#but she's looking beyond herself and her partner a wee bit more

[canyouhearthelight]

Nihilus Rex, Ch. 32: Sisters and Secrets

This post is dedicated to something that I am more than obsessed with in anything I write: realistic sibling relationships. Yes, siblings can be the bane of your existence during childhood and may still be so when you're an adult.

But it's equally likely that your sibling will be your partner in crime. So if you see shades of Sophia and Tyche in this, know that's because of my own relationship with my youngest sibling.

As always, co-written with the incredible @baelpenrose. Extra shoutout to @lavcircuts who may not realize it but reminded me today is Friday and that means I need to post!

I really hope you get it

And don’t live to regret it…

I hope you’re happy in the end.

I hope you’re happy, my friend” - Wicked, Glinda and Elphaba, “Defying Gravity”

Lash

Once Baba and Mama were asleep for a while, I took advantage and asked Mori to walk to the store with me.  While we were both aware that she had filled the freezer as much as possible with meals, there was an oppressive sort of silence that filled the apartment now that Lucas and the boys were back in Puyallup.  She gladly took up my offer, left notes with our parents, and practically shoved me out into the setting sunlight.

“This way,” I reminded her once we hit the bottom of the stairs. Years of habit told our feet to turn towards Uncle’s shop, but… “There is a market this way with Turkish coffee.”

Forcing herself to be cheerful, she clucked her tongue. “Not as good, but better than American.” 

Her imitation of Baba’s frequent words made a hard stone in my chest.  I reminded myself that Baba was still with us and blinked the tingling from my eyes. “I bet you can’t wait to get home,” I teased, gently bumping her shoulder with mine.

She shoved back with her hips. “I had to beg Lucas to take away the computer when I was looking at properties nearby,” she confessed.  When I gaped at her, she tugged my hair with a grin. “Who is going to cook until Mama is well?”

“Clearly you are,” I announced, thinking on all the food she had made ahead.  “And I know Fatima is waiting until you are home to come visit.  She told me so when I went to check on the girls last wee - Wait.” I stopped in my tracks and pulled Mori’s hand. “You are sending Fatima to check on us??”

Mori smoothed my hair and patted my hand, the way Mama did sometimes. “Fatima needs someone to fuss over, and Mama and Baba need fussing.  Mama won’t hurt for having little girls in the house after my boys, either.”

I groaned in mock-agony. “Again, you outmaneuver me!”  Coming to my senses, I squeezed her hand seriously, stroking her arm. “Thank you. I don’t think I could take care of them both without help, and you always know what to do.”

She tugged me to keep walking, well aware that we didn’t need to go to the store and were just getting out of the house for a talk. “So. Tell me about Nils.  Not what you told me at the hospital, I want the truth.”

There was a small bubble of hesitation, but it was immediately pushed down by a thousand memories of Mori and I chattering away into the night about things Mama and Baba would never understand. “I met him after a funeral,” I told her. “His best friend.  He picked a fight with some people he shouldn’t have, and thought I was going to jump from my bridge.”

Mori clucked again. “You and that bridge. Mama always hated it, but Baba talked her down.”

I grinned, letting a stray breeze hit my face. “Brayden had just screwed me over again, and this time he’d taken the money with him - “

“I never liked Brayden.” She’s never even met Brayden.

I pushed on. “Nils has a way with computers, and he got my money back - “

“And Brayden’s…”

“Am I telling this story, or are you?” I scolded. “Anyway, we decided to work together on some… less than legal things that would help people who had been screwed over.” I bit my lip, hesitant to be more specific.  “Beyond that, he lives on his own in a not-yet-gentrified apartment block, helps the homeless by letting them stay in a building I think he owns, and goes to college. Great relationship with his mom, but - you met his dad.”

“You never did let unfair laws stop you from doing the right thing,” Mori sighed. “And yeah, I would be telling you to run for the hills if he had a good relationship with Doctor Iceblock Godcomplex. I am going to assume the ‘less than legal things’ have to do with Baba’s car suddenly being paid off, and beg you not to confirm that. I already had one interview with the FBI, and I…”  She stopped in her tracks and trailed off, staring in the distance.  I let her sit in silence for a couple minutes until she slowly turned her head toward me and grabbed both my forearms. “Lash,” she hissed. “That wasn’t about the fire at all, was it?”

“I don’t think so,” I answered, slowly but truthfully. “Nils and I had nothing to do with the fire other than being there when it happened,” I swore. “I would never put anyone who was there at risk. Me, yes. Nils, if he was willing - which he probably would be. But our parents? Uncle? Imran?” I scowled and shook my head.  “We really were there to get coffee after a date.”

My sister pressed her fingertips between her eyebrows until the nail beds turned white. “Baba’s car, that was you and Nils?”

“Yes.”

“The men who were shot at the bank?”

“Were volunteers, and we did not ask, tell, or imply that they should pull guns on the police.”

Her fingertips migrated to massage her forehead. “Are Mama and Baba in danger?”

“Not if I can help it, no. I didn’t even want them at the cafe, although it had nothing to do with the rest.”

“Nosy, nosy aunties,” she exhaled, opening her eyes. “I swear, they should be studied as a force of the universe. Quantum mechanics probably hinges on nosy aunties.” Mori dragged me by my arm again, walking briskly for several minutes until we found a bench. Rather than sitting, she had us cross the street. “So the attack, that was real and you didn’t cause it.”

I swore viciously until she pulled me to a stop and levelled a glare that told me to wrap it up. “No, that was something separate that has been escalating despite several police reports,” I promised.

“So, I haven’t lied to a fed, that is nice,” she answered breezily. “Is Nils your boyfriend, or is that a cover?”  My face flushed with heat, and she started laughing. “Ooooo, more than a boyfriend, I see!  So you haven’t been crashing on someone’s couch all those nights you didn’t come home!”

“I will have you know, I did sleep on a couch,” I argued, indignant. “His bed is rock hard, Mori! It’s the worst!”

Her peals of laughter let me know that all was accepted and forgiven. “And the couch is better?”

“Like a marshmallow,” I shook my head. “It’s amazing.”

We walked for another block, elbowing each other in silence and erupting into giggles.  It was when we had stopped in front of a chocolate shop that Mori leaned over to ask the hard question. “How much trouble?”

‘Are you in’ went unsaid. I shrugged and carefully chose my words - for the people walking past, not for my sister. “The FBI haven’t asked directly about anything but the fire, and I didn’t lie to the agent,” I answered truthfully. “But we’re pretty sure that she’s here for more than just a fire.  I had nothing to do with the deaths of those guys connected to the fire.” Slight fib, but technically true from a legal standpoint. “Nils and I are… trying to make things better for people who have been getting the shit end of it all.  I don’t know how far that is going to go, yet, but I needed to make sure that if something happens, someone can tell Mama and Baba.”

My ear stung like fire when she flicked it with one long nail. “You are asking me to tell our parents if you are dead,” she hissed. “That isn’t fair.”

“I’m asking you to tell them if I’m arrested,” I clarified, managing to get my hand up in time that the next thump hit a knuckle. “I know it isn’t fair, but it’s even less fair to let them think I am a missing person if someone is able to let them know I am arrested or dead.”

“And why can your Nils not tell them?”

I raised an eyebrow and glared at her in my best ‘don’t be stupid’ glare.

She relented and held up her hands. “Okay, yeah, even I can tell he would be right there in it with you.  That’s at least somewhat fair.”  She placed one hand on my upper arm and rubbed it briskly. “Just… try to make it as long as possible before I have to make good on that promise?”

“Without a doubt,” I answered, shaking my head.  “Although…” She glared at me and I gave up the joke. “I met Nils’ parents the other night, and his mom wants to do a ladies’ day before you head home. You, Mama, me, and Ms. Katherine Andover.”

“Yay….” Mori cheered with zero enthusiasm. “Rich white lady day…”

I laughed and shook my head. “Oh, oh no. We pick the restaurant, and she’ll pay. I only ask that it isn’t the Ethiopian place, because apparently she eats there often.”

“Are you serious? She’ll pay?”

I nodded. “I can confirm, she is very adventurous with new foods, and the only thing that kept her from eating with her hands was that she didn’t know it was not just permitted but encouraged.”

“Crap,” Mori swore. “Now I don’t know if I want to try an expensive place, or if I want to watch the rich lady eat cheap ethnic food…”

I squeezed Mori’s arm with laughter. “Oh my god, I know, right?”

[miqojak]

FFXIV Write Prompt #19: Turn a Blind Eye

This city, these people - even the 'gods' they so cherish, have all turned a blind eye to me, and the people like me. To our suffering. To our need. To our pain.

To the loss of our homes, and dignity.

I walk the darkened corners of Pearl Lane, and the forgotten alleyways of Ul'dah, and I wonder if I've turned a blind eye, as well - have I become like them in truth? What they made me was a survivalist with no care for any but herself, and yet... wasn't so much of this anger not just about me... but my people? The Ala Mhigans who didn't turn to crime, the ones too young, elderly, or infirm for labor - even those who were labor ready were used up and left behind like so much detritus.

And now... now they had the audacity to have my people make essentials for Garlean refugees? Make blankets and tents for those who made us homeless, to begin with?

And yet - where have I been? Where is my duty, now?

It died when my family died. The last kindling embers that whispered to fight for my people perished when my own twin abandoned me. Who was left to fight for, besides myself?

But I see her in every young, dirty, and defiant face - even in Shirogane. I nearly cracked open the ribs of our former alchemist, to show him his own still-beating heart, when I was forced to watch him butcher children. Technically, yes, at ten-and-seven summers - or more... perhaps a few were ten and nine - one might call another an 'adult'; but it's not about their age in numbers you can count. I was a 'woman' old enough for battle when I was still a child, perhaps ten and five at most - one of the few things about my old life I don't find myself missing.

I was not ready.

They were not, either. They were wartime orphans, just trying to survive. I choke on it again, remembering - seeing the gaunt faces around me. I return to Ul'dah, and Little Ala Mhigo again, and again, cutting myself on memories and debts I feel left unpaid.

The Jackal was never just for us - they were representative of all who would survive when, and where, they shouldn't. The cunning, the survivors, those who press on even when there's nothing to be gained but pain, in the doing so.

Death will come for us when it will - that is its way. Unknowable. But to stand defiant, guarding that fragile spark, even when it hurts unimaginably? To snatch from life whatever you can, to take just one more step, even when your feet bleed... that is who the Jackal is for.

And if I'm all that's left... if all of the Jackals are gone... is it my duty to give a shit? Is it my duty to protect, to teach - to... to exact the Jackal's due for them, too?

Or does that cross too many of the lines I've drawn to protect myself from further hurt?

[nikethestatue]

La Dolce Vita

Part II

On the Wings of Desire

Warnings: Language

(I had to split this chapter into two because it was getting too long. Hence, no sexy times, but angst galore) Comments and reblogs and likes are always appreciated! Let me know what you think. 

Chapter One is here

Two Years Ago

 Azriel

 Azriel pulled up to the flower shop.

There was a surprise that he wanted to share with Elain, and like a young boy on his first date, he was both excited and nervous. But he hoped that she’d like it. Funny how he still got a little nervous with her, exuberant even.

It’s been three months since they’ve met and he loved every minute that they’d spent together. The nature of their relationship was a little undefined, but he didn’t care. So what if they weren’t ‘dating’? So there weren’t official dinners and outings, to show only the best part of each other to one another? They moved beyond that right away. They simply loved being together. It was inexplicable, how quickly it happened, how easy it was between the two of them, but Azriel could never get enough of Elain.

He came to her shop whenever he wanted, helped her out, hung out with her, and she went to the garage to meet him. If he was busy and couldn’t meet with her, she closed her shop for lunch, and brought him a sandwich, so they could eat together. He loved it, even if he actually had a restaurant and a bar on premises and she technically didn’t need to buy him food. But there was something special about her coming up the stairs to his office, dressed in one of her cute, flowery dresses and heels. Every time it was a different sandwich, a different drink and a different snack—sometimes a cookie, or good chocolate, or weird chips, or a full-on pastry with cream and ganache and whatnot. He developed a strange fascination with his lunch options, never knowing what it would be and eagerly anticipating it.

Sometimes, he took her on long rides—one of their favourite past times. If he knew that she was up to her eyeballs with orders, since this was summer and it seemed like everyone was getting married, he would bring her takeout to the shop, and they’d sit and arrange flowers until the wee hours. When things calmed down, and there was a quiet evening ahead, she usually invited him to come and eat at her place. They cooked together, drank wine, and then went for a walk.

They haven’t had a kiss yet.

Did it bother him? He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t dream of Elain all the time, of her supple, soft body, of how she’d look naked, of how she’d feel when he filled her, what sounds she’d make, what her face would look like when she climaxed around him? Was she a screamer? A beggar? Was she loud or quiet and shy?

She never spoke of her past boyfriends, so he had no idea of how many men she’s been with. Secretly, he hoped that it wasn’t too many. Maybe it was some male thing, but the idea of her with another man, the thought of someone else touching her, making her moan, making her love—it didn’t please him at all. He thought that he was more modern, more advanced in his thinking—and usually he was—but in this case, he was struggling with accepting Elain wrapped around some other male.

 Surprisingly, even though it wasn’t even 6 pm yet, the flowers that usually spilled outside the shop were not gracing the pavement and the shop looked closed for the day. But Azriel went and knocked on the glass door anyway, seeing as there was some light coming from Elain’s office in the back. There was no response, but he knocked even harder, almost banging, until he heard Elain’s muffled voice yelling, “we are closed!”

“Laney, open up! It’s me!”

A few moments later, Elain appeared in the darkness and then the door opened.

And his jaw almost dropped.

She stood in front of him, wearing a slinky, satin, cobalt dress that looked almost like lingerie. Of modest length, it nevertheless emphasized her breasts very enticingly: soft and full, and pushed together just enough to create a hint of delicious cleavage. A simple set of glittering silver chains nestled seductively in that yummy valley between her breasts. One bare foot was clad in a strappy silver sandal, while she held the other, and jumped awkwardly on one foot, balancing herself on the doorframe. Her hair was curled and arranged over one naked shoulder.

He struggled to keep his breath from whooshing loudly.

“Whoa…”

“Hi Az,” she sounded…uncomfortable.

“Hey you. Hot date?” he chuckled, eyes gliding from her pretty toes up to her eyes.

Her throat bobbed and she didn’t answer.

Shit.

He fought the urge to cross his arms on his chest. But then he’d look threatening, towering over her, much like his father did when he was in one of his moods. Azriel swore to himself long ago to never, ever cross his arms with women.

“I didn’t think you’d be coming over,” she began, voice wobbling.

“So, you figured that you could sneak out?” he spat unkindly.

“I am not sneaking out!” she snapped, flushed and defiant. “I am going out,”

“With whom?” he demanded.

He and Elain had never fought. Never even disagreed.

They laughed together. They joked and discussed. They argued over books and movies. They talked about design, food and travel, places they wanted to visit, and things they wanted to see. Elain randomly texted him names of 3 and 2 Michelin star restaurants from all over the world, telling him where she wanted to dine, why, and eagerly opining on the menus.

Elain was his.

His little foodie, who was a fearless eater, and sampled just about everything and anything.

Elain was his.

His little art lover, who had a surprisingly wide breadth of knowledge of painting, art history and strong opinions on artists and styles. When he found out that she adored Balthus and that Egon Schiele was her favourite artist of all time, his respect for her only increased.

Elain was his.

His little intellectual, who read Anna Akhmatova’s poetry, listened to Alain Elkann’s podcast, and who could easily talk about the history of Lamborghini or Aston Martin, and Formula 1, just to satisfy him.

What the fuck was this?

Why was his Elain going on some date with another man?

Anger rose in him so quickly; he had a difficult time stopping his hands from shaking. So, he clasped them behind his back.

“It’s none of your business,” she said coldly. “I don’t have to report to you who I am going out with,”

“You don’t?” he demanded absurdly.

“No, I don’t!”

“Please tell me who he is?” he decided on a different approach. His brain was working furiously, trying to dissuade her, yet not anger her, yet find out as much information as possible.

“No!” she shook her head stubbornly. “Why do you even care?”

Why did he care? WHY did he care?

He couldn’t have been misreading all the signs. He couldn’t have been misreading her interest, her acceptance, her want.

There was no doubt in his mind that she wanted him—emotionally, as a friend, as a partner, as a lover. Reading people was his job, his calling, and he’d never been wrong. He certainly wasn’t wrong with Elain—she was an open book to him. He didn’t need to evaluate her reactions to his company to know that she was absolutely enthralled with him.

So why this?

Was it something he did? There were no hints of anything amiss the last time they’d seen each other. They were at her place, they cooked Italian together—spaghetti and clams—and he opened a bottle of Petilia Greco di Tufo, a pure, harmonious white from Campania. Then they went to the rooftop—their favourite place—and watched the city, enjoying gelato and playing cards.

Squeezing his hands behind his back, he demanded, “Has he been vetted?”

“Vetted? Vetted?” she exclaimed incredulously. “Who is going to be doing this vetting?”

She stared at him and bit out,

“I don’t like this side of you. This is crazy behaviour,”

“Why? Because you are going on a date? Suddenly. Unexpectedly.”

At that, she blushed furiously, squirming under his heavy, icy gaze.

He continued, “And with some guy you refuse to tell me anything about. Have you told Cass?”

“What? What exactly is Cass? My father?”

“Cass runs security for,”

“I know what Cass does!” she cried, looking furious, but also uncomfortable. Insecure. Anxious. “But I am not telling him. Leave me alone. I am not telling anyone,”

“Not even Nesta? Elide?” he demanded. “And what if something happens?”

“What’s going to happen?!” she asked nervously.

Nothing.

Probably nothing.

He was being an overbearing creep, but he couldn’t stop.

He needed to know. And yes, he wanted her to be safe.

“Who knows?” he shrugged menacingly. “He is unvetted. No one knows anything about him. Have you even Googled him?”

She blushed.

That’s a no.

“Unless you tell me his name, I am not leaving,” he warned. “I need to know who you are going to be with.”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine,” he propped himself against the door. “We’ll just stand here.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The standoff continued for another few minutes, until, exasperated, she blurted,

“His name is Dorian!”

“Dorian. As in Dorian Gray?”

She rolled her eyes. “How funny.”

He took out his phone and asked, “Does Dorian have a last name?”

“Are you seriously going to Google him?”

“Absolutely I will. Since you didn’t.”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine,” he shrugged. “I’ll await Dorian’s arrival and have a man-to-man talk with him,”

She paled.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Watch me.”

She glared at him, and then sneered, “Why don’t you invite Lorcan too! And Rowan. So the three of you can stand here, in your freaky silent vigil and glare at him, to scare him off.”

“Good idea.”

She shrugged, “And when Dorian comes here, you three can tower over him.”

“Why? Is he tiny?” Azriel snorted.

She rolled her eyes and then thrust her foot into her other heel, finally. As she tied it around her ankle, she muttered angrily, “so disappointed in you,”

“Get in line,” he snapped.

“Adarlan,”

“What?”

“His last name is Adarlan.”

Azriel immediately typed the name into the phone.

A pretty white boy. Columbia. Pre-law.

Figures.

Of course, someone like that would want someone like Elain. And she’d want him in return. Pretty, proper. Pathetic.

“Satisfied?” she rose to her full height. Her cheeks were flushed, brown eyes gleaming with anger and challenge.

She was so beautiful and so annoyed with him, Azriel was blinded by her, by her light, her spirit.

“Not for a while,” he said blandly and shrugged.

That made her redden. Not the blush of anger. Her sexy blush.

So, he went for it.

“Call it off,” he begged.

“What?”

“Call it off. Please.”

“Why?”

Because you are mine.

He wanted to tell her. To explain.

But did he deserve her? All that light and goodness? Perhaps, pretty boy Dorian was indeed more appropriate.

“Because,” he began and then heard a car pull up behind him.

Steps.

He didn’t turn around.

“Elain.”

“Dorian.”

Her face lit up with a smile.

“Ready?”

She nodded. “Just let me grab my bag.”

When she disappeared, Azriel turned around at last.

Dorian was good looking, tall, thin. Young. Looked like a kid, though Azriel figured that he wasn’t much younger than him. But Azriel’s lived about 540 years by now…at least that’s how it felt, and Dorian—Dorian probably had many girlfriends, many friends, and daddy’s money.

He was about as interesting as a bag of beans.

They stared at each other.

Azriel didn’t give a shit.

He didn’t care about anything, other than this is what Elain chose. This Dorian may end up holding Elain’s hand. Perhaps going in for a kiss. That sensuous weak mouth may touch Elain’s perfect lips—the lips that Azriel only dreamt of kissing. And what if it went further?

What if,

No.

No.

Elain was not a ‘first date sex’ kind of girl. Never. Not his Elain.

“Treat her well,” he growled a warning.

Dorian blinked.

“What?”

“Treat. Elain. Well.”

“Who are you?”

“Consider me her brother-in-law.”

“Oh. Okay. Alright. Sure, man. Yeah.”

Fucking intellectual powerhouse.

“I am one of many,”

“Many what?” Dorian asked in confusion.

“Many brothers-in-law. And they all look like me. Some are even bigger.”

“Ready?!” Elain chirped.

“Um, yeah,” Dorian’s eyes darted back and forth.

Azriel finally gave up and crossed his arms on his chest.

“Have fun you two,” he said sweetly.

“Thank you. I’ll see you at Rhys’s pool party on Saturday,” Elain acted like everything was normal.

“Sure. Bring Dorian along,” Azriel jerked his chin. “We’ll be delighted to have him.”

 Elain

 “He is a charmer,” Dorian finally exhaled once they were inside the car.

She grunted in response.

“Does he have enough tattoos?” he started to reverse. “Oh, look, a Ferrari,”

“It’s his,” she bit the inside of her cheek, glancing quickly at the unmoving figure under the awning.

“His? What is he? A drug dealer?”

“Dorian!” she snapped. She was so on edge, she sat on her shaking hands the moment she buckled up.

“Sorry. Sorry. But really, do you want me to,”

She interrupted,

“What? Are you offering to beat him up?”

