raquellima16-blog-blog

[cassynite]

A Sparrow I finished while watching the new video essay

[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (18)

(Hey, everyone! I have an announcement to make! After posting this chapter, I am going to be taking a temporary leave due to family matters. They’re fun family matters, so don’t worry! but they will prevent me from writing any further chapters at this time. I plan to post the next chapter on June 27th. Sorry for the long wait! That’s just how things worked out, but I hope I’ll get to see you all then, and please enjoy this new update! Feel free to check out the mini series connected to this called Journal Entries!)

Ch. 1 / Ch. 17 / Ch. 19 (ao3)

Chapter 18: It’s the Little Moments

Felix grumbled to himself as he picked up his tie to pull it around his neck. Valentine’s Day parties were bad enough already with all of the love-sick couples that tended to crowd around him throughout the evening. Did he really have to further his torment by dressing up as well? His previous suit was perfectly fine for an event such as this. Fashionable, sleek, formal- there was no reason to change. Especially when it came to this ridiculous, unseemly-

“Oh, lighten up.” His mother told him, shooing his hands away so she could tie the tie herself. “It’s just a Valentine’s Day suit, and you’re wearing it for one night. There’s no need to scowl over it. I’m sure the other boys will be wearing some form of pink too.”

Felix scoffed. “Mother, don’t patronize me. You know I don’t care about the pink color. It’s the fact that you’re dressing me up to match the theme.”

Bridgette eyed him. “And?  You’re supposed to match the theme for parties. That’s why it’s called a theme.”

“But if I match the theme, other girls at the party will probably think I approve of the theme too.” Felix argued. “And then they’ll be asking me to dance or trying to talk with me in general. I’ll have to spend the entire evening trying to shoo them off.”

A laugh tumbled from his mother’s lips. “Aw~, it must be so exhausting having all of the girls fall in love with you.”

Felix shot her a flat look. “Would you want to spend an evening rejecting people?”

Bridgette tilted her head in a nod. “I’ll give you that one, but you know Allegra could always scare them off if they become too overbearing.”

Felix blew out a relenting sigh. He supposed that was true.

“Besides, even if the girls are chasing you, you still need to look nice Marinette, don’t you?”

Felix furrowed his eyebrows, confused. “No? Marinette’s not going to care what I look like, so long as I’m not a fashion disaster, that is.”

Which, in this suit, he might very well be, to be honest. Perhaps he should text her a warning.

“I thought you two were supposed to be going on a fake date tonight.” His mother replied, tugging lightly on Felix’s tie to straighten it.

Felix’s gaze snapped to her. “Where did you hear that?”

Bridgette chuckled, offering him a teasing glance as she said, “Oh, please. You know Allegra and I talk.”

Felix tisked and rolled his shoulders, making sure his suit wasn’t too tight. Of course Allegra would mention that ridiculous suggestion to his mother. Those two loved to gossip together, specifically about him.

“Well, we’re not.” He remarked, leveling out the annoyance in his tone. “That was just some frivolous idea that Claude came up with the other day.”

“Really? I thought the idea sounded rather exciting.”

Felix resisted the urge to scoff again. Her too? “Why on earth would it be exciting? You galivant around with someone, probably doing the exact same thing you would do with them on a normal basis, but you call it a ‘fake date’ for what? A good laugh when someone assumes you’re a real couple? I can’t wrap my brain around the reasoning.”

Another chuckle came from Bridgette. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t, but consider this: If you and Marinette pretend you’re dating for the evening, you might not have so many girls coming to ask you for a dance.”

Felix paused, his eyes widening slightly. That.. actually wasn’t such a bad idea. He might even consider it if the thought of asking Marinette didn’t sound so incredibly arrogant. ‘Would you mind being my fake date to help me escape the supposed hoards of girls who are going to chase after me tonight?’ You can’t convince him that that proposal didn’t sound anything less than tacky. She’d probably tease him about it the whole night.

“If it bothers you so much, though,” his mother spoke again, “why not ask Marinette out on a real date?”

Felix sputtered a bit at the comment, blurting out a bewildered, “Excuse me?”

Don’t get him wrong, Marinette was an extraordinary person and anyone who ended up with her would undoubtedly be lucky, but the very thought of him asking her out on a date felt.. strange. He couldn’t imagine asking her for anything more than what she was giving him right now, and he didn’t think there was anything she’d want from him when it came to a relationship anyway. Their dynamic was comfortable as it was. Why should they try to complicate things?

“Alright, alright, I was just asking.” his mother assured, almost seeming to laugh as she did. “You two are only friends. I understand.”

Something about the smile in her eyes told him that she didn’t understand, but he simply glanced to the side, electing to ignore it. Arguing wouldn’t change her mind either way, and in the end it was just a question. His friendship with Marinette wasn’t going to change over it, because neither of them harbored romantic feelings for each other. He was perfectly content to keep it that way. 

~~~~~~

Marinette stood in front of her vanity mirror, twisting her hair into a side ponytail for the fifth time that evening. She’d spent the last hour trying over and over again to perfect the hairstyle, but she could never seem to get it right. The ponytail was always too lopsided or too messy or the braid tied into it would begin to unwind. Now, the ponytail was tied tightly enough, but the braid was crooked, and there were too many stray hairs flying around for it to look neat. How can she still be struggling after practicing this for an hour?

“Ugh! I give up!” She huffed, throwing her hands down and staring ruefully at her nearly knotted locks. This is what she gets for taking the easy route and always putting her hair in pigtails. “I’m just going to stay home.”

“No, don’t do that!” Tikki quickly spoke up, flying to her holder’s side. “You’ve worked too hard on your dress to stay home! And your hair really doesn’t look all that bad. I’m sure no one will think twice about it.”

Marinette tisked, plopping into her rolling chair and crossing her arms. “But I’ll think about it, Tikki, and I’ll be more self-conscious than I was going to be before.”

Tonight wasn’t just a Valentine’s Day party for Marinette. That was mainly what it was, of course, but she also saw it as a sort of debut. With the amount of time she spent hanging around Allegra and Claude and the others, she hadn’t had time to truly meet her other classmates at Rosemary, but tonight, they would all be gathered together for her convenience and she would finally have a chance to introduce herself to the school as a whole. It was exhilarating.. and a tad frightening. She’d seen plenty of students in passing that appeared to be less than friendly. How were they going to react to her? Were they going to be as sweet as her current friends? Or did she happen to run into the best group in the school first? There was no telling.

“Try not to overthink it.” Her kwami said softly, though they both knew she would. “Why don’t you try a different hairstyle?”

“Because I don’t know any other hairstyles.” Marinette sighed. “Well.. I know a bun, I guess, but I really wanted this hairstyle for tonight. I feel like it would really bring the dress together, you know?”

“It would.” Tikki agreed. “And it does. But if you think you can’t figure it out-”

“Marinette! Felix is here to pick you up!”

Panic seized Marinette’s chest at the call, and she leapt out of her chair to look in the mirror again. Felix was there already? The party wasn’t for another thirty minutes! Why did he always have to be early? 

“Uh- j-just a second, Maman!” She called back, frantically trying to straighten her braid and smooth the wisps of hair around her ponytail. It didn’t work, unfortunately, so she threw a silver pin in her hair as a last ditch effort and made her way downstairs, trying not to whimper too much.

“Oh, Marinette, you look wonderful!” Her mother cooed as Marinette descended the stairs. “I need to go get Tom. Oh, and a camera!”

Marinette pulled a wince. They were going to have photo evidence of this failure of a hairstyle? 

“Maman, are you sure that’s necessary? I get dressed up like this all the time.” She tried to dissuade, but Sabine merely waved off her comment. 

“Of course it is! This is your first party at Rosemary. We must have pictures.”

“Best be prepared.” A voice cut in, catching Marinette’s attention immediately. “Claude will undoubtedly be thinking the same thing when we arrive.”

Marinette turned towards the front door with a smile, but a gasp escaped her when she saw Felix standing there. She knew it would be him, of course. She simply hadn’t expected him to be wearing a different outfit. 

“You..” She paused, briefly wondering if it would be rude to finish, then continued, “you changed your suit.”

Logically, she knew he had more than one suit. No one can wear the same suit forever, and Felix seemed to be too proper to do it even if he could. However, when he didn’t wear his usual suit, he continued to maintain the black and grey color scheme, so it never quite stuck with her that he’d changed. Tonight, though, his suit was entirely red, so deep a red that she might acquate it with blood, and he had a wonderfully pink tie on, along with a pink cloth folded in his front vest pocket to complement it. The sight nearly knocked her off her feet. He was even matching the party’s theme! She didn’t think he cared for things such as that.

A smirk ghosted Felix’s lips, and he nodded. “Yes, courtesy of my mother. I see you changed your hair as well.”

A blush crept across her cheeks, and Marinette reached up to feel how horrible the hairstyle was again. Here Felix was, doing his best and looking great as always, and she was just standing there looking like a mess. Typical.

“O-Oh, yeah, I mean.. I tried to change it. I don’t think it worked out too well..” She muttered, glancing down at the ground. Maybe she still had time to take it out before they left? 

Felix’s footsteps brought her gaze back upwards, and she watched him cross the room to her. His eyes were squinted ever-so-slightly, the way they always were when he was pondering something, and once he was close enough, he reached out, his hand lightly tracing over the side braid she’d attempted. 

Marinette stood still, allowing him to ‘examine’ her for a moment before saying, “It’s awful, isn’t it? I couldn’t get anything to stay where it was supposed to.”

Felix hummed absently, bringing his hand down to let the tip of her ponytail slide off of his fingertips. “No, not awful. If you practice a few more times, I’m sure it would be perfect.”

Marinette blew out a small sigh. That meant it wasn’t perfect now.

“Do you have the reference you used? If I see it, I might be able to straighten the braid out before we leave at least.” Felix inquired, causing Marinette’s eyes to widen. Oh?

“You know how to do hair?”

“Not quite,” he admitted, “but I learned some of the basics during a few sleepovers. For some reason, Claude and Allegra thought it important that I had a decent grasp on the subject.”

A smile came to Marinette’s lips. That sounded like something they would do. “And you think you can fix my hairstyle from your limited knowledge?”

“Possibly, if you have reference,” Felix smirked, “but it’s alright if you prefer to keep what you have.”

“Oh no, please.” Marinette said, quickly pulling her phone out of her heart shaped purse. “Anything’s probably better than what I have in now. Are you sure we have time, though?”

Felix nodded. “I always leave around ten or fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, so we should have plenty of time.”

Marinette nodded as well and opened the reference video she’d used for her hairstyle. Felix took the phone from her and watched it once or twice as she pulled out the pins in her hair. Then, when everything was down again, Felix handed the phone back to her and let it play in her hands for a third time while he set to work. His fingers brushed through her hair, carefully separating the different locks and tying them together. The feeling behind it was quite strange, mostly because she could hardly feel it at all. His hands were so gentle, so cautious that even when he had to tug on her hair to tighten the braid, it seemed as light as a cloud. Felix was always soft like that. He spoke harshly to others and liked to scowl often, but when it came to his actions, she couldn’t recall a single time he’d been rough. 

Recently, she’s been hearing that secret softness in his voice too, and it never failed to make her smile. 

“Aw, did her hair fall out?”

Sabine’s voice brought the two’s gaze to the living room doorway. She was standing there with Tom, a camera in her hands and a slight, disappointed frown on her lips.

“No, I took it out.” Marinette assured over her shoulder. “Felix offered to do the hairdo himself so it would look better.”

“Oh, how gentlemanly of him.” Tom chimed in with a satisfied smile. 

“Do you mind if I get a picture?” Sabine requested, prepping the camera in her hands.

“Uh..” Marinette looked to Felix as best she could. “Are you okay with that?”

“I don’t mind.” Felix shrugged. “Mother already bombarded me with pictures before I left. What’s a few more?”

Marinette chuckled. “You said she was the one who gave you the suit right?”

“No, she’s the one who made me wear it.” Felix corrected. “Something about having to match the theme.”

“Ah, I see.” Marinette said. She should have known Felix wouldn’t throw away his black and grey color scheme willingly. “She has great taste. You’ll have to let me meet her sometime so I can tell her ‘thank you’.”

A playful scoff passed his lips and brushed against her ear. “You know, I’m sure she would be delighted to do just that.”

*Click!*

The camera flash brought the two’s attention back to Sabine and Tom, who were both holding giddy smiles at this point.

“I think you both look fantastic.” Tom grinned. “Those boys will be falling over each other to get to Marinette tonight, I’m sure.”

Felix hummed as he twisted her hair to pin it into a side ponytail, muttering, “I quite agree.”

The comment was soft and absent, and it sent a blush exploding across Marinette’s face. That’s the second time he’s agreed to her being pretty and a supposed ‘boy magnet’. Does he ever think about what he’s saying or is it just some logical fact to him that shouldn’t mean anything? She’s not sure which one she prefers. 

“Done.” 

Felix’s hands fell back to his sides, and Marinette reached up to feel the hairstyle- gently, though, so as not to mess it up. The pull of the bobby pins was comfortable and tight, and her braid felt nice and straight as she grazed her fingers over it. Overall, it felt perfect, which was exactly what she’d wanted.

“Thanks, Felix.” She said, offering him a quick smile as she checked the reflection in her phone. “It looks great. You’re a life-saver.”

“And you two are going to be late if you don’t hurry up.” Her maman cut in. “Now gather together for a picture so we can send you off.”

Marinette rolled her eyes with a smile and tucked her phone back in her purse, then turned to stand next to Felix. He, in turn, straightened slightly next to her and clasped his hand behind his back for the picture.

“Alright, say cheese!” Sabine coaxed, holding up her camera.

The pair smiled. “Cheese!”

*Click!*

~~~~~~~

Claude’s grin stretched from ear to ear as he watched his fellow Rosemary students pile into the Mandarin Oriental. As usual, people of all shapes and sizes were here. The ‘cool’ kids, the music kids, the nerd kids, the geeks, the dancers- anyone and everyone who had a popular status at the school, along with a good group of others who counted as the stalking crowd. The younger, less-popular students who tended to follow the social hierarchies like loyal dogs. The ‘baby paparazzis’, if you will. They were all crowding inside with an urgency that only his- and Allegra and Allan and Marinette and Felix’s -parties could bring. Soon, Marinette and Felix will be there as well, and then the fun will really begin.

“Alright, Marinette just texted.” Allegra spoke up behind him. She was currently hovering around the buffet table to ensure the punch drinks were being dispersed properly. Claude, of course, was hovering around Allegra in case she needed his help with anything. 

“She said they’re parking now.” His ‘fake date’ continued, glancing over her phone screen as she re-read the text. “You remember what to do, right?”

Claude huffed out a playful scoff, reaching for the platter of shrimp as he replied, “Of course I do. Take her onto the dance floor to help her get comfortable in the ‘party atmosphere’, convince her to dance with Felix while you convince Felix to dance with her, and-”

Allegra slapped his hand, coaxing a yelp from the brunette.

“Don’t touch the shrimp until the other guests have some first.” She scolded.

Claude rubbed his hand with a pout. So touchy. Why should he have to wait for the guests to eat? If they wanted shrimp, they should come up and get some. Why can’t he have the food that he helped pay for? (Well, the food that his parents helped pay for.)

“And keep your voice down too.” Allegra added, flipping her hair over her shoulder when it fell in the way. Wearing it in a half-up-half-down style wasn’t nearly as convenient as her casual braid, but he had to admit, the free curls that fell around her shoulders were extremely nice. “Do you know the amount of people here who would love to get their grubby little hands on the fact that we’re trying to set stubborn, stuck-up, stone-faced Felix with the new, cotton-candy-sweet, bakery-girl Marinette? The gossip would reach both of them within seconds.”

“Yeah, it probably would.” He agreed. “But at least they’ll both know they like each other then. Saves us the trouble, right?”

Allegra shot him a flat look, meaning he probably said something wildly inaccurate again.

“Claude, the only gossip that would be spreading would be the fact that we’re trying to get them together. Not that they like each other. How do you think Felix is going to react when he realizes we’re playing matchmaker? What about Marinette? I think they’d probably be a little uncomfortable considering neither of them probably think that the other person likes them. Which is why we decided to be subtle about this in the first place.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yes, it does.” Allegra said, crossing her arms. “So keep your voice down when talking about it from now on, please.”

Claude nodded, leaning back on the buffet table as he faced the crowd again. “Sure, sorry.”

This was going to be a tough evening, trying to get Marinette and Felix together while not blurting the scheme out to the world. He just felt like everything would be easier if they simply talked to each other about it openly. But Allegra was more perceptive than he was. She probably knew things he didn’t about the situation. So he’ll go along with her plan and hope it works out. 

Besides, this way he gets to mess with Felix as much as he wants. And he won’t get scolded, this time! 

And if everything does work out, Marinette and Felix will be all the happier for it.

Win-win-win-win.

“Hey, guys.” Allan spoke up, joining them at the table and swiping a shrimp. “Do you know if Felix and Marinette are here yet? I haven’t seen them.”

Allegra opened her mouth to scold him about the shrimp as she had Claude, but Allan popped it into his mouth before she could. Claude held back a snort, watching Allegra purse her lips in annoyance. If he couldn’t have a shrimp, at least Allan got one.

“They’re on their way up now.” The blonde replied with narrowed eyes, unbeknownst to Allan. “They just parked a few minutes ago.”

“Cool. We’re still having Claude do his thing, right?”

“Yep.” Claude said, a devilish grin spreading across his lips. “And I am so ready to cause mischief.”

Allegra snorted and lightly nudged him in the arm. “Not too much mischief. This is supposed to be romantic, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Claude waved her off. “I’ll get them to be romantic. After I get to mess with them.”

“Claude-”

“Oh- there they are! Hey, guys!” 

Claude perked up at the interruption, the familiar voice drawing his gaze to the front of the Mandarin Oriental. It was the very voice they’d been waiting for, and the source wasn’t hard to find.

Marinette and Felix were making their way through the crowd towards them, Marinette clearly excited as she waved them down with a bright smile. The designer dress she was wearing looked fantastic, as Felix had predicted, and the hearts littering it matched the theme perfectly. She even had her hair all done up tonight! (Which really brought out the elegance of the dress, in his opinion.) An outfit like that was only going to make his job of setting up a romantic thought process between the two that much easier.

(Of course, with the way Felix was staring at Marinette right now, Claude had a feeling that that thought process might already be set up.)

“Hey!” he greeted, meeting the pair halfway to give Marinette a hug. Was it the flowers on the table or did this girl actually smell like roses tonight? Did she use a special perfume? Oh, Allegra was going to love this.

“You two look awesome! I was starting to think you’d never get here.” He teased, stepping back again to get a better view of her face. She decided to go with a pinker shade of lipstick tonight, along with a glittering, light pink eyeshadow, and it’s a wonder that Felix hasn’t collapsed from swooning at this point. (Though maybe Claude can catch that when the two dance later. The video footage would be priceless!)

Marinette let out a light laugh, touching the tip of her side ponytail with a sheepish smile. “Yeah, sorry about that. Felix was helping me with my hair.”

“Aw, Felix!” Allegra cooed, coming up behind Claude just then to join them. “You did Marinette’s hair? It looks lovely.”

“I knew those lessons would come in handy.” Claude smirked. 

“Yes, who would’ve guessed?” Felix muttered, briefly rolling his eyes, but Claude wasn’t fooled. He could hear the almost airy tone to Felix’s voice, see his eyes soften anytime he so much as glanced at Marinette. That guy had probably been ecstatic to do Marinette’s hair, and he just didn’t want to show it. 

He would, though.. Soon enough.

“Hey, guys.” Allan chimed in, finally joining them as well. “You both look great. I haven’t seen Felix wear that dark of red in a while.”

“Or red in general.” Allegra remarked with a smile. 

“Or pink.” Claude added, eyeing Felix’s shirt sleeves. “Actually, I haven’t seen you wear anything besides gray or black since Marinette had you wear that green, plaid shirt after the ‘flour incident’.”

“In other words.. Your mom made you wear that, didn’t she?” Allegra asked lightheartedly.

“Of course she did.” Felix said. “Why else would I wear it?”

“Well, I imagine you’d just want to look nice.” Claude joked, wrapping his arm around Felix’s shoulders and ignoring the blond’s scowl. “Either way, remind your mom how awesome she is for me when you get home.”

“I’m sure she already knows.” Felix replied curtly, shoving Claude’s arm off of him again.

A giggle brought Claude’s attention back to Marinette, who was now observing the party with sparkling interest.

“Everything looks incredible, you guys!” She nearly squealed. “The lights, the flowers, the food.. But I thought the party started at six. Did I get the times mixed up again?”

“No, it does- er, did.” Claude said. “People just get excited and like to get in as soon as they can.”

“Oh.” Marinette muttered, relief smoothing out her features. “So we’re not late?”

“Not at all. In fact..” Claude swept into a bow, offering his hand to her with a grin. “We were just about to start the dancing. Would you mind giving me the honors?”

A surprised laugh fell from Marinette’s lips. “Me? I thought Allegra was your ‘fake date’ for the evening.”

“She is, but I have to save the best for last, right?” Claude threw a wink at Allegra, who also let out a laugh and rolled her eyes. The slight blush on the her cheeks gave her away, though, and it caused his grin to widen.

Marinette gave an “Aw~.” and slipped her hand into his. “Well, in that case, I’d be delighted to dance with you.”

“Great!” Claude cheered, pulling her close. 

They glided onto the dance floor, quickly catching the attention of the room, and with that, the first part of the plan fell into place. Claude was dancing with Marinette. Now he needed to convince her to dance with Felix.

Out of the corner of his eye, Claude could already see Felix starting to flounder. He simply stood there, quietly watching them dance with that neutral expression of his and occasionally looking elsewhere. Without Marinette to anchor him in a room of people, the blond would no doubt resort to being a wallflower again and wander over to some corner. A nice, hidden corner where Allegra could easily- and discreetly -convince Felix to dance with Marinette. They all knew him too well.

“Are we the only ones dancing?” Marinette asked, bringing Claude’s attention back to her.

“For now,” he confirmed, “but someone has to start it, right? Look, they’re already joining in.”

“I guess that’s true..” Marinette said, glancing at the few couples that had indeed started to join them. “I don’t normally dance all that much, to be honest. So it’s a little weird for me to be the one starting it for once.”

Claude laughed and took a step back to spin her around. “Really? You’re a natural at it!”

“Oh, thanks. That’s a relief to hear.” Marinette smiled, hobbling into a spin.

“Course. But you know who else is a natural at it?”

Marinette hummed. “Let me guess.. Is it you?”

Claude snorted. “Well, duh, but I was actually talking about Felix.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Felix?”

“Yeah! He takes waltzing classes at the school and everything, but he never dances! Can you believe it?”

A chuckle passed Marinette’s lips. “Kind of. This is Felix we’re talking about. Maybe his mom wanted him to take dance lessons like she wanted him to wear that tuxedo.”

“Maybe.. But it’s still a shame to waste such carefully crafted skills. You should try to get him to dance tonight.”

Marinette snorted. “Oh? And who would I get him to dance with? He doesn’t like getting close to random people.” 

Claude hummed. “Now, that’s a question, isn’t it? Who should dance with Felix tonight..” 

He made a show of looking around the dance floor as he and Marinette waltzed in a circle, then looked back to her. “..Why don’t you dance with him?”

Marinette nearly tripped over her own two feet at the suggestion, and Claude had to hold back a smile. Was she getting flustered? That’s a good sign.

“You want me to.. Are you sure he’d be comfortable with that? I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even want to dance.”

“Come on, who else could get Felix to dance?” Claude insisted. “He’ll say yes if it’s you, and we can’t let him be a wallflower forever.”

Marinette let out a soft laugh, looking quite bashful as a blush curled onto her cheeks, and she glanced over at Felix. He was already standing next to the wall near the punch bowl, looking idle as he watched the dancing crowd. 

“I don’t know, Claude. I think he rather enjoys being a wallflower.”

Claude chuckled. “Just say you’ll try? At the very least, it’ll make Allegra happy to see Felix out and about.”

Marinette turned her attention back to him and smiled. “..Alright. I guess I’ll try, but no promises about actually getting him to dance.”

“Deal.” Claude grinned. Mission success!

“On an entirely different note, though, your dress is incredible. You made that yourself, right?”

Marinette brightened and nodded. “Yes, I did! I had lots of fun with it so I’m glad you guys like it.”

“Aw, I’m pretty sure I’d like anything you make. You always put a cool twist on things.” Claude smiled. “By the way, how’s my prince suit coming along? Have you started it yet?”

“I have! It’s actually pretty close to being done. I’m on the ‘details’ stage.”

A gasp of delight escaped him. He hadn’t realized how close she was to finishing it! 

“Oh, sweet! You’re gonna have to come over to my house when you finish it. We can even have a mini-fashion show for you!”

Marinette giggled. “That sounds like a blast.”

“Yes!” Claude briefly let go of Marinette’s waist to pump his fist. “Man, am I glad you came to Rosemary. I mean, not just because of the prince suit- even though that is pretty awesome -but also because you’re a fun person to be around, ya know? Everyone thinks so.”

“Really?” Marinette’s steps lagged slightly, clearly taken aback by the statement. “That’s.. Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

For a moment, she almost looked relieved.. Or even sad. But another blinding smile appeared before he could figure out why.

“I think you guys are fun to be around too.” She said warmly.

Claude smiled, feeling his uneasiness melt away. She didn’t sound sad or solemn at all. He was probably just imagining things, or seeing a trick of the light.

“Excuse me.”

Claude and Marinette slowed to a stop, turning to another boy who had come to interrupt them. 

“Mind switching off with me?” He asked, offering his hand to Marinette. Was that even allowed during an informal dance such as this?

Nevertheless, Claude caught Marinette’s eye. “What do you say, Mari? Wanna switch off?”

Marinette blinked. “Oh- uh -sure. If you’re okay with it.”

“Absolutely.” Claude smirked, jokingly spinning Marinette into the other boy’s arms. “Just don’t forget your promise to try!”

Marinette chuckled as she re-situated herself into the dance position. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Claude watched the two dance away, smiling proudly at the seed he’d sown for Marinette and Felix’s romantic evening. Allegra was surely going to be pleased with his work, and he was going to be pleased watching it unfold.

