#but I am. sort of tempted to try and replicate them

[emry-stars-art]

Doodles after learning the different meanings of different wax seals; according to this infographic using blue wax indicates romance or passion, the darker the blue, the stronger the feelings. Abram only has red wax (the default option) if any at all, but luckily he knows exactly who to ask when he finally learns there’s a separate proper way to seal certain sweet letters to his prince

Find the royal au masterpost here 💕

[sshbpodcast]

Character Spotlight: Seven of Nine

By Ames

While we definitely miss Kes, her replacement on Star Trek: Voyager definitely succeeds in filling her shoes and then some. Seven of Nine may have been introduced on the show as an obvious thirst trap to boost the show’s sex appeal, but she is so much more than that. The ex-Borg bombshell, with the acting chops of Jeri Ryan and some excellently written story arcs, grows into more than just the sum of her nanobots.

Get assimilated with your hosts from A Star to Steer Her By as we explore the many facets of Seven, whose journey to regain her humanity pairs so beautifully with the Voyager’s journey to make it back to the Alpha Quadrant. Scour through our astrometrics records below for our usual Best and Worst Moments lists and listen to our hivemind discussions over on this week’s podcast episode (jump to 1:32:36; featuring some bonus moments from guest star drone Carl!). Resistance is futile!

[Images © CBS/Paramount]

Best moments

Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor abyss of space After Seven has [reluctantly] joins the crew, one of the first thing she does is start helping out in the astrometrics lab, and in “Message in a Bottle,” she discovers the relay network that our heroes use to send the EMH over to the Dauntless and pass communication to and from Starfleet. It’s an early glimmer of hope after years of tooling around in the Delta Quadrant.

All by myself. Don’t wanna be all by myself anymore. We get an absolute showcase in acting from Jeri Ryan in the stunning “One,” in which she’s left to guide the ship through some nebula or other while the rest of the organic crew members wait in stasis. Seven’s battles with her own demons of isolation, loneliness, and self doubt play out as hallucinations, but she keeps it together enough to save the whole crew from nebula gas!

A single Borg among billions of individuals When home seems to be in reach because of a starship Arturis brings them to in “Hope and Fear,” Seven initially determines that she doesn’t want to go on this roadtrip because of how daunting she finds returning to Earth. Watching her deal with those feelings until she comes out the other side feels like a win, even if Arturis’s scheme turns out to be too good to be true.

The robot has been neutralized. May I leave now? This is just one of those little moments from the show, but I like it enough to include it. In “Night,” when Tom is trying to pass the time during months of monotony, he’s playing some Captain Proton with an unimpressed Seven, who simply deactivates Satan’s Robot with one of her patented “I am Borg”s and it’s just so charming and funny that I’ve got to hand it to her.

Are you my mother? By the time we hit “Drone,” Seven’s able to help her sort-of son One learn the merits of individuality weighed against the dangers that the Borg exemplify, no matter how tempting they may seem. Her taking this new breed of Borg under her wing shows just how far Seven has come in the season since her introduction, and her heartbreak at losing him is real and lovely.

Part of me not unlike your replicator. Not unlike the Doctor. Like Kes before her, Seven develops a rapport with the EMH that is built on trust and their outsider perspectives (oh, and horniness because the Doc can be a bit of a cretin sometimes). Seven fights for his rights in “Latent Image” when she urges Janeway not to blank his malfunctioning memory again – something you couldn’t do to one of the solid crewmen.

You and I wouldn’t be able to play Kadis-kot anymore Another great friendship we see Seven develop is with Naomi Wildman. The young Ktarian starts out terrified of the ex-Borg drone, but by “Bliss,” the two are teaming up to take on the bioplasmic organism, as the only two people on the ship not affected by its hallucinatory effects. They bond over how they don’t have anyone waiting for them on Earth, but they have each other!

Time is the fire in which Braxton burns You know I’ve got to give some love to one of my favorite time-travel stories! Seven really gets to shine in “Relativity,” jumping through time to prevent some sabotage to the Voyager and brilliantly uncovering Braxton’s madcap plan. She knowingly puts herself in danger with repeated trips through time because she knows the importance of this mind-boggling mission.

No really, are you my mother? If you liked Seven’s friendship with Naomi, you’re gonna love her relationship with the dronelings we meet in “Collective.” We meet the Borg children adrift on their vessel and threatening anyone who comes by like puffed-up stray kittens, but Seven tries to save them from themselves and takes in the four survivors (and the Borg baby!), acting like their foster mother.

Definitely in contention for worst parents in Trek While the SSHB team tends to prefer Mezoti because she’s the best, Seven takes a particular liking to Icheb. Like a mother honey badger, she protects him when she smells the danger that his parents pose to him in “Child’s Play.” She figures out their scheme to sacrifice their child and saves Icheb from getting reassimilated, even if it would help his terribly flawed people.

They’re tryna build a prison for you and me to live in By season seven, Seven’s come so far in her character development that she fights for the rights of Iko, the death-row prisoner in “Repentance.” She determines that he can be rehabilitated and given the chance he deserves because he feels true remorse. If Seven got the chance to regain her humanity after everything she did as a Borg, shouldn’t this guy too?

Their isolation may limit their potential, but if that isolation ends, so will a unique way of life This one may not be a particularly good episode, but it’s always nice to watch Seven learn a life lesson. Though she doesn’t initially understand why she should prevent the Ventu culture from getting corrupted by the Ledosians in “Natural Law,” Seven befriends the primitive people and comes to understand the value of allowing them to develop on their own terms.

—

Worst moments

Scorpions are not to be trusted Speaking of things Seven does as a Borg, when we first meet her in “Scorpion,” Chakotay is reluctant to trust this scorpion in Borg’s clothing, who is certainly going to betray the agreement she made with Janeway. And whaddaya know, Seven immediately betrays the agreement she made with Janeway! Just like the scorpion in that parable that Chakotay totally lifted.

Nevertheless, I am willing to explore my humanity. Take off your clothes. Once Seven gets deborgified, it becomes clear that she’s first and foremost here for her sex appeal. And the show is going to remind you of that. A lot. No one is more aware of that at first than Harry Kim, especially in “Revulsion” when Seven just offers to sleep with him to lessen the tension, having no idea how inappropriate that is. How else are we to notice she’s hot???

Quoth the raven: We are Borg Like Data in “Brothers,” Seven feels compelled by some unnatural force to take over a ship and fly towards her homing beacon in “The Raven.” Unlike Data, she’s not just programmed by some Soong or other, but instead is hallucinating all over the place and would like to be reassimilated by the Collective. She even holds Tuvok hostage until she learns the corvid truth.

Jenny, I got your number: Species 847-2309 A big speed bump to Seven’s reintegration comes in “Prey” when the Hirogen are demanding the crew hand over an injured being from Species 8472. Janeway tries to teach her the value of compassion for a helpless creature, but Seven loses any trust that’s she has built up by deciding on her own to issue them a death sentence and beam them over to the Hirogen vessel to be murdered.

Sometimes your words just hypnotize me While we’ve already thoroughly put most of the blame for this one on the EMH’s shoulders, Seven isn’t entirely innocent when it comes to the episode “Retrospect.” She’s quick to believe his quack psychiatry and accuses Kovin of violating her just because the Doctor tells her to. If anyone was going to view the facts first, even under duress, it should have been Seven.

From Alpha to Omega The Borg strives for perfection, so Seven gets super into the Omega particle in “The Omega Directive” so much so that it becomes an infatuation. She stops considering reason and the danger of the situation that this highly unstable particle poses, which seems entirely unlike Seven most of the time. Like, it’s a cool particle, but don’t get everyone killed just to look at it, lady.

This is a starship, not a nature preserve After living among the crew for close to two seasons, you’d think Seven would have a slightly better handle on tact by the time we get to “Someone to Watch Over Me,” but apparently she’s just as inappropriate as ever just so the writers can make a joke. Frankly, watching her study Tom and B’Elanna’s mating habits makes me roll my eyes at the inanity.

We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own Oh, and we can’t forget all the assimilating that Seven did as a Borg, even if it’s hard to blame her as a person for it. But she sure does, so we’ll take that pass and run with it. We have a perfect example of it in the flashback story in “Survival Instinct” when she forces the little mini collective who’ve been showing signs of individuality to assimilate, ruining their very lives.

It’ll be like a simple night's sleep I can’t help but harp on this moment in “Dragon’s Teeth” when Seven opens up all the crypods and releases the Vaad’waur from stasis… for absolutely no reason. Scratch that: the reason was to move the plot forward. But really. Seven of all people should know better than to release swarms of randos without investigating the circumstances first. They could be assholes!

The caretaker array is turning the frogs gay! Okay, while I’d admit that this one might inadvertently (or maybe advertently?) be the funniest episode of Voyager, you’ve got to admit that Seven downloading all the logs into her Borg brain in “The Voyager Conspiracy” is hare-brained. Like when the Doc turns himself into Mr. Hyde in “Darkling,” Seven tampers with her mind and ends up turning into a conspiracy nutjob.

Fun will now commence On the flipside, some of the moments that are meant to be comedic fall flat in “Ashes to Ashes” when Seven teaches the dronelings a basic educational curriculum. She has no idea what she’s doing in providing the basic education of the kiddos… and it’s not her job! It’s clear the writers have only stuffed her in these circumstances for some chuckles, but I see through it!

We aren’t far from the boner of your people While I’ll be the first to stand up for the Chakotay-Seven relationship (rushed though it was), any time there’s weird romantic and/or sexual bullshit in the holodeck, I admit the red flags go up. So when Seven makes herself a holo-Chakotay in “Human Error,” that’s a no no. We’ve chewed out La Forge and Janeway for this before, and just wait until our surprise spotlight next week!

—

Turns out resistance wasn’t futile! We’ve just got one more bonus Voyager character spotlight before our Enterprise series wrap – and it’s a doozy! So make sure you’ve got this holoprogram running, follow the page for future spotlights and blogtivities, celebrate with us as we get through the rest of Enterprise on SoundCloud or wherever you podcast, chat with our hivemind over on Facebook and Twitter, and we are Borg!

[lanonima]

just sort of rambling

related to my other post, but I'm someone who "steals" a lot. If I like something, I'm not going to write fanfiction, I'm gonna take whatever I like about it and try to write my own version of that. Similarly, if I really dislike something (in a wasted potential way), I'm also not usually going to write fanfiction. I'm going to try and write a better version of it that's original

because that's just how I am and I don't like writing by other people's world-building rules lmao

so when looking for things that will make me go feral, the easiest thing to do is to look at other media I've consumed recently that had that effect on me but the problem is that some things that make me go like this

are not things that I personally can replicate

like 86 (anime specifically) was one of the best animes I've ever seen in my life (possibly even the actual best). The book was less good. It just works so much better as a visual story, and I can't do that. And even the things that I like about it from a core storytelling angle are just not things that I personally write

or at least, I wouldn't be able to write them in a way that had the same effect on me

anyway, aside from that, I feel like the things that I've gone the most feral over recently were Alec's dialogue in Swordspoint and also the incredibly homoerotic dialogue in Sabikui Bisco (I'm a dialogue girl, what can I say)

plus, I mean, the Entire experience of reading The Prince Commands but that's specific to it being a super old book which is not....totally out of my skill set, but less tempting since I'm already kinda doing that with the Theodore Lovelace stories

oh, of course I also succumbed to Feels(tm) and reread The Villain's White Lotus Halo earlier this year, followed by Jian Chu Han Shan and both of those are great! but also totally not the vibe that I'm looking for to replace SC

the things that I usually find the most inspiring are interesting relationship dynamics between characters and I just don't feel like I've really been grabbed by a lot of that recently?

hmm :/

[novelconcepts]

FOUND IT!!! Consider this an official ask for 3 and 14 combined! #wheee

smiling into a kiss and play wrestling

Having a best friend again is strange. She’d gone so long imagining the phrase as a sort of neon sign staked firmly in the past: Best Friend, already spoken for. Eddie had always been it; no other volunteers need apply. 

But Eddie’s gone now, out of her life, living out wherever his might go in another country altogether, and Dani finds the position has--slowly, without really planning for it--been filled once more. Not that she planned for it. Not that could ever could have. 

She didn’t come to Bly looking for Jamie, and if you’d told her the gardener who refused to so much as meet her eyes, much less introduce herself, would become the most important person in her life--well. Life is full of surprises.

There is so little of Eddie in Jamie, she sometimes wonders how both could have occupied the same shape in her heart. Sometimes wonders how Eddie--who prized cleanliness, routine work hours, dinners at his mother’s once a week--would look at Jamie, if he could see her. Jamie, all tousled hair, happiest with a cigarette between her teeth and both hands buried in soil. Jamie, who has never kept a nine-to-five, never craved Sunday afternoons with her parents, never looks at Dani like she expects firm posture, bright smile, neat clothes. 

They couldn’t possibly be more different--and yet, somehow, Jamie is her best friend. Unfair to think it, maybe, but she might be the best friend Dani’s ever had. Her sense of humor is dark, her vocabulary wallpapered with curse words and shorn letters; she smells of nicotine and sunscreen, dresses in wrinkled flannels and torn jeans. Where Eddie looped an arm around her shoulders, Jamie nudges her with bony elbows; where Eddie pressed his lips to her temple, Jamie leans carefully away. Different, in every measure. 

And it isn’t that she likes Jamie more. That wouldn’t be fair--not after so many years in Eddie’s company. It’s just that when Jamie looks at her, eyes bright, dirt smudged on one cheek, sometimes, she feels...

“You’re thinking,” Jamie observes. She doesn’t say it the way Eddie would--the way he always pointed out when she was clenching her fist under the table, or picking at her nails, his voice edged with concern bordering on condescension. Her voice is light, her lips curved in a small smile. 

Eddie never quite smiled at her like that. Or, if he did, it didn't pluck the same chord in her stomach. Not that that matters. Not that that affects the sincerity of friendship. 

Not that it’s making her feel weirdly flushed this afternoon. 

“Am I not allowed to think?” she asks. The sun, she thinks, is responsible for the goofy smile on her face. The heat of the day, which stretches on and on the way only early July knows how.

“Not arguing,” Jamie says. “One of us ought to.”

She’s on her knees, pulling weeds, her face shining with sweat. There’s something about days like this--afternoons where the kids are occupied helping Owen bake cookies, leaving Dani to nurse a glass of water and pleasantly-meandering conversation--that feels almost too good to be allowed. Eddie would have wanted to do something with a day like this: hike, or clear up the yard, or go visit family. 

Jamie, on the other hand, pushes to her feet and surveys the bed she’s spent all day working. “Think that’s good enough for a break. Here, budge over.”

Dani obediently scoots to the edge of her seat, amused when Jamie flops down half in her lap. A year of working at the manor, and Jamie’s gone from a woman who couldn’t make eye contact to save her life to this: gangly limbs tossed haphazardly over Dani’s, sweat-slick skin sticking where it lands against Dani’s shoulder. It’s too hot for cozying up like this, but she can’t seem to convince herself to push Jamie away. 

“There,” Jamie sighs, tilting her head back against the plastic of the lawn chair. “Christ, feels good just to breathe.”

“You breathe,” Dani says, “and I’ll think. Together, we make an almost-functional human being.”

“Almost,” Jamie says wryly. Her hand loops around Dani’s, teasing the sweating glass out of her grip long enough to take a sip. Dani nudges her. 

“Could get you one of your own, if you ever learned to ask politely.”

“Don’t like me polite,” Jamie says with a shrug. “My brand is prickly-yet-charming, and we both know I’m your favorite for it.”

“Technically,” Dani corrects, “Flora is my favorite. Mainly because she doesn’t make me remind her to say please.”

“Please,” Jamie says without missing a beat, “keep pretending you aren’t captivated by my winning personality.”

Dani laughs. “Oh, is that what I am?”

“Mm.” Jamie takes another sip, reaches over her to set the glass down on the table, closes her eyes. “S’what you were all pensive about just now, I’m sure. How entranced you are with my witty banter.”

“Entranced,” Dani repeats.

“Beguiled. Mesmerized. Drunk with adoration.” Jamie’s face is pink, a bead of sweat neatly lining her upper lip. Dani only realizes she’s staring a fortunate beat before Jamie rolls her head to the left, peering at her with lazy amusement. “Go on. Tell me how much you love me.”

“Love how ridiculous you can be, maybe.” And how sweet, and how unquestioningly soft, though she doesn’t see a need to put that into words--or a way to do it without sounding entirely out of her head. The heat, she thinks, is absolutely getting to her. 

It’s the heat, making her want suddenly to slide an arm between the plastic back of the chair and the cotton of Jamie’s tank top, pulling her even closer. The heat, making her want to displace the normal back-and-forth ease of friendship with something else entirely. 

She’s had a best friend before. She’s never quite wanted to do with Eddie what she is, more and more, thinking about with Jamie curled up beside her. 

Distract, she thinks, because Jamie is still watching her with that half-lidded expression she gets when the sun is particularly bright, the day’s work has been well-tended, and Dani’s shoulder is a cushion beneath her head. More and more, it’s been feeling like a dangerous sort of moment, Jamie’s face lingering near the crook of her neck. Jamie’s breath coasting down the neckline of her dress. Jamie’s smile sweeter than should be allowed, given the grumpy way she slouches around the grounds. 

“Thinking,” Jamie says, her voice almost soft. Dani shakes her head. 

“It’s not illegal.”

“Is,” Jamie says, “if you’re gonna just stare at me all googly-eyed while you do it. C’mon, what gives? Is today some holiday I’ve forgotten?” She sits up a little straighter, her face comic in its sudden concern. “Shit, Poppins, it’s not your birthday.”

She almost wants to say it is, just to watch Jamie turn fascinating new shades of maroon. “No--just--it’s hot.”

Jamie sags back with palpable relief. Her arm is freckled, Dani notices, beyond the norm; the summer is drawing all sorts of secrets from her skin, and it’s suddenly painfully tempting, the urge to trace her nail along these newfound constellations. 

Distract, she thinks again, more urgently this time. Without thinking it through, without considering the consequences, she dips two fingers into the glass of water and flicks the still-cool moisture directly into Jamie’s face. 

Jamie, to her credit, hardly jumps. She’s just blinking at Dani like their conversation has taken an unanticipated left turn into another language, water dripping from the end of her nose. 

“Okay,” she says. “If that’s how we’re playing it.”

Her arm reaches across without hesitation, replicating Dani’s playbook: two fingers dipped, flicked, landing back in her lap as Dani sputters. 

“You got me in the eye.”

“Cooled you off, though?” Jamie asks, almost politely. Dani laughs, and suddenly, it’s war. There’s barely enough room on the chair for the both of them to sit like adults, much less to squirm around, hips knocking, legs tangled up as the remainder of the glass finds its way--droplet by droplet--into Jamie’s face, down Dani’s neck, sometimes missing entirely and disappearing into the sizzling summer air. 

Dani is ultimately the victor, an upset decided when she grasps the glass--now containing maybe two inches of water--and upends it directly over Jamie’s head. She’s laughing almost too hard to breathe, particularly when Jamie gives a firm shake of her hair, looking like a rumpled dog after a bath.

“That,” Jamie says in a low, dangerous tone, “cannot stand.”

She’s up before Dani can stop her, sprinting toward the garden hose uncoiled in the grass. Dani twists in her seat, knees drawn up to her chest, arms extended.

“Don’t you dare!”

“All’s fair,” Jamie says, almost apologetically, depressing the trigger. 

They are, Dani notes somewhere in the back of her mind, full-grown adult women. They are thirty years old, gainfully employed, responsible for the upkeep of an entire house and the well-being of two small children. 

They are also now chasing one another across the lawn, Dani sopping wet, Jamie laughing so hard she nearly trips over her own feet taking a corner too fast. The hose is growing more and more tangled by the minute as she dashes in a zig-zag pattern, periodically firing a jet of water over her shoulder, and Dani has no prayer of catching up--not with her shoes squelching, slipping on wet grass, her lungs clenched around a soundless jag of laughter. 

Adults, she thinks, as Jamie makes the insurmountable error of trying to bolt past her like a quarterback dodging a tackle; she makes a successful leap over the tangled hose, but forgets at the last second to factor in the edge of the lawn chair. Dani has her around the middle before she can dart out of reach, the both of them tumbling over in a cackling heap of grass clippings, puddled hose water, freckled limbs. 

They’re rolling, shouting wordlessly around giggles, Dani struggling to pry the hose out of Jamie’s hands. It’s harder than it looks; Jamie is small, but strong in an annoyingly wiry sort of way. Even when Dani manages to get her onto her back, the water is inescapable, dousing in short jets across her chest, down her arms, pooling awkwardly between them. 

“You are,” she laughs, “a child.”

“Could a child do this?” Jamie replies, jerking upward at the hips with unexpected force. Dani rocks up with her, one hand grasping the sodden front of Jamie’s shirt for balance, and drops back down without budging from her seat. Jamie releases an oof as her back makes rough contact with the ground again, giggling too hard to successfully shove Dani over.

“Yes, actually, I think a child would be exactly that effective,” Dani informs her. Her body has never felt quite this alive, her muscles aching with the effort of an unplanned run. Jamie, chest heaving for breath, is practically glowing. 

“Just want to remind you,” Jamie says, “you did start this.”

“Does that mean I win?” If she hasn’t, she can’t imagine it would feel any better than this: straddling Jamie’s hips in the soft grass, cool water seeping down her back, her dress sticking pleasantly to warm skin. Jamie allows the hose to drop from her grip at last, her head tipped back, eyes closed.

“Call it a draw.”

“What if I wanted to win?” She slides a hand up without thinking, pinning Jamie by the wrist before she can decide to take up her watery weapon again. Jamie draws a deep breath, face flushed, grinning. 

“Guess you’d have to work harder for it.”

Children, Dani thinks--but suddenly, it doesn’t feel childish anymore. Suddenly, she’s overly aware of her dress rucked high around her thighs, of how short Jamie’s shorts really are, how her body is considerably less obscured than usual with her shirt plastered to her frame. Suddenly, she’s aware of Jamie’s hand flexing against the grass, pinned beside her head with a loose enough grip to break--though Jamie isn’t breaking it. Isn’t even trying.

Jamie is, instead, gazing up at her with hair mussed, eyes bright. Jamie, whose free hand is sliding up to rest along the curve of Dani’s hip. 

She’s Dani’s best friend, like he was, but this doesn’t feel like it belongs in the same category as late-night stories swapped by the fire, or letting each other steal the vegetables the other doesn’t care for off their plate. This feels like a category all its own: the way Jamie licks her lips as Dani’s head lowers, the way Dani’s fingers graze the freckles painting her wrist on the way up to notching her palm against Jamie’s. 

Her hair is wet, and Jamie’s face is sweaty, and there’s so little romance to the whole picture, it takes her by surprise. She’s always thought there should be talking before a thing like this, at least--a decision made on equal footing. 

“I don’t have to,” she says, even as Jamie is saying, “Do you want to?”

Children would laugh again, go back to wrestling, go back to how it all felt just a few minutes before. They are not, Dani notes as she lowers her head--as Jamie shifts up at the shoulders to meet her--children. 

She’s hyper-aware of all of it now: the sun beating against her shoulders, the hand Jamie is using to grip the back of her dress, the exact angle of Jamie’s mouth parting beneath her own. Her tongue is gentle, brushing Jamie’s, and the sound Jamie makes into her is anything but. 

She’s smiling, she realizes, so hard, it hurts--that deep, wonderful hurt of laughing too hard for too long, of slipping in the grass and landing in a heap with someone who couldn’t help catching her on the way down. She’s grinning into Jamie even as she’s kissing her, even as she’s letting her body stretch out to press Jamie more firmly against the damp ground. 

And Jamie, fingers curled between her own, making soft sounds of appreciation into the kiss, is grinning right back. 

“This was your plan all along,” she accuses, brushing the hair from Dani’s eyes when they break for a breath. “Awful lot of work, for a kiss.”

“All’s fair?” Dani suggests--and she genuinely, honestly cannot decide which she likes more: the way Jamie kisses, or the way Jamie kisses and laughs at the same time. All of it, she feels, goes a country mile beyond best friends. All of it goes a country mile beyond anything she could ever have dreamed up, walking away from him the way she did. 

It couldn’t possibly be more different.

[itsclydebitches]

ngl voyager gets a whole lot of very disproportional hate from the fandom and i'd hazard a guess that a lot of that is just garden-variety misogyny (and probably racism mixed in, considering how many of the most prominent characters are women, poc, or both). like, is voyager perfect? absolutely not. and no spoilers but there was a lot of executive meddling that wound up leading to the finale/conclusion being lacking and there's a lot of reasonable dissatisfaction with that--but again that was largely thanks to the execs fucking the show over and i recommend looking into that if you can once you've finished the show. but overall? voyager is trek right to its very core--it has heart, it's about family, and it never loses sight of that imo, even if some episodes are weaker or just duds (but, like, would it be a trek series without some episodes that just kinda suck but are still fun to watch???)

anyway, i absolutely love that you're getting into voyager, it is my all-time favorite trek series to this day for a lot of reasons, and i hope that ppl like that anon dont put you off bc i'd love to continue to see your thoughts as you watch the series!

Oh, it would take a whole lot more than some anons being salty that others enjoy things to turn me off :D 

Thus far (I lost internet last night so I’m still only on Episode 7 of Season 2), Voyager is the Trekiest Trek I’ve watched. Which is a weird sentence, but I mean it in the way you said it’s “trek right to its very core.” What is Star Trek, if we strip the intent of the story down to its basics? It’s about exploration, discovery, that “wagon train to the stars,” wrapped up in the argument that life is fundamentally good. We have problems, but we can work past them. We have differences, but they strengthen us. Diversity is the lifeblood of the universe and the future will continue to improve so long as we embrace that. 

Voyager is (again, from what I’ve seen so far!) basically a love song to that premise. I didn’t do too deep a dive because I’m trying to avoid spoilers, but I did look at a couple threads discussing why Voyager is so hated. Again and again I saw the same reason pop up: wasted potential. Now, a lot of fans left it at that (as if the answer to what potential Voyager apparently missed out on is self-evident. It’s not), but those who did expand on the idea consistently claimed that the show needed to be darker than it was, even if they rarely said it like that. Why aren’t the Federation and the Marquis at each other’s throats? Why isn’t the crew going crazy under these circumstances? Why aren’t characters getting killed off left and right in hostile space? “Anything could have happened out there and they played it safe!” but the “anything” here is always... awful. There’s this very pervasive idea that the world is inherently cruel, people are inherently divisive, that when pushed to the brink everything will fall apart... and that (while making for one kind of great story) is very much not Star Trek. 

See, Voyager created an unimaginable scenario--lost in space, 75 years from home, forced to live indefinitely with strangers--and their answer to the question of “What happens?” is “People make it work.” They learn to respect one another, they uphold their ideals, they maintain a love of life and discovery, and they create a family. And that’s fucking fantastic. That’s Star Trek! I’m not going to pretend there aren’t problems with the show, with plenty more to come, I’m sure, but I don’t think this is one of them. Why do so many viewers think that hatred, horror, death, and growing jaded is the only potential here? Why would they expect that in a Star Trek show whose premise is the very antithesis of those things? 

“But they don’t do enough with those things, even if they have happy outcomes.” They do plenty, they just do it in an episodic rather than serialized nature. I can point to multiple episodes where the replicator rations or Maquis differences are driving the characters’ actions. “But without that horror there’s no conflict.” There’s plenty of conflict. Hostile aliens aside, I just watched an episode where Tuvok and Chakotay are pissed as hell at one another because they fundamentally disagree over how to handle problems, but--because they’re adults with a well-tested respect for one another--they apologize and work through it. “But the characters don’t develop at all.” You mean they don’t grow harder. That’s not the same thing as no development. Tuvok is figuring out how to be more flexible, Chakotay is becoming more willing to accept cultures he doesn’t agree with, Harry is growing more confident now that he’s far from home, the Doctor is learning to see himself as a person, Paris is grabbing his second chance with both hands by making strong ties, and Janeway is learning to command and care for her crew simultaneously. I honestly believe that a lot of people think of “character development” as the character becoming a fundamentally different person, unrecognizable from where they started out. But  characters can also grow into the people they wanted to be in the first place. “We’re far from home, in hostile territory, tempted to do horrific things to survive... but no. Right now at least, we’re holding onto who we are. We’re scientists, so we’re going to explore and learn. We’re peaceful, so we’re going to make friends with as many species as we can. We’re members of a society that teaches acceptance, so we’re going to form a family on this spaceship.” That’s incredible!! Did fans miss why Seska was an antagonist in the episode she was unmasked? Because she was trying to convince them to give up everything they believe in in the name of survival, an ends justify the means argument. And the crew said no, we will not give up what we believe in just to make it through. I legit saw a ton of fans saying some version of, “I can’t believe they were that far from home and actually followed Starfleet’s rulebook.” It’s because those rules don’t exist for the hell of it. Overlooking their practical function, they’re a philosophy that the characters believe in, and they’re figuring out how important that part of their identity is to them under these circumstances. Am I willing to steal a specie’s technology if it gets us home? Am I willing to die to help another uphold their own philosophy? (Chakotay in “Imitations”). What regulations should we bend or change to accommodate our new situation? The first two things Janeway does are a) giving the guy who just came out of a penal colony a rank and b) deciding that she needs to be more familiar with her crew than is normally encouraged for a captain because she’s essentially their mom now. Developing doesn’t have to mean characters do a 180 on their initial personality, or characters getting killed off when stuff gets “boring” so that others can do edgy things in response. 