“I mean,”

“Dorian. He is a Navy Seal,” she said bluntly. “His bicep is the circumference of my head. His buddies are all pushing 6”7 in height and are all former Navy Seals. I am just saying. You aren’t taking him on.”

Dorian didn’t feel the need to disagree.

 Azriel

 Elain was his home. She was his happy place. His joy.

Her smile made everything better.

When she touched him--his fingers, his cheek—that touch carried more sensual promise than anything he’d ever experienced. And he’d experienced plenty.

Azriel’s only brush with love was when he was 18 and it was right before Morgana fucked Cassian, lost her virginity to him and got pregnant by him. He wondered if that’s what fucked him up, turned him off love for this past decade. Ploughing through endless bodies felt good, though he was usually left with the feeling of residual emptiness and longing. But he accepted it.

Elain though. He didn’t plough into Elain. Never even so much as seen her breast. And yet, his head was filled with her. Images, both erotic and mundane floated through his brain constantly. Elain’s eyes lighting up when he called her ‘baby’. Elain tasting a pastry, in her own special way, sometimes dipping her finger into the cream, and driving him wild. Elain reclining her golden head on the seat of his car, eyes closed. Elain being a little drill master when it came to arranging flowers, absolutely unperturbed by the idea of ordering Rowan and Cassian and Fen around.

That Elain was offering her smile, her time, her attention to that pretty prick Dorian was just intolerable.

If he could, he would actually climb the walls. But Azriel couldn’t climb walls, even if parkour-loving Fenrys would probably teach him how. Therefore, he went back to the shop, where Nuala was just packing up for the day.

“I need your car,” he demanded.

“We are in a garage,” she reminded him reasonably, but nevertheless tossed her keys to him. He caught them with one hand and said, “I owe you one.”

“You owe me like fifty…but who is counting?”

Nuala didn’t know why he needed her car, but she did know that he was beyond pining, at this point. He was in full love mode. As in LOVE. Capital letters, heart palpitations, sleepless nights, acting-like-a-drug-addict LOVE. Who would have thought? Not only that Azriel would fall in love at all, but that it would be with Elain.

Azriel got into Nuala’s ordinary Acura, drove to Elain’s apartment, and kept vigil the very same way she told him he would.

At this point, he didn’t care at all. He sat and waited in his shadows. Waiting like this—he learned this level of patience back in the Navy, during his recon missions—suited him, and his personality. Lorcan and he could sit like this for hours. Days. They weren’t bothered at all. Cassian and Fenrys would whine, complain and bounce like little children.

Shadows were his friends, as they’d always been, since he was a boy and hid from his abusive father. They protected him then, and concealed him now.

Finally, at an acceptable, and slightly boring, 11:23 pm, Dorian’s generic Audi pulled up.

There was no way that either of them would spot him, or assume that he was around.

Dorian opened the door for Elain, and she stepped out. They talked. She smiled. Then laughed.

It all grated on Azriel’s nerves. Go inside! He wanted to shout to her.

Then, Dorian made a move. Azriel tensed, when the pretty boy reached his hand out and ran his knuckles over Elain’s bare shoulder. The hand stopped entirely too close to her breast, as he squeezed her upper arm, holding her close. If Azriel sensed even the tiniest expression of discomfort from her, he’d be flying out of the car in a snap.

They talked some more, that gross hand still resting on Elain’s arm. But then, she opened her arms and Azriel grimaced. No way. No way was she going for a kiss.

And thank all the gods above, but she only hugged him, and not a close hug either—but that awkward, butts-out, shoulders pressed together weird hug. Something males typically gave each other, so careful to avoid any penile interaction. Then she walked to her building and gave Dorian a little wave. He hopped in his car and drove away.

What a prick. Didn’t even wait for her to get inside.

But she stood still, door unopened, keys in her fingers. And then, she peered into the darkness. A long, penetrating gaze. Aimed right at him. Like she saw through the shadows. She looked and looked, and he melted in the shadows, into the darkness of the car.

And then she flipped him off, and walked inside.

 Elain

 Piled into Lorcan’s Range Rover, it was Elain ad Elide, Lorcan and Connall in the car.

It was a nice day for a pool party, for a long drive to the Hamptons, for enjoying the sunshine.

Elain was having none of it.

She hated this idea to begin with—pool parties—which were full of too-rich and affected young people, prancing around in skimpy underwear. The women too perfect. The men, full of unreasonable expectations.

Feyre and Morrigan liked this crap, Cassian too, Aelin—certainly.

All the people with their perfect bodies and big hair and bigger personalities.

This Range Rover was like the car for outcasts.

Lorcan looked like he wanted to be at a pool party as much as he wanted to have a rectal exam. Connall, she was sure, would just sit by the bar and nurse drinks all day long. Elide would always find an escape with Lor, and the two of them would huddle together and make snide comments about the attendees to each other.

Elain sighed.

She was such a stupid, inexcusably dumb, fucking idiot.

“Do you know why Az isn’t coming today?” Lorcan looked at her in the mirror.

“Oh?”

She bit inside of her cheek, stifling a pathetic cry.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that Azriel decided not to attend, but she still harbored hope, somewhere inside of her that he would. That they’d be able to talk. That he’d…

Forgive her?

“No, I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“Did you have a fight or something?” Lorcan’s strange black eyes looked at her like they were scraping the edges of her soul. It wasn’t the most comfortable of feelings.

“No.”

She spent the rest of the trip in sullen silence. Even Elide didn’t try to shake her out of her stupor.

 As expected, the party was ridiculously over the top.

There were throngs of people milling about, all in various stages of undress. Firm, golden flesh gleamed in the sunlight.

There were three bars—one for beer, one for cocktails and one for everything else. An ice cream station. A s’mores station. Wagyu beef sliders. Lobster hot dogs. Jamon Iberico. Wheels of Parmigiano Reggiano.

Deep down, Elain was grateful that she’d never be this wealthy.

She was happy with her flowers, her shop, and she was considering opening a pastry shop down the road. And then Azriel had his wonderful garage, but successful as it was, it wasn’t on the Darling level of wealth…And that was alright. It was perfectly enough, too much even,

She stopped.

She should’ve just told him. Everything. A long time ago. But the intensity of her own feelings towards him frightened her, and then…she fucked it all up.

She meandered absently around the premises, listening to Feyre’s and Nesta’s screeching from the pool, where both were perched on the shoulders of their respective lovers, whacking each other and others with long plastic poles. Mor and her new girlfriend were making out passionately in a hammock. Fenrys was swarmed by a bevy of busty beauties. And so on…

She was feeling foolish and exposed in her pink bikini, wishing she had a wrap or something. Her body was no worse than all of these other girls’, but she couldn’t help but compare herself to them. They were confident. Exciting. Entertaining. They flirted and laughed loudly. They had sparkly teeth and giant lips.

She didn’t know how to flirt, and wasn’t glamorous or polished like them.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone? Without a drink?”

A man sidled over, his bold eyes roaming about her body, assessing.

“I am fine, thank you,” she made to get away and walk towards the pool, but he thrust an insistent hand in front of her, holding a drink.

“Come on, sugar. Join me.”

Sugar?

And then, there were four of them. Five.

None were threatening, but being surrounded by so many men, while basically naked was outside of Elain’s comfort zone. They were joking, laughing, chugging their beers. She didn’t know any of them.

“So, who are you?” asked one of them.

“A guest.”

She angled her body towards the pool, trying to sneak past them.

“A guest? We are guests too! Nice party,”

“It is. Pardon me, I have to go,”

“But why?”

One of them caught her hand in his and pulled lightly, grounding her in place.

“Excuse me!” she attempted to withdraw her hand, but he didn’t budge. They herded her a little closer to the house. A sixth man approached, carrying a little tray with tequila shots.

“Where do you got to go, baby?”

Another hand slipped down her back and brushed over her butt, making her jerk.

“What the hell?” she hissed, but her indignation was met with amused smiles.

“Such a pretty girl, all alone. Come, join us,”

“I am not alone!” she snapped angrily.

“Oh no?”

“And who are you with?”

“My fucking boyfriend!” she lied, a little scared now.

“Oh, a boyfriend?” teased one. “And who might that be?”

“Do we know this boyfriend? Where is he?”

She looked around desperately, and then lied again, “He is inside. And coming back, soon.”

Laughter.

“Ohh, I don’t think so. I’ve been watching you for an hour, and there is no boyfriend.”

“I think I need to go,”

“But why!?!”

They goaded, “Tell us about the boyfriend?”

“His name is Azriel Bagarat,” she blurted out.

More laughter. Challenging, condescending laughter.

“Really?”

“Mr. Fancy Garage is your boyfriend?”

“Good one! I almost fell for it.”

“Azriel Bagarat-I-date-a-new-girl-weekly makes for a bad boyfriend, honey,”

“You aren’t exactly his type.”

Tears threatened to pour out of her eyes, and she was horrified by her body’s reaction to the taunting.

She threw, “and what type is that?”

“He doesn’t go for squeaky clean girls like you.”

“Maybe it’s an experiment!” laughed one of them. “He is into all sorts of fucking kink. Maybe he is wetting his cock in some virgin flesh,”

“Are you even legal?”

“You look awfully young.”

At this point, Elain was not above screaming for Lorcan, or Rowan, or anyone else. Her looking weak and pathetic was the least of her concerns.

For a moment, the teasing and the laughter died down. One of them exclaimed, “Oh hey. There you are!”

Fuck. Another one.

The scent hit her first. The sharp, intoxicating smell of his expensive Armani cologne. She’d recognize it anywhere. That hint of cedar and a chilled night air. That was him. Her home.

And then, the familiar dark arm slipped across her stomach, tugging her firmly to his front. Another hand slid to her throat, laying on it, but not squeezing. He held her tenderly, close to him, possessively.

“I missed my girl,” he whispered, his gravelly, husky voice so familiar to her ear it sent a shiver down her spine.

Why couldn’t it be like this forever? Her in his arms? Forever?

“My gorgeous girlfriend always brings all the boys to the yard,” he chuckled. And then, to Elain’s utter delight and pleasure, he placed a warm, open mouthed kiss on the side of her neck.

She shuddered.

He’d never kissed her. Never intimately. Never kissed her like this.

His. She was his. And he just marked his territory.

It was glorious. To be kissed by him was something that she’d dreamt of and here it was—unexpected, sensuous, surprisingly erotic.

His thumb stroked the side of her throat, and then he leaned in and kissed her again. Same spot. Her bare vulnerable throat, her pale neck, his for the taking. She had no control of the situation, and she loved it.

“Thank you for keeping my girlfriend company, gentlemen, but I’ll take it from here.”

Not so brave anymore, in the face of this towering mass of muscle and tattoos, the men sheepishly offered him a shot, which he knocked back and then even attempted to high-five him, though he drew the line at that.

As they scampered away, Azriel did not release Elain from his embrace. She just stood there, with his arm around her, her body pressed into his almost-naked body and all she wanted was to turn around and peek. Or have him kissed her again. She really, really wanted him to kiss her again.

He did not though.

Finally, his arm fell away and he stepped back, causing a sorrowful sigh to erupt in her chest.

She turned around. His face was unreadable, as always, and though she picked out his little tells and signs of emotions now, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Thank you,” was all she could mutter. He didn’t answer. “I didn’t think you were coming,”

“No need to talk,” he cut her off. Then turned around and added, “feel free to leave with Lorcan or Cass.”

He was walking away when she called out, “Wait. Az. I want to talk. Please,”

“No,” he said simply.

She ran after him, trying to keep up with his long stride.

“Az, please, I need to,”

“It’s Azriel to you,” he corrected bluntly. “You don’t get to ‘Az’ me,”

She swallowed, tears stinging her eyes.

“Okay…okay,” she begged. “Azriel, I want to explain, please,”

“You don’t always get what you want,” he threw back.

She paused, but then added,

“But sometimes, you get what you need.”

A tiny smile twitched on his lips. But he schooled his face into neutrality and without turning to her, said,

“If you must tag along for the rest of the day, pretending like you are my girlfriend, it’s up to you,” he shrugged indifferently.

She didn’t care. At least he didn’t send her away. At least, she could be near him, and with time, she’d thaw his anger.

She followed him silently, like dog. Trying to be inconspicuous, but she stayed at his side, even if they didn’t talk and he continuously ignored her. It allowed her time to ogle his incredible body, which she did with relish and without shame. If he was going to be nasty to her, she at least would feast her eyes on all that muscular gorgeousness. Those Cadre men—they were all stunning, at least when it came to their physiques. Azriel, though, was a little more stunning than the others. Only Fenrys, perhaps, was at the same level of attractiveness.

They went to the bar and she followed him faithfully, not letting him out of her sight. He glanced at her, sighed, shaking his head with annoyance, but Azriel being Azriel, he ordered her a mojito, while he drank Sipsmith London Gin and tonic, and after a while, thrust the drink in her hand and muttered, “I am going swimming.”

She took it and sat on a chair, stiff-backed and patient, watching him.

When he emerged from the water, she was waiting for him with a fresh drink.

“Your tattoos look like wings.”

He rubbed a towel over the black and blue tattoos on his shoulders and arms and looked at her.

“Your tattoos,” she said again, watching his wet body and the markings on it come alive on his skin. When he was in the pool, and his arms rose and fell in the water, they looked like wings. “They look like wings. Bat wings.”

“Is that a compliment?” his voice was still cold, bored.

“Yes.”

She handed him his drink and then took his scarred hand in hers. He made to pull away, but she squeezed.

“You are my boyfriend,” she reminded him. “Would be strange if you didn’t want to hold my hand.”

He had no choice but to grip her hand back,

and fuck if it didn’t feel nice.

Two days, and he was going nuts without that little hand. Two days, and he’d missed her touch like it was his life’s necessity.

And then, she gently rubbed her thumb over his own.

“Stop that,” he ordered.

“No,” she said flatly.

“Elain,”

“Azriel,”

“It’s not going to work,” he warned.

She shrugged, “we’ll see.”

They took a few more steps, her thumb still stroking his fingers, and then he stopped abruptly.

“What do you want?”

She looked up at him and said, voice surprisingly firm, “I want to get into your car and drive home with you. I want to cook you dinner. I want to hold your hand. That’s what I want.”

“And what do I want?”

“You want the same thing,” she assured him, unusual confidence in her voice and on her face.

He watched her, unblinking, but she did not balk from his assessing gaze, did not step back. She just clutched his hand like life depended on it. His jowls twitched and he bit his lip, before says, “go and put some clothes on. We are going home.”

“No. Come with me,” she tugged him with her. “I don’t trust you.”

He smiled, at last, and her heart fluttered with joy at the sight of that magical smile.

They found their clothes, threw them atop the bathing suits and as soon as they were dressed, Azriel took her by the hand and led her out to the parking lawn. It was a Maserati Ghibli today, beautifully embellished with subtle pinstripes. No one would dare do this to their 90K car, but Azriel did. And it looked stunning.  

 The drive wasn’t comfortable.

He still wasn’t speaking to her and she just sat there, for an hour or more, in silence, hands on her lap.

Finally, once they began approaching the city, Elain asked, “where are you taking me?”

“Home,” was all he said, his first word since they got in the car.

She thought and said, “I don’t want to go home.”

His voice mocking and obsequious, he asked, “Please tell me, Elain, where should your personal Uber take you? Would you like a coffee? A snack? A walk in the park? A trip to the library? Should I deliver you into Dorian’s loving embrace?”

“Stop it,” she snapped at him, all red and angry. “Stop with all that!”

Azriel plowed forth, ignoring her command, “where was he today, by the way? Why was I stuck rescuing the damsel in distress? Where is brave Dorian?”

“Nobody asked you to rescue me!” she lied, suddenly realizing that maybe, that kiss meant nothing to him. That it was all for show.

“Yeah, you looked like you were handling that situation very well,” he decided dryly.

“You know,” she folded her arms on her chest, “do take me home.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Once they entered the city proper, Azriel fought the traffic aggressively, swearing under his breath more frequently than usual, obviously intend on getting rid of her as soon as possible.

She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t break through. Couldn’t get to him, not around the walls that he’d constructed around himself. She thought that she could, but she was wrong.

Finally, they were coming towards her block.

The silence was stifling. Unbearable.

“Why did you do it?” he blurted suddenly.

She looked at him, but before she could offer any explanations or excuses, he continued, not looking at her, “Was I not enough? Was he better?”

“He is nothing,” she managed, desperation tinging her voice, her whole being. She reached out to touch him, but he jerked his arm away.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Nothing? Why would you do this, Elain? Was I not enough? Too weird? Too brown? Too low-born? Too fucked up?”

Elain stared at him in horror. She was numb. Words failed her.

He was shaking his head.

There was true sadness, dejection written on his face. Devastation.

“I was falling in love with you, Elain,” he said so softly, she barely heard the words. “For three months, I’ve been falling in love with you. I’ve loved everything about you. I knew that the hammer would drop…One day, it would drop because it’s not like this could ever be,” he made a wide gesture with his hand.

He stopped the car next to her house.

“But I thought that it would be me. That I’d fuck up somehow and you’d dump me. Which would be…expected…”

He sighed, his breath so ragged it sounded like a sob.

“But I didn’t expect this. Truly. Though looking back, I don’t know why I didn’t?” he shrugged. “That’s what Mor did—the only other one I thought that I loved. But we were young and stupid, so…” he was looking out the window, seemingly talking to himself, not to her anymore. “But now I am almost thirty and for once, I thought that maybe, just maybe, this one time, I’d get what I want.”

Elain was weeping silently, fat tears pouring onto her hands, dripping off her face.

“I wanted you more than anything, Elain.”

Elain. Elain. Elain.

She hated that he called her Elain.

She hated that he didn’t use his usual endearments with her, that she was no longer his ‘baby’ nor his ‘love’. She wasn’t his ‘gorgeous’ or his ‘beautiful’. She was just Elain.

There was no warmth in his voice. Only some kind of hollowed emptiness, instead of the usual teasing smirk, the undercurrent of humour and love, of tender softness that he always used with her. Only with her.

“You can have me,” she managed finally through her sobs. “You can ha--…”

He finally turned his head and looked at her, that gaze dark and pitiless.

“I am not sure I want you anymore. We’ll coordinate the wedding situation and we’ll be civil to each other, for Feyre and Rhys’s sakes. Goodbye Elain.”

She sat there. He waited. Then, with a groan, he got out and went to open the door for her.

As she stepped out of the car, she begged one more time, “Azriel. Please. Please just allow me the opportunity to talk to you,” she wiped her face, with her fist.

It destroyed him completely.

He didn’t know what to do with himself, as he tracked her movement, that childish, simple, raw flick of her fist over her eyes. It wasn’t the modelled, reserved, dab-the-eye practiced move that you saw on reality shows, the fake tears, the faux sadness.

This was Elain; sorrowful, devastated, begging.

“Please,” she pleaded again.

“I asked you to call it off,” he reminded her. “I begged you. You didn’t.”

She choked on a sob.

“You threw it in my face, Elain. This random man, whom you also led on, by the way. Led him believe that you were interested. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I am too old for this…Allow me the opportunity to just deal with this break up—or whatever it is—however I can. We both need to move on.”

He’d never left a crying woman on a sidewalk.

But he’d also never been in love before. And his heart had never been broken like this.

 ********************

 Azriel

 Nuala Gennaro has been trying to reach her boss for three days, to no avail.

He didn’t respond to texts, or to calls. He didn’t show up to work. He wasn’t at the garage, at the tattoo shop, or his design studio. He didn’t seem to be home either, because she drove by his loft a few times and the windows remained dark.

She had keys to his house, but that was a violation of privacy that she didn’t feel like engaging in just yet. Was this an emergency? He gave her the key for ‘emergencies’. Was this one? A healthy, 29-year-old handsome man disappearing for three days didn’t seem like an emergency, but still, Nuala was concerned.

She was going to give him one more day, and if he was still AWOL then she’d begin to worry.

Azriel was responsible. Whatever was happening in his life typically did not reflect on his work ethic. Besides, he was usually so guarded and seemingly unemotional, it was hard to say if he was affected by anything. Nuala had met him in high school—a beautiful, quiet, mysterious boy who looked like a fallen angel and who seemed unusually confident and astute for his age.

They reconnected after he and his brothers returned from the Navy. He was darker and quieter than she remembered, and hardened in his manner and bearing, and had a haunted look in his eyes which worried Nuala for quite some time. She’d been apprenticing as a tattoo artist and they’d met to discuss her joining his venture. She wasn’t sure if this whole garage/restaurant/tattoo parlour for rich people thing was going to be feasible or even realistic, but Azriel believed in the concept and somehow, got her enflamed by his passion as well. They’d slept together over the years, but even if she would have wanted more, he wasn’t willing to give it to her. Azriel went through women with the determination to conquer, mild interest and lack of follow up. But he never gave any of himself to them. Pleasure—yes. Self—no. So, Nuala had decided—staying with him and in his life, in his business, as his protégé and associate was more important than having him as a lover, even if he was by far the best lover she’d ever had.

The only thing that did seem to affect him—deeply, powerfully—was Elain Archeron.

Nuala didn’t think that it would happen. Didn’t think that Azriel was a man to fall in love so passionately, so completely, and even if he was denying it to himself, Nuala knew him well enough to know the truth. And whatever happened between him and Elain, approximately a week ago or so, truly devastated him.

Prior to his disappearance, he operated as if he was in some sort of fog. He answered questions, he gave instructions and directions, he did whatever was expected of him—met with clients, held meetings with his car suppliers, negotiated deals—but his heart was not in it. His beloved business was no longer his priority, and that confounded Nuala, for she had never seen him like this before.

She arrived early, earlier than usual, because she needed to get crackin’. Without Azriel, things seemed…tighter…more difficult. She’d never noticed it, but somehow, he carried this business, made it seem easy, and she falsely believed that it was a walk in the park. Gods, it wasn’t! It was busy, and difficult, and required constant attention and decision making, and reports only piled on her desk—financials, inventory, guest lists, requests, specs. It was endless.

