#does she have to go register her slate with all the towers or are they just active for all slates

[svtskneecaps]

grrrrrrrr i have more inane zelda lore questions

[belladxne]

i will see you where the shadow ends | chapter 3

[see notes for ao3 and ff links]

part of the put your faith in the light that you cannot see series AU: Breath of the Wild pairing: KiriBaku word count: 4,454

chapter 3: who do you follow when there’s no one else around you? (tell me where i need to go)

Eijiro’s quiet while they prepare lunch, but Inko doesn’t press him. She seems content to wait for him to express what’s bothering him, while they both go about their parts. She keeps up a constant commentary, explaining the steps to everything she does to prepare and cook the food, and all the seasonings she uses, even though Eijiro hasn’t asked.

She’s either determined to teach him to cook, or just to keep him distracted from the thoughts weighing in his head, but either one is appreciated. At one point, he struggles to keep his hair out of his face as he cuts up the pork he’d hunted down earlier for their meal, and she jumps up from her seat with more agility than he’d expect from someone her age, proclaiming that she has just the thing.

She rummages for only a few moments in a pot at the other end of her small, one-room home, before coming back to him with a few short lengths of string and handkerchiefs.

“Here, sweetie,” she says, as she folds one of the handkerchiefs a few times until it’s a thin strip, and then helps him secure it around his hair as a headband. “You can keep these. They’ll come in handy with that hair of yours.”

She’s maybe the absolute kindest person in all of Hyrule, and Eijiro’s so glad she was here when he awoke. One hundred years—in which he’d been… been resurrected, apparently. And in which the kingdom had fallen apart around him. He could have woken up alone up here, with no help, but instead he has Inko, and he’s so grateful.

He must have been silent too long, though, because eventually as she’s just finishing up the cooking, she sighs gently and asks, “Eijiro, dear, what’s on your mind?”

“Oh.” He echoes her sigh, though his is a lot heavier, and looks down at his hands. He’s been thinking about it, too much, on and off ever since he saw the words on the map. “Well, it’s… I found out the name of the place I came from, the one I was asking about. It’s, um, it’s the Shrine of Resurrection.”

He knows what that word means, okay, he knows—and—and why else would he need to sleep for so many years? And how else could he sleep for so long and come out of it so young? He looks up at Inko, chewing nervously at his lip.

“Inko, do you think I’m dead?” he asks, somewhat pitifully.

She stares at him for a couple of moments, before “Oh, honey,” escapes her abruptly in what sounds like a laugh, though it’s not unkind. She just sounds sympathetic, if a little amused. “No, no, sweetheart. Of course you’re not.”

“But… I mean, what if...”

How could they know, really? He can feel himself pouting again as he looks at her with big, worried eyes, but she tilts her head at him with a fond, if concerned expression. “Eijiro, trust me. I’ve been in this world a very long time. I’m probably one of the most qualified people around to tell you you’re not dead. By the time you get to be my age, you’ve learned a thing or two; I promise I could tell if you were.”

Eijiro nods, but he continues to gnaw at his lower lip in thought. A slightly amused huff escapes Inko, and she stands, wiping her hands clean on a rag she’s had set aside, before she marches around the table to pinch at his cheek teasingly.

“Ow, ow!” he whines, wiping at the spot she’d pinched even though it hadn’t hurt that bad. She chuckles, moving back around the table to move their lunch—sautéed mushrooms and herbs, with seared pork—onto plates for both of them.

“See?” she asks, the laughter lines around her eyes deepening once more. “Couldn’t feel that if you were dead. You’re flesh and blood and very alive, dear, I promise.”

He sighs again, but he does feel better, and he manages a small smile that he’s surprised to realize is genuine.

Gods, Eijiro loves meat.

Inko was right, and he’s glad he waited to eat before tackling the shrine. There’s a monster camp just outside of it, and he’s downright gleeful about getting to have that fight on a full stomach—and he can’t imagine how much worse it’d have felt, to have to fight past them with arms still shaky and achy from the climb down the Great Plateau Tower.

When he finally steps up onto the level surface before the shrine, admittedly, his shoulders and muscles all feel sore and protest at most movements, but they’re still steadier than they might have been. There’s a pedestal, just to the side of the gate into the shrine. The gate looks similar to the doors that had kept him sealed into the Shrine of Resurrection, with interlocking panels pressed together—but these ones lie horizontal, instead of vertical.

He hears a tune sound from the Sheikah Slate, and as he pulls it from his hip to approach the pedestal, he sees that the map now displays two new emblems—another bright blue one, where the tower is, and an orange one here, at the shrine. It also displays a name over this shrine—Oman Au Shrine.

It’s a little less straightforward than ‘Shrine of Resurrection’, but it doesn’t really matter, he guesses.

He looks down at the pedestal, and the incredibly helpful advice of, ‘this isn’t complicated,’ flashes through his mind, making him chuckle as he moves to press the Sheikah Slate to this pedestal, the same as he did to get out of the Shrine of Resurrection. This time his slate has to confirm instead of authenticate, whatever either of those things even mean, and then the voice delivers another new phrase.

“Travel gate registered to map.”

He wonders what travel gate means, turning to look behind him curiously as the large circular emblem in the platform behind him lights up blue, again with that strange blue energy clouding off of it for a moment. And then, after a chime of “Access granted,” the door just past the pedestal begins to open—this time the panels swiveling in, instead of sliding past each other.

It’s… just a hollow little nook? He expected maybe a stairway or passageway leading down, but it’s empty in there, but for another slightly smaller circular emblem on the floor inside. It’s patterned differently, but it’s also lit up. Cautiously, Eijiro goes to stand on it—gods, he hopes this structure isn’t about to shoot up into the sky, too.

Instead, the circular marking on the floor shifts, and smoothly—and gently, thank the Goddesses—it begins to sink down. Eijiro watches, wide-eyed as this apparent platform just—floats? Seemingly suspended by nothing, as it slowly lowers him through a dark tunnel, lower and lower into the ground. He can’t quite see yet where the platform is taking him, so he cranes his head instead to watch the sliver of sunlight up above slowly shrink with distance.

When he finally emerges from the bottom of the chute he’s been descending down, and the shrine opens up around him, it’s—

Oman Au Shrine is otherworldly. It’s hard to believe that the rest of the world even can exist, somewhere far above this.

It’s not dark and claustrophobic like the Shrine of Resurrection was, and there isn’t a thick layer of dust choking the air or the same atmosphere of abandonment, despite what Inko had said about no one being able to enter. There’s an unnaturally bright, blue-ish light that beams down from the entirety of the ceiling. Unlike the Shrine of Resurrection, this space is—it’s huge, much more open, and instead of the curved walls of the Shrine of Resurrection sealing him in, nearly everything here is angular, compiled of rectangles or squares.

Something… something about the structure reminds him of a child’s construction out of blocks—like not all of the shapes fit together quite how they’re supposed to, bits of black and tan stone jutting out just a little farther here and there. It adds all the more to the unreal feeling of this place.

An altogether new feeling hits him as soon as he steps down from the platform—unlike with the voice that calls to him from the castle, which he almost hears, though the sound is more in his mind than in his ears, now a sensation of words washes over him, but it’s not at all like hearing them. It’s barely even like feeling them. It’s like the words are just… appearing in his mind.

To you who sets foot in this shrine… I am Oman Au. In the name of the god Bakusatsuo, I offer this trial.

There’s a sensation just ghosting at the edges of his mind with the words, something that feels ancient, but… not malicious, at least? It’s deeply unfamiliar and unsettling, and he knows he’s never experienced anything like it in his life, but he gets the sense that whatever entity or force just—spoke?—to him, it’s very, very old.

Off to his left is another pedestal with a black, somewhat-pointed stone suspended above it, just like at the tower, so Eijiro gets to work.

This time, when the glowing fluid drips onto his Sheikah Slate, it’s not a map that appears on the screen. It says it’s a... rune? He doesn’t know exactly what that means in this context, but he does know that Sheikah use runes in their magic—is that what this is? Is this gonna let his slate do magic? Let him do magic? Oh, he so wants to do magic.

Eijiro can fucking do magic.

He’s never felt this cool in his life, slinging giant chunks of metal around like they’re weightless, through the power of whatever odd tether forms out of the slate when he activates the rune. After he’s worn out the fun of marveling in his new unchecked power—(okay, it’s a little checked; he can lift anything made of metal, but he can only move it so fast and only up to a certain distance, and he can’t even lift metal objects that he’s standing on, which is lame)—he finally moves on to the trial that’s apparently set before him.

It feels like less of a trial and more of a hands-on lesson to get him used to the rune. There’s more than a few opportunities for him to get creative about moving obstacles, finding things that are out of his reach or not immediately visible without use of the rune, and stacking or arranging things to get around to places he otherwise couldn’t reach.

He quickly feels like a pro at toppling walls of obstacles, making metal bridges, and climbing metal boxes. It gets almost boring fast, and the only things that throw him off, and that he could have done without, are the automatons sprung on him about halfway through, when he still has the slate out and isn’t suddenly ready for combat.

By the time he’s using the rune to heave open the hulking metal gates at the end of his trial, wincing from the results of that battle—the machines had shot lasers at him, lasers! And though he’d hardened in time, his skin still stings, feeling burnt and raw where the beams had hit—he feels like he’s been here ages. The slate says it’s been more like only an hour and a half, but he’s still way too ready to be done already.

Past the gates is an odd, elevated—platform? Or altar, or something like that. Eijiro freezes in his spot when he lays eyes on the spectacle before him. There’s two tiny sets of stairs, only six shallow steps to each, leading up to the odd platform, which is encased on all sides by some glowing blue screen or window. But it’s what’s inside that transparent blue wall that gives him pause, because—

Because that’s definitely a dead guy. Oh, gods, that’s so a dead guy, sitting there.

Eijiro only continues forward very begrudgingly, closing in to notice that this freaky, shriveled and mummified form with long white hair is in some sort of meditative pose, with his hands shaped together to form a triangle. He’s also pretty distinctively wearing clothes that remind Eijiro of traditional Sheikah garb, a hat slung over his back that’s of obvious Sheikah make, and, oh, Eijiro shouldn’t neglect to note the shadow people’s symbol painted blatantly on this man’s forehead. He’s also shirtless, which Eijiro can respect.