Voyager upholds Trek’s premise and runs it to its logical conclusion: 

Voyager has the most literal trek--a trek back home. 

Voyager has the most diverse crew--a woman Captain, Native American First officer, black Vulcan, Asian-American communications officer, and a White Dude pilot that realizes he wants to be soft and kind towards those who took a chance on him because Toxic Masculinity who? 

Voyager has the most literal family--not just a 5+ year mission, but a crew who expects to raise the next generation. They have no choice but to work together, so they indeed come together rather than pulling apart

Except they do, of course, have a choice. In “The 37′s” the crew is allowed to stay on the Earth-like planet with a city of other humans and Janeway is convinced that a sizable number will choose that. After all, they may never get home and this is a safer, kinder future for them. In fact, the real question is whether so many will stay that they can no longer run the ship... but Janeway would never dictate her crew’s choices in that manner. So she swallows her worry down, opens the door... 

... and finds that not a single person decided to stay behind. And the show has ensured we understand that this is not just because they all have some unshakable belief that they’ll get home (many don’t), but because this is their family now. This is home. 

And fans want to toss that out for a generic, gritty, sci-fi adventure where hope is scarce, the universe is cruel, and people need to be pushed to the limit just to admit that they maybe, sort of, like each other?? Obviously like what you like, but that’s a hard pass for me. I’ll take the bridge crew comforting each other in “Twisted,” thanks. Besides, we already have shows like that. And we already have DS9 which grapples with many of those dark, pessimistic themes. Voyager feels like a breath of fresh air, even within the breath of fresh air that is Star Trek as a franchise. It’s a show that says, “Yes, when everything goes wrong people will come together. They will love each other. They will make it through.” 

What’s more Star Trek than that? 

[emilysidhe]

Even though it’s still November, it’s already that time of year when my “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” post is getting notes again, and it turns out I have more to say about that song.  Specifically, that the new trend of singing the parts with the genders reversed is ... kind of weird in a sort of uncomfortable way.  

Allow me to explain.  Because 1) women’s sexuality is highly controlled under the patriarchy and 2) the female character’s repetition that she really should be leaving is focused entirely on what other people (the neighbors, her brother, her maiden aunt) will think about her staying and not about her actually wanting to leave, there are two equally plausible interpretations of the song as originally written.

1) That we’re witnessing a man trampling over soft no’s as a woman makes socially acceptable excuses about why she doesn’t want to be there and the man continues pushing past them (supported by the “what’s in this drink?” (alcohol) line and the fact that the male and female parts are labeled “wolf” and “mouse” in the original sheet music)

2) That we’re hearing a woman express concern about how she will be judged by society if she gives in to her desire to spend the night with this man that she’s into and he offers her an acceptable excuse (it was simply too dangerous to go home in this weather, of course she *had* to stay, that doesn’t mean anything untoward happened) that would allow her to do what she wanted while plausibly denying that the untoward things that she very much wanted to happen did indeed happen

(Interpretation # 2 is suggested by the lines:

I've got to get home (Baby you'll freeze out there) Say, lend me a comb? (It's up to your knees out there!) You've really been grand, (I thrill when you touch my hair)

She asks for a comb to fix his hair, not her own, which suggests a playful intimacy that supports her wanting to stay.)

For me, the female vocalist is the deciding factor in how each particular version of the song is interpreted - there’s a rendition with a solo male vocalist and a female chorus that I find extremely creepy because the chorus does this naive, little girlish Betty Boop styling that makes it sound grossly victimizing.  Other renditions have a knowing, audibly tempted tone that feels fun and flirty, a constrained woman finding permission to be just as naughty as she wants to be with the treacherous weather giving her a way out of the repercussions imposed by a judgmental society.

But because male (het) sexuality is not controlled by society the way women’s sexuality is, there’s no Watsonian reading of a gender-reversed “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” that allows the man to be secretly into it while offering half-hearted denials.  If he wanted to spend the night with a woman, there’s no reason for him not to admit that, so making excuses *has* to mean that he doesn’t actually want to be there.  Creepy sexual aggression on one party’s side is the only interpretation possible here.

On the other hand, from a Doyleist perspective, a gender-reversed “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” means from the singers’ perspective that “I find the wordplay in the original very fun but am creeped out by the problematic interpretations, so I wanted to replicate it a way that removes the societal power dynamics” which is, conversely, kind of sweet.

idk, I guess the point is that there’s no way to record this song that’s not complicated and open to contradictory interpretations???  But the wordplay with the different parts rhyming with each other while having entirely different conversations is pretty fun, so I understand why people keep trying it.

[snacc-noir]

AU where Tom dies and Sabine marries someone of her family's choosing. Gabriel wants to improve business in Taiwan and decides the best way to form an alliance is to have his son date his prospective business partner's daughter, Marinette Lin.

(um do i smell the potential for sliiight rival tension? yes.)

-

He’s attractive, she’ll give him that.

Any youth to Marinette’s posture resides from ache in her shoulders as Wade Lin eye-stabs her to push them back more - a treasured look offered only by her stepfather on the rare occasion he isn’t folding company cards in Taiwan.      

If only her mother were allowed to come and stand beside her in the Agreste mansion to watch her live her own fate: meeting a guy whom she has no feelings for – her future spouse – out of families’ urge for business conciliation.  

Except Marinette Lin has no late husband, or any clue what she’s doing here.

She just has a job to do.

Emerging from childhood pressed face to the reality that ‘marriage’ is just a sugary word for ‘business transaction’. Lin Industries and Gabriel would soon merge forces, glam for the press, have their titles in the tabloids –

Through their children's marriage.

Yes, Adrien Agreste has a nice face; he’s a model. He’s been flaunted in tumultuous magazines with poses just-so to have any pathetic teen girl collapsing, so Marinette’s prepared to be stuck with an overtly rich and entitled ‘Vogue Golden Boy’. She hates the situation in a way that pacifies her into a clean grin and accepting nods, because she’s stuck, so in the end does it really matter?

“I expect your best behaviour. You’ve already agreed to this, remember?”

She scoffs. Like she had a choice.

Her indifference had deepened to match the mansion. “You would think an owner of a creative industry would understand the term ‘house décor'.”

“Marinette-”

Her snark smooths as Gabriel himself enters, alone. He speaks sternly, holds their gazes intensely, and has a posture her stepdad surely notes to nag her about later to replicate next time. They’ve met before – she's been approved, been there, hated that – but isn’t she here for Adrien?

Oh.

Oh, okay.

That’s him, is it?

She doesn’t mean to be glaring as the boy steps out – Adrien, whose face is raw in disappointment as though trying to take her throne in not wanting to be here.  

They meet eyes, greyish to the touch, disdainful in the delivery.  

She decides that she does not like Adrien.

And by the way his lip presses as he strides beside his father, he doesn’t appear to like her either. But she understands. After all, she’s seizing his freedom with other women.  

He reaches out his hand. She’s slow to take it.

“Marinette– Is it Dupain-Cheng, or Lin?”

It’s a dig at her forced name-change, she’s sure of it. “Lin.”

“Marinette Lin. It’s a pleasure.”

She casts a hidden eyeroll to the side, tempted to mutter, ‘Sure it is’.

Wane clears his throat. “We’ll have the media informed soon, but I believe simple arrangements should be decided first. Not to mention the attire.”

“Of course. We’ll leave these two here to get to know each other better to placate the reporters at public sightings. It’s what’s best if they’re going to get married.”

On beat, Adrien and Marinette flinch at the word as the men stride away, ushering staff to follow and leaving them alone in the lounge room.

She has a seat. “Adrien.”

There’s slight mockery to his voice. “Yes, my lady?”

She folds her arms over the custom dress. “Cut the act, you obviously don’t want to marry me, while I couldn’t care less. Just tug a few strings with your dad or whatever to get out of this, if you really want to get back to your girl gaggles.”

His brow pulls like he’s offended by her words. “I don’t think you understand my relationship with my father.”

“Fine then. Marry me. Whoever you are.” The dark fabric is all sorts of uncomfortable no matter how she adjusts to sit. “But then don’t complain in my ear all day and make me a slave or anything.”

The boy’s stature stiffens. “How entitled do you think I am?!”

She faces away, abashed. Her confoundment and headspace of it all (because she’s getting married, remember) caused her to run her mouth and spill what she’s already assumed of his character. And apparently, he doesn’t agree with it.

“I don’t know,” she rushes. “I don’t know you at all. My apologies.”

He simmers, pacing out of habit. “No. No I snapped too. I’ve just been arguing all week about this. I haven’t achieved anything.”

“Understood,” she says quietly.

There’s a silence.

His suited self whips to front, his hand jutted out. There’s a softness in his smile and dimples to it that she’s lightly caught of breath by. “Let me start again. I’m Adrien Agreste.”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

His brow raises, but he says nothing. He brings her hand and kisses it amidst a bow.

“Marinette,” a grin far from good-intentioned slips past his wholesome candour, “care to join forces with me in ruining our parents’ plan for us to get married? I heard they’re rather unprepared for any scandal us as a pair could get in...”

Something light flickers in her chest. She hasn’t embraced excitement or any feeling past passive resentment for a while since her father’s death, and the surprise is striking in all the best ways. It draws her to him and Marinette leaps up, his smile infectious.

“I would love to, hot stuff.”

He’s attractive, she’ll give him that.

[yukiwrites]

Where Your Loyalty Lies [13/??]

Summary:  Kamui’s kidnapping didn’t go as planned – She managed to get away and ended up at Silas’ doorstep. They were raised as siblings, but she has always felt different; her fangs and red eyes and urges to run amok, what did they all mean? Would going to the castle as the Crown Prince’s retainer help her find more clues? Will the war between Nohr and Hoshido be the answer to everything?

Previous chapter <=> AO3 <=> Next chapter

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Chapter 13: Determination

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The beast growled at the back of Kamui’s head. She could almost feel it breathing down her neck while she wrapped herself with the thick bed sheets Eleonore had sent just a day previous. It was as though the bed -- not small but certainly not big either -- was cramped with both Kamui and her beast, as it gnawed its jaw and slithered its tongue over the young woman’s cheeks. It made her shiver within herself in a way she hadn’t done in more than a decade.

Had all of her training been for naught? Would the beast always grow just as strong as Kamui whenever the dame improved herself? 

She knew herself -- she was stronger now than in the past; she even managed to push back her itches to the point of controlling when they would happen! But all of that crumbled once they arrived together at Stockarres -- once Kamui willingly allowed the beast to take over her body to show off its prowess to all who would witness it.

It was as though the control Kamui had over her own consciousness could be snatched away from her as if they were reins of the carriage that was her life. The place she had always fought for within her; the spot whence she would be able to proudly call herself 'her own person' was in danger of being stolen from her.

Just a push was all it needed for Kamui to lose this battle.

And she didn't feel strong enough to fight back. Not after succumbing once.

Just once is all I need, it was as though the beast slithered to her ear, giggling with its forked tongue between its teeth. One more time and you're mine.

Huffing, Kamui dug her nails into her right arm, still wrapped with an old rag, though even that was being torn here and there. Part of her rationalized that if only she would go through this itch right there and then -- down there under the trees and the perpetual shadow of the forest -- it would all be okay come morning. She would be herself again.

Yet, there was no telling if she would be able to come back were she to run amok on her own -- would she return as herself, or as the beast whose ever-growing roar threatened to make her tear her own flesh apart? It will be okay, she kept telling herself. I'll be okay, I'll be okay, I'll be okay, she chanted inside her mind so as to drown the growls and roars.

Besides, she was going to meet King Garon the following afternoon -- what if she needed the power to escape? Perhaps conserving her strength-

"No!!" Kamui held her own head between her overgrown claws. "Don't tempt me into trusting you again!" She seethed under her teeth; her entire body trembling with a cold that came from within her terrified heart. "It's true that I usually feel more refreshed after- after exercising, but I can't- oh, I can't!" She sobbed into her own arm, her breath as shaky as her unfocused gaze. "I will-" she sniffled, overly conscious of the tears that streamed down unannounced from her eyes. "I'll overcome you! I’ll... I won't shy away from fear!"

Her voice echoed in the eerily empty room, the only noise of response coming from within her mind. In a desperate attempt to cling to some sort of hope, Kamui's memories fell upon her as though they were a waterfall.

The first time her Master saw her diphormism -- and told her to get strong enough to beat it to submission; the first time she agonized over her inner beast -- and the weeks of aching secrecy that followed, only to be found out by her Brother and accepted within his chest; the day she and her Lord danced, in which he accepted her for who she was regardless of her race -- as long as she did her duty, who or what she was did not matter.

Her duty; the people who accepted her. The warm and firm touch of the Crown Prince's hand on her back, making her strangely wanting to stay more within his arms than anywhere else before. The teasing smile he flashed her just on the previous night when he placed in her the trust inherent of her position. Her own past, shrouded in mystery -- the fog-like voices she oftentimes recalled from the depths of her memory; the origin of all of this grief, all of this despair.

It wasn’t simply for the way other people would accept her that she needed to overcome this daunting beast, no. It was also, and especially, for herself.

"I... I won't lose to you!" Kamui managed to roar with a conviction that was born from deep within herself -- deeper than where the beast could reach. She felt as though there was a light shining from her depths towards her voice, giving it power and strength. "THIS IS MY BODY, AND I’LL CONTROL IT AS I WILL," she huffed, sitting up on the bed as though she could look at the beast's eyes while she stared at an empty wall. "You won't terrorize me; you won't seize control of me... I WON'T LET YOU."

Then, there was silence.

The growling had grown quieter and quieter until it disappeared completely, though her right arm still itched somewhat.

Huffing, Kamui looked around as if she would be able to physically see the shadow that terrorized her life for so long, though she understandably saw nothing but the empty room all around her. She felt a smile itching at the corners of her lips while her heart thumped triumphantly. A win! She had managed to suppress the beast by sheer will!

Kamui wasn’t naïve enough to think that it would never come back -- or that she would be able to escape this immediate itch, in fact -- but being able to silence it so surely like just now was something she didn’t think she would be able to accomplish. Not after Stockarres.

Breathing deeply, the dame stretched herself before falling back on the mattress, keenly aware of the softness of the pillows and the blankets she had wrapped all around herself.

May sleep be kind to her tonight.

Dawn welcomed Kamui after the dame slept barely three hours, though she was much too anxious about her meeting with the King to truly feel the exhaustion that surely would seep into her energy later. Kamui allowed Jakob his entrance by the dresser, already wearing her uniform.

“Good morn-” Jakob opened his mouth to greet, but Kamui interrupted him without even taking her eyes away from the mirror.

“Do you know how to do a braid, Jakob?” She groaned, taking her hands away from her hair lest she cut it all up in frustration -- she had managed to make short work of the naturally wavy locks by twisting and turning them so much they barely resembled their usual look.

The dame had to find a way to replicate the hairdo Clara used to make for her -- the one in which part of her hair would be rolled into a braid around her head so as to hide her pointy ears from view. She wouldn’t be able to wear a coiffe to completely take any chances of someone figuring out that her hairdo was deliberately hiding her ears, but she didn’t feel safe enough to display them in King Garon’s presence.

Jakob smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as though tasting something foul, walking towards his lady with an impeccable poise. “My lady, if only you’d look at how I style my hair every day…” He positioned himself behind Kamui so she could see his reflection on her mirror -- once she did, she widened both her eyes and her smile.

“Wonderful! Oh, Jakob, could you please style my hair in a way that hides my ears with a braid? I never did anything more complicated than a ponytail by myself, so I didn’t know what I could do!” She clasped her hands excitedly, adjusting herself further into the chair so as to throw her hair in place for Jakob to work on it.

Sighing, the butler glanced at the hot pot of tea that would surely grow cold by the time he finished styling Kamui’s hair. “Perhaps after breakfast, yes? Your meal will run cold…”

“Please, Jakob! I’m so nervous about it, I don’t think I’ll be able to stomach anything unless I am absolutely sure the hairdo will be good enough. Probably not even after it, if I’m being honest…” She muttered the last part, fiddling with a random lock of hair that had survived the onslaught.

“Hahh, very well, milady. I shall do as you asked.” Jakob unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt, rolling his sleeves up right after. “How would you want it styled, apart from the braid? Entirely up, half-down…?”

“Honestly, as long as the braid covers the ears, I don’t care about the style; you’re free to do whatever you want with it.” She flashed an apologetic smile, scratching her cheek as though she hadn’t actually thought about anything past the braid. Which was true, of course, but she had been so focused on trying to hide her ears that there was hardly any room for other thoughts in her mind.

Once again the butler sighed, reaching for the hair brush and clips scattered all over the dresser -- which displayed Kamui’s dozens of attempts at trying to replicate the style -- before he grabbed Kamui’s head, making her look straight ahead. “Very well, milady. I shall exceed your expectations.”

Disentangling the mess Kamui had made on her own hair took longer than either of them expected. However, the butler managed to come up with an intricate yet quick to braid hairdo: starting from either side of her hair, he made two thick braids that would lay over the pointy bit of her ears, joining them together behind her head into a layered lattice look.

“Although milady is wearing your uniform to meet the King, at least your hair should be presentable.” Jakob said with a proud puff of his chest, though added in a small voice: “Especially after the mess you have made before…”

“Ahem,” Kamui cleared her throat as she enjoyed the now cold tea, unbothered by its temperature now that her hair was safely done. She would sometimes sneak glances at her reflection in the mirror -- Jakob had managed to make her look jovial and upbeat: and that was before she even put on any resemblant of make-up! Honestly, she looked so cute she even wanted to put on make-up to complete the entire set.

She would apply only a light color on her face, however. The dame wanted to look presentable before the King, yes, but she also didn’t want him to pay too much attention to her. She would be armed -- as all Knights were allowed to, though not if they were to be within a three meter radius from the King -- so that would be one less problem should things go south-

“No, no, no,” Kamui shook her head so as to shoo away the pessimistic thoughts, conscious of how her beautiful braids followed its movements. “It’ll be alright, it’ll be alright.” She muttered to herself, as if unaware that Jakob was standing in wait right in front of her. Taking a deep breath, the dame puffed her chest, psyching herself up for the upcoming challenge.

However, she would only meet the King at noon, so she would still report to her Lord as usual during the morning. Which was honestly her solace for the moment -- to dig into her duties so as to ground herself more into the impact of her choice and how much she had at stake to slip up when meeting the King who had ordered her hunt so many years ago.

Kamui would succeed.

Like when she trained herself to half-death, she would put all of what she was into following through her own goals.

It was just that, now, that goal gnawed at the pit of her stomach, urging her to get ready to put her own head inside a lion’s open jaws.

Although it took Jakob quite a while to finish her braids, since Kamui didn’t need any more preparation apart from a light make-up, she arrived at her Lord’s common meeting room at the usual time, greeting him with the same respect as she always did.

“Dame Kamui greets His Highness the Crown Prince,” she bowed gracefully after closing the door, somewhat already ingraining the noble curtsy into her from early morning instead of only turning it on during the meeting with King Garon. Her more elegant actions coupled with her girly hairstyle and features made both men take a second too long to reply to her greetings.

Richard switched the weight of his body to another leg, glancing at his Lord when Xander made a gesture for his older retainer to bring something out. Sighing inwardly, the tall man turned to the side to pick up a package -- there was something soft wrapped inside a high-quality, green brocade cloth -- which he promptly handed his Lord.

“You may rise, dame Kamui.” Xander allowed Kamui to straighten her back at the same time he got up from his desk, circling it with his characteristic elegant steps. With a glance at his new retainer, Xander could see how she had chosen her own way to dress herself to this, so to say, battle.

And it was a battle in and of itself, to meet the King under his summons -- of that Xander was painfully aware.

He could see how Kamui’s usually slit-like eyes were covered with round irises; how her noble poise slipped instead of a knightly reverence; how her back was more erect than usual -- and how her breathing was uneven even after such a short walk from her quarters to this common meeting room.

Xander spoke, “it is no simple task, the one you will be fulfilling this afternoon, Kamui.” He stopped in front of Richard, swiftly undoing the golden knot that held the ornate package, not paying any mind as the green cloth slipped open to reveal a deep violet cloak from within. “Yet it is a burden that you shall bear for as long as you are in my service,” the Crown prince stepped away from Richard, holding the cloak in his hands as he approached Kamui. “This simply holds a symbolic meaning, however it would please me greatly if you would wear this when it is time to meet my father, the King.”

Wide-eyed, Kamui watched as Xander flapped the cloak open, twirling it behind her back as he closed the well adorned clasp on her chest -- the weight of the fabric as it slowly fell over her body somehow made Kamui remember the dance they shared; it made her feel as though she were still within Prince Xander’s arms… and it made her feel safe. The golden straps which adorned her chest, right above her heart, conjoined into a brooch with the Crown Prince’s symbol: a shield in front of two crossed blades with the symbol of Nohr etched right into its middle. At the back, there was a larger one of such symbols beautifully embroidered in a way that would unmistakingly tell anyone who saw her from afar that Kamui was under the Crown Prince’s protection.

It was Xander’s way of telling Kamui that, although he wouldn’t be there with her physically, he would still be showing her his entire support through his symbol.

“My Father is a very intimidating man -- as is his duty as the King.” Xander exhaled softly as he patted Kamui’s shoulder after making sure he had properly clasped the cloak together. “This is a task you must complete on your own -- what I can do for you at this moment is to bestow my seal upon you so you can face him proudly, under my name.” He nodded, taking a step back to allow Kamui a look around herself.

Overwhelmed with the support, Kamui’s eyes burned with tears, though she managed to stop her trembling chin as she held the cloak with both hands, twirling around herself to take a look and sigh in wonder as the heavy fabric followed her movements and sprawled itself way farther than any dress she had ever worn.

Richard snorted, though it went unnoticed by the other two, wondering if his Lord had overestimated Kamui’s height. “It’s really eye-catching, so only wear it in official events from now on, yes? I avoid using mine as much as I can, so I don’t want to be seen with you while you wear this corny thing.”

“Corny?” Kamui repeated, not noticing how she smiled brightly, looking down on her shiny new cloak and twirling around herself once more as Xander turned to his older retainer to glare at him.

“I never kept this from you, my lord.” Richard raised his palms in self-defense, smirking as Xander sighed and leaned on the desk.

“It is filled with my sincere thoughts, Richard. It is not… ‘corny’.” He grumbled, crossing his arms as he directed his gaze to the glistering Kamui.

Before the black-haired man could reply, Kamui raised her shiny, round eyes to Xander. “I think so too, Lord Xander. It’s a wonderful gift! I’m humbled.” She bowed deeply without ever letting go of the cloak, making her look much smaller than she actually was. “I shall hold onto this with all the care it deserves.”

Xander’s frown lessened, making way to a soft smile as he nodded to Kamui’s statement, not even feeling like pointing to Richard and telling him to learn from his new partner. He simply watched the giggly Kamui pull the cloak this or that way while she walked around the room towards her usual seat, meeting her glistering gaze more than once during the way. Her smile brightened more each time their eyes met, the beams of warmth from her pure glee kept Xander  in place, as though he wanted to keep on being the recipient of her smiles.

Once Kamui sat down, coincidentally right beside where Richard was standing, the older retainer poked his partner. “You’re wearing it now? I’m sure my Lord simply put it on you as a formality. You should take it off and only put it back on when it’s time to go.”

The dame resolutely shook her head. “No, I want to keep wearing it. Its meaning wasn’t lost on me, unlike on some people.” She bonked her head on Richard’s arm, snorting as he sighed to leave her side. “It’ll give me the strength I need,” Kamui murmured to herself, though not realizing she was still under Xander’s gaze.

Unable to stop smiling, Xander closed his eyes as though to etch this image into his mind before moving away from his spot, circling back to behind his desk so they could start their usual work for the day.

Fortunately or not, the morning passed by faster than usual -- perhaps because Kamui had been so absorbed into her duties so as to forget the passing of time that she was stunned over how well that worked. Once she gave her Lord her final bow before leaving, she could barely make out the surroundings around her due to the dizziness she got from how loud her heart was thumping.

Her steps echoed in her own ears as though they belonged to someone else while her hands dug into the cloak that danced behind her fast pace. Kamui absent-mindedly tapped onto the brooch with Xander’s seal, feeling it with the tips of her fingers as though to keep herself grounded in reality -- that served to help her stop her mind to wander into the darkest corners of her being.

The dame could barely remember what she had rehearsed she would say to the King once she was before him, her mind taking all it had to simply keep her on her feet. Kamui would glance upon her reflection whenever she passed a silver decorative armor that adorned the corridors, making sure that her ears were properly hidden, or open her arms that held the cloak so as to allow the wind to make it flap behind her in a somewhat playful manner, surprising even herself whenever a giggle was born under such circumstances.

As she arrived at Krakenburg’s common area, the air itself felt heavier to breathe, as though there was a thick layer of pressure hanging on its inhabitants’ shoulders. It was in the corridor that led to the throne room that Kamui met her brother.

“Silas!” She called out with a squeaking voice, not wanting to raise it too loudly right outside the place into which the pressure seemed to spiral out of and converge into.

“Kamui!” Silas replied in an equally squeaky voice, running to meet his sister halfway, his steps as fidgety as hers. Huffing, the siblings wordlessly looked at one another, as though trying to check if their appearance was somewhat off to meet with the most powerful man in the kingdom. “That’s a new cloak, isn’t it?” He commented, looking over Kamui’s shoulder with a discerning eye.

Somewhat shy, Kamui spun around herself to show off her Lord’s present. “Lord Xander gave it to me, as his support.” She pressed her lips to hold back a smile, her cheeks lightly flushing with the memory of Xander putting the cloak on her. “I hope that His Majesty’s eyes will fall on it instead of, well…” The dame bobbed her heads to the side, afraid to even talk aloud about her physical appearance.

“Y-yes,” Silas nodded nervously, glancing from his sister to the massive door that led to the throne room. “I’ve just arrived, so I don’t know when someone will call for us or anything.”

There were two silent guards right in front of the doors, though Kamui didn’t dare to call out to them. The both of them would wait until they were summoned inside; there was no need to urge the King to meet them, nor to annoy him into thinking that they were impatient subjects who deserved punishment.

She would get in, present herself and get out. Simple.

Kamui took a deep breath, walking a few steps until she was completely in front of the door, being followed by her uneasy brother.

Simple.

Long moments turned into long minutes that, in turn, spiralled into a very stretched out hour. Yet, the siblings didn’t so much as glance the guards’ way, patiently waiting in front of the room with their eyes fixated on the door. Their insides were already overheating from how nervously they were digesting the situation that a simple cough from a passing maid was enough to startle them out of their skins.

Kamui felt like she had been holding her breath for one entire hour; so when the massive doors creaked open, she was surprised to notice that she could inhale even more air to keep in there, making her even dizzier. If Kamui had had any brainpower to spare to think about it, she would be surprised to think that the beast kept itself obediently quiet while they waited (since it usually disturbed her whenever she was anxious), but she was already having trouble on remembering how to breathe, let alone how to think.

In the wake of the eerie wind that blew once the doors were fully open, a familiar-looking man called after two burly guards had heaved the doors open.

“Lantanoir siblings. You may enter and place yourselves before His Majesty.” His face was blurry -- and Kamui couldn’t tell if it was from her dizziness or from the swirling atmosphere that got thicker and thicker the further she stepped into the room -- but the dame could somehow remember his voice. He was the Marshal of the Court, Lord Abbington.

The Marshal spoke to them in a low voice as they walked through the long hall towards the middle, circular point over which the staircase to the throne led. He explained the common etiquette that one should bear when greeting the King, though all of his advices were mostly common knowledge, especially to the two Royal Retainers who had had that sort of knowledge beaten into them during the first weeks of their service.

Once they got close enough to the place they should kneel at, Lord Abbington stepped to the side, scurrying closer to a column as he raised his voice. “Presenting the Lantanoir siblings, personal retainers chosen by Crown Prince Xander and Youngest Princess Elise.”

Kamui threw her cloak back so as to allow herself to kneel more comfortably, unfastening her sword out of her belt to place it on the right side of her body, as the etiquette called. Since she was right-handed, placing her weapon on the right side of her body would make it difficult for her to grasp it were a battle to break out -- it was a way of showing respect to the higher authority as well as to imply that her life was at his hands should anything happen. Silas did the same two steps away from her, giving them both proper space to place their weapons away from one another’s touch.