Now to get that shrimp.

~~~~~~~

Felix leaned against the wall, quietly observing the other party members dance, specifically Marinette. Her smile shined brightly as a boy twirled her, and her shoulders shook with giggles when the boy dipped her a second later. She appeared to be enjoying herself, and Felix was enjoying watching her. He had a feeling the other boys from Rosemary would be showering her with attention tonight- it was one of the rare times when she wasn’t being smothered by himself and the trio, after all -but he was admittedly surprised by the amount of stamina she possessed. It’d been at least an hour or two since the dancing started, yet she was still going as strong as ever, non-stop.

Well, he supposed it wasn’t non-stop. She had spun over to his little corner a few times to talk, which was how he ended up carrying two cups of punch instead of his one. Still, she should probably take a seat soon. Those heels she’d decided to wear were bound to be painful after a while. Perhaps he should grab her attention and find an empty table-

“U-um, excuse me, Felix?”

Felix glanced to his right, meeting the face of a girl that seemed vaguely familiar and a tad timid. She stood a certain distance away from him, her lips stretched into a nervous smile, and gave a little wave. Was that all she intended to do?  

“Can I help you?” He asked, raising a brow.

“Oh- well-” The girl faltered, as though she hadn’t expected to get this far, and rubbed her arm. “A-actually, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to.. Dance? With me. Of course.”

Ah, Felix thought, heaving a mental sigh. He should have known that that would be her intention. Now her visible anxiety made sense.

“Apologies, but I don’t dance.” He replied smoothly.

The girl’s shoulders sank. “Oh.. really? I thought you took waltzing classes at the school.”

Felix schooled a neutral expression, if only to avoid glaring. What, was she stalking him or something?

“I assure you they are for my Mother’s pleasure only, but I myself do not dance.” He said, a flatter note in his voice than before. Take the hint.

Thankfully, she did, but not in the way Felix was hoping.

“Ah, I see.. How about I keep you company then?” The girl suggested, getting entirely too comfortable next to him. “You’ve been over here by yourself for a while now.”

Felix’s grip on the cups tightened. So she was stalking him. 

“While I appreciate the gesture, it’s quite unnecessary. I’m simply waiting for my friend to get back.”

“Your friend?” The girl asked, glancing into the crowd curiously. “You mean the black-haired girl who gave you that drink, right?”

Felix held back another scowl, his eye twitching. Seriously, how long had this girl been watching him? Didn’t she have someone better to bother? There were plenty of other guys here that would be willing to dance or talk with her. Why did she have to choose to annoy him specifically?

“Her hair is raven, and yes, she’s the one that gave me this drink.” He responded curtly, taking a sip of his own punch.

The girl nodded thoughtfully, blissfully unaware of his thinning patience. “I guess her hair does have a blue shine to it. Do you want me to hold one of the drinks? I imagine they get heavy after a while.”

Felix pulled the drinks away from her grasp, finally fixing her with a look. 

I want you to mind your business, you little-

“Felix!”

Marinette’s punch was plucked from his hands, and an arm settled on his left shoulder. He whipped to the new interruption, thinking what now? and about ready to snap at someone, until he saw Allegra’s smiling face. She must have noticed him getting irritated and came over to investigate.

“You look like you’re having fun.” She said brightly, swirling Marinette’s punch in her hand. “Thanks for holding my drink for me.”

Felix winced, practically feeling the gears in the girl’s head turning. He’d just told her that the drink was Marinette’s, not Allegra’s. She was no doubt going to pick up on that. (Unless she was dimmer than he gave her credit for. That could always be a possibility.)

“Wait-” The girl said, her brows furrowing. Great. “Your drink? Felix just told me that that raven-haired girl gave him the drink.”

Felix gave Allegra a tired look. Try getting out of this one now.

At least she got Marinette’s hair color right that time.

Allegra ignored Felix’s look, instead throwing the girl a sharp smile. It was a rare sight to behold, but a welcome one. (So long as it wasn’t directed at him, of course.) It meant she was preparing herself to tear someone apart.

“Yes,” She replied shortly, “I gave the drink to Marinette, so she could give it to Felix. Is there a problem?”

The girl frowned. “But that doesn’t make any sense. I saw her-”

“You don’t believe me?” Allegra cut her off. “That’s rather rude to say to the hostess of the party, don’t you think? Go ask her yourself if you’re so skeptical. I wouldn’t recommend coming back to me afterwards, though.”

The girl huffed and crossed her arms, but turned around anyway, marching right off to a small group of girls that must have encouraged her to come talk with him in the first place. They swarmed her quickly, asking what happened and glaring at Allegra, but all Felix cared to do was take Marinette’s punch back from the blonde.

“I’m grateful, but I’m still going to need this back.” He said.

Allegra laughed and straightened to throw her hands in the air as a sign of surrender. “Fine with me. I didn’t realize you’d grown so attached to the beverage.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “I didn’t. You just might drink it by accident while we’re talking.”

Allegra tilted her head in a nod. “That’s a fair assumption. So what did that girl want from you?”

He sighed. “A dance. What else would people be asking me for at this ridiculous party?”

“Hey, it’s not ridiculous.” Allegra argued. “Marinette’s having a pretty good time.”

Felix’s gaze swept over the crowd again, finding Marinette easily as she switched off to a new dance partner. Her smile was contagious as always, and it spread onto Felix’s lips with little resistance.

“Yes, I suppose she is.” He agreed, taking another sip of his punch.

Allegra leaned against the wall next to him with a light chuckle. “You know, I bet if Marinette asked you to dance with her, you would.”

Felix scoffed at the implication her tone gave. Of course he would dance with Marinette if she asked, but only because it would make her happy, not because he wanted to dance with her. (Not that he particularly minded dancing with her either-)

“She wouldn’t ask me to dance,” he said before his thoughts could get out of hand, “because she knows I don’t fancy it.”

Allegra hummed. “Maybe you should ask her then.”

Felix shot her a look. This was going to be as tiresome as the other girl, wasn’t it?

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you need to not be a total wallflower this evening.” Allegra smiled. “And it would make Marinette happy. She’s already danced with Allan and Claude tonight, but with your professional lessons, I’m sure she’d have a blast.”

“I believe we just established that she is already having a blast.” Felix remarked, to which Allegra groaned.

“Just think about it, alright?”

“Unlikely.”

Why should he have to entertain an uncomfortable idea when Marinette was already enjoying herself? Granted, dancing with her didn’t sound awful, but the thought that it might encourage others to attempt dancing with him did. People were already asking him to dance while he was hiding near a wall. Imagine how many girls would come out of the woodwork once they actually saw him dancing.

Allegra rolled her eyes and waved him off. “Alright, whatever. I’m going back to the buffet table. Feel free to walk over if you start getting the urge to snap on someone again.”

Felix smirked. “In other words, I’ll see you in a few minutes?”

Allegra snorted as she walked away, and Felix settled back against the wall.. Just in time to see Marinette making her way towards him from the midst of the crowd. She appeared to be out of breath, though she offered him a tired smile when they locked eyes, and he moved forward to meet her halfway. That way she won’t have to trek all the way across the room for a drink.

“Are you finally taking another break?” He asked, handing her her punch when they joined at the edge of the crowd.

Marinette breathed out a laugh and took her drink with a “thanks”. It amazed him how well her outfit was staying together. The bow that held the dress together over her shoulders hadn’t loosened at all, and her hair seemed to be in place as well, save for a few stray strands. One would think that that amount of dancing would have her looking more disheveled.

“Yeah, just for a second.” She panted. “I’m starting to get dizzy from spinning so much.”

Felix chuckled. “Would you like to go find a table for a bit?”

“Uh..” Marinette glanced around the room for a moment, thinking it over. “You know what? Sure. I could sit for a bit.”

Felix smiled and gestured for her to lead the way, though he did point out an empty table that he had spotted earlier.

Marinette sat down first, with Felix pulling out her chair for her, and he sat down next to her. Their position faced the party rather than the wall, which allowed them- or at least Marinette -to continue enjoying the party atmosphere while they spoke.

“So are you having a decent time?” Marinette asked, taking a quick sip of her punch. “I know parties aren’t your thing, but you’re not too miserable, right?”

A bitter laugh escaped him, and he twirled his cup on the table as he said, “Miserable is certainly a good word to describe this evening.”

“Aw~, I’m sorry. Do you think going out to get some air would help?”

Felix offered her a smile. “That sounds delightful, but it’s as you said: Parties simply aren’t my preference. This party especially.”

Marinette’s eyebrows knitted together. “Because it’s a Valentine’s Day party or because there are so many people?”

“The Valentine’s Day theme.” Felix confirmed. “Not only are people more inclined to invade my personal space, but they also like to make the ‘Day of Love’ about romance exclusively. It diminishes the other definition to a ridiculous amount in my opinion.”

“Other definitions?” Marinette inquired. “What do you mean?”

Felix allowed a small, humorous smile to catch his lips. She’d just inadvertently proven his point right there. People were so focused on the romantic sense of love that they seemed to forget the several other types of love that exist. 

“There’s more than one type of love, such as platonic love or familial love. In fact, the Greeks had seven different words for love. I believe they’re all important, so to see them all be dwindled down to just romantic love is aggravating.”

“Huh..” Marinette muttered, absorbing his words. “I never knew about the Greeks using seven different words for love. What were they?”

Felix briefly glanced up in thought. “If I remember correctly, they were Philia, Ludus, Storge, Philautia, Pragma, Agape, and Eros.”

“Wow.” Marinette smiled. “They sound beautiful. What do they mean?”

Felix smirked as well. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Always willing to listen and learn from my random facts.

“Well, the meanings are all decently complicated, but I supposed they can be summed up to this: Philia is the type of intimate love between friends. Ludus is the playful and ‘exciting’ type of love that one would get with a random crush. Storge is familial love, Philautia is the love of self, Pragma is the enduring type of love- which is the type of love needed for marriages or serious relationships -Agape is the unconditional love for humanity as a whole- which I clearly do not have-” He gained a snort from that “-and Eros is that of sexual love.”

The meaning of the last one felt a bit awkward on his tongue, but he pushed away the uneasiness. She had asked for the definitions, after all.

“I like those definitions.” Marinette said, a soft look coming to her features. “It’s cool that you know so much about them.”

“I have mentioned that I enjoy knowing things.”

Marinette giggled. “So you have. Just out of curiosity, though- and this may be a bit contradictory to the conversation -but have you ever had a crush on anyone? Or just, you know.. Been in a relationship in general? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Felix’s eyes widened slightly. He honestly hadn’t expected her to ever ask him such a thing. It made sense, considering the topic of the conversation they were having, but it was still surprising coming from her.

Nevertheless, he answered. 

“No, neither. I’ve never been interested in anyone enough to pursue them, and anyone interested in me has always been too clingy. If I wanted someone to fawn over me constantly, I would simply invite Claude and Allegra to my house more often.”

For some reason, his answer didn’t feel quite right as he said it, and he found himself gauging Marinette’s reaction. Did he answer the question incorrectly? Was she going to be upset? Or possibly disappointed? Why would she be either? How could there possibly be an ��incorrect’ answer to the question he’d just been asked?

Marinette snorted, clearly not upset at all, and it left him wondering why he’d bothered to worry.

“I figured you’d say that. You don’t seem like the type to get caught up in feelings like that.”

Felix nodded, though he silently questioned what she meant by the comment. Was she implying that he couldn’t get caught up in those types of feelings? Why did that seem so offensive to him?

“What about you?” he asked, brushing his thoughts to the side. He was just being ridiculous anyway. “Have you ever had romantic feelings towards another or been in a relationship?”

He already knew about her affections for Adrien Agreste, of course, but he’d yet to find out how far they went. And, on top of that, there was always the possibility of her having more than one lover. So it only made sense to ask the question, especially since she had asked him first.

A grimace overtook her features, clearly telling him that she had, in fact, had a romantic encounter before.

“Well.. I’ll admit I’ve had a lot of crushes, but there was this one that really got me. You, uh, you’ve actually met him already. Technically, anyway.”

Felix took a guess. “Adrien Agreste?”

She nodded, a bitter smile coming to her lips. “Cliché, right? The baker girl falling for the famous model..” She glanced down at her drink, absently tilting the cup to watch the liquid swirl. “I didn’t like him because he was a model, though. I liked him because he was sweet, and he was thoughtful, and.. I don’t know, I guess I thought.. that we could live a happy life together.”

Felix frowned at the cloud that seemed to pass over her, the pain that swelled in her eyes. He hadn’t realized how strong her attachment to Agreste was.

Marinette shook her head, breaking free of the thought process, and plastered on a smile. “I’m sorry, you didn’t ask about that.”

“No, it’s alright.” He assured her. “You can’t let things weigh on your mind unattended. If you feel you need to talk about it, then I’m willing to lend an ear.”

Marinette’s posture relaxed, relief making her smile a bit more genuine as she said, “Thank you. I appreciate it.. I don’t have any feelings for him now, but the pain is.. It still comes back, especially with how things ended. Sometimes I wish it had been different, sometimes I wish I had been different, and sometimes I wish I hadn’t fallen for him at all.. but mostly, I’m just glad it’s over.”

“What happened?”

“Well.. nothing happened, to be honest. And I think that was the hardest part.” Marinette drew in a deep breath, allowing herself to relax before continuing, “He came to my school a little over two years ago. Everyone was excited, but I didn’t even know who he was. When I did find out, though, we actually had a little bit of a misunderstanding. It’s funny when I think about it now, the way things turned out during that first day.”

“He apologized about it later, even though it wasn’t his fault, and I think that’s when I started to see him as something more than a friend. The more I got to know him, the more I started falling head over heels, and soon my friends found out about it. They thought we would be a great couple too, which kind of made me excited, and we all started planning these elaborate schemes to get him to notice me.”

She put her head in her hands and groaned. “It was so embarrassing, Felix, you should have seen them. One even involved me dressing up like a cat since he loved Chat Noir so much.” 

Felix grimaced, though he tried not to show it. Marinette dressing up like a cat for some random guy’s attention? He couldn’t even fathom it. Who came up with that suggestion?

“Did it.. work?” He almost hesitated to ask.

Marinette laid her head on the table then, shaking it with a whine. “Not even close. This group of dogs saw me on my way over, and I guess my costume was too convincing because they chased me all around Paris. I ended up muddy and scratched up when Adrien actually saw me, which didn’t help at all.”

Felix was careful not to react, but he almost felt the need to pat her on the shoulder. How had she not died from embarrassment yet? If someone put him through that, he’d never go outside again.

“You see? That’s how all of it was. All. of. It.” Marinette said, lifting her head again to lean her chin into her palm. “Two years I spent chasing after him, making all of these plans and trying to catch his eye just once, but no matter what I did, I was only ever his ‘good friend’. A-And I’m not saying I hated being his friend or anything, I just.. I was trying so hard to be more, wondering why I wasn’t enough, and my friends were constantly cheering me on to keep going. It was exhausting.”

Felix offered her a sympathetic look as she went on, though he couldn’t help feeling annoyed by the story. What kind of ‘friends’ did she use to have that they would willingly push her to make a fool of herself in front of her love? What kind of friends would encourage her to continue chasing after someone who clearly wasn’t interested in her? That wasn’t healthy at all, and he could only imagine how miserable it would have made her.

Wait..

“Is that why he’s coming to see you now?” Felix asked. (or more of blurted out.) “Because of your previous feelings for him?”

“Oh, no.” Marinette said, going so far as to let out a laugh. “No, I doubt he’s ever going to see me in that light, but it’s still frustrating that he’s trying to visit me. Moving to Rosemary was supposed to be an easy break, but he just has to follow me here too.. Again, it’s not that I mind being his friend or anything, it’s.. I need time. To get over him. I don’t like the person I became when I only lived to gain his affection, and it’s hard to get over that mindset, ya know?”

Felix nodded. He didn’t quite understand her experience since he’d never loved someone himself, but he knew that old habits were hard to break, and that love can be known as an intoxicating and addicting emotion. It wouldn’t be easy to get rid of.

“You’re strong for deciding that.” He said sincerely. “It takes an immense amount of will power to let go of something that you think will make you happy, but I believe you’re right in thinking you’ll be better for it.”

Marinette pulled a small smile, twisting the small tip of her ponytail. “Thanks. I hope I am.”

Felix smiled as well and turned his chair to face Marinette more fully. He wanted to ensure that she would hear the words he was about to say.

“Marinette, you are.. an incredible person. And I’m not just telling you this to lift your spirits, I am saying it because it’s true. You are talented, intelligent, kind, and capable all on your own. You don’t need anyone to validate how amazing you are, because it’s evident in everything you do, and I truly hope you don’t ever doubt yourself because of Adrien’s foolishness.”

A blush bloomed across Marinette’s cheeks, and she glanced down to fiddle with her hands. “O-Oh, uhm.. Thanks.. Again. I won’t.”

Felix smiled, satisfied with the reaction, and picked up his cup to extend it towards her.

“Here,” he said light-heartedly, “to finding someone new, someone who appreciates you, even if that someone is yourself.”

Marinette giggled and picked up her drink as well, clinking the glasses together. “To finding someone new.”

Felix took a sip of his cup to complete the toast, but to his surprise, Marinette set hers to the side, instead standing up and offering her hand to him.

“Let’s go dance.”

Felix choked on his drink.

“Pardon?”

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Marinette insisted. “I mean, you only have to come if you want to, of course, but I haven’t danced with you yet, and Claude said that you took waltzing lessons at the school.”

Felix held back a scoff and glanced around the room, hoping to catch Claude’s eyes so he could glare at him. Why did that dolt keep telling people he took waltzing lessons? It only made it harder for Felix’s to reject people when asked to dance. 

However.

He looked back to Marinette, who held a fresh, bright smile, waiting for his response.

“I bet if Marinette asked you to dance, you would.”

Allegra’s words resurfaced in his mind, unwelcomed. Why did she always have to be right? It only made her more smug as a person.

Nevertheless, Felix took Marinette’s hand. “Alright, but only one dance. I don’t want anyone else thinking I’m open to the idea.”

Marinette chuckled and pulled Felix to his feet. “Of course not. We’ll dance near the darker spots of the room so your face won’t be seen.”

They moved to the dance floor, and Marinette put her hand on his shoulder, while Felix wrapped his arm around her waist. It was a bit awkward pulling each other close, since the only other person he’d been this close to was his mother and father, but once they actually started to dance, his years of practice easily took over. Felix slid into the role of leading, and Marinette followed him willingly as he spun her around the party room, smiling when she laughed during a dip.

Such a fool.. He thought, tugging her back up to him. How anyone could pass up Marinette’s affection was beyond him, but in a way, Felix was delighted that Adrien had. He might not have been able to meet her otherwise.

With the two being so enveloped in each other’s movements, they didn’t notice Allegra, Claude, and Allan watching them from across the room, nor did they catch the smiles and high-fives that the trio shared.

Tag List: @sasstrashforlike5fandoms  @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce @i-need-blog-ideas @thewheezingbubbledragon @crazylittlemunchkin @unabashedbookworm @moonystars14 @sunflowers-and-mooncakes @2confused-2doanything @magnificentcrapposts @moonnette @nickristus-dreamer @vixen-uchiha @casual-darkness @luxmorningstarr @jjmjjktth @kaithehero @itsme1598 @theymakeupfairies @xjaccyx @miraculous-ninja @miraculouspenta @swiftie-miraculer13 @justafanwarrior @all-mights-asscheeks @ira-sairain @lookatthestars1 @dahjokester @blissful-passing @solangelo252 @canivialemonsquints07  @derbygracie  @pleaseignorejustheretoread

[your-brilliant-lady-m]

Part 4 - Basic Concepts of Miraculous Ladybug: Glamour

You can call it however you want: kid's show logic, superhero disguise logic, magical girl show logic, cartoon laws, suspension of disbelief, etc. But the fact that nobody recognises Marinette, Adrien and others when they are suited up IS NOT BAD WRITING. It's one of the main laws of this genre. That's not because characters are stupid, okay? So, being frustrated that everyone in the show acts stupid about this "wearing a mask that covers only eyes" trope is strange. This criticism is not valid or fair.

But, this trope has to make sense in-universe as a worldbuilding and narrative element.

Miraculous doesn't give us much direct information on how glamour works. And in this case, I think we need both SHOW and TELL. Because if you don't establish the glamour rules clearly, you are going to run into problems and create unfortunate implications with your storytelling choices.

Appearance

Miraculous obviously gives our heroes magical glamour. In "Lady WiFi" we find out that masks can't be taken off. It's magic. No other explanation is needed.

Miraculous can slightly change the appearance of users (eyes, face shape, height and hairstyles). People can identify and notice the hairstyles of heroes (numerous Ladybug wigs, statue in Copycat). Jagged Stone points out the change of hair when he mistakes Chloe for Ladybug ("Antibug"). But it's just a costume. There is no magic that prevents Jagged from understanding that Chloe isn't Ladybug. So, how does it work? But it's forgivable because it's cartoon logic. Suspension of disbelief works here, I suppose. I won't judge this too harshly.

Glamour also obviously prevents people from making a connection that Marinette and Ladybug have identical hairstyles. So people know that Ladybug wears her hair in pigtails, but magic does not allow them to notice similarities.

Another important question. Does glamour work on Kwamis? Can they see who is behind the mask?

New York Special makes it clear that magic does not affect robots and they can see through glamour. Does that mean that Markov, AI built by Max, knows the identities of Ladybug and Chat Noir? And it's never addressed.

Plagg in "Frightningale" says that holders can subconsciously choose their superhero appearance. This is actually pretty interesting and I like this idea a lot. Except the show is not consistent with this. The transformation of Master Fu looks identical to Nathalie's. And we have seen how different from each other Ladybug and Black Cat holders looked in the past. At the same time, Master Fu and Nino have different takes on Turtle superhero suit.

Age Glamour

Does age glamour exist? Do people see Ladybug, Chat Noir and other heroes as adults even when they look like teenagers to the audience (their height and build are smaller even when they are transformed)? Is that why no one ever questions the fact that children nearly die on a daily basis?

I mentioned unfortunate implications earlier. Well, this is where they come into play. Let's talk about "Copycat". A lot of people discussed it before me, so I won't bore you with details.

When I watched "Copycat" for the first time Theo's crush on Ladybug didn't bother me, because I thought that he sees Ladybug as his peer, a girl who is about 20-23 years old. Theo is an artist, his character design is that of an adult. He has his own studio, its appearance indicates that he did serious commissions in the past. The guy has no idea that Ladybug is like 13.

But then we get "Heroes' Day" and "Ladybug". And Hawkmoth calls them "kids", which means that there is no age glamour. Others see Ladybug and Chat Noir as teenagers. Perhaps, other Miraculous users aren't affected by age glamour. Therefore regular people see all heroes as adults but other heroes are able to guess their age more or less correctly. But you must spell this thing out because the audience can interpret "Copycat" differently. If there is no age glamour, then Theo is crushing on a teenage girl and he is fully aware of this fact. And this doesn't look good for your show.

The "No Age Glamour" theory is further confirmed in "Sapotis" where Alya just straight up analyses voice recordings and says that Ladybug is a girl their age. If glamour exists then it should also cover technology. Kwami can't be photographed. Face and voice recognition software shouldn't be able to analyse transformed superheroes and detect their identities in any way.

Besides, after "Sapotis" Alya should definitely be sure that Ladybug is not 5000 years old (also not an adult), especially after she wore Miraculous herself and was one door away from detransformed Ladybug.

SEASON 4 UPDATE! There's no age glamour after all.

In "Furious Fu" Su Han calls Chat Noir a child without knowing his identity. It means that everyone knows their superheroes are teenagers. "Copycat" can't be saved from that, uh, subtext anymore. No one questions the danger of their job or the balance of their lives outside of the mask. No one doubts their competence after "Origins" ever again. No one becomes annoyed after being bossed around by two teenagers in spandex. You had many opportunities to drop these details into the narrative. Someone could have been akumatized over this (I will not be ordered around by some magical kids!).

I don't know why writers decided not to use at least this idea and slightly adjust "Copycat" if they got rid of the age glamour completely. It can be explained as kid's show logic, but unfortunately, I'm reluctant to do it. If many characters sympathise with akuma victims on-screen, why not with the teenage superheroes who must fight them?

New York Special had this weird focus on collateral damage out of nowhere (the damage done by sentimonster Robostus) and yet it has 0 effect on the main story. No one in Paris is pissed that their 2 teenage protectors weren't there.

Ironically, "Furious Fu" and that one remark made by Su Han also created unfortunate implications for other moments in the show. Just hear me out. Apparently, Jagged Stone wrote a "thank you" song for Ladybug knowing that she is 13-15 year old child back in "Pixelator". Fandom is more than happy to roast Lila for lying about saving Jagged Stone's cat and him writing her a "thank you" song. Fandom claims that Lila's tale could harm Jagged's reputation, when he wrote a song for teenage Ladybug several weeks prior. Meanwhile, in-universe this lie is 100% believable.

If we put on "realism glasses", then both this whole song situation and Theo's crush in "Copycat" have uncomfortable implications. However, the show's canon can't be viewed and criticised through "realism glasses". I admit that bits and pieces of my criticisms are affected by these "glasses", but, ultimately, I'm trying to be fair and concentrate only on things that can't be justified by "cartoon logic and worldbuilding".

Could the existence of age glamour solve this problem of unfortunate implications and other concerns mentioned above? YES. Is it better for the narrative? YES. Is essential for the story? NOT QUITE. Could the absence of age glamour be called an irredeemable storytelling flaw? NO.

Disclaimer: On a side note, only older audience can notice these implications. Children, the target audience, most likely won't understand this subtext simply because they don't have enough experience. So, perhaps, this criticism is unfair, because these moments only look weird to me as an adult. It's like an adult joke in a cartoon that you don't get until you reach a certain age.

There's nothing technically wrong with adult writing a "thank you" song for a teenager. It's just an expression of gratitude. However, unfortunately, we live in a world, where adults normally wouldn't write songs for teens to express gratitude only. In real life similar actions would imply pedophilia and would be actively scorned by the public. No one would risk their reputation like that even if their intentions were genuinely pure and sincere. But this show can't be viewed through "realism glasses", because it's a cartoon and in certain cases we as the audience must use suspension of disbelief and pretend that certain things are possible for plot to happen.

Su Han also wants to give Ladybug and Black Cat to adults. Why didn't Master Fu do this then? Writers don't give us any explanation. Throughout the show we never question this up until the moment it's revealed that adults don't have time-limited powers. Then comes "Furious Fu". Story suddenly becomes self-aware here. Because apparently nothing prevented Fu from giving the most powerful Miraculous to adults who won't have time limit and will be more effective against Hawkmoth (see part 3 for more details).

I have a very good example of Age Glamour done right. It works in the story. There is no confusion or unfortunate implications. There is like one plothole connected to the glamour (it's been years and I still can't forgive them for Cornelia and Caleb) but otherwise, it's a pretty solid example of both show and tell. Clearly, writers wanted to avoid uncomfortable implications which are present in "Copycat". I am talking about W.I.T.C.H. comic books and animated series.

If you are not familiar with it, I'll give you a brief explanation. The story follows 5 girls, the Guardians of Kandrakar who are chosen to protect their world and parallel ones from evil. They receive magical powers from the amulet known as the Heart of Kandrakar. Their powers are based on elements: fire, water, earth, air and energy. Our main characters are about 13-15 years old. In the animated series they are younger and they attend middle school, making them 12-14 years old. But the transformation makes them look 18-20. They look like young women to each other and to other people. At the same time, people can recognise them, their looks and voice don't change. Most people don't know that they are really teenagers when they are not transformed and these people don't know that magic can make them look older. That's why everyone treats Guardians like adults when they are transformed. Comics establish this fact in the very beginning. In first issues characters state that they look older, we are also shown this multiple times.

In fact, one of the first side plots revolves around the fact that Irma uses her powers to sneak into the disco club to meet up with her crush. Irma is 13 at the beginning of the series, she is a high school freshman. Her crush, Andrew Hornby is a senior guy 17-18 years old. Irma has liked him for a long time and wants to impress him, so she decides to be clever about this. She transforms into her Guardian form of the 18-year-old girl, hides her wings, sneaks out to the club after her parents are asleep without any problem, and meets Andrew, who obviously doesn't recognise Irma in this girl who looks about his age. Smitten Andrew offers her a ride and 13-year-old Irma doesn't understand the implication of that offer, so she accepts. And, obviously, he decides that she is interested in more than just a ride home, since she agreed, and the comic implies that he fully intended for them to have sex in the backseat of his car. But Irma understands the implication only when Andrew tries to kiss her. She panics and turns him into a frog. And she actually pulls this "I need to look mature" trick more than once over the course of the series.

It's not the only situation where this age difference is handled well and makes sense. People who know the main characters in everyday life remark on their older appearance during transformation. Sometimes people flirt with Guardians when they are transformed. In one of the side-novels centred around Cornelia, she is worried that the prince of the realm they helped to save from famine would try to marry her. That never happens, but Cornelia actually brainstorms with her friends about how to tell the prince that she is really 15.

There are many other plot points where this happens, but I think that you got the idea. I really like how "Age Glamour" was handled in W.I.T.C.H.

How do we fix this? Create the situations where people offhandedly mention "Age Glamour" in the presence of Marinette or Adrien, use Kwami for this.

"Don't worry, dear. Chat Noir and Ladybug are adults, who know what they are doing. I am sure that they will handle this. "

Theo could say: "Oh, I wonder which university Ladybug goes to?"

"So, does that mean that other people see us as grown-ups, Tikki?"

A few words and boom, problem solved. Then allow the "show don't tell" rule do the rest.

[ladynestaarcheron]

Fears All the Way Down - Chapter Three

ao3 - masterpost

happy friday! here's chapter three, a little long, and dramatiqué so enjoy:)

canon fixes this week: 1) gwyn mentions the priestess who counsels them. nesta was never offered counseling. bullshit. 2) gwyn says they never talk about each other because they've all been through a lot. mm. okay. i went to a girls' school. you don't just not talk about anyone because they've been through a lot. it doesn't have to be cruel gossip, but you definitely still talk. and if someone is a bitch to you, then yeah, it's gossip.

---

When Nesta had first been brought into Prythian, right here into the House of Wind, she had often thought to herself that her life could not possibly get any worse. She was a faerie now, a monster, and Elain was wasting away before her eyes, and Feyre was off to no-one-would-tell-her-where doing no-one-would-tell-her-what. And every other day, Cassian would come by and interrupt her fear and anxiety to irritate her beyond belief.

‍And then the war happened, and the impossible happened. Her life did get worse.

‍And now she is here again, and it is...different. Sometimes worse. Sometimes better. Sometimes neither. But it's different this time.

‍This time, she doesn't have to be worried about her sisters. They're the ones who are worried about her. She isn't scared of her own reflection anymore--not comfortable in this immortal skin, but used to it nonetheless. And most striking...Cassian doesn't seek her out.

