and there. "Help Lena!"

The strike team fired at the glass, only for the bullets to bounce off ineffectually. That didn't stop J'onn. Without hesitation he phased through the barrier and engaged the men on the other side. Agents converged on Kara, pulling on the cuffs locking her in place, but even their combined strength couldn't budge them.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake."

Alex's mutter sounded low in Kara's ear. She pulled back, and plucked a grenade off her belt.

"Eyes!"

The agents instantly recoiled, throwing an arm across their eyes as Alex pulled the pin and lobbed the grenade at Kara's feet. A brief flash of synthetic yellow sunlight filled the room, and flooded Kara with strength.

She snapped her cuffs before the agents could blink the stars from their eyes. Freed, she dove at the pane of glass and punched through like it was tissue paper. As J'onn restrained the last of the men, Kara snatched up the abandoned remote deactivating both the collar and Lena's restraints.

Kara caught her when the cuffs went dormant, and gently lowered her to the floor. Lena jerked and strained in her arms, as Kara held her as tightly as she dared.

"Lena, it's okay. You're going to be okay..." Kara told her, her voice high and stuttering. With a shaking hand she cupped Lena’s cheek, smoothing long hair away from sweatstained skin. When the spasms didn’t ease, Kara lifted her head, searching for her sister. "Alex!"

"I'm here."

Alex knelt beside her, clasping Lena's rigid wrist to feel for a pulse. Kara looked up at J'onn, already feeling her returned strength dwindling once more.

"She needs to get to the DEO, he-- he said it'll kill her. This time... she won't survive it. Please, I can’t--"

"I'll take her," he promised. He scooped Lena into his arms, and phased them both straight up through the ceiling to the sky beyond.

Kara gasped as Alex's arms wrapped around her, and she was suddenly aware that tears were pouring from her eyes and her chest heaved with sobs.

"It's okay," Alex promised, holding her close. "She'll be okay."

"They wanted the Fortress," Kara told her. She couldn’t stop. "I would have given it to them. I tried-- they wanted the coordinates, and I d-didn't know, Alex! I didn't know the coordinates..."

Alex simply held her tight. It wasn't until the tears ran out and Alex helped her to stand on shaking legs that Kara realized the strike team had already evacuated. Kara sat next to her sister in the back of the van, taking the long way back to National City. Halfway there, Alex received a short phone call.

"Lena's heart stopped before J'onn made it back to the DEO," she told Kara after she'd ended the call. Her voice was soft, but Kara was numb. She simply sat, and waited for the news that was sure to follow.

Lena was gone.

"They got her back. She's going to make it."

Kara didn’t have the strength to smile. She didn’t feel relieved. She felt nothing at all.

Kara recovered faster than Lena. The first day back on her feet, she sat at Lena's bedside as her friend slept. Holding her hand was enough, after so long being able to only watch, but on the second day she couldn't sit still, couldn't watch Lena one more second even with the benefit of physical contact.

"They were working for someone," Kara told J'onn that morning. "We need to find out who."

"We’ve interrogated the prisoners at length,," he told her. "None of them knew the identity of their employer, but I was able to pull a meeting location from one of their minds. We're already preparing a strike team."

"I'm going with them."

"Are you sure?" Alex asked, watching her carefully. "Lena should be waking up soon."

Kara swallowed against the sudden sharp ache in her throat. She couldn't stand to be there, with the real culprit still at large. She couldn't stand to be there period.

"I'm sure."

J'onn and Alex exchanged a look, before J'onn nodded. "Okay. We're rolling out within the hour."

Supergirl could have traversed the distance in a matter of minutes, but instead traveled with the strike team. Just to get there took nearly twenty four hours, only for the warehouse in question to be completely empty. They waited several days, just to see if anyone showed up, but no one did. It was a dead end.

She traveled back with the strike team as well. By the time Kara returned, Lena's bed in the infirmary was empty.

"She went home yesterday," Winn told her. He swallowed, clearly uncomfortable with whatever expression he found on Kara's features. "She asked for you."

"I know."

Kara turned and walked away. She headed for the sparring room, but when she found herself facing a motionless concrete block, she didn’t have the energy to strike. It stood as silent witness as her tears started to fall.

As much as Kara couldn't be there when Lena woke up, she couldn't stay away for long. After her third night back without sleep, Kara flew across the city, and pulled to a stop when she spotted a familiar figure on the L-Corp balcony.

She set down on the opposite end of the platform, wrapping her arms around herself. Lena had to have heard her, but she didn't look up from where she stared at her hands. It was a long moment before Kara realized they were trembling.

"They won't stop shaking," Lena said, her voice low. "Never imagined I’d be one to pray for shellshock, but when the alternative is nerve damage..."

The city was quiet tonight. No sirens, no calls for help. Kara’s senses buzzed with the sounds of low conversations, placid with mundanity. Laughter and television and low, gentle music all tickled the periphery of her awareness.

"I'm sorry." It was all Kara could think to say. All she’d wanted to say since waking up in that room, all she’d wanted to say since escaping it, and upon finally saying it she knew it wasn’t enough.

"What for?" Lena finally straightened, turning to face her. "Breaking your promise? Or avoiding me?"

Kara didn't answer.

Lena shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I understand Supergirl can't have friends, so the distance wasn’t unexpected. As for your promise... well, it worked itself out, I guess."

Kara's throat locked. Her vision fogged as tears filled her eyes. In the dark, Lena's features were heavy and expressionless. Kara recognized the same weariness that had stared at her over the remote, just before their captor had pressed the button for the final time.

Before she knew what she was doing, Kara surged towards Lena, and wrapped her arms around her. The gesture surprised Lena, as it always did, but then she relaxed into the embrace, as she always did. Kara tightened her arms, then, as she always did.

Lena stiffened. "Kara?"

Kara froze. Lena pulled away sharply, leaving Kara's arms cold with her sudden absence.

"Lena, I--"

"All this time..." Lena's lips screwed up as tears filled her eyes, but held on to her composure. "You're Supergirl. Oh my god."

One hand came up to cover her mouth, as Lena turned away, facing the rail instead of Kara. A tightness gathered in Kara's chest, and she struggled to speak around the lump in her throat.

"I should have told you a long time ago," she ground out, wiping her eyes. "I'm so sorr--"

"Kara, what I said--" Lena choked, tears spilling down her cheeks as she turned to face Kara once more. "In that room, I-- I never meant for you to hear that. I'm so, so sorry!"

Kara reached for her, seeking a hand, or a wrist, but Lena threw her arms around her, and clung to her as the sobs started coming.

"I'm sorry..." Lena murmured, over and over. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Holding Lena tight, Kara couldn't find the words to respond. Her own tears tracked down her cheeks, getting lost in Lena's hair. When she ran out of steam, Lena pulled back wiping her eyes.

"I would never have asked you to make that promise, if I’d known-- Kara, I am so sorry..."

"Please, stop apologizing," Kara hiccuped. "I should have-- I shouldn't have let it go so far. I would have given them anything to save you, and now... all I can think is that I should have given them what they wanted sooner."

Lena sniffled, her eyes bright with a fresh round of tears. "Kara--"

"I love you, Lena," Kara blurted. The words poured out of her, and though she hadn't meant to say them tonight, she didn't want to take them back. "When he pressed that button, before the DEO came, it felt like I was watching my world end for the second time. I can't-- I can't do that again," she confessed.

This time, when Lena embraced her, her arms were gentle, and it was Kara who clutched at her.

"I couldn't lose you too."

Lena nodded against her in quiet understanding. They stood together for long minutes, until Kara felt Lena fighting a yawn. She pulled away, only to reach out and dry the tears still damp on Lena's cheek. Now that the truth was out, Kara couldn't keep her hands to herself. She craved the contact, the proof that Lena was okay.

"Have you been sleeping?"

It’s a question she doesn't need answering. Even in the shadows, she can see the exhaustion. Lena shook her head. "No," she said, cracking a wry grin. "Turns out it's just not the same when I don't have a Super watching me sleep from the other side of the glass."

A bark of laughter bubbled out of Kara, and Lena smiled to match it. "I think I can help with that." She held out her arms. "Care for a lift?"

Lena paused only long enough to smile softly before stepping into her embrace. Kara closed her arms around Lena, pulling her close. She hesitated before lifting off, frozen by a sudden jolt of apprehension.

"Do you trust me?" Kara asked.

Lena’s lips brushed the side of her neck, her breath a feather’s touch as she spoke. "Always."

[laurabelle2930]

Summer House ~Chapter One: Changing Writers

Okay so.... @diggo26 is the only person whose read this story or what I managed to write during the month of April during the camp that @green-arrows-of-karamel allowed me to take part in. She’s certain this is a great story and I’m still unsure. I’m posting the first chapter because again a certain friend desperately wants me to share...

Summary: Oliver Queen has been missing for two years. On the eve of his 2nd anniversary the local paper with the families consent has decided to run a memorial article since one was never done when he first went missing. Sara Lance was assigned the story at first but know the paper’s hotshot reporter Felicity Smoak has been assigned the story. Felicity must now put her personal feelings aside as she searches for the truth to Oliver Queen’s disappearance.  

FYI I suck at summaries so please give it a shot. 

Read it here or on AO3

Preamble:

Red tapestries, faded hardwood and, broken glass surrounded his tall, angular form. He pushed his fingers along the white marble window sill; the dust fell over the beveled edge with ease as his cold blue eyes peered through the scratched up window panes.

The empty branches scratched along the battered, abandoned glass; the windows now were simply a broken reflection of a place that once felt like his true home. He shifted his gaze and, let the rhythmic pace of the wind along the glass ease the growing loneliness within his hardened heart. The clock along the stone mantel clanged, the windows rattled and, the shutters snapped along the home’s stone exterior.

His sharp inhale seemed silent when the wind once more howled, “Two years tomorrow,” he groaned to the creaking walls. “Two years and no one’s come…” he bemoaned as the lone flicker of light finally went out...

Chapter One: Changing Writers

The room around her was filled with the sounds of tapping fingers and thudding brains. Her brightly painted fingernails tapped along the faded black keys of her worn office keyboard. She tapped at the edge of the archaic machine and, let her furrowed brow fade into a frustrated one.

“Every life has a story, every journey has a reason and, every life has to find its ultimate purpose.”

Once she read the line aloud she immediately pressed her eager pinkie over the fairly worn backspace key. She watched with anticipated annoyance while each word slowly began to simply fade away.

She heard the sharp scowl of her thoroughly overworked officemate. “Please explain to me how that cow expects us to produce miracles from absolutely nothing!”

Felicity grumbled in sour agreement, “I take it you’ve been given the memorial story from hell?”

She heard Sara’s feet ramming along the thin barrier between their two small, corner side desks. Felicity moved her feet back instinctively when the points of Sara’s three inch pumps came inching through the cardboard like barrier. “Maude’s lost her damn mind! The witch won’t talk, her brat tells nothing more than fabricated lies and don’t get me started on the other one…” she rambled before Felicity heard her forehead slamming over her desk’s edge.

She groaned in pain when Felicity gently argued, “Ummm the other one is your sister is she not?”

“What’s your point Smoak?” Sara would have glowered had it not been for the corkboard divider between their frustrated faces.

“My point,” Felicity nearly stammered while her fingers knotted in her lap, “Is that Maude gave you the headline because of your connection to the family. Perhaps it would be prudent…”

“Don’t finish that thought my former best friend. I’m not and I repeat not asking my sniveling, gold digging sister for a way to con a story out of a grieving mother!” Sara nearly screamed before Felicity heard her small fists slamming along the divider.

Felicity winced when her thumbtacked papers fell soundlessly through the space between the tables edge and the divider. “Well if you’re so uncomfortable then approach it from a different angle?” she suggested with an audible gulp. “I mean let’s be honest other than his police record you know next to nothing about him,” she added with trepidation.

Sara’s razor edged voice seemed to fade, “Or perhaps my sweet, almost doormat like best friend could just take the assignment instead?”

“Doormat?” Felicity growled towards Sara’s condescending suggestion.

She heard the wheels of her desk chair rolling slowly over the faded hardwood floors. “Lissy…” she began to beg, “Laurel likes you, Thea actually knows your name and Moira finds you pleasant..” she began to argue as she slowly sauntered around the invisible corner of their joined desks.

Felicity’s annoyed, crystal, blue eyes fell over Sara’s strong yet still petie form. “Yeah because he intervened in my relationship with Tommy…” she chirped in aggravation.

Her sad eyes fell towards the floor. Felicity watched with interest as she folded her form into the small spare chair near the edge of the storage closet sized office. She lifted one slim, tanned leg until the tip of her red colored heel was over the edge of her black rimmed desk. Her red pencil skirt slid up to almost mid-thigh when she slowly scooted down along the green plastic veneer. Felicity crossed her legs and placed her joined fingers over her raised kneecap. She gazed over her solid black frames and cocked her interested brow. Sara smiled lightly while she placed her joined fingers over her cream colored blouse. “Yeah and that means you’ll tell the truth of his life and not just the facts of his death,” she sighed as Felicity fell quiet.