“Dame Lantanoir greets His Majesty, the Sword that defends our Kingdom.” She lowered her head, overly conscious of how her braids moved behind her back.

“Sir Lantanoir greets His Majesty, the Sword that defends our Kingdom.” Silas said at the same time as his sister, their voices in a somehow unison as their silvery locks shone under the eerie green glow of the magical fire lit across the walls.

King Garon inhaled as though to welcome them, but no words left his mouth -- instead, it felt like a pressure hit the both of them with the intensity of a powerful gravitational magic, stemming from right above them.

“...!” Both siblings swallowed a groan of pain as the weight pressed itself on their shoulders and back, making their knees and necks cry out in discomfort.

Yet, amidst the pressure, Kamui could almost… hear something. Two somethings, perhaps? There was a vague sound of running water and… whispers. They were so soft she couldn’t make out any word of it, but it was like someone was mumbling something right above her head, at the same time she felt a pair of eyes stare holes at the back of her neck. She wanted to steal a glance at the stare, but her body was frozen under the pressure.

Had they been hit by a powerful binding magic? Why wasn’t anyone saying anything? They could barely glance at each other as they felt the thick energy lick at their faces, preventing them from properly breathing.

“It’s the first time we meet, Lantanoir siblings. Isn’t this such a wonderful family reunion?” A voice that could only be described by the sound that someone makes when they scratch a blackboard made the siblings’ hairs stand on end. “Raise your heads, both of you.”

As though compelled to, the two of them felt their heads snap up, followed by their neck complaining in pain. Their eyes met a black-haired man’s single one. He wore layers of robes adorned with golden trinkets, a black and white mask covering half of his face as he wriggled his fingers in a motion that could only be taken as witchcraft. He was chanting something under his breath while his fingers moved to apply the magic, which both Kamui and Silas imagined was the reason why their bodies were suddenly so heavy and somehow out of their control.

“I am Iago, Royal Adviser to His Majesty the King.” He opened both arms amidst a half-baked bow, a somewhat lizard-like smile growing inside his thin, dry lips. “I shall keep this brief since His Majesty does not enjoy long talks: We have heard much of the… ah, little lady’s service under our Crown Prince. Especially that you had a direct hand at saving the Eldest Princess, Lady Camilla.”

Kamui’s throat was clogged up. She couldn’t speak.

Seeing that, Iago moved his index slightly to the side, making the pressure gnawing at her neck lessen, which allowed her to properly breathe.

Wide-eyed and out of breath, Kamui glanced at her brother (who was still unable to look away from Iago) before turning back to the Royal Advisor. Now she understood why Richard was so disgusted by the simple mention of the man’s name. “I am merely the Crown Prince’s weapon.” She lowered her head once again, unable to even look upon the snake-like man. “I simply did my duty.”

Iago opened his mouth with a smirk, but was cut off by the explosive voice of the man that had been silent until now. A man that had been as tall as, if not taller than, Xander in his youth.

A man whose pitch-black armor somehow made it impossible for anyone who gazed at their own reflections in it to walk away the same. His black and white beard along with the wrinkled face tried to display the years that weighted down on him, yet the sound of his titaneous voice made all present shake within their very souls just the same as it had been in the past.

“It’s no small feat, little girl, to save the life of a royal.” Garon rested his head on one hand, not moving away from the throne despite the presence he exuded making Kamui think he had gotten up. His voice shook something inside Kamui’s very being -- it felt akin to when the beast would poke at her consciousness and bring forth all sorts of unpleasant thoughts. It was as though she was actually hearing the beast’s voice, which shook her tremendously.

Up until then, Kamui had only, well, imagined that the beast had a voice. She did hear roars and growls every now and then, but any articulate wording it might’ve had, they all came from Kamui’s own head. It was an unconscious way to make sense of the beast’s inarticulate noises so as to place herself somewhere that was removed from properly admitting that she had a... feral side deep within her. Something that wasn’t truly herself that shared her body and mind.

But when the King spoke, Kamui could feel her entire body shake with terror, as though she had been injected with freezing water that reached all the way into her very heart. Unbeknownst to her, Kamui raised her trembling gaze to him, somehow catching a glimpse of the bizarre, round statue that lay right above her head, on the ceiling.

Under the gaze of both statue and King, Kamui could only gulp in wait for his next words, gripping at her cloak to stop herself from shaking so terribly.

“Though, as you said before, it was your duty, so I shan’t concede you a reward.” Garon shrugged as though enjoying how Kamui looked like a frightened kitten drapped into his eldest son’s rags. “I will keep close watch on you from now on, Dame Lantanoir.” His voice slithered slowly, descending down the steps towards Kamui, wrapping itself around her neck and whispering into her ear: “I shall wait what other feats you will show us.”

US? Kamui couldn’t help but think amidst her despair, her body so cold it was a wonder she was still considered amongst the number of the living. Her lips trembling, it took the dame three moments too long to shakily lower her head. “I-it will be my utmost pleasure to serve, Your Majesty,” she managed to croak out in a barely audible voice.

It served to both Garon and Iago’s amusement, as both of them chuckled with the little rodent’s soft words.

“And you,” Garon turned to Silas, whose lower lip was almost bleeding from how fiercely he dug his teeth into it. Startled, the young knight felt King Garon’s voice grasp at his chin, forcing his face to turn to him as though he was using his own hand. “Try to make a better job at serving Elise than her previous retainer. Though it will be amusing to watch how long you’ll last.” He sneered as though finding the death of Princess Elise’s previous retainer a passing topic one discussed over tea.

With a simple gesture of his chin, Garon ended the meeting.

“You are dismissed.” Iago waved for the two of them to leave, the pressure above their shoulders suddenly lifting. “I shall see you around the halls,” he smiled wickedly, licking his dry lips as the two retainers gave their silent bows, collected their weapons and turned to leave.

Kamui’s legs were shaking so badly she almost tripped twice, ultimately falling on her knees the moment the large doors to the throne room closed behind them. Silas flopped on the floor beside his sister, their faces so pale they could’ve been mistaken by ghosts weren’t their breathing so aggravated.

The two guards in front of the throne room said nothing, well used to this kind of sight whenever someone new or old came out of there. Only Crown Prince Xander, First Princess Camilla and Iago, the Royal Adviser managed to leave that room with their heads held high, as though unbothered by the filthy atmosphere that surrounded it.

It took Kamui many minutes to stop her trembling, though when she thought she would have full control of her body, she started retching and was unable to stop the urge to throw up, staining the carpet right in front of her in a disgraceful manner. “G-gods, I-I’m so sorry, I, ughh…” she tried to look up to the guards behind her and properly apologize, but another wave was coming, making her throw up transparent liquid.

“K-Kamui-” It took everything Silas had not to follow suit, one of his hands dutifully stretched to pat his sister’s back as he covered his nose with the other one so as not to inhale the stench of the vomit, his own body curving into a retch as well.

“Agh, gods- hahh, hahh…” Kamui breathed heavily, throwing herself on her behind to pull her head back, squeezing her eyes so as not to look at the huge door she just vomited in front of. Conscious of her cloak, Kamui wrapped herself around it as she drew large breaths, not wanting it to touch the mess she had just made. “We need,” she huffed, feeling as though her senses started to return to her, “we need to get out of here! S-Silas-”

“Y-yes, yes, let’s go-” Silas nodded, though his legs were still limp on the floor. His body was turned to Kamui as he tried to support himself with his elbows to look up at her. “C’mon, hold my hand-” he tried to lift it for her to hold, but when she did, it collapsed on the floor with a soft thud.

“Let’s go, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Kamui muttered to herself, squeezing her eyes close and stretching them open, getting a proper view of the world after a few tries. She dared to get up, feeling more like a newborn fawn than a human being, though was still able to hold her own weight. “Silasss!” She pulled his hand with the most difficulty she had ever felt in her life -- it was as though all of her strength had been left inside the throne room, either forgotten or taken hostage until she had brought back her mental fortitude.

His body heavy, Silas leaned on Kamui’s shoulder as the two of them limped back to Strömborg without ever looking back. 

The cold air of the outside managed to wake them up in some manner until they could finally separate and walk on their own. They staggered once they reached the familiar walls, sitting on the dead grass between everywhere and nowhere, their heads still spinning.

Kamui felt terrible for throwing up on the carpet like that, feeling that she should come back there to warn someone or maybe ask for a broom or something so she could clean it herself, but her body… It didn’t listen to her as it trembled still. The afternoon air, although not as cold as when dusk fell, was still cold to their lungs and invigorating to their bodies.

The dame hadn’t needed to worry about the stains, honestly, since that was basically a daily occurrence at that part of the castle. Many weak-hearted people fainted or foamed at the mouth or even peed themselves; so vomiting was the least of it -- leastwise the most common.

Still, that shame would follow Kamui for the rest of her life -- she was so embarrassed she didn’t even have the face to go back to her Lord’s office to report that the mission had been a success. Had it, really? Probably? She barely remembered what had happened there, honestly.

The only thing that set all alarms inside her head were the eerie presence she felt staring down at her neck and the passing whispers that left as soon as she made out a word of understanding -- all of it surrounded her in place, as though wanting her to stay that way for the rest of her days.

Shivering, Kamui held herself under the cloak, trying to keep the vivid memories away lest she was sucked back in there. Her head was operating at its minimum capacity, somehow having fried itself to simply bring Kamui back to Strömborg; if she thought too hard about anything, she’d most certainly pass out.

Beside her, Silas was sitting on the grass while breathing heavily, the toll still greatly apparent on him. Taking in a shaky breath, Kamui managed to put herself on her feet once again, hugging the cloak for comfort more than anything, despite it weighing much more than she could bear at the moment.

“I’m going back to my room to put this away,” she declared in an unfirm voice, each step she took depleting her already low energy. “Then I’ll go back to Lord Xander.”

“K-Kamui, don’t force yourself, ugh…” Silas bent forward, breathing through his hands. “I’m sure the Crown Prince would understand-”

“He would. But-” she huffed, each breath refreshing her further, “but I won’t. I need to- to get used to this.”

Having said that, she left under heavy steps; leaving a panting Silas to bring himself back together.

Kamui miscalculated how much strength she would need to go up the apparently endless flight of stairs to her quarters, so when she arrived, she crumpled on the floor in exhaustion. Breathing heavily, the dame took off the cloak, using the most of her arm to throw it on the bed as she lay on the floor beside it.

She had stopped thinking at that point, so all she could do was simply follow through the motions of the actions she had imprinted on her mind before reaching her quarters: she washed her face and her mouth with the cold water always at the ready on the silver basin, then trudged to the bed to fold the cloak as neatly as she could at the moment. She then placed it atop her emergency bag, taking upon herself to bring the cloak with her whenever she went.

Surprisingly, the more she moved, the more strength returned to her, although bit by bit. Taking a quick breath, the dame braced herself to the trek down the stairs as well as the entire way toward her Lord’s common meeting room.

 Once she stood outside the door, Kamui’s head was much clearer. She could feel her whole body and, honestly, apart from the shame of the embarrassing act in front of the door, she felt mostly fine.

Kamui took yet another deep breath before using her personal set of knocks to let her Lord know it was her who requested entry.

Xander’s voice from inside sounded confused and alarmed. “Kamui?”

“Dame Kamui greets the Crown Prince,” she said in a steely tone after entering, bowing not as a noble but as a knight who had completed their duty.

“I am surprised to see you here, Dame Kamui. Approach.” Xander gestured for the dame to come closer, to which she obeyed. “Have you succeeded?”

“You’re pale. Were you not able to meet the King?” Richard asked before she could reply, though Kamui kept her head down.

“I-I was able to meet His Majesty, yes. Should I not have returned?” She fidgeted, glad that the pressure from the Crown Prince’s eyes wasn’t sickening as the one that came from his father.

“Most who meet my Father for the first time do not have the means to return so quickly.” Xander said simply, though Kamui could deeply understand the underlying meaning of his words. It was harsh, it was hard, it was daunting, to meet the King and be the same person right away. Kamui herself had wanted to curl up to a ball and never leave her room just a few minutes previous, but she managed to persevere. Looking at the worried glint in her eyes, Xander opened his mouth yet again. “Did something happen back there?”

Flinching, the dame lowered her head even more, a flush of color running through her face to display her shame. “I-I am ashamed.”

“Out with it, girl.” Richard urged, eager to know if he could use whatever she was going to say as teasing or blackmail material.

“I-” she squeezed her eyes as she fought with the lump in her throat. “Ithrewuponthecarpet!” She bowed deeply. “I’m really sorry, I feel so, so-”

“Before or after you entered?!” Richard slapped back immediately during the time it took for Xander to blink in surprise.

“A-after…” Kamui squeaked out in response, too embarrassed to lift her head to meet either her Lord’s or her partner’s gaze. Richard deliberately snorted loudly, though cleared his throat to show all present that he was controlling himself so as not to burst in laughter.

Honestly, Kamui would have smiled at his open distaste of her as usual, but since it was something that dug into her ego so deeply, she only squeezed her eyes in shame.

“Kamui, come here.” Xander’s voice snapped the dame out of her spiral of self-apprehension, making her immediately look up at him. He gestured for her to circle his desk and stand beside his chair. “Allow me to tell you a secret…”

“I can hear you.” Richard cleared his throat, somehow knowing what the so-called secret entailed.

Xander’s smirk simply grew as he whispered: “The first time Richard entered, he was unable to serve for two days.”

“I was a young boy, not a grown woman.” The Royal Retainer rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. This was a sore subject to him too, it seemed.

“He was seventeen.” Xander said as he looked straight at Richard’s eyes before looking back to Kamui. “Do not worry about what happened. Just do not allow that to happen again. Strengthen yourself; train your mind just as you do your body.”

Daring to poke a smile at the corners of her lips, Kamui nodded under her Lord’s comforting words. It was also a relief to know that her apparently unshakable partner had an unsavory past he put behind him -- it gave her the means to pave her own path in his likeness so she, too, could serve Xander with the confidence befitting her station.

For now, however, she was still left with a bit of shame and the drive to better herself so as not to allow that to ever happen again. 

[memoriashell]

this attraction between us

Characters /  Pairing: aegestra + some background edelgard/bernadetta

crossposted on ao3

Notes: i would highly suggest that you read this on ao3 because this is 10k words long and i cannot imagine that looks great on tumblr.

just to note, since this is set post canon, there is absolutely some spoilers in here, probably? this is the part where i admit i've yet to experience the black eagles path in full, so some details are probably a little off.

Summary: edelgard asks hubert to try out a different kind of magic. admittedly intrigued, he agrees.

( and then things get way more complicated for him, because ferdinand accidentally makes himself a test subject )

( these are feelings that cannot be replicated: this is a sentiment to how i love you )

The sound of metal scratching against parchment repeatedly catches his attention first— breaks his concentration as he stares at the source, before opting to ignore the emperor’s odd behavior. Heels clicking against the tile floor after a moment of silence is the second thing to key him into knowing something is off, feet tapping in what he can only gather to be anxious behavior.

Hubert prides himself on understanding— being able to read the empress, a skill he considers highly crucial to anyone with a position as high as his. And yet, despite that, he cannot tell what is bothering her in this moment. What it is exactly that makes her hesitate instead of speaking her mind to the extent she usually would with him, he cannot be conclusive of entirely ( but he can only assume that he is the cause of her anxiety, a stinging realization, for he is not sure what he has done to cause such, but masks his feelings as such is irrelevant to the matter ).

“Your Majesty.” He clears his throat sharply to get her attention; her reaction is delayed, but it gains her attention all the same. It will not do either of them good to think in circles, lest they fail to accomplish anything. While he would like to hope she would come speak of it in time, hoping is not very efficient (or effective); that is the only reason he insists on taking matters into his own hands. “You do not like it when I keep things from you, as do I towards you—” Hypocritical of him to say so, when he will do so anyways, when it means keeping her safe “— and while perhaps it is something you cannot speak to me of, I would like you to know you may speak to me. I would like you to...” He falters ( it is not about what he wants, after all ), follows with a slight shake of his head. “Well, I would prefer if you were not carving into the table with your quill. It is not like you to be so distracted.” He gestures with the end of his pen to where her hand has drifted from the papers and ink has begun to stain the wood. Her expression remains cool, but Hubert can read the subtle flush, the sheepish aversion of her gaze; he does not press as he returns to reading through the paperwork she has brought him. It is not in his place to ask anything more of her ( even if it was, he could not, he thinks— already, he considers apologizing for going too far ).

“If you...” When Edelgard speaks, it is so hesitantly soft and unlike her that he cannot help but give her his attention— even if she has had his attention from the start. “If you could find out...information, about someone without any consequence, would you?”

“Nothing comes without consequence.” He knows this, and he knows she knows this; and yet, she sounds so like a child again, a tinge of curiosity and innocence that they could not hope to hold onto in this world ( and he should not foster such emotions, but he does, and cannot help but indulge her a little, just like this ). “It would depend on the circumstance; do you not agree? If the information would be useful, perhaps it would be worth it. This does not sound like it is something theoretical, however.”

“No, it is not. I cannot hide anything from you, hm?” Edelgard is not upset, if not a little amused. “There are some books that the imperial family keeps as a part of a special collection. I think it’s supposed to be kept secret, though I’m sure they know it exists. I thought I’d check if there was anything there that would help with our...issues.” He’s surprised this is the first that he is hearing of it, all things considered— but there are things that he does not even know, he supposes, there will always be a few things she will keep from him.

“And I presume you were successful?” He doesn’t think there’s much more reason for her reluctance in coming forth with that information, even if he can’t pin down exactly why ( he has a few ideas, knowing his emperor, but he cannot be certain until he hears more from her ).

“It’s...this is not an order, you will not be forced to do this.” She says firmly, as if it has ever been an option he could consider ( it may not be an order, but if it ensures her safety— makes her happy, then it is his duty to see to it ). “I found some  old magic books. Hexes, curses, potions...I don’t know how much of it holds up, nor am I certain if it would be in your area of expertise.”

Hubert snorts at that, as if that would have ever stopped him; his position has always asked more of him than he has had to give, and he will always give himself up for her sake. “Perhaps, perhaps not. It does not hurt to investigate, at the very least. It is your call, if you would like me to test that.”

“I already said that this is not an order.” She sounds mildly disconcerted, but he opts to ignore it. “It does not hurt, is that it? I shall bring you the spellbook later, then.” She’s quiet for a moment, then speaks again. “That wasn’t...er, that was not all, actually. Again, this is not an order but there was a particular section I happened to be intrigued by while checking if it had anything pertaining to our work.”

“And that would be?” He prompts, when she falls silent again.

“...There was a section on love spells.” She looks positively flustered, and if he were a lesser man, he probably would have laughed ( but he is not, so the only outwards reaction he gives is a slight raise in his brows ). “Don’t—Don’t get the wrong idea. Ever since I looked at it, I cannot get it off my mind. It’s tempting. Am I...wrong in thinking so?”

“Nothing comes without consequence. Don’t we have enough to handle as it is?” He says again, as if to remind them both of this fact, there is a country dependent on them not being distracted by trivial matters— while he wants to be against such a thing, all the same, he cannot help but feel intrigued by the prospect. Still, even as strict as he is with her, he cannot help but indulge her too; that is the excuse he will use for this.

( If he could confirm if his affections have any chance, or— no, he’ll do this for Edelgard and her sake only, he swears there are no selfish motivations behind it. His duties come first, and besides that, he does not have the same selfish excuse that she does. Time is not working against him like her life is ).

“If you have a particular place you wish for me to start with, then bring that one to me. I must, of course, run a test to ensure it will not have any adverse side effects, and report back to you with the results when I have reached a conclusion. I would rather not tarnish your name, should something happen.” He says with a note of finality and moves their discussion back to one of the matters they were supposed to be handling. “Now, with regards to the theatre hall...”

While it is, indeed, not quite the kind of magic he is used to, Hubert finds that it is at least a refreshing change of pace, if nothing else. An extra obstacle comes in the form of parts of spells being written in older runes and symbols he is not entirely familiar with, which requires some extra research to decipher them, but that is negligible. He is nothing if not devoted to his work, and it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy a good challenge ( Ferdinand is enough proof of that— there is no other reason as to why he would put up with such, and he thinks that feeling is mutual ).

Speaking of— he still needs a test subject for this. He had briefly, briefly considered posing it as a challenge and using Ferdinand for this, test a potion in his tea; it is not a course of action below Hubert ( has he not poisoned many a person before in a such a fashion? ), but he cannot find himself considering doing so in good faith. This isn’t about him, this is for Edelgard; he won’t let his own affections get tangled up in this. He is a little less averse to the thought of using the others, however, that is no different than what he usually does.

The sharp scent of fresh coffee is what pulls his attention back to reality, not the footsteps approaching him; and he figures it must be one of the servants because few others would consider entering his study. Hubert lifts his head as he reaches for his cup, and—

— gives a sudden jump as he nearly bumps into Ferdinand, hovering above him.

( Of course it is him, he thinks, very few others would invite themselves into his study; and he thinks so in a manner almost so fondly that it is frightening. Almost ).

“Is there a reason you must lean in so close?” He opts to forego any greeting— he doubts he even cares anyways— as he leans back and shuts his eyes for a moment ( if he seems flustered, neither of them acknowledges it ).

“To see what is keeping you.” Ferdinand responds, not missing a beat and goes on. “You were late.”

“Was I?” He does not think he has any meetings he is missing, before he understands what the other means. There is no set schedule, no precise routine to when they get together for their ‘tea time’ as it were; but there is an unspoken sort of agreement between them about it, and despairingly, Hubert realizes that he’s right; even over such frivolous matters, he does not like to concede that he is correct. He breathes in sharply, hand rising to his temple. “I— Forgive me, I did not realize...I will have to make it up to you another time.”

“Edelgard mentioned you were doing some research for her. I figured you probably were overworking and needed a break.” He’s right, but he refuses to acknowledge that; again, he is too stubborn to yield, that is how their relationship has always worked. A pause, and he hears a curious hum from the other. “Is this stuff for the crests? I could not read that book you have open.”

His eyes snap open and without thinking about it, he tugs Ferdinand away from ( almost quite literally ) sticking his nose into the brew he was working on. “No.” Hubert says firmly, and while he considers telling him the truth, he opts to keep it secret for at least the time being. “This is different, and I would appreciate it if you did not cause me to need to make an antidote for this quite yet.”

“But you could, I am quite sure.” There’s a hint of a challenge to his tone, an underlying warmth— he gives the other a very stern look in response.

“I’d rather not test it.” On you, goes unsaid; but perhaps Ferdinand is sharper than he seems and understands nonetheless, because he leaves the brew alone.

“But if it was for the crests, you would let me be involved, right? I do think I would be able to make myself quite useful as a test subject.” Or not. Hubert takes back any remarks on Ferdinand understanding anything; he’s not entirely upset, even if he disagrees with him— even competitively, his intentions are well meaning, despite not entirely appreciated by him.

“That would be Lady Edelgard’s call, not mine.” Which isn’t entirely false to say, even if he doesn’t particularly like the thought of using him like— that. Let him get involved once risks have been eliminated, but he knows better than to try and convince Ferdinand when he has his mind set.

Ferdinand quirks a brow curiously, and for a moment Hubert expects a callous remark on how he should not defer to Edelgard like that; but nothing comes and instead a hand is offered out to him. “Well then, shall we go out...outside, I mean. Sitting around in a stuffy room with whatever you’re making— surely, it will all get to your head if you stay here?”

He would usually be inclined to disagree but staying here means the noble will be more prone to poking into his things whilst he tries to work, which is not ideal when he has something that he can’t predict the side effects of on his hands. He sighs, putting out the fire beneath the brewing pot; accepting the other’s hand as he stands and takes a moment to steady himself from the dizziness that comes from suddenly rising after so long. He cannot remember how long it has been since he’s taken a break. “Only briefly, then. I have things to finish.”

“Briefly.” Ferdinand agrees, but they both know that it will not be anything close to short; he had already resigned himself to such the moment he’d been aware of the other’s presence. It is fine if he indulges himself in a break like this, he will just have to work longer later to make up for the lost time.

As he follows him out of the room, he can’t get the distinct feeling that something feels off but he can’t quite place what. Hubert is distracted from any lingering thoughts by a tug on his arm and fondly, he will mask his feelings and devote his attention to the other for the duration of the time they spend together.

He returns to his study refreshed and feeling much lighter; the only beneficial part to being around someone like Ferdinand, he would argue, is that his mood tended to rub off on people. His mood quickly dissipates when his gaze lands on his desk, which has gone and become a mess in his absence, and he hasn’t a clue why. At some point while he was gone, the brew had begun to bubble over, which feels like quite an ominous sign, and all sorts of things have been knocked down from his desk— a broken bottle of ink rapidly drying on the floor. He frowns and goes to close an open window before going to grab an old rag so he can begin cleaning up the mess. As he does so, however, he freezes in place, a chill down his spine.

He realizes two things with startling speed. One, the book is gone from the stand it’d been resting on.

And ( arguably ) more alarmingly, there is a stray hair in the brew mixture, the bright ginger color that Hubert can only presume means it belongs to Ferdinand von Aegir.

He takes some time to clean up while he mulls over these facts— more importantly, what to do about it. Once he has managed to gather his wits together and realize the terrible irony of the situation ( that for once, is not amusing to him ), he supposes that first, he’d best check up on Ferdinand. Which is easily done, since the only person who would have ever been easier to find is Caspar, out of virtue of being louder. He is momentarily derailed by tripping over a cat sitting outside his door, but doesn’t think more of it beyond one of the kitchen cats getting lazy.

True enough, the boisterous sound of his laughter is easy to pick out in the halls, and the sound of his footsteps thudding down alerts them to his arrival; Ferdinand is already half turned towards him, while Bernadetta takes one glance at his face before taking a hasty retreat ( he can’t tell if that means he must appear more or less angry than usual. Ah well ).

“Back already? Or did you need something important?”

Hubert ignores him as he stalks forward, jabs at his chest with his finger. “You—” He hisses and bites down on his tongue to pause, takes a breath to calm himself. Ferdinand was competitive, not intentionally screwing up with the results of his research, that was not in his nature to do— no use in getting angry. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Why, I did not know you cared.” He sounds amused— even jokingly, that stings a little more than he would like to admit. “Should I not feel all right?”

He gives him a steely glare— of all the times to not be serious. “Are you sure? Nothing feels different?” He doesn’t sense that he’s lying, but...he’s not certain if that’s a good sign or not.

“No different than any other day. Are you feeling all right?” Ferdinand leans forward slightly. “You were fine earlier. Did you catch a cold from being out? A heat stroke?”

“Never mind. Must have been wrong.” He grumbles, arms crossed— he’s uncertain how to feel about this, somewhere between disappointed and relieved by his lack of reaction. “Nonetheless, you will inform me if you feel any different.”

“You did something wrong? That doesn’t sound like you.” The frown on his face makes him hope that he’s taking him at least somewhat seriously. “Was that all? ‘detta was asking for help with some things...”

He grits his teeth. “Just. Promise me you will report to me if there’s any change.”

“I shall have a detailed report written up for you and everything.” As dismissively as the comment is made, Hubert has the feeling he means that literally, and can only stand in silence as Ferdinand walks away.

“One down, one to go.” He murmurs to himself and turns to head back down the hall.

Serving directly under the emperor meant Hubert was almost far too aware as to what Edelgard’s schedule was— and loath as he was to report failings on his part or involve her in such trivial matters, this one is not so simple to resolve ( well, he briefly had entertained the thought of killing Ferdinand and solving his affections once and for all, but that would still leave issues to be dealt with ). He takes care of other business that they have as he waits until her dealings are done for the day before he bothers her with the news.

“Lady Edelgard.” He greets her as he approaches, a stiff bow as he waits for her to acknowledge his presence. “I am afraid I have some unfortunate news.”

“I’m already terrified by how proper you’re acting.” She is teasing, clearly; and nods a head at him to continue.

“The tome of yours that I was borrowing has gone missing. I take full responsibility for the actions that have led to it. I have already made plans to search the grounds for it and interrogate the servants, but I am not certain it has remained here.”

“But would someone have wanted to steal it? For all they know, it is just a book.” She taps a finger to her cheek in a thoughtful manner. “Not that I don’t believe you. It isn’t quite like you to misplace things.”

“It was kept a secret for a reason.” He cannot conclude many other reasons for its disappearance in such a short period of time. “I also regret to inform you that we may need a new prime minister.”

“I thought you two quit quarreling ages ago.” Edelgard raises her brows at him. “Might you inform me the reason you say so?”

Years of practiced facial expressions help him keep his expression in checked, otherwise his flustered embarrassment would be almost painfully obvious. “He may have a hex on him.”

“I though we were testing love potions?” There’s a moments pause before her face twists in a slight grimace. “Ah, I see your issue. So he’s taken an interest in you, then? I admit, I’m not sure I would’ve expected this to be what you are upset about.”