Reluctantly, he climbs the steps, coming to a stop at the small, railed-in landing at the top of the second set. Oh, he’s way too close to this dead guy for his liking. Is there something he’s supposed to do here…?

There are a few seconds spent shuffling awkwardly in place, hoping for something to happen as he alternates between looking at the mummy and the Sheikah eye that hovers between them on the glowing window, before Eijiro finally sighs. He’s gonna regret this, but fuck it. He clearly is supposed to do something, so he—with every instinct in his body screaming at him not to—reaches up to touch the Sheikah symbol on the partition in front of him.

The whole thing shatters, and he jumps.

Again, he gets that suggestion of words, not heard or felt but still somehow there, and he knows without a doubt that their origin is this dead Sheikah before him. They’re a little stronger now that he’s closer to the source, but still a foreign and indistinct feeling.

You have proven to possess the resolve of a true hero. I am Oman Au, the creator of this trial. I am a humble monk, blessed with the sight of the god Bakusatsuo and dedicated to helping those who seek to defeat All For One. With your arrival, my duty is now fulfilled. In the name of the god Bakusatsuo, allow me to bestow this gift upon you. Please accept the strength of my spirit.

Eijiro blinks, brow furrowing as he wonders what that means—but then he sees what it means, as suddenly, a compact, hazy cloud of purple—he doesn’t even know, energy?—seeps out of the monk’s chest, and—and begins to drift towards him.

A little alarmed, Eijiro staggers half a step back in a probably less-than-manly move, eyes flicking between the monk and the approaching haze—but before he can make the decision to bolt, unsure what the hell that substance is exactly, it touches his chest and begins to absorb into him. He yelps, one hand reaching up to clutch over his heart like he can somehow pull the essence back out of himself, the other clinging at the railing like a lifeline so he doesn’t tumble down the stairs in his attempt to reel away.

He feels… he doesn’t know, something blanket and course through him, the feeling deeply unsettling and he wants to ask this guy to take it back.

May Bakusatsuo smile upon you.

As Eijiro watches, the monk before him starts to—to disintegrate, freaking him right the hell out as the mummified Sheikah dissolves into greenish particles that float away upwards. His eyes feel like they’re about to bug out of his head and he’s half a second from hyperventilating as he stares, mouth agape.

Oh, gods. Oh, gods, did he just get possessed? He doesn’t want to be possessed! He does not want some weird ancient monk to pilot him around! Not cool! It’s not cool!

He needs to sit and have a moment before he can make his way back to the platform out of the shrine.

Inko is waiting for him when he does get out of the shrine. He steps out into the sunlight, still unsettled but comforted by normal fresh air and surroundings again, and she steps up onto the surface at the entrance of the shrine, meeting him.

“How did it go, sweetie?” She looks him over, eyes crinkling warmly in the way he’s used to. “You have a different sense about you. You look a little heartier.”

This is the last thing Eijiro wants to hear right now, and he looks at her in alarm. “I seem different? What do you mean? Different how? Do I still seem like me?” Oh, he’s so possessed. He’s so possessed by a weird old dead monk man. This is the worst.

Taken aback, Inko blinks owlishly at him. Concern coloring her expression, she steps closer with furrowed brows. “What do you mean? Of course you do.”

“But are you sure?” he asks, a little desperate.

“Yes! Eijiro, sweetheart, what happened in there to have you in this state?”

The story comes pouring out of him all in one breath, voice only getting more hysterical as he goes. “I don’t know, I—I went in there and there was a trial? Sort of? It wasn’t really hard at all it was just kind of teaching me how to use a new thing on my Sheikah Slate and there were machines that attacked me and then there was this weird old dead guy at the end of it and he said he’d give me ‘the strength of his spirit’ and then this weird purple stuff came into me and now I think I’m possessed!”

Inko stares. Eijiro stares back, probably a little wild-eyed and frightened. Not for the first time today, Inko’s eyebrows lift high on her face, and then she shakes her head as she reaches out to place a hand on his arm. “Eijiro, honey, don’t you think you’d notice something different about yourself if you were possessed?”

“Maybe?” He’s so desperately hoping she’s right, but he’s just a little freaked out right now. “Just—I don’t know, what if, like, my own thoughts are different so I’m not even thinking like me and that’s why I don’t notice?”

“I think if you were possessed by something that made you think differently, you wouldn’t be worried about being possessed at all,” she reasons, firm in her stance. After a beat, she tilts her head and asks, “Are you always this paranoid about silly things?”

“No!” He can’t help but be defensive. “I mean. I don’t think so?” Given a moment to process the whole conversation, he finds himself a little embarrassed, dropping his face into his hands with a groan. “I’m sorry, I’ve had a really weird day, Inko.”

She chuckles sympathetically, patting his arm comfortingly. He doesn’t want to come out from behind his hands, but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless. “How about we get to thinking about your next step, hm? What happened while you were in there? Did your voice speak to you again?”

Eijiro doesn’t even want to get into the happy little jump his heart performs when she refers to the voice he’s heard so much as his, so instead he focuses on taking a deep breath and removing his fingers from his face. He shakes his head, trying not to be disappointed.

“No, I haven’t heard from him again.” He’d really been hoping that using Sheikah technology was the key to prompting him to speak but… apparently not. “Um… okay, so. I got down into the shrine, and this, um, really old Sheikah monk, who was like, shriveled up and mummified? He said it was a trial. And when I finished the trial, he said...”

Eijiro’s brow furrows as he tries to remember, exactly. He’d gotten pretty distracted and weirded out, afterwards, so the words hadn’t exactly had time to stick.

“He said… that I have the resolve of a true hero? And some stuff about Bakusatsuo, and that he was supposed to help anyone who wants to fight All for One.” Thinking back on it, Eijiro definitely starts to feel a little silly, now. Obviously, the monk wouldn't possess him if he wanted to help him. “And then he said he was giving me a gift, and he, like—disintegrated, after sending some weird purple… stuff into me, I don’t know, that’s when I got weirded out.”

Inko hums thoughtfully, considering. Just when she’s opening her mouth to respond, Eijiro spots an old, battered metal crate nearby and remembers.

“Oh!” He’s already whipping the slate out in his excitement, activating the magnesis rune. “And I can do this now!”

He uses the slate to grab the box, lifting it into the air—Inko lets out a quiet cry of, “Goodness!”—and moving it away from them, before dropping it with a heavy thud and beaming at her.

“That looks awfully handy,” she admits with an indulgent smile. “Just be careful with it. So, if that shrine gave you an ability like that, and was placed there to help you fight All for One, it stands to reason that the others will probably help you, too? There are a few more shrines even here, on the Great Plateau. Maybe you could go to them, while we figure out how to get you down?”

Moving to clip the slate back to his belt, Eijiro’s eyebrows raise. “There are? Where?”

Admittedly, he’s not exactly eager to have more of that weird purple… mist, or whatever, thrown at him, but this magnesis thing is cool. If the other shrines have other runes for him… maybe one of them could be something that grants him the ability to get down from the plateau. So, even if the thought of dealing with that again makes him a little uneasy, he knows he has to man up. He’s not going to save anyone if he’s too scared to even face dead guys trying to help him.

“You could probably see them all from the top of that tower you raised,” Inko suggests helpfully. “Your Sheikah Slate should also have a scope feature that will let you mark the shrines on your map from far away.”

“Really?” He hasn’t even found that feature. It’s not his most pressing issue though, because he finds himself looking dubiously at the tower in the near distance, ahead of them. He sighs. “Man, I’m not looking forward to climbing all the way up there. Down was hard enough.”

Inko chuckles agreeably, clearly understanding of his plight. “Your slate has something for that, too. To help you travel places faster.”

“You mean the map?” he asks, brow furrowing. He guesses that would make sense; having a map that moves with you and shows you exactly where you’re facing in relation to your destination probably speeds things up a lot more than using a regular map and constantly having to orient yourself.

“Oh, you know about the fast travel on the map already?” Inko asks, sounding pleasantly surprised, and Eijiro blinks. The shrine had said something about a fast travel gate, right?

“Um… no?” he answers honestly. “Wait, how do you know all this about my slate? I thought you said you didn’t know a lot about Sheikah stuff?”

An amused huff escaping her, Inko gives him a chiding look. “Sheikah Slates were around one hundred years ago, young man. I may not know much about Sheikah buildings or how they all work, but your slate is another matter entirely. I’ve heard quite a bit about what they’re supposed to be able to do. Now, pull out your map.”

“Oh.” He does as she says, but as he’s bringing up the map he can’t help but furrow his brow as he realizes her wording. She made it sound like she was around one hundred years ago. But she still doesn’t look old enough for that—unless she was, like, a baby, and aged really well, and even then, a baby couldn’t work a Sheikah Slate. Probably.

“All right,” she begins, moving beside him to peer at the map with him. He notes with some interest that the emblem for the shrine where they stand is no longer orange on the map, but blue like the other emblems. “So if you tap on the tower on the map, it should let you move there quickly.”

He does as she directs, watching as a message appears on the screen, bearing two words, each separated and outlined: ‘Travel’ and ‘Cancel’. “Like this?” he asks, finger already moving unthinkingly to tap the word travel.

Before Inko can answer, Eijiro is ripped violently out of his body.

Describing the sensation of fast travel would probably be impossible. One moment, Eijiro is normal, and the next—it’s like he’s blacked out, except not at all because he can still think and panic, but he can’t feel his body, like at all. Can’t keep track of any part of himself. He feels so disjointed, unable to gain any sense of equilibrium or awareness of his surroundings or the orientation of his own limbs, and the whole while he feels like he’s hurtling through the air at horrifying speeds.

And none of that comes close to describing the discordant sensation of all of his senses reassembling themselves all out of order, as he’s placed on the circular symbol on the top of Great Plateau Tower—placed gently, but that’s too little too late.

The instant his feet hit the surface, Eijiro topples over, and it’s all he can do to scramble to the edge of the tower before he’s emptying what’s left of his lunch over the side. Oh, gods. That was the most jarring experience of his life. That was so bad. What the fuck.