She cocked her head before she felt her neck cracking from stress, “How far have you gotten?” she breathed before her straight back slumped into a defeated line.

Sara let her dirty blonde hair fall over the back of the uncomfortable chair when she uttered, “I have the interviews, the statements and of course the files but…”

It was the elongated but that made Felicity frown, “For christ sakes Sara the house isn’t haunted!”

“Yeah but it’s where  he was last seen!” she argued almost instantly while her body remained completely relaxed.

Felicity let out an empty laugh, “So you can’t finish because you’re afraid of a “supposedly” haunted house?”

She knew Sara didn’t miss her air quotations when she tried to kick the edge of her worn keyboard. Felicity rolled her bright eyes and tapped her brightly painted fingernails along her tweed colored blazer. “I’m right aren’t I?” she giggled almost too happily.

Sara grunted seconds later, “I’m telling Maude we’ve switched, you’re taking the billionaire gone too soon tribute and, I’m taking the tired poet’s last work was timeless piece.”

Felicity knew Sara was scared but it wasn’t of the house, she was scared of the reliving the night her sister lost a boyfriend and, Felicity lost someone she once foolishly considered to be her soulmate.

Maude agreed to the switch of course; she was about making a profit and, with Felicity writing this piece the papers would fly off the stands. Felicity tapped the bottom of her red pen along the edge of the coiled phone cord while the dial tone filled her left ear. The office around her was quiet, the lights were low and, the blinds over the one lone window were drawn leaving her alone in the dark, isolated room. She tapped her fingers over the receiver while it continued to ring endlessly along the edges of her eardrum. Her small huff of exasperation was muted when a sleepy voice croaked, “Hello?”

Her lips curved involuntarily, “I take it someone took a sleeping pill or two with her evening Brandy,” she laughed slowly if not awkwardly while her pale pink lips grew into a tight smile.

“Hmmmm hello sweetheart,” came her tired if not slightly drunken reply. “I’m assuming you’re calling to set up another dreadful interview?” she nearly slurred before Felicity heard a loud thump.

She bit back a tight laugh, “Moria did you just stumble into the couch?”

“Well…” she stammered before she let out a drunken hiccup, “That is why you called isn’t?”

Felicity let the pen fall over the warped desk surface, her fingers itched for useful employment when she quietly replied, “How did you know?”

The other end went silent, all she could hear for endless seconds was the sound of branches along the ageless glass of the stained window panes. She swallowed roughly and, nearly broke the silence when Moira hiccuped drunkenly, “Maude called of course. She wanted to ensure that a change in writer wouldn’t upset Thea or myself. I assured her that you were preferred to begin with so I’ve been awaiting your call..”

Felicity placed her fingers over her trembling lips, “Preferred?” she gulped before segwaying into her next question. “Are you sure that you’re up for another interview?”

She heard the clink of a shot glass as Moira poured herself another tumbler of aged whiskey. “I can’t pretend the anniversary of his disappearance isn’t upon us nor can I” Felicity heard her gnarled swallow through the phone. Her drunken voice made her already fractured heart break when she finally let out a mumbled “you know ignore my lost sex appeal, my lost youth, or Robert’s affair…” Felicity moved her tapping pen to her lower lip, she swept her shoulder length blonde hair over her shoulder and, inwardly groaned at what she had to do. .

“Okay you’ve been drinking since noon haven’t you?” she finally concluded when Moira’s words became nothing more than slurred grunts.

“You used to date my son what do you think?” she nearly choked as Felicity listened to her swallow another glass of the vile liquid.

“Tommy was your adoptive son,” Felicity meagerly pointed out before she finally added, “and he’s been with Laurel for what two years now?”

Moira’s glass must have fallen because seconds later the sound of cracked glass filled her already bruised ears. “Moira do you need me to come over?” she finally asked once her subconscious was about to eat her alive.

She heard a grunt, then she heard another glass shatter before Moira’s booze laden voice filled her shuddering soul, “I’ll see you at eight sweetheart…”

Felicity didn’t need to respond she knew her silence would say more than her words ever could. She let the receiver fall over the aging phone cradle then placed her fingers upon her aching temples. The wind howled for the third night in a row, the moon was nearly full in the cloud heavy sky and, the walls seemed to ache with age and, crumbling drywall. Felicity mumbled as her eyes fell, “Tomorrow should be fun…” before she glanced at the black page before her.

Memories for some people meant stories of fond times and happy moments but, for her they often led to lost moments and broken trust. Felicity peered through narrow eyes at the oval shaped mirror before her. The surface was scratched, the rim was rusted and, the entire upper frame was littered with dozens of candid snapshots from many years before. At one corner was the Sara corner. She had shots of her smiling, shots of her frowning and even some of her flipping her off. Through it all her bright smile betrayed the truth of her good natured heart.

The other corner held pictures of the family she’d once hoped to be apart of. Felicity brushed her fingers over Moira’s striking profile before her red nails fell over a ten year old Thea. She furrowed her brows in curiosity when her fingertips brushed over the edge of another hidden photo. She pushed the corner of the front one down and, gasped when his bright, blue eyes were revealed. The hidden candid was one she’d nearly forgotten about since she’d taken great care to conceal it from view. She carefully ran her fingers down the image of his innocent looking face. He’d been about eighteen when this shot was captured. The summer house was behind them looking old, damaged and, nearly destroyed from a violent storm. Felicity groaned at the camera angle but kept her lips shut while she continued to marvel at the way his eyes seemed to dance in an old, wrinkled photograph. Her eyes fell once more on the picture of Thea, her heart constricted and, her stomach rolled when an unwelcome thought breezed through her mind; she sighed quietly as her hand fell, “If you only knew how sweet he could be…” She let the moment float through her like the waves upon the dry sand knowing soon she would once more be at the precipice of the beast’s lair.

She finally laughed at her sappy sentiment when the waves of endless emotion finally began to abate. How sweet he could be, she laughed lowly, “Perhaps I’m letting my own emotions cloud my judgement…” she marveled through the bitter sounding laughter of her own twisted heart.

As with most mirrors your image follows you perfectly. She contemplated this simple fact while gazing critically as her reflection that mirrored her movements instead of offering any sage words of much needed wisdom; once she’d decided to veer away from memory lane. She stared wordlessly at her pale, drawn face. Her bright blue eyes seemed colder, perhaps even detached as they scanned along the lines of her hidden figure. She swept her fingers over her collar and, smoothed out the rumpled edges of the white shirt. She rubbed her full lips together while pushing a few stray strands of hair behind the shells of her ears. Her fingers brushed over the piercing near the edge of her right ear’s upper shell, her smile grew momentarily before it once more faded into a stiff frown. Some memories were better left buried she mentally groaned while she gazed over her stiff 5’6 form.

Her tweed jacket was in place, her three inch black pumps were securely over her feet, her black pencil skirt fit over her curved hips perfectly while, her white blouse highlighted the creamy texture of her pale skin. She muttered, “I should have chosen contacts....” when her glasses continued to slide down the slim bridge of her button nose. She mentally threw the objection aside because, she knew if she wanted help she’d need sympathy and, the glasses generally aided in that endeavour.

Deciding that she was ready she sauntered towards the small kitchen off the cramped living space that was filled with Sara’s array of both clean and dirty clothes. Felicity smiled at her messy housemate while bending down to pick up a discarded skirt. “Ummm Sarbear did you happen to make coffee when you tornado’d through the family room this morning?” she called out tiredly.

“Yeah Lissy and I’ve left you a shot of whiskey just in case you feel the need to down some liquid courage!” Sara yelled from her cramped bathroom.

Felicity threw the skirt over the bar stool along the island counter then moved around the cramped corner. She picked up the nearly full mug and took a long sip, she smiled warmly when the burn of the alcohol swam through her belly, “I see you decided I’d need more than the shot glass?” Felicity accused with a smile before she downed another long gulp.

Sara muttered but didn’t appear, “Well Lissy she’s not called the Dragon Lady for nothing.”

Felicity hated to agree but, knew deep down in her soul she was right. Knocking back the remnants of the mug she gulped as the liquid slid down her throat, “I’ll text you when I’m on the way home Sarbear!”

“Okay, I’ll pick up some pasta for dinner,” she replied before Felicity heard another item of clothing hit her already covered floor. Felicity rolled her blue eyes, grabbed her purse and, muttered beneath her coffee laced breath, “Oh I’m sure that means I will…” before quietly leaving through the front door.

Most homes were simply four walls, some windows and a front door with a garage for two cars. This was no home this was a living, breathing statement of opulence on high. The building itself consisted of thirteen corners, two towers and, around six doors near the front and sides. Leroy the front gate attendant gave her a cocky grin when she maneuvered her compact SUV up to the sensor locked gates. “Hey there sweetheart! I didn’t think we’d see your bright smile ever again after you and Mr. Queen parted ways!”

Her head swam, if Leroy wasn’t aware of her appointment with Moira then that would mean she’d need another way in. Her head spiraled for a mere second before she realized her reason for being there was already resting along the tip of her tongue.

Felicity pursed her lips and, grunted very rudely, “Leroy just open the gate so I can see if Moira’s even able to move after last night’s bender.”

The balding, aging man’s kind brown eyes fell in dismay, “She’s been drinking again then?”

Felicity choked back her gasp of shock then managed to nod sadly, “Yeah so I wanted to check on her if that’s okay?” His saddened voice and, dismayed eyes made her skin prickle with intense feelings of guilt. Leroy was an older man whose family chose to leave after his own battle with alcohol led to multiple DUI’s and, the mandatory counseling that came as a parting gift. He of course felt for his employer and, soon Felicity felt waves of shame rolling through her once she realized she’d crossed an invisible line.

Leroy of course pushed in the same 1245 code, Felicity grinned gratefully before reaching down into the small open compartment along her door. Smiles were good and all but, she knew token’s of genuine affection were better for easing one’s guilt after they’d accidentally stepped on an active emotional landmine.  She stubbed her index finger when she reached for the small, worn out copy of “Moby Dick”. Her eyes flickered in slight pain when she mumbled, “Oh here’s the book I promised to bring you if you ever saw me again!”

Leroy took the aged binding and, the frayed pages like it was a gift from God. Felicity smiled in earnest as she slowly moved through the opening gates. Leroy nearly wept, “Thank you sweetheart,” as his oversized fingers clamped down gratefully around the worn books cover.

Felicity nodded then mouthed “You’re welcome,” before his grateful face vanished from sight. She glanced at his reflection once more before her eyes fell upon the castle that was Queen Manor. Her car bobbed and rocked over the cobble stone path, she felt her fingers tighten over the leather steering wheel as her greedy eyes fell over the castle before her. The structure itself was built in 1884, the home was remodeled in 1904 and then again in 1970 before the final update in 2012. Felicity gulped when the front fountains came into view. The grass was cut, the stone angel wings were wet from the flowing water and, the gardeners were about with fresh flowers for the coming summer season. Felicity muttered, “She still loves to replant…” as she passed a line of unplanted red orchids.

Her staff was diligent as usual. Murphy her butler was already standing by the door since Leroy buzzed him once he’d opened the gates, Craig her driver had his hand over her door handle before she’d managed to undo her seatbelt. Felicity smiled then tilted her head so her words couldn’t be read by Murphy’s careful eye. “She’s replanting the front beds again?”

Craig stood at 5’7 with red, curly hair and a small rounded stomach. He smiled gently making his freckled nose appear almost bright red. “She’s just trying to keep busy Ms. Felicity,” he finally remarked once she stepped out of the car.

Felicity’s small smile faltered but, she didn’t let that affect her overall manners. She placed a friendly hand over his slumped shoulder and gave it tight squeeze. “I think we all miss him in our own unique ways,” she commented dryly before the younger man’s lips curled.

“He had a kinder side Felicity,” the once bullied man mentioned as Felicity began to move toward the open front door.

She sighed regretfully knowing just how kind Oliver could truly be, “Yes I suppose that’s true,” she offered before giving him a quick goodbye. Curtis waved his fair skinned hand before closing the door of her red SUV and moving quickly down the narrow drive to aid one of the various gardeners.

Murphy of course was stern as usual with his almost procedural like greeting. “Miss. Smoak, the lady of the house has been expecting you.”

She hid her taken aback emotions by nodding curtly. He smiled dryly and, began appraising her with his judgement green eyes.

Felicity glared at his graying hair, before her wrinkled eyes fell upon his liver spotted face, “You know you could pretend not to hate me just to shake things up Murphy,” she scolded with anger and a bit of repressed sadness.

His old voice made her stomach rattle nervously, “I hate why you’re here not you Felicity, never once did I hate you.”