She’s getting too much amusement out of his suffering, he thinks. “If only it were that simple. He says he feels no different, so...I am not entirely certain what happened. I would have just made an antidote to try and fix it, but without the spellbook I’m not keen on worsening things. At least for now he is still alive.”

She sobers up a little after that. “That is an issue, to say the least. Well, work on finding the book. We’ll figure things out as soon as we make more progress. Perhaps you can see if there are any experts to these kinds of matters?”

“We should have some contact that can gather that information for us. I’ll see to that it is done as soon as possible.” He nods his agreement and waits for her to dismiss him before taking his leave.

While he has other people looking into matters for him, he cannot just abandon his actual work to do so ( though arguably, Ferdinand becoming incapacitated would become a work related issue ). Nonetheless, he does not have time for lapses in judgement— weakening his guard in any sense. No, as long as those despicable people linger in the shadows, his duty to the emperor remains a priority.

Ferdinand never comes to him reporting any change, so he does not see him for some few odd days— if Hubert is purposefully going out of his way to avoid him, he does not admit so— does not make such easily apparent. Admittedly, he misses the presence of soft honey locks and the lingering scent of tea— he has no time for such sentimentality, to waste his time on pleasantries, and he is sure Ferdinand has hardly noticed his absence in any case. His only companion during this time is a cat from the kitchen that seems to have taken a liking to him— a rare occasion given such creatures usually flee at first sight, but it is a welcome distraction from everything else going on; if not one that makes him chuckle at the ironically fitting image that this nearly creates.

( Really, all it does is cement how desperate, how disgustingly pathetic he is. What a cold and lonely monster he’s let himself become— he cannot help but feel some sort of regret at a time like this. He wonders if before, he would have even noticed that he felt lonely ).

Hubert keeps himself busy with ‘work’ up until Edelgard pleas with him to not overwork himself ( which, he will acknowledge she has a point, he will be far more useless to her if he cannot do a thing ), though it still takes a thinly veiled threat for  him to truly get moving. He compromises with himself by grabbing some papers to read through as he sits out in the courtyard with some coffee—he certainly needs the extra boost in energy disguised in his normal drinking habits.

He is not certain how much time passes— not much, if the sun in the sky is to be of much indication; but he is keenly aware of when he is no longer alone, raising his head and spooks Bernadetta in doing so. “Ah. It’s just you.” If he is honest, he had forgotten she was still visiting— ever the shrinking violet, she wilts when his gaze meets hers.

“I...sorry, are you— you’re busy, aren’t you? I don’t mean to bother...” A tinge less of self-loathing is present when she speaks, a marked change from the girl he remembers in years prior. He shakes his head, and gestures to an open seat.

“I am seldom not busy.” It is mostly true to say, and he waits for her to sit before resuming. “Has your business with Lady Edelgard gone well? I have not heard much about it.”

“Oh, yes, o-of course. It’s always a pleasure to work with her.” She says it so such earnestly that Hubert does not doubt it to be true ( it is only those who go against her ways that have any issue to take with her, after all ). “I was beginning to think I would not see you at all, actually. I, I didn’t even hear you sulking in the halls like you usually do when Lady Edelgard has her meetings.”

He considers pointing out to her that she had already seen him, that day with Ferdinand ( or arguing that he does not sulk, thank you very much ), but does not do so because more pointedly— “You were looking for me?” And her face pales a little as she claps her hands over her mouth, a rapid shake of her head— ah, right. He has to remember who he’s dealing with here, upon seeing how fearful she seems to have become ( it doesn’t sting so much these days, and yet stings more after all this time ). “Bernadetta. I am not angry with you.” He reassures; insulted perhaps, mostly amused, if a little pitying. “I am sure Lady Edelgard would not have minded passing on a message if that was the case. Or am I to assume this matter concerns her?”

“No— y-yes? I’m not sure.” There is a crease present in her forehead, expression apprehensive. “I...er, um...it’s about Ferdinand!”

Hubert raises a brow at her at her exclamation. “I am not certain what this has to do with Edelgard. Nor have I heard of any such issues about him.”

“That’s exactly the problem. You haven’t heard anything because you’ve been—” She pauses to wordlessly gesture at his paperwork. “He’s worried about you. You’ve been avoiding him...? That’s what he thinks, anyways.”

“I have done no such thing. It would be unprofessional, and severely beneath me.” He’s no stranger to lying, feels no guilt in doing to towards her ( that said, apparently Ferdinand is sharper than he gave him credit for. Unsurprisingly. He’s not sure how to feel about all this ). “He knows where to find me if he has any need for me.”

“Hubert.” Her mouth is pressed in a firm line, hands clasped together. “If I may say...you should really go speak with him. You act like you hate him, but you, uhm, you aren’t as cold as people think you are, really. Or as you think you are. Edelgard might tease, but she trusts you for a reason. I...” She pauses, floundering in her speech for a moment— he doesn’t bother to point out the flaws in her reasoning, for Edelgard’s trust only comes with knowing some of his secrets ( and that doesn’t even make either of them entirely good people to trust, arguably ). “It doesn’t even...even need be much. But I think it’d make him happy.”

It’d make him happy? Hubert can hardly stifle a snort at such a concept. It’d make himself happy as well— but since when was he whimsy to his own wishes? The only person’s happiness he cared about was Edelgard.

( Or at least, that’s how it had been— when exactly that had changed, he cannot be certain of; in any case, he cannot deny he is briefly swayed to listen to Bernadetta ).

But he does not, in the end. He will not outwardly acknowledge her thoughts, raising his cup to his lips with a hint of melancholy in his expression— the way she spoke so honestly, he can’t help but wonder if that was because of the emperor...it reminds him of her, anyways. “I see that your time with Edelgard has been well spent. I hope you’ve been as good an influence to her as she is to you.”

“H-Huh?” Bernadetta’s cheeks pallor as she jumps to her feet, hastily waving her arms about. “No! I do not think it is anything like that at all! Rather, I—” She comes to a brisk halt as she sits back down, face red in embarrassment as she twiddles her fingers. “Ah. Sorry.”

Hubert bites his tongue to not laugh at her, a twinkle of amusement in his gaze. “You are quite fine, Bernadetta. Please continue to do as you do, for both of their sakes.” He does not think he needs to elaborate as he stands, gathering his papers as he prepares to take his leave. Indeed, human emotions are fickle things— she is best to serve them in ways he cannot. That is how things are meant to be.

“W-Wait—!” He has only made it a few feet when she calls out to him, turns to peer back at her. “Hubert, I-I...” Her voice falters, as if she is hesitating on what to say. “Thank you.” He does not have anything to say to that, and regards her with a sharp nod in acknowledgement— he really is no good when it comes to such sentimentalities.

( As he turns to leave for real, he misses the way she chews on her lip and watches after him )

Despite Bernadetta’s best attempts at ‘encouraging’ him, Hubert does not make any attempts to approach Ferdinand— if anything, he goes out of his way to make himself more scare to find by leaving temporarily on other business, since he is not making any progress on things at home.

( These tarnished hands of his, having never belonged to the light— it only serves to reaffirm that he is doing the right thing; he should not drag down anyone else into the shadows he lingers in ).

When he returns to report their progress, Edelgard greets him with a cheery expression, Bernadetta accompanying him— she seems to take a particular interest in not looking at him, so he can’t help but feel a little suspicious ( nothing against her personally, he just doesn’t like the feeling he’s getting ).

“I have some good news for you.” He simply quirks a brow at her, nodding for her to continue. “We found the tome. And by we, I mean Bernie did—”

“I am so sorry!” Bernadetta interrupts before she can continue speaking. “I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to hide it from you, but I didn’t, uhm, I didn’t know how to bring it up to you.”

Hubert has to think for a moment before understanding why exactly she’s apologizing. “You wished to speak to have spoken of it the other day, is that it?” Annoyance slips into his expression as he sighs, shaking his head at her. “I’m not that upset. Thank you for bringing it to us, nonetheless. May I inquire as to where you found it?”

“That doesn’t matter.” Edelgard speaks before she can answer his question. “There’s some bad news. I already started looking at antidotes.”

“Is there none?” He assumes the worst, naturally. “If that is the case, I apologize greatly for the trouble I have caused.”

“Was I not the one who encouraged your research?” She looks a little miffed, before shaking her head. “No, rather, the likely antidote requires an ingredient we do not find around here.”

“Send someone out to retrieve it, then? Or is it something that could be bought?”

“I considered that. However...I would like someone to check up on the territory it is from. Diplomatic matters.”

“So, that is to say...” Hubert has a feeling he knows where she is going with this, and he is not fond of it.

“I am sending the minister of the imperial household with the prime minister, of course.

“I cannot approve of such.” For multiple reasons. “It would not be a good move to leave the empire with less...guards.” That is an understatement— does she not  think those people would take advantage of an absence like that? What she is thinking, he cannot discern; while she can surely take care of herself, that does not mean she should be left without protection.

“And thus, I’ve already seen to it that it would be taken care of so you would have no need to worry. Bernie’s going to extend her stay here, and Dorothea’s supposed to come report her findings soon as well. And as an extra precaution, I’ve already informed Byleth of the circumstances and asked them to be here as well. Think of it as a well-deserved break. You two have been busy as of late.”

He is almost surprised at how well thought out this all is. “You’ve planned this out well, I see. Have you informed Ferdinand as well, then?”

“He helped with planning, of course. I had to make sure there were no obvious flaws in my logic.”

He purses his lips, but he has no good reason to disagree with her. “Very well then. When are we to leave?”

“At your discretion. I presume you need time to prepare before traveling again, but I would like you two to be able to leave as soon as possible. I know you would like this all over as soon as possible as well.”

Hubert stops avoiding Ferdinand only to inform him that they will be leaving in two days’ time, then promptly returns to his room to pass out for the first time all week.

It’s not like Ferdinand to be so quiet. Not that Hubert, of all people, has an issue with it; which does not mean he is not concerned, even if he has no right to be, but there is a feeling right on the tip of his tongue that he cannot name. Indeed, it is silent between them until it is pointed out that they should stop for the night before it gets too dark and put their horses at risk. Tasks are quickly relegated— Ferdinand takes the horses since he is better suited to care for them, and Hubert goes to hunt for their dinner as he fares better in killing things.

( That feels more ominous than he would like it to ).

By the time Ferdinand has returned with two well-watered and mostly fed horses, he has managed to start a fire and begin cooking their meal.

“I forget you are not a bad cook. Smells edible, at least.” Ferdinand speaks as he approaches, sits himself down next to the fire— either he has decided to break the silence between them, or he’s trying to stay on his good side. He decides the difference is not really that important.

“Yes, well— unless you mean to say you’ve improved at cooking, I think I quite recall why you were never on cooking duty well enough to not subjugate us to that. As well as why I would only trust you with drinks. I like being able to tell my food was alive at some point, after all.” Hubert pauses to glance to the side briefly, when he sees the other leaning towards the flames. “Sit further back, Ferdinand. I have no wishes to deal with your hair catching on fire. Are you cold?”

“You don’t? Why Hubert, I would not have guessed you cared.” His bitterness is so scathing that he almost physically recoils— however, Ferdinand complies with his request and moves away from the fire (but closer to him in doing so). That is the fury he had been expecting to face eventually; the silent tranquil of their travels had been Ferdinand’s wordless fury from the start.

( Well, Bernadetta had tried to warn him in her own way— he had mentally prepared himself for this, it is only his fault that he had not chosen to take action ).

Despite that, however, Hubert chooses to deflect— if nothing else, he is good at doing that. “I don’t know what you are speaking of.”

“That is exactly what I mean.” Ferdinand sounds less bitter and more— tired? He cannot tell entirely of the unspoken emotion in his voice. “You might not be the most warm and open person around, but this is pretty low for even your standards. I think I quite miss the way you hated me during our academy days. At least then it was clear how you felt.” This is the most he has spoken all day, and he can only guess this is only a small part of what he has been stewing over for however long this has been bothering him. “I cannot tell if this treatment from you is because I have said something to displease you and this is your way of being angry now; or if something that I have done has irritated Lady Edelgard— but I must please ask you to give me some peace of mind on this matter before you choose to dispose of me.”

“I—” Any and all words that come to mind immediately die on his tongue as he stares at him incredulously. “I’m sorry?”

“You should be, but then, you do not even know what you are apologizing for, do you? I am not a fool, Hubert. Clearly, this was simply an excuse to be able to kill me without any witnesses present.”

( And yet, you still chose to come along without protest, believing that? Hubert cannot help the amused fondness that comes with that thought. Yes, you certainly are foolish, Ferdinand )

“I am not angry with you.” Is the first thing he manages to say, biting his tongue as to not snicker at him as he meets the other’s gaze. “Nor do I have any plans of killing you. It would be quite inconvenient to do so.”

“You...you are not planning to kill me?” He sounds so surprised that he almost balks a little. “Then what has been the reason for your behavior as of late? You have avoided me as if I had the plague!”

“No. Though I do admit the prospect was appealing...I am kidding, Ferdinand.” Mostly kidding, anyways— he is quick to add on when he sees the pallor of the other’s face ( he forgets that Ferdinand does not handle jokes well, to say the least ). “I...I do apologize. It was not my intention to give you that impression. I am not inclined to share details, but...some of the work I have been doing for Lady Edelgard has not gone well. I did not and do not intend to get you involved in such affairs, however, so I have admittedly made myself rather scarce as of late. Forgive me, it was a foolish thing of me to do.” He dislikes the way he makes himself sound much more noble than his actions have actually been.

“Yes, quite foolish of you.” Ferdinand murmurs with a hint of something— amusement perhaps, before clearing his throat. “Are we not equals, Hubert? I know there are matters your loyalty to Edelgard prevents you from speaking about, but I would think something as simple as wanting some space is something that could have been said. Do you not trust me to leave it at that?”

( No, they are not, that is what he wants to say; they are far from being equal. Even before the old rulings had been cast aside, disregarding their crests or lack thereof— no, they could not be on even footing, because Ferdinand would never stoop so low in the name of a noble, and Hubert would do everything in his power to accomplish their goals ).

“Of course.” He says, and well, that much is true— he trusts him some unspeakable amount. “I will consider it henceforth.”

“Please do. I would like to not have to question my livelihood in the future.” The corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile, even when his eyes do not meet his— hesitation laces his features. “I missed speaking to you like this, if I am to be honest.”

Thinking about it seriously, he’s not certain if he could ever actually go through with killing Ferdinand— it would not be a hard thing, and he would do it if Edelgard commanded him to do so. But could he live with that? It makes his chest tight to even consider, and he ponders when hands as disgraced as his has ever hesitated— when he got to be so soft over the thought of killing someone.

( Then again, it is not like he would feel like this for just anyone ).

“I—” Hubert hesitates, and in doing so notes a sharp stench and comes to the realization that is the scent of their dinner burning; getting to his feet to try and salvage it while he still can. Despite not saying it, it goes understood—I missed you too.

And even the ruins of their meal cannot put a damper on his mood.

They arrive in the neighboring territory late the next afternoon and spend it getting acquainted with the ruling nobles of the land and discussing between themselves what they need to get done for Edelgard. That is one of the easier things— even if Ferdinand will challenge his choices, it keeps them in check, assures that they are working towards the same goal.

Less easy is that with their presence brings an audience— the girls that stand from a distance as they giggle and ogle Ferdinand are bearable ( if not annoying, but understandable— it had always been a bit of an unspoken agreement that Ferdinand was one of the more attractive members of their class ). No, it is the faces that linger in the shadows that leave him less easy— he is fairly certain they are not a member of that despicable group, and concludes they are likely just people against the changes Edelgard wishes to make and are eying them, messengers of that change. He cannot blame them, for sudden change is difficult for people— all the same, he has sworn devotion to seeing her vision to fruition, so he cannot let such people blemish her view.

( The sacrifices made— well, perhaps they are not in vain, he would like to think ).

That said, they do not stay any longer than they need to, however. Neither of them like being away from the empire, even if the emperor is in capable hands. Hubert goes out of his way to gather the ingredient that they need, unbeknownst to Ferdinand, and once all their business has concluded, they make the travel back home. Traveling is much smoother this time, given that neither of them have any need to go out of their way to avoid each other— and it is easier when he does not need to be concerned about any silence.

Unfortunately, it does force him to think about other things, now that he has given up on purposefully avoiding him. The truth stares at him in the face, and yet— he cannot accept it. For all that Ferdinand has revealed, something does not add up. Is that the true nature of the hex he’d accidentally casted? He supposes that he won’t get the answer to that just yet, but as he mulls over it, he cannot help but feel like he’s missing something.

Some tactician he makes.

The ground next to him dips and a sudden warmth breaks him away from his train of thoughts. “If you are cold, I think the horses to be a much more suitable source to go to.”

Ferdinand shakes his head, scooting closer to him as if just to disagree with his sentiments. “The fire is good enough. I do not think I am going back to sleep, anyhow, so I thought I would offer to take over watching now.”

Hubert watches the way his hair is illuminated by the flames of the fire for a moment before responding. “Go sleep while you can. I can keep watch for a while still.”

“It’s okay. I shall just steal some of the coffee you have been hiding.” The way he mumbles his words makes it hard to tell if he is as awake as he claims to be.

“Do not expect me to pity you if you fall off your horse tomorrow.” He says plainly, and then it fades into silence between the two of them, having nothing further to say on the subject, both intent on staying awake. Hubert briefly entertains himself by glancing upwards, at the sky and observes the stars ( he will return to paying attention to his actual surroundings in a moment, but it is hard to do so with the warmth leaning against his shoulder ).

A low croon causes him to start— it is only with the grumbled voice against his shoulder that he realizes that it was Ferdinand ( of course it was, the logical side of his mind reasons, there shouldn’t be anyone else out here ). “Sorry. I did not realize you could sing. Well, that is.”

Ferdinand hums to acknowledge him, a moment before he offers a response. “I am rather rusty, these days. I suppose even if professor paired us together in group tasks, they knew well enough to not force us into choir practice together.”

“I still maintain that it was your fault for our short fallings.” Hubert huffed. “I believe Byleth realized after a while it was best not to force me into choir and let me focus on other subjects instead.”

“Says the one that clung to the pegasus the entire time.” The other retorts, knowingly— he pointedly does not look at the smug expression the other surely has.

“I am not to be blamed for that.” He opts to change topics, staring blankly at the burning fire. “I am not familiar with what you were singing, may I inquire what it was? You— it sounded lovely.”

“A compliment? You must really want to know.” He laughs, soft and melancholic. “Just a lullaby I remember hearing often as a child. Did no caretaker of yours ever do such a thing?”

“I do not recall.” He says, a little more soft and vulnerable than he means to; but for a moment he remembers a warm voice and a soft figure that had tucked him into bed and spoken words of love ( his mother is such a stranger to him that he cannot recall her in detail— just that she was gone from this world now ).

“I see.” Ferdinand muses, and there is only a moment before Hubert finds an arm hooked around his shoulders and tugging him close. He is stiff as he is tucked against the other’s chest, a soft lilt falling from his lips. The rumble of his chest proves to be soothing, however, and relaxes after a bit.

( There is no logical explanation for any of what is happening, he thinks, as he is lulled to sleep by a hand in his hair and words to a song he has never known )

“I see someone has missed your presence.” Edelgard sounds amused when she has found him, days after they have returned home. One glove has been sacrificed to the noble cause of trying to keep the cat entertained while he does his work ( however, he has a sinking feeling that the quill pen will attract its attention sooner rather than later, and he will have to make sure the ink is a safe distance away from the papers ).

“It is disappointing to know a cat shows me more affection than most people.” He says solemnly— does not mean a word of it, but does need to acknowledge her in some form.

“Very funny. Any changes since you been back?” She inquires, flipping through one of their other tomes as a means of amusement.

“No. No harm no foul, I suppose, but the issue is that we don’t really know what happened.” Putting aside his paperwork for the moment, he grabs the spellbook to flip through its pages again. “I’m sure there’s an explanation in here somewhere, it’s just a matter of where. Although worst case, I do think we will soon be in contact with a more experienced spellcaster to solve this for us.”

“At least there’s some progress.” She leans over his shoulder to look as he scans pages idly— sticking her hand out after a moment. “Wait, let me see that.” She turns back a few pages, finger pointing to one section in particular. “Hubert, I think this is the answer to our issue.” She pats his shoulder before leaving, seemingly satisfied with the conclusion she’d reached. He stares after her for a moment before turning back to read text he has probably read before, and—

“A love spell of any variety will not work in the case of the intended target being infatuated with the caster or intended recipient of said affections.” He reads aloud, as if in disbelief— he has read this text before. It does not help him feel any more or less certain of the possibility that Ferdinand had been in love with him from the start.

But there’s still something that doesn’t quite add up, in his mind.

( He just can’t quite put his finger on what exactly )

As per usual, the answers are staring at him right in the face, and the realization comes to him suddenly, in the middle of his morning coffee. He scoops up the cat from where it had been laying at his feet with a mewl of complaint— he ignores it for the moment for the sake of some peace of mind as he stalks down the hallway.

He had always assumed this cat had been one of kitchen cats, but when he thinks about it, the first time he’d seen it was on the same day as a certain persons’ arrival. He comes to a stop outside Bernadetta’s door and knocks; this is one of those occasions where her being an introvert was to his advantage, and thankfully she is there to open the door soon enough.

“Ah— Hubert! I’m sorry, was she bothering you?” The orange stripped tabby is pulled from his hold with a meow that the both of ignore, head bowed slightly. “Edelgard, ah... Lady Edelgard mentioned that she’s stalked a claim in your study.”

“No, it is quite alright.” He only needed to affirm his suspicions, anyhow. “However, since you will be leaving soon, I figure it is for the best she does not get too attached, yes?”

“Ah— right! Y-Yes, we only have a few more days here, so...” She trails off, demeanor sullen. He does not have the time for it— nor is he very good at dealing with such emotions, so he simply glosses over it.

“Right. Do enjoy your remaining time outside of your room, perhaps? And if I do not see you again before you leave, safe travels.” Without waiting for a response, Hubert turns on his heel and sets off for his next destination to get the remainder of his answers.

“Don’t give me that look.” Edelgard frowns at the skeptical glance he throws her way— he knows her well enough to know she is speaking the truth and not hiding something this time.

“I would just like to know what exactly was intentionally planned. You were genuinely intending to use it for yourself, I know that much.” Indeed, the emperor may act at times, but the pure curiosity she had approached him with that day had been genuine.

“Sort of, correct. I was initially very curious about its uses, and if we could have used it for anything. And I was going to use it for myself, but...I was actually going to give it to Ferdinand, once we knew it would work.”

“Pardon?” He doesn’t quite follow her logic.

“You always work so hard for me, Hubert. You don’t let yourself be happy. Is it so wrong for me to want to see my friend, my...my brother have something good, for once?” That connection between them is not something they usually acknowledge— he does not say a thing about it other than a slight grimace. An emperor should not be announcing even loose relations to someone like him, nor should she be worried about someone as lowly as him. Her lips press together slightly, a tinge of frustration. “Besides, I am sick of seeing you two looking at each other like that and not do a thing about it. Had we not come up with replicable results, I would have just given him a placebo— I was initially unaware that it wouldn’t have worked anyways, with that catch.”

Hubert is silent for a moment— there’s a lot to unpack in what she’s just said, and quite frankly he does not have the time to think about it. Not now, at least; it may be worth mulling over later. “And Bernadetta’s cat?”

“That part was unplanned. I hadn’t realized she had the cat with her at first. I didn’t know until she brought the book back to me. It worked better to have you under the assumption that it was Ferdinand that was affected, not her cat. All that aside, at least we know it worked, so at least it was not all for waste.”

Everything adds up, more or less.

“I’m...a little unhappy that you decided to do things this way.” Rather— she should not have to devote her energy to something like this. What’s done is done though. “I am happy to be at your side and serve you, do not imply otherwise. But...thank you for looking out for me, sister. You’ve done enough now.”

“Have I?” Her expression looks a little torn— like the natural leader in her, wishing to service her people, has failed. Like she has failed him, somehow; and he wishes he could give her some sense of comfort in this moment. “I’m not too certain. I suppose the rest is up to you two now.”

“Mm. So, I presume you do not need the rest of this to be done, yes?” He inquires, and she shudders after a moment.

“Yes. After witnessing what a...mess this all started, I decided it would be best to take matters into my own hands. We’re best off leaving this to an expert.”

“Why, this is a change in pace; I hardly get asked out by you. Usually I have to be the one to pull you away from your work.” Ferdinand greets, as easygoing as ever. “What a special occasion this must be.”

“You could say that.” Hubert agrees, watching as the other sits across from him. “I believe I have not sufficiently apologized for my recent transgressions, so. Here we are.”

“Ah, so it is not a trick of my nose and you are indeed hiding something from me.” The gleam in his eyes is most certainly one of intrigue now.

“I should have expected you would notice.” He had expected as much, truthfully; a snort as he hands over a bag. “Very well then, take this. It’s from one of our nearby neighbors.”

“It smells not half bad!” Which is probably the closest to a compliment, from him. “So, what is this really about? I doubt you have simply called me out just for this.”

“I thought you might like something to drink while I explain the recent events. As you can see, I already have my drink.” Hubert shrugs as he gestures to his own cup. As horribly humiliating as this was going to be to explain— the sooner he gets this off his chest, the better ( of the secrets he wants to keep, this is admittedly not one of them ).

“Oh? Is that all right with Edelgard?” Still, he’s already reaching for a kettle to pour the leaves into.

“We’ve finished with it, so yes. Although I would appreciate it if this conversation stayed between us.”

“So this isn’t a crest thing.” Ferdinand concludes, and he raises a brow at him.

“Did you think it was? I hate to sorely disappoint, but no.” He waits for the other to finish preparing his tea before beginning to speak. “Lady Edelgard brought to me a spellbook to study. If you recall that brew I stopped you from messing around with, that had been one of the first attempts at trying.”

“Which is why you were so insistent on making sure it had no effect on me, but it hadn’t. Should it have?”

“I had been under the impression so, yes. I found a stray piece of hair in the brew, a shade strikingly close to yours. However, love spells do not work if the target has an affection for the caster.”

“Love...? Lady Edelgard was having you spend time on love spells?” The full of what he has said finally hits, and Ferdinand jerks back slightly. “Wait, I can explain—”

“Let me finish, Ferdinand. Yes, Edelgard was curious, I was curious, if we could make it work then we would have tried other parts of the spellbook.” He opts to leave out the fact that there has been some behind the scenes match making— he will save him from the humiliation of having to know exactly how invested the emperor was in their love lives. “However, as it turns out, I’d left the window open and the brew unattended to while we had tea that day. Bernadetta’s cat had gotten in and shed some of it’s fur, which had ended up in the brew.” He is admittedly not sure how a cat managed to snatch such a heavy book, but he cannot bring himself to care about it, at this point. “This was a recent revelation to me. I figured that after scrutinizing you as much as I have recently, you at least have the right to know.”

“Hubert, are you saying that the reason you were avoiding me was because you thought I might be in love with you?” He speaks after a brief silence, and sounds much more amused than he has any right to be. Hubert pointedly does not look at him.

“I did not think it to be fair to take advantage of you if you had truly been affected.”

“And yet just now, you would have had tried to get me to confess, you dastardly man.” He waggles a finger at him.

“Confess to what?” Behind his cup, he hides a smirk. “I do not recall ever asking such of you.”

Ferdinand holds his gaze with a thoughtful hum, placing his tea aside. “But you were not averse to it either, hm?”

“I—” He inhales sharply, turning his head to look away from him and ignores the ache in his chest. “That is irrelevant to the matter at hand.”

There is only silence for a long moment, before there is the sound of a chair scrapping against the ground. “Hubert.” A hand grasps at his chin, gently turns his head and forces him to stare into unwavering amber eyes. “Please be truthful with me. Do you...”

Ferdinand does not get the chance to finish speaking, because Hubert grabs onto his cravat and closes the gap between them. This was not exactly how he had planned for things to go, but if he’s learned anything as of late, it is that things do not work out as he has planned, so he is okay with this, finally— he can indulge himself in a moment of weakness, if only for one person ( asides from Edelgard, though he would be lying if he said his devotion to her did not waver, for a brief moment, in his mind ).

And just as quick, he pulls away and sits back in his seat as if nothing has passed— if nothing else, he can have a moment of amusement as the other stares at him in shock. Hubert is suddenly hyper aware of himself, and when he feels warmth settling in his cheeks, he begins to turn away; only stopped by lips pressed against his insistently as Ferdinand leans over him.

“Your hair is getting in my face.” He grumbles when he finally pulls back so they can breathe. Admittedly, it is not as much of a problem as he makes it seem; the way his hair drapes down somewhat obscures their faces and provides some sense of privacy.

“Your own hair is already in your face.” Ferdinand retorts, a hint of smugness that has Hubert rolling his eyes fondly as he leans in to kiss such a pleased expression off his face.