Pressing his forehead to the tan stone that ridges the edge of the tower, Eijiro groans, wind whipping his hair all around his face.

“I’m never doing that again,” he swears under his breath to himself, voice thick and arms wrapped around his stomach. He fucking means it, too. That was godsdamned awful.

It takes more time than he’d like to admit to compose himself after that, but once he’s finally pulled himself to his feet he can at least say that the scope feature is way easier to find and use than it could have been. There’s tons of shrines, it turns out—he can make out so many from up here, but most of them are well out of his reach, until he can get off of the plateau. It’s not even a full minute before he has the three shrines Inko had told him about marked down on his map, with glowing beacons that appear on the scope when he moves it over them.

One of them, he notes eagerly, is easily reachable, too; not far at all where it sits surrounded by ruins.

It’s just… he can’t help but despair, just a little, because now begins the process of climbing all the way back down. After the worst ascent of his life. Again.

[tintinnabulary]

Archeron Ambrosia

This is my first fanfiction, but I love writing and write a lot and couldn't get this idea out of my head so if you guys want more holler at me about it. But I’m just gonna leave this here for all you Nessian, Feysand, Elriel lovers looking for a Bakery/Tattoo Shop AU. Enjoy!

Chapter One

Sugar, butter, flour; the three ingredients that can transform into a myriad of edible delicacies. Nesta loved the way she could take any of these three, and with precision and accuracy, could replicate any number of recipes from her tattered old cookbook. She loved that if you followed the directions, every time the same dish would come together, with the same flavors, texture, and consistency--no surprises, you get what you put into it. The recipe book, handed down for three generations, was one of the only good thing to come from her father, and she had baked every recipe at least a dozen times for her family. For her sisters, Feyre and Elain. Now, after years of hard work, reliable recipes, and a degree in business and pastry arts, she was finally ready to open the doors on Archeron Ambrosia--a bakery for the whole family.

Finally, there was a place where the talents of all three sisters could come together to make amazing gifts for the world--beautifully constructed cakes, cookies, and other delectable sweets for every occasion. Nesta baked the fluffy, velvet-like cakes they were famous for, and piped designs with a militant-like precision. Feyre, who was in her sophomore year of art school, took care of painting amazing scenery on special order cakes as well as air brushing some of the more extravagant designs. Elain, who was hoping to open her own floral shop but fell in love with the freedom of fondant flowers, was a master of edible (and non-edible) floral arrangements that couples loved to adorn their wedding cakes. The team they created would meet the needs of every customer under Nesta’s tutelage, and soon customers would be flooding their storefront instead of crashing their online site every other week with orders.

The only problem was the location. With large ovens comes a large bill, and an even larger gas and electric bill, so their storefront was in an edgier part of town. A black-light bowling alley sat catty-corner from the store, with a dive bar next door. Two streets over was a local college, with coffee shops on every corner and small eateries, but the price for rent went up a grand the closer to the college Nesta had looked. So she settled in to the empty store next to a popular tattoo parlor--Illyrian Inscribed. Nesta appreciated the alliteration enough next to her own, and the front looked black, sleek, and clean, so she hoped its presence next to her own store wouldn’t discourage her usual clientele from approaching.

When she bought the store, her sisters had thought she was crazy. It was a fixer-upper, to put it modestly, but Nesta knew that was what she wanted. Control over the paint, the floors, the windows--just like with her cakes, she wanted a clean slate to work from and make her vision come to life. Dark wood floors were laid, a soft blue-grey was painted on the walls to match her eyes, and soon every other piece fell into place. Small cafe tables sat under windows with flowers Elain had arranged. Artwork from Feyre’s latest installation, Night Sky in Solidarity, was prominently displayed surrounding large mirrors to make the space seem larger. And most importantly, the cake display was the center of attention.

A clean, golden display with curved tops, and different shelving spaces--some towering towards the ceiling and some at waist height--gave room for displaying anything from a dozen chocolate cookies, to a six-tier wedding masterpiece. A vintage cash register sat atop the counters, and gave a rustic feel to the entire place. It combined old school elegance with new school clean lines and precision--exactly Nesta’s aesthetic.

After grueling hours of work to place everything where it belonged in the store, and filling the case up with fresh treats for all to enjoy, Nesta was finally able to open the shop.  It was a bright Tuesday morning when she walked up to unlock the doors, Elain bouncing on her heels in excitement.

“I really think we should bring goodies around to the other shops, Nesta! I mean, most of the people who are going to buy from us are the local people. And then they’ll tell people and word will get around and it’ll help business.” Elain followed Nesta inside of the building, and helped flip on lights and the cursive sign that blinked OPEN.

“But that’s going to cut into our profits if we just take merchandise and give it away to everyone in the block. I mean, how many people do you think work at,” Nesta squinted out the window to properly read the sign, “Helion’s Blacklight Balls and Pins?” She shook her head afterwards, dismayed at the name.

“Well, at least to our immediate neighbors. Illyrian Inscribed probably doesn’t have many people. I mean, don’t most tattoo places only have like, five artists hired at a time? Maybe with an apprentice or two?”

“Why do you know so much about tattoo parlors, Elain?”

She blushed. “I just watch tv, okay?”

Nesta sighed and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Fine. We can bring them over a bite sized cookie sampler. It’s from the leftover batter anyways so it won’t hurt our profit too much. You can do it, and I’ll get started in the back. We still have to finish that five layer wedding cake before Thursday.”

“Which one? The one where every layer is a different flavor for Ms. Alias or the floral one for the Spring Court Commissary?”

Nesta audibly groaned as she wrapped her black and pink floral half-apron around her waist. “Both. But I’m trying to finish Alias’s today, and the Spring Court one tomorrow. You’ve got to get going on those flowers. Five layers, five different types of flowers.”

Elain jumped behind the counter and started grabbing cookies from all over, ruining Nesta’s display. She swatted Elain’s hand, and once the sister backed up, she began arranging a plate herself.

“I know. Daisies, roses, baby’s breath, marigolds, and lilies. Who requests baby’s breath for a cake anyways? Those are strictly filler flowers and have no business surrounding a middle tier on a cake masterpiece.”

“I don’t know,” Nesta finished the arrangement, and handed the now full tray back to Elain. “But regardless, it has to get done. So go next door, dazzle them with your doe eyes and magnetic personality, and tell them to come get lunch from here and actually pay for something.”

Elain laughed and began to walk to the door, straightening out imaginary wrinkles in her floral, knee length dress. “Who knows, maybe there’s a handsome fellow over there to sweep me away.”

“Wouldn’t that be grand? They could sweep all of us away,” Nesta said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

Elain sighed, “Yeah,” she walked out the door. “It sure would be…”

Chapter Two

[royaltyjunk]

Enemy, Ally, and Nothing More [T, FE7]

Summary:

After the campaign, Heath settles in Ilia, because he cannot find it in his heart to return to the country he had once called home.

Author's Ideas: I started this back in June 2016 and just now dug it out of the pile of WIPs in my Google Drive

Whoops? Thus begins Avi's campaign of 4k word fics and hopefully I can climb up to 5k but probably not lol

I kinda really like Heath so I wrote a thing where I make him suffer. So yeah. Have it

So like in case you didn't know I REALLY LIKE HEATH YOU CANNOT KEEP ME FROM LOVING THIS MAN

Also happy Thanksgiving y'all, here's your Thanksgiving gift because I'm horrible and put deadlines for myself and force myself to overwork :^)

I'm fine, I promise

As always, readable on FF.net and AO3.

Disclaimer: Gosh I wish I owned Fire Emblem (not really)

After the campaign, Heath settles in Ilia, because he cannot find it in his heart to return to the country he had once called home. Hyperion has no complaints - he doesn't act strangely when Heath suddenly steers him away from the high mountains and grassy plains of Bern and doesn't hate the snow that now greets him every morning.

The three pegasi riders, Florina, Farina, and Fiora, escort him into Ilia and enroll him into the mercenary guild.

"Wyvern riders aren't commonplace in Ilia, but we've had plenty of riders from Bern in the past," Fiora explains as they walk through the halls of the large building. Heath nods, ignoring the strange stares that he gets, the whispers that follow the people who walk away. Sometimes, nervous giggles erupt from young girls, but a simple glare from Fiora is enough to shut them up.

"I'm sorry. Those are the girls training here. They're trainees."

"It's okay," Heath says. "They'll grow up." His voice has a rasp to it that he's never heard, a lowness that he's never noticed.

Fiora looks at him worriedly, but he shakes his head, and she smiles, a happiness in her eyes.

"It's nice to see you're getting better, Heath."

"I…" he trails off, turning his head and looking at his feet. His long green hair falls from the back of his head, blocking the side of his face from Fiora's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Fiora rests her hand on his arm, and he swallows.

"It's fine. I… I am not looking into the past anymore."

Fiora gives his arm a reassuring squeeze before hurrying down the stairs. He follows, brushing his green hair out of his eyes.

There's a large table lit with candles, and a group of people sit around it. Some are polishing weapons, some have quills in hand, scribbling across papers, and some make small talk amongst themselves. They all look up when the group of four files in.

"Commander Fiora," one of the women greets. "Commander Farina, Trainee Florina."

"Mother," Fiora murmurs, bowing. "I have a request for you."

"Does it include this man?" she asks, gesturing to Heath. He lowers his head respectfully.

"Yes," Fiora responds. "His name is Heath. He is a wyvern rider."

"I see," Fiora's mother murmurs, but they can all see the look of disinterest in her eyes. "Very well. We will register him in." She begins to write on a piece of parchment, and then looks up. "You are dismissed."

"Thank you, First Major," Heath says respectfully.

She nods curtly in response, and then Fiora pulls him away. They stay silent on the way up the stairs.

"Um… I'm sorry about the way our mother acts…" Florina pipes up. Heath blinks in surprise, turning to look at her as her voice trails off.

"Why? There's no need. I'm not offended."

"Oh… but…"

"Just leave it, Florina," Farina mumbles tiredly. "If he's not bothered by it, don't bother him about it."

The lavender-haired girl nods hesitantly.

"Would you like to stay in the Guild? Or find an inn in town?" Fiora asks Heath.

"Either is fine. Whichever is more convenient."