Felicity while taken aback by his honest confession couldn’t help but, be both unnerved and touched by his words. She glanced over his worn black clothes. His suit was wrinkled, his collar was undone and his eyes no longer twinkled like the midmorning sun; now they simply stared at her emptily. “How bad is she?” Felicity croaked when his eyes shifted to the men working behind her.

“She’s no longer sober at all Miss Felicity.  Miss Thea’s with Robert in the city while Mrs. Queen wonders around the endless estate with a bottle of booze strapped to her side,” he admitted once he was sure no prying ears were wandering about.

Felicity pushed her purse along her shoulder, “I’m just here about Oliver’s disappearance Murphy. I won’t tell the world she’s lost herself in grief and booze,” she assured him with a gentle whisper.

He moved his aging hand toward the foyer and cocked his angular chin toward the main floor’s library. “Just remember she’s fragile,” he quietly warned as Felicity walked carefully along the marble floors.   

She heard the door close behind her back. His black shoes tapped along the black, white and, gray marble floors with quiet ease as she slowly stepped through the familiar halls. Her crystal blue eyes danced along the dark wooden railings of the twin staircases around her. She walked past the hallways that led to the formal sitting area and, then past the swinging door that led to the galley kitchen. Felicity noted with somber realization that some of the paintings had been removed and, replaced with cheap knockoffs that wouldn’t fool even the most uneducated eye.

She kept her hands folded over her purse as she stepped off the marble floors and, onto the soft area rugs that littered the original hardwood floors of the only section of the home that had been left untouched since its construction. The library had two french doors that when opened allowed the light from the overhead window of the foyer to pour into the first few feet of the untouched room. Once inside you either were awestruck by the two floors of books that rose from the floor to the ceiling or by the wall of stained glass windows; either way your senses were left frenzied.  

“You once stated that the writers of Beauty and the Beast must have stolen the idea for the library from this very room,” a very sober sounding woman noted from the antique off white couches near the first row of stained glass windows.

Felicity let her dancing eyes drift along the the various ladders and, shelves before she replied with whimsy, “And I stand by that statement Mrs. Queen.”

Moira’s face brightened as she tipped her tea cup back along her parted lips. “I’d say Moira would be just fine Felicity,” she gently scolded before the lukewarm tea passed her eager lips.

Felicity smirked, “Okay so if we’re playing the old friends game let’s talk about the contents of that tea cup Moira.”

She placed the lightly painted flowered tea cup over the saucer on the faded, wooden table top. Her slim fingers brushed along her temples as she pursed her thin, undecorated lips inward, “My son’s missing, Tommy’s taken up with a vile golddigger, Thea’s living with Robert and, he’s still sleeping with his assistant so I’d say some rum at 8 am is not exactly unexpected,” she proclaimed with stern words and, a slightly flared temper.

Felicity held up her thin hands in surrender. “I’m not here to argue about your choices Moira I’m just here to find out what happened at that damn house the night Oliver disappeared,” she prattled nervously while she remained frozen in the center of the book lined room.

Moira’s fingers fell to her perfectly coiffed hair, Felicity’s heart stammered as the older woman’s thin fingers pushed the thick strands back behind her delicate hair. “Come here sweetheart, I know you have a deadline and, I know you’ll be kind with the details,” Moira finally breathed in muted acceptance.

Felicity stepped forward and cringed when her heels slipped along the small stretches of exposed flooring. “So he went to the Summer house…” Felicity started quietly while Moira leaned back along the faded flowers of the old Victorian couch.

“He was upset that much I recall but, over what he wouldn’t tell me,” Moira started tonelessly.

“Wasn’t he working for Robert on the election campaign?” Felicity asked cautiously knowing that while she wanted to be gentle she was still a reporter who had a story with a very close deadline looming before her.

Moira’s laugh wasn’t one of humor, it was one of veiled torment. “Yes he was as a matter of fact. He’d been spending hours with his vile father and, that skeletal bore whom he settled for when someone better didn’t come along…”

Felicity let her purse fall off her shoulder then placed it gently on the table before her. She picked up Moira’s abandoned cup and took a small...well perhaps a large sip before choking over the burn of the spiced rum, “Someone better?”

Moira’s eyes always felt ageless so it startled her when her age was reflected in her once bright brown orbs. She crossed her legs and, placed her now joined hands over her surprisingly flat stomach, “Let’s just say once upon a time he had a tutor who made him act like a genuine human being…and, let’s just say I rather liked the person he became,” she explained almost emotionlessly.

Felicity of course stammered like a drunken fool, “He had a tutor?”

“Yes he was failing a math course I believe so he used the Summer house to meet her in secret…” Moira again explained but, this time it was with a flicker of curiosity.

Felicity bypassed the topic and, moved back towards the original reason for their meeting, “Right so anyways he went to the Summer house after seeing something at work that aggravated him?”

Moira cocked her quizzical brow but let the subject drop. “Yes he left a message for his father on the answering machine. He sounded frantic and, bit concerned over some strange equations along the borders of some old book he’d found in the safe behind the Monet in his office,” she continued again with no emotion in her tone.

Felicity by now had downed the rest of Moira’s morning cocktail and, was sitting on the antique chair that matched the gold rimming of Moira’s couch. “You think Robert was up to something illegal and Oliver found the evidence?”

Moira took Felicity’s conclusion and, took it one step forward, “I think that Robert has plans for this city. I think he’s intending to play God with the population of this city and, I think our son was planning on both confronting him and, I hope stopping him.”

Felicity paled, “You think Robert heard the message and, what followed him up there to silence him for good?”

Moira’s eyes flashed coldly, “I know that once Oliver reached the summer house he found Laurel and Tommy together in his bed.” Felicity’s stomach rolled for personal reasons as Moira’s voice continued to weave around the room. “I know that he ran back out into the balmy summer night with a shattered heart and a wounded soul. I also know that Robert didn’t come home till 4 am that night…”

Felicity’s brows arched as her eyes widened, “Is that why Sara wouldn’t go to the house?”

Moira nodded painfully, “She thinks we’ll find Oliver’s body buried in hole out back,” she wept with pain and torment. “She also thinks that’s why Laurel and Tommy won’t go there either, she thinks they saw Robert kill his own son but…”

Felicity’s heart oddly enough stopped at that uttered but, “You think he might be alive don’t you?” she finally whispered with her own heart now racing with unexpressed hope for the mourning woman before her.

Moira sniffed back a gnarled sob then managed to whimper tonelessly, “I think that my son’s story needs to be told and, I think you’re the one to tell it.”

Felicity eyed the tea pot eagerly before she managed to babble, “I’ll need the keys…”

She heard the sound of shifting metal clanging together over the rough wooden surface between them. “Robert visits the house every few weeks…” Moira warned as her slim fingers pushed the keys forward. “You’ll have four days to search the grounds so I recommend you use the time wisely.”

Felicity’s trembling fingers brushed along the golden keys, “I’ll find out what happened to your son Moira,” she breathed as her fingers folded around the gold keys. “I’ll find him…” she whispered once more as she slowly drew the keys towards her lap.

Tagging: @emmaamelia95 @pleasantfanandstudent @coal000 @memcjo @lesanchea @mrsbubblelee @olicitylovemaking @miriam1779 @love2luvyyou @almondblossomme @diggo26 @rivaroma @vaelisamaza @befitandchase @pimsiepim @andjustforthismoment @anonymiss118 @thelockpickingvictorian @yet-i-remain-quiet @lexi9515 @kathrynelizabeth89 @marniforolicity @marytagus @myhauntedblacksoul @myuntetheredsoul @blondiegrl00 @independent-fics @felicity-said--yes @relativelyobsessedfangirl @i-m-a-fan-world @mel-loves-all @danski15 @green-arrows-of-karamel @malafle @emilyp05 @oliverfel4 @alempa74 @vicky-vale @charlinert @hope-for-olicity @missafairy @arrows-4ever @jaspertown @sweetzcupcake @captainolicitysbedroom @nalla-madness @smoakingarrow19 @bwangangelic @ccdimples88 @lalawo1 @ireland1733 @quiveringbunny @scu11y22 @detbensonsvu1 @tdgal1 @cinfos @xxliveyourlife @onceuponarrow @supersillyanddorky06 @wherethereismoak @olicityinmyheart @all-things-olicity @bitchwithwifi 

[miss28ff]

SHRINE ch 13

It’s getting warm in Japan! We’re preparing for summertime and with all my tests and the fact that this is an ongoing fanfic I really came to a writer’s block on the last chapter. Luckily I was able to overcome that and now I’m translating episode 13 after a long time. Remember, if you notice anything weird going on with the grammar don’t hesitate to tell me! It will be much appreciated.

(AU) (MUSIC/ROMANCE/DRAMA) (Yatori) (Kazubisha) (Daifuku) (18+ due to language, mature subjects and a little smut)

Summary: With her earphones on and melodies filling her ears, the girl looked at the ceiling, thinking. She, Iki Hiyori, a regular schoolgirl, had jumped at the street to save the life of a promising rock star.

TRACK 13

 Pictures of you – The cure.

The chromed plate on the entrance of the establishment said “Lion’s nest”. Hiyori went through the automatic doors feeling anxious and wondered if this was really the best studio in Tokyo, as everyone had told her. It kind of reminded her more to her father’s consulting room.

After a hallway with grey carpet and several plants to the sides, a waiting room opened up, making way more inconsistent the fact this was a recording studio. In fact, Hiyori would have walked down the hallway again just to be sure she was at the right place if she hadn’t seen four familiar faces already waiting for her, in different spots of that waiting room. Kofuku was swinging her short feet since they couldn’t reach the ground, restless. Yukine was looking at the photographs completely filling up one of the walls. Daikoku was reading an old newspaper from the magazine rack, and Yato was sitting with a straight back, listening intently, prepared to run away any time. Hiyori gave a faint hello, oppressed by the ominous sensation that invaded her after seeing her companions turning the previous enthusiasm of recording a new demo of their new material into this evident nervousness. Suddenly a door next to the pictures Yukine was looking opened and an attractive dark haired woman asked them to come inside.

“Kuraha will see you now.”

Yato stood up quickly and looked behind the woman’s shoulder, confusing her and Hiyori and making the rest of the band let out a sound sigh. Yukine pushed him inside. Hiyori was half expecting to see an office, but the man named Kuraha was standing with the back against the wall of a hallway that only had doors and glass panels.

“Thank you, Kinuha”. Said the man with gray hair to the beautiful receptionist, who left right away. Then he came close and greeted them with a handshake, in a very western style. Hiyori asked herself how had he lost an eye, looking discreetly to the patch covering his left eye socket. Kuraha addressed Yato: “I don’t know if you’re brave for coming or you’re a straight up idiot.”

“D’ya think she scares me?” he scoffed. “Please.”

Kuraha gave him a stern look.

“So you say, but I don’t remember your hand shaking this much before.”

Yato flinched, surprised, and Kuraha let out a good laugh. “Just kidding. This way, please”, he kept talking while guiding them through the long hallway full of doors and glass panels that turned out to be windows opening to small practice rooms. “It’s true Viina-sama prefers the way we work here, but that doesn’t mean you’re forbidden to work here as well, Yato-kun.”

“Which means while she doesn’t know I’m here then all’s fine, right?” the guy shot, giving a cold glare to the rooms that until that point were empty. Hiyori saw Kuraha losing his shoulders and gave a little defeated sigh.

“I wish dealing with you both by separate were as easy as dealing with you together.”

Nobody said nothing and the silence began to get awkward. However, the fact that suddenly one of the further cubicles had music in it distracted them enough. Hiyori stopped dead upon the gaze of a practicing band, and the few sounds that could filter to the hallway were really good.

The girl looked at the band members. The guitarist had an outstanding voice range, and Hiyori admired how good he looked with his long hair pulled back in a half ponytail. Apparently, he and the bassist also shared a similar bond like Yato and Yukine -with a few differences. The platinum blond of the bassist hair swayed because of the natural movement of that man’s hands, but all the rest looked serious and professional. Catching the drums rhythm, Hiyori rocked her body side to side. The singer looked at her with a red pair of piercing eyes and made a grimace when his eyes turned to her right.

“What the hell are you doing, Hiyori?”

“What?” she asked, confused to see Yato so upset. “Nothing! I just stopped to see them!”

“No way, move!”

“But I like this band!” Yato looked at her as if she had said something extremely rude about his mother. He took her shoulders and shook her up a bit.

“You can’t like this band, Hiyori! That is totally off the question!”

“Bu…” Hiyori stopped when she saw Yato and the black haired boy exchanging really obscene hand signs and a really childish faces. Then he turned her around from the shoulders, and led her through the hallway, pushing.

“We don’t like Raijin! We don’t talk about Raijin! We don’t exchange words with them or little flirty stares with Take or Kiun or any of the others!”

“What? Why?”

“The guitarist is a dickhead” whispered Yato, pushing her a little bit more.

“Wow!” she exclaimed, astonished.

They made it quickly to the bottom of the hallway and turned right. Kuraka opened a door that let out a slight hiss, due the pressure change, and let them inside. Closing the door before them, Kuraha stepped up to turn the lights on.