‍He doesn't sit with her for breakfast, though the healer, Daphne does come up every morning to check up on her (unnecessary. She is miserable and in pain, but stable). She hears him during the day, making rounds around the House, or doing something up on the roof, but she doesn't see him while the sun is out. He meets her once for dinner, to watch her take her mock liquor, and then once again when she hurls out her insides in the middle of the night.

‍And then the week is over, and he is gone.

‍Feyre is there to greet her for breakfast.

‍"I hear you slept the night!" she says, enthusiastic.

‍Nesta doesn't answer.

‍"You've detoxed," Feyre says. "I...I'm really proud of you. I know that was a long five days. Elain's proud of you, too. She sends her love."

‍Nesta nods slightly. She sits down at her usual spot at the head of the table, the chair dragging itself out to meet her.

‍Feyre notices. "Kind of creepy, isn't it? The magic all on its own?"

‍"I don't mind it," Nesta says.

‍On the contrary. The first morning she had awoken here, she had desperately wanted to bathe. But she stumbled into the bathroom and her body had seized up as she imagined herself sinking in the tub. Sinking...drowning...getting pulled under and never getting out. Perhaps it was being back here, but she had asked the House for some buckets, and reverted to her old practice of washing herself.

‍She had fully intended to accept her fate, coming to terms with the fact that while she was in the House, forcing herself to sit in the tub would be far too difficult, and she'd have to suffer through being covered in her own sick for a week, but on the second morning, the House had gifted her with an out.

‍The tub, ridiculously wide and deep--to accommodate wings, she realizes now--was still there, but hanging from the ceiling, almost like a chandelier, was a faucet. The House had turned on the water for her; she hadn't known what it was. The water came out like rain, with dozens of tiny streams instead of one the size of a fist, like in the bath. And she could...stand under it.

‍Nesta still isn't quite sure how much the House can hear, or if it cares. But she takes extra care to say please and thank you now, for things she wouldn't have bothered before.

‍"Well, at any rate," Feyre says, pulling her back to the present. "You'll be starting at the library today. Are you ready?"

‍Nesta shrugs.

‍"Do you want me to walk you down?"

‍No. Maybe. No. "Do...are girls normally escorted in?" she asks carefully.

‍"No," Feyre admits. "Normally...they're just brought here right after...but it's allowed. I mean, whatever's more comfortable for you."

‍She doesn't know what to say, so she deflects. "Did Elain not want to escort me?"

‍"She just didn't want to come by until you specifically asked for her."

‍"Why did you come, then?" She's blunt, but she only realizes how it sounds until after it comes out. She isn't trying to be cruel, though.

‍Feyre doesn't bristle. "I wanted to see you. And update you on the Illyrian situation."

‍"The rebels?"

‍"They're doing a good job of keeping their meetings secret," Feyre admits. "But don't worry. We're better."

‍"I'm not worried," Nesta says, and she honestly means it. She remembers the war well. Remembers Cassian's skill, precision, deadliness...no one compares. If he's defending her, there's no cause for concern. Except him, of course. "What is it?"

‍"They know you're at the House." Their spies in Velaris had probably noticed Cassian flying about, had marked Elain moving her things out of her apartment in the city...Nesta isn't scared of any Illyrians tracking her down while she's here, but the idea of some wretch skulking after her sisters in the dark....

‍Feyre continues, "And we do know they want to make a move. But they can't, Nesta. I promise you're safe here."

‍Nesta keeps her voice impassive, almost bored, when she says, "He's gone, though?"

‍Feyre knows whom she means. "Cassian? Well, we're still keeping the House secure...you might hear him or Rhys or Az checking the wards a few times a day, but that's it. No one in the House any longer. Just as you'd prefer it."

‍Nesta blinks. She hadn't realized this threat was real enough to warrant the three of them visiting the House multiple times a day. Perhaps...perhaps there is reason to worry. Or fear.

‍Because she certainly will be afraid...if it happens like last time. Strange faerie males breaking down her door, ripping her out of bed. By her hair, by her arms. Grabbing at her, pinching her. Elain screaming from her room down the hall.

‍"So, you'll go down yourself, then?" Feyre asks, dragging her back to the present.

‍Nesta blinks again, shoving that horrible night out of her mind. "Yes," she says, and because she doesn't want to give herself another moment to slide into that place again, rises to do just that.

Feyre had escorted her down to these doors once before, and they had descended the levels to find Hybern. This time, she is alone, and there are two priestesses waiting for her when she enters.

‍One clearly defers to the other, and she stands behind her. Her hood is set atop her head, and her brown face is pretty aside from some light scarring on either cheek. She smiles and says, "Welcome, Nesta."

‍Nesta cannot tell if the higher priestess smiles or not, for her hood covers her face. But truth be told, even if she were entirely naked, Nesta would only look at her hands, for they are wrecked beyond comprehension. Fingers at wrong angles and parts missing and--

‍"Hello," Nesta blurts out, because it's the only thing she can think to say and she doesn't want to stare. She hates when people stare at her. Her cheeks flame; she's not cut out for this. She can't be around these females.

‍The high priestess lifts her head slightly, enough for Nesta to see that she is, indeed, smiling. A parchment and fountain pen--and quite a good-quality one, she notes--appear out of thin air, making her jump slightly, and in a neat script write out:

‍Welcome, Nesta. I am Clotho, high priestess of the library. This is Thalia, one of our senior priestesses. She'll be showing you the library today. I hope you find it to your liking. I'll see you later today.

‍"Oh," Nesta says, not quite knowing what to reply. "Thank you," she adds, figuring that's as good as anything.

‍Clotho raises her head once more to offer her another smile and then sweeps away, parchment and pen disappearing after her.

‍"Shall we begin our tour, then, Nesta?" Thalia asks. She waits for Nesta to nod before beginning her descent down the spiralling levels of the library.

‍Thalia explains about the different sections of the library, and points out different offices for the other senior priestesses and what their specialties are. They meet some females here and there, and she introduces them, but luckily no one sticks around for a chat. Already Nesta can feel her pulse quickening, sick at the idea of having to be with all these people all the time. She is immensely grateful for her sisters for keeping her alone in the House during the nights, at least.

‍When they reach the fifth level, Nesta stops in her tracks. Thalia looks at her, patient and unhurried.

‍"Is it--back?" Nesta asks, unable to keep the fear out of her voice.

‍Thalia smiles. "Bryaxis has never harmed any of us and is no cause for alarm," she says gently. "But no, it is not returned."

‍No cause for alarm? Cassian was scared of that thing.

‍But if it's not here...fine.

‍"Where's your office?" Nesta says, grasping for a subject so she doesn't have to see the look on Cassian's face when he found her running out of the library in her mind's eye.

‍"Level six," she replies. "Come, let's go there now."

‍Thalia's office is clearly very separate from the library, as it has the least amount of books of any room here. Which is still substantially more than what Nesta guesses the average room in Velaris has, with one wall made up of fully stacked floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and some on the desk in the corner and one on the coffee table in the small sitting area.

‍"Come sit, please, Nesta," Thalia says, choosing a couch for herself. "Well,"she says, when Nesta is settled in an armchair, "what are your first impressions of the library?"

‍"I've been here before."

‍Thalia smiles. "So you have. But you're a bit better informed on our particular brand this time around, aren't you?"

‍Nesta nods.

‍"Well, allow me to explain further. I am the priestess who counsels the females who choose to join us."

‍"Counseling?" she repeats, her heart speeding up. So she's supposed to just tell this female everything about herself? Is that what her sisters expect her to do?

‍"I know that's a loaded word, but I promise it isn't as scary as it sounds."

‍How can she be so cavalier about this? All smiles and twinkling eyes.

‍"We can have sessions as often or as rarely as you'd please. If you'd like, you never have to come to another meeting with me again after this, or any of the classes or sessions my colleagues direct. Except, of course, for our weekly check-in."

‍"What's the weekly check-in?" Nesta asks, because the priestess won't say anything otherwise.

‍"We do one mandatory group session a week where we all check-in with each other. Everyone attends. No one has to speak, but we all attend."

‍All right. Fine. She can do that. Sitting in a room one a week, silent. Listening to other miserable girls talk about their problems.

‍Could be worse, she tries to tell herself.

‍"So what exactly...does life at the library entail?"

‍"Our institution exists for the purpose of preserving and furthering knowledge on every topic we can get our hands on," Thalia says, "but we also serve to help females heal from various traumas. Because everyone is different, there's no one correct way to go about this journey. But a very broad number of sessions and exercises are available to you, and you are welcome and encouraged to try any of them. In addition to these, you will also be invited to work in the library. First you can start with menial tasks, and when you've got your bearings you can be given a more specific assignment.

‍"But the real question, Nesta," the priestess continues, and Nesta startles when she breaks her generic explanation to address her by name, "is what you want life at the library to entail."

‍She clenches her fists at her side, trying to draw the blood away from her cheeks. "What?"

‍"What would you say your goals are?"

‍Her throat tightens. Goals? Nesta hasn't had a goal in...probably since she stopped taking magic lessons with Amren. And for her life, well....

‍"Why don't we start with what urged you to make the decision to come here?"

‍Blinking twice, Nesta says, "My sisters."

‍"Did you come to appease them, or another reason, or a mix of both?"

‍Perhaps it's something in the female's tone, that genuine curiosity, that puts Nesta the slightest bit at ease.

‍"For them, mostly. But...a little bit for me." It sounds stupid when she says it, but Thalia does scoff or roll her eyes--of course not. And that's enough for her to continue, unprompted, "I want to live again."

‍Without missing a beat, Thalia leans over and picks up the book from the table and takes out a pen from the pocket of her robe. "Why don't we figure out how you can do that, then?"

Perhaps it was because of the topic of conversation--Nesta hates talking about herself--but she didn't remember sober conversations being so...difficult.

‍Thalia had coaxed Nesta into telling her the things she most wanted to happen. She had congratulated her on her sobriety--almost a full week, Nesta's mind bit with mock enthusiasm--and encouraged her to take her success there as indication that she is capable of working towards everything else she desires.

‍But so far Nesta is only sober because she lives in a house completely inaccessible to the outside world--unless she wants to hike down ten thousand steps, or ask Rhysand to carry her down--and there is no alcohol inside of it. She can't possibly manage any of her other goals in the real world.

‍"Why not?" Thalia had asked. "And who says this isn't the real world?"

‍That was fair. So Nesta shrugged, and after a painstaking few hours, they had a list of things Nesta wanted to do for now, comprised of a sentence Nesta worded and then Thalia's additions.

Not drift off inside her own head for undetermined amounts of time -> determine triggers.

Not always feel like she needs alcohol -> find productive coping mechanisms.

Be able to talk to Elain and Feyre normally -> determine what is stopping her since all three of them want the same thing.

Start reading again.

The fourth one Thalia had been very pleased to hear, and she had left as Nesta said it.

"I'd be happy to give you some recommendations, if you'd like," she'd said.

"There are romances in the House," she said. She had spotted some on the shelves in her room that hadn't been there last time. And who knew when the next time she was going to have sex was? Who knew if she'd ever have sex again? So she'd better find a good novel.

She didn't tell the priestess that, of course.

So after a morning of that, and a quiet lunch of one slice of toast by herself in the House--not much, but more than she'd expected to have. The detoxing must've given her the slightest bit of appetite again--Nesta descends down to the library again to begin her new job of shelving books.

The work isn't so bad. Dusty, and tedious, but it's good enough at distracting her from herself, because she doesn't know the library well enough for it to be mindless. After a few hours of this, a strong bell rings out--the call to prayer. The priestess all make their way to the same place, leaving Nesta alone in the library for half an hour, then they are back. No one asks her why she didn't join. No one asks her anything at all the whole day, until a second, softer bell rings out, and the priestesses begin to leave for dinner, and she back up to the House, and Clotho waits for her at the door.

Hello, Nesta, she charms her pen to write for her. How was your first day?

"All right," she says. It was. It was...fine. Not terrible.

Thalia tells me she's very impressed with your progress.

Nesta blinks. She hasn't done anything.

Clotho huffs a small sound of amusement, swaying her hood slightly. It can generally take a long while for someone to share with Thalia as much as you did.

I noticed you seemed interested in the Wats books.

At this, Nesta blushed slightly. Children's books, tall tales. "I hadn't realized I was being watched."

Clotho only waits.

"Yes," she says eventually. "I...like stories."

One of our senior priestesses is giving a series of lectures on the history of children's literature. There's one tomorrow. Perhaps you'd like to join.

The pink tinge in Nesta's cheeks hasn't fully faded. "Maybe."

Was there something else you wanted to say, Nesta?

Is it that obvious? Nesta's always thought she's good at keeping her thoughts off her face, but Clotho and Thalia seem to see right through her.

"I still don't understand how this is supposed to work," she admits.

Clotho lifts her head to show her another smile. I'm afraid "this" will require some patience. We want to find the right path for you. In the meantime, however, you are welcome to join sessions or lectures, and I will figure out an assignment for you within the coming weeks.

You have nothing to worry about, Nesta, Clotho adds. You're going to do so well. You're stronger than you think you are.

She has to say that to everyone, Nesta supposes, but she nods anyway, and turns to go up into the House.

Dinner is as quiet as lunch was, and Nesta manages to stomach another slice of toast and even some raw celery. Anything hot or rich, Nesta finds, is too much for her to bear, and she can't keep down. Even buttering her toast is too much for her. The House doesn't seem to grow impatient with her as she uncertainly, almost shyly, asks it for new foods. Just to see if she can smell them without growing nauseated. Small steps. Perhaps one day she'll be able to eat normally again.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps she'll be this wretched, vile, pathetic thing--

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

It's not an uncommon occurrence, for Cassian's deep voice to echo in her mind, but it's been some time since they've felt so...comforting.

Your sisters love you. I can't for the life of me understand why, but they do. Yes, that had spun around in her mind for months. And most nights, sometimes even with another male's arms around her...I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta. I will find you in the next world - the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.

He hadn't meant it. Or...he had in the moment and then without the looming threat, he had changed his mind. Or she had done something...

But this is real.

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

It feels real. It feels honest and true and tonight, it is enough to drive out other thoughts, enough to spur her into choosing a book to start, enough to make her forget that she wanted the fifth thing on that list to be Not be so awful and disgusting and useless and pathetic because if he think she's not, then she's not.

It's enough to make her think she's doing the right thing, and enough to make her do it again tomorrow.

The next day, no one seeks Nesta out for a session. Some of the senior librarians say hello to her, but she is mostly left to her own devices and continues shelving books on her own. She does so all morning, and she expects to do so all afternoon, but around two, a priestess approaches her and asks her if she wants to join her lecture circuit on the history of children's literature. There's no real reason not to go, so Nesta agrees.

‍The room is smaller than the ones Father had once described to her were at higher institutes on the continent. It's the right size for the dozen or so priestesses already sitting in a semi-circle, facing a black board where a charmed piece of chalk already begins to write.

‍Nesta sits in an empty seat on the edge of the semi-circle, next to a copper-haired priestess, with her hood hanging at her shoulders. Actually, Nesta muses to herself as she studies the girl out of the corner of her eye, she might not even be a priestess at all. She isn't wearing that necklace they all have on their foreheads. It's nice to think that there's someone else here who doesn't worship that thing.

‍The lecture is interesting, if a bit confusing at times. Nesta is largely unfamiliar with children's stories over the Wall--there had been no magical quests or enchanted objects in her childhood. The witches and sorcerers and faeries had always been the villains.

‍But it's nice. To learn something new, to hear it from someone who is clearly passionate about it.

‍When the lecture is over, the priestess--Calliope--talks to her while the other girls file out.

‍"To your liking?" she asks, blunt.

‍"Yes," Nesta answers.

‍"Thalia said you might like some recommendations. What are you interested in?"

‍"Anything good. Romances."

‍"Are you well-versed in fae classics?"

‍"No," Nesta says. She's fairly well versed in human classics, though.

‍"I'll get you started. I'll have a pile ready for you by the end of the day."

‍"I...thank you," she says.

‍The priestess nods once and turns on her heel to leave.

‍Nesta blinks. She didn't realize priestesses could be...not so like Thalia or Clotho and maybe more...like her. Back when she was like herself, at least. She shakes herself a little and walks out of the room, too.

‍"What did Calliope say to you?" asks a clear, pretty voice from behind.

‍Nesta turns. The ginger possibly-not-priestess.

‍"Excuse me?"

‍"What did Calliope say to you?" she repeats, taking a step closer.

‍Tensing slightly, Nesta says, "She asked me if I liked her lecture."

‍"Well?"

‍Hands now fisted at her sides, Nesta says, "I beg your pardon?"

‍"Well, did you like it?"

‍"I did," Nesta says shortly.

‍"Do you think you'll be assigned to her?"

‍"I..."

‍"You haven't been assigned yet. I mean, you're new, so that's not unusual, but since you don't live with us and you're only coming now we wondered if you were going to be assigned earlier."

‍Nesta raises an eyebrow. "We?"

‍The girl offers her a sheepish grin. "It's not every day we get someone new. We...the other girls and I...we were just a little curious."

‍"Hm."

‍"Well, do you think you want to be assigned to her? I'm Gwyenth Berdara, by the way, I'm another student here."

‍"Nesta."

‍"I know. You're the High Lady's sister and you slew the King of Hybern."

‍Nesta freezes slightly, for a moment. Then she says, "I didn't. I stabbed him."

‍"Oh," Gwyneth says, teal eyes widening. "Well...they call you kingslayer. Not kingstabber. It's a better nickname," she adds, when Nesta doesn't say anything. "As far as nicknames go. Mine's Gwyn, by the way. Or what everyone calls me. Not as suave as kingslayer, but what can you do?"

‍Gwyneth Berdara...talks more than Morrigan.

‍"Sorry," Gwyn says, laughing a little. "We're not supposed to overwhelm you. I just...wanted to talk to you."

‍"Were you told not to overwhelm me?" Were those Feyre's orders, she wonders.

‍"Just anyone new. But...some girls don't talk for weeks, and you've already come to a lecture on your second day. And you talked to Thalia for a long time yesterday."

‍"I hadn't realized I was being studied."

‍Gwyn laughs. "This library's smaller than you think. So, you liked the lecture? Do you think you'll come to the next one?"

‍"Probably." What else is there to do?

‍"I like Calliope's circuits. She's always doing something interesting, if you like books. Do you like books?"

‍"I do."

‍"Well. Then you'll probably like her circuits."

‍They are both silent for a few moments, before Nesta realizes it is probably her turn to initiate conversation. "How long have you been here?"

‍"Two years, about." She is quiet for a beat, before she adds, "Lord Azriel and Lady Morrigan brought me here."

‍Nesta blanches. She's never heard them referred to with their titles before.

‍"Do you like staying at the House of Wind?"

‍"I...it's all right. Yes," she decides. "I like it." Why not? It gave her a standing bath. It keeps the fireplaces empty and uses some other form of magic, she thinks, to heat her room.

‍"Oh," Gwyn says, and Nesta thinks she deflates a bit. "I thought you might prefer to stay in our dorms."

‍"I'm not very religious." That's polite. Nesta actively hates their god. Or whatever the cauldron is supposed to be. Demon, more like.

‍"Oh," Gwyn says, blinking in surprise. "Oh. Well. That's all right. If you...ever change your mind. And you want to stay in our dormitories, I could help you find a room."

‍"Thank you," Nesta says.

‍Again, they are both quiet. Perhaps neither of them has had a friendly conversation in a while.

‍With a jolt, Nesta realizes--this has been a friendly conversation.

‍Nesta tries to grasp at something to say, something friendly. Has she been friendly? Or has she been cold this entire time? No, if the girl has been talking to her all the while, she must have been friendly. It's not as though Nesta's never been friendly in her life. She's had friends before. Clare and Joyly and Heather. She knows how. Even if none of them had thought her a good enough friend to bother trying to talk to her after she had distanced herself, after Tomas, after Feyre--

‍"I have to be getting back to my priestess. We're researching dimensions and other worlds. But I'll see you, Nesta." With a small wave, Gwyn bounds away.

‍"See you," she calls after her.

‍That...that's good, isn't it? Probably something Elain and Feyre would be pleased to hear. Maybe she should tell them. Invite them up for dinner.

‍Or is it too pathetic? One cordial conversation isn't anything to write home about. But maybe they'd like to know she's doing better; pathetic as her version of better is.

‍I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

‍Maybe...maybe she should.

‍She'll just write them a letter, she decides. No, that's too formal. But sending them up is too dramatic...but if they want to come see her--

‍Nesta pinches herself. Hard. Enough till she's only focussing on the pain, so these incessant, stupid thoughts are driven out of her head.

‍Just go back to shelving books, she tells herself. Just put away the books and don't think about anything else.

‍Her mind does stray, though, and she wonders if any of the minuscule steps she takes in the right direction are worth the spiralling she has to go through after.

Despite her echoing anxieties, her physical weakness, and sheer exhaustion of being herself, Nesta does manage to get through the weekend--Feyre does not visit, but she and Elain both send up letters, decorated with little paintings and pressed flowers--and to the weekly check-in on Sunday. She doesn't know what to expect, but Gwyneth Berdara is there in the large hall, where they all sit in a circle, and waves her over.

‍"Good morning," she says.

‍"Good morning," Nesta answers.

‍"First weekly check-in."

‍"Yes."

‍"You don't have to say anything, if you don't want to. I didn't for months. Ten months, actually."

‍She certainly does talk a lot now, though.

‍"I didn't realize there were so many females here," Nesta says, looking around. Dozens of girls...probably more than fifty, plus the twelve higher priestesses. Gwyn is the only one who doesn't wear the necklace on her forehead.

‍"A lot don't wander so much. Some don't come out of their rooms except for this."

‍"Oh," Nesta says. So it's...good, then. That she can still go places. Talk to people. Maybe she really isn't as hopeless as she thinks.

‍Not that these females are hopeless. That's not what she thinks. Oh, that's a horrible thing to think, especially after what they've been through--

‍"That's Merrill," Gwyn says, pointing at a senior priestess. "I'm assigned to her."

‍Carefully, Nesta says, "Maybe I'll be assigned to her, too."

‍"Ooh, you better hope not. Merrill's the worst." Gwyn shudders.

‍"What?" Nesta asks. "Aren't they all supposed to be nice?"

‍Gwyn scoffs. "Says who? Are you nice?"

‍"I...guess not," Nesta says. "But I'm not a senior priestess."

‍"All right, that wasn't nice," Gwyn admits. "Sorry. You're right. She should probably be nicer. She should definitely be nicer...and you're all right."

‍"I'm not nice." She has never been nice.

‍Gwyn shrugs. "Well, I like you anyway."

‍Nesta's heart stutters. "Er--why don't you ask Clotho to reassign you?" she asks, pulse pounding in her ears.

‍Gwyn crosses her arms. "I can stick it out."

‍Is that what she looks like, Nesta wonders, to other people?

‍She should tell her something. This Gwyn. Tell her to switch priestesses. Or...tell Merrill to be nicer. Or tell Clotho to tell Merrill to be nicer. Or maybe she can do it for her.

‍"Good morning, everyone," Thalia starts, and Nesta's eyes snap to her. "Let's begin, shall we?"

‍The weekly check-in is mercifully not as terrible as Nesta imagined. There's no announcement of her presence, though she can feel plenty of people stealing glances ("It's not every day we get a Lady of the court in here," Gwyn whispers to her. "Especially not the kingslayer."). Thalia announces changes in the schedule for the week, and one of the other senior priestesses gives a short lecture on her specialty, and then Thalia asks who'd like to begin the circle.

‍The circle, Nesta learns, is the worst of it. Everyone goes around in a circle and introduces themselves by name and says whatever they want. True to Thalia's word, though, no one has to talk, and no one says anything horrible. It's mostly banal, like I worked really hard on a paper last week or I sent my mother a letter and she still hasn't replied and I'm feeling anxious or I don't have anything to say today, but I hope everyone has a good week.

‍And then it is her turn, and who-knows-how-many pairs of eyes are locked on her and she just...can't. She can't. What are they thinking? Gwyn says they call her kingslayer, so they must know what happened.. Are they thinking about how she couldn't save her father? How she killed one thousand Illyrian soldiers? How about how she drowned herself in alcohol, how the mark of its loss is still clearly etched in the bruises under her eyes, the dullness of her hair, the sallowness of her skin. How ugly she is, how she never deserved anything better than that slew of nameless males who didn't care about her, how she just fails at everything she tries--

‍"My name is Gwyn. I had a good week."

‍The next girl speaks, and the eyes are--finally--off Nesta.

‍Gwyn touches her shoulder. "Don't worry about it," she says in a hushed voice. "At least you didn't cry."

‍Nesta manages a small smile. It might look more like a grimace, but Gwyn gives her a grin.

‍"It's really not half as embarrassing as you think," she whispers. "Everyone here is way more concerned with what others think of them...until you realize no one's thinking about that."

‍Maybe she's just saying that.

‍But...maybe she can just believe it. Just for now.

‍The weekly check-in ends, and the week passes by.

‍Nesta doesn't get assigned to a priestess, but she still--she thinks--makes progress. She may be making a friend, as Gwyn seeks her out a few more times. Sometimes just to say hello, sometimes to ask her if she wants to join her for a lecture or a session. She generally goes. She likes the jewellery making, finding that working with her hands keeps her focused enough that she can't think about herself. All the lectures, actually, Nesta finds interesting, as there's just so much she doesn't know about this world.

‍On Tuesday, she writes a letter to her sisters, telling them she's doing all right, and perhaps they can come visit over the weekend.

‍On Wednesday, she feels hungry and restless--hungry and restless. So she has two slices of bread with soup and she doesn't even feel sick, and she goes for a walk afterwards, on the track circling the outside of the House.

‍On Thursday, she brushes her hair in the morning, and almost none of it is ripped out with the brush. She makes Gwyn laugh with something she says about a lecture they disagreed on. Thalia tells her she thinks she has some ideas for coping mechanisms she wants her to try. She goes for another walk in the evening, even jogging a bit as the House hurries her along with flashing faelights.

‍"What is it?" she says, as she enters the door, gasping slightly. Goodness, she's never been so out of shape in her life. That was barely a run.

‍But the House isn't done yet, flashing more lights, leading her into her bedroom.

‍"Oh...do you...are we playing a game?"

‍The House swings her door--impatiently?--to get her inside, and when she is, it swings shut behind her and disappears into a wall.

‍"Hey!" Nesta says. "What are you--"

‍A tea cart appears in front of her. Nesta can smell the lemon and honey from the kettle as it rolls towards her. One of the armchairs pulls out.

‍"Are we having a tea party?" Nesta asks.

‍As if in answer, a book appears on the coffee table.

‍"Do you want me to read to you?" Nesta asks.

‍The curtains pull shut and her faelights flicker on.

‍"I'll take that as a yes," she says, and sits down to entertain the House. She gives a small huff of a laugh. "You had to finish my walk early, did you?"

There's no way around it: Cassian has never been more pathetic in his life than he is with this female.

‍Whether it's circling her estate, thinking of insults to throw at her, or circling her apartment, imagining himself tossing out the male with her that night and confessing everything to her, or circling the House to sneak a peek of her through one of the Windows...all right, so it's mostly all the same move. Gods, when had he become so predictable?

‍Pathetic, nonetheless.

‍The worst part of it is, he doesn't even try and convince himself to stop anymore. Not when Elain shrieks one morning and says Nesta's invited her and Feyre up for lunch on Saturday. Not when he sees her go out for a walk Wednesday evening--a walk, with a bit more meat on her bones, and a shine to her hair and--he might be too far to tell, but it looks like--life in her eyes.

‍Not joy. Not...excitement. Not even contentment. But life. And that's...so much more than what had been last week.

‍He wonders if it might've consoled her to know that he was just as miserable as she was. More so, even. Because he felt all the pain she did and he also felt his own pain of seeing her that way. Of knowing that fierce, cunning, determined, wildly brave, unnaturally beautiful female was...struggling. So, so hard.

‍Sleeping a level above her each night, and thinking only of her...and knowing she's not thinking of him. Of course not. It was stupid and selfish and stupid again, but...it's true.

‍And her getting better is not for him he tells himself, as he watches her go on a walk for a second evening in a row.

‍(Not that he's watching her. He's checking the wards. It's not as though he knew she'd be out. He didn't. It just happened.)

‍Not for you, he says to himself. Feyre had been clear. This is for checking the wards; to make sure she's safe. And the extra weight on her is not for him to better imagine holding onto something as he presses her against himself; it's so she's healthy. So she doesn't wither and waste away. She is not imagining a stroll through the Night Court botanical gardens with him right now; she's just getting fresh air.

‍Time to go. Wards are checked, alarms are set, so it's time to go.

‍He doesn't let himself steal another glance--not for you--as he turns to fly away.

‍He should go to the ends of the city. Shake this off him, put his head on straight. This is pathetic. This is just sad. Maybe he should go out with Mor. He did this for her, didn't she? For five hundred odd years. She can do this for him. Maybe he can even meet someone, just for a night, just a distraction--

‍But Nesta is all he sees when he closes his eyes. The beautiful woman she once was, the sickly female she is now, and guilt and revulsion rock him to his core at the very thought of someone else...

‍Pathetic, since she doesn't want him, and probably never will. No, not probably, just never.

‍Three clear bells ring out in the distance, and self-pity and misery snap out of Cassian as blinding fear takes their place.

‍The alarms.

‍Nesta.

‍He is on his way, flying faster than he ever has in his life, before he even registers it. And for the first time, he wishes he were like Rhys or Az and could winnow--prays one of them is already there, or both of them, to fight off whoever it is, to keep her safe--oh gods--oh, she's so scared, she's terrified, she's afraid for her life--and the priestesses--

‍Rhys and Az are already there, inside the House, and there are half a dozen. Illyrians. Illyrians.

‍So they were right. He hadn't wanted to believe it. Doesn't want to believe it. That they would ever...that they would dare...

‍Cassian can't think, just has to move, get them out, kill--

‍"No," Rhys snarls at him.

‍Dimly, Cassian knows why. They're plotting a rebellion. To take over their court, and to give Nesta over to their enemy. Direct attacks against the royal bloodline. They need to be interrogated. They can't be killed.

‍But they can't live. They're going to hurt Nesta; they can't be allowed to live.

‍INCAPACITATE, Rhys barks to his mind.

‍Fine. He will. But he doesn't have to make it clean.

‍He does it quick, though. Nesta's scared. She's probably hiding somewhere, scared for her life. He needs to do it quickly for her.

‍They're fair warriors, but no match for the three of them. It's not close to being a fair fight. It's only a few minutes before he and Az have knocked out the six of them--Az letting him do the brunt of it--and Rhys drags back another two who had gone off to find Nesta.

‍"Easy," Rhys snaps at him.

‍"Calm down or go," Az adds. "Nesta's in her room. She's safe."

‍"You'll scare her."

‍"I won't," Cassian says, growling.

‍Rhys unceremoniously drops the two Illyrians on the floor next to the six others. "Well, you've already destroyed her living room," he says drily, "and you're covered in blood."

‍"Not mine." Not enough.

‍"Calm down," Rhys says, and this time it's an order.

‍Cassian takes a deep breath. "She's in her room?"

‍"I can bring Feyre up--"

‍"Bring her, but I want to see her. She needs to see me." The words come out of their own accord, but neither of his brothers corrects him.

‍"We'll both go," Rhys says. "Az...take care of this."

‍Az nods once, and they go down the stairs.

‍Nesta's scent grows stronger as they descend. Not much fear that he can detect, though. None of the bitterness of adrenaline. Just that sweet, gutting floral, mixed with traces from books she's always buried in. And, he realizes pleasantly, no alcohol.

‍When they get to her floor, Nesta's bedroom door is missing. In place is a wall. Before he can hurl himself at it to break it down, it morphs back into a door, and Rhys is there, knocking, again before Cassian can move.

‍"Nesta?" he calls out. "It's safe."

‍Cassian can hear her shuffling around before she comes to open the door.