Azriel’s office, a glass cube perched at the top of the building and overlooking everything below, the entire operation, was very dimply lit this early morning. Cassian installed one-way floor to ceiling windows in the office, so no one could look inside, but Azriel was able to see everything, if he so desired.

Nuala climbed the industrial-style stairs and opened the door without knocking.

At first, she thought that there was a fire. The office was entirely engulfed in smoke, but before she could hit the alarm button, nauseatingly pungent stench of tobacco assaulted her nostrils.

“What the hell?!” she exclaimed, rubbing her eyes, and rushing to open the outside windows. She left the door open as well, to encourage some sort of ventilation.

“What the hell,” she muttered again, finally making out Azriel in the dimness, who was sprawled on the leather sofa, in jeans and boots and a black t-shirt, his arm hanging listlessly to the floor, a cigarette between his fingers. On the floor, an almost empty bottle of Jameson’s and an overflowing ashtray, stuffed to the brim with butts. Tom Waits’s insanely gravelly, bourbon-and-tobacco-soaked voice filled the space as well.

“Wow,” she crossed her arms on her chest. “Wow.”

“Why are you here so early?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Funny thing—my boss disappeared for three days. Four days, actually. No word. No text. No call. No email. No warning. No idea whether he is dead or alive. So yes, it’s made for some early mornings for some of us.”

No answer.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette and said nothing.

“What the fuck, Az?”

“Like you said,” he shrugged indifferently, “I am the boss. I don’t have to report to anyone.”

Nuala bit her lip, but did not retort in the way she wanted to retort.

“Where were you?” she inquired calmly.

“Vegas.”

“Vegas?”

“Rhys’s Bachelor Party.”

“Oh.”

“I won money. It’s somewhere,” he glanced around absently. “Give it to some charity…”

“Which one?”

“I don’t care.”

“Fine.”

She didn’t push him. But added, “you can’t smoke here.”

“It’s my shop,”

“Even though. State and city regulations.”

He put out his cigarette compliantly.

“It’s 5 am. When did you start drinking?” she asked, pointing to the bottle.

He gave a lazy glance and shrugged,

“Technically, I didn’t stop drinking…It’s been a few hours…”

She was shaking her head.

He stared into the ceiling blindly, wordlessly.

Nuala didn’t know, but she also knew. So she took pity on him.

“Az,”

“I’d like to be alone now.”

“I will leave you alone,” she promised. “But…” she let out a whoosh of air, preparing herself. “Elain,”

He didn’t react.

“Elain is downstairs.”

To that he did react. He sat up so quickly, she didn’t track the movement with her eyes.

“I found her on the steps, outside,” said Nuala. “She looks like hell. I barely recognized her.”

“Why is she here?” he asked stupidly.

“I think you should probably ask her that. She wouldn’t come inside,” Nuala explained. “She said that she’s been sitting outside since 4 am, hoping to catch you.”

But Azriel was already out the door, sprinting down the stairs, making Nuala gasp, as he took three at a time, and she feared that he’d fall down on the concrete floor and break every bone in his body.

It was only five in the morning, and the streets, even NYC streets, were empty.

It was drizzling, a summer thunderstorm about to erupt.

Elain was sitting on the doorstep, arms wrapped around her knees, huddling into herself in the morning chill.

“Elain,”

She jumped up and turned to him.

He never saw her like this—wrecked. Utterly devastated. Wilted.

His lovely flower girl, his little rose, his darling beauty—wilted. Instead of her usual colouring of pink and golden, caramel and honey and cream, she looked black and white. Like everything was leeched out of her, every spark, all joy, each remarkable hue.

They did not greet each other. She just looked at him, and,

“I’ve hurt you,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady, the tone firm. “I know that. And you can leave and discard me, and you have every right,”

Azriel just stood there, looking at her, unable to get enough. Thinking that there was a possibility that this was going to be one of their last conversations. And that possibility was unacceptable to him. It was intolerable.

The rain began to fall.

Azriel moved under the awning, angling his body so she would come and stand under it as well, but she didn’t move.

Steady droplets pounded the pavement, giving off that fresh smell of wet asphalt. The air was heavy and humid and felt unsettled, like it was preparing for a torrent.

“But know this one thing,” she continued, staring at him, unblinking, eyes brimming with tears. “I fell in love with you on Saturday, May 9th, at 7:14 in the morning. I had loved you every moment of my life since then. I will love you every moment of my life until I die. Nothing will ever change that. I don’t speak to you as some besotted, inexperienced girl, who is smitten by a handsome man…I speak to you from my soul. You have my heart, Azriel. Every broken and sad piece of me, you’ve managed to put together with your beautiful, scarred hands. I will never ask for anything of you—not even a word back, but I needed you to know this. I want you know that I’ve never loved anyone, no man, no being, not my sisters or my parents, as much as I love you. All my joy, my peace, my dreams are connected to you. You are the first thing I think of when I wake up, and the last when I fall asleep—and then I dream of you. I don’t care if you know this, but I’ve built up my whole life around you in my head, all my fantasies are about you. All I want is to love you. That is all. Not very ambitious, I know,” she wiped the tears that were flooding her face, mixing with the rain, “but I can’t think of anything that would ever bring me more happiness, more satisfaction than to love you. And…” she choked a quiet sob, “if you don’t want me—that is alright…I want you to be happy. And if I don’t make you happy, then, so be it, but,”

Azriel couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t contain his bursting breath, his aching heart. Every bit of him felt electrified, wild, untamed.

He grabbed her, his arm pressing her soaking wet body to him, the rain pouring over them, and she trembled and sobbed next to him. Such indescribable hope in her eyes. That maybe, just maybe, it would all turn out like her fantasies.

He cupped her wet, pale face in his palm and murmured,

“You want me?”

Her trembling fingers traced his cheekbone and she nodded mutely.

“Say it,” he groaned.

“I want you,” she whispered.

“Say more,” he begged. “Say everything.”

“I love you. I choose you. I want you.”

He soaked it all up. Every breath. Every word. Every emotion on her face.

“Well,” he muttered, “if we are keeping score…then I fell in love with you on Tuesday, May 5th, at 4:47 in the afternoon.”

She laughed through her tears, clutching at him with desperate hands, as if fearing that he would disappear. Turn around and leave her.

But he wasn’t going anywhere. Ever.

He was exactly where he wanted to be. Yearned to be all his life.

“First glance, baby,” he lovingly caressed her face, “first glance. Love at first sight.”

She kissed the tips of his fingers.

“You are my home, Elain,” he wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him, her cheek pressed to his chest, his hand cradling her head, “my favourite person in my life. With you, all things are possible. Sometimes, I feel like I can fly. Like I’ve grown wings and I hear the song of the wind. But I think that it’s just your voice in my head. You won’t leave, right?”

She chuckled and shook her head, “No. Never.”

“Because this week,” he shuddered, “it’s like I lost a limb…There was this phantom reminder of you, always within me, and yet, you weren’t there. I couldn’t reach and find you next to me. I’ve never felt such emptiness,” he brought her hand to his chest and lay it on her booming heart, “there was nothing here,” he pressed her hand closer, and she felt the steady beat, “empty…You weren’t with me, and there was nothing left.

“I think I’ve been in love with you—forever. I don’t even believe in past lives or other worlds, but sometimes I feel like I’ve known you for eternity.”

She raised her face to him, surprise and awareness in her red-rimmed eyes,

“I feel the same. Az, I’ve always felt the same thing!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she nodded vigorously, “when we held hands the first time, when we just met, I recognized your touch. I knew your scars. It was all familiar to me, like stepping back into my own home, after a long absence. Reacquainting myself with something that I already loved.”

He cupped her face in his hands and asked,

“May I kiss you?”

“You have to kiss me,” she smiled a happy, luminous smile at him. “I’ve waited for a long time for you to kiss me.”

Azriel smiled, and looked up, rain drenching his face and their bodies.

“Are we really going to do this? In the pouring rain?”

She was grinning, smiling happily, nodding, “All the cliches in the world!”

He clasped her jaw in his hand, wrapping his other arm tighter about her.

“I loved when you kissed me at the party,” she admitted, a little breathless.

“Yes?” he murmured and then dipped his head, and gently pressed his lips to her throat.

Elain shuddered against him, her breasts, nicely full, round and soft pressed tightly against his chest, and she sighed her pleasure.

“Like that?” he whispered against her cold, wet skin, and she half-moaned, nodding. So he kissed her neck again, on the other side, raking his teeth gently along the warm, pulsating vein. He kissed along her collarbones, tender and sweet, but with acute intention. Her breasts moved against his chest, their shirts nor her bra providing much of a barrier between his skin and her firm, swollen nipples.

Up her throat he went with his lips, kissing softly, until he pulled away for a moment, their breaths mingling, warm next to each other. He tilted her face just so, to have better access to her full mouth, and then kissed the plump lower lip. She clutched at his shirt and pulled him closer, the rain forgotten, the world encapsulated in his mouth, in the loving pressure of his lips against hers.

Elain looked irresistible. In his arms, where, let’s face it, she belonged, with her cheeks finally, finally taking on the familiar rosy blush.

Azriel, all 6”4 or “5 of the dark, bestial sexiness of him was wrapped around her. The low, sensual purr that he emitted turned into something more primal, hungrier when his mouth moulded into hers. The base, animalistic attractiveness of him, the bronze arms, the thick markings of his tattoos all over his skin, slithering like shadows, was almost too much for Elain to handle all at once, and she moaned, loud, and desperate against his lips. He brushed his nose against her cheek, and then nose to nose, and she was so stupidly needy for him that she struggled to stay upright. He brushed his fingertips over her lips, squeezing them between his and her own, and she licked on the pad of his thumb, laving some of the scars with the tip of her tongue.

Gods, this man could kiss.

Brutal, savage and noble--all amalgamated into one indescribable, unforgettable experience. Hungry and knowing, agonizingly slow, he devoured her mouth like it was some succulent, exotic fruit that he’s been craving. His lips explored her thoroughly, unhurriedly, tasting and savouring, caressing and worshipping. It was she who slipped her tongue inside his mouth, tentatively at first, but then gaining in boldness and confidence, especially once he sucked her in and stroked it with his own. He tasted of something masculine: alcohol, maybe, deep and rich and smokey, and tobacco, certainly, which, surprisingly, she enjoyed, but also something sexual. If Elain ever thought that she could taste passion, this lazy, indulgent sucking of his tongue on hers was exactly that. He groaned into her mouth, low and hot, and then licked on her tongue, with sensual playfulness which she loved.

She was hot in his arms, against his towering, heated body, and even the pouring rain couldn’t cool her off. The slabs of his abdominal muscles pressed into her belly and she was growing positively addicted to having him so close to her, his massive strength enveloping her so nicely, cushioning her against him. Nothing in her life has ever felt so wonderful, so sublime as Azriel felt in her arms.

Their kiss went on and on, heady and glorious, with him exploring every bit of her mouth with his tongue and lips, his hands caressing her body unobtrusively.

“Gods, I want to kiss you for eternity,” he moaned, tearing himself away from her lips at last.

She was panting, glassy-eyed, in love. He squeezed her face between his palms, looking down at her, her happiness, the unabashed joy in her eyes.

He’d finally made someone happy.

“Okay,” she agreed easily.

He smiled and kissed her again, then again, his lips creating a certain magic between his mouth and her skin and their bodies.

Elain had fought for him.

She didn’t give up. Didn’t shrug it all off. Didn’t leave in anger or panic. His absence meant something to her—perhaps, meant more than he could understand. He knew the misery of not having her in his life. It was only a week, but it was a week of pure hell. Now, he assumed that it wasn’t only he who felt that gaping chasm in his heart. She, for some inexplicable reason, loved him. Of that, he was certain.

“Now, I think we’ve satisfied any girl’s quota of romantic cheesiness,” he decided and she laughed, slapping his bicep lightly. He kissed her softly, “and I am taking you inside,” he said.

Elain only now realized that her feet haven’t been touching the asphalt for the duration of the kiss. She was literally floating aboveground, in his arms, in the throes of their first kiss.

The cheesiness quotient has been achieved indeed.

“Will you kiss me more?” she asked, as he swung her in his arms and carried her inside the shop.

“I am confident that I will never stop kissing you,” he assured and made his way up the stairs, to the office, clutching the dripping mess that she was in his arms.

She’s been here before, but he brought her straight into the attached bathroom, which was appointed outlandishly, and with a nice shower too.

“Get in there,” he ordered, “now. Before you catch a cold because of your love for kissing in the rain,”

She giggled, kiss-drunk and toed off her soaking wet converse that smacked limply on the tiled floor.

“But what am I going to wear?”

“My clothes, obviously,” he shrugged. “Unless you don’t want to, which is fine, because naked is just fine by me. Actually, preferred,”

She snickered, but looked at him, a little uncertain, and he rolled his eyes and muttered, “yes, yes, I will leave! Don’t worry. Though you know, I will eventually see everything anyway. So your modesty is misplaced on me.”

Azriel was correct. A hot shower was perfect. Despite it being late August, standing under pouring rain wasn’t as much fun as they made it seem in the movies.

The door opened and he came in, “here is some stuff for you.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, probably a little sultrier than she intended, and he winked, “Nice ass!”

“Ugh, stop looking!” she croaked, but he only laughed.

“You are the one with the bare butt!”

Then, he scratched his chin and bit his lip, making no move to leave.

“Az!” she exclaimed, blushing, but also kind of … intrigued.

“This is a very, very, very nice ass,” he muttered to himself, but loud enough for her to hear. Her blush only intensified, when he said, “the things I am going to do with it. Mmmm,” he rubbed his lower lip with his thumb, as if contemplating what he will be doing with her butt and then finally walked out, shaking his head.

When Elain emerged from the bathroom, with her hair wrapped in the towel and wearing Azriel’s t-shirt and shorts, she found him in a leather chair, sipping coffee. He’d also changed and his hair was mussed and damp, his bare feet crossed at the ankles, resting on a leather stool.

“There is coffee for you,” he jerked his chin towards a marble coffee table that had a basket of pastries and two large cups of coffee.

He marked everything.

How she looked in his clothes, which were much too big on her, yet cozy, though the shorts that she wore were hilarious, reaching below her knee.

How she brought him his coffee first, before taking her cup.

How she sat on the stool, by his feet and crossed her legs, before giving him a croissant and biting into her own.

“Have you warmed up?” he asked, sipping his coffee. Chugging gallons of coffee American style wasn’t his thing—he preferred quick, small espressos, but this giant cup did take the chill away.

She nodded.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked.

She tensed right away, and he said, “All is forgiven, I swear. “

She eyed him suspiciously, nevertheless.

He smiled at her, and added, “But...I think that I need to understand what happened? Did I do something to,”

“No!” she exclaimed immediately. “No. It was nothing you did. Never think that it was you,”

“Alright,” he said calmly. “Then what was it?”

She didn’t look up from her cup, running a finger over the rim.

“Talk to me, love,” he encouraged softly.

“You’ve consumed me, Azriel,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “From the moment I saw you, you’ve consumed me. And I guess…” she sighed, “I was stupid…a stupid, stupid person because I didn’t know,”

“What?”

“Whether I was infatuated, or in love with you. So I thought that maybe, if I expose myself to another man, even in some minor way, I might be able to tell what I feel,”

“And? Did you?”

“Dorian…” she swallowed nervously, “he is a nice guy. He is in Law School with Nesta—that’s how I know him. When he asked to go to dinner, and I said yes,”

She looked up at him, tears threatening to spill out from her eyes,

“And I felt nothing,” she admitted, her voice broken somehow. “I could only think of you. The entire time, I could only think of you and I knew that it wasn’t fair to him…”

Azriel agreed, “probably not”.

“And I knew that I’d made a colossal mistake… But,” she set her cup on the floor and squeezed her fingers. “I…”

She halted. Said nothing else.

Azriel waited.

“What?” he probed, sensing that there was something she wasn’t telling him. He reached for her, but she only shrunk into herself.

“Elain, what is it?” he pressed.

She blushed and murmured, “promise me you won’t leave me, if I tell you.”

His brow furrowed, “Please,” he begged, “tell me what’s going? You are legit scaring me right now.”

“You won’t lea--,”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I am not leaving you, no matter what. But are you alright?”

She pulled her hair from the towel and it spilled over her shoulders, half-obscuring her face. He reached and tucked the wet strands behind her ears, so he could see her face.

“Talk to me, baby,” he urged gently.

She exhaled and then said, looking straight at him,

“I’ve never been with a man, Az.”

He looked at her and then blurted, absurdly, “Like a virgin? But you are so hot!”

She couldn’t help and burst out laughing.

“I guess not hot enough,” she shrugged, a bit more relaxed about the situation now that he seemed relieved and smirking too.

He exhaled, deeply, bubbling his lips, “Phew…I thought it was something,” he shook his head, not able to express his relief. “Important…Something, I don’t know, serious?”

“What would be serious?”

“I don’t even know,” he admitted, “but certainly more serious than a hymen!”

He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

“And I appreciate you telling me,” he said seriously, kissing the inside of her hand, but then, that glint in his eyes returned and he asked, “so did you want the hunky Dorian to deflower you?”

She pushed at him with her foot and he fell back dramatically in his chair,

“Auuu, you are so unbelievably violent!” he complained, rubbing his side.

“I can be even more violent!” she threatened.

He was laughing, but then he caught her feet in his hands and squeezed them gently, holding them on his lap.

“So you didn’t have boyfriends in high school? In college?” he asked at last, genuinely perplexed.

She sighed and explained,

“In high school I was dating Luce,”

“You were dating a girl?” his brow furrowed. “I didn’t know,”

She started to laugh,

“No! Luce is a man. Lucien,”

“Oh…Oh. Every time you mentioned Luce, I just assumed he was a she.”

“No, he is my best friend. The closest friend I’ve ever had, besides maybe Nesta. We’ve always been close and then in high school, we began dating,” she tugged on her wet hair, “or rather, go on dates.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I didn’t know either—not in the beginning. But then, when we were juniors in 11th grade, he came out, to me only.”

“Ahhh,”

“Lucien’s step-father is really horrible. Like, awful. Physically abusive to all his sons, and always fancied himself this alpha male. So for Lucien to come out to him would have been suicide.

“We agreed that we’d continue our ‘dating’, until we graduate, and Luce was looking at schools only in California. As far as possible from here, from Beron.”

“And you were…okay with it?” he inquired, gently massaging her feet.

She shrugged, “I suppose I was. Luce and I had a good relationship,”

“But it was without any,”

“Intimacy,” she nodded. “I don’t know, I suppose it was enough…My mother had died recently and we lost most of our money, so I guess dating and boyfriends weren’t a priority, if I am being honest.”

He nodded with understanding.

“And college?”

“I had a boyfriend,” her voice wobbled a little, “but he…”

The heavy gaze that Azriel levelled at her told her that he already guessed.

“Sometimes,” she said, “when you are in the situation, you don’t see the warning signs,”

“Did he hit you?” his voice, so cold and menacing, sent a chill down her body.

She shook her head, “No. It didn’t get that far…Cass interfered,”

“Cass?”

“We’ve known Cass for at least a year,” she reminded him, “before he started dating Nesta. He spent a lot of time with us, at the house, because I think he didn’t want to part with Nesta,”

Azriel smiled, “No he didn’t. He wouldn’t stop talking about her for a year…I’d never seen him like that. First Rhys, then Cassian…Guess there is something special about these Archeron sisters,” he decided and stroked her face lovingly, smiling at her. She tucked his palm between her cheek and shoulder and kissed it.

“They do have a tendency to fall in love with the three brothers,” she agreed.

“Yes, they do.”

“Cass, he called us ‘his girls’—Feyre and I. Always asking after ‘his girls’, bringing us presents, doing fun things with us. And I came to love him so much,” she sighed. “And I know that he truly loves us too…But you know Cass—he is a no-nonsense kind of a guy. So once, he observed Graysen with me,”

“Graysen?” Azriel rolled his eyes. “That’s a horrible fucking name,”

She laughed,

“It matched his personality. But you know, on paper, he looked great. Handsome, good family, money,”

“So basically Dorian?”

Elain rolled her eyes,

“You are never going to have me live this down, will you?”

“Not for a while.”

“At least you are honest. Gray, he just…didn’t care, I guess? It was all about him. When I’d talk about opening my shop, it would just be a plain ‘no’. He’s put me down…” she sighed, “sometimes comment on my weight—I was either too fat or too thin.” Azriel flinched at that. She continued, “He’d tell me what to eat. What to wear. Where to go,”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered.

Then, he sat up straight in the chair and opened his arms to her.

“Come here.”

Elain, a bit unsure, and a bit rattled by the memories, moved towards him. He cupped her face in his broad scarred hands and said, “All in the past. Now, it’s just you and me.”

She nodded, gently squeezing his wrists. He leaned in closer and she nodded. His sort of power, the more aggressive and primal, and seemingly more dominant than what Graysen could ever conjure up, did not scare Elain at all. He beckoned and seduced her with that pursuit and challenge, but he did not frighten or oppress. It was similar to what Cassian possessed and how he managed to seduce Nesta with it, turned her compliant to his demand and instruction, or Lorcan with Elide. Azriel’s power, his seduction, were more cerebral, his affection passionate, but controlled. Elain could abandon herself to him, and yet she knew that she’d never be abused or taken advantage of, no matter how much control she relinquished.

This kiss was sultry and voluptuous, and it felt dirtier, heavier than their first one. He sucked her lips, is tongue softly grinding against her in a smouldering, almost smug rhythm. He fucked into her mouth steadily, and purposefully, rendering her completely breathless in his arms almost instantly, forcing all thoughts of previous loves and heartaches out of her head. She made a tiny, strangled noise deep inside her throat and squeezed his wrists harder.

“Tell me things, baby,” he muttered heatedly against her lips, thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

She smiled, “what things would you like to hear?” He kissed her softly, lips pecking on hers playfully, and said, “all the things…all the good things that you told me before,”

“That I love you?” she asked simply, looking at him with earnest, undimming desire.