Hiyori let herself get blind and confused for the strange feeling she got from this chamber. It was a completely isolated room, separated from the world outside, and the girl doubted being in such a silent place before. Libraries are quiet, same as the subway and the train, but you have environmental noise there. This place felt like you could drop a pencil to the floor and you wouldn’t hear a thing. In front of them there was a huge control panel filled with buttons, knobs and switches, each one with a little light on top, connected to three screens that once turned on, showed the entrance’s logo. To the right of all that, the wall had a glass pane that looked extremely thick. Inside of that room there was a huge drum set surrounded by plexiglass panes; a big number of chrome stands rose above it holding a big number of microphones. Hiyori had found SHRINE’s practice room impressive, but it just couldn’t compare to the place she was right now. She had never seen a place so neatly arranged, so quiet and professional. She almost thought of it as a shrine, and couldn’t avoid her heartbeat rose with anxiety. A freckled tall guy came through the door they had entered from moments earlier.

“This is Saiki”, said Kuraha. “He’s a good kid, please be nice to him. Yato-kun, did you bring the maquette?”

Yato searched on the pockets of his jeans and took out an USB drive he immediately gave to Saiki.

“I’m going to let Saiki on charge of you, guys. I should head back”, the gray-haired man apologized. “I’ll try to be back in a while.”

“Say Viina-chan hello for me, Kura-pon”, said Kofuku with a merry playful tone. Kuraha blushed and fixed his tie.

“I’ll brought it up later to her, Kofuku-dono. At this moment, I don’t think that would be very wise. Thank you for coming.”

The man let Kofuku pouting, and Yato looked straight to Saiki, which took back one step and a half, nervous.

“So what are we waiting for? That psycho bitch is close by and I want to finish before she makes this entire place to blow!”

“Y-yes Yato-san!” Said Saiki, and rushed to turn on and connecting to the console everything he needed. “I-I’m going to need Daikoku-san to be ready. I will turn the click on his headphones and the maquette as a guide for him to do the foundation for the drums.”

“Oi!” claimed Daikoku, and rolled his sleeves up, entering the room with confidence, while Kofuku looked at him, entranced.

“Yukine-san is the next one, if you could prepare yourself”, indicated Saiki, respectfully.

“Whatever you say, bro”. Said Yukine, and began to tune his bass strings.

Hiyori felt the bite of air conditioned that Saiki had turned on for the heat not to be unbearable and tampered with the sound quality of the instruments. She twisted her hands, anxious, trying to loosen up her fingers on the inside of the sleeves of her school blazer. Yato had finished tuning his guitar and he put it in one of the stands. Hiyori knew you had to let instruments to temper up to the room before checking the tuning again, but when he finished she was freezing. Yato gave her a puzzled stare, and then he came close to Saiki, who felt that he wanted to say something removed one of the headphones from an ear. After a few rushed whispers, Saiki pointed to a door further away from them and went back to working. Yato made a gesture with the head to Hiyori for her to follow, and opened the door the freckled boy had pointed.

Gray.

Silence.

She had never been in such a weird looking room. It was very reduced, it only had one chair and a microphone output with a pair of headphones, and it was covered entirely with some sort of foam cut in a pyramid pattern that was very confusing to the eye. The silence on there was even more noticeable than in the room outside. Yato closed the door behind him.

“Yato… what…?” He put a finger over his lips to make her stop talking.

“Y’see, Hiyori.” He began, and she notice a bit of pinky shade forming at the tip of his ears. “Kuraha’s place is really awesome, and even though I trust you, we need to finish this up soon for a number of reasons.”

“What reasons?” she said, looking at him with a dead stare.

“Well first of all, everyone here is a slave of that Psycho-chick”. Something inside Hiyori snapped, breaking the last of self-control she had, but Yato interrupted before she could begin talking. “We’re gonna practice your parts.”

“Now?!”

“That’s what this bubble is for! What better time to practice than now we have a bit of time?”

Hiyori started babbling, stubborn and insecure, but Yato stepped right in front of her and took her firmly from the shoulders, making her arms stick to her body.

“You need to be firm, but relax, with posture, but not stiff,” he began. “We’re gonna take a deep breath through the nose…”

“What on earth are you doing?” snapped Hiyori, confused.

“I’m teaching you what you need to do, we’re gonna finish your parts in one go.”

“WHAT?!”

“D’you thougth we were having the studio forever? Is the best one in Tokyo but that also means is one of the most expensive!”

A nerve on one of Hiyori’s eyelids twitched.

She felt the practice had lasted for hours. She realized, however, that no matter how many times she screwed with a high-pitch note or something important in the song, Yato asked her to repeat it time and time again, until she had it well mastered. He had gone through the minimum detail in her interpretation that needed to be corrected and were crucial for the new songs of the demo. Constantly Yato, listening to her standing barely foot and a half away, corrected pitches in the songs, indicating she had to lower or raise them with his hand. Hiyori tried to memorize how to land each note, and after a while on her own, while Yato recorded the base guitars, she finally had to step inside the room.

It had been changed quickly to fit a voice recording, with anything to interfere with the voice quality, and Saiki gave her a pair of big headphones, same as the ones everyone else had used. Kofuku sat right across the glass, expecting and smiling, while Hiyori adjusted the huge device over her ears. There was a crushing silence again and she jumped when she heard Saiki’s voice as clear as if he was standing right in front of her.

“We’re going to begin, Iki-san. The mix is not ready yet, so we’re going to guide ourselves with the metronome click plus the guitar.”

“U-understood…” said Hiyori, by mere habit. Saiki laughed a bit from the other side of the glass pane.

“I haven’t opened your microphone yet, so we can’t hear anything you say, but nod twice if you’re ready…”

“And raise both your middle fingers if you’re not.” She heard Yato’s voice just as Saiki’s one, clearly, directly on her ears, and her heart skipped a bit. Yato had twisted the long and flexible microphone Saiki had in the top part of the console and spoke through it. Trying to steady her heart down, she nodded twice and yelled internally how annoying he was.

“Ah, Yato-san!” said Saiki, startled. “We’re about to begin, please do not touch anything.” He spoke at her, correcting his microphone again. “Okay, I’m opening your mic, please don’t make any noise right now.”

Hiyori inhaled quietly and exhaled slowly, allowing the air to hit the circular membrane of the filter standing between her and the microphone. The click began clearly in her headphones. One, two, three, four; the guitar began to play the intro. Things are heard different in a recording studio, and even Yato’s guitar took a different color. Even so, Hiyori was always impressed about the way he played. Stupid, annoying Yato.

The metronome was marking her entrance, and she sang.

Outside, the only one listening at her was actually Saiki, but Hiyori didn’t know that. Minutes went by and Yato paced back and forth across the short space of the control room. Yukine was lost inside of his portable videogame, and Kofuku and Daikoku exchanged whispers. The young guy watched Saiki rubbing his forehead with one hand. He wasn’t touching anything in the console, and he seemed to have lost a bit of color behind his freckles.

“What’s wrong?” asked Yato, not being sure if he would listen. Saiki gave him his headphones without taking his eyes off Hiyori.

Things are heard very different in a recording studio.

Yato almost fell on his back. He observed with wide open eyes to the person singing. He could not believe she was the same shy girl he had knew. But it was her. He gave Saiki the headphones back with triumph written all over his face.

The girl inside that crystal box was a raw diamond Yato could see as if it was already cut. No matter how bad his eyes hurt by looking at her, he never adverted his gaze.

“H-here you go…” muttered a blushing and embarrassed Yukine, raising a juice at her from the vending machine in the waiting room. Hiyori received it, flustered and really touched.

“T-thank you, Yukine-kun!” she quickly opened it and gave a big chug. Yukine flinched.

“Hey, wait! Don’t drink that fast! It’s cold and you just sang for a good while! Drink it slowly!”

Hiyori tried to drink slowly a mouthful already too big for her, Yukine found her face hilarious and both broke down laughing, the girl trying to contain the liquid with her forearm sleeve. She spoke once they both calmed down a bit.

“Thank you for worrying about me, Yukine-kun. To be honest I didn’t think you’d ever trust me.”

Yukine turned around to look the pictures on the wall, same as when she arrived.

“I’m overprotective with people around me. You can’t blame me, you got closer on a shady manner and I thought it was really weird you jumped to save Yato without actually knowing who he was.”

This was the first time she actually was confronted directly about that subject. She froze down. Getting closer to the white kid, she stood right beside him and started looking at the pictures as well.

“I suppose I followed some sort of instinct”. Actually, why had she ran to push Yato? She kept questioning herself up until this point. “He simply caught my attention, and I guess I would never have some peace of mind if I hadn’t done anything about it.”

“Even on something as an accident?”

“It was a totally preventable one.”

“Whatever you say.” Sighed the boy.

A glimpse of something in the photographs jumped at her sight and she got closer to be able to distinguish the faces better. The wall was covered entirely with black and white photos of bands and artists posing with awards or performing on a stage.

In this context, the photography she was staring at was pretty common, except in this one you could see Yato. Next to Viina. The blonde diva, wearing heavy makeup and with shine on her face due to the sweat, had her arm around Yato’s neck, both showing their face to the audience. Viina was raising up the microphone between them, and Yato was singing in it as well. It was an intimate gesture… so close… so…

“This studio has always followed the careers of everyone they had been related with, client wise”. Yukine did a little shrug. “Kuraha-san is that kind of person.”

“They seem really close”. Hiyori didn’t knew why she had to avoid her voice to come out broken.

“Hm? Oh!… Well…” Yukine hesitated. “I actually never had any clear idea of what kind of relationship was going on between her and Yato, but apparently this happened before I get… to know them better.”

It was clear this was a subject he didn’t knew too much about, and that it went over subjects he preferred to avoid. Hiyori let him excuse himself to the toilet, and she stood alone in front of all those memories of a time that, apparently, everyone cherished and longed to return to. She analyzed Viina’s profile. To anybody’s eyes, she was a strikingly beautiful woman. It was pretty obvious that whenever she started her soloist career, her face would embellish magazine covers and she would be the image of many beauty brands. She was simply that kind of girl. Yato was smiling. The unmistakable spark of light his eyes took sometimes was evident on that photography, even behind all the sweat.

She slammed the door behind her and without looking at the mirror she opened the tap and ruthlessly began to splash water over her face. After a deep sigh, she looked up and stare at her reflection. She had never paid attention to those things. However, in this moment, looking at herself, she realized she was, somehow, less than she was expecting. Everything about her face screamed normality. Standard eyes, if you disregarded the uncommon shade. Common hair. Regular mouth. Small nose. She actually didn’t considered herself ugly, but after seeing someone who could wear smeared makeup and still look heavenly, questions began popping to her mind. Not only about her looks, but also about her talent; having heard and seen Viina, she got the feeling the world was a tremendously unfair place. There were people that were born with everything, and who was her in comparison?

Hiyori wasn’t thinking about telling Yato any of those things, but sometimes it amazed her how perceptive he could be, compared with how clumsy he sometimes seemed to be. This was another common, routine journey back home, but she felt as if people looked at her with pity. “You’re nothing next to Viina”, she could read at their faces, “not for SHRINE, not for…”

“I was hoping you were a lil’bit more upbeat, we just finished recording the demo” snapped Yato, making a frown. Hiyori looked at him, and she lowered her gaze when their eyes clashed together.

“Do you really think I should be more optimistic?” she asked, almost whispered.

“Well of course! I dunno whaddaya’ think, but not many people have that chance in life”. Yato furrowed his brows more and more, what had gotten into her?

“Maybe that’s because not everyone has what it’s needed”, shooted Hiyori, without taking her eyes off the floor. Yato was completely lost.

“Wh…at?”

“I’ve heard Viina, Yato.”

His reaction was not exactly what she had expected. Yato grunted and buried his face between his hands, with the elbows on his knees, and rubbed his face.

“I’m sick of that”, he almost shouted behind his fingers. “I simply can’t believe you as well, of all people, have that strange damn habit of pulling Viina out when clearly she has nothing to do with this.”

He was using a really harsh tone, and she felt how her heart shrunk. He had never spoken to her like that, not even when she was starting trying to sing. She wondered if he had used that tone with Viina before. “Surely not”, she answered herself.

“How is this unrelated? It has everything to do with her, she was the singer!” Hiyori realized she might have gone up the hill with the tone of her voice when Yato straightened up and stared at her with wide open eyes and furrowed brows.

“That’s something I have pretty fucking clear, Hiyori!”

“So how can you still be giving me false expectations?!”

“I really don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”

“Are you aware that I can’t sing like her, nor I will be able to in a million years?!”

“Well I’m certainly not asking you to do so, and obviously, you have not heard yourself sing!”

“I’ve heard myself enough to know what I can and cannot do!”. People on the car looked at them with disapproval, but nobody said a word.

“It’s not my fault you don’t believe in yourself enough!”