"The Guild it is," Farina says, and Fiora turns to look at her sister.

"Farina, can I leave you to find a room for him? I must… run some errands."

"Where are you going, Sis?" Farina asks.

"In town," she responds. "I have to meet someone."

Farina gives her a slightly curious look, but Fiora walks away, and Farina throws up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay." She turns to look at Heath. "Let's go. Florina, you can go back to your room, or train, or something."

Heath nods in agreement. "I can tell I'm making you uncomfortable. Please, do whatever makes you comfortable again."

"Oh…" Florina blinks, then nods. "Thank you, Heath… you're… a good man."

He doesn't respond as she walks away, because he knows if he says something, it's going to be about how he's not a good man, he's a traitor, a horrible person -

"Hey, Heath! Hello!?"

He starts, and looks up to find Farina's already dashed ahead of him. She's waving at him from down the hallway. He hurries to her side, a guilty look on his face.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," she says, and leads him up a flight of stairs. "The third, fourth, and fifth floor are living quarters. The higher your rank, the higher floor you'll live, and the better your room will be. Of course, it's all meaningless if you don't live in the Guild."

"I see," Heath murmurs. "So my room will be on the third floor."

"Yeah. Actually, one of my friends just moved to a new unit, so she's not living in the Guild anymore. Why don't you take her room?"

"Oh… alright," he nods. She leads him through a seemingly endless hallway until she suddenly stop. Heath looks at the door. There's a blank slate of wood, and Farina procures a dagger from her pouch.

"Carve your name in."

He takes it and carves his name into the wood.

"There. Now it's yours."

"Thank you, Farina. For everything," he thanks, smiling. "I never would've been able to join the Guild if it weren't for you."

At that, Farina bites her thumb and an anguished look overcomes her. Heath stays put, and Farina sighs, looking up at him.

"Why?" she finally blurts out. "Why'd you join us? You're not looking for fame, or fortune, so why Ilia?"

"I wish to bring Ilia the justice that Bern never had," Heath murmurs, and Farina props a hand on her waist.

"What a noble cause."

And so he becomes known as the Lance of Justice, the man who climbs to the rank of a Commander faster than anyone else, and even if he knows he'll never truly feel at home in Ilia, he can serve them better than he served Bern.

~ / . / . / ~

It's some five years after the Campaign of Fire ended, and he runs into an old companion.

It happens in the deep mountains of the Western Isles, when Heath is flying through the clouded skies surrounding the tumbling cliffs of the mountains that tower over the Isles. There's something soothing about the wind against his face, whipping through his hair and opposing him, until his eyes catch a man dressed in dark blue with lavender hair, sitting beneath a large crevice.

He descends in a spiral, a sensation in his heart that he's familiar with, but has never experienced.

The man makes no move to run, and Heath lands in front of him. In the darkness of the crevice is a single small lantern, placed carefully beside the man. His scar-torn face is illuminated eerily in the candlelight, but the mischievous smirk on his lips has not been stripped from him, even in the harsh conditions he must live in.

"Legault."

"Would you look at that. It really is you."

"Yes," Heath responds softly. "I never expected to find you in a place like this though."

At that, Legault lets out a bitter laugh. "I'll bet."

A silence hangs over them then, and there's something unspeakable in that silence that seems to smother them both. Neither of them dare to speak.

Hyperion twitches, and slowly creeps under the crevice. Raindrops fall, and the first of them catch themselves in Heath's long green hair. Heath steps under the shelter, and Legault is just a step away. Hyperion has curled up in the very corner of the crevice, but even that takes up half of the space under the cliff.

Heath grunts as he clambers on top of Hyperion, and his wyvern doesn't react. He's long grown used to his rider sleeping on top of him, or pressed against his side. It's something they'd had to adapt to when they were on the run, and a hard habit to break at that. There's something nice, in being able to feel that someone is there for you, even if they're not human.

Legault lifts a finger to his lips, and then whispers. A small flame flickers to life, weak and easy to put out. The assassin feeds it to the lantern, and the light grows. There are lanky shadows in the cavern now, Heath's shadow stretched across the wall, and Legault's across the stony floor.

"...You haven't changed," Legault smiles. "I heard you're a mercenary now."

Heath purses his lips. "You've heard correctly. And what about you?"

"A fugitive. I tear down the remainders of the corrupt Black Fang from the inside, and help those being persecuted for standing up and doing the right thing. It's the least I can do for my lost comrades."

"So you're still a fugitive."

Legault chuckles bitterly. "I'm sorry. I said we could be friends as two fugitives. I lied."

Heath tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"I'm a fugitive, and you're a mercenary," Legault replies, standing and looking at him incredulously. "You really believe we can still be friends?"

"Legault - "

Then the purple-haired assassin disappears into the night veiled with sheets of rain, and Heath realizes that the man has re-taught him the meaning of the word "ally".

~ / . / . / ~

He doesn't say anything throughout the entire meeting, even when they tell him who his client is, who he'll be meeting with, and who will be his enemy.

"Commander Heath?" asks one of the mercenaries under his command as Heath grabs his lance. He grunts, pulling his long green hair into a ponytail.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, it's just… I…" he trails off, then clears her throat. "You were acting rather strange during that meeting. Are you alright? If you wish to not take up arms to protect House Reglay, you should have told the General."

Heath shakes his head wordlessly, and the sellsword blinks in surprise.

"What do you mean? Commander, you were clearly shaken by the job."

"No, it's nothing. It's not anything bad. It's just… a memory… from long, long ago."

The mercenary gives him a dubious look and opens his mouth to try and argue, but the cold look in Heath's eyes indicates the end of that conversation.

No one else in his squadron tries to defy him or turn him away from taking on the mission, and so he leads them to Etruria under the demand of protecting House Reglay's count and countess, but even he cannot predict the surprise that will meet him when he arrives.

Heath blinks in surprise. "A rebellion?"

The servant of House Reglay bows his head. "Yes. A rebellion has broken out in Etruria. Aquelia has been overtaken, and the king has been taken hostage. It appears the only person standing up to the defects of Etruria and the armies of Bern is Mage General Cecilia, and even she is losing. Your protection of the Count and Countess Reglay is of the utmost importance."

"What of you?" Heath asks, frowning. "If we are to escort them to Nabata, where will you and all the servants go?"

"...We will stay here. We cannot endanger our lieges more than we already have."

"But - "

"Why must you care so much of our lives?" the servant retorts suddenly. "We have devoted ourselves to the Count and the Countess. What happens to us matters not."

"Have you not thought about what your lives mean to the Count and the Countess?" Heath blurts out. "Do you think they would want you to sacrifice your lives for them?"

The servant doesn't say anything, and Heath runs a frantic hand through his hair.

"...My apologies. I did not mean to sound so… pretentious." Heath turns, and steps back onto Hyperion's saddle. "However, I hope you will think about what I said."

He leaves afterwards, in search of a Count and Countess running to Nabata, hoping dearly that his old allies have survived.

Yet, when he's looking them over, he knows he shouldn't have been worried. There's nary a scratch on either of them, and even in their later years, they've managed to leap through holes in Bern's army and shoot down the ones who dare oppose them. There's a half-used Elfire tome in Count Reglay's hand, and the Countess hides another tome under her cape, cloaked by the full quiver of arrows she carries and the large Silver Bow in her hands.

"Heath," Louise murmurs, and he bows deeply.

"Countess Reglay. Count Reglay. It is a pleasure to see you both well."

"Stop that, Heath," Pent urges. "Even if we contracted you, it doesn't mean we can't be equals."

Heath doesn't say anything, but straightens himself, standing up. Louise steps forward, gesturing for Heath to walk with her.

"Come. I will show you your room in the manor."

"Countess Reglay, please - "

"I insist. It's the least I can do for you."

Heath nods. "Very well."

They walk through the hallways of the abandoned manor, making small talk among themselves until Louise stops him in front of his room and asks him the questions he's been dreading to hear.

"What will you do after you've escorted us safely to Nabata?" Louise inquires softly.

"I… truly don't know. If I'm hired for Lycia or if I'm hired for Etruria, it matters not what I think. I must serve them. But… I cannot go back to my homeland. It… pains me too much, to see how my great country has fallen so quickly."

"Then please, for my sake, go to the side of the Etrurian army after this."

"If it's what you wish," he murmurs, and goes to close the door.

"Will you not come and see Priscilla after this war?"

The mention of the elephant in the room makes him freeze up, and he looks up at Louise, who is watching with expectant eyes.

"She misses you very much."

"I know," Heath murmurs, licking his dry lips. "But I can't. I… my duty can only be to the ones who pay me."

"Such is the life of a mercenary," Louise murmurs sorrowfully. Heath nods in agreement. "Very well. Would you like me to tell her something then, in your stead?"

"Countess Reglay, I couldn't possibly - "

"I am asking this of you as a friend, not as the countess of Reglay."

Heath pauses, then closes his eyes. They both know there's no guarantee that the words will reach her. After all, war is war. It is not merciful, nor is it kind. Still, he can't stop himself from searching his mind for the right words.

"Tell her I'm sorry. And… that my heart will never waver. She will understand."

Somehow, he knows that Louise has already deciphered the meaning behind his words.

~ / . / . / ~

It's months after the war has begun, when Etruria has been freshly liberated and the Etrurian people are still celebrating late into the night, when he meets her again.

He sits on a balcony railing, Hyperion curled up behind him. His lance is tucked precariously under his arm, and feels the wind blow at his face, lifting his long green hair into the air.

He runs a hand against his scalp frustratingly, pinching a lock of hair and staring at it. He's going to need to cut it as soon as he can. It's starting to get in the way of his vision.

Hyperion sits up then, his head turning frantically. Heath looks over his shoulder at his partner.

"What is it?"

"Please let go of me," a firm female voice drifts in from the open balcony door. Heath immediately turns, the hair on the back of his neck and his arms prickling. Hyperion tugs at his tunic with his teeth, and Heath places his feet on the balcony floor softly.

"Ah, come on," a harsh voice replies. "Why you gotta be so proper and former? You got a pretty face, can't you have a few stands every now and then?"

"Let go of me." She's dropped the formalities now.