“Yes,” he groaned, pulling her closer to him, until she was straddling his thighs, her legs naturally falling on either side of him. A desperate moan escaped his lips, as Elain licked on them with the tip of her tongue, before he demanded, between kisses and caresses of his tongue in her parted mouth, “more,”

“I love you. I love you,” she breathed, then panted, “you are mine…I am yours. Forever, if you’d like,”

“I’d like forever,” he agreed.

She pulled away, her soft, lovely face serious,

“Az,”

“Elain,”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” she asked, and he grinned, nodding. She sounded absurdly solemn about this, like she was signing a business contract. “I love you. I want you to be my boyfriend,”

“Alright, babygirl, I will be your boyfriend,” he nodded easily.

“No jokes.”

“No jokes.”

He then said in turn, “But you’ll be mine.”

She nodded.

“In every way,” he added, in a tone that did not allow space for much argument. “Body,” and he lightly ran his knuckles against the side of her breast, and she nodded. He added, “but I want more,”

“What do you want, Az?”

“Love,” he said simply.

She kissed him. “I love you,” she said.

He waited.

“I chose you, Azriel, the moment I saw you. When my heart dropped at the sight of you, and when everything fell into place. I don’t mind choosing you for the rest of my life, if you have me,” she murmured shyly.

“I will have you,” he agreed, her admission making him swallow hard, a thick glob of air lodged in his throat. He might have cried, if he weren’t so happy. His flower girl. His.

He looked and looked, and considered something. She waited, silent. Silence was always a friend between the two of them. Silence was easy and unoppressive and welcome. It allowed them space, and yet they remained together in that mute, mutual understanding. While he was thinking, she took his hand and softly kissed each scarred fingertip.

“I am calling on my bargain,” he declared suddenly, and stroked her head.

Confused, she scrunched her face and muttered, “what?”

He grabbed her behind in his strong hands and somehow, managed to rise up, with her clutching at him. His nose burrowed into her ear and she squirmed, giggling, when he grunted, “what a nice little ass!”

“You seem to like it,” she laughed, wrapping her arms around him.

“I love it!”

“Now what about this bargain?” she reminded him, a bit concerned. “What are we doing?”

“Whatever I want!”

“Az!”

“Lainey.”

He headed for the door, with her in his arms, and she screeched, “I don’t even have shoes on!”

“You don’t need shoes where we are going,”

“Azriel!”

“Why are you so fussy?” he mused, smirking, as he made it down the stairs.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“I don’t have to tell you. All I promised was that it’s not going to be ‘bad’ whatever that means.”

She sighed, shaking her head, muttering under her breath. He, in turn, very much enjoyed her clutching at him, her body in his arms, her wet hair swiping over his arm. She looked very cute, if very ridiculous in his clothes, and frankly, he was too elated, too disbelieving that this was even real, to let her go. He held her and nuzzled at her neck, at her face, sometimes returning to her beautiful mouth.

He carried her through the still-empty premises, though waiters at the bar and delivery people in the kitchen were starting their day. When they saw their boss carrying a woman, who frequently visited him here in the past few months, they pretended not to notice, as if this was a normal affair. In fact, no other woman ever came here, to visit him. He’s never been seen with a woman, never said that he had a girlfriend, even if women seemed to lose their minds in his presence. But until this one—absolutely not the type of a woman he typically attracted—he never allowed anyone to get close to him.

Azriel made his way into the cavernous insides of the building, at last entering the tattoo shop that he had on premises. It was elegantly outfitted and bore his usual aesthetic—restrained, modern, striking with its use of black, white, and splashes of cobalt.

Elain looked around, when he set her down and pointed out, “I’ve been here before.”

He nodded.

As she wandered about, looking at various lithographs and prints with unique tattoo designed, she finally stopped abruptly and whirled to him,

“No!”

He was laughing under his breath.

“No!” she exclaimed again.

“No what?” he winked, sitting down on a stool, and patting on a leather recliner beside it.

“You…” she fumed. “No!”

He tsked, “A bargain is a bargain.”

“Azriel!” she stomped her foot.

He crossed his arms on his chest and looked at her, “Elain.”

“I am not getting a tattoo!”

“You most certainly are. Stop being a wuss and come here.”

“I am not going to,” she insisted.

“You know,” he notified her conversationally, as he started to prep his equipment, “a shitty little Bagarat tattoo is like $800 bucks,”

“Congratulations. Give it to someone else,” she offered, scowling. “Maybe someone would like a sleeve for twenty grand!”

“I won’t give you a sleeve. Jeez, you’ll probably faint at the first prick,”

She huffed, “I will not!”

He shrugged.

She pressed, “I will not. I am not afraid of needles and I have a high pain tolerance.”

“Lots of talk, babe, no action,”

Stomping angrily, she crossed the open space and challenged, “do you even know how to tattoo?”

“Cass and Rhys…” he winked. “And whenever Rowan decides to add to his collection…Or Gavriel,”

Those were some of the finest, most intricate designs that Elain’s ever seen.

“You did those?” she asked, brow furrowed.

He nodded.

“They are beautiful,” she whispered.

“Will you trust me?” his voice softened and he extended his hand to her.

Elain sighed and then slid on the lounge chair. It was comfortable. She was nervous.

“What will it be?” she asked. “May I see it?”

Wordlessly, he pulled a piece of paper from a folder, but then did not give it to her. She waited. He suddenly seemed uncertain, almost shy.

“Az,” she said gently, “may I see it? I am sure it’s beautiful.”

He swallowed and then explained, “I traced it the first day…evening…When we met, and you were here, at the garage. I,” he exhaled and then looked at her, “anyway…I was overwhelmed, I guess. I fell in love with you and all I could think of was you.”

The words warmed her up, and everything in her softened at his nervousness, at his admission.

“I want it,” she took the paper from him.

“It’s just for you,” he clarified. “It’s unique to you. I needed to quiet my brain and capture the essence of you, and this was it,”

Elain looked at the drawing. It was smaller than she expected, and rendered masterfully—an absolutely exquisite flower cradled in an embrace of two wings.

He swallowed tightly, and then said, “It’s called On the Wings of Desire.”

Without saying anything, Elain pulled up the shirt that she was wearing, just up to her chest. He looked down at her, expectantly.

She put her hand under her left breast, where her heart was and said, “there. I need it there.”

He nodded, remaining silent.

She saw that this was important to him, some ritual that he desired for her to go through, some sort of marking. That’s what it was. It dawned on her, at last. This was his mark, on her. He was going to do it himself, put a part of him, of his creation, of his work, not just on her skin, but within her blood, into her.

She clasped his hand and his eyes flew to her, a shadow of apprehension and anxiety in them, probably as much emotion as he’d be willing to show. He feared that she’d changed her mind.

“Az,” she licked her lip, suddenly nervous to request this of him. “Can you,”

“What?”

“Can you do it on you as well?” she proposed quietly.

He, it seemed, was unable to verbalize what he needed to, so she helped him, “Same spot, alright? Across your heart. So you know that I am always with you, as you are with me.”

He nodded vigorously, clearly relieved and absolutely in love with her proposition.

“Who will do it?” she wondered. “Please don’t ask me!” she laughed.

He smirked. “Nuala. She will do it. Only Nuala or Rowan tattoo me.”

She nodded and then relaxed back into the leather.

“No crying,” he said.

“Alright,” she shrugged. “Kind of weird that you are this sensitive to pain, but okay. I’ll hold your hand.”

He was laughing.

“I thought only Nesta had a big mouth like that,” he said, as he prepped the skin and pulled on his gloves.

“Mistake number one,” teased Elain.

“I am seeing that now,”

He then said, “Okay, I may accidentally brush against the boobie,”

“How accidentally?” she chuckled, while he pressed the outline into her skin. Then, the needle began its wheezing and Elain winced, as the first prick of the needle stung her skin.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” it was more painful than she expected, and she figured that the spot that she selected was probably not the best and would hurt more than an arm or a leg, but she was set on it.

“Absolutely, totally accidentally,” he lied. “You are the one who chose the spot,” he pointed out.

Elain was a trooper. She did not make any hissing noises or any sounds at all throughout the tattooing. The shading was the longest and most painful part, and even then, she remained composed and only winced a few times.

“I am sorry,” he murmured repeatedly, especially when a bit of blood seeped onto her skin.

“Prick your finger,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Prick your finger,”

“And?”

The soft doe-eyes blinked at him a few times, and she said, “I think you know what to do.”

So he did. He pricked his finger and mixed his blood with hers.

 Nuala offered to tattoo ‘No Regerts’ on Azriel’s chest, if Elain so desired. She considered it, while Nuala explained that Azriel was now at their mercy and they could do whatever they wanted to him. At the end, he walked away with only a small tattoo over his heart.

 It was about 8 am when Azriel and Elain left the garage. The sun was shining and there were no remnants of the previous storms. It was like it never happened. But it did happen. Everything happened.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, slinging his heavy, muscled arm around her shoulders. She’s been clutching at her side the whole time.

She shook her head no and looked at him. He smiled and then kissed her.

“I love you,” he murmured suddenly. Elain’s face broke into a loving smile and she reciprocated by kissing him back. “Let’s go home.”

[upsetting-candles]

“Victor, straighten your tie.” Mrs. Van Dort’s voice jerked Victor from his thoughts as she reached forward and grabbed him by the shirt collar before he had a chance to react, tightening the offending piece of material so tightly around his neck that he nearly choked before his mother was happy with his appearance. She brushed imaginary lint off his shoulder and turned to go harangue his poor father about his own attire. As soon as she closed the door behind her he loosened the tie and inhaled deeply before sinking into a chair. He hadn’t felt this tired in a long time; anxiety and worry pressing down on him all night, demanding his focus and keeping him awake when he wanted nothing more than to sleep it off.

He would be getting married tomorrow. He knew nothing more about the woman who was to be his bride except for a name. Victoria. Victoria Everglot. He wished that was all he needed to be happy with his parent’s decision but it wasn’t. Did she like music? Did she like to read? Did she like to take walks and stop to take in the flora and fauna? They were simple questions, he knew, and he knew that if he asked his mother and father they would laugh and tell him it didn’t matter… but it did. He knew deep down that his parents meant well even if their reasoning seemed a bit selfish at first glance. He knew that this marriage would benefit them all but what if he didn’t… couldn’t love her? The thought nagged at him well into the wee hours of the morning; his sheets twisting around his ankles like something malevolently alive.

Of course he’d thought of numerous bullet points he could make in favor of his own argument. One, he was thirty years old; an adult. Surely it fell to him to choose his own partner. Two, love was important to him. It always had been. He deserved to at least meet her before they said their vows. Three– Well, it didn’t matter. He had always been much braver in his head. Those thoughts, as wild as they had been, would never leave his mouth. His mother, though she meant well, would never allow him to speak to her in defiance and his dad, though less controlling, would always agree with his wife. There was no escape. Victor sighed heavily and stood, leaning over his desk to open the window. A rush of sea air came in through the window, reviving him a bit as he pulled back. His hand rested on a small jar in which a small blue butterfly rested. He had caught it yesterday on one of his walks but it didn’t seem fair to keep it. He knew what it was liked to be trapped. At least one of them could get away. He unscrewed the lid and held the jar out the window, gently shaking it until the little bug fell loose and flew away. It was beautiful and he was alone. He watched it long after it vanished, wishing he could go with it as he fiddled with the cuffs of his suit. He wanted, more than anything, to belief that his parents would never steer him wrong… but something didn’t feel right and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was irrevocably wrong. Still, it wouldn’t do to be full of doom and gloom on the day before his… his wedding. He adjusted his cuffs and tie one last time before heading downstairs, a soft smile on his dark features. He would be fine…. Wouldn’t he?

___ He really should have been paying attention to his surroundings but he was easily sucked into his own thoughts and his own imagination. He was thinking about the blue butterfly when they pulled to a stop in front of the Everglot estate. It was dark; austere, and looking at it made his stomach do uncomfortable somersaults but he got out and ran a hand through his wild hair regardless of how he felt because that was what he was expected to do. His parents joined him and his mom reached up, pinching at his cheeks before he had a moment to process what exactly was happening. “Ow!” He gently took her hands and pried them off his face, only letting go when she relaxed in his grasp.

“Oh, Victor, you’re so pale! I’m just trying to get some color back in your face!” He wanted to ask her how it was possible that he could be pale but he bit back the sarcasm. Now wasn’t the time. He gently pinched at his own face until she smiled and nodded her approval at him before heading up the steps to the heavy front door of the mansion. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes as soon as her back was turned. This was ridiculous and he wished he was brave enough to say so. He just followed them inside. Unfortunately, the inside was just as gloomy as the inside, the large entry way echoing with the sounds of their footsteps as they were let inside.

They were met by the equally austere Mr. and Mrs. Everglot. Although seeing them brought Victor up short behind his parents; his parents didn’t seem to have the sense to be intimidated by them in the slightest. They just began to talk their legs off and follow them into the room beyond. Victor didn’t follow. Instead, he stood there and looked around, willing his heart to slow down. This day, while… admittedly not ideal, was special and he wanted; hoped, that he could feel good enough to enjoy it.

Once he calmed down he moved to follow them but was instantly distracted by the grand piano sitting by the stairs.

Victor had always been fond of music but his parents had frowned upon it because it didn’t help them with their fish business and he couldn’t make a living off it either. Still, he’d learned and it was a passion that he held dear to his heart; squirreling it away to comfort him when he was having a bad day. He knew he shouldn’t mess with it but he couldn’t help it, sliding onto the bench and placing his long fingers against the smooth keys.

It felt like home. He began to play and suddenly it didn’t matter. His parents, the wedding, the whole situation melted away as he played…. That is until he felt a hand rest against his. He panicked, flailing hard enough to knock a vase of flowers over on top of the piano before he had even had a chance to register who it was. Once he saw who it was, time seemed to stop.

His heart was in his throat but this time it was for a good reason. Victoria Everglot was the most beautiful person Victor had ever seen. She was tall and slender, pale with the faintest hint of pink along the apples of her cheeks like a porcelain doll. Her lips were roses he tried to keep alive in the little garden by his bedroom window. He could talk about how beautiful she was for days without ever stopping. He couldn’t deny that he would be thinking of her gentle smile for days to come and found, surprisingly, that he felt….. happy.

Of course that feeling was fleeting. They barely had time to exchange pleasantries before their parents descending on them in a flurry of anger. They were not supposed to be alone together; a chaperon a must if they wanted to spend time together. The impropriety! What would someone say if they happened to see them like that? The audacity! Victor didn’t have a chance to say anything and neither did Victoria before they were spirited away to the living area to recite the vows they’d be saying for real the following day.

It all went downhill from there.

He couldn’t remember his vows. He was shaking so hard he dropped the candle and lit the priest’s robes on fire. Mrs. Everglot was upset. His mother even more so. He wanted to apologize to Victoria but all he could do was look at her face and realize that there was nothing he could do to be worthy of her. He ran for the door and kept running until he crossed the bridge that led into town and ended up in the woods. He stopped when he couldn’t breathe, shivering in the snow as he gasped for air. He had lit a priest on fire. His incompetence astounded even himself sometime. He pulled the ring from his pocket and looked at it, inhaling deeply before he began attempting to recite his vows again. “With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way into darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine.”

With a flair, he slid the wring onto a gnarled tree branch sticking out of the snow. He couldn’t help but smile in spite of himself. Maybe this was a good sign. Maybe he would be worthy of Victoria after all one day….

He suddenly realized how still the forest was. The trees were still and no animals rustled around in the underbrush. He found himself straining to find signs of anything alive around him. He had backed up and nearly had a heart attack when something strong closed around his wrist. He looked around wildly before gasping and trying to pull away from the tree branch he’d slipped the ring on. He’d calmed down slightly when the terror was amped up to a whole new level. It wasn’t a branch at all. It was the arm and hand of a skeleton covered in dirty, tattered lace. He shrieked and yanked backwards, falling into a snowdrift with a pained, strangled sound. The hand and arm that it was attached to came with him. He tried his best to shake it off but soon realized that what ever this was, it was the least of his worried because something was starting to claw its way out from under the dirt in front of him.

Cold and filled with terror, Victor watched as the once pretty face of a girl hauled herself out of the ground; her skin a sickly blue. She was clothed in the remains of a wedding gown, the veil blowing behind her in the wind. She smiled and it did nothing to ease the horror he felt in his thundering heart as she extended her hand towards him, the ring glimmering in the light from the moon that drifted through the canopy of leaves above their heads. She spoke and he found her voice as cold and sharp as the evening air, penetrating the silence with two words. “I do!”

There were a lot of things that Victor could do in that moment. He could run, go back to his parents and apologize profusely. He could show up tomorrow and act like none of this had ever happened; pretend that it was all a dream and that everything would be okay when he woke up…. He didn’t do any of that though. Instead, with all the fear built up inside his wretched self, his eyes rolled back into their sockets and he passed out in the dirty snow.

[writing-the-end]

Chapter 34- Masked Marauders

Previous Chapter

Once again, this was all written during the first week or two of hermitcraft season 7, so none of these mega bases of the jungle hermits have been built, and unfortunately Ren hadn’t moved into the mesa yet. If he had, I’d definitely put him in since i know Ecto loves Ren! 

Speaking of Ecto, have a wee bit of Ecto angst. I feel the need to say, mostly to ease my own anxiety, that in no way to I believe any of this that I write- this is all part of the story and exclusively their minesona. Ecto is an amazing and awesome person that deserves love and good friends, and I hope none of this causes issues. But I also know we all love angst here. 

Ecto belongs to @cooler-cactus-block   (sorry the ‘at’ system won’t show up your current one)

Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland​

This isn’t the first time Ecto has gotten lost on her own. Suddenly losing sight of Scar and the others didn’t bother her. She just kept going in the direction that they were before, following the sun towards the northwest. Just like she would in her desert.

Her home. What was her home. Has the blizzard stopped? How deep is everything she ever loved, everything she ever lived for, buried? How much has survived? The desert had been Ecto’s home her whole life. It was a place for surviving, a land so different from anywhere else. Where no trees grew, where dunes replaced hills and sand replaced dirt. It was a unique place for a unique person. A person that didn’t fit in other places, that people always thought of as strange. 

Through the dense leaves, Ecto hears a noise. It sounds like a zombie, but higher pitched. A baby zombie? Those little things are fast, ankle biters with a vengeance from beyond the grave. Ecto pulls out her sword, sunlight reflecting off the enchanted iron blade in speckles that shafted through the dense canopy. The groaning is getting closer, but it’s not the only noise out there. 

She also hears a soft hush, and a chuckle being swallowed back down. She’s really started to hate this feeling, of being watched all the time. The next grumble of the high pitched zombie noise, Ecto takes off towards it. She’s done sitting and being spied on. “Face me you coward!” 

Ecto bursts through the greenery, wielding her sword to fight off the zombie. Instead, her entire body near escapes the pull of gravity when she’s the one surprised instead. A massive bird, with a yellow feathered face and red plumage jumps back at her. “Pesky bird!” 

Another, much smaller blue parrot echos the larger one, before returning to the zombie noises it’s been mimicking. Once Ecto has regained her sense of sanity, she realizes that she’s not looking at two birds. She’s looking at one bird and a human with a bird mask, blonde hair peeking out from behind the yellow and grey. While the two birds are giggling at their jumpscare, Ecto recognizes that voice. “Grian?” 

Grian pulls up his mask, wiping away the tears at his eyes. He’s embraced the Jungle Bandit lifestyle, using leaves, flowers, and feathers to make a more practical version of his hippie attire. He’s a part of the jungle, swinging from vines and foraging from the land. At least until he gets started on his first megabuild. “Ecto, is that you? What are you guys doin’ back so soon?” 

“I lost Scar.” Ecto pulls herself up from the ground, wincing as her wound stretches against the movement of her body. Blu got her good, but she’s not going to let any of her aches stop her. Scar’s bandages definitely are helping hold her together. What she wouldn’t give for some cactus to chew on though. 

“Ah, yeah this jungle is really confusing. A whole new world is confusing, period.” Grian sets his mask to the side. “So how did everything go once you guys got back to your world? Did you get to that stronghold you were looking for?” 

“Yeah, we got there. But everything went downhill from there.” Ecto groans, thinking off all the horrible things that have happened. This journey should have ended when they reached Avon’s stronghold. Instead, the worst part just began. “Most of us don’t have a home to go back to anymore. We’ve just been...walking.” 

“Wandering.” Grian hums, noting the forlorn note in Ecto’s voice. He doesn’t want to push her for more information. It sounds like it’s painful just to think about. A fresh wound, physically and emotionally. Grian isn’t very good with sad emotions, but there is something he is good at. Getting people to smile, to feel joy. And he remembers Ecto’s spunky attitude from Area 77. “Hey, do you want to help me prank some of the other hermits? I have some plans but I really need a second hand to help me out.” 

A mischievous glimmer sparks in Ecto’s eyes and soul. “You want me to help you get into trouble?” 

“I want to have fun. And there’s no harm in a little bit of trouble if it’s all good natured fun, right?” Grian picks up his mask, and even offers Ecto one as well. Green, like a cactus. 

And the jungle bandit had a partner in crime. Two pesky birds- and Professor Beak- flitted through the jungle, clambering over low trees and high vines. They return to the small pond that Grian and Scar share. Scar isn’t home, which is exactly what the two were hoping for. Larry already had his mustache, but with two cheeky minds put together he soon also grew a pair of arms to twist said stache. They flee as soon as the job is done, and the snail has gone through a sudden evolution to gain hands. 

Throughout the jungle, the two leave odd signs and statues. Roses growing from trees, markers pointing to nowhere, trees left completely bald. At one point, the two run across a strange structure in the woods. Stone and jungle wood ring the cultic center, where two fires burn at a steady, endless pace. “I have no clue what this is, and I’m afraid we may be snooping around something we shouldn’t be.” 

“You people sure like your cult initiations.” Ecto muses, before escaping the strange altar in the middle of the forest. 

With Scar already well pranked, Grian had to turn his attention to one of the many other inhabitants of the forest. The jungle bandit would strike everyone- even those he just learned are his neighbors. The pair manage to find their way to Stress’s base, devilish grins and cocky giggles reaching through the masks as they near. Professor Beak imitates them, laughing as well. 