The train stopped, and Hiyori got off running. Yato followed her up to the stairs.

“I’m going to give the world the best band of Japan, even if I’m the only one who believes in it!” He yelled, letting her continue. Hiyori didn’t stopped running until she entered her room.

She didn’t knew why her interest hadn’t been piqued to search old SHRINE’s live recordings, but she regretted it immediately. Every time she looked at the dynamics between Yato and Viina, she couldn’t help but compare the moments they had been sharing at the practice. The blonde and Yato were always having some sort of interaction, support, or exchange, by singing together, or talking to each other to their ears to be able to understand what the other was saying, exchanging looks, things like that. Yato and Hiyori simply reduced themselves to do their own thing listening to each other, but he always kept his distance. Most of the times, the guy didn’t stared at anything in particular, or stared at his guitar, or stared at the floor. She received instructions from him yelled across the room between silences, short, essential, straight to the point. She wasn’t bothered by it, even when the others said it was something admirable from her to stand so much instructions. Hiyori always said it was something natural, he was instructing her in something she was a rookie at, and anyways, she had always been receiving instructions from someone to do something. It wasn’t new. It wasn’t particularly obnoxious. What she could not stop from spinning inside her was the fact that it was so different.

She had spent most her Sunday morning with the face buried in her pillow after late-night binge-watching SHRINE’s live videos all night. Yato hadn’t wrote since two days ago, no calls, nothing. She had finished a good chunk of her homework, which she had fallen behind at, but that didn’t made her feel more easy. The heavy feeling kept her pinned down to her face, and after Viina’s images with Yato still twirling around her mind, making her stomach and chest to scorch. She was exhausted about not knowing what the hell was going on with her lately.

Her cellphone buzzed, and Hiyori almost jumps off the bed for the surprise. Unplugging it from the charger, she stared at the name on the display and her heart skipped several beats.

It was from Yato.

She opened the audio file attached to the message and listened. It was her voice. SHRINE played alongside, without overbearing her and without staying in second place. The mix was absolutely perfect. It wasn’t quite the same quality of the record she had, but it was fairly good, beyond a demo. Her voice, her own voice, the one she had been used to for many years, shone at the right places, didn’t missed a single pitch and was clear as crystal. She was lacking the toughness and character of Viina’s and it was not the least similar to it, but it wasn’t bad at all. In fact she liked it more than she could have guessed. Right away she felt her cellphone buzzed again, and she opened a second message.

“D’you still feel like a run-of-the-mill girl?”. She was sure Yato was trying for that to appear as serious as possible, but the angry kaomoji at the end made it run down on impact. Hiyori sighed and texted back.

“That’s pretty good, is the final mixture?”. After a pair of minutes, that Hiyori used to change off her pajamas, a new answer made her cellphone chime.

“Sounds good ain’t it? I told Tenjin to come to Kofuku’s tomorrow. Make sure to be there early.”

So this was it. Finally Yato was willing to hand down the material Tenjin was requesting to continue their contract at the label. It was an important moment. Hiyori smiled and opened her curtains. Looking outside, the sun seemed to light more than usual. Another message fell to her cellphone.

“You’re way more that you can imagine, Hiyori.”

Yato closed his basement door and strode quickly to his car, trying to avoid getting too cold in the snowy blizzard that had arrived earlier. She took his car from Kofuku’s house to pick up the master record to the studio and come back home to get the scores. He considered he would do less time that way and he could do everything in a single trip, without risking the master or the scores to spoil on the way.

He still hadn’t turned on the engine, when he received a call. The display showed “Sera Kaii”.

“Sera-kun! What a weird moment to call!” he said, picking up.

“Ah, is this a bad time?” the guy at the other side apologized.

“Not at all, shoot.” Yato put the key inside the switch.

“I’m interested in this new material you’re telling me about, do you think I can listen to it right now?” said Kai, enthusiastic.

“Ah… you see…” Yato started, “in this particular moment I don’t think that’s possible, Sera-kun. I’m sorry.”

“Oh?” asked his friend, a bit puzzled. “I’m not intending to dig in things that are none of my business, but could I ask you why?”

“Do you have to be so polite?” Laughed Yato.

“If you want me to be less polite, any day you want I can punch you in the face.” Laughed Sera.

“What kind of sucky joke is that?” this time Yato laughed hard. “I actually have to give the master record to my boss in less than an hour.”

“Ah, that ol’ Tenjin? Please send him my most sincere greetings.”

“I don’t think he appreciates your greetings, Sera, to him you’re just a lazy bum that…” Yato interrupted himself after seeing something unusual outside, a sharp figure on the alley in front of his door. “Can I call you later?”

“Oh, sure…” the guy answered, confused about the sudden change of tone in the conversation. Without saying goodbye, Yato hung up and threw his cellphone on the co-pilot seat, on top of the manila colored envelope with the scores, and the clear plastic case with the CD, reading “SHRINE:MASTER” handwritten in black marker. He let the key inside the switch.

He got down the car, shaking.

The white kimono of the girl standing in front of him shone with a ghostly light in the gray sunset. Yato hated to admit how scared he was of seeing her using that white kimono, surrounded by the falling snow.

“Nora.”

The girl smiled.

The first thing Hiyori noticed arriving at Kofuku’s was the empty parking space where Yato’s car usually were. The pink haired girl greeted her with the usual demeanor and invited her to step inside and warm up on the kotatsu. Sitting there, she couldn’t help but notice the passing of time and the absence of Yato. Between small talk, she noticed Yukine taking his phone and press it against his ear regularly.

The accorded hour arrived, and there was no sign of Yato. Hiyori tried to call him on her own, leaving to the hallway to have a little bit more privacy.

“Yato here. I’m busy now but if you really have to, leave your message and I’ll call you later”. The beep from the answering machine went off, and Hiyori hung up. Where was he?

A car’s headlights went through one of the windows, and Hiyori ran to scold that dumbass for arriving late.

When she saw the gray-haired gentleman getting down the black mercedez, Hiyori looked at the time on her phone.

A shiver went down her spine.

Thank you all so much for reading up to this part! The next following episodes are going to be LOADED with angst and I actually have a few trigger warnings so be sure I’m going to let you know properly.

Lots of love!

[frenchieleigh]

Into the Storm

Rivetra Week Day 03 | Storm

Runawayverse: When a big storm destroys a part of the tea shop, Petra makes an attempt to retrieve it, much to the dismay of her employer.

As the wind howled outside, Petra replaced the lid of a glass jar, placing it back on the shelf, now full. She placed the large cork on the ceramic jar she had been scooping from and pushed it aside, scooping some stray tea leaves into her hand and depositing them into a much smaller cup of assorted leaves.

Waste not.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Levi observing the street outside, completely bare save the newspapers and trinkets blowing about, bouncing across the cobblestone taken by the gusts. He let a small breath of air out his nose then reach forward, turning the wooden sign from “open” to “closed.”

Petra straightened.

“Closed, Mr. Ackerman?”

“That’s right,” he confirmed, “closed. No one in their right mind would be coming out today. Might as well.”

The red haired young woman pulled the ceramic jar to her, preparing to return it to the store room. Though she’d only been in his employ four months, he’d never so much as opened any less than three minutes early. To close down entirely?

“Certainly there will be a wary traveler or two,” she protested gently.

“Maybe,” he shrugged, “but they’d be idiots and I don’t serve idiots.”

Petra smiled to herself at this, poking her head into the store room and putting the bulk tea back. Levi referred to Lady Dawk as an idiot and she was his best client. Petra might even go so far as to argue he was sweet on the married blonde, or had been at one point.

He was a very difficult man to read.

When she returned to the storefront, the rain pelted the window with such force she wondered if it would punch holes right through the glass. Thunder roared overhead and lightning flashed, illuminating the tea shop with a blinding white light.

“Are you afraid of storms.”

Petra turned to Levi, pulling up the wooden chairs and flipping them upside down onto the tabletops, the muscles of his forearms flexing slightly with each quick and polished movement.

“No,” she replied, wiping down the countertop, “the thunder startles me when it’s loud and unexpected but I’m not frightened.”

Levi hummed, a small acknowledgement of approval. Good. He didn’t know how to deal with scared little girls.

Though honestly, he could hardly consider Petra to be a little girl. She may have only been sixteen years old, a mere infant in comparison to his twenty-eight but she was more of a woman than half the women who frequented his establishment.

A sharp crack! hit the window and did indeed startle her, even going so far as to elicit a small yelp of surprise from her, and through the rain, she could see the wooden sign, meticulously painted, straight to the point with only the word “TEA” carved into it, smashing up against the panes.

Levi pursed his lips, annoyed that he’d have to replace one of the chains that held it up, but when another gust came, a frightening gale, the second snapped, and the sign was carried off into the storm.

Petra jumped to attention at this, abandoning the cleaning she had been tending to.

‘Don’t worry, Mr. Ackerman!” she cried, “I’ll get it!”

She pulled open the door, winds whipping at her skirts and before Levi could call out to her to stop, she dashed out into the rain after the block of wood.

“Idiot,” he muttered, brows furrowed as he pushed the door shut with his back, bolting it.

Mike Zakarius poked his head into the shop then, also having deciding to shut down his store from the storm.

“Your sign is on the loose,” he informed Levi, giving the smaller man a quick once over, curious at his position, backed pressed against the door, knees bent in the clear effort of accomplishing something that would have given Mike very little difficulty.

“Yes,” Levi snapped back, standing up straight, “so is your daughter.”

There had only been two other times Levi had referred to Petra as Mike’s daughter, as by both biological and legal standings she wasn’t, and both of those times had been thinly veiled concern for her, as it was now.

“Where’s Petra gone in this storm?” Mike asked, considerably less worried about her than Levi. She may have been small, but she was hearty.

“She went after the damned sign,” he muttered, throwing a hand up and continuing to stack the chairs.

Mike said nothing to this, giving a spot beside his eye a small scratch before he retreated back through the connecting door and into his own shop. The girl had survived eight months in the slaver’s caravan. She’d be able to withstand a bit of rain.

And withstand she did.

It wasn’t easy to move along the street, but luckily for her, the wind was on her side, propelling her forward. It was difficult to see the sign, everything made darker by the clouds that shut out the late morning sun, turning everything to darkness.

She’d never been so thankful for a hair ribbon, keeping most of her hair now as wet as it could get, out of her face. Her skirts were much more of a hinderance, the wind blowing the fabric between her legs and the silk sticking to her skin, unmoving and providing her with a most unwelcome resistance.

She wasn’t sure how far down the street she’d gone, her wet boots moving along the cobblestone with an uncomfortable squish each time she stepped, but when a flash of lightning lit up the sky, she saw the sign jammed up against a topped merchant’s cart, chains lashing against the air.

“There you are,” she muttered, reaching forward and pulling it to her chest—no easy feat with her frozen fingers and arms that were significantly less muscled than her employer.

The walk back was much more of a struggle, her legs and arms protesting the wind, and twice falling victim to it, falling to the ground as she lost her footing on the slick cobblestone. It would be wiser, she decided after she picked herself up the second time, to drag the thing by one of the chains and repaint it herself if need be.

Though most of the businesses along their street had closed, she saw the lamps burning bright at the tea shop and gripped a lamp post to steady herself as she was assaulted by the frigid air of the storm, raindrops like tiny knives against her face. The door opened for her when she arrived on the stoop and she pulled the sign in, holding it to her chest with a triumphant smile.

“I got it!”

Her triumph was cut short by darkness that covered her face—a towel placed atop her head, and Levi’s small hands rubbing the water from her hair.

“Mr. Ackerman,” she protested, “I’ve got the sign.”

But Levi didn’t give a damn about the sign and he said as much as he scolded her about bringing all the water into his shop, ruining her dress, and the possibility of her taking ill and thus rendering herself useless. Through his tirade Petra smiled. She knew he wasn’t angry.

When he pulled the towel from her hair he gave her a once over and clicked his tongue at her.

“Go change your clothes,” he ordered, draping the towel over his arm, “come see me when you’re dry.”

Setting the sign down against the wall, she looked at him curiously. Change and come back? Hadn’t he just closed the shop? They hadn’t any other tasks to tend to as they’d had the entire morning devoid of customers to accomplish everything they needed.

He lit the stove then, placing the kettle atop the range, not looking at her.

“We’ll have tea,” he said simply.

Oh.

Well then, she supposed, she ought to hurry.

She crossed over into the toy shop, climbing the stairs and trying to pull up the silk she wore so as not to drip everywhere. Upon entering the spacious apartment she called home, she greeted the couple who had taken her in with a smile and moved to her bedchamber to rid herself of her damp clothes.

Nanaba followed her with a towel for her body and took her wet clothes, offering to wring them out in the bathtub for her.

“Have I ruined it?” Petra asked, “I hadn’t considered how fine of a material it was when I went out in the rain.”