Then a redhead steps back in front of the balcony, her wrist grasped by another man, and looks at the figure making his way towards her. Her eyes widen.

Heath narrows his eyes at the man with his fingers wrapped around her wrist.

"Let go of her."

"Why should I?" the man snarls. "She's mine. I saw her first."

Heath's fist connects with his jaw, and the man staggers back. There's no stank of alcohol on the man. Heath's heart grows colder.

"She's not something you can claim, like an object," Heath says, his voice dangerously low. "You ought to rethink your thoughts on humans. They're not toys."

The man stares up at him with terrified eyes, and then darts out of the castle. Heath closes his eyes, taking in deep breaths.

Gentle fingers brush the back of his balled fists, and he turns.

"Heath," she breathes.

"Priscilla," he whispers in response, the anger expelled from him at the sight of the woman he loves. "What are you doing in Etruria?"

She throws herself at him, her arms wrapped tightly around him as she lets out a choked sob. He staggers back, but his hands rest on the small of her back and he rests his head on her shoulder, because it's instinct, it's something that's never left his body even after these long years without her.

"I was captured… They were going to execute me tomorrow… Heath…" she pulls back, cupping his face in her hands. "I never thought I'd see you again…"

"Priscilla, I… I can't stay here," he murmurs. His heart breaks at the look of disappointment on her face, the unhappiness in her eyes. "My contract is over now that Etruria has been liberated. I have no reason to stay here. I must bring my squadron back home."

"Am I not enough of a reason?" she inquires softly.

"I love you," he whispers, "but you can't love me. I can't love you. I'm sorry…"

He kisses her after that, and there's something so guiltily satisfying to know that she'll never love anyone other than him, that he'll always be able to call Priscilla his love.

"You promised you'd come back," Priscilla whispers, clasping his hands in hers. "And when you finally come to me… you must leave again?"

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, his lips barely brushing hers every time he speaks.

"Tomorrow, I must see you off as the Countess Caerleon. Please… allow me this precious moment."

"Yes…" he agrees softly, and she kisses him fervently, her hands in his hair and his hands pulling her closer, ready to love her, appreciate her, treasure her.

So when the morning comes and she sees him off as a countess of Etruria thankful to him for escorting Count and Countess Reglay to a safe place, he can't bear to look her in the eyes, and just bows his head.

~ / . / . / ~

He receives summons from a seemingly lost friend one day, and is in Caelin the next morning.

"Heath," Kent greets rather exhaustingly.

Heath gets a good look at the paladin. His orange hair is less vibrant, dulled with the streaks of gray running through his hair. His eyes are still sharp though, his strength, skill, and speed are still among the best.

Heath bows. "Commander Kent."

"Rise, old friend," Kent responds. "You shouldn't address me like that."

"You're my contracter. I ought to show you some respect."

At that, Kent laughs. "If you want to show me respect, you can do so by not calling me Commander. I almost despise that title now. It's what landed me in this spot of trouble, after all."

"Speaking of, what is this spot of trouble? You hired me on those grounds, didn't you?"

"I did," Kent agrees. "But right now, I'd like you to meet the platoon you'll be commanding."

And so Heath spends the rest of his day extensively training the new squadron he's gained control of. Yet the question that Kent had refused to answer churns in the back of Heath's mind, grinding away even while he's shouting commands and sparring.

So it's not a surprise that, when Heath sees Kent leading his horse into the stables, he calls out and hurries after him.

"Heath," Kent smiles as they walk through the stable hallways. He opens the door to his horse's stable, and his steed trots inside.

"How are you, Kent?" Heath asks, leaning over the stable as the knight releases the reins from his horse and fills the trough with water and food.

Kent steps out of the stable and sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Tired, to say the least. Although, it is something that happens every day, so I cannot say I am not used to it."

Heath nods. "Being Commander can't be easy."

"Make sure you take care of yourself, Heath," Kent murmurs. "You're a commander too."

Heath grunts, and they walk through the castle grounds in ambient silence until Heath breaks it with a single question.

"Why did you call me here?"

Kent takes in a deep breath, and then purses his lips. "Let us sit down. It's… a long story."

So, after Kent takes a detour to grab them each a bottle of ale, they sit in chairs facing each other in Kent's room.

"There's a rebellion. Some people wish for Caelin to be an independent province again, and in the midst of this war, with the Liberation Army away and Etruria too weak to retaliate… they think this would be the best time. By the time the Liberation Army comes back, it will be too late. I… I have no choice but to suppress it."

"So you hired me to help you."

"You… were the only one I could trust that would command a fleet for my sake."

"What of Sain?"

At that, Kent flinches in pain. "Sain… died on the way here. The Sacaens - the Djute - ambushed him. As strong as he was, he was no match for them."

"So Fiora…"

"She is cremating his corpse now. She said she will try to come, but doesn't know if she can. That's why… I needed you here."

"I see."

Heath takes a moment to look around the room then. It's the former Lord Hausen's room, since Kent is the steward of Caelin and Lady Lyndis lives in Ostia with her lord husband, Lord Hector. The curtains are drawn, and there's a cloth of velvet covering a large area of the wall. Heath tilts his head.

"What is that?" he asks curiously.

Kent blinks in confusion, and when Heath points he follows his finger until his eyes meet the red draped across the wall and his eyes become burdened with sadness.

"They're paintings of the marques's lineage. Lord Hausen, Lady Madelyn… and Lady Lyndis." His voice cracks at the last name, and Heath knows what has caused it. It doesn't take him much to figure it out.

"You loved her," he murmurs. Kent bows his head in shame and guilt.

"I did. Yet she could never be mine. She was too perfect. Too beautiful, too powerful, too aggressive and loud to be mine. She was made for Lord Hector. Brash, but calming. Never hesitant, but careful. Two halves of a whole. Her heart never held a place for me." Kent pauses, then glances at Heath. "I'm sorry. That was inconsiderate of me. I can't even begin to imagine the pain you went through."

Heath folds his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. He purses his lips, suppressing the feelings he's told himself never to feel again, and it's as if Kent can tell because he lets out a shaky breath and his eyes brush over with an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, Heath."

"No… I've been lying to myself, and to everyone around me. I love her. That's something I can't deny. It's no use trying to suppress these feelings, is it?"

So Kent stays by his side as he holds his face in his hands, letting the silent tears dripping down his face express everything he couldn't.

"I'm sorry I never joined," he murmurs eventually. Kent shakes his head.

"You never were meant to be duty-bound to one person. You are the lance of justice, Heath. Continue to serve us all in the ways you wish to."

Heath smiles, bowing his head, face sticky with dried tears. "As you say, Commander Kent."

~ / . / . / ~

He returns to Bern on a cold winter night, a blonde-haired woman beside him.

Vaida had found him on the road back to Ilia from Caelin, and had recruited him to join her in Bern. He couldn't find it in himself to refuse the commander he'd once made a promise to, and so agreed to travel with her, even against his heart - the thing he's listened to for years - screaming at him to never return to the monstrous country he had once lived in.

"There," Vaida points at the castle in the distance.

"Mm," Heath murmurs. "It has been a long time since I last saw this castle."

"It has," Vaida agrees gruffly. There's a hint of weakness in her voice, but she shakes her head, and it's gone. "Come."

They glide to the front of the castle, and the guards call out, "Who goes there?"

"Apologies," Heath answers, swooping down in front of the soldiers standing in front of the doorway. "We went flying, and didn't expect to come back so late."

"What's your name, soldier?"

"Hea - "

"Heanius," Vaida interrupts, coming up behind him. He purses his lips, cursing himself for his carelessness. "My name is Valter."

Heath blinks, and notices that she's pulled her cloak loosely around herself. She never had many womanly features, so he supposes it's easy for her to masquerade as a man.

"Heanius and Valter… Very well. I will not report this to the king, but be on your guard."

"We will. Thank you," Heath thanks, nodding his head before guiding Hyperion to the stables. Sure, he might not have been in the castle for a long time, but he stills knows the place like the back of the head. There are upsides to having nightmares of this place, after all.

After putting Hyperion away, Vaida leaves him to find a free room for himself, and so he stumbles into the first unoccupied room he finds, removes his armor, and falls onto the bed, hoping that the nightmares will go away because he's finally back and there's nothing to be scared about.

Yet the nightmares are still there, even stronger than before, and he wakes up in the middle of the night with heavy sweat beading his forehead and arms and body.

He closes his eyes, attempting to wash them away, but all it does it bring them back. His friends, his comrades, all slaughtered beneath axes and lances and swords and magic, shot down by arrows that were should never have been meant to shoot them down if their army's commander hadn't been such a weak man and a reputation hogger.

He can't do it anymore, he knows, and so he sits up abruptly, his blankets sliding off of his bed.

"Screw this," he hisses under his breath, and pulls on his armor, slowly tiptoeing from this room to the stables.

When Hyperion sees him, slipping through the alleys of the stables with a lance in hand and his saddle and reins in the other, Hyperion's jaw stretches up in something similar to a smirk, and Heath can't help but smile too.

When he looks back at the castle, Hyperion screeches, and Heath looks away.

The last time anyone sees him is when Hyperion flies away from the mountains and into the tall looming sky, flies away from Vaida and Bern, the country he loves but can't fight for, away from his love, away from those allies he'd thought he'd had and the ones he'd thought he lost.

In his life, there could only be enemies, allies, and nothing more.

[ourmidnightneverland]

The Graveyard

Things seem larger at night, when the city is asleep, when shadows hover like clouds underfoot. This is a place where memories come to die. 

It’s been thirteen years since Marinette first donned the mask of Ladybug and she’s long since passed it onto her successor. 

Now, the new Ladybug and Chat Noir have gone missing and a mysterious shadow creeps over the Parisian nightscape. It’s been years since she’s been home, fighting alongside Chat Noir. It’s been years since she’s seen Adrien, after they broke up ten years prior. But she finds herself slipping back into old habits, especially when Adrien seems obsessed with a mission that might be connected to the ever-looming shadows. Especially when she and Chat Noir discover their true identities.

Part Three (Also on AO3) | Part Two | Part One

“My lady.” He nods, hesitating for a second before taking hold of her hand and pressing a light kiss against her knuckles. “I knew you’d come back to me eventually.”