‍He fights to keep upright and still as her eyes meet his, widening more than he's ever seen.

‍"What happened to you?" she asks, voice stronger and clearer than he's heard in a long time. Beautiful, lyrical, even if she does sound appalled. "Did you come from a battlefield?"

‍"How did you get the door to change into a wall?" Rhys asks her. "That was clever. Was that your magic?"

‍Nesta blinks at him. "No...the House was playing a game."

‍"You play games with the House?" Cassian says softly.

‍She turns to him again.

‍Yes, look at me, look at me, look at me, Nesta Nesta Nesta--

‍"I...we're friendly." She tinges pink.

‍"You're friends with the House?" Rhys says, blankly.

‍She reddens still--yes.

‍"Why are you covered in blood?" she says again.

‍"You...don't know what happened?" Rhys asks carefully.

‍Nesta rolls her eyes--oh, gods, how he's missed seeing her irritated. Oh, maybe she'll turn red again. "Obviously not."

‍"The important thing to remember is that you're safe," Rhys says, his voice patient and gentle.

‍Nesta shoots him a sharp look, fully aware he's never taken that tone with her.

‍"What is it? What's happened?"

‍Oh, brilliant--now she's scared.

‍Cassian takes a step closer. "The House was breached," he says to her, and her face pales. "But that's what the alarms are for. They worked. And we all got here, and we've got them. Now we're going to figure out who else is working with them. We're going to keep you safe."

‍Nesta looks up. "I was safe. I am, I mean. The House...I didn't even hear anything. It just told me to come into my room and gave me some tea and asked me to read to it."

‍"It asked you to read to it?"

‍"I thought it was a game." Nesta moves past them, walking upstairs. She gasps slightly when she reaches the main floor and sees the state of the living room.

‍Cassian ignored the pointed look Rhys gives him. "I can clean it up." Thank the Mother Az has already gotten the eight of them out.

‍But the House already appears to be doing so itself. It even moves some furniture around, away from a wall that's been badly damaged.

‍Nesta sucks in a breath as she walks towards it and crouches down on the floor. "Oh...did they hurt you?" she says, quietly to...to the House. "I'm sorry. I...thank you for keeping me safe. I'll...I can fix this for you. I'll get you something to fix it." She puts her palm on the cracks and craters, as if stroking the hurt.

‍You will not, Cassian tells himself sternly, be jealous of a house.

‍Pathetic. Just...pathetic.

‍"Your sisters will want to see you," Rhys says. "Maybe you should spend the night at our home."

‍"No," Nesta says, not turning from the wall. "I'm staying here. Oh!" She leaps up, whipping around, face white again. "Is--are--the library, was it--"

‍"The library is fine," Rhys says smoothly. "The priestess are all fine. They wouldn't have even heard any of this."

‍Nesta breathes a sigh of relief. "All right," she says. "That's...that's good. All right."

‍"Are you sure you don't want to come down, Nesta?" Rhys asks, voice kind again.

‍"Yes," she says. "But Elain and Feyre can come up if they want to," she adds. "I'm all right, though. Really. I know I'm safe here." She touches the wall again.

‍Nevermind that it's he who's covered in blood, who fought them off for her. It's the walls she's grateful to, the walls she reads to and plays games with--

‍Shut up, idiot, shut up.

‍"We'll go bring them up, then. Unless...would you like one of us to stay with you?"

‍"I'm really fine."

‍"All right. Well...we'll be back in a few minutes."

‍Nesta nods and turns around to put her hands on the wall again, to talk to the House.

‍Rhys, the bastard, takes notes and gives him a grin as they step off the veranda and fly down to the riverfront manor together.

‍"I was jealous a lot before Feyre told me she loved me, but never--"

‍"Shut up," he snarls, and Rhys has the audacity to laugh.

‍He doesn't mind so much. Nesta's safe and...she's doing better and eating and going on walks and she has a friend.

‍Even if it is just a house.

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Finaces, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 9

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn’s attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain’s father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: Mentions of sexual assault/abuse/rape + abusive families

A/N: I’ve added a tag list for those who wish to stay updated with this story! Just message me if you wish to be added <3

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Nine: A Sight To See

Elain frowned down at the dress.

“I’m not sure if-”

“It’s perfect,” Nuala said firmly, glaring at her through the mirror. The surprisingly stubborn lesser fae was currently attempting to pin a handful of gemstones into Elain’s hair.

Elain just gave the fae a curt nod before looking back at herself.

Today was the day of the weekly meeting at Huckleberry Hall, i.e. Elain’s debut in the mortal realm as an emissary for not just the Night Court, but all the fae lands. How she’d gotten to this point in her life, she had no idea.

Yesterday she’d spent her time in the gardens chatting with Bartholomew, the Manor’s chief gardener. He was a sweet man that reminded her of her father, especially given all his travelling to the Continent and his collection of rare plant species in his greenhouse. He’d even promised her a few books on the matter and explained in great detail how plants can be useful for a number of things: healing, food, poisons.

He’d even pointed out the aphrodisiacs with a dopey grin, to which Elain had blushed furiously and moved quickly onto the exotic specimens.

She hadn’t seen Lucien that day.

Elain didn’t know why she was so aware of his absence given that she’d done just fine ignoring Lucien’s existence for two years. But yesterday, not seeing Lucien had thrown her balance off. When she was in the garden she kept looking up at the windows of the East Wing where his room supposedly resided. If only to catch a glimpse of red hair and a scarred face, just so she’d know he was okay.

Eventually, she’d turned in to the library to give one final assessment of her notes, and had spent the entire time trying to ask Nuala if Lucien was in the house without technically saying the words.

“Yes, that sounds good,” Nuala said without looking up.

“Yes, that sounds good,” Nuala said without looking up.

“Yes, that sounds good,” Nuala said without looking up.

“I…I don’t know what he does with his days.”

“Me neither,” Nuala shrugged.

“I haven’t seen him yet today…”

“Oh…shame…” From the glint in Nuala’s eye, Elain knew she had caught on to her not-so-subtle questioning.

“Yes…I wonder if he’ll be back later today.”

“Probably, considering he lives here.” Nuala was grinning now. And as Elain’s cheeks turned pink, she bit her tongue and stopped her questioning.

***

“Where did you even get this dress?”

“The Lady Morrigan gifted it to you before you left for the mortal lands, she was too late to say goodbye in person so she gave me the package.”

“Oh,” Elain nodded absent-mindedly. “How does Mor know my measurements?”

Nuala just grinned.

“Mor isn’t…talented in gift-giving, but she understands textiles like no other.”

Elain just nodded once more and shifted slightly upon dressing stand.

The dress was unlike anything Elain had ever worn before. The middle Archeron sister typically favoured dresses with full skirts and corseted bodices, all bedecked with lace, ribbon and silk, and paired with fresh flowers in her hair.

The dress she was wearing today just…wasn’t.

“Why am I wearing this again?”

“Because the mortals must understand that whilst High Fae and humans may look similar, you’re not. If you were to go in one of your standard dresses, the humans would see it as an attempt for you to ‘humanise’ yourself. Whilst common ground is important with the mortals, they must still understand that we are different. Do you see this fabric?”

Nuala took a finger and ran it along Elain’s covered shoulder, who nodded in response.

“This fabric is called Didache. It’s only found in the fae-lands, particularly the Autumn Court. It comes from the Dida-bugs of the Burning Caves who produce a fine silk-like fabric that is woven into sheets. It will remind the humans that we are different and yet-” Nuala grinned at her, “-beautiful.”

Elain blushed and nodded. The fabric was a deep forest green and yet, it moved like water. It seemed to always be shifting with the smallest of movements and sometimes, in the light, she could see not one but hundreds of shades of green flowing together, interspersed with threads of gold.

Mor’s ingenuity was shown in the choosing of this dress, as it both demonstrated a stylistic change between fae and mortal wear, and yet Elain was still able to maintain a comfortable modesty that would not outright alarm the humans.

The dress, unlike the flouncy human design, was a tight fit. It began high on her neck and covered her entire body, connecting to her hands via a tie on her middle finger. It cascaded down her body like a second skin, accentuating every dip and curve. Most strange of all was how it clung to her thighs (a sensation Elain was not yet used to) before the fabric flared ever so slightly at the knees and left a small trail of watery, emerald fabric to follow her as she walked.

It was simple, yet a statement.

Elain would’ve hated to wear such a tight dress if, well, she didn’t look so good. She’d been taught her whole life that covering up was natural for women and whilst she certainly wasn’t prepared to wear the kinds of dresses Feyre sported to the Court of Nightmares, this dress seemed to call for her.

“I think Mor had this prepared for you for some time,” Nuala said, pushing the final pin in. The hairstyle hailed from the Day Court Nuala explained as she had coiled Elain’s mass of hair on top of her head whilst leaving large strands to dangle down her shoulders. Brown bands were wrapped around her head and interwoven into her curls were dark green gems that glittered in the light and made it look as though her hair was made of starlight.

It was…beautiful.

“Thank you, Nuala,” Elain said quietly when her friend stepped back to survey her work.

“No problem,” Nuala smiled, “I know it’s not your usual dress, but you truly look like a Fae princess, perhaps even a High Lady.”

Elain reddened and surveyed herself once more in the mirror.

“The others are waiting for you at the stables,” Nuala said suddenly as shadows began to coil from her hair and she extended her hand to Elain.

After peering one more time at her notes on the table, Elain turned and glared at the female she saw in her reflection. With her hair pinned back, her pointed ears were on display, slightly pink at the tips from all her flushing. The dress, the hair, her dark eyes, the flawless skin – Elain was undeniably beautiful. And undeniably fae.

With a sigh, Elain turned and grasped Nuala’s hand before she could think too much about how she looked and all that had changed.

Even if she didn’t know how to play the part of fae, she might as well look it.

***

There was a small bustling crowd around the stables of Lockhart Manor. The stables were placed near the entrance to the woods and the small trail they would follow all the way to Huckleberry Hall.

Letting go of Nuala’s hand, Elain turned to survey the small crowd. There were stable boys and a few guards, and she could even peek Bartholomew speaking rapidly to a woman in a fine dress who was nodding along with interest, Jurian a few paces behind them, looking bored as ever.

No Lucien.

The thought shouldn’t have made Elain’s heart sink as it did. She’d been awake since sunrise, having breakfast in her chambers as Nuala began the prep work for getting her into the dress. And maybe as she watched herself slowly being transformed into a fae princess; she could only think of her mate’s reaction to seeing her in such an outfit.

Turning back around, Elain’s eyes once more fell on the gardener and the woman, now pointing down at the strawberry plants that lined the pathway. It took a few more moments of staring for Elain to realise that she was, in fact, looking at Queen Vassa.

Looking over her shoulder, Elain threw a stare at Nuala who only shrugged in response. Elain turned back. How was Vassa out? The sun was at a midpoint between East and Mid-day, she should be well past her transfiguration by now.

Sighing, Elain practised walking as she made her way over to the Queen. The dress was surprisingly practical, easier to move in than any of her corsets. Instead of restricting her movements, the fabric simply glided over her skin and moved with her, no doubt catching the light as it did and reflecting a thousand shades of green.

“Queen Vassa,” Elain greeted with a small curtsey.

The Queen turned from the gardener to nod at Elain, and Elain saw how Vassa’s eyes caught on her appearance, her eyes flicking up and down her body for a brief moment, her figure seeming to still.

“You look magnificent, Vassa,” Elain smiled, hoping that her compliment was seen as nothing other than a peace offering.

Vassa was sporting a traditional human queen’s gown. The colour was a deep gold with a panel of green and crimson embroidery running up the centre of the dress. There was a low tie hanging on the queen’s slender hips and a heavy crown upon her forehead. She was the image of strength and power, and next to her, Elain felt as though she looked like the evil-fae seductress.

“Forgive me if it’s a crude question but, how are you…”

”Here?” Vassa said drily, raising a brow. Elain forced herself not to flush with embarrassment and just nodded.

Vassa sighed as though she were bored and raised her hand. Elain was unsure what she was supposed to be looking at, there were two rings on her hand and a nice set of manicured nails but-

Then she realised. The ring on her fourth finger was made of black metal and was far too heavy and brutal to be worn by a Queen.

Looking at the ring, Elain felt something coil in her gut. Turning fae had attuned her senses to magic, and thrumming from that ring was a magic that smelt like sickness.

Suddenly, Elain felt herself drifting out of her body, able to look down on herself and Vassa. As she did, she had the distinct feeling of something falling into place.

”It’s a new addition.”

Jurian's voice snapped Elain back into her body with a small gasp. He was slowly stalking up to them, cutting into a fig with his knife as he moved with a predator-like grace. “It seems that Vassa’s keeper sent us a house-warming gift. He’s only two years late.”

“Jurian…” Vassa sighed tiredly, as though she’d had this conversation several times before.

”It seems like our death-Lord, from his lakeside manor, has decided to give our dear Queen the ability to see daylight.”

Elain could only glance between the two, barely able to keep up with their bantering. She was still feeling overwhelmingly nauseous and was trying to avoid looking at the ring directly.

”Don’t worry,” Vassa turned to Elain with a sneer, “I’m not fixed just yet. The ring comes with a cost. Each hour I put off my transformation adds 24 for later.”

”Why not leave it on?” Elain said in a quiet voice, still feeling the earth move underneath her.

”Oh yes, of course, I’m sure Koschei just skipped over that in his master plan,” Vassa snarked. Elain, to her own surprise, rolled her eyes.

“Well, hello princess,” Jurian spoke before Vassa could. He talked as though he hadn’t seen Elain before.

Elain’s skin couldn’t help but prickle as she watched his eyes lapping up her figure with a complete disregard for anything else.

“Jurian,” Elain nodded, trying to drag his eyes up to her own.

“What did we do to deserve this?” His eyes met hers with a wink and then, again, ever so slowly, Jurian’s eyes ran up Elain’s body, lingering slightly on the fabric that was straining over her bountiful chest before meeting her eye. Elain didn’t deem the comment with a retort.

“Leave her be Jurian,” Vassa rolled her eyes before turning to Elain with something that looked like a coy smile. “It’s fun to see them drool, isn’t it?”

Elain, to her surprise, found herself grinning widely and nodding. If she wasn’t mistaken, she and Vassa had just shared a pleasant interaction.

Today was full of surprises.

“And they say we’re the weaker sex.”

Vassa tipped her head back and laughed, and when Elain turned back to Jurian she found him watching the queen intently, something enigmatic in his stare.

“When you’re done with girl-talk, we really must get going,” Jurian rolled his shoulders. Even he appeared dressed in his finest, and Elain wondered just who it was that must’ve pinned him down to drag a comb through his scruffy hair, now flopping back from his, rather handsome, face.

“Last time I checked Jurian, I’m the Queen, I say when we leave.” Vassa pointed a look at the man who only seemed to smile wider at her retort.

“Of course, your majesty…” Jurian rolled the word around in his tongue, “When you’re ready, my queen, I’ll be waiting for you by the gate…possibly awake, possibly napping.”

And with that Jurian turned and strode away, the woman and the female watching his retreating figure strut across the pathway.

“Idiot,” Vassa cursed under her breath before turning back to Elain. “Lucien told me this morning he’ll be arranging your transport. Apparently, we’re not arriving together, Jurian and I will be one unit, you and Lucien another. Just so you know.”

As the Queen spoke her voice steadily grew colder and colder until she was back to how she usually was with Elain, her voice monotone and her eyes bored. Elain just gave a nod and that was enough for the Queen to deem the conversation over as she turned and followed Jurian down the path. As she moved, Elain couldn’t help but notice how she tipped her head back seemed to drink in the sunlight.

Elain was left standing in the middle of a small bustling crowd, many of the guards moving to follow their Queen and keep her safe. And so, Elain went back to her search for her mate.

After searching the crowd, she allowed her eyes to close and for her focus to turn within. It didn’t take long for her to find the bond, as soon as her eyes were shut it was there, glowing bright and gold, a single thread leading from her out ahead.

Angling herself, Elain followed the bond until she heard his heart, strong and steady, filling her ears like the most beautiful drum. Opening her eyes, she saw him.

Lucien was talking to a rather nervous stable boy and Elain was rather thankful for the small chance to ogle him without his awareness.

For one thing, Elain understood the stable boy’s nerves. Lucien looked…powerful.

He was wearing the finest of his fae attire, with fine brown boots and pants, a crisp shirt, a waistcoat and then a riding jacket. Across his chest was a bandolier with an assortment of eccentric knives, all sharpened to deadly perfection. On his hip were two swords, his autumn blade and another blade but made of gold. His hair was unleashed and cascaded down his shoulders and back, and his scar made his fierce expression even more lethal.

Two years ago, Elain would’ve been petrified at such a sight. It was a reminder that Lucien wasn’t her fae prince, that even though he had the makings of a perfect husband there was something darker and more alluring that hung around him.

He was a courtier, a disowned son, a silver-tongued fox. And Elain saw that everyone underestimated him, and that’s what made him most dangerous of all.

But while any fae prince might make Elain’s heart flutter, the sight of Lucien in his most professional, intimidating glory, roused some feeling deep within her gut. It was like her entire body turned electric, and the air between them seemed to crackle as the bond tightened.

Elain watched as Lucien’s brow furrowed and his hand reached surreptitiously to his ribs. Lucien’s eyes were no longer on the stable boy and his rambling, he was looking around – he was looking for her.

Elain saw the moment Lucien laid eyes on her. He stilled, the hand rubbing his ribs going stagnant.

The world seemed to fade away as Elain watched Lucien’s eyes take in her dress. He started by looking at the neck and then, at a tortuously slow pace, his eyes wandered down and down like Jurian.

But where Jurian’s gaze had made her tired and comfortable, Lucien’s seemed to set every nerve in her body alight.

She watched him as he watched her, and she could see him pause on certain parts. Taking in the first full display of her chest, the way the fabric ran seamlessly down her waist before flaring with her hips, and then again at her thighs.

Some part of Elain dared her to turn around, to show him how the dress barely fit over her behind, how the fabric seemed to stretch as it tried to contain the slopes and swells of her body.

She didn’t know where it had come from – but she didn’t want the voice to stop.

Then, Lucien’s eyes were reluctantly dragged upwards and just before they met eyes, Elain saw Lucien’s tongue dart between his lips to wet them. For some reason, Elain had the strongest urge to clench together her thighs.

Lucien moved forward like a predator stalking prey, with a lithe grace that was reminiscent of a snake.

Elain didn’t care for the rest of the world; she just saw him. Maybe it was not seeing him yesterday, but all Elain knew was that now he was nearby, she wasn’t taking her eyes off him for the foreseeable future.

Every step was torture. Every inch closer made the bond thrum and sing with delight.

Lucien came to a stop barely a foot away from her. There was a pause of silence.

“Elain,” His voice was low, gravelly, restrained.

“Lucien,” Elain’s own voice was breathy.

And then Lucien was bending down, leaning in close almost as though he were going to kiss her and Elain – Elain didn’t recoil. When Lucien’s face was inches from her own, his eyes searing into hers, she felt his palm slip into hers. His hand was warm and much, much larger than her own, and Elain felt raw electricity jolt through her at the contact.

With a deliberate, torturous slowness, Lucien raised Elain’s hand to his mouth and placed a single kiss on her knuckles.

Many men had kissed Elain’s hand before, from old to young, bachelors to fiancés. But it had never been like this.

Lucien’s lips on her knuckles was like a promise. It was just lips on the back of her hand – it was entirely inadequate, it was nothing – and that is what made Elain’s body sing.

Lucien’s eyes never left hers, and as he straightened, he didn’t let go of her hand.

“We’re planning on riding to Huckleberry,” Lucien’s voice sounded a bit clearer, but his eyes were still dark and glittering.

“Okay,” was all Elain could manage. But her body was in overdrive, her entire existence being concentrated into the feel of Lucien’s hand in hers. One small touch and she was consumed.

“Oh look! Lucien-” Jurian’s voice swam from somewhere off to the side.

“Vassa, Jurian, you best be headed off now, you don’t want to be late to miss the guards at the northern checkpoint,” Lucien spoke without looking away from Elain, and his voice was full of such a natural command that another pulse of heat ran through her.

Elain distantly heard as Vassa, Jurian and a few guards saddled up and trot out through the gardens into the forest. The world seemed to thin around them, stable boys returning to the Manor, even Nuala evaporated into the air, until all that was left was a grey-haired horse and Lucien, with his hand in Elain’s.

“I thought we might ride together, to present a united front. But if your uncomfortable there’s another horse in the stables saddled and ready to go.” Elain could’ve sworn that as Lucien spoke, his thumb ran across the back of her hand. “It’s also just a way of me making sure your safe.”

“Are you expecting there to be danger at the meeting?”

“No, very few even know of your arrival and the mortals are in too weak a position to attack a visiting fae. I just…for my own peace of mind.”

Remarkably, Lucien seemed bashful as he spoke, his eyes breaking from hers for a moment as he shifted on his feet.

“Oh…alright.” Elain smiled up at him, and it was a peace-offering. The world seemed to still for a moment as Lucien noticed, and his gaze lingered on her lips.

Then he was clearing his throat and turning to lead her to the saddled horse, but he didn’t release his hand, instead, he used it to tug her along, as though he were entirely reluctant to let go.

“The journey is significantly shorter on horseback; we should be there in around 15 minutes.”

Lucien eventually reluctantly let go of Elain’s hand as he hoisted himself up and onto the horse.

Elain could only watch. Watch as he set himself astride the saddle, watch how his thighs – how had Elain never notices his thighs before – clenched as he seated himself upright. Watch as he flicked his hair back over his shoulder, his muscles somehow flexing through the layers of his shirt and jacket. Watch as he extended his hand to her.

Elain frowned down at her dress as a thought struck her.

“Oh…I don’t think I’ll be able to ride anything in this dress.”

Elain felt rather than saw Lucien go still.

Looking up from the green fabric, she allowed herself to assess him. Lucien’s muscles seemed to be standing on end, his delicious thighs clenched so that the tendons stood to attention. His hands were fisted into the reigns and his knuckles had turned white with his grip.

Most intoxicating of all, was Lucien’s eyes. They were glazed over and distant, as though Lucien were thinking of something intently. Or rather, picturing.

And then Elain saw it.

It was from a distant perspective and the first thing she saw was Lucien, with his browning skin on display as he laid on his back across pale sheets. His beautifully muscled legs were exposed and tensed, his torso nothing but streamline muscles, his arms bare and glorious as they tightened as he gripped onto the figure astride him. He looked so…undone, with his red hair spilling across the sheets, his face furrowed, and his mouth parted with pleasure.

The female astride Elain’s mate had her head thrown back, her golden-brown curls bouncing along with her breasts as she bobbed wildly on top of him. Elain couldn’t hear them – couldn’t hear the moans that she saw rippling from her own mouth.

Then, the pace changed, instead of desperate jerky movements, Lucien and the female’s body slowed into an easy rhythm, each of their bodies rolling together with a trained precision. She could see Lucien’s mouth moving as he spoke breathily to the female, pulling her down so their foreheads touched. She watched as his eyes grew hungrier, how the rolling gave way to thrusting, how he took two fingers and pushed them into the female’s mouth and how she sucked enthusiastically before releasing them with a ‘pop’, how Lucien then dragged those two fingers down her body, slowly, before pushing them down to where they were joined and beginning to rub against her in slow, languid circles-

The horse grunted, and Elain jumped.

All of a sudden she came back into her body, it was as though someone had been holding her windpipe and abruptly let go. Her knees felt weak, her mouth dry, and for a moment, she could barely remember her own name, never mind where she was.

“We’ll winnow.”

Lucien was in front of her now, having gotten down off the mare whilst her mind was elsewhere. He was now fiddling with the buckles on the straddle before a stable boy took the reins.

Elain looked up at him dry-mouthed. Did he know what she’d just seen? Was she even…had there been a shift in her scent? Fear tinged with excitement plunged through her.

“You okay?” Lucien murmured; his eyes concerned as they roved over her face. It looked like he almost reached for her hand again.

Elain didn’t trust her voice and could only nod in response. Lucien seemed to assess her for another moment before he held out his arm, ever the courtier. The female looked out at the stables as she wrapped her hand around his bicep, trying to ignore how the muscles shifted and tensed under her fingertips.

“Right, well…let’s go.”

As Elain closed her eyes and held her breath to prepare for the twisting sensation of winnowing, she could on think of one thing.

Elain had just had a vision; she still had her powers.

[sageblogsthings]

to celebrate The Crimson Moon reaching 30k as of this morning, i thought that i would share the progression of the opening lines of the book, and talk a bit about how the book has grown and changed in the last year! on july 27th it will be exactly a year since i first started writing this and wow i’m not getting emotional you are aha whaaaat

*cough* anywayyysss!!

draft one: please oh god don't judge me

ok i'm not going to talk negatively about my past writing because it got me to where i am today but. [marge i am looking away meme] if you can't tell, i wrote this when i was going through the existential crisis phase of uni and just wanted to live in the woods, i say like i would not currently move to the woods in a heartbeat asdklfja

at the time that i wrote this i was really happy with it because the writing was fun and, as a result, easy! at this point i was just writing in my down time from uni, and i didn't know what the plot was or what my plans were for the book as a whole. because this was just something i did in my down time, i think my writing took on more of a conversational, stream-of-consciousness tone, and that's part of what made this draft (or start of a draft, i only got like 12k in i think) so easy to write. but eventually, as the plot started to come together and i started to gain more inspiration from sff writers as a whole, i realized that this book wasn't heading in the direction i wanted it to. it wasn't just something to do in my free time at that point, it had taken on a life of it's own. and thus, draft two began.

draft two: electric boogaloo

ngl these lines still slap and i love them. there are definitely things i would change, but these lines will be in the current draft of the book, albeit not in the first chapter and altered slightly. when i started this draft, i didn't have an outline but i had a very clear, cinematic image of how i wanted this chapter to go. i think having that before i started writing helped a looooot, both in terms of prose and just being able to convey aspects of the setting/character in the first paragraph. as i continued writing this draft though, i realized that some of the character arcs didn't make sense or were getting a bit messy, and that, based on the story i wanted to tell, it didn't make sense to start with Xalia. while there are six main pov characters in this book, Vanna really is the main character and i wanted that to be clear.

draft three: this time it's personal actually good

these are the current first lines of the book, and honestly my favorite so far! starting off with Vanna rather than Xalia definitely gives the book a different feel, and it's one that's more true to the vision i have for it. in my opinion, this opening does a much better job of setting up some of the book's themes, which admittedly i'm still figuring out lol. grief and loss are major components of all the character arcs, and are integral to the plot itself. switching to present tense has also been a LIFE CHANGER for me. it's funny because, on the second stab at this book, i kept slipping into present tense, but forcing myself back to past tense because i thought present tense sounded weird. turns out it only sounded weird because it was surrounded by past tense, and now that i've written 3 chapters in present tense i can solidly say that this is the way the book was meant to be written. it just feels like my book now, and i'm so happy with where it's headed!

i also made an outline for this draft of the book, and while i've already deviated from it somewhat to work out plot holes or increase ~foreshadowing~ in certain scenes, getting all of the events out of my head and onto paper has really allowed me to just write because i know that i have a document to refer back to if i get stuck on where the story is headed. making the outline also really pushed me to think about character backstories, most of which i had previously established, but now they've changed a lot to fit together more cohesively and integrate with the plot more clearly. i've also changed a lot of the character designs, and as a result of changing the appearances and backstories of a lot of the characters, i feel a lot closer to them and the story itself. the characters have well and truly taken on a life of their own, and now i'm kind of just along for the ride, telling their stories and loving every second of it!

ALSO!! the last big change with this draft, which i just implemented literally this morning and am so so sooooo excited about, is having first person referral, present tense mini-chapters/interludes! it gives the book a really unique sound and ties into the plot really nicely i think! i feel like the structure and form of the story are finally tying into the story itself and it's driving me insane a little bit askdfjka

as of right now i'm not ready to reveal who the pov and referral characters are in these chapters, because i'm debating between a couple ways of doing things and if i go one way that would end up being a pretty big spoiler! that being said, i got really hyped up about it earlier today and rambled in the spoilers section of my server so if you do want that sweet sweet spoilers content....join my server! ;)

also. i hope u all know that i almost deleted that first snippet about ten different times but transparency in writing and all that, i really do want to show how much this book has grown and changed! even if it's going to cause me immense psychic damage to type up the image description for this but i digress

i think that's all for now, and thank you so so much if you read all of that! the love and support this project has received and continues to receive absolutely blow me away, and i can't thank you enough for being part of the journey! <3

the crimson moon taglist (ask to be +/-)

@dallonswords | @isherwoodj | @florraisons | @aetherwrites | @childhoodlovers | @bijouxs | @ziyin | @moonhungers | @piyawrites | @avi-why | @svpphicwrites | @alicewestwater | @ladywithalamp | @spencers-tomes | @discreet-writer | @sunwornpages | @abalonetea | @the-bard-writes | @x-writes | @morganwriteblr​ ​| @aphaimaniis | @stephwriteswords | @ninazeniks ​| @araliensmagica | @fuyugomori | @ryns-ramblings | @greyjaywrites | @marimos

image descriptions below the cut

[header image description]

the background is a dark castle with a checkerboard-patterned marble floor. the hallway fades into black, with the hint of a figure standing in the doorway. white text across the image reads "The Crimson Moon" in a large, all-caps font, and below that reads "wip update post" in thin, lowercase text.

[image description for excerpt one]

I lay on my back, gazing up at the sky. The weather was absolutely perfect. I could hear the crickets singing, the birds chirping, the brook babbling, all that good poetic shit.

I came out here often, just to get away and pretend like I wasn't a part of the fuck-all society I lived in. How could humans be so ignorant? We live in a world with this, I gestured expansively in my mind at the field around me, how can we not see how beautiful it is? How perfect it is? How imperfect we are by comparison?

[image description for excerpt two]

Xalia strode down the marble halls, the soft leather of her shoes meeting each tile with a cacophony of echoes. This was not the first, second, hundredth time that she had walked these passageways, and yet the chill she felt when contained within their depths never seemed to subside. The looming corridors and billowing curtains always seemed to hide sinister whispers that breathed down her neck and pricked at the tips of her ears. Perhaps it was the High Council, with their unnerving masks and owlish eyes, seeming to know and perceive all — or perhaps it was the knowledge that every time she stalked back towards the exit, she would carry the weight of another’s life on her shoulders, a life that she had to take.

[image description for excerpt three]

Vanna’s mother always tells them that grief is a sharp, biting thing; something that latches its teeth around your stomach until you double over with the weight of it. But for Vanna, that’s not quite right. There isn’t something hidden and tucked away behind the confines of their gut because there isn’t anything there at all. As they walk towards the town well — a spell book in one hand and emptiness in the other — they think that their mother got it wrong trying to describe grief in terms of presence. Grief, to them, can only be absence. The absence of light, the absence of a smile, and the absence of a palm which had curled so perfectly into theirs.

[gryfon-spanish-werewolf]

Update to Soft Cover: Of A Feather, a story about an ice church at the bottom of the world and some angels, one fallen, one demoted. Request by @snowmanmelting that I am very VERY late on, but hopefully that will all be forgiven after reading xD

Can also be read below