Nanaba glanced to the gown in her arms and sighed, “It’s possible,” she admitted, “but we’ll know better tomorrow.” She watched Petra take her bottom lip between her teeth in a display of guilt and added, “I’m sure Kuchel will be able to do something for it. If not, she’ll at least find amusement in the story of its destruction.”

This set Petra at ease slightly and once she was dry, she fashioned her hair into a simple braided crown to keep the wet locks from her neck, and, spying a plate of biscuits on the dining room table, asked if she could take them next door.

“You’re going back out?” Nanaba wondered, looking up from her needlepoint, hardly ever without some sort of sewing in her never idle hands.

“Mr. Ackerman wants to have tea,” Petra told her, not noticing the way Mike’s brows rose in curiosity.

“Oh,” said Nanaba, surprised that Levi had initiated any sort of social call, “you’re most welcome to them, of course.”

When Petra scooped up the plate and practically skipped her way downstairs, Mike leaned forward in his rocker, giving his wife a suggestive look.

“He wants to have tea,” he repeated, voice low and cheeky.

Nanaba flicked her eyes upwards, giving his large nose a quick squeeze. “Levi is a gentleman,” she reminded him, returning to her work, “that’s all they’ll be doing.”

Still, the large man sat back, placing his pipe between his lips, rocking the chair by the hearth. Tea tonight, but what, he wondered, would follow as time passed?

[aurycula-writes]

A Hint of Vesperan Ethical Intuition: Chapter 7

Chapter Summary:

The journey ends. But does Albaer want it to?

Do any of them?

You can read it here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15417432/chapters/37048326

Or you can read it under the cut:

22 Herba 1690 Most definitely the basement of a ganglord’s hideout

Léandre didn't mind the shackles as much when he used them to propel billiard balls at the gangsters' heads. And stomachs. And shins. And crotches. Anywhere that looked vulnerable, really.

He stood back-to-back with Lamont and Mireille, who was speechless at the events that transpired, in between them. Guilt bubbled in his gut when he and Lamont had to trick her into believing that they'd abandon her, but it was worth it in the end. They pulled off their plan perfectly. Okay, it wasn't perfect if they made everything up as they went along and were outnumbered.

Horrendously outnumbered.

Lamont wouldn't last long. He was, what, one twelve-year-old novice Magia with a better knowledge of swords than most? There was no way he could take down twenty or so grown men. And neither could Léandre, obviously.

The shackles were less annoying than he thought, but they still slowed him down when he had to dodge the balls they threw back at him. He could trip them with its chains and break chairs over them and whip billiard sticks at them for as long as he could, but he and Lamont had to get tired at some point. The gangsters didn't even let them get that far. Lamont was halfway through his third gangster while Léandre knocked away anyone who got too close when he noticed Eyepatch holding a broken table leg, sprinting in a curving path behind the henchman that fought Lamont.

The lackey moved out of the way. The path of Eyepatch's table leg was clear to strike down on Lamont's head. Eyepatch's fingers slid underneath the aforementioned eyepatch. He didn’t wait to see what was beneath it. There was no time to come up with a smarter alternative. Léandre scrambled to beat the stick to it.

He shoved Lamont out of the way from the incoming stick. The wood battered not Léandre's head, but grazed the side of his neck. Pain blared from his throat first and his right side next as it hit the brick floor. He couldn't taste blood, but his neck throbbed and felt warm and wet as he coughed. Léandre's eyes met Eyepatch's as he stepped over him, although he couldn't call him that anymore because he wasn't wearing the eyepatch. Beside his solid black eye was a glowing green eye. No whites were visible, just a smooth, glassy green orb.

As soon as he saw it, he couldn't move. Unlike being under the MTF's paralysis spell, his body didn't stiffen, but went limp altogether. He couldn't move his eyeballs, but he could blink. He couldn't cough anymore, despite his body feeling the need to, yet somehow he could still breathe.

The fight raged on around him. Mireille's scream tore through the air from behind him.

"Bellamy!" Lamont yelled from beside him before what sounded like a fist ramming into him cut him off. The clanging of metal and the impacts of various blows followed. The gangsters' shouts and curses mixed with Lamont's battle cries and unique brand of insults. Basically, Léandre had no idea who was winning and was lucky that no one stepped on him yet.

Eventually a beefy man with a big nose, who actually wore his blue scarf around his neck like you were supposed to, grabbed his arms, hoisted him upright and carried him to a corner of the room where everyone else gravitated towards. Past the layer of scruffy gangsters stood Eyepatch, wearing his eyepatch again and waiting patiently for Léandre. In the very corner of the room was Lamont, snarling and sword-less, trembling hands outstretched and blocking Mireille out of everyone's view. Between them and the rest of the people was a transparent, shiny red screen that lined the ceiling, walls and floor, sealing them away completely. Some gangsters threw pieces of the table at it and the debris bounced off of it, making the screen wobble like a bendy pane of glass.

"Took your time, did you?" Eyepatch sniffed.

"Sorry, Boss," Big Nose said from behind Léandre.

Eyepatch turned his attentions to Lamont. "Well, Pepper-head? I think you know what happens from here."

"You already used that line on me, you bastard!" Not that the situation wasn't dire or anything, but they must have pushed Lamont quite a distance if he'd moved on to straight up swearing.

Eyepatch didn't blink. "Doesn't make it any less true. If you intend to waste my time and don't let down your shield now, you won't like what I do to your half-whitey friend over here."

Half-whitey? That was a new one. "I don't like it already! What did your stupid eye do to him? Why isn't he moving?"

"Let me keep some of my secrets, at least," he said, tutting. He turned away from them and the group of gangsters parted, making a path that led him to Lamont's sword that lay near the door. Eyepatch swung the blade twice like a baton. "Fine blade, isn't it?"

"Not with the way you wave it around like a stick, it isn't!"

“You have a point,” Eyepatch drawled, aiming the tip the sword towards Léandre's belly. “Seems more like a blade made for stabbing, doesn't it?”

In that moment, Léandre, contrary to popular belief, blamed neither his habitual misfortune, nor Lamont, nor the gods he didn’t care about, but himself. Either that, or something in the air, because one of those things had to have forced his body to take the blow for Lamont. In normal circumstances, he would've found a better way or cut his losses. Speaking up for Lamont, working his plans around Lamont's obstinate wants and talking him out of situations was much different from physically...protecting him. For one, he could chalk up the former three actions to being beneficial to himself as well as Lamont. The latter, on the other hand, didn't help anyone.

"I'll give you to the count of three. Release your shield either before or on it, or else..." He pushed the blade towards Léandre's midsection, stopping short of a hair's breadth. Lamont's snarl fell into a chalk pale, wide-eyed expression.

He drew the blade back and began to count. "One–"

Wooden planks and dust rained on them. Big Nose reacted with the rest of them, bracing himself for the debris and coughing at the dust, but he hadn't dropped Léandre. Neither the sword nor Eyepatch were anywhere near him. Small mercies. Through the dust, one small and familiar silhouette weaved through confused gangsters. The figure used the dust cover to their advantage, tossing yelping gangsters into walls and the ceiling.

When the dust settled, a stony-faced Ceres leapt towards him. Upon landing behind him, a kick connected with a thump and Big Nose's pained croak. The sensation of falling forward overtook him. Before Big Nose could land on Léandre's face, Ceres caught Léandre in a bridal carry and brought him to Lamont's corner, now free of its red screen. She set him down with his back against the wall and jumped back into the conflict. Or what was left of it, anyway. Between an angry Ceres and a building full of gangsters, he'd put his money on his sister every time.

What was left of the gangsters were heaps of broken men and their leader, still standing, but not for long, and understandably shaken.

Ceres ran at him. He took off his eyepatch.

Ceres shrugged off whatever made Léandre go limp. He backed away.

"Stay back! Please, stay back!"

Ceres gained on him. His back met the wall.

"Your eye did something to my brother." Her tone was not flat, but cold. Colder than it'd been in a long time.

Of all the things Léandre didn't have control over, he never expected to count his body among them. Not again. But that was his fault this time. When would it ever occur to him that he could never be as physically capable as Ceres, that his most effective form of offense and defense was his mind, not his body?

"M-monst–"

Ceres kicked his kneecap. The resounding snap sounded like the bite Léandre took out of the apple he ate earlier. The gang leader tumbled to the ground, screaming and sobbing.

"I'm sorry!" he wailed. "Stop! I surrender!"

Look at what not thinking led him – no, his sister to. Ceres wasn't supposed to do this. Léandre was supposed to stop things like this from happening. That was the point of being an older sibling!

"Fix him." Ceres' foot hovered over his other knee.

Léandre deserved every insult the world threw at him.

"Or else–"

Lamont pulled Ceres away from the former Eyepatch by her elbow. His fiery expression matched the one the MTF provoked out of him after the robbery.

"That's enough! I expected this from scum like him, but you?"

"He's done something to Léandre," she said, her flat tone as final as an execution sentence.

"I know, I was there!" Lamont retorted. "But if I let you crush his other knee, if I let you do everything you want to do to him, do you think he'll be in any condition to help Léandre? Do you think you're making your brother proud?"

Lamont let the silence ring before releasing her arm, and spoke in a calmer tone. "The things we're capable of have consequences."

Ceres nodded and approached the trembling, whimpering former Eyepatch, picked him up from the scruff of his shirt and brought him to Léandre.

"I didn't hurt some of your men as much," she said softly. "They'll help you and everyone else when they wake up. Before then, can you fix my brother, please?"

Whimpering, the former Eyepatch nodded and opened his eyes.

As soon as Léandre felt his body again, he hoarsely said, "Set him down and then we'll go."

They left the basement with Lamont's sword and whatever contents from Léandre’s bag they could salvage, but without another word.

Alleyway 7:38 p.m.

With a bottle of whisky and scraps from the bottom of Ceres' dress, in an atmosphere as taut as a piano wire, she patched up Bellamy's neck wound outside of the gangsters' –Ceres called them the Blue Scarves– building that turned out to be a seedy pub she fought through to rescue them. Albaer tried to introduce Mireille to Ceres, but the former's first impression of the latter and her experiences building up to it convinced Mireille that she didn't want anything to do with Ceres, who accepted her fear like a wall would. Because that was how it felt like talking to her now. To a wall.

In contrast, Mireille warmed up to Bellamy despite his harsh words, as her experiences up to this point also convinced her there was more to fear than a possibly half-Renan boy. But she couldn't talk to him like she wanted because of Ceres' presence. She turned to Albaer for his attention instead and sulked apart from the group on the steps leading to the pub when he apologized and said he needed to talk to Bellamy and Ceres about their next move.

"The shipyards," Ceres stated.

"Why? We don't have money anymore," Albaer said.

"Gareth told me to go there after I rescued you because he can take us the rest of the way to Eudial City."

The name froze him where he stood. She couldn't possibly mean...

"Gareth Ellis?" Gods, Bellamy's voice sounded like a dying cat. The fool. What got into him, pushing Albaer away from an attack like that? But at least he didn't sound like breathing was an issue. "As in the pretty boy cellist? Why would he want to help us? What’s he gonna do, serenade us until we reach Eudial?"

Albaer would've laughed in better circumstances. There were better words to describe Ellis, like insolent and shameful, but Bellamy's incredulous tone summed the bastard up nicely.

"And how do you know him?" Albaer added.

"I met him when I was looking for you. He came up with the escape plan." Right. Of course he did. "He would've helped, but he had to prepare the ship." Another excuse. Also typical. "He said he wants to help us because Albaer was the one he was looking for."

Albaer fought off the urge to punch a wall. Ellis made it perfectly clear in the past that he wanted nothing to do with the Lamonts or their power. So why seek him out now?

"You know him too?" Bellamy asked Albaer.

"I wish I didn't."

Bellamy's eyes narrowed at him. "Can we trust him?"

"No." Albaer almost didn't catch Ceres' twitch at his instant response. "Yes, his plan saved us, but if you want to be friends with him, expect to be severely disappointed. He doesn't harm children, though, and he definitely won't leave me alone if he knows I'm here. Also, we can't afford to go on our own."

"He's our best option, then."

"Best is a strong word."

"Fastest option. I'm amazed you've learned caution, Lamont, but you can't let it make you pass up opportunities."

"Fine." Albaer paused. Mireille sat on a nearby curb, staring at her shoes. "What about Mireille?"

"We find her parents first." Bellamy followed Albaer's gaze to the lone girl. "We owe it to her."

Albaer wouldn't argue with that. Bellamy brushed past him and Ceres to approach Mireille, who walked with him down the street after a brief exchange of words. Albaer and Ceres walked a small distance behind them as they turned a corner to exit the slums and return to the marketplace. Ceres was silent but switched between staring at the back of Bellamy's head to Albaer, like she wanted to say something. Considering her latest actions, he didn't have to take such a wild guess to figure out what she wanted to talk about.

"If it wasn't obvious," Albaer began, "I'm not angry at you, just...unpleasantly surprised. But that's fine, I've only known you two for a week now."