She lets out a huff of a laugh, slipping her hand free. “You haven’t changed, I see. It’s good to see you again.” 

“You haven’t aged a day,” he says with a wink. 

“Can’t say the same about you, though.” She glances up at him quickly, not recalling him towering over her as he does now. He looks rougher, but thinner somehow, a line of stubble against the pallor of his skin. She thinks if she pushed him, he might shatter before he fell, armored or not.

He gasps in mock protest. “The life of a tomcat is not an easy one,” he replies. She notices beneath his grin, he’s slightly out of breath. She can’t tell if it’s from being out of practice or something more. “Some say I’m more rugged now.” 

She raises an eyebrow. She reaches for his arm, frowning when her hand wraps easily around his wrist. “That’s not how I’d describe it,” she says, the humor slipping from her voice.

His cheeks flush as he yanks his arm free. “We’ve got a job to do, I hear.” 

“That we do.” She peers past him, across the line of rooftops and buildings beneath them. Everything looks still, slowed in the bask of nighttime, except for a shadowy patch at the smallest stretch of her vision. “What’s that?”

Chat squints as he follows her gaze. He shakes his head when he can’t seem to make it out either. “It shouldn’t be that dark.” 

“It’s not dark, exactly, but…” She trails off, leaning forward slightly. Her foot slips on the edge and she finds herself shooting forward, hands flailing and her yo-yo quickly unwinding before she can grab some of its slack.

Chat shouts and launches himself after her. She feels his ribs crash against hers, the metal of his staff pressing between them as he pushes against it. He stumbles as he lands back on the edge, his arm gripped tightly across her waist. His breath fans across her face, hot and uneven. He looks as if he’ll be the next to topple off the edge. 

“Nice save,” she says, frowning up at him. “You okay?” 

“I think I’m too old for this,” he wheezes. His grip loosens and he leans against her instead, shaking feeling back into his legs. 

“I think we’re just out of practice.” She presses a palm to his forehead, frowning more when she finds it burning up. “And you’re definitely not in the right shape for this.” 

“I’m fine.” He grabs hold of her hand and squeezes it gently. “Getting over a nasty virus. Overworked. Stressed. I’ll be good as new tomorrow.”

“Well, that doesn’t help me tonight,” she says, squeezing his hand in return. 

He presses another quick kiss to her knuckles. “Ah, your concern humbles me, my lady. But I think we have more pressing matters right meow.”

She yanks her hand free. “You’d think after thirteen years, you’d at least have better puns.” 

“What are you saying?” He raises in eyebrow in mock disbelief. “My puns are a-meow-zing.”

“Even worse, actually.” 

“I’m out of practice,” he reminds her and leans against his staff. “So, what do you think that shadowy area is?”

“I don’t know.” Her gaze flicks back towards the dark patch in the horizon. “It looks foggy, misshapen almost. Definitely strange.” 

“So, let’s investigate.” He’s already leaping past her, tail flying behind him, before she can register he’s left. 

“A warning would have been nice,” she mutters. She flings her yo-yo at the building below, swinging after him. 

The shadows don’t clear as they draw closer. Their shape is just as distorted when they’re up close, dark patches weaving in and out of focus. 

“I’ve seen this before,” she says slowly. She thinks of the shadows that edge her dreams sometimes, vaguely-shaped, always reaching.

Chat pokes at the shadow with his staff. It passes straight through, even though the shadow isn’t transparent. “It’s all over this building,” he observes. “This whole row of buildings, actually. What did this used to be, an old business area?”

“I can’t remember,” she replies. “It’s been a while since I’ve been home. I was too busy trying to keep afloat in New York.”

“New York?” He seems surprised, chuckling as he retracts his staff and returns it to his side. “What kind of heathen did they turn you into?”

She scoffs, flicking her yo-yo in his direction as she paces around the shadow surrounding them. “Certainly more refined than you turned out. You’re barely more than skin and bones, you scrawny cat.”

His smile fades. “I’ve been doing some traveling of my own. It didn’t turn out as well as yours.”

“I can see that.” She doesn’t meet his gaze when he continues to stare down at her, the humor stripped from their banter, the shadows like dark clouds smothering their feet. They remind her entirely too much of her dream. 

“We can go through it, I think,” he says. “It doesn’t seem harmful.” 

Her hand stills him before he can test her theory. “You don’t know that. Not all wounds are visible.” 

“You have any other ideas?” 

“Not at the—Chat, wait!”

But he’s already passed through, the air stale and heavy around her. Chat’s voice is muffled in front of her, as if there’s a slate of glass between them. He seems unscathed, though.

She sighs and follows after him. The building around her looks considerably more rotted than the outside’s implied. The second floor is crumbling away, wooden support beams eroded and broken above her. There are streaks like burn marks across the walls. Chunks of floor missing, dirt and rubble poking through. And the shadows hover like low-laying fog at her feet.

“Not impressed,” she tells him, walking past him. 

“Sorry for disappointing.” He waves at the fog behind him, which seems to have risen to block out the city around them. 

She bends over to inspect a black streak winding down the decaying staircase. 

“You said you’ve seen this before,” he points out. His steps are slow behind her. 

“No.” She runs a gloved finger across the blackened mark. She’d expected soot to come free, but the blackness parts away from the stairs, drifting like smoke before dissipating. “I mean, not exactly.” 

“It’s like a dream,” he says and the words startle her.

She turns towards him, the grim line of his frown pulling at something familiar, something she can’t quite pinpoint. “You’ve dreamt of this?” 

He lets out a low laugh and kicks at a piece of broken tile. “Since I was eighteen. Same recurring dream, every night.” 

“Every night?” 

“Every night,” he confirms. “It’s part of the reason why I was traveling. Trying to find answers.” 

“Did you see—”

“A ghost?” he interrupts, standing stock-still as his eyes fix on something past her.

“Yes, exactly,” she says. She feels her heart speed up, her blood both too warm and too cold in her fingers.

“No,” he whispers, nodding slightly to what his gaze is fixed on. “Turn slowly and back up towards me.” 

A shiver runs through her as she turns. His hand finds her, pulling her behind him, as she eyes the figure standing on the stairs. It’s a woman, clad in a white pantsuit, her hair swept up neatly at the nape of her neck. But she’s entirely transparent, made of nothing but white smoke that stands out starkly from the dark shadows surrounding her. 

“How do we fight ghosts?” he asks quietly, his staff held before him.

“No idea,” she replies, recalling Tikki’s words from earlier. Her fingers edge towards her yo-yo, ready to use her lucky charm.

Then, the woman screams, gray smoke pouring from her mouth as she dissolves before them, leaving the staircase bare again.

Both Chat and Ladybug jump back, shouting, but the shadows are already reeling away, fading into the walls.

There’s something entirely too familiar about the woman, whose lectures Marinette hadn’t attended for many years.

“Was that…I mean, did you recognize her?” she asks.

There’s a beat of silence and she turns to look back at Chat, who’s swallowing visibly. “I did,” he finally says. His hand is still around her wrist and he lets go slowly. There’s something both jarring and relieving to hear him confirming her fear. 

“So, is this something that mimics people? Imitates their shape, maybe? Should we be hunting down who they’re targeting? To ensure their safety?”

“It could be,” he says slowly, “but Miss Bustier passed away a few years ago.”

She feels her blood run cold again. “No, that can’t be.” But she was younger than my mother. She reels back in her mind, trying to remember if someone had mentioned it to her. Her parents. Alya. Maybe they’d thought she’d been too busy, maybe they’d thought they’d told her in passing—a Skype or phone call before she’d run off to chase after deadlines. Maybe they had and she’d buried it in the trenches of her memory, something to deal with later.

“I had her one year.” The words slide free, like an afterthought. It takes a moment for them to catch up to her and when they do, her eyes widen in panic. She clears her throat. “I mean I—”

“I did, too,” he replies.

She glances up at him, but he’s still staring at the staircase, lost in thought. He hasn’t moved since the ghostly figure had disappeared.

“We went to the same school,” she says. The jarring sense tugs at her tighter.

His head jerks toward her, eyes wide as he lets out a low chuckle. “We really are out of practice, letting things like that slip.”

She watches him run a hand through his hair, sending it tumbling past his eyes. She tries to recall someone tousling his hair similarly, but stops herself before she can fully dissect it. She’d gone thirteen years without knowing his identity. She doesn’t need to know now, not when there are more important matters.

“How do we fight ghosts?” she repeats his earlier question. 

“I don’t know, but I have a feeling that wherever it’s gone, it’ll lead to the other Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

“Practically a given,” she agrees. “The question is where.” 

A shrill beep sounds between them, startling more space between them. 

“Time’s running out,” he says. “Should we come back?” 

She eyes the fog, almost entirely dissipated now. The decrepit building seems emptier around them now, as if whatever eeriness it held retreated with the shadows. It’s nothing but forgotten debris now. “I don’t think we’ll find any answers tonight.” 

Her miraculous beeps a second time.

“No, probably not.” His eyes flick towards her, a smile at the edge of his lips. It has none of the fervor of his previous smiles. “Tomorrow?”

“Unless you see something before then.” 

He bows, and the way his body seems to fold on itself makes the jarring even worse. 

“Take care of yourself,” she murmurs, barely catching the furrow of his brow as she tosses her yo-yo and takes flight again. 

Does your boyfriend know you’ve got a handsome partner fighting crime with you? Chat had said, collapsing his staff and returning it to his side. He cocked a grin in her direction. 

She’d immediately rolled her eyes. I don’t think he has any competition.

Me-ouch. He leaned against the wall, grin never faltering. 

Do you think your girlfriend would appreciate you flirting with another girl? she’d tossed back.

This time, his grin did waver. It’s just banter. You know I’m not serious, right? 

She’d paused, arms folded across her chest as she took in his frown. His quips had come less frequently those days, less admiring, more vague. 

If it’s bothering you, I’ll stop, he’d continued. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. 

It was strange, she thought, how the dynamic had changed between them, subtle only until they drew attention to it. How everything had to be drawn into boundaries, painted over in red lines. She’d always had to ask herself would Adrien be okay with this? With this? as if she could conjure him beside her and have him tell her how to act around Chat. And then, she’d wonder why she would have to examine it at all. 