Anna breathes deeply in the freezing, near arctic air of the church around her. The chill settles in her lungs, pooling in swirls before the heat of her body changes her exhale into a foggy cloud. She repeats the action again, focusing on the divine energy in her veins, the radiance of her feathers, and the glow of the halo above her head.

Anything to distract her from how ungodly cold her butt is on this literal ice floor.

Distracted, a chill leaps up Anna’s spine. Goosebumps shiver down her arms and she sighs, opening her eyes. The deep blue of the ice encompasses her, a place of worship carved from the glacier itself. Marvelous and stunning, a true feat of engineering, sculpting, and faith. Remarkable, beautiful.

Cold.

As more shivers rack her celestial body, Anna’s teeth begin to chatter. Repositioning herself a little, Anna attempts to resume her solitary meditation and prayer, but with a glum pout, she recalls instead the warmth of summer air and rustle of leaves in trees full of life and vigor. So different from her current surroundings - where once she enjoyed a place of open space and sunlight against skin, now Anna trembles in the cold and dark, where the sun holds no warmth and blinds instead of caresses.

And it’s all her fault.

But it’s fine. A century or so of consistent devotion and guidance for humanity will put Anna right back where she was, enjoying the breeze under her wings and the sparkles of the stars over the water. Patience is a virtue, she reminds herself as she closes her eyes once more, one that she has in spades. Or she will if she simply asks - being an angel and all, it would be granted immediately. Anna reaches for the tether to her divinity, a golden Light in her mind’s eye, feeling herself settle back to recharging the church with holy presence and serenity.

Until the resounding clack of steel-toed boots echoes throughout the chamber, shattering her focus and winking out the Light like a candle.

Anna scrambles to her feet, heart in her throat. Quickly she checks her glamor (a hand at her head, wrist, and knee) and adjusts the hang of her clothes. Simple white cloth, pinned at her shoulder, cinched at her waist. Her feet are bare as they press against the ice floor. The echoes continue and a shadow moves down the hall where the main room becomes a long hallway leading to the outside. The church is hardly ever  closed and people come and go as they please in the days between services, but it is unusual that Anna would not sense them. Unusual also to not hear the heavy wooden doors groan open to admit the visitor.

Regardless, Anna concentrates on making herself presentable. Be they godly, then Anna is prepared; be they human they will find an empty hall for them to do what they need, unaware of the angel in the room, ready to assist.

The shadow proceeds across the wall, closer with every step. Anna tilts her head at a curious sound. Thick boots for crunching through ice and snow are typical this far beneath Earth’s equator, but these shoes don’t sound… right. They are loud for certain, but light, with a rhythmic one-two as opposed to the heavy clump of the whole boot. Perhaps a wanderer, Anna thinks, or a tourist.

But tourists typically gasp and “ooooh” and “aaaah” at the decor, walls, and sacred objects on display.

Not hopscotch back and forth on their toes while muttering curses.

Suddenly, Anna knows who this is. It’s really a shame she didn’t get around to asking for that Patience, because right now, she’s going to need every ounce that God has ever produced.

“Helloooooo!” Comes a cheery, high pitched voice. “Anyone home?”

A woman arrives around the corner. About average in height, slim in build, with pale skin, gleeful blue eyes, and long, unbound white hair. The strange footfall Anna had heard made perfect sense now as the woman steps further into the room, head turning this way and that, as her heels click and rebound in the icy chamber. She is certainly NOT dressed for the weather. No thick coat or furred gloves, no goggles or padded leggings - nothing at all remarkable - in fact she wears a similar outfit to Anna’s except in black. Simple cloth, pinned at her shoulder, cinched at her waist, baring her arms and calves.

No. Not a visitor at all.

A trespasser.

Anna folds her arms and scowls. With a mighty and decisive huff of air, she drags the Light from within her and fills the chamber with holy energy.

The woman notices immediately, yelping in surprise as though she’s been pinched.

“Unnecessary,” the woman grouses, her eyes tightening slightly in pain, “but I knew you’d be here. Hiding as usual.” She scans the room again, eyes roaming past Anna once, then twice, before a grin breaks out on the woman’s face. “Where are you, little angel?”

Anna will not play this game. This woman’s actions and appearance bely her nature, and her presence in this place is not only unwelcome but forbidden. Ire rises in Anna and she pushes it out, raising the temperature in the room and causing the interloper peering between the pews to wince.

Even a demoted angel does not allow a demon to wander into her home so casually.

The woman continues her search, even as the seconds tick by and the energy in the room gives the icy walls an ethereal inner glow. The floor becomes too hot for her tastes and she hops up on a pew, balancing herself, arms out to her sides as she continues wandering around the room, making smaller and smaller concentric circles. She gets closer, despite the angel’s best efforts. With one last shove, Anna manifests her wings, all seven feet of bright white glory nearly burning to the touch, fills the room with crackling energy - and this time the woman does stop. She loses her footing mid-step, dropping to one knee. Sweat beads on her brow and as Anna watches the trespasser struggles briefly to raise her eyes in Anna’s general direction.

“Ah, there you are,” she gasps, grunting as she rises and makes her way forward. Anna’s focus drops for a moment, surprised, and this is all the confirmation the woman needs. In hardly a moment, she is right before Anna, nearly eye to eye, though she looks right through the angel because of her glamor. Invisible. Unbreachable. Unflappable.

“Hello, angel,” the woman says, raising her hand and pressing her pointer finger smartly on the tip of Anna’s nose.

Not un-boopable, apparently.

In an instant Anna’s glamor falls away, the heat and energy she’d gathered flooding into the floors and walls.

“What’s with that face?” The woman smiles with good humored teasing.

Anna shakes her touch off and backs up a step. “How did you know where I was?”

The woman shrugs carelessly, “You were the angriest spot in the room. Pretty easy, all things considered.”

Anna bites her tongue, a boiling explicative at it’s tip. Swearing isn’t particularly Godly, and it would probably just make the woman laugh.

“I thought I would come and check up on you,” the demon continues, “because I haven’t seen you in some time. Not since the penguins had their chicks.” Anna looks down, pretending to find some interesting crack in the ice floor.

So she’d noticed Anna’s presence back then. Watching over a bouldered hill as the demon meandered around the flock like they were her own family and neighbors. Huh…

“Well it’s been nice seeing you,” Anna replies abruptly, “but you’d better leave.”

“So soon?” The woman blinks innocently. “But I just got here.”

“You’re not even allowed in here. Besides, I’m busy,” Anna scowls. She hopes her expression is enough to convince the demon to leave her, and this place, alone. Still waiting on that Patience virtue, and Anna’s personal reserves are already running on empty.

The woman tilts her head, and Anna has to remind herself that any compassion she might see in those eyes is a lie. “Still trying to summon enough power to charge this place? You’ve been trying for, let’s see, a few months now? With how low attendance has been lately, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Church is more than just a place, but one of it’s core requirements is members. People who come and go and frequent, creating a routine, a rhythm, a recognized space. A guardian angel assigned to a church takes over for generating that energy when the members are gone. The ice church had very few visitors to begin with, and tourists didn’t tend to devote time to energizing a place. So Anna often spent her days locked in meditation, channeling her divinity into the ice around her.

A grueling, thankless task.

“Well you should be done by now,” the woman muses aloud, taking stock of the room.

“I would be,” Anna growls, her hands balling into fists, “if someone didn’t keep interrupting me!”

“If you just looked--”

Anna sighs and draws her hand down her face. “Elsa…” Then she flinches. Between her fingers, Anna peeks at the woman in front of her.

Oh, if that was ever a Chesire grin.

“In honor of you using my name, I’ll stop beating around the snow mound,” Elsa beams, her ice blue eyes sparkling with merriment and cheer. She points to the ceiling, other hand cocked confidently on her hip. “See anything new up there, angel?”

Surely this demon has to be pulling her wing, but Anna complies and looks up, expecting the blank, dark surface of the thick oceanic ice.

Not so.

The ceiling is alive with Light, shimmering like the Aurora Australis. The ice seems lit from within by winking stars, the deep blue shot through with purples and greens and golds. The greatest Light of them all gathers in the center of the ceiling above their heads, bright and full. The sign of a fully charged house.

“When did…?” Anna murmurs.

“You always have trouble focusing,” Elsa says, turning Anna’s attention back to her. “Except for when you’re trying to kick me out.” The demon holds up her hands, “Rules are rules, I get it, but I thought, ‘Why not give her a little nudge and see if that helps.’” She looks up at the ceiling again, a soft expression on her face. “Seems like a resounding success.”

Anna doesn’t have an argument, so she stays quiet. Giving Elsa the satisfaction of thinking she played a part in divine dealings may be a mistake, one she doesn’t want to make.

“Now that you’re done,” Elsa turned and beckoned over her shoulder. “How about a break?”

“Angels don’t take breaks,” Anna says haughtily, crossing her arms. “Demons might: Disconnected and all that, aimless. But  we have more important things to do.”

Elsa pouts, her lower lip full and pitiful. “Trying to hurt my feelings, angel? Think I’ll try something if you step one foot out of here? You give me too much credit.”

“What would I even do ‘taking a break’? Walk around the ice until the frozen wind takes my wings?” Anna shakes her head. “No thank you. It might not always be warm in here, but it’s way better than out there.”

Elsa regards Anna over her shoulder before turning back. “You don’t like it here, that much is clear. And I know you’re trying to leave.” Anna darts her eyes away. “You hate it down here. Cold and dark, the sun only shining a few months out of the year. You’re lonely--”

“And it’s none of your business!” Anna snaps. This demon was edging dangerously close to a wound that was still fresh, even after all these years, all this time. A memory of warm sunlight dances in Anna’s mind and she wills herself to believe it’s just the wings on her back.

“Don’t lie,” Elsa says gently, “we can both feel it.”

Anna takes a deep breath in through her nose and exhales out her mouth. Steadily, she says, “Get out, demon.”

“Come with me, Anna.”

Her name echoes between them. Anger bubbles in Anna’s chest but dies just as quickly. She’s tired. Wary, but tired of always trying, always watching her best not being enough. But she has to push through, endure.

“I haven’t seen any other angel but you in one hundred years, Anna.” The demon turns her back and begins walking down the hall towards the entrance. “You don’t have to take up my offer, but know that I have no other motive than seeing you achieve your goal. I just want you to be able to enjoy it when that reward finally comes, and not be a burnt out pile of nerves and worry. I’ll be outside.”

Anna watches her go, heels clicking against the ice until they don’t. Silence descends again, absolute.

She should let her go, Anna thinks.

And she continues to think, even as her feet move and fingers trace the walls to check that the energy in the room won’t dissipate when she leaves. Not too much anyway. While the demon’s methods may annoy Anna to no end, she can’t ignore their effectiveness.

The wind howls outside, ripping at the fabric of Anna’s clothing in swift gusts. She slams the heavy door shut and shields her eyes with a hand, looking around for the demon who enticed her out here. Anna’s regret is immediate and grand. She’s stationed in the arctic, or practically anyway. Sunlight a few hours a day when they get it, or all day, never once setting, without the heat to match. Shadows rush in between bursts of snow, obscuring everything more than a few feet away.

“Demon!” Anna shouts, one eye shut as a snowflake flies in, stinging and cold. “Where are you?”

“Right here, angel.” A voice next to her says, appearing at her side almost instantly. “I must say, I knew you’d follow, but not this fast.”

“Tease me any more and you’ll enjoy this beautiful weather alone,” Anna gripes, unconsciously stepping into Elsa’s shadow. If Elsa had any opposition to Anna using her as a living snow shield, she didn’t say so. Even still, what little warmth Anna’s body had stored indoors was quickly being lost, and with the chill biting into her very bones, there was little hope of calling upon her divine power for relief.

In a last ditch effort, Anna’s wings puff up like a bird’s, thick and fluffed, blocking the majority of the wind and snow from hitting her torso. Anna didn’t bother looking at Elsa’s face. She could feel the humor in the very air itself.

“You got me out here de--.... Elsa. What now?”

“I thought perhaps a change of scenery would do you good,” Elsa shouts above the wind, close to Anna’s ear.

Guarded, Anna asks, “Where to?”

Elsa nudges Anna’s shoulder with her own, then walks a few steps out into the weather before facing the church entrance. “I was thinking up there,” Elsa points. Anna frowns, walking out to join her, realizing that Elsa had indicated a spot far above the gables and eaves of the church roof.

“You’re joking.”

“I am not,” Elsa responds flatly. “Have you ever been up there? Perhaps the view won’t be all that much right now, but I promise, it has it’s value, just out of sight.” Anna eyes her skeptically, but she supposed if Elsa did anything odd, she could alway just ask God to smite her. A few extra feet up may actually just make the shot easier.

Satisfied, Anna steps away from Elsa, fanning out her wings in preparation to jump. No more than a story or two, a leap as easy as breathing for someone used to soaring higher than clouds.

A quiet cough stops her short. “I’m happy that you’re eager, angel,” Elsa squints against the snow. It blows around her in circles, almost a bubble, unable to pass too close. A control Anna doesn’t have, or perhaps a tactic she would only resort to without her Light. “But if you want company, you’ll have to stoop low and assist the enemy.”

Behind her back something appears, like watercolor paint bleeding and blooming into shape, spreading out from her clothed shoulders to the ground. Feathers the color of oil, of moonless nights and obsidian shards. They weigh heavy against the demon, dragging beyond her feet, stuck marred and running with clumps of snow.

The chains of course, don’t make them any lighter.

Binding and unbreakable, the unearthly metal presses tightly against every shift the wings make, the occasional clink heard even over the gale. The limbs are lashed close to Elsa’s spine, tight and uncomfortable with no padlock to be seen, no reference to freedom or release, and Anna knows that there never will be.

Once fallen, always Bound.

“Dead weight,” Elsa says with a nonchalance that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. She flexes the muscles in her flightless wings, which rise an inch or two before dropping laboriously. “But their weight is only mine to bear. Carry me up, and I’ll show you what I meant earlier about there being more to this place than meets the eye. Heavenly or otherwise.”

Anna looks between their destination and her companion, then back again. “Alright,” she says at length, “but only this once. And it better be worth it.”

“Excellent!” Elsa drapes an arm suddenly around Anna’s shoulders and grips her tightly before kicking both feet off the ground. On reflex, Anna widens her stance and gets an arm under Elsa’s legs so she doesn’t get pulled down by Elsa’s gravity. She stumbles a bit under the weight of a body in her arms, relief washing through her that she’d managed to catch Elsa before they both fell… until she realizes  exactly  how Elsa desires to be carried, and dumps the demon unceremoniously to the ice cold ground.

“Ow!” Elsa gripes, rubbing her lower back. “What was that for?”

“No way,” Anna cuts her hands decisively through the air. “Absolutely no way am I carrying you like that.”

“Have a problem with bridal style, angel?” Elsa asks with a raised eyebrow, wiping snow from her black tunic. “Honestly, I thought it was just efficient.”

“Oh,” Anna’s mouth curls mischievously. “If it’s efficiency you’re looking for then how about this?” Without waiting for an answer, Anna hitches Elsa bodily over her shoulder, the demon’s legs kicking wildly in her face. As she grinds her feet into the ice, Anna thinks she hears a shout of protest but it is lost to the whistle of wind during take off.

Perhaps she should have taken heed, because Anna only gets about one floor up before Elsa’s heel smacks against the underside of her chin with force, snapping her head up and making her vision go even whiter than the blizzard outside. They crash into a snowdrift that had accumulated on the side of the church, dense, freezing, and muffled. Well, except for the grunting and digging to get back to the surface.

“What’s your problem!?” Anna bursts out, wiping snow out of her hair.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Elsa spits back, breathing heavily as she hauls herself out onto flat ground. Her shoulders slump with effort, and for the first time, Anna can see how much Elsa’s bound wings affect her. Like she can’t get enough air, or stand to her full height. How their presence smothers her, a weighted blanket with hundred pound plates, constricting her spine and dragging her down, down, down. Chained to the earth, shackled from the sky.

“I think break time is over,” Elsa says, adjusting her clothing back to rights, or as right as they could get for now. “I’ll let you get back to your study and meditation, since that seems to be what you’d prefer.”

“No I--, I’m sorry,” Anna stammers. Elsa seems surprised by her confession, and if Anna’s honest, so is she. “I want to see this view you speak so highly of. It must be… special.”

Elsa accepts her words with a nod. A beat passes before she asks, “So, how are we getting up there?”

“You’ll have to climb.” Anna smiles softly at Elsa’s weary expression. “Don’t worry, I’ll be with you.”

The slope of the snow bank makes the first part fairly simple, and before too long, Elsa is scaling the side of the building as quickly, though carefully, as she can. Every handhold is slick with ice, but Anna melts and evaporates them in quick succession so Elsa doesn’t slip. Certainly slower than flying, but it’s a decent compromise.

And… it gives Anna some time to think.

Why does Elsa care that Anna succeeds? In her tasks, her goals. In leaving this place behind for good. Elsa is a demon, she should be trying to pull Anna further, demotion after demotion until there was nothing less but the permanent boot down to hell. A great achievement that would be, felling an angel. Perhaps Elsa is playing the long game, biding her time, but Anna was stuck in this lonely, frozen landscape anyway, shouldn’t that make Elsa’s job easier? To prey on the mortals that came here, less guarded if their protector angel was distracted?

Anna unfreezes and dries another foothold for Elsa, hovering just behind her in case she falls. Elsa flashes her a grateful smile before concentrating once more. Anna remembers that demons lie, are expert deceivers, and will tell you anything you want to get you to slip, to tempt and to taunt.

But… everything? Even the small things, the inconsequential? The silent ‘thank yous’ for doing a favor?

These thoughts swirl around Anna’s head until Elsa clears her throat, breaking through the fog. She sits atop the roof, safely ascended. “We’re here.”

There is a valley, a cubby really, made between three steeply slanted roofs. Were this the type of geographic location to have a rainy season, this would most certainly be the most uncomfortable place to be - slick with water and grime that washed off the tiles. But with densely packed snow and ice creating a buffer, it’s actually rather quaint. Elsa walks forward, the snow lifting up in glittering heaps of flakes. A space is carved before Anna’s eyes, just big enough for the two of them. “I used to come up here all the time,” Elsa says as the hovering snowflakes settle among the rest of the rooftop piles. “When it was first settled and built. I liked to hear people's voices from below, even if it was faint. The energy of their Light wasn’t small by any means, but it was human, and easier to bear. Of course, with the arrival of a certain someone, I wasn’t quite so cozy anymore, unless I wanted to feel like my clothing was burning off.” Elsa tosses a forgiving look behind her. “Don’t worry, I’d say the price of meeting you was well worth losing a little hang out spot.”

She motions for Anna to sit down. As she does, Anna feels the chill of the air seep into her bones again. Exhaustion has crept up on her; using her power to charge the church, then fly, then help Elsa climb, had been more taxing than she’d realized. She settles in the crux of the roofs, surprisingly snug and comfortable. And on any other day, it might have been.

But the below freezing temperatures send shivers down Anna’s spine and raise gooseflesh on her skin. She grits her teeth and closes her eyes, looking for that tether of Light, that candle of warmth within her. But it’s gone, or so low it hides. Even her wings barely glow anymore, their protection offered only in the fluff of celestial feathers. Cold wraps around her, its erratic touch scattering every attempt at concentrating.

Punishment. For taking pity on the enemy. For failing her duties. For falling from grace. That sunlight in Anna’s memory would stay there, forever.

Suddenly Elsa is beside her, blocking the wind with her body and more. Her wings, damaged and curtailed, stretch over their heads to the extent that they could, chains restricting more than the bare minimum of mobility. They take up the spaces that Anna’s wings cannot fill, a black and white barrier against the storm. Free from the brunt of the gale, warmth seeps back into Anna’s limbs and her breath begins to fog in the air.

“Better, angel?” Elsa asks without looking at her. Her expression is inscrutable, and it's all Anna can do to nod and try looking for her Light once more. The candle catches faintly in her chest, further heating the air around them. She lowers it gently as she hears Elsa’s breath hitch next to her, unwilling to harm the demon anymore.

The world outside shrinks away, the space inside quiet and content. Not perfect, but comfortable enough. “I can see why you’d like it up here,” Anna comments. “Like this it’s almost serene.”

“I thought you’d like it, too,” and Elsa’s tone of voice is knowing, back to light teasing. “Did you really think I’d drag you all the way up here for some scheme? As you could see, it would have hardly been worth the effort on my part.”

“Perhaps,” Anna replies, “but you never know with demons.”

"You never know with demons, but that’s a conversation for another day.” Elsa settles again, their sides touching. “Now I really do think break time is over. You should try meditating up here, perhaps it will be easier.”

Anna laughs. “Trying to find a partner for eternity, are we, Elsa?”

Elsa doesn’t respond to the jest, merely reiterating that Anna should try meditating again.

Anna tries...but she doesn’t succeed. Instead those thoughts from before return to her, about Elsa, about what the demon means to her. About what Elsa wants. What she, Anna,… wants.

To leave, right? Go back to favored, back to freedom and the Earth stretching beneath her wings. To the warmth and the sun.

Actually… now that she thinks about it, she’s pretty warm. The clouds part overhead and the sun’s light filters through their feathers, shining on her skin instead of being blocked by ten layers of ocean ice. She’s warm, and as Anna relishes that feeling she sinks further into her meditative posture until there’s nothing but soft, comfortable darkness.

--

Elsa feels Anna drift off under her wing. The angel’s breath ruffles the dead feathers, mimicking a flight long forgotten. Anna’s soft exhales flee into the surrounding winds but Elsa hears them in the cocoon on their own making. As Anna succumbs to sleep her head rests on Elsa’s shoulder.

“Even angels need to rest,” she says quietly, tucking Anna more securely against her. Sleep laps at her too, the climb taking more out of her than she’d bargained for. She’d hoped for… well, she wasn’t entirely sure. A conversation. A common moment. A shared space. Elsa supposes she has that last one, just not how she’d expected.

But she learned long ago that the world didn’t always work on expectations.

Before too much longer, Elsa is asleep as well, her head on top of Anna’s, feathers fluttering in the wind. Two detach and dance in a shared current. One black, one white. They disappear amongst the ice.

[kabira]

08 | distance

pairing — spider-man!vernon x ofc

featuring — joshua, yeji (itzy), felix (skz), yangyang (nct)

word count — 2.5k

genres — spider-man au, marvel au, fluff, action, angst, humor

warnings — minor violence

note — ok so this was kinda later than scheduled (three WEEKS) but the next update will hopefully be on time so i can keep up! by which i mean sunday 6 am (ist). also, for the love of god, tumblr make this show up in the tags. pretty, pretty please.

go to fic masterlist | main masterlist

“Okay, so here’s what I found out about your Rhino guy,” Yeji said, jumping over the side of the rooftop and landing on another, hitting the ground with a roll before coming up on her feet. They were currently involved in a high-speed chase, which meant she had to yell at the top of her voice for Vernon to hear her—not that it mattered a lot. Up here, no one could hear you scream. “He’s Russian. Name’s Alexei Sytsevich.”

“Russian, huh?” Vernon yelled back. He swung over a tall rooftop garden, taking care not to accidentally knock over something he wasn’t supposed to. “Anything that could tie him to Osborn?”

“Not really!” Yeji yelled. “His identity is public, so anyone could get to him, and he must have happened to have been around when he attacked you. But there’s nothing concrete we could go after.”

The two of them were chasing Batroc the Leaper across the top of the buildings, having caught up with him just moments after he robbed a store. A basic assignment, really, but it was still a challenge to apprehend him before he got too far from the crime scene. One of their more casual operations, much like a training session, except this was the real deal.

“Anything of interest?” Vernon asked. They were close to catching their quarry, very close. Batroc wasn’t really that notorious in the underworld, but he was still a menace and technically a criminal. A more notable point of interest were the mechanical leaping legs attached to both his feet which allowed him to jump several feet high in the air, making for a good old-fashioned superhuman chase scene.

“He was experimented on with this gamma radiation technique to give him superhuman strength and durability, but it ended in an accident,” Yeji answered. Her voice, apart from the strain due to the yelling, sounded strangely relaxed for someone who was chasing a guy across the tops of buildings. Even after having time to get used to it, Vernon was still surprised by her resilience. “The suit he was wearing that day—remember how it was made of some kind of self-regenerating polymer? It’s literally stuck to his skin. Can’t get it off him.”

“Must be constipated; it explains the anger issues.”

Just then, Yeji caught up to the Leaper. She sprung off a ledge and onto the top of a water tanker, from where she dived towards the unsuspecting criminal, flattening him to the ground. Vernon swung up to her, landing on the ground next to her. Batroc tried to wiggle away, but Vernon webbed his hands and feet to the rooftop, successfully trapping him. “So,” he said, turning his attention back to Yeji. “Any idea where they’re keeping him?”

“If you’re wondering if he’s being kept anywhere close to Osborn, don’t worry.” She placed her hands on her hips. It looked strangely satisfying, her claws aligned with the gray markings around the waist of her white suit. “Rhino’s placed in the Helicarrier for now, but in a special ward designed specifically for the big guys, though th They have specialists looking into his, er, sticky situation, but he’s on an entirely different level than Norman. And I mean that quite literally.”

He nodded. “Did the files mention which specialists are looking into it?”

“Eez it perhaps—” Batroc started.

Vernon webbed his mouth. “Zip it,” he said.

“No. The only files I could access didn’t have much on him,” Yeji said, sounding genuinely sorry. “There was other stuff, like his eye color and his blood type, but I don’t think you’d be very interested in all of that.”

“You think right.”

“There might be more details in the confidential reports coming in from the Helicarrier holder itself, but getting them would be a lot of trouble,” she said. “Although if you really want them—”

“No, it doesn’t matter,” Vernon said, shaking his head. “Thanks for digging up the rest, though. I owe you one.”

“Consider it early payback for when your Aunt May teaches me how to beat your ass at video games.” He couldn’t see her face, but he sensed that underneath the mask, she was smiling.

“Hey, that’s an Aunt May thing, not a me thing,” he said, then paused, hesitating. There was something else he had wanted to ask her, but he didn’t know if he really wanted to follow through with it. “Hey, Tiger…” he trailed off. “Actually, never mind.”

“No, go ahead,” she said. “Unless you’d rather not.”

He shook his head slightly. “It’s not like that,” he said. “This might sound kind of intrusive, but do you know the deal with Fe—Iceman?” he asked. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s great and everything, but with all the brooding and the secrecy, I’m just a little—” He scrunched up his nose. “That does sound intrusive.”

“It does,” she agreed, but it sounded amused. “Look, I’d tell you. I really would. But it’s something I feel he should tell you yourself, you know? If and when he’s comfortable talking to you about it.”

“Did he tell you?”

“No, I just kind of figured it out.” She sounded a little sheepish. “And maybe I got it out of one of the IT guys.”

He looked at her, amused. “They have IT guys at S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Well, I guess they’re not IT guys in the strictest sense,” she mused. “There’s a hierarchy of ranks even within the record regulators, so it’s a little hard to explain. Not that it really matters, anyway.”

“It would be kind of cool if S.H.I.E.L.D. needed IT guys,” Vernon said, looking down at Batroc, except he wasn’t really looking at him, but through him. “Unrealistic, though.”

Yeji shook her head slightly, like she was unable to believe they were having this conversation. Or maybe he was just projecting his own amused disbelief onto her. But he noticed the tenseness of her shoulders and she let her arms fall to her sides, as if she was holding in a laugh. It was one of those conversations that took a turn that didn’t even have to be funny to make you laugh.

“Good talk,” she said, and this time he could actually hear the smile in her voice. “Now let’s get this guy back to the carrier.”

Luce knew something was up.

She had known this for a while now—about a year, in fact. She had only just started to suspect it when Vernon had changed, and Joshua had gotten secretive, and Harry had first started floating away. It had come one after the other, like the three of them were carrying out parts in a play and she was in the audience, watching but unable to take part. Change, and secrecy, and distance.

She liked distance. Luce had always been distant, someone who stood in the crowd and yet apart from it, unwelcome and unsettling for most around her. Eccentric, some called her, or strange, or downright creepy. It never really mattered to her, because for her, it had always been just the four of them—Vernon, Joshua, Harry and her—and even after everything that had happened, they still felt like four. Three people with a ghost in between, still shaking his head at their dumb jokes and still taking the best seat in the Parker living room when they had movie night.

Looking back, she realized that the cracks in their relationship had first appeared a year ago. Often, after Harry died, she thought about how they had collectively ignored those fractures in their friendship, that had come in the form of change and secrets and distance.

The first to change had been Vernon, of course—trading his glasses for unexplained bruises, his mysterious disappearances poorly covered up and rarely questioned. Then Joshua—the two of them with their heads together in the hallways, shooting each other knowing looks that shut everyone out. It felt like it was just the two of them sometimes, Luce and Harry often forgotten during their closed conversations. That was probably what had pushed them together, but now that Harry was gone, she was left alone. Still on the outside, trying to look in, but in vain.

She knew she couldn’t blame Vernon and Joshua for it, she had started to blend into the background a little more with every passing day. Catching one without the other was hard, so at some point she stopped trying, letting them find her whenever they felt like it. Sometimes she felt like a ghost, too, lurking in a ruined castle, only seen when a wanderer needed shelter.

Now, it was all happening again. The arrival of the new kids had seemed like a minor disturbance at first, like a tiny cloud on the wide horizon, but Vernon had warmed up to them surprisingly quickly after his initial coldness. It wasn’t that Luce didn’t like them—after all, she had been the one to initiate first contact—but she had still been taken aback by how quickly they had become a part of their little group of three (and a dead boy, but he didn’t take up seats anymore).

Except they didn’t feel like it. Not to her, and probably not to Joshua either, whom she had seen watch the new trio with lingering looks when he thought she wasn’t looking.

She was a little surprised by her own reserve, because the arrival of more people should have been a good sign. More people, even numbers, pairs, so she wouldn’t be a third wheel anymore. But it hadn’t worked out that way—she was still stuck outside, but this time Joshua was stuck with her.

It was hard not to be even a little mournful.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she called as Vernon walked past her in the school hallway after fifth period, looking distracted as he usually did these days. He turned, surprised, as if he hadn’t even noticed her there.

“Me?” he asked, looking confused, and she sighed internally. On the outside, she simply shook her head as if in amused exasperation, reaching into her bag and taking out a spiral notebook.

“Notes. From Physics.” She handed it to him, and he stared at the cover for a dazed little moment before looking back up at her. “You missed another class today.”

“Right,” he muttered, giving her a grateful smile. Fifteen seconds had passed already, about five seconds less than the longest conversation they had held in two weeks. He probably hadn’t even realized. “Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, meaning it. No point in moping after something that hadn’t been for months. She leaned against the locker door and folded her arms across her chest. The zips along the cuffs of her jacket pulled against the leather. “Going somewhere?”

“Not really.” He shrugged. The smile was still on his face, that stupidly delightful half-smile that still felt like it was behind a glass wall. “Are you?”

Am I ever? She shook her head. “Where did you go?” she asked instead of answering his question.

He frowned. “Where did I go…when?”

“During physics,” she clarified. “You’ve been disappearing a lot lately.”

“Oh, you know…” he started, trying hard to keep his voice casual. “Places.”

It was hard not to smile. “Like?”

“The principal’s office,” he said, sounding a little disappointed.