“Oh, carrots. Don’t mind if I do.” Grian pulls up the crop, ready to be harvested. He chuckles to himself as he plants one back into the warm, moist soil. “Pesky bird. That’s why you always harvest your crop.” 

“Do husks appear in jungles as well?” Ecto questions through a mouthful of cocoa beans. She only ever had these a few times before, the sweet chocolate melting in her mouth. Grian looks over, surprised to see the tan colored zombie floating his way towards the two.

“No...he must’ve wandered into the jungle from the nearby mesa.” Grian starts to get an idea as he watches the hapless creature, so slow in the water.

Ecto perks up. Mesas mean one thing to her- cacti. “There’s a mesa nearby?” 

Ecto’s already wading through the shallow water, despite not knowing where exactly it is. “Whoa, hold up. Let’s put this lost guy to good use. Then we can check out the Mesa.” 

Grian and Ecto manage to wrangle in the lost husk. Ecto has had years of practice toying with the mindless mummies, and kiting this one was no different. Except instead of baiting it into a cactus trap, she brought it into a lead held by Grian. Together, the two drag the husk into the depths of Stress’s base. 

Grian has more of an idea what to do from there, and the husk as well as Ecto just observe him with open mouths and empty eyes. The husk can’t even think, but Ecto’s thinking about the mesa. It’s not a desert, but it’s close enough. She can’t wait to escape this humid, dense forest. She’s used to being hot, but not this sticky kind of hot. 

Grian steps back, hauling the husk into a hole and silencing him. And right above the husk, Ecto places down Stress’s magenta colored bed. “What is the point of this?” 

“You know how hard it is to sleep with monsters around.” Ecto frowns, but Grian just continues. She has no trouble sleeping with monsters, she’s used to them at this point. “It’s simple, but it’ll definitely frustrate Stress- I can practically hear her grumbling about it now.” 

“Can we go to the mesa?” Ecto isn’t really interested in pranking anymore. It was fun, and Grian is fun, but she wants to see the mesa. The closest thing to her home she’ll have seen since the blizzard. 

Grian catches on, realizing that this is more than just an impatient friend. Ecto tries to keep a face of indifference, but every time she turns away, he can see it. Sadness. Loss. A desire to go somewhere she can’t find. When she thinks he’s not looking, he can see her smile disappear, especially from her eyes. She’s mourning something. “Let’s go to the mesa. I think we’ve had our fun here.” 

The bandits flee the scene of their crime, Grian guiding Ecto eastward, to the mesa. But it’s not long until Ecto is stumbling past him. She can smell the arid land from here. It’s earthy and warm, with a crisp scent of sand and dust. It cuts through the rich scent of detritus the jungle traps in among the humidity, calling her. 

Ecto escapes the clutches of the vines and trees, busting out into the sandy mesa next door. She leaps from a tree branch, rolling across the sand as she lands. The grains stick to her clothes and skin, embracing her with their warmth from the unobstructed sun. Ecto digs her fingers into the orange sand, watching the broken rocks fall between her fingers as she holds them up. Sand has never been such a welcome sight. 

She remembers what can only grow from sand, and snaps her head up. Mesas don’t seem to grow cacti as fervently as deserts do, but she can see a few growing on a mound of sand in the distance. 

Grian isn’t sure he’s ever seen someone so happy to see a mesa biome, or even a cactus. He’s grown so tired of all the cactus his farm has been producing, he’s drowning in the spiny plant. Ecto returns to him, bouncing in her boots and holding one out. “It’s been so long since I’ve been able to have them. I forgot how sweet cactus juice is.” 

“You actually eat that stuff?” Grian questions, taking the piece that Ecto is offering him.

“It’s the easiest way to get water in the desert.” Ecto takes a look at the few cacti she was able to acquire. They’re in rough shape, with brown blemishes and weak spines. She’s not sure if they’d even be able to hold her weight at this point. She turns her gaze to the horizon, but she doesn’t see any more cacti. Either they haven’t grown, or they’ve already been taken by other hermits. 

Grian’s quick to notice what Ecto is looking at, looking for. “I have cactus at my hobbit hole. Actually, I have more cactus that I know what to do with. Do you want some of it?” 

The joyful smile all across Ecto’s face is all he needs to see. It warms him to see someone so happy over something so simple. To give joy to a friend, to another person is all Grian wants to do. He tells Ecto to wait, and go jogging back into the jungle. He’s faster at climbing through the jungle than her, and it’ll be a pleasant surprise when he returns with his bounty. At his home, Grian digs through every chest in his cactus farm, pulling the collected material before it can be put into compost. He’s stuffing the succulents into every pocket and pouch he can find in his new hobbit threads, even tossing aside his tools and supplies to make more room. At this point it’s as much about getting rid of all his overflowing cacti as it is making Ecto happy. 

Ecto hears Grian swearing before she sees him. Mostly because she was looking for his blond hair, but all of him was hidden behind an entire armful of cacti. So much cacti, Ecto isn’t sure if she’s seen that much at one moment. His clothes are stretching with the weight of the plant, and each one is precariously stacked on top of the others in his arms. Even Professor Beak is carrying his weight in cacti. “What do you even plan to do with all this? I mean, I’m not complaining. It freed up so much storage for me, but I’m curious.” 

“I’m going to jumpstack!” Ecto cheers, taking as many cacti as she can hold and starting her tower. She didn’t get to do this in the last hermit world, so this feels especially exciting. Building her monolith in a completely different world. Not just another dimension, another world. She’s careful to position her feet under her, in between the spines before hopping. While there is space between her and the cactus, she places another one. She lands perfectly so that the needles just barely scrape her shoes, feet light as a dancer’s. 

As Ecto stacks higher, Grian can only watch as she’s shadowed by the sun, dropping and blinding him until she’s reached beyond the sun’s rays. It’s not until Ecto has run out of cacti that he realizes she has no way to get down. She has no elytra, nothing. 

And yet, she jumps. Ecto has become a pro of surviving falls that would normally kill other humans. She doesn’t need fancy wings or magic.  She sees Grian scrambling across the sand below, but she tucks into a tight ball and rolls across the sand as she hits. It’s jarring, but it doesn’t kill her. Even though it’s still sunset, Ecto swears she can see stars. Apart from that, she’s still gaining control back when she hears Grian. “What was that?!” 

“I needed to get down.” Ecto hums, standing up with a sway and brushing the sand off her scarves. 

“What about using water? Or scaffolding? There are better ways, Ecto!” Grian grabs her by the shoulders, still shocked by such a ridiculous stunt. He hasn’t seen anyone so willing to defy death since Cub during Demise. And even he eventually lost that battle.

“Water is hard to find in the desert. And why build more than necessary? Look, I’m fine, and this is the most direct way.” Ecto’s face pinches up at the suggestion. She shrugs Grian’s grip off of her shoulders, turning around and looking back up at her art. One monolith stands tall above the jungle trees, spines scraping at the untouched sky. Her build may be the tallest yet. 

Grian can only chuckle, shaking his head and shaking away the nerves. “You’re quite the weird person, Ecto.” 

Weird. Ecto knows that she’s different. She thinks different, acts different from the normal. She’s decided that she won’t change. . It’s a flaw she can’t erase. And people abandon her for that. Disregard her, turn on her. But what about Grian? He is strange like me, but his friends still stick around. Why do they all leave me? Why does he stay around even now?

[chiseler]

Myrna Loy: Keeping Cool

If an actor is said to be “underplaying,” what does that mean exactly? It might mean not doing the obvious thing and not displaying the obvious emotion. Or it might mean feeling various emotions but holding them back and only sharing a tiny portion of them. This is a risky strategy, because most audiences might just think you can’t “act,” at least not in the expected way. When Myrna Loy made The Rains Came (1939), she was thirty-four years old and an established star. The film is what used to be called a “well-mounted” production, filled with dramatic incident and exotic settings and lots of extras and love crises and natural disasters. The role of Lady Edwina Esketh, a dissolute, promiscuous noblewoman who redeems herself through sacrifice and love, would seem to provide a juicy opportunity for showboating. It’s easy to imagine Bette Davis in the role, her eyes popping with restless desire. Whereas Loy had the kind of eyes that always seemed half-closed even when they weren’t.

Loy’s playing of Lady Esketh is cool, modest, almost non-committal, and this approach can seem alienating at first, but if you focus closely on what she’s doing, her under-the-radar work starts to pay dividends. The film’s producer Darryl Zanuck called her into his office midway through the shooting and complained about her performance, but Loy stuck to her own interpretation. She was known for her dry handling of light comedy, high comedy, even farce, and she refuses to play Lady Esketh full out as temperamental or mercurial, as practically any other actress of her time would have done. Instead, Loy keeps her cards close to her vest and lets her knowing attitude do the rest. Her expressive voice is light and almost fey, but very grounded, with ringing intonations, and this makes it different from a huskier yet more vacillating voice like Jean Arthur’s.

Even when Lady Esketh changes her tune, Loy doesn’t go all Noble. In fact, underneath the self-sacrifice her Lady Esketh seems to be as flip and above-it-all as ever, somehow, and this works well for the film. “I hate scenes,” she tells her lover George Brent, and this would be a laugh line for a Davis or a Joan Crawford, but Loy is an actress who actually does hate “scenes” or drama. She’s basically detached, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have feelings. It’s just that she doesn’t parade them around as other performers do.

This instinct Loy had for underplaying didn’t always work out so well. In Parnell (1937), Loy and Clark Gable do a lot of walking around and talking quietly to each other, and they come off like zombies in period dress. But her moderation in many other films was so unusual and original that Loy fashioned her very own type of screen character. She was almost never a working girl, but more usually a wife, a mistress, a lady with money and time for play, so fetching that she got away with lots of nose wrinkling and eyelash fluttering without ever seeming coy.

As a young girl, Loy had seen Eleonora Duse on the stage, and she had admired the restraint of that fabled actress. “Oh, I could have cried all over the place in many of my films, but it just didn’t feel right,” she said in her charming 1987 memoir, Being and Becoming. “The audience loses respect for the character. It seems that instinctively I’ve done this kind of underplaying a good deal in my work. That brand of acting had impressed me since first seeing Duse. She had an inner light, you see; you’ve got to have it…You can’t be thinking about how many people you’re having for dinner.” According to Loy in her book, nearly all of her leading men and many of the other men she met developed crushes on her, and that’s understandable. She had the damndest nose, turned up at the end and elaborately structured, and that reserved, hard-to-get manner that promised the deepest bliss if you could melt some of her reserve.

Loy was born in Montana, and she began her career early as a dancer in live prologues for silent films. She was an extra in the original Ben-Hur (1925), and for the next nine years she made eighty-odd movies, mostly in bits. As a maid in Ernst Lubitsch’s So This Is Paris (1926), Loy just walks across a room. She’s a lady in waiting to Lucrezia Borgia in Don Juan (1926) and a chorus girl in the first talking movie, The Jazz Singer (1927), and she was continually cast as vamps and tramps, often of Chinese, Latin or all-purpose “foreign” extraction.

In her first full talkie, The Desert Song (1929), Loy plays Azuri: “That name means tiger claws!” she informs us, in a hilariously BEEG! accent that she came up with herself. She’s very sexy in that movie, but she’s also making a kind of joke of sex, and this campy attitude also informs her Yasmini in John Ford’s The Black Watch (1929) and her gypsy temptress Nubi in The Squall (1929). Loy is enjoyably over the top in these roles and in some of her other vamp parts of this time, and she worked so often in this exaggerated fashion that maybe she was just all tired-out by the time she became a star in 1934 with The Thin Man, and so she made a low-key style out of this tiredness.

Loy is a hoot in The Truth About Youth (1930) as a gold-digging singer with a temper, and she was time-stoppingly lovely in her brief role in Ford’s Arrowsmith (1931). She had one promising scene with Robert Young in New Morals for Old (1932), but then the film drops her entirely. Loy steals Rouben Mamoulian’s Love Me Tonight (1932) with just a couple of naughty lines, socking them home in an attention-getting way that’s rather far removed from her later laidback delivery, but she was still being cast as vixens in racist concoctions like The Mask of Fu Manchu (1932), where her Fah Lo See delights in having men whipped, and Thirteen Women (1932), where her hypnotic half-caste takes methodical revenge on a bunch of sorority girls who spurned her. It must have taken much stamina and patience to wait out all these years and all these small and unworthy parts. She had a lead in a modern dress version of Vanity Fair (1932), which was shot in ten days at a poverty row studio, sometimes from 4AM to 4AM. Loy does an intriguingly subdued Becky Sharp, but maybe she was too exhausted to play it any other way.

The speedy director W.S. Van Dyke took her in hand in 1933 at MGM, and her parts began to improve. She thrived with John Barrymore in the sophisticated comedy Topaze (1933), and she fell in with her best partner, William Powell, in Manhattan Melodrama (1934), where she also tussled with Clark Gable. The Thin Man was made by Van Dyke in sixteen days, and it set up a long-running formula for Powell and Loy that proved irresistible. As Nick and Nora Charles, a private detective and his heiress wife, Powell and Loy struck up a bantering attitude with each other that still feels like a fresh and attainable ideal of marriage.

The mystery plots of their six Thin Man films were usually perfunctory, but that didn’t matter because audiences really came to see Nick and Nora verbally jousting and keeping each other entertained. Just listening to them is a pleasure: Powell with his deep, plummy voice and Loy with her bright, high, tinkling one. “They hit that wonderful note because he always did a wee bit too much and she underdid it, creating a grace, a charm, a chemistry,” observed George Cukor.

Nick and Nora are party people, and the running gag in their films is that they always want to get a rest or take a break but they never seem to, and that suits Loy’s Nora just fine. She married Nick for excitement and great sex and teasing that always goes right up to the edge of being dangerous but never topples over into hurt feelings (it did just one time, in After the Thin Man (1936), when Nick drunkenly mentions making a mistake and Nora for a brief moment thinks he means he was mistaken in marrying her because her family is so stuffy). Nora can be slightly dizzy, but she is also flexible and tough. “There’s a girl with hair on her chest!” says a cop in The Thin Man, after Nick and Nora have just gotten out of a scary scrape with a gunman and she comes out blithely crying for more action.

As she watches Nick shooting the ornaments off their Christmas tree in The Thin Man, Loy shoots Powell an only semi-loving “You are beyond belief” look, a very modern kind of juicily sarcastic look that is also in some sense unreadable. Nora’s love for Nick is a private and multi-leveled thing, and Loy will only reveal a small bit of it. They both see the fun or absurdity in practically any situation, even things that would irritate most of us. “We were married three years before he told me he loved me,” Nora says in The Thin Man Goes Home (1944), and she relates this in an admiring way, because they both like to avoid the obvious, or look askance at it.

The seven or so other films Loy made with Powell were often ordinary, but they were always redeemed by their give-and-take, their rapport, his two-drinks-in silliness and her quizzical, nearly deadpan reaction to him. Loy is at her peak in Libeled Lady (1936), playing a quasi-bitch in the first half but then softening beautifully when she falls for Powell. It’s clear that she’s a former dancer because she always moves gracefully, and distinctively: there’s a difference between the louche posture of her call girl in Penthouse (1933) and the ramrod straight posture of her rich playgirl in Libeled Lady, which suffers from unimaginative direction from Jack Conway. Loy too seldom worked with top directors. She’s at her womanly best in Test Pilot (1938) with Gable and Spencer Tracy, and she brought all of her tenderness to the smallish role of the wife in her most famous movie, William Wyler’s The Best Years of Our Lives (1946), but it seems a shame that she never worked at length for Lubitsch, or Preston Sturges, or Howard Hawks.

As an older woman, Loy concentrated on progressive politics as her career wound down. She played one hilariously timed scene where she fussily picks paint colors in Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House (1948), but she had little chemistry with Cary Grant, who needed a more extreme woman to react to. Loy was a mother and feminist heroine in Belles on Their Toes (1952) and she worked in a more histrionic vein in Lonelyhearts (1959) and From the Terrace (1960), proving that she could play this way if she wanted to, but it isn’t much fun seeing her argue with a nasty Robert Ryan or stumble around drunk as Paul Newman’s mother, so far from her usual context.

She worked on stage and bowed out gracefully with Summer Solstice (1981), a short teleplay about an aged married couple where she was still teasing and fun loving with her mate, Henry Fonda. They called Loy the perfect wife, but her own four marriages didn’t work out, and the second one, to rental car heir John Hertz, Jr., was particularly bad. Hertz gave her a black eye once, and surely there is a special place reserved in hell for the man who gave Myrna Loy a black eye. As so often with these stars, real life did not live up to screen life, and she herself did not get enough of the pleasure that she gave to us.

Loy was one of the rare stars who seems to have been much like the person we see on screen: tolerant, sophisticated, nice without being sugary, dignified without being rigid, treating life with amused sang-froid. She was the sexiest and smartest of role models, all the more attractive and suggestive for keeping so many things to herself.

by Dan Callahan

[365daysofmchart]

Reflecting on McHart: 3x08

The One Where Kurt Saves Diane, the title alone had me swooning about my favorite couple and my God, they did not disappoint! My reflection on McHart in 3x08 of The Good Fight can be found below the read more ‘cause my God, so long. Apologies for the delay!

1. “Sweetheart, have you seen my bag?” “Check the other closet.”

Sweetheart. Oh, my heart! And the other closet, implying that there is another closet, but also, after them showing us more of the layout of their home in this episode it actually makes less sense that they have a large walk-in closet in the vicinity of their bedroom. In fact, what we saw of the layout made no sense whatsoever! There’s a window in the foyer that indicates the end of the house on that side while their bedroom indicates the same on the other side, but then it’s just wall at the end of the hall and WHERE IS THE REST OF THEIR HOUSE??? Honestly though, they’ve got so much in that bedroom that I guess who needs a rest of the house? Also that’s just a generally odd location for a bedroom. Just saying.

...Look, I know I should be grateful that we’re getting Diane’s home/McHart home life at all, and I am. I promise, I am! ...But there’s so much thought that seems to go into the tiniest of details decor-wise, why can’t the same be done for something AS BASIC AS A LAYOUT AND A CLOSET FOR A WOMAN WHO HAS THE WARDROBE OF A QUEEN?!?! A CLOSET FOR A WOMAN/CHARACTER WHO IS KNOWN FOR HER FASHION?!?!!?!?! Sigh. Anyway. Yeah... I’m still not quite over the closet thing in case you haven’t noticed. But onto other things now...

2. “That reminds me, we’re invited to Mar a Lago for the weekend. ...That was a joke.” “Oh, God, you have to give me more of a signal when you’re joking or I’ll end up with a heart attack!”

Apparently Kurt still hasn’t learned that he can’t use the same expression for everything... and apparently Diane still believes that repeatedly swatting at him is effective punishment. Ah, so much has changed for the better since Landing, but I’m glad that this aspect of their relationship has not! Haha!

3. That whole goodbye! The kiss that lingers just a second longer than it has to, her sing-songed “I love you!” and his “Love you, too.” Oh, and... “All I know is they don’t deserve you.” Happy sigh.

4. Honestly just that whole. fucking. opening. scene. It was just SO DOMESTIC. The news, asking where something is, clothes slung on chairs, just that little bit of disarray of a typical morning and them weaving in and out of each other’s routines in the most natural way, them meeting and sharing a little moment before they part for the day with I love you’s. Oh, my McHart! And I know we’ve been blessed with that domesticity all season and I know I’ve mentioned it in every reflection I’ve done on them, but much like the closet situation, I’m STILL NOT OVER IT. I will NEVER be over domestic McHart!

5. Okay. Confession time. When I saw Christine wearing that cream/gold suit in interviews, there was a wee little part of me that felt hopeful that it could be a vow renewal outfit. (Not that I thought it was going to happen, but the image came and it was quite lovely and wouldn’t it have been nice???) It was not. But she looked beautiful just the same!

6. “Hello, handsome.”

FUCK. ME. UP. That is all.

7. “You told me I was bad at lying, and it’s true. But you’re bad at it too.”

Okay, but she’s not bad at lying. She’s actually really good at it. Like really good. ...She’s just bad at lying to him, and that’s actually like the sweetest thing??? ...Pretty sure Kurt is just bad at lying in general though, haha.

8. “We’re in this together now. So if you’re in danger, I need to know.”

That whole little speech of his... They truly are married, a family, one unit. One’s problems are the other’s. They are so fucking in this, and it’s taken so long but they’re here and so entirely committed and in love!

9. “Kurt, there are certain work things touching on politics that you can’t tell me, and there are certain things touching on politics that I can’t tell you. We have found a way to bifurcate our lives and make it work. So trust me when I say I can’t tell you.” I actually love that this was acknowledged--both by the writers for our benefit as well as by Diane in this conversation. Their contrasting politics have always been an aspect of their relationship but we’ve rarely seen the effect they’ve had on them (aside from the way they get them all hot and bothered) or how they manage them within their relationship. Politics are hard. Harder yet for two who are so passionate and even more so in this current political climate. And while they accept the other for who they are and their beliefs, they do know it’s a delicate dance and this is one of the ways that they work to care for their marriage. They protect themselves by keeping elements separate from their marriage, and yet... “I will overlook politics to help.”

...when it comes down to it, they are still on the same team and their partner’s needs and safety will always come first.

And that hug right there. ...It’s like a hug for my soul.

10. I just... I really don’t understand the purpose of these closets??? (Yes, I’m on about the damned closets again.) Diane has a small selection of clothes/shoes/bags in hers, Kurt has shoes, multiple umbrellas, a toolbox, and... a hamper maybe?, and who knows what else above, all rather random. Again, they must have a walk-in but these also don’t seem to be coat closets either, EVEN THOUGH they also don’t have a closet or any kind of hooks in the foyer (why???). IT JUST DOESN’T MAKE SENSE. AND MY FAVE CHARACTER (who is also the main character!) DESERVES A HOME SET THAT MAKES SENSE!!! ...Alright, I’m done for real now.

11. I feel like there are home cameras that already send you notifications when they sense movement, so I think all of that electric work and the lasers were a little extra (not to mention getting the stickiness of duct tape on the woodwork... Diane may not be pleased), but I like the spirit, Kurt! LOL!