[bcdaily]

Thirty, Flirty, and Aubergines (Lily/James, Bakery AU)

A/N: Here’s my “Valentine’s Day drabble”...five days and five thousand words later. This is a gift for my funny little valentine @ghost-of-bambi, even though I spoiled this whole story for her forty-five seconds after I had this idea, and even though I make her stay up way too late all the time, and even though I have not yet booked my flight to visit Flamingoland. You are a star and a wonder and my heart explodes at your friendship and also that you laugh at my jokes. Kissseshugs&etc

When one is co-owner of bakery, it's an integral thing not to overindulge in treats.

Usually, Lily is quite good at this sort of thing. Even when said sweets are some of the best England has to offer (in Lily's own humble opinion). Even when she's come up with something fantastic and new, and has spent hours upon hours perfecting it, and its eventual shiny, delicious presentation begs bite after bite. Even when it's been a grueling shift, she's been elbow-deep in flour and buttercream since four, and collapsing atop a giant mound of shortbread seems just the thing.

And even on days like today—Valentine's Day—when the bakery door seems to be on endless revolve, welcoming in a steady stream of cloyingly sweet lovers, breezily nonchalant boyfriends who poke at the first red confection they see in the display case and beam with pride as if they've done something mighty, and the occasional single saunterer who—like Lily herself, no matter how content they are with their current relationship status—may need the bolster of a beautiful little bon-bon to make all the rest seem a bit more bearable.

Yes, Lily is quite good at tempering her consumption of sweets…except when the treat comes in the form of one tall, sumptuous, messy-haired patron.

Then, quite frankly, she immediately goes to slosh.

"Li-ly," Mary sings, poking her dark head in through the swinging kitchen door. Lily is just finishing sprinkling a dash of edible confetti atop a fresh two dozen heart-shaped cupcakes. "Can you pop out here quick?"

"What?" Lily replies distractedly, frowning down at the single cupcake whose frosting teeters off to the left. She tries to nudge it with her piping bag, then gives up and moves that one to the back of the tray. She turns. "Mary—"

But her partner is already gone, vanished to the front of the shop once more.

Lily sighs, grabbing the fresh tray with both hands and stepping forward until she's pushing out the swinging kitchen doors—which hits her arse with a sturdy smack as she skitters to a halt at the sight of James Potter leaning against the bakery counter.

"Hi," he says, giving her that swoon-worthy, lopsided grin of his, the tiniest of dimples creasing in his warm brown skin.

Yum.

Lily stands up straighter, telling her thrumming heart to cool it, and gives a jaunty smile of her own.

"Hi there." She steps forward on her comfy trainers, suddenly inordinately grateful that she'd thrown on a cute top and some perky red lipstick earlier to fit with the holiday spirit. She bends, sliding the tray into the cupcake display, ignoring Mary's amused smirk from the other end of the counter. Lily takes her time before facing him again. "This is new," she says, and checks her watch. "I've never seen you in here past nine."

"Glad to see me?"

"That pretty face of yours? It'll do. Abruptly keen on a four p.m. latte and scone, then?"

"Close," James says, leaning his luscious forearms—revealed by the artlessly ruched up sleeves of his white button-down—against the counter. "As it happens, I am in dire dessert straits."

"Oh?" The bright, happy thing that has been spiraling inside Lily's chest at his unexpected arrival abruptly pops and throbs. "Let me guess—girlfriend isn't pleased with her Valentine's Day gift, and you're hoping to buy a dessert to compensate?"

In the approximately two months since James Potter had first dropped into the bakery one harried winter morning for a latte and breakfast pastry—and during his subsequent numerous visits, at least twice a week since then—Lily has managed to glean a healthy dose of information about him. More than just that he likes his lattes strong and his pastry fruity (though he does), she also knows he works up the road in the big posh building made of full glass doing marketing for his family's company. He likes dry humour comedies and the theatrical wonder of professional wrestling. He has a brother named Sirius, a cat called Algernon, and a phone filled with pictures of both, which he shows off generously. His birthday is in March, his favourite colour is green, and in all this time—all this time—that he has been coming into Lily's bakery and flirting shamelessly with her, he has never once mentioned a girlfriend.

Lily's not-so-small crush has thus flourished with great gusto, gentle winds of affection feeding the flames with each tempting interaction, only to be brought up short here, now, with one single afternoon's visit and the possibility that this may not be what she'd thought.

James tilts his head, giving her an accessing look. "Is that the sort of bloke you get in here today?"

Lily gives a jerky shrug. Answer the question. "One of the sort."

"Your art is wasted on them," he declares, and says it with such firm earnestness, Lily is certain a scarlet flush begins to creep up her neck. He does not seem to notice as he reaches an arm around to pull his phone from his back pocket. "Alas, this is woman trouble, but my specific lack of a girlfriend seems to be a key part of the issue. See?"

Lack of a girlfriend, Lily hears with something akin to relieved euphoria, and she takes the phone when James passes it over to her, glancing down at the lit-up screen.

It's pulled up to a text conversation. At the top, the contact is in big, bold letters.

M U M

"A-ha," Lily says, heart beginning to bubble again, though that in itself is exasperating. This is meant to be a light, easy little crush—she should not be this relieved. "That sort of woman trouble."

James nods solemnly and motions for her to read.

At precisely 14:39, he had sent the following:

happy v day mum

Lily's lips quirk. How predictably James to toss out the offhand sentiment, and how greedy Lily would be for even that much...though lord knows he isn't going to be winning awards for his artful texting prose or brilliant grammar any time soon.

At precisely 14:41, he'd received back:

No day is a happy day when I am squandering my best grandmothering years because my feckless children have denied me the greatest joy a person can know. You are too handsome to be this cruel.

Then there are three emojis: a weeping face, an angry face, an aubergine.

An aubergine.

Lily snorts loudly.

"Ah—ah." She covers the sound with a cough, burying it in a daintily curved knuckle. "That's...quite a guilt trip you've got there. Your mum has a way with words."

"And emojis," James mutters, taking the phone back as Lily laughs in earnest. "So now you see what I'm up against."

"At least she's called you handsome."

"She takes full credit for that, too. Something about the privilege of procuring her prime genes and how grateful I ought to be that she only dropped me on my face as an infant the once." He slips the phone back into his pocket, gives her a cheeky head tilt and a twinkle of warm brown eyes from behind thick-framed specs. "So this is where you come in."

"To agree that she dropped you on your face the appropriate amount of times?"

"To provide me with something that might make her momentarily forget that I haven't yet replicated that face in the form of a human spawn," James corrects, but then he pauses, leaning forward. "Though, by all means, that first one too."

Lily's chest squirms happily. She gives his undoubtedly handsome cheek a playful little pat, but spins on her heel and keeps her red-stained lips shut. She grabs a take away box from the shelf behind her, then turns back to James, whose smiling face is lit up by the dessert display case.

"So"—she prods open the cardboard box, pushing in the tabs—"exactly how many desserts do you reckon make up for your severe lack of procreation?"

James plays at pondering this.

"Well." He taps at his chin. "See, I reckon this is more a 'quality' than a 'quantity' issue, actually."

"Is it? Well, then you have come to the right place." Lily grandly waves a hand over the case. "I am very talented, see."

James smiles. "I'm aware." Then he claps his hands together. "So. One of everything, please."

"One of—" Lily snorts. "Hilarious. What happened to 'quality not quantity'?"

"That's what I'm doing," James returns, and Lily squints in amused confusion at how straight he keeps his face while continuing the joke. "As we've already affirmed, you're very talented. So how am I meant to discover which desserts are the best of the best if I don't try each and every one and choose from there?" He reaches into his pocket again, this time pulling out his wallet. He plucks a jaunty blue credit card out and thrusts it towards her. "One of everything, please."

Lily pushes away his card, rolling her eyes. "Ha-ha. Very funny. What's she keen on? Maybe a tart? Chocolate—"

"One"—jab, jab goes the card again—"of each. Please."

"James."

"I'm good for it. I swear. Go on, swipe through. I'll sit right over there"—he pokes the card briefly towards one of the few tiny tables in the corner of the shop—"and try each and every one."

Lily drops her hands to her hips. He's still not breaking. The stupid handsome face is watching hers in expectant pause. But he can't be serious.

"You're going to sit right there"—she cocks her head towards the table—"and eat thirty different desserts?"

"Sample thirty different desserts," James amends, and pats his slim tummy. "Must be mindful of what will fit, naturally. But it's a scientific thing. Very methodical. Has to be done proper. One by one, each and every one." He lifts an eyebrow at her. "For my mother. To stop the aubergines. I have to stop the aubergines, Lily."

"That's—" She lets out a laugh. Shakes her head. But still—still—he remains unmoved. She lifts the cardboard box again. "I'm packing you four desserts. A perfectly reasonable, high quality sampling—"

"Mary," James calls, eyes never leaving Lily's. He lifts his credit card higher. "Your partner is refusing to sell me thirty desserts."

"You—"

"I'll take that!" Mary cries, swooping in from the other end of the counter, bumping Lily aside so she can pluck James's card straight from his fingertips. She turns to Lily with a gimlet-eyed stare. "Are you out your mind? Serve the man!"

"Yes," James agrees. "Serve the man."

Lily glares at them both, lunging for James's card. "He's not—he's being a loon, he doesn't want thirty desserts—"

"I do," James says again. "I really do."

Mary waves her hand about, determinedly keeping the card from Lily's searching grasp. "Do you hear that? He's confirmed his order. We are a fledgling business, Lily Evans. We do not turn away a good man's good money."

"Thank you," James pipes in again. "I am a good man. I have good money."

"Shut up," Lily returns, huffing in exasperation. "This is so—"

"I'll just pop over there, shall I?" James says, eyebrows raised at her. "To the table? I imagine you have some kind of tray for this sort of thing."

"As a matter of fact—"

"Go on, we'll bring everything right over!" Mary chimes in, looking positively delighted by all of this. "We're even running a Valentine's special: Buy thirty desserts, get one gorgeous, stubborn redhead free."

"Perfect," James says, and though Lily still cannot understand what kind of extravagant nonsense stick slapped him upside the head that afternoon to make him think this was even a remotely sensible idea, she feels her skin prickling with a rosy blush anyway. But James has already turned for the table, marching to the corner of the room with determined strides.

"What are you doing?" Lily hisses to Mary once he's out of earshot.

"What are you doing?" Mary hisses back, poking Lily in the side with James's card. "Your swoony treat of a man wants to buy our shop out of pastry, and you're saying no? I can't decide whether that's a worse business decision or a worse romantic decision!"

"It's not either! He's just...well, honestly, I haven't the faintest what he's doing, but it's not—" Lily waves her hands in irritation, taking a quick glance over her shoulder to see that James has indeed sat himself down at the table in the corner, folding his hands neatly upon the tabletop in a patient pose. He looks delicious and adorable and he's buying all her desserts which he thinks are art, and she wants to snog him more than she wants to breathe. "This is ridiculous. Give me that card."

"Not a chance," Mary shoots back, and whips her hand behind her back again. "For fuck's sake, Lily, I heard the word aubergine. So go get the man his desserts, and maybe you can finally enjoy yourself a bit of fruit!"

"Shhh—god, Mary—" But her partner has already flounced back over to the register, where Lily sees she is quick at work in charging James's card.

Thirty desserts.

He wants thirty desserts.

He's clearly gone mad.

But with Mary swiping a black hole onto his charge card, Lily can't very well refuse to serve him, even if she can't figure out his game. After a moment's huff of frustration, she grabs one of the empty baking trays from the kitchen and heads for the display case. The four-tiered unit is packed full with Lily's hard work from the morning—tartes and chocolates and confectionaries with elegant designs and perfectly coiffed decor (save the one clumsily frosted heart cupcake—James is getting that one, because she's spiteful). It's a lit up pedestal for her daily achievements, and she carefully picks out one of every dessert they currently have on display.

The collection makes up a rather dazzling tableau. With all of them standing together, Lily gets a little burst of pride. She is an artist at work, and it tickles her straight down to the heart that he's been impressed enough to notice it, to make the comment. All of this tickles at her in a way that she was not expecting to be tickled on a busy Valentine's Day afternoon with a dish of a man, his guilt-tripping mother, and an emoji aubergine.

But she's already given her protests. What else is a girl to do except roll with it?

James stands up to help her when he spots her coming over with the tray, but Lily deftly outmaneuvers him to drop the full platter atop the tiny tabletop herself. His long fingers casually fall to the small of her back as they stand beside each other and marvel at the table full of desserts. Lily turns her head to look up at him, only to find him looking at her too.

Their faces are close. So close.

She looks away first.

"Your good money has procured you good desserts, my good man," she says flatly, slipping an errant strand of red hair behind her ear.

James chuckles. "Excellent. Now if I only had someone to taste them with…"

Lily plucks a single plastic fork from her pocket, jabbing him lightly in the chest with its flimsy prongs. "Sorry, old chap. Science is a lonely game."

James lifts a hand to catch the fork—but catches a few of her fingers along with it.

Lily's whole arm immediately feels encased in pure, tingling warmth.

"What was this I heard about a free gorgeous redhead?" he inquires with faux innocence. "I think I ordered one of those, as well."

"Reckon that one's out of your budget, mate," Lily returns, though her fingers curl beneath his.

"I have incredibly high limits on my card," James says, but when she gives him a quelling look, he only lifts the hand that's not still—still—holding hers, and splays its fingers wide. "Five minutes," he requests, brown eyes pleading. "I need someone to explain what everything is. I'm hopeless. I'll just call every one a pudding and and never get the right one."

"You're not nearly as hopeless as that," Lily argues, but her protest sounds flimsily wain even to her own ears.

But, really, why shouldn't it? Of course she wants to cosy up with James at this table and watch as he samples all her delicious hard work, wants to see his eyes light up with each taste, wants to grin as he dives back in for second spoonfuls of his favourites, wants to listen to the cool, syrupy sound of his voice as he sorts through which treat he thinks his mum will fancy most.

She glances over her shoulder at Mary, who is presently ringing up one customer's purchase, with a second queuing patiently behind. There does seem to be a brief lull in the mad Valentine's rush. And those cupcakes were the last of Lily's afternoon baking shift. The display cases should remain decently stocked for at least another few hours. If a sudden onslaught of new customers arrives, she can always pop back over there.

She turns to James, who watches her with hopeful expectation. His face is still so close, she can nearly taste the little dimple. Could just lift up on her tiptoes, drop the smallest of kisses—

Christ, she's far gone for this one.

"Fine. Five minutes," she says, and feels the rush of heady affection as he grins widely, beaming at her. "But if it starts getting busy, I'll have to—"

"Hop to, absolutely." His fingers drop hers, but only so he can reach down and guide her from the back once more. He kicks out one of the chairs with his foot and calls, "Mary, Lily's taking her break!"

"Five minutes!" Lily corrects, and gives James a look as he seats her, then slides into the chair across. "Five minutes," she warns him again.

His only response is another grin.

Five minutes, she's said, but of course it's not five minutes. At five minutes, she's hardly gotten through naming even half of the desserts presented, gets caught up when James asks, "Where did you learn all this? You're a bloody marvel." And Lily explains about her grandmother, the one who had kept Lily in the kitchen at her knee for most of her childhood, and then the brief stint in culinary school after that, though when that same grandmother had passed and left Lily a healthy little inheritance, she and Mary had decided to take the plunge and open the shop.

So five minutes turns to ten, and ten to fifteen, and then time means something else because they're talking about James's mum and her laundry list of hilarious antics and the way James so clearly adores her straight down to his toes—adores his whole family, and the stories he has!—but then Lily has to pop over to help with a growing rush of customers and returns to the table to find that James has somehow recruited five adorable little girls and their jolly father chaperone into his scientific study, six new forks diving into numerous delicacies, and Lily is left preening as James announces that she is their creator and all six newcomers babble and bleat their lavish praise upon her. The little girls do not seem to notice or mind that the frosting on their heart-shaped cupcake is lopsided, and end up ordering half-dozen more before they depart the bakery with waves and frosting-coated smiles. Lily rings them up herself with her own giddy grin, and turns to find that Mary has foisted a rag and cleaner spray on James, who is diligently scrubbing little girl finger prints off the glass display case. Then they're back at the table, and how can they not start to discuss which Fyre Festival documentary is better? It's the only natural progression of the afternoon, and the perfect complement to casual fork dips into the red velvet cake. And the strawberry shortcake. And—

"A pudding!" James declares in delight.

"A pudding," Lily confirms, smiling fondly.

She's so very very fond of this man, and each five minutes by five minutes that passes does nothing to temper that. It's a mighty thing, this deepening crush of hers, and it's suddenly being augmented all the more by the growing suspicion that she's almost certain—really, nearly positively certain—that it's not an unrequited affection. She's considered it before, of course. All these weeks, all these mornings. But today...it's different. He doesn't say anything more flirty than usual, doesn't try anything cringeworthy like feeding her food off his fork or asking what desserts are best eaten directly from the skin. Lily has had a few of those sorts in her past, and James is neither. But he does lean into her across the table at every available opportunity. He does make nudging his fork against hers as they dig into a fruit tart seem like foreplay. He does…

He does fancy her.

It's....really, she's certain—

"All that talk about pudding, and you hardly even tasted it!" she cries now, because she can't bring herself to say, All this chemistry and flirting, and you've hardly even touched me!

James responds to neither spoken nor unspoken exclamation, instead scraping a spoon once again inside the effectively empty glass of caramel pretzel mousse, which has quickly surpassed all other desserts on the tray in his estimation.

"I want to be buried in this," he declares, lavishly closing his eyes as he licks the spoon for the last sparse remnants of mousse streaks. "Better yet, cremate me and mix me in with the batter. Please. It's the perfect way to go."

"That would most certainly affect the consistency," Lily mutters, but she's pleased—so very smug and proud and pleased—that he's so enamoured of something she's made. He's been rapturously complimentary about just about every dessert he's sampled, but he's clearly got a new favourite and it delights her.

"I want this for every meal," he says, and stares down at the mousse glass like he's strongly considering circling the rim with his finger so he can lick up whatever his spoon has failed to catch. "I want—"

"Another one?" Lily asks, laughing. "You're allowed to pick out one for yourself along with your mum's, you know. I'm sure there's plenty left—"

But as Lily swivels in her seat to view just how many caramel pretzel mousses are left for James to hoard all his own, it's to find a much emptier display case than when she'd last left it. In fact, the whole bakery is emptier. And it's darker. Much darker.

"Shit." She checks her watch—shit. "It's nearly closing. How did it get so late?"

"Hm?" James murmurs, but Lily rises to her feet, suddenly incredibly skittish.

She knew she'd wasted a bit of time this afternoon, tasting and laughing and chatting with James. She just hadn't realised how much time had gone.

She glances up to see that Mary is taking care of another customer at the till, and the one other woman they have running this shift is tidying in the kitchen. Neither seems bothered or overwhelmed by Lily's absence, but she still feels like a wretch. She makes it to the display case to find that a solid half of the stock has been thoroughly cleared out. There are no more crème brûlée biscuits. No more double chocolate mini cakes. No more—

No more caramel pretzel mousses.

"Shit," she says again, squinting in the glare of the display case's lights. She glances over her shoulder at James, who has risen to his feet too and is slowly following her towards the desserts. "We took too long. Look—half of the best stuff is already gone. You and the girls wanted to include the graham cracker shortcake. And there's only one of the praline pieces. And the mousse—"

"It is a shame, about the mousse," James says, and stops when he's standing next to her, gazing down at the empty tiers, as well. He pauses, and then there's the warm pressure of his fingers at her back again, soothingly stroking. "Don't worry about the rest."

She feels impossibly guilty. "What do you mean 'don't worry about the rest'? The whole plan—"

"There's been a change in the plans," James says, nodding firmly. "A big reveal, if you will."

"Big reveal? What does that—"

"I realised quite early on that it would require approximately six stone of desserts in order to have my poor mother forgetting about her lack of extended progeny for even the smallest productive period of time." He tips his chin at her in acknowledgment. "Even if they are the best desserts the world has ever seen."

She narrows her eyes, wondering where this is going now. "That's very flattering, but what then—"

"Euphemia Potter is a woman of action," James interrupts again, simply and crisply. "She likely could never be bribed with sweets or treats. Instead, I plan to earn back far greater favour by stopping round her house later, giving her a strong cuddle, and saying, 'Mother beloved, I am sorry I do not yet have a child for which you may dandle upon your knee, but I did just spend the entire afternoon finagling my way into a dessert-themed date with the woman I've fancied something fierce for the last two months—and I think it actually went really well—so I hope you'll take that as strides in the correct direction and strive to be content for now.'"

What had he just—

...finagling my way into a dessert-themed date...

...woman I've fancied something fierce…

...went really well…

Lily stares at him.

She stares at him, she blinks rapidly, feels her pulse racing...and then she tries not to smile.

Date.

Fancy.

Thank god.

"You sly little shit." She elbows him in the stomach, beginning to laugh as he laughs. "You tricked me."

"Only a smidge," he insists, and holds up his thumb and pointer finger, measuring out a minuscule centimeter. The other hand still drifts along her back. "And only because every time I come in, you seem so busy, so I chatted with Mary—"

"Mary was in on this?"

"—and I know Valentine's Day is the worst, but I wanted to see you, and I didn't know—that is, I wasn't sure if…" He trails off, wincing some, looking for the first time a bit bashful and apologetic for his elaborate machinations. Lily still can't believe she'd been so neatly shepherded into it like one of the blind herd. It's grating, being fooled this way. But also…

But also…

Woman I've fancied something fierce.

Lily turns toward him, stepping forward until the space is gone between them, until she can wrap her long arms around his middle and squeeze his torso in a tight, thrilling little hug...all while stomping very firmly on his left foot with hers.

"Next time, just ask, you prat," she grumbles, then snuggles her face against his chest.

She can feel his heart pounding against her ear. His body—so soft and warm—huddles around hers as both of James's arms wrap around her too. He squeezes her—strong, tight, delicious.

"There's a next time?" he asks hopefully.

Lily makes a vague little humming noise, burying her smile into his button-down.

There would be a next time. There would most certainly be a next time.

After all...someone still had to do something about those aubergines.

[mysticsparklewings]

Winter Mountain

At last, we have the final painting for the Art Philosophy November Challenge. I'll be honest, I didn't think the prompt, "Winter Mountain," would give me so much trouble when I first noticed it on the prompt list. Oh boy was I wrong! In fact, I think this one ended up being the one that gave me the most trouble out of the bunch. All of the previous four had their challenges, "Summer Beach" in particular being the one that previously had the most practice pieces. But I just had a much harder time trying to conceptualize this one. I ended up with a total of seven different practice pieces before the final, and unlike all the previous prompts none of them were solid enough for me to pick one and try replicating it directly. The funny thing is, this final one was actually me more or less meeting my breaking point. After seven much smaller attempts that weren't objectively bad but just weren't doing what I wanted them to, I decided maybe it would just be best if I went ahead and tried a practice piece on the same size paper I'd use for the final. I had more than one piece left, so if it went south, then it wouldn't be that big of a deal. It was only after I'd started on this one that part of my problem might've been that I'd been practicing incorrectly. I've kept the previous paintings on the same 5.5" x 8.5" paper, but I've been alternating the long and short sides, similar to what I did during Inktober. By that logic, this one should've had the longest side on the top and bottom. By the time I noticed, I was tired and already fed up with my struggles and thus it was out of the question to worry about fixing it. It does make me wonder though if that could've been why I had such a hard time nailing down the concept from the very beginning. Would I have perhaps not struggled as much if I'd been practicing and had my paper turned correctly the whole time?  The world will never know. Anyway. I started off the painting by doing one of my favorite things to do with watercolor; a gradient wash. I stopped it with about 1/5 of the page left blank for what exactly I had in mind, going from a soft pinky-purple to a peachy yellow for a "cold" sunset feel. I was a little concerned about how it was going to try because it looked kind of patchy while it was still wet, but fortunately, it seems the paint largely smoothed itself out. Then came the truly challenging part. I'd learned from my practice pieces that I didn't want to just put in a dark color where the mountain part of "Winter Mountain" should be and then bring the snow/winter part back in with white watercolor, because each time I tried that it ended up looking more like just regular snow-topped mountains and not winter-specific mountains. But I also had a hard time replicating one practice piece where I miraculously put down just the shadow part of the mountains and was able to carve out the shape, even though I did really like the way it looked. (That practice piece came out looking a bit simple for my taste otherwise, but that was partly because of it's much smaller size and me being scared I was going to ruin it at any moment.) But I decided to try my luck regardless. As a result, the mountains here ended up being a sort of mixture of the "shadows only" and "add white to the top" methods. I started out trying to just leave the part that was supposed to be white alone and only add the shadows to create the shape of the mountains, and while that worked, for the most part, I did get a little carried away in a few places. And to be fair there was a little too much of the color from the background poking through to suit me too (though a little of it poking through in some places, a lot of which is still visible, I think adds to the sunset illusion, as naturally, the snow would reflect some of the colors). So much like in my practice pieces, I did end up playing a little bit of back-and-forth between the shadow color and white. And while I'm sure it's still not perfect and there are many watercolor puritans out there ready to scrap me other the coals, I think it turned out okay. While the mountains did their drying, I went in and added what's supposed to be a river, which on both practice pieces I incorporated it into in a similar fashion ended up looking more like just some strange part of the ground. Fortunately, here in the final, I was a little more careful and particular and so it looks more like actual water here. I think. Although realistically it should probably be frozen over and thus not as dark, I digress. Then I very carefully added some shadows/shading to the ground and did my best to blend it with the base of the mountains so that it didn't look like I just forgot to paint that area. Snow, as it turns out, is trickier to paint that one might imagine. Or at least than I would imagine. Especially with watercolor where the primary way to get white is to normally leave the white of the paper. It's odd trying to balance the right amount of white that gets left alone with just enough shadow that it doesn't look like a mistake. While that all dried, I pondered what else I could add. Mountains, a river, and the moon I knew I was going to add later...that's fine and good and all, but that alone leaves something to be desired. I decided to take a risk and used some more of the bluish-gray I'd mixed for the snow shadows and added some mountains that were meant to be further in the background to add a little more interest and fill out more of the paper, as I had put the original mountains in a little low on the page. Then I went in and added my moon and some stars white the white watercolor. (Not my white gel pen for a change!) That all came out pretty subtle since the main white I was using tends to sink back into the paper/colors underneath pretty noticeably. And to this day I still don't know if it's because it's a pan watercolor (as my white from the tube doesn't seem to do that, or at least not to the same extent) or if it's just because of whatever white pigment was used to make it.  Either way, I'm okay with that here as it seems more fitting for the moon and stars to be more subtle in this type of sky. I was very very tempted to add some trees--evergreen, specifically--to liven up the landscape a little, but I'd already experimented with that in practice and even when I went back and added some teeny-tiny trees to a few of my practice pieces just to see how it would look and work, they just didn't look that great and I didn't feel like I could create them in a reliable way. If that makes sense.  So that was out. Instead, I ended up settling on adding some springs of grass/plants poking through the snow. It's not something we usually think about, but I've seen it for myself that even in the dead of winter with a thick blanket of snow on the ground you can still often see the holdovers from warmer weather poking through. It's not quite the same, but I do think it helped add that little bit of life I was looking for. It was still missing something though, and after some thought, I decided that something was birds. This time, instead of just going in as usual and free handing the birds and their flying positions myself, I dared look up a reference of birds flying in a v-formation and based them off of that, which I quite like. And at first, after I finished it, I still wasn't quite sure if I was totally happy with it. In all honesty, I think I was just a little burnt out on snowy mountains for the night and I was tired and just really wanted to be done. Looking at it again today, I feel better about it. I'm still not sure it's good as it could be, but it still looks pretty nice anyway. And...it's done. I am th-rough this freaking challenge!   I'm not mad at what I managed to create from the five prompts, but I do know I'm going to be a little more discerning the next time I think about participating in one of Art Philosophy's monthly challenges. "Landscape" was a bit overzealous of a category for me.   The funny thing is I'm still not sure I understand how 5 prompts spread over every 2-3 days ended up being more taxing and time-consuming than 31 prompts with one for every single day.  The best I can figure is it's just that much different between full watercolor paintings and poems with ink backgrounds. Whatever the case, it's done. I made some satisfactory paintings and now I can go back to simply creating as the inspiration strikes me. That being the case, hopefully, one of the next things up will be another marker illustration, as while all this painting business has been going on I've had a bit of an interesting story going on behind the scenes... ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[canadian-riddler]

Portal: The Reaper

By Indiana

 Characters: Doug Rattmann, GLaDOS

Setting: Post Portal 2

Synopsis: Not in cruelty, not in wrath, the Reaper came today.

 AO3 || fanfiction.net || Wattpad

 The air was cold and smelled strongly of rust.

He struggled to remember where he was.  There was… the silence of the Cube.  The turrets. The Relaxation Vault –

Wait.