“The new guy?” Luce raised her eyebrows. “Did you do something to piss him off? Get a low grade?”

“Of course not,” Vernon said indignantly. “My scores are perfect.”

“I know. The rest of us on the curve are suffering because of it.”

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry in the least. Instead, there was a small smile on his face that looked suspiciously like a smirk.

Almost a minute now. Luce let the back of her head hit the locker door, finally letting herself believe that he wasn’t going anywhere, not this time around. The feeling that came with it was so warm and delicious that it spread inside her chest like hot water, reaching her toes and fingers and the tip of her nose. “You’re not sorry,” she said with a smile, though she didn’t really mind. “Are we still on for Friday?”

Now Vernon’s smirk dropped, replaced by a split-second look of horror. “Friday?” he echoed. “This is going to sound bad, but I don’t—”

“Movie night,” she supplied. “And don’t worry, I didn’t expect you to remember. The last time we talked about that was a while ago, anyway.”

Movie night, or game night, was their irregular childhood tradition that had become increasingly infrequent over the past few years, but particularly so in the last year. Even then, they’d never gone this long without getting together at least once. The last time they’d done something like that together, it had been almost two months ago, when they had still been four.

When Luce finally mentioned it, she felt strange thinking about the prospect of movie night with only three people. It felt odd. Unnatural. Three felt like the wrong number, like fates and the prongs of a pitchfork. Too little.

“Tell you what,” she said, pulling herself out of her thoughts with difficulty. She did that too much, lose herself in her memories or some random vein of thought and manage to completely detach herself from the world around her. It got harder and harder every time, and sometimes she wondered if one day she was just going to be trapped in her own mind.

“What?” Vernon asked. He had that distracted look on his face again, his posture jumpy like there was extra energy wrapped into his body.

“Why don’t you bring Yeji and the others along this time?” she suggested. Six wasn’t that great of a number either, but it was definitely better than three. And maybe this way she’d be able to get to know the others a little better, pull herself back to reality. “I’m sure they’d like to. And that way, it’ll be an even team.”

“Not if May decides to join in again.”

She smiled. “Then maybe I’ll bring Hairball.”

He groaned. “Oh, no, not Hairball,” he said, eyes refocusing on her face. There was such a vibrant intensity in his gaze that it made her want to stand up straighter. Then he smiled, and she actually had to stand up straight. “You sure, though?”

Of course he would ask her. Vernon Parker, despite all his bodily changes, was still the same guy from fourth grade who always let her have the rest of his lunch—if he managed to keep it from Flash. Luce was almost tempted to reconsider, but she saw the earnest look on his face, the slight arch of his eyebrows, and swallowed the words that welled up in her throat.

“Of course,” she said. “Three’s already a crowd, so we might as well have a whole party.”

“A party, huh?” He winced. “That reminds me. Food.”

“We’ll order from Larry’s.”

“I’ll have to decide if they deserve it yet,” he joked. At least, she thought he was joking. “See you on Friday.”

[queenof-literature]

Hyrule

Hi all! Time for the Hero of Wild series update! I hope you enjoy!

I also remembered I haven’t been updating my Masterlist. Whoopsie. Sorry about that. it’s updated now. 

Wild was getting restless, Hyrule could tell. Wild had been with them for about a week now, and Hyrule could see it was starting to get to him. He knew the look, because he was the exact same way. Based on what little Wild told them about himself, Hyrule knew they were similar. Both travelers and wanderers, both far more comfortable away from cities, both loving to explore the world around them.

Not to say the other Links didn’t love exploring, Four and Wind would accompany him during dinner sometimes. Wild and Hyrule however always seemed to disappear by the time Twilight and and Warriors would turn around. It started with Hyrule when he first joined the Links, it was difficult to simply stay on the trail. Sometimes he would wander off without really realizing it. In one moment he would be looking at the local plant life that was absent in his own Hyrule. In the next moment he would be getting dragged by the scruff of his tunic by Legend. And Wild was the same way. 

Obviously they couldn’t drag him back by the scruff of his neck, Wild didn’t let anyone touch him in any way. But Hyrule and Wild always ended up wandering off, and Hyrule truly wanted to get closer to his fellow explorer, but he didn’t know how. 

Exploring seemed to be a common interest, but how did he ask the other to explore with him? Did he just… ask? He didn’t really know how to ‘properly’ interact with people. His Hyrule wasn’t exactly where someone would want to go for a vacation. He loved parts of it but it was lonely. Legend had found him deep in these thoughts a couple of weeks in, before Wild had joined.

“Am I a bad person?” Hyrule had asked quietly when he heard his fellow Link approach. He always knew who it was based on their footsteps. 

“Why would you say that?” Legend had responded. 

“What if I don’t miss my Hyrule as much as I should?”

“You’re not a bad person for not liking certain aspects of your Hyrule kid.”

“But… what if I don’t want to go back when the time comes? Not that I hate my Hyrule, but you guys are nice. I’m just… tired.” 

“If Hylia thinks she’s tearing us apart after sending us on this hellish cucco chase she has another thing coming.” Legend had finalized. And Hyrule knew he meant it. 

Hyrule glanced up at the sound of footsteps, stifling the urge to laugh as Twilight led a disgruntled Wild back to the traveling party. His humor disappeared when he saw the look on Wild’s face. It was restlessness, the desperate need to get away. Not in a way of anger, but exhaustion. The absolute bone tired feeling of being around too many people for far too long. Hyrule felt that many times, and would usually wander off when it got too bad, pleading with Legend to not bring up his absence. 

It wasn’t Twilight’s fault, he didn’t know. Besides, this was a Hyrule no one knew, it wasn’t the best idea for Wild and Hyrule to be wandering around while the others were moving. Perhaps once they made camp Hyrule could work up the courage to actually talk to the boy. 

~

Wild missed his Hyrule, and he missed traveling alone. Wild didn’t exactly have a home like the others apparently did, but he still missed his Hyrule. Sure he had a house in Hateno that he loved, and he was extremely grateful for when he needed a free place to sleep, but it wasn’t always home. The wilds were his home. The woods with secret birds nests, the oceans with rocky coats to jump from rock to rock, the different domains with different obstacles and different beauties. That was his home. He loved Hateno, but he felt out of place among the residents. He never felt out of place in nature. But he certainly felt out of place here. 

The other Links were nice and welcoming, but Wild never missed the long glances towards his scars, or the annoyed huffs when he came back from exploring off the path. But another boy, Hyrule, he explored too. Legend would always drag him back with a fond smirk and the rest of the group let him be. Was it because Wild was new that they seemed to walk on eggshells around him? Maybe. That didn’t change the fact he missed traveling alone. The thought made him feel slightly guilty, everyone had been doing their best to include him into their group. But still Wild just felt like a piece that didn’t fit.

He also felt guilty Zelda didn’t know. They rarely traveled together, Zelda was happy to work in labs for now while she grew accustomed to their new Hyrule a century later. But he missed exploring with her too. He liked seeing her happy, and his few memories proved she liked walking along beaten paths and open fields as well. He wanted more time to do that, but based on what Time had said, he would be on this quest for the foreseeable future. 

Oh well. He would deal with it. He had been in worse situations before. At least this time he remembered who he was when in a strange world. Still, something in him ached to be away from all of this, to simply shield surf down a mountain, or tame a wild stag, or create a giant fire and fly where no one could reach him. He doubted the others would appreciate that though. 

Hyrule seemed to have a similar mindset. He wished he could talk to the boy, but he didn’t seem interested. Wild was already new, he didn’t want to upset or annoy anyone with his lack of speech. He was painfully aware how exhausting it was to communicate with him, especially when the people trying to talk to him had to put up with his language that was completely different from theirs thanks to the different timelines. And yet they made name signs for him. They asked his opinions on things. They asked him how to sign things to better understand him. Four gave him a journal to help him share his thoughts. They were all so kind and Wild was so, so confused.

~

Hyrule needed to work up the courage to talk to Wild. Soon. After almost a week of traveling with a group, Wild seemed to be really stressed. He was pacing around near Epona, trying to find something to unpack around camp to distract himself. He appeared to be moving his lips, having a silent conversation with himself, his hands ringing and reaching up to scratch lightly at his neck. Hyrule had noticed Wild had a multitude of nervous habits, some of them similar to his own. Epona also seemed to be worried, if her quiet huffing and nosing at Wild’s hair was anything to go by. Hyrule worried that if he didn’t approach Wild first, Wild might run off on his own before the day was over. There wouldn’t be a better time anyway. The older boys were washing tunics and the younger ones were swimming in a nearby creek. Hyrule gulped down his nerves and got up. 

He slowly approached Wild, popping his fingers absentmindedly. Wild glanced up at him, eyes filled with suspicion and curiosity. 

“Hey Wild. Do you want to go exploring? You seem like you like to and I like to and it's been a while since I’ve gotten away and being around people for too long kinda makes me nervous and it seems like it does you too. Erm, I mean I obviously don’t know that for sure but we could leave a note and get away for awhile and go explore?” Hyrule rushed out and mentally face palmed at his own rambling. Good job Hyrule. Glancing up at Wild, the boy seemed slightly shocked, but thankfully didn’t look offended. Wild took out his journal and quickly scratched out a response. 

‘Sure. You’re right. I’m used to traveling alone.’ Scrawled out in neat, small letters. 

“Alright!” Hyrule smiled happily, which Wild hesitantly returned. “Would you mind if we used your journal to write a note? I don’t have anything to write on.” Hyrule asked. Wild looked sad for a moment at tearing out a page from his gift, but figured the sooner they left the better while the others were distracted. He carefully tore a page from the back and wrote out a quick note as Hyrule watched, adding in when he saw fit. 

‘Went exploring, we’ll be fine. Need a break. We won’t go far.

~Wild and Hyrule’

After adding a large smiley face he knew would piss off Legend, Hyrule led Wild away from the camp, being sure to leave the note in an obvious place. They decided to go the opposite way of the river to avoid any stray Links. The trees around them were a bit taller than Hyrule remembers Wild’s trees being, the sun peeking through the canopy above. A few flowers bloomed sparingly in the grass, Wild stopping to take pictures with his slate. Already Wild looked more relaxed, and Hyrule felt himself decompressing as well. 

Before they could stray far from camp however, they ran into the smallest Link. 

“What are you two doing?” Four asked, eyebrow raised, green eyes shining in the peeking sunlight. 

“We could ask you the same question.” Hyrule spoke for both of them, copying Four’s expression. 

“Very smooth Hyrule. Amazing distraction.” Four fired back, seeming far more amused than angry. 

“Please just pretend you didn’t see us. We both need a break we’ll be careful and we left a note.” Hyrule pleaded. Four had to admit, the pleading expression on both Hyrule and Wild’s faces were hard to deny. Not that he was planning to anyways, but he was definitely going to give them shit for it. 

“Fine.” Four sighed out dramatically. “But do me a favor and try to stick in the area. Maybe Northwest as much as you can. Just so we know where to look when you to inevitably find trouble.” Four teased. 

“We’ll do our best!” Hyrule promised happily, rushing forward. 

‘Thank you!’ Wild signed quickly, rushing forward to catch up to Hyule. Four chuckled lightly. He could already tell those two would be the definition of chaos. 

~

“Sooo. What do you do for fun in your Hyrule?” Hyrule asked, slightly desperate for conversation. Normally he would be content to sit in comfortable silence, but he wanted to get to know this new Link with no one else around, and who knew when he would next get the chance? Hopefully Wild didn’t hate him too much for trying to break the silence. Wild contemplated for a moment.

‘Cliff jump.’ Hyrule snorted.

“A little hard to do that here.” Hyrule laughed.

‘Shield surf.’ Wild signed, fingerspelling it slowly when Hyrule made a confused hum.

“Shield surf? What’s that?” Hyrule knew by Wild’s betrayed expression that he would learn soon.

~

“Where’s Wild?” Twilight asked soon after the boys returned. 

“And Hyrule?” Wind questioned. 

“Hyrule probably ran off again. Did Wild as well?” Sky asked the group. Just then, Warriors noticed a page of Wild’s journal resting on top of a tree stump. Warriors quickly approached the page, slightly concerned it would end up being a ransom note. Picking up the note and reading the short writing, Warriors had to stifle a laugh. 

“What is it?” Time asked.

“Went exploring, we’ll be fine. Need a break. We won’t go far.” Warriors read out loud,

turning the page around to show the large smiley face and the two bokoblins who signed it. 

“That little shit.” Legend growled, looking at the taunting smiley face drawn on the note. 

“Those little shits.” Twilight corrected. He had yet to talk to Time about his friendship with Wild. Was it a friendship? Twilight still needed to ask if this is how a mentor felt. He felt towards Wild like he did towards the kids in Ordon, but this was a little different in ways Twilight couldn’t explain, but wasn’t really mad at.

“You’re right, Twilight. I’ll kill ‘em both.”

~

“So, I just stand on this and ‘surf’ down the hill?” Hyrule questioned, slightly nervous about his certain tumble down the steep hill they managed to find. Wild nodded, eyes brighter than Hyrule had seen them in days.

‘Do you want me to go first?’ Wild signed. 

“Yes please. I guess I just don’t understand how to do it.” Hyrule rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. Wild just smiled gently, and summoned a shield out of his slate, jumping on the back of it. Hyrule watched in fascination as Wild gracefully sped down the hill they had chosen, weaving around small obstacles. It only made Hyrule more nervous. Not for the surfing itself, no, that looked fun! He just didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of their newest member. Wild was up the hill in no time. The hill was steep, but not long and steep enough to make it hard to get back up. According to Wild, it was almost perfect. Hyrule wanted to know what Wild’s definition of ‘perfect’ was. 

‘Ready’ Wild signed with a large smile and carefree eyes. If Hyrule wasn’t going to surf before, he would have to now that he looked at Wild’s bright face. 

“Yeah, but don’t make fun of me when I eat grass and dirt for lunch.” Wild laughed silently, shoulders shaking. If Hyrule listened close enough, he could hear soft puffs of air escaping from the teen. 

 ‘You should have seen me when I first tried it, Hyrule’ Wild signed. Recently he had been trying to incorporate the other’s name signs more into his sentences, trying to get used to the signs they had given each other. Hyrule was quite fond of his sign, he loved the combination of wanderer and magic. 

“Yeah I’m sure that was interesting for everyone else to watch.” Hyrule snorted, laughing at Wild’s playful glare. This was nice. 

‘I’m ready, Wild.’ Hyrule signed to the best of his ability, trying to brush off Wild’s awe stricken face at the fact Hyrule had signed a simple statement in his language. Hyrule couldn’t sign much, but the look on Wild’s face was worth potentially embarrassing himself. 

‘Try to keep up.’ Wild signed, summoning another shield out of his slate for Hyrule to use. It was absolutely gorgeous. Gray metal with raised gold, creating the symbol of Hyrule with decorative accents surrounding it. 

“Erm, isn’t this a little too nice to use for shield surfing?” Hyrule questioned, not wanting to ruin a perfectly beautiful shield. By the look on Wild’s face, Hyrule knew that was a silly question. For all he knew, Wild could have ten more in that slate of his. 

“Okay so I just get on the back and try to balance as I ride down?” Hyrule clarified, not admitting to himself he was stalling. Wild nodded.

‘Maybe you could sit. Never tried it.’ Wild signed, fingerspelling words Hyrule couldn’t understand or couldn’t remember. 

“Nah I’ll stand. Together?” Hyrule confirmed, placing the shield on the ground before him, knowing the other boy was about to leave him in his dust. Wild was talented enough to not need to put the shield down before him, Hyrule had seen him flip onto it like it was second nature. Hyrule would need a bit more of a base. Wild nodded brightly, waiting for Hyrule to start in case the other needed help. The boy got on top of the shield, wobbling a bit at first before balancing out. Wild felt slightly guilty he couldn’t force himself to balance the other boy out, that would require contact and he couldn’t make himself do that, no matter how nice Hyrule seemed. 

When he found enough balance, Hyrule kicked off gently with one foot, not expecting how fast he would be going right as he did it. Hyrule let out a small yelp as he slid down the hill, arms flailing out in a desperate attempt to keep balance. Hyrule glanced over and saw Wild staying beside him, even though this was definitely much slower than he was used to. Pushing down the panic and desperation to stay balanced on the grassy hill, Hyrule let out a laugh. It really was fun! Hyrule could see why Wild liked it so much. Except he should have been paying more attention. 

In the blink of an eye, Hyrule’s shield launched out from under him, flinging itself into Wild’s legs. All Hyrule heard was a raspy sound coming from the other boy sounding like a yelp before both of them tumbled down the hill, rolling uncontrollably all the way to the bottom. Hyrule could feel scraps and bruises forming on the way down. Certainly not enough to maim or kill him, but enough that it stung and Legend would make him drink some potion later. Hyrule finally stopped rolling, taking mental count of how many injuries he had. No broken bones, no concussions, nothing serious. He sighed in relief, before he remembered his fellow escapee.  

“Wild I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Did I hit your legs hard?” Hyrule asked frantically, rushing over to where Wild landed. The other boy was flat on his back, and had probably gotten the air knocked out of him. Oh Hylia, nice job Hyrule! Now Wild would hate you forever! Hyrule got his healing magic ready as he approached Wild, ready to jump into action. Only stopping when he saw Wild… laughing?  

 Hyrule looked on in shock as Wild was laughing. Not completely silent this time either! It took him being close, but Hyrule could hear some soft and raspy giggles coming from Wild’s throat. That one threw Hyrule for a loop. The others had suspected that Wild could perhaps physically talk, but the scars on his neck left that question unanswered. No one knew why he couldn’t talk. If it was physical, mental, or emotional. Not that it really mattered, Wild was Wild. But still, Hyrule was happy he actually heard the boy laughing, if extremely softly. 

“Wild? Are you okay? I’m sorry I promise I didn’t mean to.” Hyrule knelt down next to Wild, but kept a few feet of distance. The last thing he wanted to do right now is freak him out. That’s also why he refused to bring up Wild’s laughter, desperately hoping he wouldn’t grow embarrassed and shut down again.

‘Nice landing.’ Wild signed up, eyes bright and carefree. 

“Pfft. You too.” Hyrule laughed, almost offering Wild a hand to help him up. It seemed polite to offer, but he decided to stay still until Wild got up himself.

‘Again?’ Wild asked, face the definition of excitement and mischief. 

“Obviously.”

~

The entire afternoon was spent with two boys surfing down a hill, bumping shields and laughing like little kids all the way down. Hyrule was slightly worried that bumping shields, and occasionally shoulders, would bother Wild. But it didn’t seem to affect him too much, it must have been different in a more adrenaline induced setting. 

The two of them surfed until the sun began to set. Challenging each other to odd ways of riding down once Hyrule was better. At one point, this led to Wild attempting to make it the whole way down on his shield in a handstand. He didn’t make it very far. 

Another challenge led to them racing down the hill once Hyrule was more confident in his skill. Hyrule still ended up tumbling down the last quarter of the hill. Wild claimed foul but Hyrule claimed they never said how they needed to make it down.

By the time the sun began its descent, Wild and Hyrule were absolute messes. Twigs, grass, and leaves were tangled in their hair. Grass stains and dirt covered their clothes, along with blood from the countless cuts and scrapes they had collected along the way. And large smiles adorned their scraped and slightly bleeding faces. 

“A couple more times and then we’ll go back?” Hyrule asked, looking at the distant sun. “I think the group is so spoiled by your cooking we’d have a hard time without it.” Hyrule teased, chuckling at Wild’s embarrassed face. 

‘A couple more times. Try the spin’ Wild confirmed. Hyrule was getting better at jumping onto the shield, not being able to flip like Wild, but progress was progress. Wild could even jump and spin while he was surfing! He told Hyrule how to do it, and showed him a few times. Wild told him it was easier if he used the momentum from a small bump in the hill to get enough speed to rotate. 

“Okay I’ll try!” Hyrule beamed. Wild and Hyrule could go at the same time now, Wild not needing to give Hyrule a head start as the evening progressed. “One. Two. Three!” Hyrule called out, jumping on the back of his shield. He balanced out and leaned forward as Wild taught him, keeping an eye on the quickly approaching small hill he planned to launch off of. Hyrule bent his legs a little more, then twisted his hips quickly as soon as he hit the hill. He bent his elbows to the side, making sure to keep his back as straight as he could. He managed to make a full rotation! Before landing and having the shield slip out from under him. Hyrule rolled the rest of the way, but his successful spin made it hard for him to care. When he got to the bottom, his eyes were closed, doing another mental check to see if he had any broken bones. When he opened his eyes, he was met with a very unamused pair of bright blue eyes belonging to a certain wolf.

“Uh oh.” Hyrule glanced over at Wild, who also looked like a deer in the torchlight. Wild signed something that Hyrule assumed the wolf couldn’t understand. He was intelligent, but Hyrule doubted the animal could understand sign .

“He says we left a note.” Hyrule translated. 

~

They must have been quite the sight. Two bruised and cut Hylians covered in grass pouting as they followed a hulking wolf. They would have escaped the wolf’s fury, but he absolutely would not let them out of his sight. If one of the two got an inch too far, the wolf grumbled in his throat and glared. A wolf glared at them. Wild at least, knew the wolf was not just an animal. But that only meant he would be the one to get lectured by an angry Twilight later tonight. Wild and Hyrule were pouting, but they still snickered whenever they thought about today. It had been fun. Really fun. Wild didn’t feel overwhelmed anymore, he felt more content. 

“Here we go.” Hyrule muttered, seeing a small fire in the distance. Wild glared down at Wolfie when he noticed the smug look in his eye. The wolf couldn’t wait to see them get scolded. Wild would get revenge later. 

“Where have you two idiots been?” Legend yelled as they got closer.

“What in Hylia’s name happened?” Sky asked, rushing over to check their cuts with Warriors, keeping their distance with Wild. 

“Wild taught me how to surf on a shield!” Hyrule told them the story happily, brushing off Sky’s and Warriors’ fussing. 

“Awesome! Wild teach me next!” Wind ran up to stand next to Hyrule. The two could see Four hanging back, being suspiciously quiet. Hopefully if they didn’t throw him to the wolves for knowing, he would cover for them later on as well. 

‘Where’s Twilight?’ Wild signed innocently, resisting the urge to smirk down at the wolf beside him. 

“He’s scouting the area for monsters.” Time lied easily. “Wolfie, go get him please?” Wolfie glared one last time at a smug Wild, before running off to ‘find Twilight’. 

“Now.” Time began, and Hyrule and Wild glanced at each other, silently communicating that they were indeed fucked. “What were you two thinking running off like that?” Time asked. He didn’t really sound mad, he sounded more curious. He knew those two wouldn’t purposefully cause issues, especially with how shy they tended to be. Hyrule and Wild glanced at each other before Hyrule spoke up. 

“We just needed a break. We left a note so that you guys knew we were okay, but we both just needed time to unwind in the woods.” Hyrule explained sheepishly. Wild nodded along, keeping his head down. He really hoped Hyrule didn’t get in trouble. Even after all the work they put into learning his sign, Wild thought the group would ditch him in a random Hyrule any minute. He didn’t want to see his new friend get in trouble because of something they both did. If he needed to Wild would take the blame. Better just he get in trouble than both of them.

Time sighed, looking at their guilty expressions. He should have expected this, both of these boys spent most of their lives completely alone. Time thought back to his adventures. He loved exploring Hyrule on the back of Epona. Could he really fault these boys for exploring away from a group? Hyrule was getting better with being in a group, but he still struggled. And Wild has only been in their group for a week, he certainly wasn’t used to traveling with others if his fear of touches were anything to go by. Most of the boys said he ‘didn’t like’ being touched to soften the words and not offend the new Link but they all knew the truth. Something had given Wild a deep rooted fear of even being around Hylians. How could they expect him and Hyrule to be happy when constantly surrounded by others. Time was just glad they had found solace with each other. 

“I understand.” The two teens perked up at that, surprised. They barely noticed Twilight coming from beyond the surrounding trees. “I know exploring away from the path is fun, but Hyrules we don’t know are dangerous. I know I’m not gonna be able to stop you from doing it, but be careful. And come back with less scrapes and bruises next time.” Time teased, not missing the way they both relaxed, Wild especially. Hopefully the boy’s wariness would ease as the journey continued. 

“That’s it? They ran away!” Twilight complained, but the others could tell it was mostly in good fun. Wild however could tell the man was trying to get back at him once again. 

“You’re right. Wild make dinner. Hyrule, fill the water jugs. There. Karma complete.” Time smirked at Twilight exasperated look towards Wild, knowing full well he would need to chase after him in the next few days. Good, hopefully Twilight will learn how Time feels.

~

That night was spent the way many of their peaceful nights did, casual chatter and plans for tomorrow. Wild participated a little more this time, which the group was all grateful for. Legend grumbled and made them booth drink a little potion, no matter how much Wild refused. The rest of the night was spent with the group milling around or all grouped around the campfire. Four however, were beckoned over by Hyrule to have a private conversation. 

“What’s wrong?” Four asked, looking at Hyrule’s troubled face.

“Thanks for covering for us. We needed that.” Hyrule thanked before he moved on. “I’m worried about Wild.” Hyrule bit his lip now that his thoughts were out in the open.

“Why?” Four’s eyebrows furrowed. “He looks better than he has in a while and you two seemed to have fun.”

“We did have fun, but Four he laughed. Like with his voice.” Hyrule glanced over to make sure the boy in question was still making dinner. “It was quiet but I heard it. I think he can talk, Four. I mean I think he could maybe physically talk if he practiced. But I think he’s embarrassed? Or scared? He doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to and I don’t want him to feel forced, but what if he wants to talk and he’s scared?” Hyrule finished. Out of the many things Four had been expecting, it wasn’t that.

“I think… that that’s a very real possibility.” Four started, there was no reason to lie. “But you’re right, he might just not want to, or it could be mental. Or a combination. The truth is we don’t know. I’d say for now let’s worry about things we can control and feel out the situation with Wild.” Four reached up and patted Hyrule’s shoulder. Like all the Links, Hyrule put too much responsibility on himself.

“Okay Four. Thank you… that helps.” Hyrule smiled, looking much better.

“No problem buddy.”

~

That night Wild slept a tad bit closer to the group than he had been. It wasn’t much, but it was progress they were all silently grateful to Hyrule for. Time was on second watch, but Twilight had stayed up to talk to him.

‘Pup, did Wild talk to you that night he woke up with Wolfie?’ Time had overheard a small portion of Four and Hyrule’s conversation. He had been coming back from the stream and didn’t stay long, not wanting to eavesdrop, but he heard enough to connect the dots of what Twilight had been avoiding talking about the past few days.

‘He tried.’ Twilight signed back in their shared sign. It hadn't changed too much from Time’s Hyrule to Twilight’s Hyrule, and they didn’t want Wild to overhear their conversation. 

‘He tried?’ Time questioned silently.

‘It was rough, Time.’ Twilight signed, glancing back at the boy curled up in his thin bedroll. 

“We’ll figure it out.” Time whispered, placing a hand on Twilight’s shoulder. Wild was one of them now.

[xfandomwritingsx]

The Sweet of Night – Loki Laufeyson – Part 3

-gif source-

Description: After growing up besides Loki and having a complicated friendship with him, you visit him in his cell at night.  

Warnings/Labels: None I don’t think.

Approx. Word Count: 3,300

A/N: If you’re new to me, you’ll learn this pretty quickly; my updates are SUPER sporadic and I apologize.

Story Materpost

You let your fingers dance over the spines of the books kept inside your chambers. You’ve been going over their titles and plots in your head for the better part of your morning which had started a little early. You’d risen just before the sun, sending your request for breakfast to be brought to your room in a few short hours. You need to make a decision before Katerina comes however.

You pull one out from the shelf, an older leather bound book lined with bits of gold. You’ve read it many times. It’s one of your favorites. But would he like it? A romance novel? It was exciting with battles and heroes and villains with depth, but at its heart it is still a romance. You’re running out of time so you finally decide it will do and put it at your desk. You sit down and quickly scribble a note on a page of spare paper to slip into its cover.

As you finish, there’s a knock at the door. You get up to answer the door perhaps a little too quickly as Katerina’s startled look tells you. You greet her with a smile and open your door wide for her.

“Good Morning my Lady,” she says gently, crossing one ankle behind the other to give a small curtsy. You’ve told her time and time again that was not needed, but she seldom listened when you told her to forgo the formalities. They help to keep her quiet, demure appearance alive and keep many away from the truth.

“Katerina,” you call her attention as she enters and places the tray of food on your desk. “I have a favor to request.” You can tell her interest is piqued when you close your door by the small tilt in her head as she raises her eyebrows in response. “You are tasked with bringing Loki his meals, are you not?” You can see the wheels turning in her mind.

“I am,” she confirms, voice still small and innocent. She stands straight up, not a single strand of her amber hair falling out the tight bun she’d put it in.

“I need you to bring him something for me,” you tell her. “With discretion,” you emphasize. Her eyes dart around the room, shoulders stiffening in order to portray an uncomfortable air. You hold in a small chuckle. “Oh come now,” you smile at her as she continues to hold her façade. “This is a very small ask of someone who smuggles as well as you.” She knits her brows together.

“I’m not sure what you mean, my Lady,” she sputters. Honestly, she’s quite good. Not good enough to convince you, but quite good nonetheless.

“I’m not interested in prosecuting you,” you assure her. “Your crimes are nonviolent and quite frankly, minuscule. I’m not concerned with potent herbs and alcohols and love notes passed between nobles.” You can tell she knows that she’s been caught, but she keeps her composure all the same. “I simply ask that when you bring Loki his meal, you give him this as well.” You reach down and pick up the book to hand it to her.

“A book?” Her voice is less timid now that her ruse was up. She takes it and turns it in her hands, looking for some hidden secret to it. “May I ask why you simply don’t deliver this yourself?”

“Deliveries are forbidden to the Prince’s cell, even from Thor himself.” It’s the truth, whether it is a punishment or a precaution you aren’t entirely sure. Even if the rule was not in place, giving gifts to a war criminal would not bode well for you.

“That makes this quite a risk for me.” She holds the book in her hands, close to her body. “As you said, my previous crimes have been of a much smaller nature.” She’s clearly not concerned. The job is simple and fairly easy to complete with little risk of being caught. You know what she’s aiming for and you must admit, you admire her finesse.

“The favor, of course, comes with payment.” You hand her a small satchel of high value coins that had also been resting on your desk. She’s pleased with this and she smiles, opening her robe enough to slip the book inside and under her arm.

“Delivery will be made this morning.” You pass smiles for each other before escorting her back to the door.

“Thank you, Katerina.” She gives another polite curtsy before she retreats into the halls.

---

You take Loki’s advice tonight on coming to visit him sooner. You tell yourself it’s for his amusement, that he wants you for a longer period of time, but you know the truth is that you’re impatient. You’ve been excited to see him all day. Ever since Katerina left your chambers, all you could think of was going to see Loki. Did he get your book? Did he appreciate it? Did he scoff?

As soon as it’s late enough that the halls are mostly empty, you’re slipping out of your room and swiftly heading towards the prison. The guards still say nothing to you, but you give them a small smile and nod, the need to acknowledge their presence not one you like to ignore.

Loki is at the barrier wall, already waiting for you when you round the corner, his hands neatly placed behind his back. His eyes lift when he sees you, a small smirk already making its way onto his lips.

“You know, I never much cared for breakfast,” he tells you as you manage to hold off on your smile. “It comes at an odd hour and it’s always too sweet.” You have to force yourself not to look over his room, to try to see where he kept the book. Instead, you keep your face neutral as you come closer. “But this morning, there was something a little different to it.”

“Oh?” you feign innocently. His lips quirk up in a small smirk, amused by your game.