12. Awww... Kurt’s lil office! But I spent so much time pausing and analyzing each and every photo in there... and they’re all just like military-related stock photos? LOL! ...And then there’s his mug that has a flag on it and text that suspiciously ends in “... AGAIN” Can Diane go and visit him soon please and “accidentally” knock it off his desk? It can be during an act of seduction!

13. They haaaaaad to bring in a perky young blond, didn’t they. Really? Reeeally??? Perhaps the point was to show us that he hardly paid any attention to her, that there was no flirtation whatsoever... or perhaps it was in fact to stir up the memories of his past indiscretion. Either way, definitely could’ve done without. Thanks though, TGF!

14. Wait, does Diane have two home phones (given the one he called was a line dedicated to her, given the recorded message), and her cell phone??? I mean they must have a joint home phone... unless they just kept their numbers and have two lines?

15. Not gonna lie, kinda mad that NSA guy 1) didn’t know who Kurt was like right away and 2) wasn’t fanboying over over him/them. I mean he’s in on her every call and text but out of the loop on Kurt and Diane? I. Think. Not. (Also NSA guys fanboyed over Alicia so I think a part of me is like SO WHERE’S THE INTEREST IN DIANE?!?! ...Also, also throwback to “I think Will and Diane get it on.”)

16. That look on his face when he finds out. And while I kept faith in him, that face was striking and certainly speaks volumes regarding what is to come.

17. And Kurt-Fucking-McVeigh saves the day. Saves Diane.

18. So it’s all over and done with, Diane is in the clear... and all she wants is to go home and find solace in the arms of the man she loves.

19.  The way she pulls his arm around her as she settles herself beside him, nuzzling in, the two snuggled up there on the sofa at the end of the day. It’s all positively adorable and this is everything I’ve wanted in McHart!

20. The thing about the hacking is that is wasn’t just a politics thing with Kurt, it was a morality thing, too. It was wrong and we know how high his ethical and moral standards stand. And yet, he fixed it, and it wasn’t for glory or points (as he doesn’t even tell her!) or anything but pure love. And honestly, I was afraid that, even though he did in fact quietly fix it, he might still harbor resentment toward her for being involved with such a thing. But with the way he accepted her into his arms then going beyond the bare minimum nothing-is-amiss response by pressing a kiss to her forehead and rubbing her arm, it’s clear that he’s accepted it, accepted her for who she is, flaws and all, and is moving forward. As she has before. Honestly, the love these two have for one other!

And just a few other things...

Kurt is so clever!

I feel like Diane must own about as many umbrellas as she does fabulous coats.

I will never tire of seeing Kurt all spiffed up for his new job! ...Of course I’ll also never tire of seeing him in plaid and jeans, either. (Why do I have a feeling that Diane had a field day getting him outfitted for the position? Haha!)

“I took care of it.” “I’m glad.”

*Cough* Closets *cough*

This episode was so entirely lovely and had my heart positively swelling! And maybe the’ve been so nice to us this season simply to throw us off of the scent for the finale... but no matter the reason, I’m grateful to have had all of these beautiful domestic and loving scenes! Here’s to many more!

-E

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Seven: Where Will It Be Found? ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Yamanaka Ino, Inuzuka Kiba ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

One of the nice things about the police force? There’s rarely a day with nothing to do. Even little menial tasks help keep him busy, and still help improve both the Uchiha clan’s standing in Konoha, and help him feel more...involved. More a part of the village he wants to help better after all the corruption that’s held it.

So while Itachi might have more glory in the ANBU, and Shisui as a bodyguard of the Rokudaime Hokage...Sasuke still finds his job more than rewarding.

And he’s not the only one.

“We’ve got a new assignment.”

Looking up from some paperwork, Sasuke sees his partner in the doorway. “What is it?”

“Apparently something of high value was stolen...from the Yamanaka, no less.” Hinata holds out a scroll that he wordlessly accepts. “It’s a vase. Apparently one gifted from a past daimyō to a past clan head.”

Reading the description, Sasuke thinks to -

“And I’ve already given warning to the ANBU. They’re watching the black market for it to pop up. They’ll send word if anything resembling it is seen.”

...do that. He can’t help a small snort of amusement. “You read my mind.”

The Hyūga softly smiles to herself. “You’ve been teaching me well.”

“No, you’re just someone who thinks one step ahead.” Sealing the scroll back up, Sasuke tucks it into his leg pouch. “So, has a scene sweep been done at the Yamanaka compound yet?”

“Yes, but they also wanted us to come verify. There’s a few Hyūga already there, and several patrols out looking elsewhere.”

“Good.”

The trip to the clan grounds doesn’t take long. Already a few Hyūga officers have taped off the room in question. Hopefully that means no tampered evidence. Ino stands nearby, arms crossed and talking to another officer before taking note of them. “Oh, Hinata-chan! Sasuke-kun!”

...he now knows why they were asked for specifically.

The blonde approaches, looking irritated. “I know it’s early, but have you found anything?”

“Not yet - we’ve got teams on the lookout, and ANBU agents checking the underground for anyone looking to sell it,” Hinata assures her. “Any idea what happened, or why?”

Ino huffs. “No. It’s not like we’re parading the thing around. I dunno who would know about it, let alone be the type to take it.”

Sasuke glances around, Sharingan active. “Any suspects within the clan?”

“No. Anyone here with any sense knows it’s worth more here than anywhere else. It’s a symbol of clan pride.”

“Have you had any guests recently who were introduced to it?”

“Mm...not that I can think of?” Ino gestures to the room. “This is a prime sitting room, so we do host guests here sometimes, but it’s not exactly a conversation starter. Typically any business held here is the main topic discussed.”

“I’d still like a list of anyone outside the Yamanaka that’s been in this room in the past few months. They may have cased the place.”

“All right, all right...I’ll get back to you on that as soon as I can. I need to check with a few other council members in case they held anything I wasn’t made privy to. Is that all?”

“For now. And we’ll keep you updated.”

Nodding, Ino takes her leave.

Hinata turns to a fellow Hyūga officer. “Anything yet?”

“No, Hinata-sama. All we know is that the thief likely came through the door, not any windows. Their locks were all still in place, and there were no tracks in the yard beyond. I believe Kiba-san was here with some ninken earlier, and there was no trace beyond the expected Yamanaka scents.”

“And on the interior?”

“There’s a great deal of traffic - leads are being followed, but nothing conclusive yet.”

“I see…” Turning to Sasuke, she asks, “What do you think?”

“I think we find Kiba, see if he’s learned anything since leaving the grounds. He might be on a trail and we just aren’t aware yet. Once we have that list, I’ll send a copy to Itachi.”

They find Kiba wrangling an entire pack of ninken, each on a different scent. “The only promising thing I’ve got is a few merchant scents that were from out of Konoha. Ino said somethin’ about them setting up trade with the floral shop. Pinning down their scents is kinda hard though, given how much in and out there’s been lately. I can’t count how many false leads we had leading up to a Yamanaka’s house slippers.”

“Well, if anything comes up, let us kn-”

Suddenly one of the dogs gives a bray before taking off at a dead run. Kiba flashes a quick grin. “I think that’s our cue!”

The trio follow, the rest of the ninken staying back on their trails. More than once they scatter groups of civilians in the street in a flurry of shouts and indignations. They follow to an inn along the outskirts of town, the innkeep leaping up atop crate to escape the hound.

“Oi! This where those Iwa florists are staying?” Kiba demands, not yet calling off his pup.

“Y-yes! Third floor, first room on the left! Please, just...shut that thing up!”

They find the correct door, Sasuke not bothering to knock. Within, several people startle. “W-what is the meaning of this?!”

The dog then barges in, earning several more oaths of outrage before growling at a sealed box.

“We’re gonna have to search that,” Kiba insists, grinning as the foreigners wince.

Within, under several layers of packing paper...is the vase. The three glance among each other.

“...Hinata.”

Heeding Sasuke’s word with a nod, Hinata offers, “You can let me cuff you quietly...or I’ll be forced to use Jūken.”

All three are soon back at the police headquarters, put into a cell as word is sent to Ino. Carefully putting the vase in question atop the main counter in the lobby, Hinata sighs. “Well, at least that didn’t take too long. Though I have to wonder why they took it...I guess we’ll find out once those three are interrogated.”

“Seems a bit like a random opportunity grab. I doubt someone from Iwa planned to steal one vase. They probably just assumed it was worth money, and snuck around to take it.”

“I suppose so...though I have to wonder how they got out of the compound with it...genjutsu, maybe?”

“Maybe. Though...I’ll admit, the ninken are useful. As good as our eyes are, sometimes a nose isn’t a bad option.”

She giggles. “I agree. It’s a big part of why my team was so good for tracking missions. We were called on quite a bit. We all have our advantages, but some are more suited than others in certain situations.”

“Hn.” Looking up as Ino enters, Sasuke handles her grateful enthusiasm well, glad to see her off with the relic in proper custody. Stretching a bit, he asks, “Think it’s time for a lunch break?”

“Yes, please. We passed some place that smelled heavenly on the way to that inn - my stomach’s been growling ever since!” Hinata replies.

“Well, we’ll have to go see if we can find it.”

“Maybe we should call the ninken back, ne?”

“Not if that means having to invite Kiba to lunch…”

“Ha!”

     Holy smokes, our first week down already!      So, in the ALAS verse, Sasuke revives the police force alongside the Hyūga, and Hinata ends up joining it as well: with her sister as heiress and Neji her advisor, Hinata decides to find another way to keep herself busy. Hence ending up Sasuke's parter. It's how they largely come to know each other post-war, which leads to them dating, getting married, and having two wee kiddies!      But for this, we're still in that first stage lol      A bit of a random drabble, but the prompt was a little strange - hopefully it was still enjoyable! As always, thanks for reading, and I'll see y'all tomorrow!

[greekowl87]

okay because I am greedy 1) 30+35 2) 91+112 3) 170+191+193 :) Thank you f:)

“Why are you bleeding?” / “I’m fine.” - Post FTF

A/N: I haven’t forgotten the other two. I promise :) This is NSFW by the way and just became its own thing. Smut isn’t my strongest thing so I hope it is okay. :-\ No beta. Sorry for typos. Hope you enjoy. 

Tagging @today-in-fic

The air was still hot from the summer and Scully was regretting wearing the black suit jacket and skirt now but somehow, it matched the mood. She had new scars on her hands and face and pretty much all over from the scorching cold of Antarctica. A new Scully had been resurrected. She thought she had experienced everything after her cancer and Emily but this–this topped it all. She saw Mulder wince slightly as she took his hand, no likely he still felt the frostbite. “Are you okay?” she murmured, stopping him mid-step.

He nodded wordlessly and looked out into the sunset bouncing off the Reflection Pool. Scully pulled his hand and his closer. Mulder wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her close as well until it felt like they could melt into one person with the aid of the August humidity. “Mulder,” she whispered tenderly, raking her fingers through his long hair. “What are you thinking?”

Mulder hummed in approval and kissed the base of her exposed neck. She held him closer feeling a rush of adrenaline. (Why was she feeling like this?) She rubbed the base of his neck soothingly and whispered, “Something about a hallway.”

“Later.”

She felt her blood sing and maybe she was jumping to conclusions. She did not want to jump to conclusions. That was not like her. She plots and planned against possible disasters. “Why make us wait, Scully?”

“Because.”

She grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket, and they both smiled at each other. “Because why? I crossed to the end of the world for you.”

Scully felt her heart swell and she nodded slightly.“I know. Mulder, would I be killing the mood if I asked for some food?”

There had been a moment of tension that had surrounded them, like a living electricity that constantly flowed between them, until he started laughing. She smiled, breaking all seriousness. “Trust your stomach to break the mood?”

“Me,” she scoffed. “Me?”

“You.” He gave her a warmer smile. “Always you.” He pulled back slightly and she felt his light fingers dance around her forehead to where she knew there was still a small cut. “You’re bleeding.”

“Mulder, I am not. I’m fine.”

Before he could say another word and he lost his own wee bit of courage, he surged forward, using his height to his advantage (even in her heels), to capture her between his arms to the point she could not escape. She looked up, her head hurting at the angle her neck was put in. She could hear the distant traffic, the sounds of the national capital dying as the sunset. But Mulder’s eyes, something about those hazel green eyes; his eyes seem to take on a new meaning all their own as he inched closer as fast as a melting glacier.

Scully had seen this look before but only for fleeting moments. She couldn’t remember the first time specifically but it had been immediately after they had been partnered together. At first, she had to second guess herself. Mulder had only seen her as something akin to a sister as they began their journey for the truth. At one point, during her cancer, when Eddie Van Blunthe came courting in disguise she allowed herself to be fooled and entertained by the notion of being able to have something more with Mulder who was increasingly becoming the only one she could ever see herself with. Then her cancer struck her full force and then she realized she loved him and that look became more and more frequent, especially after her remission. Scully tried to make a move in Flordia but unfortunately, The Truth kept Mulder’s blinders on and drove him like a pack horse. And then the emergence of this Diana Fowley but at this moment, none of that seemed important.

She loosened her grip around the lapels of his suit jacket and smoothed them out mindlessly. “Scully.”

One simple word. Since when did her surname carry so much meaning? The way he spoke it though; she had heard others call her Scully like Skinner and other odd agents. But no one said her name like Mulder did. She felt playful and despite the fresh frostbite and almost being left to die at the end of the world because of some virus, she never felt more alive. “Who is Scully, Mulder?”

“You are,” he answered simply.

It was a silly request but one he met with one of his boyish and charming smiles. A kiss. It seethed into being, first setting her blood aflame, spreading through her heart, her muscles, nerves, skeleton and beyond into her soul and very being. Then he gave her another one of those searing kisses, branding her as his Scully once more. Her mind was still drunk from the intensity of two simple kisses. For some reason, those two simple words continued to echo within her head. What was that supposed to mean? But he was kissing her again, distracting her inquiring mind and felt a building warmth within her.

He broke away and smiled. “Are you still hungry, Scully?”

“Yes,” her voice squeaked.

Since when did Scully squeak? She blushed furiously and Mulder smiled coyly. “I don’t think I have ever seen you blush, Scully.”

“Shut up, Mulder.”

“Whose place is closer?”

“Mine.”

“Let’s hurry then.”

… .

It was all a blur. The door to Scully’s Georgetown apartment magically opened, closed, and locked itself. It must have been the same magic they found their clothes stripped from their bodies. What was next? They both stood at a momentous moment as Scully lay beneath Mulder and he hovered above her.

“What’s next,” she asked, breathing in sharply.

He grinned devilishly and leaned forward, mouth agape and teased her left breast enticingly. It had been so long for both of them. Scully grasped his head closer as he bit teasingly. A new sound erupted from her followed by her laughter. Everything between was like wildfire set aflame. Mulder grinned even wider like a Cheshire cat. “I’ve always wondered.”

“What?”

She let out sound she did not even know she had in her as her fingers raked Mulder’s head as he went down on her. It was exquisite. Mulder was euphoric as he broke away after what felt like an eternity.

“In me,” she managed.

Her breaking was heavy, breaking at each word. Mulder more than obliged. He could feel Scully’s legs coiling around his waist and behind like a snake ready to squeeze him empty. The entrance was unceremonial, both crying out in pleasure, Scully’s voice mixed with pain. Mulder held her close and began to move in an effort to relieve her from the pain of the sudden invasion. She melted into him and both could have sworn if it wasn’t for their physical joining, it could have been spiritual nirvana. Neither knew which one went limp first but there was laughter as Mulder rolled to his side and held her close under the cool covers.

“Much better than a hallway.”

“Much better,” she agreed.

Both of their bodies burned and longed to keep alight together.

“Mulder?”

“Hm?”

“Love you.”

He smiled, hugging her slightly in response, and placed a kiss on the top her hair. She hugged him tighter, not wishing to ever let go.

“Mulder,” she whispered.

“Hmmm?”

“I believe you even though I still have to prove it.”

He chuckled and hugged her as close as possible. “New beginnings?”

“New beginnings,” she confirmed kissing him.

[rookisaknight]

Deputy

Might as well introduce her before I ramble about my good ending aus and self-indulgent shit

This is a questionnaire whipped up by @dutchisland

The Basics

1. Give their full name, and describe them or post a picture! (Height, build, hair, eye, and skin color, etc.)

Molly Sofia Kriz. A lanky brunette, around 5′8″. Skin is covered with freckles, acne scars, and is usually sunburned. Big black eyes. Her father was Czech and her mother was Latinx. Her hair was fairly long before the helicopter crash, after which she chopped it off to just under her chin to get rid of the burnt edges. She rarely has time for a haircut and usually just chops it off with whatever’s readily available. On the rare occasions that she has down time Kim will usually menace her into sitting still long enough to give it a proper trim. Big forehead. Small hands

2. How old are they?

26

3. Sexuality and gender?

Pansexual, she/her.

Pre-Game

1. How did they end up at the Hope County Sheriff’s Department? How long have they worked there?

She’s not a Hope County native but he knew when she graduated from Police Academy that she had no interest in being a big city cop, and angled for a small town assignment. She lucked out with Hope County. Or at least, so she thought. If we was hoping for things to be less complicated out here....In any case, she’d been working there for just under a year before the raid on Eden’s Gate

2. Relationship with Pratt, Hudson, and Whitehorse?

Pratt: Staci was delighted to no longer be the lowest rung on the totem pole and enjoyed giving her as much hell as Hudson gave him when he was the Rook. Based on what little we see of him before Jacob gets a hold of him I’ve always imagined Pratt as just a bit of a prankster. To this day Molly doesn’t drink coffee or sit in a chair at the station without thoroughly examingin both for traps. Still, they have a certain rapport and had each other’s backs. Some possible romantic tension that might have gone somewhere, in a better world.

Hudson: they weren’t exactly having sleepovers and braiding each other’s hair, but they wre close enough to grab coffee a few times when they weren’t at work. Hudson isn’t known for being friendly but she was a little relieved to have another woman in the department. Joey took a few hits for Molly when she thought Pratt or the Sheriff were making life too hard for her, and in return Molly did her best to learn the lessons Joey taught her. A bit of an older sister relationship. 

Whitehorse: He’s not a man to get chummy with his deputies but their relationship was amicable enough. Whitehorse has been in the game for a long time, and once she became aware of how bad things really were in Hope County she was a little in awe of him. He has a lot more respect for her than she thinks, but he rarely expresses it. Whitehorse thought she had potential, just no real call to action yet. 

3. Do they have an education?

An unremarkable academic career in high school, a couple of years at a community college, and Police Academy. Not much of a scholar, although she does like to read. Or did. At this point she doubts she could relax enough to sit down with a novel. 

4. Where are they from? Did they speak a different language there?

Eastern Washington. No, but she did pick up some Spanish from her mom.

5. Is there anyone outside the valley that might have come looking for them?

If she had kept her parents in the loop they might have come looking, but she’d never wanted them to worry.

6. Did they have a religious background of any kind?

Her parents wee Catholic enough to drag her to Mass every Sunday in childhood but not enough to kick up that much of a fuss when she slowly stopped going at 16. She knows enough to pass and would comfortably say that she believes in a God, but even before her time in Montana she was suspicious of organized religion. 

Inside Hope County

1. What was going through their head when the helicopter went down and during the subsequent chase?

She was running on raw adrenaline the whole time and there wasn’t much room for coherent thought beyond “please don’t let me die” . The guilt came later

2. Were they afraid of Joseph and Eden’s Gate? Angry?

She was terrified by Eden’s Gate pre-game, but lately that’s shifted into just a reisgned anger. She can’t hate most of them, they’re simply too sad. Instead she’s just generally frustrated. And tired. So soooo tired.

3. Did they trust Dutch?

Not at first, but once the words “mostly it means we’re all fucked” left his mouth she kinda figured this was either a really elaborate roleplay or a guy she could trust. She bet on the latter. 

4. How did they feel about their team being taken by the cult, did they count them as lost, did they want them back, did they not care?

Her team was the main reason she bothered to stick around instead of high-tailing out and hoping the National Guard could take care of it. Molly’s a good cop but she’s no hero. She didn’t have any high-minded ideas of resistance or revenge when she started out, she just wanted to find her team before it was too late. By the time she’d rescued all of them, though, she found she had other people to care for. 

5. How did they take to the idea of being part of, if not leading, the resistance?

Pre-game she thought of the resistance as four or five gun-crazed survivalists who though dumping more bullets into the situation would somehow make it better. After she found herself on the outside of police protection, though, she gained a newfound repect for what they do. She condiers herself a solo act (more for convenince than for ideology), but she has a lot of loyalty to many many members of the resistance, and yes Virgil, she’ll wear the stupid button. 

6. Which companions did they recruit, and who did they travel with the most?

Jess and Sharky are her usual partners in crime for general mayhem. When she’s inhHolland Valley and knows she won’t be pulling him far from his family she’ll call in Nick for air support (usually getting dinner at the Rye hous after). She adopted Boomer and loves him to death but is far too anxious to take him into battle, so he stays at the abndoned farmhouse she’s been camping out in. When Sharky’s laid up she calls Hurk, but that doesn’t usually go well. 

7. Did they have time to find romance amidst the chaos? How did they do it?

Romance is a strong word. She ends up with a truly hopeless crush on Nick Rye. Not that she’d ever act on it. She loves Kim to death and honestly thinks they make a great couple. But she’d be lying if she said there weren’t a couple late nights in the Rye household where she looked over at Nick and thought “what if?” Still, she keeps it to herself and is pretty sure he doesn’t have a clue. 

8. Feelings about Joseph?

Mostly fear. After that, probably anger. But.she understands the draw. The man has undeniable charisma. In her encounters with him it has honestly been a struggle not to find herself swallowed by those hypnotic voice and that voice. Sometimes, when no one’s around and she’s taking a day in her house...she turns the radio to the Project’s station and just listens to his sermons. Wondering how someone so monstrous and so unhinged could make it sound so wise. 

9. Feelings about the other Seeds?

John: Hates his guts, but honestly he makes a good arch-nemsis. She loves doing things just to stick it to him. Right up until he started taking it out on Hudson.