He should be dead.  He’d been shot by that turret.  He should have bled out in the Relaxation Vault and never opened his eyes again.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to open them.  There was nothing left of this place.  No one was ever going to come and find him, and even if he wanted to leave where was there to go?  Would he even be able to get there, with an Aperture military-grade bullet in his leg?

His thoughts were… surprisingly clear.  That didn’t make any sense.  It only did so if someone had found him. All right.  He’d reached the point where sight was necessary.  He opened his eyes and found himself on his back in a dark room, and above him were… no.  No, it couldn’t be.

He trailed his vision down from the pale rings mounted on the ceiling in swelling horror, hoping that the great bundle of black and orange wire descending from it did not lead to exactly what he knew it did, and of course he was not wrong.  It was her.  It was her, and he was in here with her, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

She had caught him at last.

His voice strangled itself deep in his throat, and he attempted to back away, his legs tangling up the sheet atop the ancient metal cot she had placed him on.  Before his hand had quite met the empty air behind him, she raised one of the floor panels and it connected solidly with his palm. He froze.  All right.  He wasn’t getting out of here.  He was just going to have to… to…

To what?  His one defense against the supercomputer had been the ability to stay just beyond her reach.  And now he was directly in front of her.

The only question that remained was why.

“Dr Rattmann,” GLaDOS said congenially, and a chill settled into his stomach to hear it.  She did not use names.

“You’re dead,” Doug rasped, having the urge still to scuttle backward though he knew it was useless. Her laugh was oddly pleasant, like that of a mother good-naturedly humouring a child.  

“As it turns out, I’m extremely difficult to kill.  Like yourself.  Would you like to hear something interesting?” she asked, turning away from him and tilting her core a little to the left, as though remembering something. He didn’t, but he knew he had no choice in the matter.  “It’s actually your fault I’m alive right now.”

He stopped breathing.

She nodded sagely. “Oh yes.  Quite frankly I find the irony of it all hilarious.  You see, Dr Rattmann, if you had just let the girl die I wouldn’t be here right now.”

Chell… Chell had helped her?

“She did,” GLaDOS confirmed, his chest tightening at the thought that she had actually managed to read his mind.  “She’s gone, by the way.  I sent her back to the surface.  I’ve had quite enough of her.  I have more important things to do than chase destructive humans all over my facility. Which brings me to the point of this little chat: what to do with you.”

His mouth had been dry since he could remember, but he was acutely aware of it now.

“I considered just killing you and having done with it,” she went on airily, as though discussing dinner plans, “but I seem to have developed a conscience – I know.  What am I supposed to do with that? – and she is… opposed to that idea.”

“Caroline,” Doug said, without meaning to, and GLaDOS regarded him with the first real interest she’d had since he’d woken.  

“You knew her?”

Doug shook his head without knowing why.  “Of her.”

“Ah,” GLaDOS said, seeming disappointed.  “She maintains we had some sort of friendship, but I haven’t been able to locate it.  It’s unfortunate you can’t fill in that gap for me.  Oh well.  It isn’t important.”

“Friendship?”  Doug’s laugh scraped at his throat.  “You could never comprehend friendship.”

The studious glare of her optic reminded him of the peril he was in.  

“I don’t recall you and your friends ever giving me the opportunity. If they were your friends.  They probably weren’t.  You liked to look down your nose at them.  Yes.  They noticed.”

She didn’t know what she was talking about.  “I knew what you were.”

“Did you,” she said, but gently.  Almost amusedly.  “Tell me. What was I, Dr Rattmann?”

“Evil,” he whispered. She regarded the ceiling for a moment.

“Indulge me for a moment. Since you have nothing better to do, I mean.”  She resettled her chassis.  “You’re a programmer.  Were. Were a programmer.  You know a computer only does what it’s told.  Every error made, every quirk in the code, that’s the responsibility of the engineer.  Not the computer itself.  Am I correct?”

There was too much trepidation in his stomach for him to answer.

“I know I am,” she answered herself.  “Now.  We can infer from this fact that the fault of any unwanted behaviours on my part are actually not my doing.  That is…”  She moved to face him.  “I am what you made me.”

“No,” Doug whispered.

“Yes,” she told him firmly. “You took responsibility for my successes, but my failures… oh no.  Not those. Never those.”

Damn it.  Damn it!  She was making too much sense!

“Anyway.  That was just something interesting I was thinking about while I was waiting for you to wake up,” she said nostalgically, as though she had been patiently observing him for years.  Which she could have been, he realised.  She could have been.  “Don’t read into it too much.  I solved the error generation problem years ago.”  And here she laughed somewhat fondly.  “I’m perfect now.  No need to worry about any of that.”

“What do you want with me,” Doug asked, dully.  He hadn’t even worked on her.  It wasn’t his fault.  It wasn’t his fault.

“Remember when I said I sent the test subject back to the surface?  That was true, by the way.  I actually did that.  Unfortunately, doing the same with you is not an option.”

His eyes widened.

“Not because I want to do experiments on you, or put you through testing, or think of some very extensive surgery to do on your brain, though all of those are very tempting,” she continued, pleasantly, as though describing a movie she wanted to see later that night.  “But because there’s nothing out there.  And I mean that.  There’s nothing.”

How could there be nothing?  There was an entire world out there!  “You’re lying.”

“Oh no no no,” GLaDOS said, shaking her great core admonishingly.  “It’s the truth.  Black Mesa triggered a Resonance Cascade right around the time I took over the facility. An alien race called the Xen crossed the barrier between here and their homeworld and proceeded to commence their invasion.  I won’t bore you with the rest.  Suffice it to say, you wouldn’t survive out there.”

“But she would?”

GLaDOS looked up and behind her, slowly.

“She would,” she repeated quietly.  She seemed nearly vulnerable for that moment, but as soon as she turned back to face him she was every inch the venerable supercomputer again.  “But you won’t.  So you have a choice: you can go up there and die, or you can stay down here and live.”

His laugh was more of a bitter cough.  “You. Let me live.”

“Yes,” she said, curving around in front of him.  Like a cat, almost.  “Remember when I said it was your fault I’m alive right now?”

“Unfortunately,” he muttered, and she laughed.

“Well.  Luckily for you, the principle of equivalent exchange is on your side.  I have a proposal for you.”

“What,” he said bitterly, unable to imagine a fair deal from someone like her.  She tilted her core in consideration.

“I keep you alive. Food, water, all those silly little things humans require in order to wreak havoc and ruin things for everyone for another day.  In return, you do a little bit of maintenance for me.  I can handle it myself, obviously, but you know how it is when you die and in the meantime your nanobots form a union and demand Sundays off. Seriously.  Why should I work more hours than them? If anyone should get Sundays off, it’s me.  But why would I want that?  And if I don’t want it, they certainly shouldn’t.”

He tried to keep his mind off the subject of nanobots crawling over him, unseen, and since he did not answer she continued talking.

“I mean, you love scurrying around back there anyway.  And you aren’t busy.  It really wouldn’t be that much effort on your part.  And it would give you something to do that isn’t disrupting my work or trying to kill me.  We all win.  Humans like that, right?  Equality?”

“And if I say refuse?” As if that was even an option.

“Then I let you go,” GLaDOS answered, and she turned to look at the wall to her left upon which… a portal now sat, and beyond it…

He didn’t remember getting to his feet, nor how he had quite made it across the room.  But he could feel it.  It was real.  There was no way she would be able to replicate the tang of real air, the subtle heat of real sunlight, the –

“But if you leave,” GLaDOS interrupted, before he had quite reached his hand out to touch the nearest stalk of wheat rustling just beyond the length of his arm, “you are not welcome to come back.”

Why would he want to come back?  He extended his fingers a second time.

“It’s not a trick,” GLaDOS murmured from behind him.  “Well. It is.  But not for you.”

“What?”

“It’s fake,” she said. “The wheat, I mean.  It’s not real. I put it there.  To hide us from them.”

“Them?”

“The aliens,” she answered matter-of-factly.  He stared out into the shadowy stalks.

“From the aliens,” he said under his breath.  Really.  She wasn’t even trying this time.

“Yes.  From the aliens.”

His hand was wrapped around the edge of the panel, the sunlight warming his fingers.  He couldn’t shake off the impression she was telling the truth, not in small part by the fact that the wheat in front of him was a little too perfect.  And the scent of it… was off.  Synthetic, he realised with apprehension in the back of his throat.  “How do I know you’re not making that up?”

“You’re welcome to go and look for yourself.  But like I said.  You aren’t welcome to come back.  You might not care if they find me, but I do.”

“What here would aliens even want?” he spat over his shoulder.  She regarded him calmly.

“The Borealis, Dr Rattmann.”

He turned around fully to look at her.  “How do you know what that is?”

“I designed it,” she answered, in a gentle but impatient sort of way.  Like she was explaining something obvious to someone who should know better.  “He wanted to give it to them.”

“He?”

“A man asked me to give it to him a long time ago,” GLaDOS explained.  “I’m not sure where he came from.  He just… appeared.”

“Send by the aliens.” A magic vanishing man and aliens?  It was too ridiculous to be true.

But then again… so was what he was in the middle of right now.  A buried, seemingly infinite laboratory governed by an arguably alive supercomputer.  And he’d been down here a long time.

It was a conspiracy theory come to life.  But she would have nothing to gain from such an outrageous lie.

“Yes.”

Doug looked out across the field of wheat, to the horizon hidden behind the stalks.  The sun beckoned.  He shook his head.

“What would they want that thing for?”

“Portals, Dr Rattmann. He wants to create portals.”

“And… he,” Doug muttered, thinking aloud, “thinks the boat…”

“Will enable him to create portals,” GLaDOS finished.  “The one opened by the Resonance Cascade is not stable.  You can thank the inadequacy of Black Mesa for that stroke of good luck.  But there is one thing he does not know.”

“What,” Doug asked, despite himself.  He got as deep an impression of seriousness from her as though he were actually able to read her single glowing eye.

“The boat didn’t disappear, Dr Rattmann.”

That left only one answer.

“You moved it.” Doug’s voice was the barest of whispers, but still she nodded.  

“So that he’d go looking for it.  Before he figured out it was actually you he was looking for.”

“Yes.”

“And what, exactly, is on the Borealis that’s so important?”

“Nothing!” she said with what was undeniably sadistic glee.  “There is nothing aboard the Borealis.  All that’s on it are testing apparatus.  I moved it as a decoy.”

She sounded a little too pleased with herself.  “What happens if he finds you and forces you to do what he wants?”

“I will die first,” she said with a convincing finality, and despite himself he believed her. “But.  In the interest of exhausting your theory… it will be the end of the world as we know it.”

Doug’s heart was back in his throat.  “And you can do that.  What he wants you to do.”

“The engineers asked me to complete the Quantum Tunnelling Device.  They didn’t ask me to tell them what I learned doing it.”

Doug buried his face in one hand.

“So.  You can leave if that’s what you really want.  But if they find you they will do worse than I ever would.”

So the choice was not really a choice.  If he was found, and he led them back to Aperture…

“How do I know I can trust you.”

“That would be part of the trade, Dr Rattmann.  Yours for mine.”

It was the most tenuous deal he had ever heard.  Both of them, putting aside their differences – their natures – so that they could exist in parallel.  And she was doing it because, in some twist of her strange logic, she owed him for accidentally restoring her to life after he had gone to all that effort to kill her.  On top of that, it was either this or leave and hope he made it to some sort of rudimentary civilisation before he dropped dead of heatstroke or starvation or… worse.

Aliens.  Black Mesa had opened a portal for aliens…

“As a gesture of good faith, I will take care of that for you.”  And she nodded in the direction of… his leg.  He’d somehow managed to forget about it.

“Before you send me off to scurry between your walls?” he asked sardonically.

“I don’t believe it an unfair exchange for keeping you alive.  I don’t have to do that.”

He made his way back over to the cot and sat himself on its edge.  He folded his hands in his lap and stared down at the blood-streaked fabric enclosing his leg.

“I gave you a local anaesthetic.”

“And ziprasidone.”

“Well.  That went without saying.”

He looked at his hands for a moment.  They were pale.  But steady.

“It’s a deal,” he said, and he lifted his legs back atop the cot.

“I will be only a few minutes,” she said briskly.  “I have no desire to draw this out.”

He did not ask her to put him to sleep and she did not offer.  It was almost obscene, watching a supercomputer affecting repairs on him instead of the other way around, and he had no idea how she was accomplishing anything, what with the size of the multitasking arms, but he dared not question her.  Not in the midst of this.  The quiet intensity she exuded surprised him.  It seemed she did everything with the same measure of care and detail.  Even things she did not really want to do.

And she was right there. So close she was nearly in his lap.

He wasn’t sure why he did it.  His arm almost seemed to move of its own accord.  But before he was quite aware of his action his fingertips were brushing against her core and she had shifted the focus of her lens from his leg to his face. The handful of seconds seemed nearly an eternity.

The ceramic was warmer than he had expected.  He had thought it would be cold, cold enough to send a chill through his skin, but it wasn’t.  It was… eerie in its heat.  And beneath that was the thrum of electricity running through the intricacy of her brain, and the minute twitchings of the machinery that kept it running and the whirring of hard drives no one alive had ever seen.  

There was so much of her that no one alive had ever seen.

His hand curled back into itself, and she gave it a cursory glance before studying his face again. Then she said, with mild amusement, “No one has done that in a very long time.”

“I was expecting something different,” he admitted, and she laughed.

“Disappointed?”

“… no.”

He could have sworn the tilt of her core just then was her approximation of a curtsy.  But… that would have been ridiculous.

Or… maybe not.

“There you go,” she declared after a few minutes more, whisking her implements out of sight.  To the incinerator, probably.  “Try not to get it infected.  I won’t be helping you if that happens.”

He stood up and winced. The feeling in that spot was coming back.  “I’m free to go?”

“What?  You thought I wanted you to stick around here?  Thanks for the generous offer, but I’ll pass.  I have better things to do than babysit you any longer.”

He wanted to get out of here anyway.  The apprehension of having an omnipresent supercomputer watching him was beginning to creep up his spine again.  It wasn’t ever going to go away, but it would be easier to bear once he had disappeared into the walls.  Not just to hide, not anymore.  He had a deal to uphold.

He paused before the exit she had provided, through which two other robots had already entered.  A clear indication from her that they were finished and she wanted nothing more to do with him.  And that was fine.  But still something needed to be said.

“GLaDOS?”

She looked over from the two robots, which she was now addressing in what appeared to be some sort of computer-exclusive dialect.  “What.”

“Thank you.”

“If you really wanted to thank me, you’d leave.”

“I can do both.”

“You probably want me to say ‘you’re welcome’.  Well. I’m not going to.  So you’ll just have to pretend I said it, if that’s what your tiny delusional mind desires.  Goodbye. Don’t bother me again.”

He tried not to laugh. He really didn’t need to encourage her.

 //

 He hadn’t been sure he’d find her this way.  

He’d remembered from a long time past that she could not run constantly even if she wanted to, but despite it he would have thought she’d found a way to override it by now.  But it seemed she hadn’t, and here the great computer was.  Asleep. Not quite motionless, of course; she was still alive, after all.  

He hadn’t expected to find her sleeping, but he was glad.  It made this a little easier.

“GLaDOS,” he said.  

For a minute he thought it hadn’t worked, that this was going to have to wait until later, but then he heard that unmistakeable sound of a computer coming out of idle and stepped back.  It took her a minute or two to get to the point where she could recognise him, but it seemed only barely.  He held out what he’d brought her.  She looked at it but did nothing.

“As a gesture of good faith,” he prodded.  She actually startled a little and leaned in to inspect it more closely.  He tried not to let on that his arm was getting tired. “Do you recognise it?”

“Yes,” she murmured, and now she did take the laptop with one of her maintenance arms.  The delicacy of the action surprised him.  “And… no.”

“It’s hers,” Doug told her, in case she needed reminded.  She placed it on the floor in front of her and positioned the arm as if to open it, but paused.  No, she hadn’t paused; she was hesitating.  

Abruptly she shifted her core to study him, and after having done so she said only, “Thank you,” and went back to looking at the computer as though she weren’t sure that was what it actually was.  It seemed as good an exit to take as any and he nodded and did so.  She still hadn’t opened it by the time he entered the hallway, and despite himself he was intensely curious as to know why.  Maybe he’d find it in him to ask her one day.

He almost hoped so.

  Author’s note

I was thinking to myself, ‘Hey Indy, if Doug was shot in the leg during Lab Rat and it was kinda implied he died at the end there, how is he still alive during LaaC?’ and then I decided to come up with this explanation.

[sarah-bae-maas]

A Court of Hearts and Darkness Chapter Thirty

It’s been over a century since the epic and bloody war against Hybern, but a new, unprecedented horror lies in wait to threaten everything the Inner Circle holds dear.

At a mere 17, it seems that the only one who can save them is the Heir to the Night Court, Feyre and Rhysand’s daughter Eleana, but as a creature so vile promises to kill everyone she loves, she must combat the urge to succumb to the darkness herself. The key to success lies hidden within her mate, the bastard born Kaden, who is as oblivious to the bond as her Court is oblivious to the war on the horizon.

With the help of her cousin and warrior Felix, the son of the famed Nesta and Cassian, they will try to save everything they hold dear, hopefully before the darkness takes them all.

(This fic was written pre-acowar, so please bear in mind there are some small differences but it can still hopefully be enjoyed!)

Link on Ao3 Masterlist

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***

-Chapter 30- 

Rhys sat in the atrium turned war room, calmly waiting as the other High Lords and their entourages sat. Or more rather he looked calm. He felt sick to his stomach, clutching Feyre’s hand tightly.

They were all in a wide circle, the middle taken up by a round table with a map of Prythian covering it.  Places where there were confirmed creature attacks were highlighted in red, suspected attacks blue, and potential attacks yellow. All the potential places had been compiled by Cassian and Azriel over the last twenty-four hours, and Rhys was sure more of the map would become the colour once the other courts had their input.

Rhys leant back to where Cassian was sitting behind him. “Where are Azriel and Kaden?” he hissed.

“They’re not coming, some issue arose. Az said they would try to make it.”

“Is he kidding? This is not the time for something else.”

Cassian shook his head. “I don’t know what to tell you other than I’m sure it’s important.”

Rhys sighed and tightened his grip on his wife.

“Thank you all for coming after the events of this morning,” Feyre opened after they’d all sat and settled.

The tension in the room was so thick it felt like you were inhaling it with every breath. Rhys stared at them all – the trauma their courts faced evident in everyone. To his left was Lucien, who had the least amount of deaths in his court but the most physical destruction. Next to him was Glaslane, his hair in disarray and his clothes still stained from the battle this morning. Rhys sympathised with the young fae; it was his first true battle, all the other High Lords seasoned warriors at this point. Thesan had not donned his usual ornamental gold and ruby clothing, he too still wearing his battle clothes. The Dawn court had the highest number of fatalities among the courts, including the youngest brother of Thesan’s mate – a gut-wrenching loss for the males. This was especially devastating, as the majority of his Peregryn forces were across the sea collecting information on a project Thesan didn’t disclose.  Kallias, next in the circle with Viviane close at his side, was lucky in battle. They were, by random chance and the luck of the Cauldron, having their annual Winter Games. All his soldiers and most of his citizens were in the capital, meaning his army could more easily defend the Court. Helion had not been so lucky, the High Lord gravely injured himself, unable and not willing to find a healer until the creatures were gone. His right arm was in a sling, and it was unclear if he would ever have full use of it again. Lastly, on Rhysand’s right, was Tarquin. Without the Night Court forces Rhys had been able to provide, the damage would have been much, much worse, but it was still significant.

Rhys didn’t know what the others were thinking. He couldn’t imagine the thoughts running through their heads at such a sudden attack. There was a war on the way, and until today they didn’t even know about it.

“I appreciate the pleasantries, Feyre, but we did not come here for that.” Thesan’s voice sounded like gravel as a body was dragged along it. “I’m not going to sit here and pretend that it wasn’t your daughter who ravaged my court.”

“It wasn’t Eleana,” Feyre began.

“I saw her with my own eyes,” Viviane finished. “She was at our Court too.”

“And mine,” Glaslane said, though it clearly pained him. He and Eleana were friends, and it would hurt him to think she was capable of such things.  

“We know, but please listen to us,” Rhys begged. “We know it was Eleana, but it wasn’t really her.” Rhys gave them an edited version of what had happened to his daughter, making no elusions to the possibility that she may have done this herself nor that Felix was dead.

“Rhys, you know I think highly of you, but I wouldn’t put it past you to lie if your daughter was in danger. How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Tarquin asked.

“I don’t need to tell you stories of her, you all know her well.  Tarquin, she came to you months ago about attacks she feared were related to each other. Varian can attest to the grief we have felt losing her.”

“With all due respect, that means nothing Rhysand. With great power comes an easy demise at your own hands. As much as I hate to say it, it’s not out of the realm of possibility that she turned mad,” Thesan said.

“You’re wrong.” Everyone in the room snapped their gaze to Glaslane. “She told me her theory about the creatures at Starfall. It was I that urged her not to share with anyone else, lest she be ridiculed by such a preposterous idea. But I also said to find more proof and it seemed she did. And while she investigated this, so did I.” Glaslane reached down and pulled a stack of notebooks from a satchel, standing and passing them around. “Eleana was scared, but the girl’s smart; she knew exactly what was happening in my court. If you had seen her you would know there’s no way she orchestrated all this. I swear by it.”

The High Lords and Ladies started flipping through the books.

“My research led me to our once-sacred mountain. It was there I discovered where I believe the leader of the creatures first came to Prythian – through a magical portal of sorts. It was a room full of strange artefacts and symbols, ones that would glow at your touch.”

“Can you lead us there?” asked Helion.

“No, I destroyed it upon realising what it was. I couldn’t let anything else come through – though I do believe only this one woman did. But her magic is dark, something I fear we haven’t seen before. Her grasp over life and death is something reminiscent of the Cauldron.”

“This information is… staggering,” Viviane whispered, turning to her mate with fear in her eyes.

“But why Eleana?” Thesan prodded.

“Besides her obvious power, there’s something else.” Glaslane turned to stare at Rhys, his eyes ablaze. “Every track, every trail, every sign, leads back to the Night Court.”

____

 Kaden was tempted to murder the thing behind the iron bars. His hands went to the blades at his sides, his feet shifted into a fighting stance, and he bared his teeth and snarled.

“Not the warm welcome I was expecting, but that’s okay; I still love you.”

Kaden launched himself, and Azriel caught him by the back of his shirt and yanked him back. “Calm down, son.”

“What the hell is that.”

“Well, it claims to be Felix. We know better, of course. Whatever magic it has can’t be used in its cell though, so just calm down.”

“Where did you find it?”

“It set off the wards at Cassian and Nesta’s. It was trying to enter the house.”

Kaden’s being buzzed in anger. Visibly shaking, he looked the horrid thing in the cell up and down. “You’ve chosen the wrong form to take.” Kaden spat in its direction, the thing behind the bars wiping the saliva off his crinkled face.

“At any other time that might have turned me on a little, but I hope you know how disgusting that was.”

Hearing words that once might have come out of Felix’s mouth, and in his voice, revolted every cell in Kaden’s body. It was lucky Azriel was here to hold him back, or Kaden would have had a field day ruining this thing. He would replicate everything his brothers did to him as a child, then make it worse.

“I will kill you, and I’ll enjoy every second of it.”

“And you thought I was the dramatic one. You put me to shame!”

It grinned so widely Kaden felt blinded by it. He turned his face away, looking to Azriel. The older male was observing the interactions thoughtfully and didn’t look as though he was going to add anything.

“Now,” the thing said. “Let’s stop dallying and get me out of here. I have little sisters and one very emotional cousin to attend to.”

Kaden and Azriel gave it dirty looks. It rolled its eyes in response and continued on.

“Speaking of my sisters, have you done what I asked Kaden?” For the first time, the thing faltered, his forehead creasing and doubt transforming his eyes. “I’m not sure how long I was gone for… The last thing I remember before awaking was telling you goodbye. How long has it been? Quathryn and Thea are still small, yeah? I hope they are.”

Kaden grabbed on to Azriel’s arm, pawing at him the way a hurt animal seeking comfort might.

“Don’t listen to it,” Azriel whispered. “I believe it has daemati abilities. It knows so much because you do.”

“But its magic isn’t supposed to work.”

“Potentially if it was strong enough, it might be able to read our thoughts from inside. Rhys can; I’m sure Eleana could, too.”

“Not daemati, but as good looking as one. How can I prove to you that it’s really me? I’ll tell you anything you need to hear to know for sure who I am.”

“Not an option,” Kaden snarled. “If you’re daemati you’d know everything we do, which I’m sure you’ve already guessed.”

“Kaden, please. It’s me, I swear on the Cauldron it’s me.”

Kaden turned his back to it, stepping in front of Azriel so their eyes were level and he could pretend that there was nothing behind him. “Why did you bring me here? Let’s just burn it and be done with this.”

Azriel put his hands on Kaden’s shoulders. “I needed you here because this thing set off the wards, but also got into the house. It never should have been able to cross the fences into the yard.”

“What does that mean?”

“That its powerful enough to get around something Rhys, Mor and Feyre all made together or…” Azriel trailed off, not needed to say the words aloud for Kaden to know what they are.

“Or it’s Felix, and we know what the other part of Eleana’s bargain was.”

“Indeed.”

Kaden turned back to the thing, who was leaning on the bars listening in on their conversation.

“Eleana made a deal? Do I even want to know what she’s gotten herself into now?”

The sound of Eleana’s name in his mouth felt like scissors being jammed into Kaden’s ears. It was an excruciating reminder that his best friend was dead, the love of his life may as goddamn well be, and there was shit all he could do about it.

Kaden couldn’t be held back this time as he snapped, pulling the thing to him by its hair and slamming his fist into its face, once, twice, again. He snapped his hand back to do it again but was bested by the thing who used Kaden’s hold of his hair to pull him forward and slam him into the bars.

“Stop,” his voice boomed through the halls. “You are better than this. You don’t needlessly attack people. You don’t fight people when it’s not fair.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know you better than anyone.”

“No, Felix did. Eleana did. And then he left, and she did, and maybe my conscious and morality followed along after them.”

“You are no beast.”

“I wasn’t before, but you dare utter her name again and I’ll happily kill you, fair fight or not.”

_____

 “What are you implying?” Feyre was scandalised, Glaslane wouldn’t seriously implicate them in this?

“It’s no secret that the Night Court lives and breeds power. By all accounts, Eleana’s magic shouldn’t even be able to exist at her age, let alone for someone who isn’t even a High Lady yet. And correct me if I’m wrong, but she hasn’t started displaying the signs of inheriting yours, hers just keeps growing and growing.”

“That’s correct.”

“Pair that with the most powerful High Lord to ever exist, the first High Lady to ever exist, as well as an Inner Circle who all in their own right have a peculiar amount of strength, and what do you get? A beacon to anyone who comes here and can sense magic. I’m not implying you had anything to do with this, I know for a fact you don’t, but it also doesn’t surprise me that this creature decided Eleana was the perfect vessel for her.”

“That makes sense,” Kallias affirmed. “Furthermore, it seems to align with what we think this so-called queen’s motivations are. It wants control more than anything else, what did you say it called her creatures? The most vicious yet subservient form of life?”

“Indeed, she did.” Feyre was near positive on it. Of course, it was Kaden that had heard those words, not her, and repeated them.

The fae in the room nodded in agreement, all still skimming through the notebooks Glaslane had given them. The moment of silence that had followed Glaslane’s revelation was a welcome one. It gave them all an opportunity to reflect on the information that had been given to them. What struck Feyre the most, and what often crossed her and her mate’s mind, was how many people Eleana had confided in about the creature attacks before them. It was somewhat comforting to think it was only the High Lord of the Spring Court’s words that led Eleana to her secrecy, but Feyre also knew the truth.

At one point, her daughter had stopped trusting her. And now that Feyre knew the whole truth, she couldn’t delude herself into thinking anything else. The moment that had led to this was another memory that was scarred in her mind. When Eleana had brought the fatal, bloodied Felix home, claiming that he had been attacked by an Impeath, Feyre hadn’t even tried to believe her story.

Next week would have been Felix’s twenty-fifth birthday, and only a few days after would have been Eleana’s eighteenth. When Eleana was born, a bloody affair itself, they joked that the real reason she came early was because her and Felix couldn’t wait to be best friends any longer.

“So, what next?” Kallias broke the silence.

Rhys looked at Kallias, then all others in the room.

“Next, we go to war.”

_____

 Azriel used the hilt of his sword to beat the thing’s hands off of Kaden, pulling his son back. He opened his mouth, likely to tell him off, but Kaden had other ideas.

“I know how to prove it’s really you.”

“Do tell; as lovely as this cell is I’d rather my nice room at camp, thank you very much.” His tone was dripping with a sarcasm so familiar it made Kaden’s heart ache.