“It was arranged in the most careful fashion, practically like artwork with the bowl of oats on a cloth covered platform and the fruit arranged to resemble a flower on a lower level.” He’s at an angle, almost casually leaning his shoulder against the barrier. Eyes looking towards the ceiling, acting like he’s recalling the arrangement. “Curious it was. When I went to investigate, I found someone has been putting our servant girl’s smuggling talents to use.” He brings his hands out from behind his back, your book cradled in one of them.

“I wasn’t aware you were privy to Katerina’s hobby.” It’s where your true source of surprise comes from, the book forgotten for a moment. His smirk widens.

“Do you truly believe you’re the only one who has requested items be brought discreetly to me?” Honestly, you hadn’t considered it before, but no. You suppose you wouldn’t have been the only one. It raises a question about the security of Asgard’s prison, but you tuck it away to worry about later. And if this wasn’t Katerina’s first time sneaking things to Loki, it also means your payment to her was quite over generous. “This was far from my usual deliveries, however.” He looks down at the book and turns it over in his hand. You choose to remain quiet, waiting to gauge his reaction. As he turns it in his palm and flips the cover open, you notice a sliver of colored paper peeking out from the pages; a bookmark, nearly half way through. “A little less dull than your history books,” he reads your brief note aloud. “How thoughtful.” He raises his eyes to you, a sarcastic sparkle reflecting. “Do you think me a romantic?”

“A man full of mystery who speaks in a nearly poetic nature?” you muse, shifting your eyes up to the ceiling in thought. “I think there’s potential for a romantic in you. Romance was not the reason behind it however.”

“You don’t mean to seduce me through books?” he teases. You pull your robe tighter around yourself and scoff at him.

“Hardly.” He snaps the book closed with one hand, holding it by its spine. He lowers the book and folds his other hand over it, letting his arms rest comfortably in front of his body.

“So disappointing.” He smiles lightly and you’re compelled to return the gesture. “So tell me then, what was the reason for this?” His chin tilts down to the book.

“It’s one of my favorites,” you admit. “I thought you might enjoy it.”

“Concerned for my entertainment, are you?” His smirk belittles you and you look away.

“Must you always mock me for trying to be kind?” Your voice is much more timid than you wish it to be. You are a strong woman and yet Loki holds some kind of power over you, making you feel vulnerable. His face suggests the slightest notion of surprise at your hurt.

“Your kindness is… difficult to take at face value.” He does not meet your eyes when you look at him. There is a hardness and hesitation to his tone. Is he regretting his own proposal of honesty already?

“You do not think me genuine?” You attempt not to be offended. “Have I ever given you reason to believe my kindness is meant to be trickery?” Again, you find yourself pulling your robe tighter around yourself.

“No one is kind to monsters,” he states. “And I am but a monster.” His posture is tall and straight; sure of his monstrosity as if it is a badge he wears. Your eyes narrow and though you know it’s hard for others to do, you see through the façade.

“No,” you say plainly. “You are not so easily defined by a single moniker.” His eyes turn cold.

“Did you not see images of Midgard?” His sharp, even tone sends a chill down your spine. It’s so easy to forget that behind his charm and lean body, there’s a powerful and intimidating God underneath. “Were you not at the trial where they listed my crimes, my atrocities, my sins?”

“I saw the images,” you whisper. “But I did not attend your trial.” You were one of the few that did not. It had been a large event in Asgard and while it ended up being closed to the public, the attendance was still quite large and had you wanted, you could have gone. You meant to. You’d dressed for it, but instead had sat on your bed and didn’t get up. You just couldn’t watch. Loki looks surprised at this and his head tilts ever so slightly.

“When I didn’t see your face, I had assumed you were simply hidden away in the back.” It’s your turn to tilt your head questioningly at him.

“You looked for me?” You internally scold yourself for feeling fluttery at the thought.

“Your usual seat was strikingly empty,” he says, shrugging as though it was an afterthought. “It would have been hard not to notice your absence.” A short silence falls between you as he analyzes you. Trying to keep your face a stone, trying not to give him anything to read off of you, you feel stiff and statuesque. “Why did you not attend?” he finally asks.

“Because…” you pause, many excuses bubbling up in you. “I simply didn’t want to.” He instantly tsks his tongue at you.

“Ah-ah,” he chides. “Honesty, remember?” His chin tilts down as he eyes you carefully. You huff, frustrated with yourself or him you’re not entirely sure. You cross your arms over your chest, looking at anything, but him.

“I couldn’t.” It’s the truth, though it still feels like a lie. You continue quickly, knowing he’s going to ask you why anyways. “I wasn’t ready to see you like that. Bound in chains and sentenced for war crimes. It felt like you were someone else.” He glances towards the floor and looks almost shameful.

“But it was me,” he says.

“Why?” Your voice croaks and you take a step towards the barrier. “Why did you do it?” He does not look up at you.

“The same reason I did what I did here,” he says coldly. “I wanted to rule.”

“No,” you tell him, trying to mimic his tone. “The truth,” you demand.

“That is the truth!” he snaps at you, lifting his head so quickly it startles you. There’s something in his eyes, behind the anger, that draws you in. Is it fear? You breathe slowly, choosing your words carefully.

“Then what aren’t you saying?” You’re gentle this time, uncrossing your arms and letting go of your tension, hoping to appear unjudgemental and unconfrontational. He squeezes the book tightly between his fingers.

“I was… unwell,” he says after a time. “The scepter, it has the power to twist things. It can manipulate you and make you see things very differently if you are not careful.” His mouth curls into a disgusted snarl. “In my haste to get what I wanted, I was not careful.” You do not doubt his words. The images you saw of him on Midgard were unsettling; tired, vacant eyes with dark circles around them. Unwell would be an understatement to you.

“Did you tell this to the council?” Surely manipulation and mind control would be grounds for a lesser sentence, would they not? He smiles with no joy and looks at you bitterly.

“To what purpose? My actions were still my own. I could have stepped away, but I did not.” There’s acceptance in his voice, but maybe something else too. Perhaps he felt shame and embarrassment that the great trickster himself was played the fool. Perhaps he held some regret for his actions and wanted punishment. Maybe he didn’t even know what it was that truly kept him from defending himself.

“Perhaps if you had, I’d be able to visit you without this barrier.” You reach out and touch it gently, running your fingers down it and watching the way the yellow chases your fingertips. His face softens.

“Are you implying you wish to touch me?” There’s so many layers to the question that you’re unsure how to answer it. You don’t have a desire to rush into his arms and hug him or hold his hand or even pat him on the back. When you think about it, you have no reason to touch him. And yet, there’s something that pulls you to the wall between the two of you, something that makes you reach out and touch it and wish its existence away.

“It’s not about touch,” you conclude. “It’s about distance. I prefer to be in the same room as the people I’m speaking to. The occasional flicker of the barrier, especially when it happens across your face, just makes you look like an illusion.” Loki steps up and places his fingers over yours. The extra vibration from his touch sends a flutter through you.

“Are you sure there’s no desire to touch?” he teases, not oblivious to your reaction. You look up at him, watch his face when you flatten your palm to the barrier and his follows your actions. His whole body leans in, his weight in his hand as if he could push through the wall. His eyes are on your hand and then drift towards your body.

“Are you asking because you are hoping for a certain answer?” you counter.

“Answering a question with a question is, uncharacteristically, a form of avoidance.” His weight comes off his hand, leaning away but not withdrawing just yet. You hum at him.

“And where do you think I learned that from?” The quirk of his lips suggests a small sense of pride in himself and it makes you release a breath of a laugh. “Regardless of it all,” You let your hand come off of the barrier, the tingle on your palm remaining for a few seconds. “The barrier remains.”

“That it does, for now.” He takes a few steps back before turning away from you and walking towards his bed. While the tag at the end of his sentence has you curious, you would assume that as a dismissal. He continues to speak to you, however. “So tell me of your day.”

“My day?” The request is not anything like you expected.

“Yes.” He places your book on his bedside table and turns back to you, arms open. “I would tell you of mine, but I’m afraid there’s not much to tell.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much to tell of my day either.” The corner of your lips drag down in an apologetic frown as you shrug. “I met with Asgard’s workmen on their progress in repairing the west court gate.” It sounds extremely dull to you, but Loki’s brow furrows in interest.

“What happened to the gate that caused its need for repair?” he asks, sitting himself back onto the edge of his bed. “It’s a sturdy gate and I can’t imagine anyone trying to attack it.” You can’t resist the humored smile on your lips.

“Oh, no, certainly not. Weeks ago Volstagg, drunken of course, ran a mount into it.” You chuckle as Loki’s eyes widen in concern. “The mount was in full armor and completely unharmed,” you assure him. “The gate was quite bent however.”

“I can imagine,” he comments, a hint of an amused smile peeking through. “Well, keep on,” he encourages when you pause in your telling. “Tell me everything. Tell me of your day, of Asgard’s events, of everything.”

You think that he must be very bored as his interest seems genuine. You smile and oblige him, thinking back over the last years for stories he might find intriguing. You stay for over an hour, finding yourself laughing with him over humorous events and pondering over more serious ones. You only take your leave when you run out stories and when your feet start to ache from standing.

“You know it’s rude to sit while your guest cannot,” you chide him teasingly.

“My guests are usually treated to more than just a seat when they visit my chambers,” he assures, his flirtation clear. “But I am lacking the ability to accommodate at the moment.” He points forward, not towards you, but to the barrier.

“I suppose that’s an adequate excuse,” you concede, giving an exaggerated eye roll. You both give a small chuckle before you shift your weight once again and stretch your arms out. “I do believe I’m going to retire though.”

“By all means.” He gives you a wave with his hand, giving a show of shooing you away and then casually leaning back.

“Good evening, Loki.” You tuck your chin in the smallest bow with your head and turn to leave when he calls your name. You look over your shoulder at him.

“Thank you,” he says softly. “For the book. I’ll make sure our resident smuggler gets it back to you shortly.”

“Take your time,” you tell him with a smile. “Enjoy it.” His eyes briefly run down your body.

“Oh, I think I will.”

[zwritestuff]

Some Things Are Bound To Be (Chapter Three) - Kyara

A/N: Me? Actually updating regularly and not letting the months go by? Who would've thunk. This chapter actually took me a lot of erasing and deleting, and there are some scenes that didn’t make the cut, but I like the end result! Hope you guys do too :D This ended up being 4.5K, so it’s quite a treat. A million thanks to @fromthenorthernskies​ for screaming on the doc beta-ing this chapter!

AO3 Link!

Kyne would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy having lunch with Kiara; it was way too different from sharing a coffee and sweets in Kyne’s office in the middle of the day. Now they weren’t alone, and they had to lower their voices when they wanted to laugh loudly, but it was nice. She always has a good time when she’s with Kiara.

She learns that Kiara’s favorite color is purple, her favorite movie is Beetlejuice and one day she wants to have a pet chameleon so when she dresses it up, it changes its color to the one of the garment. Kyne tells her that’s something a privileged rich kid would say, but it oddly makes sense - and that if she ever does it, she expects to see a picture.

When it’s time to come back to the office, they walk through the streets with their shoulders bumping and their hands brushing ever so slightly, neither of them having the courage to grab the other’s hand. That’s until they cross a particularly busy street, and Kyne wraps her pinky around Kiara’s. To not lose her, she mumbles, not sure if she heard her. Their fingers stay intertwined even when they make the walk to Kyne’s office, closer than they should be in an empty hallway with space to spare. 

They get a few stares, and Kyne feels her free hand twitch. She tries to brush it off and focus on what Kiara is telling her instead. She’s talking about the ball, and how they will go about dress shopping on Friday.

“If you drag me to go shopping before I’ve had a shower, I’m breaking up with you,” Kyne says, coming to a stop in front of the door of her office, letting go of Kiara’s finger. Kyne could swear she saw Kiara look disappointed for a brief moment, but if it happened she doesn’t bring it up. Why would she, anyway?

Kiara laughs shortly, and dismisses it with a wave of her hand. “I’ll pick you up from your place after you get a shower, then we go shopping. That sounds okay?” She asks gently, clasping her hands behind her back. Kyne has noticed she does that a lot when she talks to her. Not that she thinks much about it, or Kiara for that matter.

“Sounds fine to me,” she agrees, smiling with satisfaction. Kiara smiles back, saying she should get back to her office, promising to text her later. Kyne furrows her brow at that, only the slightest bit concerned. “You still haven’t told me how you got my number, y’know. It’s kinda creepy,” she says before Kiara can bid her goodbye.

“If you think about it, I have everyone’s phone numbers at my disposal. Whether I decide to make use of them or not, that’s up to me.” Kiara shrugs, Kyne stares at her for a moment. She hadn’t thought about that.

“You know, sometimes I forget one day you’ll inherit this whole thing,” Kyne comments. It’s not a lie though. She has never met someone as powerful as Kiara that just decided to hang out with her employees instead of all the other powerful people. Sometimes Kyne forgets she could fire her if she got on her nerves, and treats her like she’d treat an old friend. 

It seems to work in her favour, though; her friends always ask her how she had struck a friendship with none other than Kiara, the infamous heir of the company that never cracked a smile. Kyne was always skeptical of that - whenever she hung out with her, Kiara was nothing but a giggling mess, not the stoic person her friends, and everyone else apparently, made her to be.

Perhaps she was the only person with the privilege of being able to make Kiara laugh. She wouldn’t mind that in the slightest.

Kiara just stares at her with an amused smile, and Kyne proceeds to explain herself after a moment. “You steal the cupcakes you bring me and always ask me if I have a spare charger, when you have the money to buy an entire cupcake shop and a thousand chargers if you want to,” she explains with a grin, and Kiara laughs wholeheartedly, the slightest hint of a blush appearing on her cheeks.

She’s decided her new favorite thing is making Kiara laugh, not only because it seems she’s one of the few people able to make her smile, but also because she throws her head back, scrunches up her nose and drops the invisible weight from her shoulders. It suits her a lot better.

“Stolen cupcakes are the best cupcakes,” Kiara jokes with a complicit smile. Kyne chuckles, rolling her eyes. “I gotta go for real now, but have a good rest of your day.” She smiles, waving at her, and Kyne waves back.

“Have a good day, and don’t fire anyone!” She jokingly exclaims, entering in her office.

She’s barely settling down in her chair, wondering when Kiara would text her, when Priyanka, Bo, and Scarlett enter without knocking and Kyne sinks in her chair when they all give her curious looks.

In the grand scheme of things, Kyne hadn’t considered the fact that her friends were all but trying to get her to ask Kiara out and scam her to get her money, only for Kyne to always shut them down by saying they’re just casual friends - they said it so often she swore it wasn’t a joke anymore.

They have questions, questions that Kyne isn’t prepared for answering, because she never really asked Kiara if she could tell her friends that this is fake - though she supposses she can’t, if the conversation they previously had means anything.

“Oh, there’s nothing going on between me and Kiara, you guys are just imagining things!” Scarlett mocks, mimicking her voice. Kyne groans, sinking into her chair and covering her face with her hands. “So you lied to our face this whole time? You bitch,” they complain, folding their arms.

“Normally I don’t agree with Scarlett, except now,” Boa pipes up, “Bitch,” she echoes, and Kyne swears she’ll snap her optic nerve by the strength she rolled her eyes with.

“Would you guys let me explain?” She exclaims in frustration. “There should be a category in the Olympics for jumping into conclusions, you all would excel at it,” Kyne comments, cocking a brow.

Priyanka takes a seat in the free chair on the other side of the desk, looking solemnly at her. “Firstly, you know I would. Second, go right ahead, then. Explain,” Priyanka says, cocking a brow in her direction. Kyne looks at her friends, and they all have the same stern, confused look. Shit.

She bites the inside of her cheek, thinking of something to say that’s convincing enough to appease her friends. She knows lying isn’t good, but if she already messed herself up in a lie of gigantic proportions, what would another little white lie do?

“It’s not like I’m dating Kiara, per se,” she begins, “We’re just getting to know each other.” The skeptical looks don’t vanish from her friends’ faces, and Kyne fidgets with her hands under her desk before dropping the bomb. “And she’s bringing me to a charity ball on Saturday,” she muses, speaking fast enough to make her words almost unintelligible. She purposely leaves out the part about meeting Kiara’s parents, because her brain might be good with numbers, but not with coming up with lies on the spot.

“Excuse me, what?” Bo says, furrowing her brow. “Did you just say she invited you to the Starzy Charity Ball?” She asks, eliciting an over the top gasp from Scarlett and Priyanka. Kyne cocks a brow, is this ball of common knowledge? Maybe they weren’t lying when they said the company could be shutting down and Kyne wouldn’t know.

“When did your hoe ass land a date with Kiara Schatzi and an invitation to the Starzy Ball?” Priyanka inquires, sounding as confused as she looks. Kyne would laugh at their collective reaction if she didn’t feel the slightest bit annoyed.

“I am very charming when I want to, thank you very much,” she replies, matter-of-factly, with a shit-eating grin. 

Scarlett perches themself against the desk, folding their arms with a childish pout. “So you’re telling us you’ll be at a ball full of rich people, and you still won’t consider my magnificent plan of scamming some of them, running away and not work a day of our lives again?” They dramatize, bringing a hand to their chest.

Kyne snorts, quickly laughing along with her friends. Of course Scarlett takes every opportunity they get to talk about their “millionaire plan” as if it was that easy. At this point, Kyne just brushes it off as an in-joke.

They stay at her office a little longer than they should, trying to get all the details out of Kyne, but she keeps her answers short and concise, not giving much away - though there’s not much to say, really, and she’s not particularly good at lying, especially to her friends. Especially to Priyanka. Kyne swears she can smell the bullshit even before it comes out.

She’s surprised when Priyanka seems to believe her; out of the three of them, Kyne suspected she would be the one to pick up on the plot holes in her story. But she has yet to look suspicious, so she tries not to worry about it.

They finally leave her office when they notice the time and that they should be back to work, but they make it very clear that they want every detail possible about the ball, and that she’s not going to escape their query once Sunday arrives.

“How do y’all know I’m not going to be with Kiara on Sunday too?” Kyne challenges playfully, earning a screech from her friends. She has no idea where that came from, and almost right away she regrets it.

“Damn, you had lunch once and you already wanna climb on her?” Scarlett teases, making Kyne blush on the spot. She tries to stammer out an answer, but before she can they’re biding her goodbye and leaving the office.

The door is shut closed again, and Kyne groans, rubbing her eyelids. Well, that didn’t go as bad as planned, but it certainly didn’t go as smoothly as she would’ve wanted. She hopes and prays that the last line doesn’t find it’s way to Kiara’s knowledge.

Speaking of which, she hears the text alert go off in her phone, and when she goes to check, she bites back a smile when she reads it and sees it’s from Kiara.

***

Friday comes before Kyne can even notice it, and when she arrives at work that day, she feels her hands twitch every so often at the thought of going shopping with Kiara once work is over. They had exchanged a few texts here and there over the past two days, agreeing on an hour and talking about their boundaries when it came to money - though that was more Kyne's doing than Kiara’s.

It's one thing to let Kiara buy her a coffee or a cupcake; it's not that big of a deal, and something she can repay easily. But letting Kiara buy her a dress that costs about the same as her rent is a completely different thing, and she made sure to voice her concern to her to avoid any misunderstanding. Kiara had understood, but she said that, in the slight case a dress caught Kyne's eye and it happened to be expensive, it wouldn't bother her to buy it.

If anything, it's the least I can do to thank you, honey, she had texted her, and the pet name had left Kyne speechless for a couple moments. She had no idea how to answer it, so she just left it at that. Though she thinks about it more than she should.

She's chewing on a pen, reading a report they had sent her with a request to calculate the budget for a new hotel the company was building in partnership with some other rich people. Exciting stuff to do on a Friday morning, basically. There's a knock on the door, and she tells whoever it is to come in. She doesn't even need to look up to know it's Kiara.

A cupcake is settled in front of her, and she smiles when she looks up and finds Kiara staring right back at her. 

“Good morning,” she says, sitting in front of her and taking a sip from a Starbucks foam cup. Kyne bids her good morning too, and takes a bite from her cupcake. “Ready for today?” Kiara asks, with a playful gleam in her eyes. Kyne bites the inside of her cheek, fidgeting with her hands.

“I have a feeling that I should be worried,” she comments, chuckling nervously. Kiara laughs shortly, dismissing her with a wave of her hand.

“Don't be, this will be fun! I'm positive about that, it won't be that different from going shopping with a friend or by yourself,” Kiara assures her, but Kyne isn't sure if she should mention that she mostly shops at thrift stores and modifies the clothes she buys by herself, while Kiara probably spends hundreds in one item of clothing.

She keeps her mouth shut, and smiles gently at her instead. "I'll take your word for it, then." Kiara sets the foam cup on the desk, and claps excitedly.

“So, I think we haven't talked about tomorrow, and how we'll get ready together, or if we will get ready together for that matter--”

“Wait, what?” Kyne interrupts her, furrowing her brow. Kiara tells her that she had thought about bringing her to her apartment to do their hair and make-up together before the ball. Kyne plasters a smile on her face, but on the inside, there's a ball of nerves forming in her throat that keeps her from speaking.

It starts to dawn on her that, tomorrow, she'll know yet another face of Kiara at the ball, and she'll have to act accordingly to it. She'll have to hang from her arm like arm candy, talk to people that could buy her entire apartment complex without batting an eye, and actually meet Kiara's parents, whom she had only seen briefly in the hallways and never dared to look in the eye. 

Maybe this was a hell of a bad idea disguised at just being not that bad.

She remains silent for a minute too long, and Kiara senses that something is off; she leans forward, looking at her with a tinge of worriedness, and asks her what's wrong. Everything, Kyne wants to answer, but she doesn't find the courage to vocalize her thoughts — besides, she knows it’s too late to back down, and she doesn’t want to let Kiara down.

So she swallows her fears, clears her throat and tries to lie as best as she can.

“I’m kinda intimidated at the thought of meeting your parents,” she says, which isn’t technically a lie, but it isn’t all of the truth either. Kiara’s expression softens up, and she goes out her way to assure her that meeting her parents won’t be as bad as she thinks, that they’re actually great people. But the only thing that flashes through Kyne’s mind is how fast she will be fired once they fake their break up and her boss is mad at her for breaking his daughter’s heart.

Kiara is talking, she sees her lips moving, but the words don’t reach her ears. Kyne takes a deep breath, and tries to concentrate on what she’s saying.

“Besides, you’re already pretty, it shouldn’t take you too long to get your makeup done, right?” She says, giving her a sly wink. Kyne blinks repeatedly before blushing — well, that’s what she gets for zoning out.

Kyne tries to shut down all the negative thoughts, and gives Kiara a genuine smile. Or as genuine as she can.

“I can try to paint fast, I guess,” she offers, biting the inside of her cheek, hoping Kiara hadn’t noticed she wasn’t paying her attention.

Kiara smiles, the conversation goes on and Kyne tries her best to not let her anxiety eat her up, which is easier said than done.

***

It turns out that going shopping with Kiara is fun, despite the initial awkwardness when she had picked Kyne up and neither knew what to say to break the ice. It oddly felt like a blind date, in which you have no idea how your date even looks like, but that wasn’t exactly their case. So after some moments of uncomfortable silence, Kyne had asked Kiara if she had started How To Get Away With Murder like she promised she would do, and the conversation just flowed naturally.

Kiara takes her to the fancy side of the mall, with stores with prices so expensive Kyne and her friends could never afford, so they took pictures of the garments on display and then commissioned Kyne to recreate them for much cheaper. She drags her through three different stores in the span of an hour, searching all over for something that Kyne likes and agrees on the price of - the later was harder than they had imagined. Kyne doesn’t need her degree in math to know that their concept of cheap isn’t the same.

Their hunt in store number three isn’t successful, even though Kiara insisted she tried on a red mermaid gown on sale that would look beautiful on her - which it did, but it was too tight for Kyne’s liking, and it didn’t come in any other size.

“You know, you could buy me some nice fabric and I could wipe out a whole dress overnight. I did that for my high school prom,” Kyne comments as they’re leaving the store, and Kiara cocks a brow, amused.

“Wait, for real? I didn’t know you could sew,” she says, signaling Kyne to keep walking forward. Their hands brush again, just like on Wednesday after lunch, and Kyne wants to reach for Kiara’s hand and squeeze it tight so she doesn’t lose her in the crowd. But she desists from it.

“Yeah, my Lola taught me new things every time I visited over the summer when I was a kid. She says I came out just like her, because my mom can’t even thread a needle,” she tells her with a giggle, remembering all the summers she spent sitting next to her Lola, watching her sew beautiful garments, rummaging through her sewing room and imagining she was an important designer. 

Kiara snorts, grinning from ear to ear. “Now I kinda want to see what you could come up with if I bought you fancy fabrics,” she tentatively says, hiding her hands in the pockets of her jacket. Kyne wraps her arm around her bicep, pulling out her phone and scrolling through her gallery for a particular photo.

“If I pulled this in one night out from some fabrics I had in my house, I’m pretty sure I can come up with something for tomorrow.” She shows her a photo of her when she was eighteen, after she finished doing her makeup and was getting ready to go to prom with her friends - looking back, there are a ton of things wrong, except the golden floor length dress hugging her frame.

“You look so tiny,” is the first thing Kiara says, and Kyne pinches her arm out of reflex, sarcastically thanking her for the compliment on her dress. “Your dress is stunning, but I guess you already know that.” She gives her a playful smile, suddenly coming to a stop. “You know what? I have a new idea.”

“Oh god, not another one,” Kyne dramatizes, and Kiara pinches her back.

“This one is actually good!” She protests, and Kyne tells her to go ahead. “I need to know if you can sew another dress overnight, though.” Kiara’s tone grows high pitched, and Kyne puts two and two together rather easily, though she’s a bit confused.

“Either you wanna take me up on the fabric offer, or you want me to make you a gown for tomorrow,” Kyne says tentatively, cocking a brow. Doesn’t Kiara already have a dress? And why would she want Kyne to make her one, when she can perfectly buy some fancy dress for herself?

Kiara insists on her question, asking her to just answer with a yes or no, and Kyne says it depends on the design; it’s not something she can do if the design is something massive and opulent, like she probably wants.

She pulls out her phone with a big smile, quickly opening Pinterest and showing Kyne one of her boards. “My mom actually wanted me to get something very extra, but I said ‘mom, I’m an adult now, I can wear whatever I want!’. But in the end, I forgot to buy a dress altogether,” Kiara confesses sheepishly, but Kyne is too concentrated on the board. 

She sees a lot of vibrant colors that would go well in Kiara, and she tries to imagine how long it would take her to create any of those rather intricate designs. Surely more than one day and a half, she thinks - then, one design in particular catches her eye; it’s a floor length dress with a small cut on the left leg, the top half being off the shoulder. It’s fancy enough, easy to make, and it would look great on Kiara.

“I have a royal blue fabric that would go really well with this design,” Kyne comments absent-mindedly, looking back and forth between the photo and Kiara. “It’s expensive fabric though, so I expect nothing short of a royal dress in exchange,” she jokingly says, but Kiara takes it to heart.

“Let's go then, your majesty, we have some shopping to do.” She tugs at her arm to keep walking, with a playful smile on her face. Kyne tries to ignore the fact their arms are still linked, and that Kiara strokes the back of her arm with her thumb ever so slightly.

It takes her two more stores to find a dress that Kyne actually likes and has no complaints about; it’s a deep shade of green, floor length, with a deep cleavage and some delicate embroidery details all over it. Kyne almost rejects it despite absolutely adoring it, all because of the price - Kiara just swipes her credit card before Kyne changes her mind.

The bag feels heavy in her hands, and there’s a tinge of worry in the back of her mind. What if she wastes her and Kiara’s time, and she ends up not liking the dress she makes? She’d be absolutely mortified, not only because she already cost her five hundred dollars, but because she’d hate to let Kiara down.

Her train of thought is interrupted by Kiara asking her if she wants to have ice cream before they leave. Kyne accepts, smiling gently, trying to push her worries to the back of her mind.

***

Admittedly, it's been a long time since Kyne brought anyone outside her friend circle and family to her apartment. It's not as messy as it is most days, and she'd like to think it's cozy enough, with all the pictures scattered around and the potted plants on the windows to make up for the small space. Kiara says something about not knowing she had a green thumb, while she takes off her shoes and leaves them at the entrance, despite Kyne's insistence that it's not really necessary if she doesn't want to.

Having her around feels weird, especially because just a week before all they knew about each other was compressed to the type of coffee they liked and how much they hated corporative meetings. She eases up once Kiara leaves her jacket on the coat rack, loosens up the buttons of her shirt and her hair, flopping onto the couch and asking with a child-like excitement when will they start.

“I need to take your measurements first,” she says, rummaging through her drawers for her measuring tape. Kiara practically jumps off the couch, bouncing with excitement.

“I can't wait to get a custom made dress from Miss Kyne Aguilar herself,” she teases lightheartedly, and Kyne coos.

“Don't get your hopes up,” she deadpans, getting a giggle in response.

Kyne tries to ignore the annoying way her heart beats so fast when Kiara laughs, and she makes her stand very still while she takes her measurements, but she feels Kiara’s eyes following her throughout the whole process. She swallows thickly when she brings the measuring tape up to her hips, writing down her measurements faster than she ever did, trying to ignore the heat creeping up at the back of her neck - though it’s almost impossible to ignore when she places the tape over Kiara’s chest, and now she’s sure her stare is glued on her.

“This should be quick,” Kyne muses, once she’s finished with the measurements, breathing out a sigh of relief when she walks to her cabinet full of her sewing equipment, pulling out basic molds for the top part. 

“You know, if you actually can do this, I’m going to be really impressed,” Kiara says, settling on Kyne’s couch again and tucking her legs under her body. Kyne cocks a brow at her, setting up her things at the coffee table.

“I take payment in cash, not surprise,” she deadpans, eliciting a faux offended yelp from Kiara. She giggles after a moment, spreading out the fabric and fetching for chalk in her pencil case to trace the initial patterns. “It shouldn’t be that hard, y’know? Your design is very standard, I thought you’d want something more, I don’t know, fancy.” She steals a glance at Kiara, who cocks a brow and shifts on the couch, dismissing it with a wave of her hand.

“I’m not a big fan of those big, opulent dresses, honestly. I prefer comfort above everything - ‘sides, I'm pretty sure I'd look like a clown,” Kiara comments, watching with interest as Kyne fumbles with the fabric, making sure it's perfectly symmetrical.

Kyne pauses to meet Kiara's gaze. “I mean, have you seen yourself? You wouldn't look bad even if you wore a sack of potatoes,” she says earnestly, and she's not sure where did the courage to say that came from, but the smile that breaks in Kiara's face makes Kyne's stomach twist again.

“Coming from the woman that can pull off every color under the sun, that's a very high compliment,” Kiara compliments back, causing Kyne to blush slightly and dismiss her with a wave of her hand. 

The next hours pass in a blur of cutting and sewing fabric, making sure she wasn't pinching Kiara with the pins, and Kyne's heart beating so fast it may come out of her ribcage whenever Kiara's laugh echoes through the apartment.

[imekitty]

Part 1, Part 2

I update my masterlist each time I post a new fic here, so check there if you don’t want to miss a part of a series you’re interested in!

-----

Jack looked over the notes Maddie had prepared for their lab session. "Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