Ceres neither spoke right away nor looked at him, now more focused on Bellamy. "And Léandre?"

Albaer raised his eyebrows. Were they talking about the same boy here? You know, the one that verbally sprung like a venom-laced bear trap at the slightest insult toward his little sister? "Even if he does get angry at you sometimes, I bet he couldn't hold a grudge against you for an hour."

"But I..."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I don't know how often...that happens. Can I at least assume this isn't the first time you lashed out like that?"

Ceres nodded.

"And he's forgiven you for it before?"

She nodded again.

"Well then, there you go."

They lapsed into silence. The sky darkened to a bluish-purple by the time they reached the marketplace again. The stalls and storefronts were almost repaired. People bustled about their own businesses and he almost choked at the sight of Ceres waving to the same floater shark from this morning, now in a tank, dragged by four able-bodied townspeople. She led them to the right side at the end of the marketplace that would take them to the other half of the city. He and Bellamy hadn't had the time to explore that part of Coralie. Right before they arrived at the end of the marketplace, they heard a pair of voices call for Mireille.

With curly black hair like theirs, the couple could only be Mireille's parents. Upon seeing them running towards her with open arms, Mireille bolted straight towards them, bypassing every obstacle like they did earlier, and jumped into her parents' group hug. Once separated, she launched into an explanation of her day, sounding more like the enthusiastic girl they met at the beginning rather than the subdued one that they felt guilty for hurting by the end. It came as an even bigger surprise when she spoke of him and Bellamy with such high regard despite their actions. Despite his best efforts, Albaer's face heated up.

Luckily, he wasn't the only one. The Bellamys –yes, that meant Ceres too– looked flustered with the gratitude the Dubois family showered them with, so much so that Bellamy refused their earnest offer to take him to a doctor. He couldn't, however, reject their offer to give them the money intended to be Mireille's ransom, as Mr. Dubois firmly insisted and Mrs. Dubois aimed a puppy-eyed stare at him that was on par with the one Ceres used on unsuspecting townspeople.

Once the Dubois family was at a fair distance away from them, Albaer deemed it safe enough to ask, "You're not really keeping that, are you?"

"They nearly begged me to take it." Bellamy slung the black suitcase full of money over his shoulder.

"But it's a ransom!" Albaer quickened his pace to keep up with him. "If you take it, it'll be like we were her kidnappers."

"Remember that thing we talked about earlier, Lamont?" They stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for an auto to pass. "About doing things out of necessity? Yeah, it's an awkward thing to accept, but it's a lot more practical than being taken to a doctor. There's not a single doctor in this country who'd want to treat me, so we'd be wasting both the Dubois' time and our time if we accepted. Besides, the sooner we meet up with the pretty boy cellist, the better."

Albaer unwillingly deflated as they crossed the street and allowed Ceres to lead them to the shipyards. Bellamy had a point. Again. Seriously, how did he get so good at doing that?

"And if you really don't want this money, I guess that means I win our bet." Bellamy aimed a smug grin at him.

Albaer fumed. "No it doesn't, you cheat!"

They argued about the money and their bet all the way to the shipyards. The scent of wet wood, smoke and salty fish grew stronger as the street transitioned into a grey cobblestone bridge, accented with black lamp posts that lit the path with warm yellow light. A small steamship puttered by under the bridge, the water it traveled on brown from the fuel the ships used. Autos drove back and forth on the bridge, leaving them to walk on the side. At the end of the bridge, the sidewalk diverged into two paths. One continued on to the road on the other side of the waterway. The other became a set of stairs that led to the shipyards.

They descended the stairs that ended at a pier with multiple docks branching out from it like the teeth of a comb. In between each one, a ship bobbed in murky water. Some were larger, newer, smellier than others, but what all the ships had in common was the throngs of passengers, servants, sailors and such bustling to disembark, bringing in luggage, crates and barrels.

"Why aren't there any ships preparing to leave?" Albaer asked.

"Because tonight marks the beginning of the flying knifefish migration," an annoyingly smooth voice said from a crowd of passengers that cleared to reveal Ellis, who looked as sloppy as ever. "The first night is always the most lethal, so only the sturdiest of ships dare to leave tonight. You wouldn't have been able to buy your way onto those ships, either. You'd need Al's father's salary to board one of them."

Albaer scoffed. "You underestimate the Lamont family's wealth. Father would be able to buy all of those ships!"

Ellis had the nerve to laugh at him. "He's a businessman, Little Brother, not a king."

"You have no right to call me that, you–"

“Hold on,” Bellamy cut in. He pointed his thumb at Ellis. “That’s the cellist guy? I thought he was supposed to have blue hair.”

Albaer waved the inquiry away with a sneer. “He colours his hair blue when he goes on tours because he likes-” pretending he’s not affiliated with the Lamonts, “-posing as a half-Undinan hack.”

“Ouch,” Ellis said with a wide, obviously mocking smile and clutch of his shirt. “I wouldn’t have put it that way, but-”

"How are we getting to Rozen?" Thank Ceres for pulling them back on topic.

"I called in a few favours," Ellis said as they reached the end of the last pier on the right and pointed to the ship next to it. "We'll be flying tonight."

Albaer's eyes widened at the sight of the metallic vessel on the ship's deck between the masts. The pill-shaped metal cage was supported by wood and iron on the bottom half, while the top half was covered in clear glass, revealing the pilot's seat and five leather passenger seats. The end of the vessel resembled a fish tail and the wings on either side of it looked like bat wings.

"What kind of connections does a two-bit cellist have to get a hold of an airship?" he asked in the most composed tone he could muster.

It was a difficult thing, though. Father wasn't like the mainland Vesperans that despised Renans at face value, as he saw merit in their engineering feats, and so allowed Albaer to learn about them. Although Father said the magic required to limit those that could power and operate the airships to strictly those of Renan descent was repugnant, he didn't deny that it was brilliant and too complex to comprehend.

"And what did you have to do to get it within Vesper's borders?" Bellamy breathed, having no need to hide his awe of the machine.

"The answer to both of those questions lies with the pilot," Ellis said, motioning to the opening door to the captain's quarters.

Out stepped a woman that had to be at least half-Renan, as she had the white hair of a Renan, but the tan skin of either a Frossetian or Undinan. She wore her hair in a bun with a metal rod protruding from it. Her attire was most unusual for a Renan woman - well-fitting black trousers and a frilled black vest over a white dress shirt.

"I'm Esen, his business partner." Smirking, she lowered the wooden ramp to the pier. "And you wouldn't believe me if I told you what I did to get this girl here."

Although it was true that Albaer associated with commoners, at least he could say that they weren't as suspicious as the ones Ellis mingled with.

"My eternal gratitude for your efforts is so grand, it should count as payment." Ellis held her hand and brought it close to his mouth.

It didn't get farther than that because the half-Renan woman, in one lightning-fast movement, whipped out the metal stick from her hair with her free hand and hovered it close to Ellis' hand. Albaer could understand why Ellis stopped. Closer inspection indicated that the pilot's metal rod was in fact a large, sharp needle that resembled a vine-covered snake holding an orb in its mouth.

The pilot coolly stared at Ellis' hand. "If it can't pay the bills, it isn't payment." She tapped it with the tip of her needle. "Your hand, though? If I really try, it could pay for the airship’s engine."

"Would this cover the rest?" Ellis held out a small purse.

The woman narrowed her eyes at the offering, but didn't lower her needle. "Is it auxiliary-spaced?"

Ellis snorted. "'Is it auxiliary-spaced,' she asks. As if I'd only give you a designer purse for the favours I asked of you this week."

Right as the last word left his mouth, the pilot dropped Ellis' hand and took the purse.

"Now if only you’d stop giving me ridiculous requests," she drawled at Ellis, who only beamed back at her.

“But then I’d miss your lovely company.”

She aimed a wry grin at him. “All the more reason to stop.”

...Albaer amended his statement. Although Ellis' associates were suspicious, took part in smuggling and dressed unusually, at least not all of them were dazzled by Ellis' antics.

Leaving the two, he approached the airship's door. He turned the heavy copper-coloured door's handle and pulled, opening it just wide enough to squeeze in. Before he could, Bellamy and Ceres entered instead, the former flashing a smirk and a, "Very gentlemanly of you, Lamont," at him as he passed. Albaer followed with a scowl, releasing the door behind him with a slam.

He sat on the pilot's side in the very back behind Bellamy, who sat next to Ceres and stared at the window beside him, his chin resting on his hand that was supported by an armrest. Ceres had her hands on top of the seat in front of her, leaning forward to get a closer look at the various buttons, meters and switches on the dashboard.

"So, Pretty Boy is your brother," Bellamy said after a moment of quiet.

"Stepbrother," Albaer snapped. "He'd be nothing to me, if I could help it."

Bellamy didn't say anything right away, preferring to stare at him using Ceres' on-the-spotlight gaze.

"Can I ask why that is?"

If only he knew the kind of man Ellis was. The peons could sing his praises all they wanted, but Ellis was a secretive, depraved, magic-using bastard who only cared about himself. It was like Ellis couldn't help but defile the Lamont name! Exactly as Father said. Bellamy knew of him through his reputation and Ceres even had some sort of encounter with him, but being a cellist didn't explain half of what he did today. And make no mistake, he did have some hand in bringing in the illegal airship, not just his half-Renan business partner. Why did he even have a business partner? Ellis didn't do business!

Albaer knew better than to ask him by now. He knew what answers he would get – none. That was something about Ellis that never changed.

"He's a mere disgrace to my family, nothing more."

"Why do I get the feeling your problem with him is more than that?"

Albaer didn't have an answer for him.

Bellamy poked his hand through the space between his seat and the window. "Our pilot has taught me that favours will get you more out of life than just using money. Rather than cash in my victory for the bet, you owe me a favour. Deal?"

Albaer didn't hesitate to shake his hand.

"Deal."

The edge of Vesperan airspace 8:24 p.m.

Ceres counted the twenty minutes it took for Gareth and Esen to finish preparations and enter the airship.

In that time, Léandre pretended like her...lashing out never happened, got into another bantering session with Albaer and watched the clouds clear away, revealing a huge span of inky sky, the wide, glowing silver ring that crossed it and the five moons hovering above them. When Gareth came in, he brought a box of chicken hand pies and a clean roll of bandages for Léandre. Esen started up the airship as they buckled themselves into their seats and ate, or in Albaer's case, was force-fed by Léandre, grumbling that he didn't want any of "Ellis' stupid pity food". He quieted down soon after, probably because he was hungrier than he would admit and was more than willing to ignore Gareth than reply to anything he said. Léandre didn't speak much either. He was more interested in the view of Coralie from the air and she was too.

The ocean on her side shimmered as the ship turned inland. The streetlamps in Coralie lit it up like stars, becoming more sparse as they got farther from the port city.

"Passengers, this is your co-pilot speaking," Gareth said. "As I've mentioned before, we won't be seeing much of the ocean tonight. Nobody wants to get stabbed to death by passing schools of knifefish. Instead, stay tuned for a rare glimpse of the Wildwood."

Something niggled in her at the mention of the Wildwood. She'd heard Léandre and others in Baskerville speak of it before, but she didn't understand what it was. The priestesses and other children at the orphanage threatened her and Léandre with it a lot, but that was it. Was it really a place where they sent ‘heathen children’?

"So we get to see the place that all of Vesper is terrified of," Léandre said with one of his unhappy smiles.

"What is it?" Ceres asked.

Albaer, Gareth and Esen stared at her.

"Léandre doesn't tell me about anything that could scare me until we might face it." Neither of them could risk what her fear could bring.

But since they were about to face it now, Gareth gave her an answer. "Basically, it's a giant forest that covers half of the world like the Zentrum Ocean. The trees are as tall as the ocean is deep and the only way to cross it is by airship. Anyone who's tried to cross it on the ground has never made the full journey. If you're lucky, you can turn back. If you aren't..."

Below them, trees carpeted the ground. Some pine trees' tips grazed the bottom of their ship despite being above the few clouds that formed in the sky. A flock of glowing, two-headed, golden birds the size of horses flew by her window. Albaer squeaked upon seeing what looked like the tops of a giant set of antlers peek through the trees before submerging into the forest again. The airship's floor hummed beneath her feet. Her skin tingled. A faint tune hummed with the floor, as if it came from far away in all directions and if Ceres focused hard enough, she could almost recognize it–

"Ceres?" She turned to her left. Léandre laid his hand over hers and stared at her. "Are you okay?"

She nodded.

"She's a Magia, right?" Esen asked.

"In a sense," Léandre said.

"If you don't want to space out, distract yourself," Esen told her. "The Wildwood is a huge well of ancient magic. Most agree it's where magic came from. Those deeply in tune with their magic are the most sensitive to it."

Léandre scoffed. "No wonder they wanted to throw us down there."

Albaer, as if sensing the unhappy quiet Léandre would soon fall into, huffed. "People, it's just a bunch of trees, magic and animals. Can you hurry it up so I can get home faster, please? But not too fast. I want to be able to get some sleep before we get there. It would be an insult to Father to present myself to him looking sleep deprived."