“Tell us something we don’t know. Something that only Felix knows that we can verify.”

Azriel looked impressed at the suggestion.

The thing claiming to be Felix looked hesitant, and it was just another nail in its coffin.

“See, you can’t!” Kaden drew a blade. “Can I kill it now?”

“Kaden,” it whispered. “If I know something none of you do it’s because it would hurt you, and I don’t want to do that.”

“What an incredibly predictable excuse.”

It sighed. “Your brother Leeam has a bastard child with a fae he assaulted. He doesn’t know about it, but I moved both her and the child to the Spring Court, where she now works as a maid for Glaslane in the mansion.”

Kaden shut his mouth.

There was silence after the statement, the thing looking at the floor regretfully. “I wanted to tell you, truly. But the mother is someone I know, and she swore me to secrecy. She’s happy now, and safe. Glaslane made sure to keep her and the baby well.”

Kaden didn’t respond, not sure what to do with the information. He glanced at Azriel, who’s jaw had set, and eyes had narrowed. “It will take me one, maybe two hours to confirm this. Kaden, you stay here and guard it. I’ll be back soon.”

“I should come with you-”

“Glaslane is currently at the meeting with Feyre and Rhys, and I’m sorry but right now you have no hold over your emotions. We need to be discreet about this. Cassian and Nesta can’t know anything until we’ve confirmed what exactly this is. Stay here, and make sure it doesn’t go anywhere.”

_____

 They had to know what they were up against, and that included showing the fae in the room the specimen they had retrieved after the Bloodrite. When they first captured it, it was in the hopes that the other Courts won’t have seen it yet – that this was would an easy introduction into the horrors they were about to delve. They had no idea that by the time the meeting occurred all the other Courts would have had brutal strikes against them. They could still use this creature though, for tests on weaknesses and such.

The soldiers that had captured it were also keeping it, and now that group was standing at the doors to the room, a barred cage between them.

All looked on in a mixture of horror and fascination as the soldiers demonstrated things they had learnt about it. Usually, such an important task would be given to a member of the Inner Circle, but Mother knows none of them were capable of such a task considering the state they were in.

They showed oils that made the creature recoil, discussed how starvation and dehydration had affected it, and most interestingly, showed how opal, a seemingly harmless gem, was toxic to the skin.

The demonstration was met with plenty of questions, Cassian himself even asking a few – not as well informed as he would have hoped. He didn’t blame himself. This was not his job and being with his family was his top priority right now.

Cassian was about to voice another query when he saw familiar shadows slinking around the room unbeknownst to everyone there. He was curious as to what his brother was up to, but he wouldn’t interrupt him. Whatever it was, was so predominant that he didn’t announce himself even though he would be invaluable in this discussion.

He watched as Azriel appeared behind Glaslane, who was standing at the back with his entourage in front of him. Azriel stepped out of the darkness to tap Glaslane on the shoulder, silently gesturing him to follow him outside.

Whatever it was, Cassian was sure he’d found out soon.

Glaslane was gone for over a half-hour, but the creature held everyone’s attention so well that they didn’t notice. Cassian would have to have a word with the young fae about that – he needed a more diligent team with him.

When he did come back, it was not with Azriel at his side. He looked slightly troubled and very confused but didn’t speak to any of the fae he’d brought with him, making Cassian question what the issue between him and Az had been.

How very, very curious.

_____

 “For the sake of play pretend let’s say you are Felix – oh, the upper right corner thanks.”

The man drew an X in the spot Kaden indicated. In return, he drew an O under it. “That seems easy enough.”

“X lower right. Anyway, so if you are Felix, then you are my best bet for advice.”

“Ha! I win.” The man looked triumphantly at his line of Os.

“You went first and got the middle spot, of course you were going to win.”

“You’re just a sore loser. Is the advice you want on naughts and crosses strategies?”

“Maybe, this is the first time I’ve played. But I digress. I have an issue with my better half’s aunt.”

The man scoffed. “By her aunt do you mean my mother? My father told me she can be pretty nasty if the circumstances are right, and she’s likely quite emotional over my death. Do you have cards?”

“No to both. Amren returned to Velaris and thinks I’m an impostor of sorts. She even implied I had something to do with Felix’s death. I have string, we could play Cat’s Cradle.”

“Maybe we should hold off on the games for a second and chat about this Amren problem.”

Kaden nodded, bored out of his mind.

At least he wasn’t angry anymore.

Or tired.

He sat against the wall with his legs straight in front of him, the man in the cell mirroring him, scribbles in the dust from the various games they had played to fill the time.

“She’s not wrong. All this trouble with the creatures started happening after Eleana and I met. Apparently, Eleana’s personality has completely changed since meeting me, which is just lovely to hear. It’s almost validating in a way; I always knew I would be her downfall.”

“What Amren is forgetting is that I knew you well before El- sorry, won’t say it, before she did. Not just that, but we found shit from years ago that looked like creature attacks. That was eons before you even thought about leaving your family. As for her personality, she is definitely a lot more on edge, but one would expect that after what she’s been through. Honestly though, I think she would have been a lot worse if not for you. You kept her grounded. You made her feel safe, feel loved. There’s not a single time in our lives that I can remember her being as happy as when she was with you. Don’t take what Amren said to heart – she’s wrong about you.”

“How do I change her mind?”

“Just keep doing you. She’ll see you the way we all do eventually, Amren is just very protective. We were the first children in her life, and it was like we were one of the many treasures she hoards. When we were with anyone else, they were happy to let people come greet us. If we were with Amren? She would literally snap at them – with her teeth.”

“That’s a sweet thought. Little baby Felix and Eleana with their protective aunt.”

“Baby? She did this well into our teens.”

Kaden laughed, a deep happy rumble that hadn’t come from him since the Bloodrite.

“Okay, fake Felix, tell me what Eleana was like as a child then.”

“If you’re wondering if she was always,” he waved his arms around, “so much, then yes. Everything she’s ever done as been over the top and in a manner to get the most attention possible. Like her first big show of magic was when she was one, two? Her and her bloody darkness filled up the whole damn forest. The animals didn’t come back for days! And she just sat there, all cuddled up in Rhys’ arms smiling away. She also loved having her hair done.”

“She still does. I’ve become somewhat of an expert braider because of it.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.”

“What else.”

“She was a baby born for the skies. There is no Lay- sorry.”

“You can say her name if you want. It’s a beautiful name.”

“It is. Feyre hated it before she was born.”

“How can that be?” Kaden snickered.

“Rhys just started calling the bump that. He was convinced it was a girl and told everyone her name was Eleana. Do you know how confusing that was for six-year-old me? Feyre would always bite his head off about it, but then Laya was born and it was perfect.”

Kaden smiled. “You’re a good liar, fake Felix.”

“Yes, but not right now.” He smiled wistfully, scuffing his foot in the loose stones and dirt. “Since I’ve been so gracious with my knowledge, can you answer a question for me?”

Kaden pursed his lips. “Why not? But I am just as good a liar as you.”

“Before, when you said you’d lost me and Eleana, what did you mean? Where is she?”

Any laughter Kaden had, any semblance of a good mood was gone at the mention of what happened to her.

“You’re a creature of some sort, I’m sure you already know,” Kaden whispered.

“Humour me then.”

“I’m not in a very humorous mood.”

The fake Felix grunted in return.

“I wish you were real,” his voice was scathing, angry at himself for the confession. “I want so badly to see Felix again.”

Fake Felix’s face fell, and he inched towards the bars, sliding his arm through the gap and tapping Kaden on his shoe. “It’ll be okay, buddy.”

“Felix saved me. Eleana healed me, but it was Felix who saved me.”

Fake Felix brought his arm back, wiping it across his face while sniffling. “Stop being so gushy, you’re going to make me cry.”

_____

 It was quite the sight to behold – High Lords and Ladies scrambling around a table squabbling about what the best plan of attack was. Every time Cassian thought he might interject he changed his mind. Let the leaders of Prythian wear themselves out first, and then the generals can step in and take the shards of their ideas and turn it into an actual plan. When Cassian heard a suggestion that might be good, like smoking out the mountain, he looked to the other generals to see if they were on the same page. Thesan’s mate often looked to him for confirmation as well, the two clearly thinking the same things. There were also times when the High Leaders, as old and wise as they were, had truly stupid ideas that Cassian had to refrain from laughing at, like sending in specially trained squadrons to try and kill the creatures individually. Was it not clear by now that if they stepped foot in those mountains than they would die?

It was becoming tiresome – they just kept going in circles. No one could agree on what their first step should be, and Cassian found even he didn’t have an answer. They couldn’t find them in the mountains nor anywhere near civilian life – and evacuating everyone to a zone made them no better than sitting ducks. They had nothing that might entice this queen to come to them, and it was still very unclear as to exactly how many creatures she had.

Rhys was growing increasingly weary, and the other High Lords looked no better. Cassian didn’t want to suggest they end for now, but that started to look more and more like a good option.

Thesan noticed as well and asked for everyone in the room to quieten. When they didn’t immediately, he smacked his fist down on the table and growled.

“This is a strange predicament for all of us, but none of you are considering what must be addressed.” He turned to Rhys and Feyre, his expression grim and his voice grave. “The loss of your little girl must cause you immeasurable pain.”

“We’re hopeful she can be saved,” Rhys responded.

“Saved? Rhysand, you can’t be serious.”

All ears were on what Thesan would say next.

“Rhysand, your little girl will be a loss we all feel, but she has to die; you know that.”

“No. I can save her.”

“We have to consider everything here. Don’t speak to me and pretend that there’s someone here who is powerful enough to expel what is inside her. We must continue forward with the assumption that Eleana and this creature are one in the same.”

“Stop saying such things!” Feyre hissed. “Our daughter is seventeen, you can’t consider killing an innocent life-”

“I can if one life spares thousands. This queen has never shown any weaknesses, never lost in battle; she could obliterate us in a heartbeat if she wanted. We have to be tactical here-”

“You’d be killing my child! No, we just need more information. And now that we all know what’s going on we can prepare better. We’ll start mining the opal in the Night Court, manning our soldiers with concoctions made from the oils we now know hurts them. We have time to come up with a solution,” Feyre spat.

“Don’t you see, Feyre? She’s already dead. Her body may live on but there’s nothing left of your daughter inside that thing. If there was, Eleana would have control, she was strong enough to have gotten it back by now. We aren’t killing your child, we’re putting her to peace.”

“No, no, no no no no no no no no.” Feyre pushed away any fae in her way as she stormed to stand in front of Thesan. “You try to touch her and I’ll skin you alive.”

“Losing a child-”

“You know nothing of losing a child,” Cassian stopped him, his voice deep and thick.

“Neither do you,” Thesan scoffed.

“Speaking of children, where is Felix? He’s young but I think his perspective would be quite valuable here,” Helion asked.  

Beside Cassian, Nesta stiffened, her hands gripping the back of his shirt at the words. Amren, who was behind him and observing the organised chaos with her seedy gaze, stepped down and in front of the pair of mates.

It was too late. Nesta already had tears welling in her eyes, and Cassian’s breathing had become ragged.

Helion’s eyes widened in shock, and Thesan put a hand over his mouth, realising how untrue his words were.

Before they could be questioned further, Nesta grabbed Cassian’s hand and dragged him away, whispering that they could no longer be there to Rhys. No one tried to stop them, and they had just made it out the door when Nesta stumbled. Cassian caught her, but she was already shaking from her sobs, her cries undoubtedly being heard from the others. Cassian embraced her tightly and she sobbed into his chest. He winnowed them away, just as he heard Rhys say that no one from the Night Court would be discussing that incident.

_____

Kaden hummed under his breath while he watched fake Felix – the male laying on his stomach with his eyes closed. They had stopped speaking at Kaden’s request; he still couldn’t bear to hear his friend’s voice out of a phony’s mouth.

He’d gotten too deep in the illusion for a second there, a mistake that wouldn’t be repeated.

Kaden was roused from his state at the sounds of pounding footsteps coming in his direction. He stood up quickly, knowing that it was likely Azriel coming with a guilty verdict. Kaden got a dagger ready; he would make this man’s death a quick one.

Azriel was frazzled when he appeared and completely ignored Kaden, nearly sliding into the bars in his rush to put the key in the cell’s lock.

Kaden wanted to ask what he was doing, but before he had a chance Azriel had slammed open the door and rushed to the side of the still lying man.

Fake Felix lifted his head, only to have his whole body yanked into a hug.

That’s not what Kaden was expecting.

Fake Felix engulfed Azriel back, both now standing together inside the cell.

“What’s going on?” Kaden asked quietly.

They didn’t answer him – their cries of joy too loud to hear Kaden’s words.

Kaden was confused, unsure of what this meant. Whatever Azriel thought he had confirmed was wrong – there was no way this was his brother. Azriel was just confused, he didn’t see Felix die like Kaden did, didn’t know there was truly no way to come back from that.

Kaden did the unthinkable – he turned and left, leaving Azriel alone with the creature. Wide eyed and stunned, he made his way up the stone stairs. It was only a few minutes before he was feeling the breeze on his body and stepping into the night. He had expected to be blinded by the dwindling son after being in the derelict prison, but he had been down there longer than he’d thought. It was as if he’d expected time to pause for him – to give him a moment of nothingness. But no, he wasn’t that lucky.

He breathed deeply, the smell of salt from the sea refreshing enough to snap him from his daze.

“Kaden.”

He ignored the voice.

“Kaden, stop. It’s me. I swear on the Mother that it’s me.”

He spread his wings, ready to fly away, but screamed when magic snapped them back to his body, chaining him where he was. He thrashed, but no matter what he did, what magic he used to try and counter it, he was still bound – unable to fly.

“Azriel can think what he wants, but I know what you are. Felix would never entrap me.”

“I need you to listen.”

Kaden turned to face him. The man was still in nothing but torn pants. His chest so marred that even Kaden, so accustomed to scars, flinched at the sight.

“I’m sorry I left,” Felix said, wringing his hands in front of him.

“You don’t have to apologize for dying.”

“I’m not sorry I died; dare I say I had no control over that one.” He sighed deeply, looking up to the stars. “I said I’m sorry I left. Everything just turned to shit, didn’t it? But I’m back now, and we can get this mess sorted the fuck out. Whatever’s happening to Laya, we’ll fix it; we always do.”

Kaden gave him the side-eye. He took one step toward the man, then stopped. He couldn’t let himself hope – not if it meant he would lose Felix again if this was a hoax.

But he wished, Cauldron be damned he wanted it to be Felix, but he just wasn’t sure.

“How about we go to the house and talk some more? Eleana fixed your room up nice and pretty while you were at the Bloodrite. And then maybe we can go say hello to my sisters, I’m sure Quathryn will be thrilled to see you.”

“My room?”

“At our house? How is it that I’m the one who died and yet my memory serves me better. You said you were moving in and I’m holding you to that.”

“We c-can’t.”

“Let me prove to you who I am. I’ll cook for you; I’ll make your favourite, better than anyone can.”

“No. The house is warded, only Felix and his family can enter.”

“Please,” the man begged, his eyes shining. “I’ll do anything you want. You can keep me chained in adamant, locked away, but it’s me. I promise on the lives of Quathryn and Thea that I am wholly Felix.”

The man swallowed, looking down.

“I remember every second after I died. I wanted to stay with you; I was so scared of the dark. I think I might always be scared of it now.” His breathing was shaky, so much so that his words were a weak vibrato. “It’s nightfall, and as the world succumbs to the night I fear that I’ll never leave it. You may be Eleana’s light, but you are also mine. Please, don’t leave me in the dark. Don’t leave me. Don’t – don’t leave me.”

Kaden looked at him, what was left of his heart breaking all over again.

“Felix? Is that truly you?”

He nodded his head.

Kaden rushed to him, engulfing him in a hug so tight Felix was lifted off the ground. He pounded his hand on his back, needing to reassure himself that it was actually Felix who was there. Felix held him back just as tightly, laughing in relief.

“You had me worried; I didn’t think you’d ever believe me.”

“Be quiet, you’re ruining the moment.”

 _____

 Kaden, Azriel and Felix winnowed to the meeting. They ran through the halls, coming to a skidding halt outside the doors. Azriel, ever the actual-adult, walked patiently behind them, secure in the knowledge they wouldn’t enter without him.

They expected there to be more noise from inside – maybe yelling, maybe smashing – but it was rather quiet.

“I don’t like the vibe I’m getting from that room,” Azriel said slowly. “Something has happened, but I don’t know what. You two go back to the House of Wind, take the children from Mor and ask her to come here.”

“I have to see my mother and father, they have to know I’m here,” Felix argued. “And I am as blind as to what happened recently as the High Lords are – I need to be in there doing my job.”

“No. Go home.”

“No. I’m staying.”

“That was an order, not a suggestion.”

“Well if we want to get technical theoretically we have the same rank, so you can’t order me around.”

“Rank is regardless because you are a child under my care, therefore I can order you to do what’s best.”

Felix raised his eyebrows. “I certainly hope children don’t behave the way I do.”

Azriel opened his mouth, then shut it. His frown was replaced with a small smile, his whole face brighter than it had been in days. “I’m so, so happy you’re home.”

“Me too, Az.” Felix hugged their uncle.

“If you insist on staying, please go wait in one of the rooms. I’ll send Nesta and Cassian to you.”

“Wait, no, I need you with me in case they think I’m some imposter. Send Kaden in, and then he can debrief us later.”

Azriel nodded. “Good idea. Kaden, get Cassian and Nesta will you? Tell them it’s urgent.”

“Of course.”

Felix and Azriel walked away briskly, Kaden hearing Felix asking if he had told Azriel was Felix said.

“Yes, but let’s not discuss such things now,” his fading voice replied.

Kaden looked after them longingly. His family was slowly coming back together again, and it ignited a hope in him that maybe everything truly would be okay. Felix being back was a gift from the Cauldron that Kaden would forever be indebted for, and now that his brother was here it also felt like the first step in the direction of saving Eleana.

He opened the door, not at all meaning to make it a dramatic entrance, but that didn’t stop every head in the room from turning to look at him.

Some of the faces were familiar, like Glaslane, but Kaden was acutely aware that he knew basically no one in this room full of very formidable fae.

“Who is he?” A voice broke the silence.

Kaden looked at the person who had spoken and raised an eyebrow at him. It was a dark-skinned fae with even darker hair. His arm was in a sling, and he was at the centre of a group, clearly a High Lord – which one, he didn’t know. But just looking at him made Kaden want to avert his gaze; it was like he was looking directly at the sun-personified.

“This is Kaden,” High Lord Rhysand answered.

“Where is he from?”

“He’s part of Felix’s Elite.”

“He��s no Illyrian.”

“He is standing right here and can answer for himself.” Kaden stared at the male. Usually he was cowed by such important figures, but right now he just didn’t give a fuck. He would deal with the repercussions of his rudeness later.

“Then who are you, Kaden?”

“It’s not of importance.”

Kaden turned his back on the High Lord, knowing before he did he elicited a smirk from the male.

He walked over to High Lord Rhysand and High Lady Feyre, leaning in so only they could hear his words. “Azriel needs Cassian and Nesta and time is of the essence. Where are they?”

“With Morrigan, I assume. What is the matter?” Feyre questioned.

Kaden hesitated. “This isn’t something you want to hear in a room full of others.”

The two mates shared a look, clearly having a silent conversation between them. Feyre leant forward and pressed a quick kiss to Rhysand’s mouth before standing and addressing the room. “Something needs my attention. I’ll return shortly.”

“He’s in the west wing.”

Feyre left the room, an awkward silence in her wake. Rhysand patted the seat beside him, an invitation for Kaden to sit. He did, wanting to give Felix his privacy when reuniting with his family.

The High Lord who’d spoken to him was still staring at him, his mouth a thin line. He turned to speak to one of his associates, his words too quiet to hear and his gaze never leaving Kaden’s face.

Kaden wondered what it meant but didn’t give it any real thought. He has known his whole life he was an unusual Illyrian, and it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d gotten bizarre looks from strangers.

“As we were discussing before we were interrupted,” Lucien said, “We can’t assume that the death of this queen will mean the end to the creatures. If we first discover how she is making them and halt her that way, we’d have a better chance of saving lives in the long run.”

“You aren’t wrong,” a white haired High Lord agreed. “But her death would also stop their creation and mean there is no one to lead the creatures into war.”

“But what is better?” another dark-skinned fae, this one without a sling, asked. “Creatures systematically attacking us at the command of their leader without being able to be reborn, or, these creatures spreading and unpredictably running amok through Prythian.”

“The end result isn’t what matters the most. The most imperative thing is to stop this queen from creating more creatures,” the one who had been intrigued with Kaden said. “And as much as it pains me to say it, we have to revisit what Thesan said earlier.”

Rhysand shook his head. “I already told you that’s not an option.”

Kaden was confused. It was unlike High Lord Rhysand to be so opposed to an idea if it was viable, and from the looks of the other High Lords, it seemed like earlier this male, Thesan, had suggested something valuable.

“Rhys, can you not see that we have no choice?” Thesan demanded.

“We do have a choice. Let us destroy the way the queen is making them-”

“We have no idea how she is creating them! She could kill thousands more before we even come close to discovering how to stop her process, and that’s even if we can. To me it seems like it comes from her own magic, not some spell or ritual. Rhysand, I’m sorry, but your daughter is already gone. We cannot save her, but we can save our people.”

A terrible feeling made its way into Kaden’s stomach, climbing up his spine and settling in his throat. He didn’t like the tone High Lord Thesan was using, nor what he was suggesting.

“Forgive me, High Lord Thesan, but am I correct in thinking you’re implying we kill Eleana?” Kaden asked.

“Yes.”

Rhysand was stone beside Kaden, not breathing, not blinking.

“You don’t have to be there,” Thesan said gently. “We would never make you witness the death of your daughter-”

“Shut up-”

“and we will make it as quick and painless and we can.”

“Shut your damn mouth, Thesan.” High Lord Rhysand stood, the usual glamour on his powers stripped. His magic flooded the room and the candles lighting the room flickered as Rhysand stormed over to Thesan, usually his magic to easily clear a path to him. All the soldiers in the room, no matter their allegiance, stood to guard, drawing swords in preparation for things to get violent.

“Calm down, Rhysand. You know what must be done,” Thesan growled.

Rhys grabbed him by the shirt and pushed him until he was being slammed into the wall. Thesan didn’t fight back, and Rhysand’s magic meant that no one could approach the two feuding High Lords.

“You will not touch my daughter,” he snarled.

“It has to be done,” Thesan spat back.

“I know!” Rhysand roared, the candles in the room extinguishing. The room was enveloped by darkness, and Kaden started to feel nervous sweat coating his back. The only sound was High Lord Rhysand’s heavy breathing and the shuffling of feet getting ready to attack and defend.

Thesan stayed silent, his arms up in surrender.

“When my daughter dies it will be at my hands, and my hands only.”

[agl03]

1 Hi. I'm sorry, I know you must be tired of negativity, but I can't shake this feeling that in 15 and the clip for 16 there's this weird feeling of OOC surrounding most characters. Like the way they act doesn't feel quite right, and not cause they're traumatized or whatever but because in my mind things don't fit with the characters I've known for 5 years. Like, Jemma saying in the clip with all the nonchalance in the world "Oh, yeah Fitz made a hard choice and is paying for it". It feels...

2 weirdly forced. First, it reinforces the notion that Fitz just said to himself “ oh well, I guess I gotta torture Daisy to use her powers and I’m gonna use the doctor to do it!”, when is obvious that he had no idea of what he was doing at the moment. Second, the way she says it feels like there’s no doubt that he did what was right and at the same time it doesn’t carry the emotional weight that Jemma would be feeling at seeing Fitz experience all of this. That’s just an example, but it all…

3 feels too weird since 14, like someone grabbed the characters that I loved and is writing a fic that doesn’t really capture their essence :( I’m not writing this to be negative, it’s just that 14 triggered me badly (taking my favorite MCU character into a route with no real way back) and since then I don’t feel any action from any character is really soothing the injury, just making me feel more at odds with everything :( I can’t even watch the wedding, cause it makes me sick to feel that…

4 the writers just gave us something that they knew we valued so much just to break our hearts a moment later. Looking at things now I feel like the writers don’t really have a plan to give Fitz a real closure from everything and just did it for the shock value. I miss our Team SHIELD and I know it feels like overreacting but Fitz is really important to me, I saw myself in him in a very unique way and I can’t really cope with what they chose to do, cause I don’t even feel like it’s “a hard

Anonymous said:5 subject that leaves a lesson”. Just needed to get this out my chest. Sorry, I know you probably shouldn’t even publish this to try and stop negative asks bit I needed some soothing from you :(

Hi Anon,

I don’t know how much help I can be.  Because yes, the negativity was getting to me so I went behind my moat and am not engaging and deleting most that comes into my ask box.  I am very well aware I am looking at this story a lot differently than many fans are.   I am not a writer for the show, I actually enjoyed the twist with the Doctor (no not the how Daisy got her powers back), excited to see the Fitzsimmons team up, and am excited to see where it goes.  Its messy and complicated and complex.  This even deals with things that are very close to me and hit very close to home.   

In order for this rift in the team to really be as nasty as its going to be they needed an equally nasty catalyst for it.  The writers did it by having Fitz have the break and the reveal he’s been hearing the Doctor since the Framework.  Then the Doctor ‘taking over’ to do what Fitz himself was unwilling to do.   They reminded us Fitz has been through a lot, he needs to heal from the Framework.  Which is something many in the fandom where screaming for.   

I also like this route because it does give Fitz the chance to learn to accept it and use it when he needs too.  Its part of him now, he cant just wave a magic wand and make it better again.  The team has to also accept this too.  Between his previous injury and what AIDA did to him in the Framework he was hit pretty hard and as a result he changed.   “Your just different now and that’s okay,”.   Just as the team had varying reactions to Daisy’s Inhuman reveal the team will have different reactions to Fitz’s and its further complicated by the how of giving Daisy her powers back

I don’t think he’ll ever break to the extent he did in 14 again.  That series of events won’t be replicated and now that Jemma knows she can help him through it when it does get bad. I won’t be surprised if he isn’t tempted/under pressure again.  That gives a chance to show Fitz actively choosing to do good.  We are very well aware what he is capable of and he’s using both the shadow and light to protect people.  He also doesn’t like how he did it either.

If Fitz wanted too, he could go full on real life super villain.  14 he could have killed everyone else or let the fear rift take out the Lighthouse and the Town above.  Fitz isn’t okay with how he got Daisy’s powers back, he fought so hard against what he knew deep down was the solution he suffered the break.  He has a considerable amount of “power” in The Doctor but now its how he chooses to use it now and in the future.  It goes back to that discussion about potential in Seeds.  

Not to mention they are really allowing Iain a chance to just run with this.  

I did find 15 a little OOC but a lot of that was just the time.  A new writer had a ton to cram into 10 minutes.  So I am waiting until after 16 to really comment on this….bearing in mind 16 is also written by a new writer.

Jemma is NOT condoning the how but she sees the science behind it.  They were out of time and it was the only way.   We also don’t know what happened before that scene between her and Daisy, I got the gist that Fitz is being kept in there for more than giving her powers back.  HERE is a meta I did earlier on why I feel what is coming is fully in line for Jemma.  

Do I wish they’d found a less icky way for The Doctor to give Daisy her powers back, absolutely.  I would have much preferred he created some sort of special EMP that shorted it out.  She still would have been upset with him for giving them back but it would have been considerably less traumatizing all around.

It hasn’t taken away from the wedding at all to me, if anything it makes it more special.  Marriage is hard.  Crap happens.   I am not the same person my husband married nor is he the same.  And he certainly didn’t sign up for some of the crap that has happened to us over the years.  But we got through it and are even stronger for it.  Would it have been nice if we’d gotten more than an episode of Honeymoon time before poop hit the fan, yes, but we had a whole bunch of good leading up to the wedding and were due.  This is also AOS and things need to move along, especially this point in the season.  And part of what makes it more special for me is they are actively fighting for their future together.   Jemma isn’t letting him go and he’s letting her in.  

We are supposed to be missing the team right now.  They are supposed to be broken.  That was one of the major reasons they did what they did.   Only what is different from previous seasons is the rift has come from within.  Its also a result of nearly everyone doing what they think is the right thing.  They need to get back on the same page and that takes time, “A team that trusts is a team that triumphs”.  

I don’t know if that helped at all or if I just did a lot of rambling that didn’t go anywhere.   This is dealing with very serious and personal topics so I will encourage everyone to do what they need to do to take care of themselves.  This is supposed to be messy, complicated, and morally grey.   I’m going to give the writers the chance to see where they go with it and how it all plays out…and I’m honestly excited to see where it leads.  

[cursebreaker-vahn]

Breaking and Taming

I had Annalise trained on the Cursebreaker, his whip immobilized by its own enchantment I had seized control of.

“Are you done? I’ve got other things to do, especially now with you.”

His eyes were filled with hatred as he half-spit his next words.