Don’t worry about it, she’d said, wishing more than anything her miraculous would call the night to an end. The way he looked at her made her feel anything but comfortable.

[thechasefiles]

The Chase Files 8/23/2018

Good Morning #realdreamchasers! Here is The Chase Files Daily News Cap for Thursday 23rd August 2018. Remember you can read full articles by purchasing Daily Nation Newspaper (DN), via Barbados Today (BT) or Barbados Government Information Services (BGIS).

DONVILLE FACING 20 YEARS – Former Minister of Commerce and International Business Donville Inniss could spend up to 20 years in jail and fined up to BDS$1 million if convicted of bribery charges in the United States. Inniss has a date with destiny in a New York courthouse at noon today, when he will be arraigned on three counts of money laundering. The Eastern District of New York’s press officer John Marzulli told the NATION on Wednesday that based on New York law (18 US Code 1956), the former Member of Parliament would face a maximum sentence of up to 20 years in a federal prison on each count. Thursday’s arraignment will be heard by US District Judge Kiyo Matsumoto, at which time Inniss can enter a plea.  (DN)

NO COURTESY – Courtesy Garage has been fingered as the car dealership that so bothered Prime Minister Mia Mottley that she ordered home a team that was in Europe in search of secondhand garbage trucks for the Sanitation Service Authority. Mottley told a meeting on Sunday night the group had to dump those plans and return home because of some suspicious activity by an uninvited guest. She explained that “pursuant to a board paper” the group from the SSA and the Ministry of the Environment and National Beautification had gone abroad to examine used garbage trucks, but “a certain car company’s representatives happened to be at every location that the group went to”. “When the Attorney General and I found out we told the minister ‘tell them to come home the next day because I need to know how a private sector group that was not a part of the Cabinet paper could be there at every location,” the Prime Minister told a St Michael South East constituency meeting. “The Minister and I and the AG have agreed that is not the kind of Government we want to run,” Mottley added, while suggesting the unnamed representative’s attendance was no coincidence. She did not identify the representative or the company. However, an official source has told Barbados TODAY the representative was from Courtesy Garage, whose Regional Product Manager Sam Gaston could not be reached for comment. The source said the firm in Europe has recommended that Government acquires Volvo vehicles, which are said to be internationally-recognized dump trucks. “The company offered refurbished trucks free of cost to Barbados on condition that when things return to economic stability, the Government would give it the business,” the source said. There had been claims on social media that waste hauler and owner of Jose Y Jose Liquid and Solid Waste Management Inc Anderson Fatchild Cherry, who is abroad undergoing medical treatment for an undisclosed illness, had been the person to whom the Prime Minister was referring. However, Cherry today told Barbados TODAY, “not me”. The SSA had also called an emergency meeting to get to the bottom of the issue. Mottley had hinted that the local firm may have had inside information on Government’s plans. When contacted for an update on investigations into the matter, Minister of the Environment Trevor Prescod said he preferred to grant the Prime Minister the courtesy to speak, since she was the one who made the initial remarks.  (BT)

UPP-STAGING DEMS – With the Democratic Labour Party (DLP) in rebuilding mode, the two-year-old United Progressive Party (UPP) is moving to break the two-party grip on Barbadian politics, UPP leader Lynette Eastmond has told Barbados TODAY. And it has begun its own rebuilding effort by dropping its entire slate of 23 candidates who stood for Parliament in the May 24 elections and is starting afresh. With her political party gaining a meagre 1.3 per cent of the popular vote, the former Barbados Labour Party minister and senator who became founding chairman of the UPP, has suggested the party might never have a better opportunity to catch up to the major contenders on the political landscape. “It is a case of us now taking advantage while one of the two major parties is wounded and is now seeking to rebuild,” Eastmond said, referring to the DLP, which suffered an embarrassing loss in the general election, securing only 22 per cent of the votes cast and failing to win a single seat. The DLP has since elected the twice defeated Verla De Peiza as president. Political pundits have argued that De Peiza was placed at the helm to jump-start the process of bringing new blood into the 63-year-old party following the 30-0 decimation in the election at the hands of the Barbados Labour Party (BLP). A number of party stalwarts, including former Prime Minister Freundel Stuart, former Minister of Education Ronald Jones and former Minister of Social Care Steve Blackett, have announced their retirement from politics. Additionally, the party was rocked by scandal earlier this month with the arrest of former Minister of International Business Donville Inniss, who is set to answer money laundering charges in New York tomorrow. Eastmond, a four time losing candidate, and who was elected to lead the UPP for another year when the party held its inaugural conference last Saturday, acknowledged that taking advantage of the DLP’s wounded state would require hard work. “Our thinking is that we are in a very good position, but it does require work. It is true that we contested one election, but a lot of dedication and commitment is now required over the next four years. I believe that I have a team that is up to that task and we believe that we are in a better position given the outcome of the last election,” she told Barbados TODAY. But the party has retained none of the 23 candidates who contested the election three months ago, Eastmond said, suggesting that would-be UPP candidates would need to canvass on their own steam in order to get the nod from the party when the selection process begins. “Our position is that at the end of the election, seeing that none of us were successful, all of the seats are open again. Individuals who are interested in running again are being told that they can identify the seat that they are interested in and start working in that seat. If the person had won a seat then their case would have been the strongest but at this point all candidates would have to go through a selection process again,” the UPP leader said. She could not pinpoint a timeframe for candidates to be confirmed. “I can’t give an exact date but suffice it to say we have to give the candidates enough time to court their constituents. So, the sooner the better, but anybody interested in running should start working from now,” she added. In a general election that saw a record number of ‘third’ parties and independents contesting the 30 seats that would all be snapped up by the BLP, the UPP came in a distant fourth place in the popular vote, behind the business-oriented Solutions Barbados. Of the 150,141 voters who cast their ballots on May 24, the UPP polled 1,965 votes, less than half that 4,188 votes secured by Solutions Barbados. The Democratic Labour Party, suffering the worst defeat in Barbadian electoral history, received 33,985 votes, while the Barbados Labour Party’s landslide victory reaped an historic 74.58 per cent of the popular vote with 111,968.  (BT)

REGISTRATION FOR JANUARY CXCS OPEN – The Ministry of Education, Technological and Vocational Training has advised that registration for the Caribbean Examinations Council’s January 2019 examinations begins on Monday, September 3, and will close on Monday, October 1. Registration takes place between 8:30 a.m. and 3:30 p.m., Monday to Friday, and forms are available from the Examination and Assessment Section of the Ministry of Education, Elsie Payne Complex, Constitution Road, St. Michael. They can also be accessed online at the Ministry’s website, http://mes.gov.bb. Those registering must bring the relevant fees; a Barbados identification card, driver’s license, passport or certified passport size photograph as evidence of identification; and a blue/black ink pen when registering. In addition, the CSEC examination fees, which are payable in cash on registration, are as follows: entry fee, $36 per candidate; subject fee, $36.50 per subject; and the local entrance fee, $30 per candidate. The local entrance fee covers all examinations which the candidate may be writing in May/June 2019. All fees should be paid in cash to the Finance Section of the Ministry Mondays to Fridays between 8:30 a.m. and 3:30 p.m. Subject entries with a School Based Assessment component will only be accepted from ‘Resit Candidates’. The Ministry advises candidates that it will not reconcile or adjust clashes of subject papers, so they should consult the timetables for the respective examinations before registering. A copy of the timetable is posted on CXC’s web page, www.cxc.org.  There is also a link to this web page from the Ministry’s website. (BGIS)

TIME TO APPLY FOR PENSIONER’S REBATE – The Barbados Revenue Authority is advising pensioners that they can now apply for the Pensioner’s Rebate on their 2018 to 2019 Land Tax Bills. The Authority is therefore requesting that only new applicants should apply by either downloading the form from the Authority’s website at www.bra.gov.bb, or by visiting any of the Authority’s offices located at the Treasury Building, Bridgetown; Weymouth Corporate Centre, Roebuck Street, St Michel; Southern Plaza, Oistins, Christ Church; Warrens Tower II, Warrens, St Michael; or the Holetown Public Centre, St James. All existing pensioners have already been processed in the Authority’s system. All applications should be made no later than Friday, August 24. (BGIS)

HOSPITAL’S BACTERIA INFECTION ‘ERADICATED’ – Last month’s outbreak of a serious bacterial illness has now been fully eradicated, officials of the Queen Elizabeth Hospital (QEH) revealed today. And the head of the hospital’s infection control team, Corey Forde, is praising the hospital for the capability of detecting the disease, known as Burkholderia Cepacia Complex. While outbreaks are commonplace in hospitals around the world, the QEH could boast of having one of the region’s best hospital surveillance systems, and was a regional standard-bearer of best practice, in infection control, he said. And the hospital has become the Caribbean’s standard-bearer for control and detection of these outbreaks. “It is not unusual for outbreaks but the most important thing is how it is dealt with. Our surveillance system at the hospitals is top-notch. We are able to identify outbreaks quickly and then act accordingly. We have had recorded outbreaks and we have dealt with them quite well . . . . Many countries in the Caribbean don’t have a surveillance system and we have been assisting some of them in getting theirs in place,” said Forde. He was speaking to journalists after the Pan American Health Organization handed over three Samsung Galaxy Tablets to the QEH this morning. The QEH confirmed that eight cases of Burkholderia Cepacia Complex were diagnosed in six weeks. At the time several measures were taken to bring the situation under control, hospital officials had said then. The bacteria, said to be most harmful to persons suffering with kidney disease or a weakened immune system, are usually found in soil and contaminated water. Patients diagnosed with the condition were separated from the general population and treated, amid stepped up health surveillance at the hospital, the QEH infection control chief said. The speed with which the hospital handled the outbreak was testimony to efficiency of the health institution’s counter measures, he declared.  (BT)

CONTACT NUMBER AT GERIATRIC HOSPITAL – Family and friends of patients at the Geriatric Hospital who wish to visit while renovations at the Beckles Road institution are taking place, are asked to telephone the Nursing Administration Unit at 228-2597, so that they may be directed to the appropriate ward. The rehabilitation project, which started last Monday, is expected to last five months. (BGIS)