Faith: she’s felt odd moments of pity for her, but mostly she’s just unnerved by her. Something about that flower child appearance mixed with the cold-blooded calculation that makes her feel very off-balance.

Jacob: despite all he did to Pratt, she has a hard time hating him. Jacob is what he is. She can understand every step that was taken to make him end up like this and on weird level she respects him. Part of this is teh process of conditioning, which requred them to spend a long time in close quarters while he tried to get in her head and turn it inside out. She doesn’t pity him, but she feels sympathy. Which doesn’’t mean she would hesitate to put a bullet through his brain. The best they could do for each other is the decency of a quick death. As befitted a fellow soldier. 

10. How did they handle having to kill animals and other humans? Had they done it before?

Animals were fine, she used to hunt with her mom. People....well, eventually you get used to it.

11. Which canon ending did they choose in-game, and would you have changed the ending at all?

Resist. Absolutely not

Personal

1. Favorite weapon(s)?

She’s a simple gal with a sawed off shotgun and pistol. That’s all you need.

2. Stealth or firepower?

She’ll usually send in Sharky as the literal firepower while she and Jess pick off cultists drawn to his display. 

3. How did they spend their time, when not fighting peggies?

She spends a lot of time at the Spread Eagle or hanging out with Jess and Sharky in her house, blasting music and playing cards. She loves when she has time for dinner with the Ryes, and sometimes she’ll go fishing with Jerome. 

4. Where did they live during the events of the game?

A small, abandoned farmhouse nestled in a copse of woods between Holland Valley and the Whitetail Mountains. 

5. Any other facts you want to share about your Deputy!

She swears up and down she saw Bigfoot in her front yard, but no one belives her. 

[thequeensbastardenglish]

Ballast

Chapter 2

Pairing: ChloeXNadine

Rating: M

This chapter is a wee bit darker than the previous one. Our heroes do something not very heroic... CW: mention of torture but no actual violent descriptions.

If there are any warnings you feel I should put on this fic heading forward then please just shout. 

Read it on A03

Nadine was distracting in the best possible way.

This was something that Chloe had known the first time she had laid eyes on her. The few pictures of her that she had seen did not do her justice; and the description of her that Sam had offered… Well, it had made her sound eight foot tall with arms like tree trunks and legs powered by pistons. His description made her sound like the Terminator, a ruthless killing machine that no mere mortal man could hope to stop. So it had been a surprise to find that Nadine was actually shorter than Chloe. It had been a surprise – a very pleasant and welcome one – to feel such a hit of attraction, a jab to the solar plexus that had left Chloe momentarily winded. It had been a long time since anyone had made Chloe feel like that. And because of what Sam had told her Chloe had been prepared to hate Nadine - she’d been on the wrong side of far too many mercenaries in her career to ever have any love for them- so it had been a shock to find that she genuinely liked the woman. And even more of a shock was how quickly she found herself liking and trusting her. Chloe didn’t even trust the Drake brothers and they were the most trust worthy thieves in the business.

 Nadine’s arms might not be thick as tree trunks but they were distracting all the same. Every single physical aspect of her was distracting, from her thick honed muscles, the broadness of her shoulders, the line of her neck and the scar along her collarbone, and even the bounce of her curls - all very distracting.

 She was especially distracting now, all sweaty from her work out, a towel draped around her shoulders, and sucking on a bottle of some sports drink, her throat working and her lips… <em>god her lips!</em> Chloe appreciated that Nadine needed to do her work out but did she have to do it when Chloe was trying to <em>think</em>?

Books on the civil war were spread out across the floor, as well as copies of documents from the era, all supplied by Charlie who had turned up bright and early that morning, coffee in hand and a grin on his face.

 Chloe looked away from Nadine and tried to concentrate on the passage she was reading about military manoeuvres in the battle of Edgehill. It didn’t look like Elliston had fought at Edgehill, or at least they could find no official record of him being there.

 “I’m starting to think this guy didn’t fight in any battles,” Chloe muttered.

 “Least we know he actually existed,” Charlie said. They had found his name on an old census record and from that they had found when he enlisted in the military. After that the trail went dead.

 “He’s not among the dead from any battles. So he survived the war.” Charlie set aside a bit of paper, frowning.

 “He’s not listed as fighting in any battles.”

 “Doesn’t mean he wasn’t here,” Nadine said. She rubbed the side of her jaw with the end of her towel.

 “You know anything about the civil war?” Charlie looked up at Nadine. He was sat on the floor with Chloe pouring over books and his own notes. He’d been chewing on his pen, ink now stained the corner of her mouth.

 “The battles. I studied military history.”

 Charlie’s face lit up. “What can you tell us then?”

 “That it was a badly fought war.” She put the now empty bottle down on the counter and leaned back, crossing her arms. Chloe tried not to stare at her forearms, at the way the muscles tensed and hardened, she tried not to think about how they felt around her body, or how they would feel in a different way than hauling her back from a cliff edge. She bit her lip. If Nadine didn’t taker her gloriously sweaty self from the room then Chloe was going to need a cold shower. “Lot of revisionist history went on afterwards. Neither side could afford the war; neither side had a competent commander.”

 “What about Cromwell?” Chloe asked. She forced her eyes away from the thick cords of muscles of Nadine’s arms to look up to her face.

 Nadine snorted. “He only got so many victories because the Royalists had even worse commanders than he did. I’ll give him this: he could organise an army, but his favoured tactic was just to hit hard and fast. He relied too much on his cavalry. Against anyone other than Prince Rupert he would have lost and lost badly.”

 Charlie made an impressed grunt. “She should be down here with me instead of you.” he nudged Chloe with his elbow.

 “Sod off, this isn’t my area of history.”

 “Your man Elliston would have been pressed into service. That’s probably why there’s no record of him serving beyond his enlisting.” Nadine shrugged.

 “Cromwell was the first to create a modern professional army,” Charlie said, and Nadine snorted again.

 “Plenty of countries had professional armies,” she said.

 “The Romans the Greeks.” Chloe ticked them off her fingers.

 “I said modern,” Charlie sounded defensive.

 “Assyrians, the Ottomans,” Nadine continued. “But an English white boy does it and we have to pretend like he invented the wheel.”

 “That’s my cue to shut up.” Charlie picked up one of his notebooks and started pouring over the contents.

 Nadine grinned at Chloe in victory. She turned on her heel and Chloe’s eyes trailed after her as she marched off towards the bathroom.

 “You’re not very subtle,” Charlie said quietly.

 “I’ll have you know that I am the queen of subtle.”

 “Right, luv.” Charlie grinned.

 “So subtle that it’s my middle name.” Chloe grabbed a book at random and buried her head in it.

 “You’re blushing.”

 “I don’t blush.”

 “Which is a bit better than the sight of you drooling.”

 Chloe turned to face him. “I don’t drool either.”

 Charlie guffawed into his hand. “Sure. I believe you. What if I call Ms Ross back into the room, eh? Maybe she could, I dunno, like, stretch for you.” He mimicked a slow stretch, his arms slowly rising above his head. “Maybe her tank top pulls up a bit. Maybe your eyes pop out their sockets.”

 “Maybe you shut the hell up?”

 That set him off laughing harder. “I can’t believe nothing’s happened between you two.”

 “Why would it?”

 “Because it’s you. Since when were you ever a prude about these things? You getting frigid in your old age?”

 Sighing, Chloe dropped the book she was pretending to read on the ground. “We’re business partners. I’d have thought that of all the people in my life you would understand why mixing business and pleasure is a bad idea.” She pushed herself to her feet and made her way to the kitchen.

 “Chlo, c’mon,” Charlie called after her. “I was just messing with you.”

 Once she was out of sight of Charlie she pressed the back of her hand to her cheek. She didn’t feel hot. She probably hadn’t been blushing but… But she hated that Charlie was reading her so easily. So much of her shtick was about manipulation. She had built up a reputation among her community of being hard to read; of having people second guess her motives and never truly knowing what cards she was playing. Nadine threw that all out the window. Chloe couldn’t afford to be this transparent around her.

 But it was Charlie and he knew her that bit too well. Maybe it was only obvious to him? Sam hadn’t said anything, and he definitely wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to wind her up.

 She opened the fridge and grabbed the jug of water and poured herself a glass. She gulped down the water and poured herself another glass, and then moved back through to the living room where Charlie was again chewing on his pen. She set the glass down on the coffee table and dropped back down to the ground next to him. He looked up at her. There was even more ink on his face.

 “Charlie, you got a little something…” she pointed around her own face indicating the areas he had ink on his own.

 “Wha..?” He rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand smudging the ink. “I get it?”

 Chloe laughed. “No. Here, stay still. I’m going to do to you what my granny used to do to me.”

 “You gonna hock on a hanky and rub me with spit?”

 She took hold of his jaw and angled his head, licked the tip of her thumb and began gently rubbing the ink away. “Not quite that gross.”

 Charlie smiled softly. Too softly. He smiled like he used to when they were actually a thing and it looked like it might get serious. Before he had broken his leg, and she had tried to settle to look after him, before they’d driven each other crazy and nearly to the brink of hatred. She had a special little ache in her heart for Charlie that was nestled right alongside with Nate. Two very good reasons why mixing business and pleasure was a bad idea. People got hurt.

 Her movements slowed.

 People got killed.

 Harry had been killed. She hadn’t felt for Harry the way she had for Nate or Charlie but she still carried that weight of responsibility. She’d had a hand in his death. He had been greedy and reckless, his ambition outweighing his skill, but he had cared for her. He had tried to protect her in his own way. And now he was dead.

 Charlie took hold of her hand, pulling it away from his face. He was smiling still, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

 Nadine cleared her throat loudly from the doorway. Chloe jumped, breaking apart from Charlie like they’d both been electrocuted.

 “Am I interrupting? “Nadine asked. She was smiling but it was anything but sweet.

 “Jesus!” Charlie put his hand to his heart and rolled over onto his back. “Me ticker!”

 “No, Charlie just managed to get more pen on himself than on the page.” Chloe shuffled away from him. Distance, she needed distance from him and from Nadine and the awful predatory toothy grin she was directing at Charlie.

 “Sure.” Nadine sounded less than convinced. She was freshly showered and dressed in jeans and a hoodie, loose and comfortable, casual in a way that Chloe knew very few ever got to see her. She crossed the room and dropped down on the couch. “How’s the research going?”

 Chloe rubbed the back of her neck. “Crap. I don’t understand why Cseszneky is interested in this guy.”

 “I got some contacts at Cambridge I can ask. See if they know anything.” Charlie stood up and flexed his leg, the one he had broken all those years ago. He moved away from Nadine, careful not to turn his back on her. He picked up his rucksack and started gathering his things.

 “We’re drawing a blank here so sounds good to me.” Chloe leaned back on her hands. Nadine was still looking at Charlie like she might rip his throat out with her teeth. Perfect. Lovely. Nothing about this work project was going to be awkward at all.

 Nadine crossed her arms, her head tilted like she was about to launch into a tirade but the flat door burst open and Sam jumped in.

 “Heeeeey!” he yelled. He had an unlit cigarette perched on his lips, a cheap plastic carrier bag in one hand and a door mat in the other. “I got the doormat back!”

 “Our doormat is red,” Chloe said, eyeing the bright pink fluffy monstrosity he was waving about like a victory flag.

 “Oh.” He looked at the mat, shrugged and tossed it back over his shoulder, kicking the door closed behind him. “In better news I have a lead.”

 “What?” they all said over the top of one another.

 Sam sauntered across the flat towards the couch and flopped down. He plucked his cigarette from his lip and tucked it behind his ear. “That’s right. I have a lead and I know what our next step should be.” He fished around in his carrier bag and pulled out a can of Monster!. “While you nerds were doing the book stuff I was doing useful work.” He opened the can and slurped at it.

 “Well, what is it?” Nadine demanded. She turned her glare from Charlie to Sam. Charlie sagged in relief.

 “I got in touch with Sully and explained our situation and he put me in touch with some other people. People who know Tamas and Viktória Cseszneky.”

 “Who?” Charlie said, bewildered.

 “His children?” Chloe guessed.

 “Oh yeah! And they are just as batshit as their old man.” Sam looked so pleased with himself. “Now, I got a bit of information but I think we’re going to have to buy the rest. See, it looks like Tamas and Vikki are not thrilled by their dear old pop’s game. They’re amateur treasure hunter’s themselves. More the kind that throw money around and get other’s to do the dirty work, but it’s still something of a passion of theirs.” He paused to drink more.

 “And?” Chloe prompted.

 “And they’re playing this little game too.” He lifted his can to them. “Ta da!”

 Chloe and Nadine exchanged a look.

 “That’s it?” Nadine said. “That’s all you’ve got?”

 “Mate, I thought you had a lead on Elliston,” Charlie said.

 “Well, I kind of do.” Sam rubbed that back of his head. “See, Tamas and Vikki are out somewhere in Europe doing whatever it is rich Europeans do, but one of their retainers is here in London on business.”

 “On treasure hunting business?” Chloe could feel the grin spreading across her face.

 “Bingo!” Sam saluted her with his can.

 “So we find this retainer and shake the information we need out of him.” Nadine rubbed her jaw thoughtfully.

 “Well, we could bribe him.”

 “With what?” Charlie asked. “Don’t know about you but I’m skint.”

 Sam looked hopefully at Chloe.

 “Not a chance. We’ll just talk to this retainer and get the information out of him the old fashioned way.”

 “So charm or violence,” Nadine said, grinning.

 “Exactly.”

 <center>/\/\/\</center>

  The scarf around Nadine’s neck was itchy and she resisted the urge to tug at it. It was a far cry from the tactical gear she used to wear. What she wore now had been bought cheap from a camping store, and they were going to dispose of it all once they were done. She wore a black fleece, zipped up to her chin, and canvas pants that did nothing to warm her. The back of the rental van was cold; all the better to better to make Jorge Feigel feel uncomfortable. This was a kidnapping after all.

 “You alright back there, china?” Chloe called through the half open slat. She sat in the driver’s seat, wrapped up like Nadine; her hat pulled low and a scarf covering the lower half of her face.

 “Ja. Just don’t see why I’m left here.”

 “Ouch. I’m not good enough company for you?”

 Nadine kicked at the plastic sheeting that covered the inside of the van. “Not what I meant. I’m trained. Drake and Cutter aren’t.”

 “You’re also very distinctive,” Chloe said. She said it like she loved that Nadine was distinctive and Nadine felt her cheeks heat up. If she’d been the one picking up Feigel then she wouldn’t have to be spending time with Chloe flirting with her and distracting her. She could just concentrate on the job at hand like the professional she was. But then she wouldn’t be able to marvel at Chloe’s ability to make “distinctive” sound like “attractive”. They’d been over this and Nadine had agreed, but waiting around made her feel antsy, especially when she didn’t trust the team she was waiting on. “Two burly white guys could be anyone,” Chloe continued.

 “An American accent will stick out.”

 “All Sam has to do is keep his trap shut.”

 Nadine snorted. “Like that’s going to happen. He talks nearly as much as you do.” Chloe could hold entire conversations with cliff faces. Nadine still wasn’t sure if she found it endearing or annoying.

 “We could play I-Spy to pass the time.”

 “No thanks.” Nadine checked over the interior of the van again for something to do. The company they had rented it from specialised in vans for criminal activities. The plates could be swapped, the paint job changed, they even put false markers on the outside of the van so that if anyone did see it and they could give a description then the exterior could easily be altered. The inside of this one was lined in plastic sheets; to prevent any stains and all easy to remove. There was a chair secured in the centre of the van, bolted to the floor. Nadine had Ziplock ties with her to secure Feigel once Cutter and Drake brought him back.

 There was a knock on the back door of the van. Nadine waited. Three more knocks followed in rapid succession and then another two. They were back. She pulled her scarf up over her lower face.

 “Time to rock and roll,” Chloe said, and she closed the slat and started the engine.

 Nadine went to the back door and opened it. Drake and Cutter stood there with a short pudgy man with a black hood over his head.

 “In yer go!” Sam said cheerfully in a dreadful cockney accent.

 Nadine reached down and grabbed Feigel by his shirt and hauled him into the van. She didn’t speak. Chloe was right; she was too distinctive in looks and with her accent. Let Feigel think that everyone in the van was a white man. She dragged Feigel over to the chair and dropped him into it. Quickly, she secured his arms to the rests with zipties and then his legs. Charlie slammed the van door closed and then they were away.

 Feigel was breathing heavily, the fabric of the bag over his head pulling in and pushing out with every terrified breath. It was a stark reminder that this business could be as bad as her mercenary work.

 There probably wouldn’t be blood spilt. And no torture. They had all agreed that torture was out of the question. Thieves they might have been, capable of killing in self defence and being utterly ruthless when needed, but they weren’t murderers. But they needed Feigel to believe that he was about to die a very messy painful death.

 Charlie stood in front before Feigel and crossed his arms. He cut an imposing figure with his thick chest and broad shoulders. He was built like a rugby player and the sight of him would probably be enough to make Feigel piss himself. Nadine stood behind Feigel, close enough that he would be able to sense her presence. Sam moved in front of him and ripped off the hood. Feigel looked from left to right, blinking in the dim light. Her tried to look back over his shoulder but Nadine forced his head forward so he wouldn’t see her. He had duct tape across his mouth to stop him from screaming. He was going bald; the top of his head shiny with sweat and the thin greying hair that circled his crown was soaked with it. She almost felt sorry for him.

 “You right there, mate?” Sam said, still using his awful cockney accent. He gently slapped Feigel’s cheek a couple of times. “Hope you don’t get travel sick. Not that it matters. As you can see we’re well prepared for any messes you will be makin’.” Sam spread his arms showing Feigel the plastic sheets lining the van. Feigel started whimpering and pulling against his bonds. “Nah, don’t go doing that. You’ll only ‘urt yoursel’. And as you can see I got me a friend or two here who’re lookin’ forward to doin’ that themselves.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards Charlie. “Wouldn’t want to deprive ‘em of the pleasure, would yer?”

 Charlie was scary enough standing there in the low gloom of the van’s lighting, but Nadine dropped her hands to Feigel’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze anyway, reminding him that he was there. He screamed. It was muffled behind the tape but he was screaming as loud as he could, pulling tight against his bonds. They might not need to push this any further. The way he was reacting to just the threat of violence he might just spill straight away.

 “Shh, shh.” Sam tapped Feigel’s face again. It was chilling just how good he was at this. He so often acted the fool that it was easy to forget that he could be genuinely scary. The way he was now was a reminder that he used to be tight with Rafe and of the years he had spent in prison, and that he had cut down swathes of her men in cold blood. Both of the Drake brothers were lethal but this was proof that Sam was the darker of the two.

 The van swayed as Chloe took a corner. They’d agreed on a route so Nadine was prepared for every twist and turn. She watched as Sam worked his dark magic, telling Feigel exactly what they wanted from him and hinting to what they would do if Feigel didn’t deliver.

 Feigel was a blubbering mess by the time Sam reached up and pulled the tape away from his mouth.

 “Here’s yer chance, mate,” Sam said all reasonable like. “It don’t have to get messy. You give us what we want and you can pop off on yer merry way.” His accent was getting worse. “You don’t want to be helpful, well…” He trailed off. Charlie unfolded his arms and shucked his shoulders, and that set Feigel off sobbing again.

 “I don’t… I don’t…” Feigel was hyperventilating. “I can’t…”

 “Words I don’t want to hear, matey-mate.” Sam stepped aside so that Charlie could step forward. Slowly, making a show of it, Charlie reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pair of pliers.

 “No! No!” Feigel shrieked. “Please!”

 How far were they going to push this? Nadine looked up to Sam. His eyes were cold, not like anything she had ever seen from him.

 Charlie tapped the pliers thoughtfully against Feigel’s hand and then over to the other one, like he was trying to decide which finger to break first. She really hadn’t expected Charlie to be so good at this.

 “Okay! Okay! They have a lead!” Feigel pulled against his bonds, trying to twist away from Charlie and the pliers. “They have to win this competition. They - they- Tamas - he-.”

 “Slow down mate,” Sam said. “Start at the beginning. Tamas and Viktória have to win this competition, eh? Why are they even competing?”

 “Because they’re going to be cut off. They’ve wasted too much money on fruitless ventures. Mr Cseszneky is unhappy with them. He wants them to prove their worth. If they fail, if someone else finds the treasure first, then he’ll name his youngest son as his sole heir. Please, please don’t hurt me!”

 Nadine rolled her eyes. They were getting caught up in a rich man’s idiot games with his children.

 “You said they had a lead.” Sam cocked his head to the side. “Tell me more on that.”

 “Letters. They have letters written by Elliston to his family.”

 That was more like it. With letters they might be able to trace Elliston’s movement during and after the war. Nadine felt the first twinge of excitement for this project.

 “Where would we find these letters?”

 “I can’t… please…” Feigel’s head dropped and he started crying again. “They’ll kill me.”

 They all paused at that. Nadine looked up at Sam waiting to see what he would do. With the money they had at their disposal it was no surprise that Tamas and Viktória might kill their insubordinates. She’d found through the years that the richer the client the less they cared for human life.

 “Mate, we’re gonna kill you now if you don’t tell us what we want to know.” the tone of his voice sent chills down Nadine’s spine. “But we’ll give you a running chance to get away from them.”

 Feigel’s shoulders slumped. He sobbed for a bit, snivelling. Nadine didn;t need to see his face to know that it would be covered in snot and drool. “They have a villa in the south of France. At Provence. They keep all their research there.”

 Sam nodded. “I’m gonna cut one of your hands loose. I want you to write down the address for me. No funny business.” Sam pulled out a knife and cut the tie for Feigel’s right hand. He handed him a pen and a piece of paper. Feigel was nearly shaking too badly to hold the pen but he managed to scrawl down the information they needed. “Nicely done,” Sam congratulated him.

 “Please… Let me go.”

 Sam clumsily patted Feigel on the top of his bald head. “You did good, mate.”