"You look a lot worse than sleep deprived, Lamont," Léandre immediately replied. "Try more along the lines of a total wreck."

"Speak for yourself, mummy neck!"

"Mummy neck?" The start of a laugh appeared in Léandre's tone. "Is that really the best you can come up with, Magic Boy?"

Albaer undid his seatbelt. "I'll show you magic, you a–"

23 Herba 1690 Rozenite airspace 5:48 a.m.

Gareth finished his Mirror Call as the sky near the horizon turned yellow, sighing when the mirror's enchantments wore off. It would no longer be operational, just like every Call Mirror he bought before it. No matter how well he mastered his magic, there would always be a residual leak that made using any magic items a hassle.

He cast a quick glance behind him and smiled at the sight. Ceres' head rested on her brother's shoulder, her hand still in his. Al snored, mouth wide open, the left side of his face squished against the glass beside him. Not only was he a heavy sleeper, Gareth knew all of them had been through an exhausting week and would unlikely be awake at five in the morning.

"So...who was that?" Esen asked.

He raised his eyebrows. "Why do you ask?"

"Your... fans would would pay quite a pretty prata to know the name of the woman who can wipe the smile off your face." Esen had quite the intense stare, but it wasn't up to its usual standard because she'd been up piloting all night.

He spun the edge of the mirror on his index finger. It was time to use the magic words again. "You know I could pay more than them to keep her name out of it."

"You say that, but what have you done to pay me for my services this week?" She lifted a hand off the steering wheel and used it to point at him. "Talking to that scum Poirier, posing as Floater Shark bait and smuggling an airship into Vesper of all places. None of that is included in a Relic Hunter’s repertoire, and yet here I am, with a measly purse to show for it.”

“I'm still here, aren't I? Name it and I’ll return the favour.” Maybe if he was lucky, she would only make him sing in a dress at Mr. Hayashi’s again.

“No more half-assed searches. I want your complete investment in finding Rui." But no, it was another request that made his heart shrivel up at the thought of another person he had to leave behind like the callous bastard Al insisted he was.

"You already have it. He's my friend too, you know," Gareth said, feeling a note of concern slip from his throat.

Esen turned to him with a blank stare. "A man that blew off a meeting to visit a bookstore owner in Baskerville and then left for Zagato to 'borrow' his teacher's grimoire doesn't strike me as an invested friend, Smile.”

"Not an invested friend, but an invested brother? Running around the world is the least I would do for Albaer, Snapdragon."

23 Herba 1690 Lamont Estate 12:12 p.m.

When the curved black roofs of the Lamont Estate scrolled into view, relief flowed into Albaer. The rest of the rectangular house underneath the roofs was its usual white stone. From above, the tall walls surrounded the estate grounds built on top of a cliff. The water of the Southgate Pass crashing up against the walls. Abstract topiaries were contained within the walls, greeting guests in the front yard. Everything was as he left it.

Albaer was home.

But his stomach sank when he made the mistake of looking at Bellamy, whose expression all but shut down in the face of Albaer's house.

Right. This was it.

No one spoke when the pilot landed the airship on the front yard's lawn. She stayed behind and the Bellamys wanted to do the same.

"Nonsense," Ellis said with a wide smile. "Let's see what Vic does when he learns who saved his son from mortal peril!"

"Call my father that again and I'll skewer your head with my blade!" Albaer snarled, his fists tightening on aforementioned rapier.

Before anyone could do anything else, Bellamy pushed him forward. "Okay, okay, we aren't going anywhere if you don't get past the front door."

So they walked on the stone path and steps up to the front door. Albaer wished Ellis was the one to stay behind, but he was the one to knock on the door instead. The footman answered and despite being part of Father's household, welcomed Ellis with a smile.

"Gareth! It's been a long time!" Even if the words came from the footman and were directed to Ellis, Albaer relished in the defined syllables of Rozenite.

"Mornin', Laurent. Look who I brought!" Ellis ended in song like a child, moving to the side for the footman to get a better view of Albaer.

"Young Master! Your family has been worried sick! And...are these your friends?"

Bellamy and Albaer exchanged uneasy looks. Could they be friends when they had to part soon?

"All you need to know is that these two aided me to a great extent," Albaer said in a cool professional tone. "Now take us to my father."

The footman's smile faded. He bowed his head and turned left down the entrance hall, past the staircase hall, through the lobby and reception room. Albaer took in the checkered tiles, white and beige wallpaper, marble staircase, oak doors and the smell of floor polish until they arrived at the Small Parlour's double doors. The footman knocked twice with a gloved hand and cracked open the door, announcing their arrival.

"You may enter," Father's baritone said through the door’s partial opening.

The footman pushed it open and stood aside. Albaer entered first, then the Bellamys and Ellis was last to step into the long ovular room. On the right side stood a fireplace with a rectangular mirror leaning on top of it. Directly across from them stood the double doors that led to the Great Hall. Windows obstructed by white sheer curtains and a beige couch flanked by green armchairs and side tables populated the left side. In the middle of the room was a round black and gold checkered table and three matching black chairs.

Father, long red hair tied in a low ponytail and dressed in a coal black suit stared at him with sharp scrutinizing eyes and a deep frown of disapproval at Albaer's appearance. Mother, clad in a red morning greeting dress, sat on his left. Her long black hair was curled and styled in a low side ponytail. Her makeup, well-practiced expression of calm and steely grey eyes made her smooth face resemble that of a marble statue. Enid, wearing a powder blue morning dress and matching ribbons in her braided black hair bun, smiled in relief at Albaer. The smile froze when her eyes drifted to where Ellis stood. If Father wasn't present, he would've shoved the dopey-faced buffoon towards Enid. Either that, or out the window.

Luckily for Ellis, Father was here, so the most Albaer could do to distract Enid was clear his throat. "I have returned, Father."

Father nodded, but never smiled in Ellis' presence. "Welcome home, Albaer. Now, before we discuss your ordeal and you leave to cleanse yourself of the rancid filth on your person, may I ask why you have brought," he motioned with his eyes to the Bellamys on Albaer's right, "those into the house?"

Albaer wanted to turn his head towards them, but his body couldn't move under Father's gaze. He opened his mouth, but the words, "They're my friends," refused to come out.

"Why, Victor, they're your son's saviours," a smooth voice answered for him. Ellis stepped forward, smiling that irritatingly genial smile, though his eyes were as cold as Mother's. "After his new tutor – pardon me, I meant to say Magia conman, spirited your son away to your old homeland, this wonderful pair of siblings saved him from a trigger-happy police force."

Okay, how much did Ceres tell Ellis about them?

Father scowled. "Then what use were you, Ellis?"

"I served as his passage home by air," he answered. "Certainly more than what your efforts led to."

"If that is all," Father began with a cool tone and a tight fist on the table, "you and the rest of these rats may leave. Unless you wish to speak to your mother before you go."

Enid's stare did not stray from the center checker square on the table. Ellis, on the other hand, didn't look particularly perturbed at Father's suggestion.

"There's no need for that." He put a hand on both Bellamy siblings' shoulders and turned them around to face the door.

The world slowed down.

In a few seconds, the Bellamys would leave and never come back.

He would never have to sleep in another warehouse or box car ever again, but he'd never be able to banter with or challenge Bellamy again. He'd never need to beg for money or be filthy or mugged again, but he'd never be able to hear Ceres' perspectives again either. He'd be alone with nobody to talk to aside from Enid and his tutors. He would be alone with no one to help him with his magic.

He would be alone, knowing what it was like not to be.

"Now kids, how do you feel about–"

"Wait," Albaer said. Ellis stopped.

Albaer's mind was clearer than it had ever felt before. "Father, I have a suggestion."

"Do you?" He crossed his arms. "Go on, then."

"These commoners assisted me in traversing across Vesper. Léandre Bellamy is fluent in Vesperan, Rozenite and Renan. Ceres Bellamy, although she can only speak Vesperan, adapts quickly to any given situation. They've shown a level of competence beyond most commoners. Would it be correct to state that?" With his reluctant nod, Albaer continued. "Aware of their competence, I propose that they work in the Lamont household. They will undoubtedly be able to keep up with the amount of work and acquire the necessary skills."

Shifting in his seat, Father leaned forward and rested his chin on his propped up steepled fingers. "What do I stand to gain from their employment?"

"You gain a paid debt and employees that you were searching for." Albaer stood straight. "You said that the Lamont family must always repay those who come to their aid. Employing them would repay them by giving them work, unlike the other idle rabble I encountered. My proposal saves you the effort and time choosing a valet for me. Prior to my untimely disappearance, you stated that I am old enough to have one now. Not only that, but one of Enid's maids had to leave because she married into a wealthy family, did she not? Ceres Bellamy is her solution."

"You have made an interesting proposal, Albaer." Father stood from his chair that scraped the floor as it moved. He strode past Albaer and stopped in front of a blank-faced Bellamy.

"Boy, you will answer my question with complete honesty. Do not doubt that I will know if you are lying." He stared at Bellamy with narrowed eyes. "Are you or your companion Magias?"

"With all due respect, sir." Bellamy's Vesperan accent dragged out the 'r's' in his calm Rozenite as he met Father's gaze. "Do you think your son would associate with us if we were? And do you think I would still be injured if me or my sister were capable of magic?"

Father turned to the doors that opened soon after. "Impertinent thing, aren't you? Perhaps my son's influence will cure you of that."

He left, Mother and Enid trailing after him.

As soon as the doors closed, Léandre turned to Lamont. But he couldn't look up at him. "That offer...I need time to think on it."

Lamont's feet shifted. "Alright, you can sit down on the couch and–"

"Do you mind if I think outside? Alone?"

"N-no, go ahead."

Nodding his head in thanks, Léandre left the room, only for Ceres to grab onto his hand.

"Ceres, alone means not to bring you with me either," he said.

"Don't you want to hear my decision?" Judging by her resolute expression, he didn't see any need to ask. When he told her that, she held out a thin book the size of two sheets meant for letters from behind her. "Then use this to help you choose. Gareth said that Mr. Lyon gave it to him to pass onto you when he was looking for Albaer."

Léandre could recognize that thin, faded black, leather-bound book from anywhere. It was the sketchbook Mr. Lyon bought for him after his first week of employment. The sketchbook he left behind because he was so sure he would come back. The sketchbook he thought he could never get back when he realized that he couldn’t.

He thanked Ceres with a small smile that she returned before leaving through the front door. After wandering not too far from the airship, Léandre chose the front yard garden as the place to come up with his decision. While the lush hedges in twisted shapes, yellow and pink flowerbeds, small trees and fresh air were surroundings he wasn't accustomed to, it was a better environment to organize his thoughts as opposed to the tense air inside the lavish mansion.

The thing is, he didn't know where to start. Léandre brought up the subject of the end of their journey just once, fully prepared to hear Lamont sigh in relief and brag about rolling in his bed sheets made of money at his first opportunity. He didn't expect Lamont not to have thought about it at all, to have assumed they wouldn't have to leave. Then Lamont requested them jobs from his father, the one whose words he took reverently as if they came from the gods, because he didn't want Léandre and Ceres to leave. That boy, did he have any idea what he meant by that offer?

Did Lamont really want Léandre's company that much?

And did Léandre want his?

Léandre leafed through his sketchbook, curious as to why Ceres thought it would help. A folded piece of paper fluttered out. Upon picking it up and unfolding it, he recognized Mr. Lyon's cramped handwriting.

Léandre folded the letter, placed it in his sketchbook again, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Ceres was right. It did help.

He strode back into the house and asked Door Guy whether Lamont was in the same place he left them. Door Guy said yes and led him back to the room. Outside it, Léandre saw girls in frilly black and white maid uniforms hovering by the door, trying not to look like they were eavesdropping. Lamont sat in the middle of the sofa on the left side of the room with his arms crossed. Pretty Boy stood facing Lamont, waving a thin leather-bound book in front of Lamont's scowling face. Ceres stood to the side, watching the spectacle.

"Come on, Little Brother!" Pretty Boy cooed. "This will help you control your you-know-what. Having a basic knowledge is better, safer and faster than figuring everything out through trial and error."

"Not to mention subtler," Léandre interjected. "If you want to hide it from people, do you really think you can do that without having any idea how to go about it?"

"I can try!" Lamont leaned to his right to get the book out of his face.

Léandre sighed. "Take the book, Lamont. If I have to stick around and be your minder, I want an easier job of it for once."

Lamont snatched the book from Pretty Boy's grip, his eyes as big as marbles and a growing smile. "Does that mean you'll do it? You'll be my servant?"

He bowed. "You'll regret it, Master."

The smile turned into a smirk. "Is that a threat or a promise, Léandre?"

If this was how most days were going to turn out, he may as well match that smirk with one of his own.

"I guess we'll have to find out together, Albaer."