PAD CLOSURE STALLS UNION – Closure of the E. Humphrey Walcott Building has halted discussion on appointments and promotions within the Public Service. The building at the corner of Culloden Road and Collymore Rock, St Michael, was closed intermittently since July 20 to treat bed bugs. However, the chemicals used reportedly caused severe reactions among staff and it has now been “closed until further notice”.  The Personnel Administration Division, the Ministry of the Civil Service and the Unemployment Section of the National Insurance Scheme (NIS) operated out of the building. The Unemployment Section is now at the nearby Frank Walcott Building. Acting general secretary of the National Union of Public Workers, Delcia Burke, told the NATION they were scheduled to meet with PAD officials on August 3, but the bed bug issue had caused it to be postponed. (DN)

SORROWFUL SMITH – A 53-year-old man, who pleaded guilty to two offences involving firearms, has not only apologized but has sought “forgiveness” for the wrong he has done. Anthony Alonza Smith of Clement Hall, Airy Hill, St Joseph issued the apology before Madam Justice Pamela Beckles in the No. 5 Supreme Court today. He had previously admitted to having possession of a firearm as well as for unlawfully and maliciously engaging in conduct that placed Jeremy Young in danger of death of serious bodily harm on April 1, 2012. “I am very sorrowful for my actions and I throw myself at the mercy of the court. I also apologise to my country, my family and . . . the victim . . . whom I have known for lots of years. “[It] was a severe misunderstanding that led to anger, the anger led to a mistake and the mistake was this incident . . . . [I ask for] forgiveness . . . for myself. I ask from this court and the victim . . . I ask forgiveness from everyone concerned,” Smith told the judge. Reading his written address, Smith, who is represented by attorney-at-law Sian Lange, went on to tell the judge that he was a father of three children the youngest who was now 12-years-old. Smith also pointed to his own health battles. “Madam Justice, I am a farmer by trade and many days my sweat and tears are . . . unto this sacred soil in the parish of St Joseph. Madam Justice, prison and the toils of life place an impact on my health…. I have deteriorated to a state where I need two operations. This is due to having a cyst and an abnormal growth and a hernia . . . . . Madam justice please have mercy on me,” Smith pleaded. His attorney submitted that, while the crimes were “very serious”, her client had several mitigating factors that should be considered when imposing sentence, including his guilty plea. “He does not pretend he is a perfect person [as he has a case] of short temperedness [and] at no time tried to deny that this situation was a mistake”. Lange went on to say that Smith had been well behaved in prison and had “no incidents of violence while on remand”. (BT)

KING FALLS SHORT – The comeback kid didn’t have another of those rallies left. Darian King’s latest Houdini act fell just short, as Barbados’ best tennis player couldn’t pull off another great escape in Wednesday’s heart-breaking first-round exit in the US Open qualifiers. Eyeing a great come from behind victory while trailing 5-1 in the third set, rain briefly stalled King’s comeback bid before Gerald Melzer eventually steadied himself for a 7-5, 4-6, 6-3 victory on Court 8. It was a depressing defeat to say the least for the 26-year-old Bajan ace, who was looking to repeat last year’s magic when he made a storybook run to his first ever main draw appearance at a grand slam. But there was no fairytale ending this time, as an inconsolable King sat in his player’s chair unmoved several minutes after the completion of the match. (DN)

MAPLE MASTERS MARCH TO SEMIS – Defending masters champions Maple and three other teams qualified for the semi-finals after yesterday’s tense action in the 33rd Barbados International hockey festival. In the battles which were staged exclusively at the football Astro Turf, Maple lost an early skirmish to another semi-finalist ABC 1-0. However, later in the evening Maple fought Bluez Ole Sticks in driving rain and heavy puddles to emerge 1-0 winners. All Stars advanced to the semis with a 1-0 win over the Islanders while the Y’s Guys proved smarter than Bluez Ole Sticks beating them 1-0. Over at the hockey turf All Stars and the Y’s Guys drew love all and ABC and Islanders fought to a similar deadlock. (DN)

For daily or breaking news reports follow us on Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter & Facebook. That’s all for today folks. There are 131 days left in the year. Shalom! #thechasefilesdailynewscap #thechasefiles# dailynewscapsbythechasefiles

[tintinnabulary]

Archeron Ambrosia

Author’s Note: Okay, I’ve been a long time writer, but I’ve never written fanfiction before. I’ve read way too much in my time, but I never got an idea I was dedicated enough to write. Then this headcanon of Nesta loving baking couldn’t get out of my head until this happened and well, here we are. So hopefully you like this, and it’ll be a multiple chapter thing, but I’m not sure how much or when. And it’s Nessian, Feysand, and Elriel, but I’m not sure how much we’ll focus on the other stories. I know Nessian is going to come through. So, with all due hype, here’s my Bakery/Tattoo Shop AU that I wrote!

Chapter One

Sugar, butter, flour; the three ingredients that can transform into a myriad of edible delicacies. Nesta loved the way she could take any of these three, and with precision and accuracy, could replicate any number of recipes from her tattered old cookbook. She loved that if you followed the directions, every time the same dish would come together, with the same flavors, texture, and consistency--no surprises, you get what you put into it. The recipe book, handed down for three generations, was one of the only good thing to come from her father, and she had baked every recipe at least a dozen times for her family. For her sisters, Feyre and Elain. Now, after years of hard work, reliable recipes, and a degree in business and pastry arts, she was finally ready to open the doors on Archeron Ambrosia--a bakery for the whole family.

Finally, there was a place where the talents of all three sisters could come together to make amazing gifts for the world--beautifully constructed cakes, cookies, and other delectable sweets for every occasion. Nesta baked the fluffy, velvet-like cakes they were famous for, and piped designs with a militant-like precision. Feyre, who was in her sophomore year of art school, took care of painting amazing scenery on special order cakes as well as air brushing some of the more extravagant designs. Elain, who was hoping to open her own floral shop but fell in love with the freedom of fondant flowers, was a master of edible (and non-edible) floral arrangements that couples loved to adorn their wedding cakes. The team they created would meet the needs of every customer under Nesta’s tutelage, and soon customers would be flooding their storefront instead of crashing their online site every other week with orders.

The only problem was the location. With large ovens comes a large bill, and an even larger gas and electric bill, so their storefront was in an edgier part of town. A black-light bowling alley sat catty-corner from the store, with a dive bar next door. Two streets over was a local college, with coffee shops on every corner and small eateries, but the price for rent went up a grand the closer to the college Nesta had looked. So she settled in to the empty store next to a popular tattoo parlor--Illyrian Inscribed. Nesta appreciated the alliteration enough next to her own, and the front looked black, sleek, and clean, so she hoped its presence next to her own store wouldn’t discourage her usual clientele from approaching.

When she bought the store, her sisters had thought she was crazy. It was a fixer-upper, to put it modestly, but Nesta knew that was what she wanted. Control over the paint, the floors, the windows--just like with her cakes, she wanted a clean slate to work from and make her vision come to life. Dark wood floors were laid, a soft blue-grey was painted on the walls to match her eyes, and soon every other piece fell into place. Small cafe tables sat under windows with flowers Elain had arranged. Artwork from Feyre’s latest installation, Night Sky in Solidarity, was prominently displayed surrounding large mirrors to make the space seem larger. And most importantly, the cake display was the center of attention.

A clean, golden display with curved tops, and different shelving spaces--some towering towards the ceiling and some at waist height--gave room for displaying anything from a dozen chocolate cookies, to a six-tier wedding masterpiece. A vintage cash register sat atop the counters, and gave a rustic feel to the entire place. It combined old school elegance with new school clean lines and precision--exactly Nesta’s aesthetic.

After grueling hours of work to place everything where it belonged in the store, and filling the case up with fresh treats for all to enjoy, Nesta was finally able to open the shop.  It was a bright Tuesday morning when she walked up to unlock the doors, Elain bouncing on her heels in excitement.

“I really think we should bring goodies around to the other shops, Nesta! I mean, most of the people who are going to buy from us are the local people. And then they’ll tell people and word will get around and it’ll help business.” Elain followed Nesta inside of the building, and helped flip on lights and the cursive sign that blinked OPEN.

“But that’s going to cut into our profits if we just take merchandise and give it away to everyone in the block. I mean, how many people do you think work at,” Nesta squinted out the window to properly read the sign, “Helion’s Blacklight Balls and Pins?” She shook her head afterwards, dismayed at the name.

“Well, at least to our immediate neighbors. Illyrian Inscribed probably doesn’t have many people. I mean, don’t most tattoo places only have like, five artists hired at a time? Maybe with an apprentice or two?”

“Why do you know so much about tattoo parlors, Elain?”

She blushed. “I just watch tv, okay?”

Nesta sighed and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Fine. We can bring them over a bite sized cookie sampler. It’s from the leftover batter anyways so it won’t hurt our profit too much. You can do it, and I’ll get started in the back. We still have to finish that five layer wedding cake before Thursday.”

“Which one? The one where every layer is a different flavor for Ms. Alias or the floral one for the Spring Court Commissary?”

Nesta audibly groaned as she wrapped her black and pink floral half-apron around her waist. “Both. But I’m trying to finish Alias’s today, and the Spring Court one tomorrow. You’ve got to get going on those flowers. Five layers, five different types of flowers.”

Elain jumped behind the counter and started grabbing cookies from all over, ruining Nesta’s display. She swatted Elain’s hand, and once the sister backed up, she began arranging a plate herself.

“I know. Daisies, roses, baby’s breath, marigolds, and lilies. Who requests baby’s breath for a cake anyways? Those are strictly filler flowers and have no business surrounding a middle tier on a cake masterpiece.”

“I don’t know,” Nesta finished the arrangement, and handed the now full tray back to Elain. “But regardless, it has to get done. So go next door, dazzle them with your doe eyes and magnetic personality, and tell them to come get lunch from here and actually pay for something.”

Elain laughed and began to walk to the door, straightening out imaginary wrinkles in her floral, knee length dress. “Who knows, maybe there’s a handsome fellow over there to sweep me away.”

“Wouldn’t that be grand? They could sweep all of us away.”

Elain sighed, “Yeah,” she walked out the door. “It sure would be…”