 Charlie stepped forward with the duct tape. He tore a strip off and pressed it firmly over Feigel’s mouth and next the hood went back over. They freed Feigel from the chair and stood him up on shaking legs, Charlie holding one side of him and Nadine the other. Sam pulled from his pocket the thank you card they had prepared for Feigel and tucked it into the waistband of his pants. The card contained some money, enough to help him make his escape. The van slowed to a stop outside of the hotel that Feigel was staying at. Sam opened the side door and they pushed Feigel out. He fell to the ground in front of several startled people who had to step around him. They slammed the door shut and sped away.

 “Jesus!” Charlie pulled his hat and scarf away, revealing his face. He ran a trembling hand over his head. “That was messed up. That was so effin’ messed up!”

 Sam pulled his face coverings off and sat down heavily in the chair. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and took one out. “Anyone mind if I smoke?”

 “Nah, go for it.”

 Nadine moved over to the front of the van and rapped her knuckles against the slat. It opened immediately.

 “All good back there?” Chloe asked.

 Nadine pulled her scarf down. “Ja. We got what we needed. There was no violence.”

 “That felt violent enough.” Charlie slipped down the side of the van, sitting on the floor. He was pale, his eyes too wide.

 “You need to get some sugar in you,” Nadine said. He looked like he might be going into shock. She and Sam might be used to doing this kind of this but Charlie clearly wasn’t. “I think we could all do with getting some food.”

 “Let’s get the van dumped and we’ll get right on that,” Chloe said. “How’re you feeling, Sam?”

 “We got what we wanted,” Sam replied. He looked over the scrap of paper with the address on it. He had dropped the accent but now he sounded detached. None of them had enjoyed doing that.

 Chloe talked incessantly until they reached the drop off point for the van where they all piled out. One of the Post brother’s was waiting for them. Nadine only knew them by their surname and they all looked the same to her. They ran the rental business; vans and cars for whatever you needed them for no questions asked.

 “Frazer!” Post was a tall man with a belly that strained against his belt. He held his arms wide and pulled Chloe into a bear hug. “You brought it back in one piece this time.”

 “When have I ever totalled one of your vans?” She stepped back from him smiling. She handed him a thick envelope that contained the money for the van. The Post’s were expensive but worth it for the service they offered. He took the envelope and tucked it into his coat pocket.

 “I’m sure I can think of a couple of times.” He moved past them and opened the driver door, climbing in. “Until next time.”

 “Right!” Chloe clapped her hands together. “Let’s get us some food and then go over our next move.”

 “Vive la France!” Sam crowed happily.

 Nadine sidled up next to Chloe. “You okay?”

 “I’m great.” Chloe slipped her arm through Nadine’s. “I’ll be better after we get some food.”

 Nadine looked back over her shoulder to check on Charlie. He was following behind them, his head down and his hands in his pockets. Sam was in front puffing away happily on his cigarette.

Nadine pushed down the rising sick feeling, her stomach churning. She had never liked torture and while they hadn’t physically harmed Feigel this had felt a little too close to the darker more evil side of her previous occupation. That she had started anew and wouldn’t need to deploy those kind of skills again. Naive. Stupid. From what Feigel had said she had her first indication that the Cseszneky siblings were dangerous. Before they went to France she needed to secure weapons for them. She wasn’t going to be caught off guard.

+U�c�

[nalufever]

Fairy Tales/Mythology

‘Since Forever’ Read on FF.net: ch 1   ch2   ch 3   ch4   ch5   ch6   ch7   ch8

Prompt: Fairy Tales/Mythology. Natsu planned to read Lucy a fairy tail he'd written himself - but they got to talking. Natsu decides to abandon some of his plan - being under the romantic stars and having a deep conversation about them is pretty good in his book. There's no way he's gonna back down from telling Lucy how much he loves and cares about her though.

"Give it to me!" Lucy wanted to stamp her feet and shake her fists - but that never worked. It was more apt to escalate this into a shouting match. Or worse, he might hold the letter over her head and taunt her by holding it out of reach.

"Give it to you? You didn't even buy me dinner first." Natsu laughed awkwardly. "You don't want to see this." He scooted away from Lucy. "Trust me!"

"Give it to me!"

"No!"

Lucy scooted closer. "Give it to me!"

"No!"

"Give it to me!"

Natsu moved away again. "No!"

"Give it to me!" Lucy kept pace, leaned forward and stared Natsu in the eyes. They were forehead to forehead - and that's when a couple of older ladies passing by intervened.

"Millicent, can you believe how shocking young women are these days?" Phyllis gasped, her hand on her ample chest. In a judgemental tone of voice, she spoke to Lucy. "No means no young lady! Respect your date!"

"Give it -" Lucy broke off what she'd intended to say. "He's not my date. We're just friends."

Millicent clucked her tongue. "Such a pity! You'd no doubt get further into his knickers if you asked nicer!" She shook her head and addressed Natsu who was almost as red as Lucy. "Is she harassing you?"

Natsu took hold of one of Lucy's hands and squeezed reassuringly. He met the older woman's gaze. "This is a misunderstanding - I'm okay. We're actually very close, good, friends."

Millicent focused on Natsu and then Lucy, looking them up and down with the ghost of a smile on her wrinkled face. "Kids these days can't see what's staring them in the face." She tittered. "Just friends."

Phyllis offered Millicent her arm. They strolled off, their last words to Natsu and Lucy: "Doesn't look like it!"

Natsu regained his composure first. "Let's go back to the hotel and have a serious conversation."

A bit humiliated, Lucy nodded - unable to speak past the tight feeling in her throat. She watched Natsu stand and walk away. He took only a few steps before noticing Lucy wasn't following.

Natsu turned around and laughed. "C'mon! I have a story to tell you."

Lucy pushed herself to her feet, keeping her eyes lowered. "Okay."

"Hey."

"Yeah?" Lucy sighed, taking another look around the area where she and Natsu had first met. It was like any other small town. Nothing fancy or memorable - to her, but Natsu had cared enough to find the same spot. He'd cared to take her to the same restaurant - and he wanted to have a serious conversation. Her spirits rose. "A story sounds good." Slowly she extended her hand to Natsu. "Let's go back to the hotel."

"I woulda ordered room service!" Natsu held onto their steaming hot drinks as Lucy unlocked the room. "It's part of the fun!"

From over her shoulder, Lucy said, "Why pay three times the normal price? The little shop needed the business more than this place."

"Doncha like it?" Natsu followed his partner. "It's got a balcony that faces the water - and most nights you can see lots of stars!"

"It's better than I'd hoped - but it makes me," Lucy shrugged and bit her lip, "feel like there's something, I don't know. Wrong."

"Would you be happier in a seedy motel?"

Lucy shook her head. "No! But it's like there's something. I need to relax!"

"Let's sit on the balcony and chill." Natsu pointed to the patio door. "You go first, I need to get my book of fairy tales."

The surprise of what Natsu'd said made Lucy burst into giddy laughter. "You're going to read to me a fairy tale?" She clutched her stomach and had to lean against the overstuffed club chair near the far wall.

"I know you and the rest of the guild think I don't even know how to read -"

"No! I'm not laughing because of that!" Lucy stood up straight, all mirth draining away from her voice.

Natsu could see the remorse in her eyes. He stood stock still, having abandoned rooting in his luggage for his book.

"You're so much smarter than they give you credit for. But your choice of reading material is a wee bit juvenile for what I thought was going to be a more grown-up conversation." Lucy felt bad - had she insulted Natsu too much? It wasn't like she thought it was childish to read fairy tales. Imagining Natsu curled up with a giant book, reading about princesses and peas, crickets working as consciences, pigs building houses, and trolls hiding under bridges - it was cute.

"Yeah, I'm smarter than what the guild thinks." Natsu gave Lucy a warm smile. "What else is new? But what's got you laughing over my book of fairy tales?" He tilted his head, smile growing wider. "They're entertaining and deliver a lesson anybody can appreciate."

Glad that Natsu didn't seem to be mad over her hasty words, Lucy let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Then I'll be out on the balcony waiting for you. Hurry or I'll drink both hot chocolates."

Lucy busied herself positioning the chairs, all the better to watch the now appearing stars as the evening darkened. No more distractions. No odd passersby to interrupt. Nobody but them. Lucy leaned over the balcony and looked at the neon lights floating on the surface of the harbour water. The gentle, random bobbing was soothing.

The air held the sharp tang of salt and a faint whiff of fish - but it was invigorating. Lucy had been anxious to hear Natsu's reasoning behind calling them soul mates for what felt like an ageless time. The moment was here and she wasn't quite sure if she could handle whatever it was Natsu was going to say.

I remember the time Natsu was going to kiss me because Asuka wanted us to kiss - and I sabotaged that moment. I thought he was going to confess to me when he wanted to meet me at that tree - but he wanted to use Virgo to dig for treasure! He sleeps in my bed - and has never tried to take advantage. He's sure to make being soul mates just a fancier and nicer version of being best friends.

From inside, Natsu could hear Lucy sigh, as if she had the weight of the world pressing on her shoulders. He clutched the book to his chest and bowed his head, closing his eyes. Do I go with the plan or just give Lucy Mira's letter and throw myself on her mercy? Mira's letter rustled in his pocket - was that a sign from the universe? It was time - hell, way beyond time to talk to Lucy.

"Got room for me?" Natsu cringed. Not the strong opening he'd wanted, but - it was a beginning. He shut the door behind himself, sat his book on the side table, walked over to where Lucy was and touched her elbow.

"Always." Lucy looked at Natsu briefly - then back over the water, trying to hide her blush. "This is a perfect view." Reaching out, she pointed to a cluster of lights. "That looks like a flower."

"I'd have to say the view is perfect - but what I see isn't a flower."

"Well, what does it look like to you?" Lucy couldn't have stopped herself if she'd tried, she had to see the look on Natsu's face. He hardly ever sounded so serious. The only problem was, he wasn't concentrating on the water - he was looking at her.

"I see you."

Honesty, raw and pure shone in Natsu's eyes. He wasn't making a joke, nor being prompted by an external source. Natsu was still looking at her - and it didn't fit any of the comfortable patterns they had. What should she say? About to say something, she opened her mouth. Before she could speak, Natsu silenced her with his fingertips on her lips.

"I see my best friend, the person I like the most." Natsu gulped. The moment of truth - he had to follow through. Time to confess, and confess fully. "I've been trying to tell you exactly what you mean to me, Lucy. It's not a surprise I'm not good at romantic gestures, but I know my own emotions." He let his hand glide across to cup Lucy's cheek and then drop back at his side. "It's always better when we're together."

~end of chapter 8~

A/N: Oh ho ho! It's used a lot in stories 'It's always better when we're together' ~ but I like it and hope it wasn't too cheesy. There is one chapter left - and the bonus of Mira's letter - so forgive me for leaving the chapter where I did (at least this chapter was longer ^^) Thanks for reading!

Tag Squad: @impracticaldemon @rocktqueen @unashamed-shipper @ftfanfics @fic-writer-appreciation @eliz1369 @shell-senji @celestialgeekmage @celestialspiritqueen @nalu-fluff-week

Wanna be added or dropped? I’d be happy to fix that for you  ^^

[ineffablecolors]

BLUNDERS AND (HAPPY) BEGINNINGS [3/?]

Blunders and (happy) Beginnings; CHAPTER 3; ~ 2, 400 words; FF.NET || AO3

Thanks so much to everyone who left me feedback, it helped a ton in getting me to whip up this chapter in an afternoon!

Verdicts passed and vows made in the wee hours of the night seem to dissipate much like the morning dew when enough sunshine has shamed them back into the realm of those late hours when our defenses are so much lower and our tempers so much easier to excite.

Whether Miss Swan realized that, and counted on it as she made her way down to Lady Ingrid’s breakfast table, is something of a mystery. But one thing is for sure – she must have worried herself about being the beacon of attention into a state far beyond what was required, for Miss Anna Froster probably couldn’t have contained herself from taking over that role even if asked to do so. And, thankfully, no one made such a request.

And thus, while she went on about Hans Islingtons’ rather handsomeness and rather tallness that Emma (and probably everyone else because people characterized by their tallness then to have that effect on others) had observed the night before, her aunt was free to enjoy the glow on her cheeks and the eagerness of her quick, and often unfinished, phrases and had only to ask her, from time to time, to take a breath and a bite and so got to enjoy her hearty appetite as well; her sister got to enjoy much the same things with much more composure and some reserve, while at the same time contemplating the exact number of days she had to wait to start probing Emma with questions about Captain Liam Jones so as to minimize the chances of her friend’s teasing her for it; and Emma got to breathe easily for the first time since she had woken up and decided on pretending that the previous evening had been much like any other evening, and thus got the chance to forget for a bit her own self and to immerse herself in Anna’s obvious giddiness and Elsa’s which she was probably thinking everyone oblivious to.

“I have decided what we shall do today!”

Elsa’s surprise had more to do with Emma’s enthusiastic tone than the words that had come with it. Emma was no stranger to knowing precisely what she wanted to do and leaving the fewest opportunities possible for others to intervene with her wishes or control how she spent her time in any way.

“Have you now? Aunt and Anna have been not five minutes out of the door in their badly veiled pursuit of further intelligence about Mr Islington and you have already formed a scheme for us as well?”

“If you must know, I was hard at “scheming” while we were at breakfast and Anna was describing the precise shade of Mr Islington’s eyes for the fourth time.”

“Emma!”

“I swear, this will be my sole commentary on that “predestined meeting, scribbled in the stars”.”

“And yet.”

“Oh, well, my only two then. Would you like to tempt me away from quoting your sister by learning how your time will be occupied today?”

“Am I to be nothing but a listener in this story of my immediate future then?”

“ I suppose you can contribute some of your stoic brilliance as well, if you would just uncross your arms and stop pinning me to the wall with those fine eyes the exact shade of-“

“Oh, do save us both and just reveal your wicked little plan, will you?”

Miss Froster had perfected a particular visage for those exact situation, a perfect arrangement of her features that communicated to Emma that she was listening carefully and agreeing to nothing as of yet. But she did let her arms drop to her side (for all the good that it did when they next came to rest firmly against her hips at Emma’s pronouncement).

“We are to intrude on Mr and Mrs Nolan and take the bothersome captains staying with them off their hands.”

“How kind of us! Yet, I’m afraid, you will be challenged by their prior engagements, for I know that Captain Jones is to look over some potential hunting grounds with Mr Nolan and Captain Killian Jones is to help Mrs Nolan rearrange her library.”

Emma waved her hand dismissively as she was already making her way around her friend’s room and preparing her for a day among nature.

“You underestimate Mary-Margaret’s desire to have Jones breathe something other than book dust and, what better way for Liam to mark some good hunting spots but a nice, long walk?”

“I’m quite sure this is not how-“

“Elsa. Do you wish us to discuss the fact that I’m positive I saw you sniff Captain Jones’ shoulder during your second dance las-“

“On second thought, the weather is rather wonderful today!”

And thus, with only some foul play on Miss Swan’s part, we could have seen those two ladies make their way out of Lady Ingrid’s residence and in the direction of the Nolans’ without any further interruptions.

But when interruption is meant to appear, it has the most precise timing of all forces. Relief delays and dawdles endlessly, Destiny forgets its hat three times in the least and Serendipity sometimes never even makes it out of the house but Interruption – Interruption you can count on when you least want it and should thus the most expect it.

Today, for Miss Swan and Miss Froster, Interruprtion came in the shape of Mr Neal Gold, who – it would appear – had finally decided to honour at least some customs and call on his partner from the night before.

It is unclear to the unenlightened observer, if he had meant to see her or merely leave his card but it is safe to presume that he had not meant to quite literally run into her and even less so to be the one more thrown off balance by the small collision and the one in need of a pair of stabilizing hands.

Yet, there they were. Miss Froster’s eyes quite wide, Miss Swan’s hands on their could-have-been guest’s shoulders and Mr Gold’s mouth hanging open somewhat endearingly, somewhat unflatteringly and quite sheepishly.

“Ah, Miss Swan! I was just-“

One of Miss Emma Swan’s multiple peculiarities was that she had caught wind of Relief and Destiny and, especially, Serendipity’s fickleness and thus had no patience with them. And she had, in her hasty way, lumped poor punctual Interruption along with them and had very little tolerance for it as well.

“Oh, yes, of course! Very kind of you to call but – as you can so clearly and perhaps, somewhat painfully – are you quite alright? Yes, well, as you see, we are on our way out so perhaps we will have the chance to meet again at some other time. Not quite so suddenly.”

Mr Gold either had no experience with being so dismissed or was still somewhat stunned by the form in which their greeting had come. Perhaps both. Perhaps neither. We do not care much and neither seemed to Miss Swan.

So with a “Splendid! Have a lovely day!” she reached for Elsa’s hand and tugged her around the still flummoxed gentleman on their doorstep.

 “I suppose I must thank you for taking such a weight off my shoulders.”

Emma narrowed her eyes and looked sideways at Captain Killian Jones, who was walking a couple of feet to her left and a solid twenty paces ahead of the rest of their party, which consisted of Miss Froster and Captain Liam Jones – souls for whose ankles Killian held some non-unjustified concern, based on the way they failed to observe anything in their surroundings but the presence of the other.

“I know you have set a trap for me and yet I shall walk into it. What does that make me?”

“In the hunting terms you have adopted – a very intelligent yet easy prey.”

With a non-committal hum, Emma debated the prospects of her being prey and the very real possibility of her being the hunter.

“So what have I unburdened you from?” she asked eventually, taking the bait, true to her word.

“Well, seeing as you have followed in my brother’s meddling footsteps, I no longer feel such a pressure to do so myself. Not that I ever had the least intention or potential for it.”

“’Meddle’ is such a harsh word, Captain. You do me and your brother both a disservice.”

“On the contrary, Miss Swan. While I have no taste for it myself and find it rather testing in others most of the time, I cannot help but somewhat admire people who can meddle effortlessly and, what is more, successfully.”

“Don’t you go and jinx me now, Jones,” Emma glanced behind them with a tentative smile. “Besides, better to meddle harmlessly with others than make blunders of my own.”

If Emma had made a list of topics which she wished to discuss with Captain Jones, it would have been extensive and excluded few things. One of which she had just dragged out of the woods herself and laid down at their feet to trip over when the day had been progressing some smoothly.

She feared no one’s consternation, yet she most certainly did not enjoy Elsa’s and she somewhat expected David’s but the one that had her stomach all in knots was certainly, embarrassingly but undeniably, Killian’s.

A glance at the man in question showed his profile in the early afternoon light, not quite brooding but definitely thoughtful. Not quite provoking but definitely breath-taking. It ushered Emma into a memory she was all too happy to entertain and let take her away from the present moment and any possibility of her trampling further into a conversation she was most eager to avoid.

Miss Swan had met Mrs Nolan on her very first visit to Storybrooke and from then on the place and the woman herself were entangled together in her mind as one warm, sweetly welcoming whole. It was the quickest true friendship Emma had ever cultivated. Indeed she had no notion of even having planted it properly when Mary-Margaret was already offering her its fruits. It seemed that no time had passed between receiving her very first undeniably-kind-and-well-meaning-yet-unnervingly-personal-and-perceptive question and meeting Mr Nolan.

And while she loved Mary-Margaret with every part of her, even if some of those parts still couldn’t quite believe such purity could exist, it was her relationship with David that had progressed into something almost parental – a kind of trust and solidity that Emma had only ever found in Ingrid and yet never quite with such an undercurrent of understanding that the Nolan’s gifted her.

And then, one June morning, about two years ago to her reckoning, at the Nolan’s breakfast table, Emma had set down her fork, turned to the door that had just burst open and thought that perhaps all her acquaintances at the Nolan’s were meant to surpass each other in intensity and defy all her expectations and resolutions about being a politely uninterested member of society.

Impression 1 of Captain Killian Jones: the handsomest man Emma Swan had (back then and still at the present moment of her recalling that memory) lived to see.

Then had come the startled blue gaze, the brisk assessment of her person, the thinned lips and the perfectly civil and even more perfectly cold apologies and introductions.

Impression 2 of Captain Killian Jones: the rudest man (perhaps a somewhat hasty assertion but in no way entirely and resolutely disproved for another couple of months at the least) Emma Swan had lived to meet.

But then, of course-

Impression 3 of Captain Killian Jones: the smartest man (and thus, as he himself had once put it, “quite the challenge”) Emma Swan had lived to banter with.

“People like calm waters because they can swim in them. Yet no one admires a small spring like they do a waterfall.”

Emma shook herself back into the present, where the light was still making Killian appear warmer than she had known him to be in those two years she had known him. Or perhaps that was the influence of his brother’s presence. Or perhaps-

“On the whole,” Captain Jones continued calmly, talking to her and to the horizon at the same time, as if giving her the opportunity to take what he was saying to heart or leave it in the dust beside their path. “I have come to believe, like many others before me have and many more will, I’m sure, that we regret so many things we didn’t say or do, that we have hardly any time to regret the ones we did.”

If you have ever spent an afternoon walking a forest path, you’d know how the light plays between the leaves even more than the wind does, how it bounces and teases and deceives. You’d understand why Emma, already caught off guard by seeing Captain Killian Jones’s smile, albeit a small one, for no more than the fifth time in her life, was dubious whether or not his gaze truly had flickered to her lips when he had turned to her.

And if-

“Oi!”

Ah, Interruption. Just on time. As always.

Captain Jones’s hand flew to the back of his head as Miss Swan’s none too happy gaze flew behind them and it gave her little satisfaction to see Elsa’s elbow make contact with Liam’s arm.

“Apologies, little brother,” his voice boomed strong and coated in mirth from quite a distance away. “But we must know, if we should stop here, from fear of losing our hearing after some point up ahead that you and Miss Swan seem to have crossed.”

Despite his huffs of displeasure, Killian turned around and, offering Miss Swan his arm, led them back towards his brother.

“I believe we wish to make our way back no more than you do but, alas, we must, for Mrs Nolan will be expecting us all for dinner and you, dear brother, still have half a library to arrange.”

Were the older captain’s teasing less apparent, his brother might have taken some offense. As it was, he and Emma overtook and surpassed the other couple with only a single comment.

“I know you are not greatly acquainted with them, Liam, but books generally tend to remain where you’ve left them.”