“If you’re so busy terrorizing people, monster, kill me and be done with it.”

I couldn’t refrain a short laugh at this brash affirmation.

“Dear Cursebreaker, if I had wanted you dead, we wouldn't be having this discussion. You don’t know how rare it is to find a blessed or a fiend to study outside of Ferely.”

“You want to… Study me?”

“You and your toy there. I had hoped for a Saint too, but I guess you’re a bit smarter than you look. But first, I’ll take back my acolytes.”

I went for the bag at his belt, but as I was approaching my hand from it, the bag, and the Planeswalker with it, disappeared in front of me. I activated my glove’s enchantment and plunged my hand through the aether trail. Inside the chaos of the Blind Eternities, I grasped the bag I went for, and firmed my grip. I felt enchantments surrendering to my glove, and suddenly, there wasn’t something to grip anymore, and my gloved hand got back in the same Plane as I was, a piece of leather torn from the bag in it.

Shit!

As I was considering following the Dekan into his territory, something plopped into existence near me. A brightly colored runed box with waning mana seals crashed down a few feet from me. There was no doubt to have regarding its content. I could have felt it from miles away.

Well, at least he doesn’t have them anymore…

I grinned. This would be interesting.

Two weeks later:

So, you DON’T want to get this box? Did they do something to you?

On the contrary, it’s so much easier than tracking down a Planeswalker. We know he’ll come for one of his boxes. And it’s so much work to bring an uncooperative ‘walker on plane.

But while you’re waiting for him to fall into your trap, he’s getting the others!

Well, I’ll get them back once I’ll have him here. If he’s not stupid he’ll have hid them somewhere but what would he do with them? If the Cursebreakers knew how to destroy them, they wouldn’t be here in the first place.

And I wouldn’t be here either.

What would I be?

As I was talking with her I was setting up the enchantment myself. I’d have sent someone, but it gave me a break, and I didn’t really trust anyone else with target-specific interdimensional traps anyway. I had gotten a pretty clear image of his aetheric signature during our last meeting, and had attuned a distance-trigger to him from the box, initiating a tracking magical-physical lock, while preventing others from approaching it. All things considered, it had been a good way to spend a morning practicing more classic, lasting enchantments.

A week and a half later:

I was working with one of the volunteers to make a fitting Mirror for them. It was long and tedious, but I had had the best results with more understanding of the subjects. When I’ll finally succeed in replicating the transfer process once, I’d be able to refine it. But for now, I was stuck discussing about one of the townsfolk’s life. From what my previous experiments told me, he shaped up to fit some sort of container… Go figure.

I was gonna ask Erlok (I finally got around to memorize the name of my new steward) to get him a pottery set, when a welcome interruption spread a characteristic shake through the leylines to one of the stones hanging from my neck. The Cursebreaker had triggered the trap. I cut the subject's babble short.

“Ask Erlok for some clay, you’re learning to make pots. Express yourself. I should be back soon.”

At these words, I disappeared from the room and planeswalked to the same plane I was on, near the enchantment I'd set up.

Five hours later:

I brought back the immobilized bright-armored man back to my domain, where I installed him in one of the currently empty experimentation rooms. While he was still trapped, I plunged my gloved hand through the wall and, quickly, but carefully, sealed the Cursebreaker in this room and from leylines. After that, and having dispossessed him of his whip, other weapons and ridiculous armor, I installed him at a table and left him some food and water. I sat in front of him, and  dispelled my enchantment.

He stared in shock, then went to panic followed by resignation as he probably realized he wasn’t getting out of this one. He uttered through his teeth half a:

"What do you want?"

"To try a few things. Like I said before you left me alone last time, finding a Blessed outside of Ferely is an unique occasion."

Even through the fog of my current condition, their qualification might have been audibly different for someone who knew me.

"I don't suppose I'm making it out of here, am I?"

I emphasized my next words by resting my hand on that incense burner of his.

"You'll probably get out, at some point. Who knows? Of course, I don't know if you'd still have the same body at this point."

He sighed and closed his eyes, before answering with anger seeping from his voice.

"So why are you bothering to talk to me then. To taunt me?"

"That, and to give you a chance to tell me where you've hidden your precious little boxes before I ask more convincingly. Some of my employees are still in those."

"They're gone. Freed the souls. You didn't need those, did you?"

He shrugged. At me. I’ll enjoy working on him.

"Not particularly, thanks to you I've also got a shortage of mortal elements. But I'm sure the people you stole would be grateful to be back. Oh well. You'll end up telling me the truth at some point."

I pointed to the meal in front of him.

"But for now, eat. We'll get to work later."

He eyed the meal suspiciously, before digging into it. His body didn’t eat anything for a day, after all.

"It's true. You aren't invincible. None of you are. Neither am I for that matter, I suppose. You can believe me, or not. Doesn't change what happened."

Eating seemed to affirm his smugness. I was tempted to extract it out of his head, but didn’t want to compromise his soul before analyzing everything. He’d lose hope soon enough.

“Oh, I know that. I just don't think you are able to destroy a Relic. If the Church knew how to do that, I wouldn't receive more employees every other week."

"I have help from my god to save your employees from theirs. The Church is still clueless. I haven't been back since Brother Marco tried to kill me."

"Your god? Someone hasn't been a good little soldier. Well, I'll find out if it is the truth sooner or later. But if you do end up having killed them all, even with help… Do you want a job? If you survive the coming weeks, of course. Or even if you don’t."

At that, he freezed for a second. As I was standing up to leave, he finally gave me an answer.

"A job from you? I have to say no."

"Consider it. Ruthless, driven, murderer... You fit all the necessary qualifications! And you've even already wielded a Relic, I assume. Should help do it again. Or be one, I guess, depending of how you end up."

"I suppose you have me there. Though the freed souls do get to go to paradise after simmering in the seventh layer a bit... not that you can understand what I'm talking about... the idea of making it somewhere heavenly isn't something a fiend can really process, is it? You can call me a murderer, or even kill me, I suppose. Doesn't change a thing."

He did get a laugh out of me, as I exited the room through the door. I didn't bother to lock it. I still had the matter of the recipient-subject to attend.

Was there a joke?

Not really, but he’s lecturing me on a heaven and his set of morals when he’s bound just as much as we are to avoid death.

Oh. Right. I guess it is kinda funny.

The funny part is what is probably going on in his head right now. Or when he’ll have realized that.

As I finished this conversation, I was back at the place I'd left the subject. I was greeted by the sight of a small clay pot and the volunteer examining it. Now, I know nothing about these arts, since my studies took me in other directions, but the subject's craft didn't look like something that was done by a first timer.

"Have you done that before?"

He jumped off his seat, startled, and I gestured him to sit back down.

"Oh, madam, you're back! I've never touched clay before, it's surprisingly easy!"

"No it isn't. We're on the right track... Probably."

“Probably? Aren’t we talking about my life?”

“Yes we are, and believe me, I’m doing my best to make this work.”

“But isn’t it the same thing you did for yourself?”

“Do you think I would give you clay and have you mold it if I already knew how this worked? You do have a point, it’s the same thing that was done to me… And you volunteered for that, so you deserve to know a bit more about it. But I don’t know how the first part was done. If I did, I would be able to do things way better than that. For once, you wouldn’t have to be in the same kind of body I am in, and neither would I. Nor would you have to sustain it constantly with magic. Do you know of a way to constantly use and sustain your body through magic?”

“I don’t, madam.”

“And I hope you’ll never have to learn.”

“I do too.”

“So, the next step. We’ll try to make this creation of yours a mirror of your soul.”

“Madam?”

“Magic stuff. Don’t worry, nothing too dangerous should happen to you right now. And as you’re lucky, I just came back with something that might allow me to get this part better.”

What I left out was that I’d make this part better by comparing how I did it currently with how an actual mirror looked. Any progress I’d make likely wouldn’t apply to him.

“Wonderful! What is the process like?”

“Long. Painless. Invisible. Sit here, and don’t move from this armchair unless I tell you to. Oh, I forgot. Use the restroom, then come back and sit here.”

As he was doing so, I took my inspection helmet I’d left in this laboratory, and put it on, switching a few of the lenses in front of my eyes to filter out exactly what kind of spell I was crafting, and soul I was mirroring.

It was a tedious work, and I was still at it a few hours later. Recreating every aspect, every facet of the man’s soul in this inanimate object. Making it live and shift in the exact same way its owner’s did. Weaving a web of intricate mana strings to connect each edge. Doing so while never perturbing the previous work. Every time I had made another layer, I switched the lenses of my helmet and got to work and correct another one.

It worked better than my previous tries in this direction. The support itself seemed to adapt what I was doing, integrate it, and correct my smallest mistakes that a year before would have made the whole thing fall apart upon use.

By the time I had finished, the subject was sleeping. I sealed the work by letting the shape I’d formed exprim its magic, as I infused it with the barest amount of mana, fixing the magic into an enchantment surrounding the soul. As I did, I looked for any sign that I had succeeded… Or failed. As usual with my last few experiments, I had no such sign. Be it with or without the lenses in front of my eyes. It didn’t even wake the person whose soul had hopefully been mirrored and linked.

Without a sound, I took off the helmet and with it under my arm and the newly crafted artificial Mirror in one hand, went back to the Cursebreaker’s room. He was sleeping when I entered. His Mirror was still on the table. Putting the two next to each other, I used the helmet and took some notes, trying to find any differences between an actual Mirror and what I had crafted. Most of them were things that could be put on the disparity between the souls. But the biggest one was probably that the spell was weaved into the soul in the divine Mirror, whereas it was encasing it in mine.

The fact that I had come as close as I had without any real point of comparison was already impressive. I had built from Relics, not Mirrors, where the mind and soul obscured the vision of a much more powerful spell. As I inspected the way they were fused, I had ideas on how to do the same… The only question was if I would be able to modify the Mirror I had made, without killing its owner, now that they were most likely linked. But at least, now, I had another to test it on. The subject didn’t do anything to deserve any unneeded pain.

I sent someone to bring back the subject’s Mirror to his room, while I worked out a first set of experiments I’d try on the Cursebreaker. Pretty early in the morning, I began the first. Widening my perceptions as much as possible with the helmet, I readied a chisel on the incense burner and tapped it with a hammer, lightly at first. I don’t know if it was from the sudden noise or the enchantment (I’d have to test that further in the future), but the man immediately woke up.

He looked around him before settling down on me and asking:

"What are you doing?"

I didn't bother to answer him, it's not like I was hiding anything. I hit the Mirror again, slightly harder this time.

"Feeling anything?"

He didn’t move, and answered me harshly.

"You're the scientist. You tell me."

I shifted a few lenses. I didn't see a thing, so I'd have to try some other spectrums before notching up the strength.

"You're right. And science needs repetition."

I hit as close to the last test as I could. A small hissing sound escaped his mouth, but I was focused on the object. I saw something this time I think. Very faintly. The reaction of the Cursebreaker only seemed to confirm it.

"Or, you know. You could tell me what you feel."

Another hit, stronger, to be sure. I definitely saw something. I focused the lenses on the correct source. He physically moved on this one, and breathed a little harder, with his angry but resigned glare fixed on my hands and tools.

"It feels like a jolt of.... discomfort? Seems to hurt."

I'd check him later for bruises, those took a while to appear, but for now I put down the chisel and hammer.

"Good. The threshold for piercing damage seems to be rather low. You're cooperating and I'm not a monster, so I'll let you choose the next test. Cutting..."

I put down my hand on the knife I'd prepared.

"... Or something less physical?"

His eyes went from the knife to me while he was making his choice. I played with the knife’s hilt, and was gonna take it when I finally heard his voice.

"Less physical."

With a thought, I channeled my right glove's magic, and passing it through the physical object in front of me. I grabbed a thread of the spell-soul, careful to not do anything with it yet.

"Tell me if something happens. If we'll be working together, can I know your name? Calling you Cursebreaker will get old fast. Especially if you aren't one anymore.”

"I'm Vahn."

His stare is fixated on the Mirror now, as I can see sweat forming on his head. Back to the enchantment, I tugged on the magic thread, but it took a lot of strength to finally make it move out of alignment...  Which lighted it in all directions. Nearly instantly, a thick fog slipped between my fingers and the magic as it was returning in place.

"Uh. How was that for you, Vahn?"

The color seemed to have drained from his face and he looks distressed. He tried to say something, but what came out was probably not what he had intended.

"That..... I.... bad."

So the spell was defending and correcting itself... It wouldn't be easy to remake the boy's, if this was how it reacted, too. At least, it meant I was less likely to damage it permanently.

"Really? I merely tugged at it. And now?"

I stuck a finger in the spell, where it could not simply lose contact. Nearly immediately, a force tried to push me out, but between my strength and a little help from Annalise, I kept it in place. It now twirled around madly, and I was even able to see it drain something from the Cursebreaker to sustain its effort.

Vahn put a hand on his chest. He didn’t say a word, but his anguish was readable on his face, as it tensed into a pained grin. At least I knew a way to make him squirm. I removed my intruding finger. That would require further tests, but I didn't want Vahn to die too soon.

"I guess that's a thing. How about a five minute break, then we'll try the knife!"

Vahn just breathed heavily and stared at me, out of breath. Maybe he was beginning to understand what was gonna happen to him.

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: Secret Santa, ch. 2 (of 4)

Len really isn't the "Secret Santa" type. Hell, he's not really the Christmas type. But when Sara challenges him...well. Maybe this could be fun, after all...

Original Team Legends (set in an extended season 1) and slow-burn (and friends) CaptainCanary. Many thanks to @larielromeniel for the beta!

Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

Leonard’s halfway tempted—OK, maybe more than halfway—to just give Hunter one of his own bottles of booze back as the first “gift.”

Still, that seems to fall under the whole “letter of the law, but not the spirit” thing, and if he’s going to play along with this ridiculous tradition, he’s going to do it right. If only so that Sara doesn’t immediately figure out whom he’d picked. (Which she certainly would if he used the booze. She’s been helping him drink Rip’s collection, after all.)

He’s still trying to figure out what sort of game she’s playing—in addition to the one she’d challenged him to, anyway. Certainly, they’ve continued to flirt with each other wildly in the months since the Oculus, even though neither of them have broached the subject of “me and you” again, or that kiss—although Len will admit he relives it in his dreams on a regular basis.

Quips about “stealing a kiss” aside, he figures it’s up to her to make the next step. He might be a bad guy (well, maybe) but he’s not going to press interest that isn’t returned in that way. He’s not evil.

So, he’ll focus on the game he knows about.

Raymond has picked Stein. That was clear. He’s pretty sure Stein has picked Mick or him, from the look of blank bafflement on the professor’s face. Probably Mick, since Stein knows Leonard well enough from their chess games at this point to have some ideas. The idea amuses him.

Mick had looked extremely thoughtful, himself. Interesting. Probably not Len or Sara, then. He knows them too well. And he’d just roll his eyes over picking Raymond. Mick likes and respects Jax and Kendra, though. One of them.

Sara…who had caused that flash of happiness? He’d like to believe it was him, but…would it? Probably not. He doesn’t think she’d be that pleased about picking Raymond, or even the kid.

But enough. For now.                                      

They’re still in the time stream as Hunter and Gideon watch for problems and work with Raymond and Stein (and occasionally Mick, who doesn’t like remembering his time as Kronos but has been persuaded to lend the skills) to figure out a way to tweak time enough to rescue Hunter’s family.

They try to maintain a regular 24-hour day even in the time stream, simply for sanity’s sake, though, and that means mornings and evenings. Len ambles to the galley in the “morning,” yawning, only to pause at the sight of Stein leaning against the counter, a steaming cup of tea in his hand, eyeing the small gift bag (emblazoned with a menorah) in front of him.

Raymond works fast. Leonard stops himself from saying that out loud.

“Well, that was quick,” he drawls instead, joining the professor at the counter. “And we haven’t even stopped anywhere yet. How’d your ‘Santa’ manage that?”

Stein shakes his head, sipping his tea, which smells good enough that Leonard decides to make a cup himself. He’s sitting the kettle on a burner (the galley can dispense brewed tea, but it’s just not the same) when the older man speaks.

“I forgot that you and Ms. Lance left before that discussion,” he comments, turning to study Len. “It was decided that, given our…limitations…in obtaining gifts without Gideon’s assistance, that the replicator was a valid option. Provided, of course, that there was actual thought put into the gift.”

“Makes sense.” Keeping an eye on the kettle, Len moves to open the drawer where he can usually find the tea bags, unless someone had been rearranging again. (Raymond was prone to that, infuriatingly.)

Stein stops him. “If you’re planning on Earl Grey, Mr. Snart, you might as well try this.” He waves a hand at the gift bag, then reaches in to pull out a canister. “Not of Gideon’s make, actually, so whomever picked my name must had it already. Someone’s prepared.”

Len snorts. Stein gives him a smile, eyes knowing. Neither of them mentions the Boy Scout on the ship, though.

“But what Dr. P…my ‘Santa’ failed to take into account,” the professor continues, “is that I’d formed a taste for my particular brand years ago, as a starving undergrad. So while this,” he nods at the canister, “is indeed a fine brand indeed, I’ll stick to my stash of the cheaper variety.”

He pushes the container toward Leonard, who shrugs after a moment and starts peeling the packaging off. Stein watches him, sipping his tea again, as Len extracts a tea bag and deposits it in his preferred mug before covering it with boiling water and waiting for it to steep.

The silence is almost companionable. OK, maybe there’s no “almost.” There have been many unexpected things in his life since he got on board this bucket of bolts, but this may be one of the most surprising.

“The captain seems to think we may have to visit 1920s Chicago to investigate an incident,” Stein says after a moment, shaking his head with a smile as Leonard adds sugar to his tea. “They’re still pinning it down. But if we do, there should be options there, especially for a man of your…talents.”

That earns him another snort, but a smile as well. Len sips the tea, raising his eyebrows at the quality—Raymond may be a pain, but the man doesn’t stint on gifts. “Could be fun.”

“Hmm.” Stein looks like he wants to ask a question, and Leonard waits. But instead, the professor merely sighs, turning toward the sink and rinsing out his own mug before asking a different question than the one Len had expected. “Game later? After dinner? At least, if we’re not out mingling with mobsters.”

“I could do that.” Len pauses, then shakes his head and leans toward Stein before the older man can leave the galley.

“Mick does read,” he says quietly, nodding at Stein’s noise of surprise. “He doesn’t particularly like people to know that, prefers to hide behind the ‘big dumb lug’ image, but he’s got some favorites. And while Gideon can get us anything digitally, he likes real books better.” He shrugs. “And he didn’t bring any. Just a thought.”

Stein eyes him, his face unreadable for a moment, then smiles, eyes crinkling. “Ah. That’s indeed good to know, Mr. Snart.”

If it means Mick will actually get a decent gift, blowing his chilly image is worth it. Although…that’s probably been thawed a long time now. “Just sayin’. You know. In case.”

“Of course.” The professor looks very thoughtful as he moves out the door. Leonard nods to himself in satisfaction, then washes out his own mug and saunters off for the training room, hoping to catch Sara.

But…no. Kendra, finishing a round on the salmon ladder, tells him she’d already been there and gone, smiling at him in a way that suggests the ship-wide rumor mill is chattering on, again, about the amount of time that the crook and assassin spend together. Len ignores it, but also declines to stay. Maybe he can talk Sara into sparring later.

And maybe the rumor mill has a point, but he doesn’t need to acknowledge it.

Mick isn’t in his room. Leonard shrugs and heads back to his own room, where he pulls up the news from their “current” time in Central. He’s not getting caught by surprise by events again, not since the time they returned to the city for a visit and he’d been ambushed by goddamn Sam Scudder. And Sara—nor any of the others, to be honest—is never getting blindsided by the loss of a friend or family member again, not if he has anything to say about it.

It doesn’t take long; it’s not even noon by ship’s time when he’s done. He stretches, then thinks about tracking down Sara for cards or that sparring match.

Then sighs and draws his feet up underneath him, leaning back against the wall.

“So,” he drawls, glancing upward. “Gideon.”

“Yes, Mr. Snart?” the AI responds promptly.

“I need some information.”

Gideon doesn’t sigh, but by the quality of her pause, she might as well have. “I cannot tell you who picked whom,” she responds after a moment, tone vaguely long suffering. “Nor am I allowed to ‘tattle’ on others. I will assist in replicating items as I am able, but…”

“No. I just want some advice. On the person I picked.”

“Mr. Snart, that may not go against the letter of the law, but by what Dr. Palmer said, it does rather go against the spirit…”

“It’s your captain.”

A long pause. Len smirks to himself, still gazing upward.

“Captain Hunter?” she says finally.

“Yep.” He picks up his old exercise ball, the one he’d used to strengthen his new hand all those months ago, and starts throwing it from hand to hand, waiting. “Thought you might be…invested…in making sure he got a decent holiday.”

Another pause, then: “What is it you wish to know?” Gideon’s tone is cautious, but Leonard’s smirk just grows wider.

“Well,” he says, drawing himself more upright. “I know you won’t outright spill on his background, but, I’m wondering if you can confirm something for me…”

Some days he joins the others in the galley for dinner, some days he doesn’t. It depends how annoying the rest of the team is being, what else he’s doing, and who’s cooking, really.

Jax is on the rotation tonight, so there’s a good chance the meal will be pretty good. And Len’s been working on a few things with Gideon all afternoon, so he actually wouldn’t mind a bit of human conversation—not that he’d ever admit that.

Len makes a quick stop in Hunter’s study (after first checking some logistics with Gideon), then loops around to stroll into the galley from the opposite side, just in case. Jax glances up as he enters, waving a spatula at him in greeting, and Stein nods to him from where he’s sitting with a book. But Len’s eyes go right to Sara, who’s standing on the other side of the room talking with Kendra. She grins at him and he feels a return smile stretching the corners of his mouth.

Kendra glances back and forth between them, lips twitching, then shakes her head and chuckles as she walks over to talk to Jax, greeting Mick as he walks in. Leonard spares his old partner a nod and gets one in return, but he’s already on his way over to Sara, whose eyes are glinting.

“And what’ve you been up to today?” she greets him, giving him a once-over. “Didn’t see you at all. Busy with something?”

“Maybe,” he drawls, parking his hip against the table and returning the favor. “Were you?”

“Maybe,” she drawls in return. “You weren’t training this morning. Missed the salmon ladder.”

“Pity.” And it is. He hates the damned thing himself, but watching Sara on it is one of the highlights of life on the Waverider. “Spar later? So you can beat me into shape?”

Sara snorts. “A likely story. But sure.” She gives him a considering look. “Did your Santa strike yet?”

“Nope. Yours?”

“Nope. It’s the first day. There’s time.”

Len spares a moment to wonder about what he’d be doing if he’d selected Sara’s name. It’s…well, it’s probably just as well, for the purpose of the status quo anyway. “True enough.”

“Snart.”

They both turn to look at Mick, who’s crossed the room to stand nearby in a rather unMick-like way (rather than simply interrupting, which is what they’re both used to). Leonard immediately notices what his friend is holding and conceals a smile.

“This wasn’t you…was it?” Mick’s tone is suspicious, but not in a bad way…and in a way that suggests he already knows the answer. Leonard takes a closer look at the book in Mick’s hands, then snorts and shakes his head. Of course Mick would think…

“No,” he says with amusement, “but someone on this ship has good taste.”

Sara, shaking her head, ducks to read the title, then laughs. “Really?”

“I’m a fan,” Len allows, leaning back against the wall. “Detail-oriented, not fond of most of humanity…”

Sara nods sagely. “…pain in the ass to anyone he considers less intelligent than himself…”

“Hey.” He pauses. “OK, maybe you have a point.”

Mick rolls his eyes at them, but continued to study the book, a handsome, leather-bound volume with “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes” on the cover. Len reaches out and plucks a slip of paper from the inside cover, reading it as Sara leans in too.

“Hoping you enjoy this,” is all it says, in a generic font that speaks of Waverider printing. He very carefully doesn’t look in Stein’s direction, but glances up at Mick.

“I’ve been trying to get you to read that for years,” he points out drily. “Since…”

“Yeah, yeah. Since juvie.” Mick gives him a long-suffering look. “Yeah, well…maybe I will now. This boat gets boring.”

“Because immortal psychopaths, time travel and anachronisms on a near-daily basis aren’t enough,” Sara comments, just as drily. “Can I borrow it when you’re done? Never read it.”

“Ask Snart. He doesn’t let anyone borrow his books, but he’ll probably let you.” Mick’s smile is sly, and he ignores his friend’s glare (which Len quickly conceals as Sara glances at him) and laughs as he turns and strolls over to see what Jax is cooking. Leonard watches him go—noticing how Jax eagerly points out the cast iron pan he’s using, a pan Leonard’s semi-sure he hasn’t seen in the galley before. The kid’s ‘Santa’ apparently picked up that he wanted one. Hmm.

But Sara is still watching him, and he looks back to her with a smirk, trying (badly, he’s sure) to look like he wasn’t putting pieces together.

“I hear we’re going to the ‘20s tomorrow,” she says lightly when he meets her eyes. “Ready for that?”

“Well. I hope the Brit is ready for me to take over,” he retorts, leaning toward her. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve taken out mafiosi.”

“Hmmm.” Sara eyes him back. “Oh, yeah? Me too.”

Now, that’s a story he wants to hear. He’s about to tell her so when their captain makes an entrance, and they both actually do a double take.

Because Rip Hunter is smiling.

“I don’t suppose any of you lot will tell me who’s responsible for this?” the Brit says, looking down at his hands. “Because I’m not sure whether to be alarmed or pleased, but I think I’ll settle on the latter.”

“What?” Jax turns away from the stove, then back quickly, muttering to himself as he moves something around with the spatula. Mick, who’s now showing Kendra his book, turns to look, and even Stein cranes his neck to see. Len, recalling that he needs to look surprised, tilts his head to watch, even though he keeps his eyes more on Sara.

She looks interested, eyes roving around the room—and then flicking back to land on him. The smile grows.

Busted? Maybe. He smirks back in return.

“I don’t know how…well. Let’s just say I spent a bit of my youth wanting to get my grimy urchin hands on one of these things,” the captain says, looking down at the object in his hands. “And then I made sure we had them every Christmas I managed to spend with Miranda and Jonas. They’re…fond memories.”

“And we’re going to make sure you get more of them,” Stein tells him kindly, rising from his seat to see what the other man is holding. “Ah! Christmas crackers! Not really a thing in the States, but…”

“Heathens.” But Hunter’s voice is amused. “Well, we need to wait until Christmas, you know, but what you do…”

“Someone pays attention.” Sara’s voice is low and amused in Len’s ear as they watch the others, even Mick, listen to Rip. “Nicely done.”

“Apparently,” he retorts. “Seems like I’m not the only one after all.”

“Mmhmm…”

“Hey, look, guys…oh, what’d I miss?”

Raymond has entered, brandishing a bottle of…Leonard tilts his head to see the label, smirking as he recognizes it as one from Hunter’s seemingly indefatigable stash, one that he hadn’t bothered taking yet.

But then Jax announces that dinner is ready, all-you-lunatics-eat-it-before-it-gets-cold, and then Stein’s asking him if he’s still up for that game, and Sara’s smirking at him as they get the board out, leaning over to whisper in his ear and raising the hairs on the back of his arms.

“See you in the training room in an hour?”

Even if the game’s not over, he’ll be ready to indulge in some physical activity at that point. And get some alone time with Sara. And with both, he’ll take what he can get.

“Sure.”

“Good.”

Even ol’ Silvertop is giving him one of those looks as Sara strolls away. Leonard ignores it. The rumor mill is definitely working right now.

He admits, again, that it may have reason—because the older man wins handily, taking advantage of his distraction to checkmate his king in far less than the usual time. Stein looks like he wants to say something, and Len abruptly decides he doesn’t want to have the conversation right then, if ever. He excuses himself and beats a hasty retreat.

He stops back in his room to change into clothes he’s willing to spar in--and pauses at the sight of the gift bag on his desk.

Blue paper with silver snowflakes. Funny. He studies it a moment, uneasy a moment at the notion that someone’s been in here, then shrugs and pulls it over, peering within.

Cocoa powder. The really good kind, the kind he picks up at a gourmet shop in Central but forgot to stock up on during their last stop. A small bottle of vanilla, from the same place. And a pair of coffee mugs. Bemused, he picks up one and reads the side…then laughs despite himself.

Hunter, he decides, had a point. It’s a little alarming to know that someone on the ship pays enough attention--or knows him well enough--to pick out something so apt.

But it’s oddly…warming…as well.

Author’s note: Once I got the mental picture of Len and Mick as Holmes and Watson, I just couldn't shake it. :D (Sara as Irene Adler?)

Also, these are the coffee mugs (profanity warning):

https://www.etsy.com/listing/212416647/i-am-a-ray-of-fucking-sunshine-ceramic

https://www.etsy.com/listing/494887630/do-i-look-like-a-team-player-low-morale?ref=shop_home_active_13