"Of course I'm sure. I didn't spend all day writing all that because I wasn't sure," said Maddie from across the lab as she gathered all necessary equipment for the procedure.

Jack lowered the notes and studied the boy strapped down to their observation table. He looked exactly like Danny, wasn't even in ghost form. Of course he wasn't. Danny was rarely able to maintain his ghost form while unconscious, so naturally a clone wouldn't be able to do it either.

The clone stirred, his forehead pinched.

"Mads," said Jack. "He's waking up."

"You want me to talk to him?"

The clone's head groggily flopped to the other side.

"Yes," said Jack. "You talk. I can't do this. I—" He walked away from the table, clutched at the front of his jumpsuit.

Maddie took off her goggles. "It's probably better I do it anyway. He does think I'm his mother, after all."

Maddie approached the table and leaned over to be in the clone's view. The clone fully opened his eyes and inhaled hard as he looked around the lab and struggled against the belts holding him.

"Calm down," said Maddie, stroking his hand. "I know you're confused, but you need to calm down."

"What do you mean? What—is this—what are we doing here? Mom? Why am I—" The clone pulled against his restraints again. "What's going on?"

"We have a procedure to carry out tonight," said Maddie. "Don't worry, it's just one thing. But it involves you, of course. Because you're part ghost and we have a lot of information we need to gather about you."

Jack watched the clone's eyes widen in that familiar mixture of shock and panic.

"Wait," said the clone. "You know I'm a ghost?"

"Yes." Maddie stroked the back of his hand again. "That's why you're here. So we can learn more about you."

"What do you mean? What are you going to do to me?"

The clone's gaze moved to Jack. Jack promptly looked away.

"Why are you doing this to me?" the clone continued. "I'm your son!"

"No, you're not," said Maddie.

The clone ceased all struggling. "What? Yes, I am—"

"No, sweetheart. You're not our son," said Maddie. "You're a clone. A clone of our son."

The clone stared at only her, did not even spare a glance in Jack's direction. Good. Jack hated when the clone took notice of him.

"What?" the clone whispered.

"You deserve to know the truth before we start anything," said Maddie. "But it might be hard for you to hear."

"Hard for me to hear? What do you mean? What are you—"

"Shh, sweetie, I'm going to tell you." Maddie gestured to Jack. "We know you have ghost powers because we're the ones who set you up to receive them."

The clone's mouth fell open, only weak sounds pushing past his lips.

"We designed our ghost portal to shock you in just the right way so that you'd become a ghost hybrid," said Maddie.

Jack scowled. The way she used "we" as if he had a fair hand in this whole thing. He really wished she'd just take the full credit for it.

Then again, it wasn't like he tried very hard to stop her.

"Why?" the clone asked. "Why would you do that?"

"You were the only candidate we could find with DNA that would stabilize perfectly with an ectoplasmic mutation. We needed you, sweetheart. For our research."

"But—I don't understand—why would you do this, I'm your son—"

"I already told you you aren't our son," said Maddie firmly. "You remember your encounter with Vlad and the test clones, don't you? We asked Vlad to clone Danny for us. A clone we can run experiments on." Maddie cupped the side of his face. "That's you."

The clone moved his head away from her affectionate hand, his eyes appearing dazed.

"And you understand how important our research is, don't you?" asked Maddie. "You're going to be a big help to us tonight."

The clone shook his head. "No, no, I don't want to be here, I don't want to—"

"I know you don't, but we can't just let you go." Maddie chuckled. "We can't have two Dannys."

"But I'm not a clone! I'm real, I'm Danny, I'm me—"

"No, you're not." Maddie pointed toward the ceiling. "Danny is upstairs in his room studying for his history test." She scrunched her mouth and lowered her finger, looking up. "Or at least he better be. I told him to, so he better be. But it's getting late, so he might have gone out on patrol instead. And Jack and I haven't set up any measures to stop him from going out. It's part of our research to see how he balances his ghostly obsession with his human responsibilities."

Jack looked up toward the ceiling as well. Indeed, they allowed Danny to go out and fight ghosts whenever he wished, taking note of how often he chose to break curfew or shirk his homework, taking special note of the times he was able to control his obsession to complete chores or school assignments instead.

"We aren't exactly sure what his ghostly obsession is yet. Or yours, for that matter," said Maddie. "But we're working on it. Maybe we need to try grounding him again or some other punishment, see if we can get him to study over fulfilling whatever his obsession is. He is getting a D in that class. History." She looked down at the clone. "But you already know that, of course."

"No," the clone groaned. "You're wrong. I mean, I'm not upstairs. I'm here. I'm Danny. I am! My whole life—I remember—my life—"

The clone panted and twitched beneath the restraints. Maddie held his hand again. Jack wondered why she bothered trying to comfort him, what a useless effort.

Perhaps just her motherly instinct.

"Yesterday I went to school," the clone blurted. "And then I hung out with Sam and Tucker—"

"No, sweetie."

"And then I came home and you asked me to watch TV with you and you told me you loved me—"

"I didn't say that to you. I've never said anything like that to you."

The clone's expression became deeply wounded.

"You didn't exist until this morning," said Maddie. "Those memories aren't yours. They belong to Danny. The real Danny." She patted his hand. "You only have them because you're a nearly perfect copy in every way."

"No, that's not true," the clone shouted. "I'm Danny!"

"No, you're not."

"How can you say that? How can you know that for sure? I know I'm real. How do you know I'm not the real Danny?"

Maddie pulled up the sleeve of the hospital gown Vlad had dressed the clone in, exposing his upper arm. A bold number branded him in black ink, slightly raised and surrounded by red irritated skin.

"See?" Maddie pointed to the number. "The real Danny doesn't have a tattoo here."

The clone's gaze shifted wildly over the tattoo. "What is this? Where did this come from? Six? What does that mean?"

"It means that you're a clone." Maddie covered the tattoo with his sleeve again. "The sixth one we've had here. And that's how I can tell. Although it's not the only way." She brushed his cheek with her gloved fingers. "I can see small differences in your complexion, little imperfections in the arrangement of your freckles, things Vlad can't seem to control the outcome of perfectly."

She traced a finger along his jawline. The clone leaned his face into her hand and whimpered.

"But you do look...so much like him," Maddie murmured.

The clone sniffled. "Mom, please—"

Maddie squeezed his shoulder. "We need to get started now, sweetheart."

"Started?" A tear trailed the clone's face. "No."

"Yes. But listen." Maddie brushed the tear aside. "The experiment should only take an hour or two, and then it will be over. You won't have to go through anything else."

"You mean you'll let me go?"

The clone's bright blue eyes shone with what Jack knew would be his last bit of life. Eyes that really did look exactly like Danny's and it was astounding to Jack that Maddie could stare right into them and tell him such awful things without even flinching.

"No," said Maddie. "I told you, we can't have two Dannys. But you will be gone. Like the other clones. Nothing else to hurt you after tonight."

The clone's jawline tightened and parts of his face twitched and pulsed as he breathed erratically and shook beneath the belted restraints. He turned his blanched face toward the stairs leading out of the lab and screamed, "Jazz! Jazz! Help—"

Maddie clamped a hand over his mouth, muffling the screams. Jack straightened, his own body spiking with adrenaline.

"We've soundproofed this room," said Maddie. "We even installed dampeners so that Danny's ghost sense can't detect you. No one outside of this lab can hear you."

The clone's screams quieted and faded into sobs. Maddie uncovered his mouth and placed her hands on either side of his face.

"I know you're scared," said Maddie softly. "But you are going to be such a wonderful help to us, sweetheart. You mean so much to us. To me."

"I don't want to do this." The clone's words were choked and low. Small pinpoints of sweat beaded on his forehead even in the cold lab. "Don’t make me do this. I'm not a clone. Why are you doing this to me? Mom? Why?"

The clone's desperate eyes darted to Jack. Jack sighed.

Stop looking at me. I can't help you.

Maddie stroked the clone's hair.

Part 4

[ohemgeeitscoley]

Ben Solo is the recently assigned editor for Rey Johnson’s book about star-crossed lovers in space when the world is turned upside down and stay home orders are issued. Ben and Rey begin working together over Zoom and their relationship grows.

Or, an and they were zoomates fic.

Based on this Tumblr post. 

The one I have been waiting for (Part One of Two)

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Rey/Ben Solo (Reylo)

Note: This was going to be a really, really short one shot. It turned into a 12k two-shot. Whoops. This is pure fluff. 

As always, the biggest thank you to @andyouweremine for being the world’s best beta and friend. Seriously, thank you for all of your cheerleading and input and for convincing me that one more scene never hurt anyone. You’re the absolute best.

Read below or on AO3.

From: Leia Organa-Solo <leia@rebelpublishing.com> To: Benjamin Solo <benjamin@rebelpublishing.com> Subject: Quarantine assignments 

Ben,

Unfortunately with everything going on right now, I've decided that we are going to close the office and have everyone work from home. I know you were looking forward to the big welcome lunch I had planned. Hopefully we will be able to reschedule in a few weeks once the risk of spreading COVID-19 lessens.

In the meantime, I am going to assign you to Rey Johnson. She is working on a new novel with a goal of having the first draft submitted by May 30. I'm attaching her contact information and what she has sent over so far. Please coordinate with Rey to schedule an introduction meeting. 

Warm regards,

Mom

Leia Organa-Solo CEO Rebel Publishing, LLC

From: Benjamin Solo <benjamin@rebelpublishing.com> To: Leia Organa-Solo <leia@rebelpublishing.com> Subject: RE: Quarantine assignments

Leia:

I am deeply saddened that the welcome lunch you coordinated over my many, many vocal objections to has been cancelled. I suppose we will have to plan another inner-office get together wherein I can find a way to embarrass and let you down. I'm greatly looking forward to the opportunity.

On that note, was it really necessary to use my full name in my email address? Was Ben already taken? I am fairly certain as my mother you are aware that you are the only person who ever calls me Benjamin. Would it be possible to have IT change this before tomorrow? 

I think closing the office is the right decision. Social distancing is quite important now more than ever. I'm assuming this means that Saturday dinners will also be postponed?

I'll look over what you sent and reach out to Ms. Johnson. I'm looking forward to working with her. 

Sincerely, 

Ben Solo Editor Rebel Publishing, LLC

From: Leia Organa-Solo <leia@rebelpublishing.com> To: Benjamin Solo <benjamin@rebelpublishing.com> Subject: RE: Quarantine assignments

Benjamin:

I distinctly remember writing Benjamin down on your birth certificate. I'm unaware of any name change order being in your personnel file. The email stays.

The lunch has not been cancelled, it has been postponed. Despite your assertions, you will not embarrass or let me down in any get together. However, I make no such promises. Seeing as how I'll be trapped at home with your father for the foreseeable future, maybe I'll finally have time to find some of those old pictures of you. I've been meaning to redecorate my office.

It does appear that Saturday dinners will need to be postponed. However, I am working with Chewie and Luke to see if we can perhaps get them set up to attend virtual dinners. I'll keep you updated.

Warm regards,

Mom

Leia Organa-Solo CEO Rebel Publishing, LLC

-----

Ben sighed, pushing his hands under his glasses as he rubbed at the corners of his eyes. It wasn’t that he necessarily thought that agreeing to go work at his mom’s publishing company was going to be the easiest of transitions, but he also hadn’t been prepared for his name to be on the list of things they would argue about. 

It only made sense, then, that it was one of the first things. 

He considered sending another email, pushing the issue. But he knew better than to think it was an argument he was going to win. And, honestly, he was hopeful that if he didn’t respond maybe she’d never again think about coordinating, or asking him to coordinate, a virtual Saturday dinner. 

Instead, Ben opened the contact card his mom had sent for Rey, and got to work.

From:  Benjamin Solo <benjamin@rebelpublishing.com>  To: Rey Johnson <ReyWrites@gmail.com> Subject: Introduction Meeting

Good evening Ms. Johnson:

I’m the assigned editor for your next book. Leia has already provided your initial pitch, character sketches, and outline. However, I usually prefer to talk with an author prior to reading these materials. I have found in the past that going into these conversations without any preconceived ideas based on the initial workups leads to a more organic understanding of the material. As such, I’d love to have the chance to talk with you about your book prior to looking over the material.

Given the increased concerns of spreading the virus, Leia has closed the office and has asked that we conduct all of our work from home. Please let me know what your availability is tomorrow or the next day so that I can coordinate the conference. I am just transitioning to Rebel Publishing, so my calendar is currently fairly open.

Of course, if you’d rather me read through the materials and start the process that way, just let me know. 

I look forward to working with you.

Sincerely,

Ben Solo Editor Rebel Publishing, LLC

From: Rey Johnson <ReyWrites@gmail.com>  To: Benjamin Solo <benjamin@rebelpublishing.com>  Subject: RE: Introduction Meeting

Mr. Solo,

Leia let me know today that we would be working together. I’m really looking forward to hearing your thoughts. I’d love the opportunity to talk with you prior to you reviewing the materials that have been previously sent. This is a different approach than my previous editors have taken, but I am intrigued by your theory. 

With that said, given the recent orders to stay home, my schedule is very flexible. I usually try to block out specific times to focus on writing so that I can turn off notifications and limit distractions. With the times I had previously blocked out for tomorrow, I could make an 11:00 am work? If that doesn’t work, just let me know what does and I’m sure I’ll be able to make that work.

I look forward to meeting with you.

Sincerely,

Rey Johnson

-----

Rey was the first one in the Zoom meeting the next morning. She fidgeted with her web camera, adjusting the angle until the image on the screen blocked out most of her messy apartment. She spent a few minutes pushing things out of the way before sitting back down and waiting for Ben to appear. 

She glanced down at the clock on her computer screen, sighing at the time. The meeting wasn’t supposed to start for another five minutes. Being early had never been one of her defining characteristics, but she also hadn’t had any real human interaction in days. 

The day the stay home order had been issued by the Governor, Rey had planned on meeting up with Poe and Finn for drinks. They had been on her for days to avoid slipping into a writer isolation. Poe had a lot of experience in knowing just how easily Rey could spiral when she was writing, hiding away from the world for days at a time. It had always just been easier for Rey to stay in when she was writing. Easier to stay focused on what kept her paid and fed and a roof over her head. 

She didn’t have to worry about getting too distracted and forgetting where she left off or what she had planned for another scene if she just stayed home. Poe liked to remind her that she was ridiculous and that going out also was what provided her with actual inspiration to write.

There was a balance, she was sure. She just hadn’t achieved it yet. Then the stay home issue was ordered and Rey found herself wishing that she had listened to Poe sooner. 

Not that was going to tell him that.

The computer dinged when Ben joined the meeting room. The image was fuzzy at first, Rey could really only make out that he had dark hair and rather broad shoulders. In fact, he looked rather… large, his body taking up most of the space that she could see. The image cleared and Rey took in the rest of his features, the sharp nose and pouty lips. 

He was definitely attractive. Which was not what she needed to be thinking about at the moment.

“Good morning, Mr. Solo,” Rey said, smiling politely as she held her hand up in a tiny, awkward wave.

“I would say Mr. Solo is my father,” he responded, shaking his head slightly. “But he also hates being called that.” 

“Right, so, Benjamin then?”

“No, no, no, no,” Ben grimaced, as if the word personally offended him. “Ben. Just Ben.”

“Okay, just Ben,” Rey laughed softly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Ms. John-”

“Rey,” she interrupted him with a grin. 

“Well, Rey, tell me about your book.”

Rey took a deep breath before, running her teeth over her bottom lip before she began. She started by attempting to introduce the main characters, Kira and Kylo, and their backstories, but she was easily distracted with certain points of plot that felt so imperative to interrupt and explain.

By the time she finished, she wasn't really sure what information she had shared or left out.  But she was fairly positive that she had failed to hit all of the main plot points.

Rey waited for Ben to say something. She knew that he had told her that he found it beneficial to hear about the story in an organic way, but the longer the silence stretched, the more she wished she had spent more time preparing last night to explain to him the story and the characters in at least a logical way.

“So they are connected?” He finally asked. “What was the word you used?”

“A dyad,” Rey answered. “Soulmates, really.”

“Star-crossed lovers fighting on opposite sides of a galactic war," Ben paused, jotting something down on a piece of paper next to his computer. "Doomed from the start?"

"Hardly," Rey snorted. "It won't be easy, but I fully plan on a happily ever after ending for them."

"Really?" Ben seemed surprised. "That's unusual for star-crossed couples."

"Your words," Rey reminded him, "I said they were soulmates."

"That you did," Ben conceded. "I just assumed since they are fighting for different things that one would fall."

"But they aren't."

"What?" 

"Fighting for different things," Rey clarified. "It seems that way, at first. But really, they are both fighting for a place in the world. For a family. For a balance that they are being told can't exist."

"It sounds like quite a world," Ben noted. "I'm excited to see you build it."

"Yeah," Rey looked away from the screen, staring at the knick knacks that filled up the shelf across from her. "It's a little scary actually, creating a world this complex."

"That's what I'm here for."

"Right," Rey smiled at him. "Well, I'm glad I have you."

Rey thought that maybe Ben was blushing, even though logically she knew that it was more likely just a shadow or reflection from his computer. Either way, she liked the way it made him look.

"So, same time next week?" Ben asked. "I'll go over everything Leia sent me. Now that I know what I'm getting into, I think my notes will be a lot better."

"Yeah, same time next week," Rey glanced down at the notes on her desk. "Should I send you things throughout the week as I'm working? Or save it for next week?"

"For now I say save it for next week. I have a lot of material to get started with."

"Sounds good."

"It was nice meeting you, Rey." Ben held one hand up in an awkward wave.

"Yeah, you too, Ben."

-----

From: Rey Johnson <ReyWrites@gmail.com>  To: Benjamin Solo <benjamin@rebelpublishing.com>  Subject: Earlier meeting?

Hi Ben:

I know that we have a meeting scheduled in four days, but I was just wondering if you might be available earlier than that? I’m having a bit of difficulty with the corner I think I’ve written myself into, and I am hoping that a fresh pair of eyes might help me find my way out. I understand if you want to keep the meeting as scheduled, I know you haven’t had a lot of time to go through the materials that had already been submitted, but I’d really appreciate any insight.

I hope you are staying inside and staying healthy!

-Rey.

------

Rey groaned, rereading the email she had sent Ben. It wasn’t necessarily a bad email, it was actually lightyears better than the first draft she had written at 2 am. Which went something like ‘Hi Ben, as it turns out despite my years of believing otherwise, I need human interaction and your face is the only face I’ve seen in a week and I’m slowly losing my mind. I sang to my plants. I’ve never written this much in my life, I’ve started reading the dialogue out loud because I’m no longer sure what human conversations sound like. So, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could we move up our meeting? I’m a little worried I’m becoming an insane person. I swear I’m not normally this weird. Quarantine life.’

She, thankfully, pressed the delete button instead of the send button. The other three drafts were slightly more professional, but all with the same undertone of her being slightly desperate for any conversation that didn’t involve her voicing both sides. She had tried facetiming Poe, but he and Finn had been keeping each other plenty busy. Which really, she should have expected.

Logically she knew that she could reach out to either one of them anyways, or Rose, or any of her other friends and just tell them that she was potentially on the verge of a self-isolation mental breakdown and they would be there for her.

But that was a showing of vulnerability that despite years of therapy Rey wasn’t comfortable with demonstrating.  And so she emailed Ben instead.

It wasn’t like it was a complete lie. She had written more than usual and she was at a point in the story that she would appreciate some feedback at this point. 

Kira and Kylo were at a turning point in the story. Their connection had been steadily growing stronger and more frequent, forcing them to face each other. Now was the time for them to come together and join each other or for them to pull away and keep fighting against each other. 

It wasn't a terrible idea for her to get some feedback and opinions before moving forward full speed. Her reaching out to Ben for an earlier meeting had nothing to do with her ever increasing thoughts about how he was rather attractive and his smile was rather enticing and that she wanted to see it again. 

At least, she was fairly confident that wasn’t the main reason.

She glanced at the sent email one last time before closing out of her email tab. Only fifteen minutes had passed since she sent the email and she already felt regret settling over her nerves. 

It was going to be a long day waiting for him to reply.

-----

In hindsight, Ben probably should have found it strange that he had not received a single company email in over 24 hours. Especially since Leia had a habit of sending him personal messages to his work email. Despite him reminding her numerous times that she had his personal email, and his cell phone, and, really, at least four other ways of contacting him.

A part of him knew that Leia did it because she genuinely enjoyed reminding herself that he came back to her company, that he came home. He also knew her well enough to know that the larger reason was because she also genuinely enjoyed annoying him. And Leia had to know that he would find knowing that her personal assistant had access to all of her emails about whether or not he was interested in attending a virtual dinner, if he had enough food in his apartment or if he would like her to make an instacart order for him, and that Han had been cleaning out the garage to make more room for his ‘quarantine projects’ and found boxes of his old toys and baby blankets and she was just wondering if he perhaps wanted her to bring the belongings home so that he could come get them, you know, for the future.

So, he should have known that something wasn’t working, but he had been distracted going through Rey’s materials, making notes of his questions and of his proposed edits. She was a fantastic writer. The world she had built was fresh and lively, jumping off of the pages in clear images and descriptions. She had provided extremely detailed character sketches for most of the characters, but he hadn’t found that he had to read through them or refer to them to understand any of the characters or to analyze any of the choices the characters had made simply because she wrote them so well.

It was very impressive.

He had finished going through the materials that Leia had sent him in two days. He was working his way through them again, going slower and providing more detailed notes and able to ask more pointed questions given the knowledge of where the story was heading. Still, he found himself wishing that he had told Rey to send over more work. 

He noticed his phone light up on the corner of his couch. He picked it up, glancing at the message icon showing that he had four messages from his mother and… 48 unread emails.

Mom: Servers are back up at the office.

Mom: Sorry for the onslaught of emails you are probably going to start getting in five minutes.

Mom: I didn’t realize at first that they weren’t going through.

Mom:  It’s possible 75% of them could have been text messages.

Ben: The server was down at the office?

Mom: You didn’t notice that you have received no emails in the last day?

Ben: I guess not. 

Mom: That’s an unusual thing for you to not notice.

Mom: What have you been doing?

Ben: Going through the materials you sent over for Rey’s book. 

Mom: Ah.

Mom: That makes sense then. 

Ben sighed, closing the messaging app to start going through the emails from his mother.

They were exactly what he had expected them to be. A few emails from HR and IT that were sent company wide about how to submit hours when working from home, a reminder to sign up for direct deposit if you hadn’t already, and a few guided walkthroughs on common computer and technology issues. His mother’s emails focused more on whether or not he had all of the ingredients for the Risotto she wanted to make for dinner on Saturday. Followed by an email with the receipt. And another email that went to him, Luke, and Chewie, wondering why it was too much to ask them all to make the same meal as her so that the virtual dinner felt like an actual dinner and not a happenstance of people meeting at the same time.

He almost missed the email from Rey.

 -----

From:  Benjamin Solo <benjamin@rebelpublishing.com>  To: Rey Johnson <ReyWrites@gmail.com>  Subject: RE: Earlier meeting?

Dear Rey,

I’m truly sorry for my delay in responding to your email. I was just informed that the server at the office went down, which affected our email host and I am just now getting this message.

I would love to go over this with you sooner than we had planned. I have already reviewed the materials you had previously sent, so I believe I will be of much more use in hopefully helping you figure out where you want to go next. I do find it hard to believe that you’ve written yourself into a corner, you seem to have a great grasp on the characters and the story you want to tell.

I’d hate for any future requests to be severely delayed due to technological issues beyond our control. My cell phone number is 917-555-3298. 

I am available whenever. I suppose that’s the upside to a quarantine.

I look forward to receiving the materials and discussing them with you.

Ben

Benjamin Solo Editor Rebel Publishing, LLC

-----

Ben: I think it’s abusing your power as owner of a company to go through and change your employee’s email signatures without consent.

Mom: I have no idea what you are talking about.

Mom: Benjamin

------

929-555-4593: Hi Ben. This is Rey. I just got your email and figured I’d send you a message so you have my number. I sent over what I’ve been working on. I’m also free whenever. So, just tell me when and I’ll be there.

Rey Johnson: Thanks again for agreeing to meet up with me earlier than planned. I appreciate it. 

-------

Rey threw on a blazer over the red tank top she had been wearing for the last two days when she got the Zoom invite from Ben. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror to the side of her desk, double checking to make sure she didn’t have dried mascara on her cheeks and that her hair looked moderately presentable.

She clicked on the link in the email and---

Oh

Ben wore glasses. Ben wore glasses and Rey was not at all prepared for how he looked wearing them. Really, it didn’t seem quite fair that something as innocuous as glasses managed to make him go skyrocketing up from ‘fairly attractive’ to ‘how inappropriate would it be to initiate sexting with her new editor that she had maybe spent a grand total of twenty minutes communicating with’ in her mind. 

Rey really, really needed the stay home order lifted. Clearly, she was worse off than she thought.

“Hey,” Ben greeted her. “How are you surviving the stay home order?”

“Oh great. Some might even say I’ve been thriving,” Rey rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she laughed. “At least I’ve been able to get a lot of writing done.”

“I would say,” Ben ran his hand through his hair, and Rey could hear him clicking open something on his computer. “I’m not going to lie, I’ve only skimmed through everything you sent over today. So, depending on what has you stuck, I’m not positive this will be a very productive meeting.”

“The part I think I’m stuck at?” Rey opened the word document on her computer, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “You mean it isn’t obvious?”

“I guess, no?” Ben responded, and Rey can tell from the way he’s focusing on his computer screen that he must be going through the document again. “I just assumed you were stuck on what to do after Kira took Kylo’s hand? But that didn’t make much sense either because you have such a clear plan for the story.”

“Kira doesn’t take Kylo’s hand.”

Ben glanced up to the camera, his mouth slightly open. “What?”

“Kira doesn’t take Kylo’s hand,” Rey repeated, lifting her shoulders in a small shrug. “At least not yet.”

“What do you mean she doesn’t take his hand yet?” Ben asked, and Rey has to bite down on her lip to keep herself from laughing at how insulted he sounded. “You’ve spent the last eight chapters building their relationship for her to take his hand.”

“That doesn’t mean that this is the right moment,” Rey pointed out. “I’m not sure it’s the right moment.”

“Okay,” Ben leaned back in his chair, lifting his hands to rest behind his head. “I guess I’m going to need you to explain to me what you think the right moment will be then.”

“That might take awhile,” Rey admitted. “I don’t know that I even know the answer to that.” 

“That’s okay,” Ben said with an encouraging smile. “I have plenty of time.”

-----

They ended up talking for over two hours. By the end of the call, Rey at least had a better idea of the different paths she could take Kira and Kylo down. Even if she still didn't know which one she would choose.

But they also talked about other things besides the book and Rey's struggles with where the characters should go. Rey discovered that Ben was also sheltering in place by himself. She was pretty amused when Ben didn’t immediately end the video call when she started discussing the finer points of being ordered to stay in, like what Netflix show he was binge watching and whether or not he had enough toilet paper to last.

She was oddly unsurprised when he refused to discuss his toilet paper situation with her and when he said that he didn’t watch a lot of TV and wasn’t planning on binge watching anything. Rey gave him a week before he caved on that.

It was nice. 

Rey’s mood had significantly improved half way through the conversation. She had forgotten just how wonderful it was to talk to someone else. It also didn’t hurt that Ben Solo wasn’t exactly hard to look at for two hours. It wasn't even the obvious physical features that Rey found herself thinking about hours later, although she was certainly going to be thinking about them for a while. But Ben had a certain way of moving and mannerisms that only added to them. 

Getting to know someone over a video call was interesting. Rey kept waiting for the normal wave of must look away to hit her like it would if they had been face to face. Staring at someone the entire time you were together wasn't normal.

If they had been in person, Rey would have felt uncomfortable with the amount of time she had spent just staring at him. Noticing the way his hands dwarfed the size of his coffee cup and the way he talked with his hands when he was particularly passionate about whatever he was saying.

She particularly liked how his face was open when she said something he disagreed with, the way he would narrow his eyes and shake his head, but waited until she was done to raise his counterpoints. There was something about the way that he was just himself that was refreshing. 

He listened intently, scribbling down notes when she talked about the story. Even when she started mentioning shows that he should watch, if he were to get really desperate, and he pretended to be uninterested, Rey was fairly positive she saw him write them down as well. 

They set up another meeting in two days, and Rey was determined to have at least made a decision on whether or not Kira was going to take Kylo’s hand by then.  She had to admit that Ben had made a convincing argument as to why it was the right moment for the characters to move forward together. 

Rey sat down at her writing desk, opening up the current version of her project, and began writing.

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 166

Chapter Summary -Tom and Danielle go to Ireland to see about booking the venue, while there, Tom realises something that makes him see that this actually matters a lot more to Danielle than he thought.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

NOTES - 

Aoife is pronounced E-Fa MacDaragh is pronounced Mac-Dar-ah

Look, I like the idea of taking your husband's name, it's traditional, so to me, it's nice. I totally respect any woman that keeps hers, that's her business, but I like it, personally, and for this, so does Danielle.

Copyright for the photo is the owners, not mine. All image rights belong to their owners

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​ @jessibelle-nerdy-mum​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @damalseer​ @hiddlesbitch1​ @winterisakiller​ @fairlightswiftly​ @salempoe​ @wolfsmom1​ @black-ninja-blade

Tom and Danielle looked at the building in front of them. The fact it was wintery, wet and cold, with plants and trees bare of leaves did not give the best idea of what the place would look like in the summer but it did allow them to see what they were looking at. It was secluded and picturesque, everything they could want location wise.

“Are you happy with it?” Tom asked, looking at the walled garden behind them.

“It’s very beautiful.”

“That’s not what I asked, Elle.”

“I am just anxious to see what we are dealing with.”

“Elle, I know I have said this, ad nauseam but I mean it, when we talk about if we want to book this, I do not want the cost to be the sole reason you say no, I want this to be perfect for us.”

“So if they said something like eighty grand, you’re okay with that?” She challenged.

“Obviously not, but you know that’s not what I mean.”

“No,” she conceded. “I just think it’s all a bit mad.”

“Why? We have the money.”

“I rather we spend the money on a bigger house if you’re adamant to spend it at all.”

“I am curious, how much did your parents leave you to say you are so money conscious.”

“I paid for my house outright and still had enough to move everything over, set myself up over in Britain and have a rainy day fund. Dad’s practise wasn’t worth too much, you saw it, it's small, more an office than anything and our house was small, so it wasn’t too much either. But it got me a three-bed in Suffolk, so…” She shrugged.

“I never asked but why a three-bed? You didn’t seem interested in having a family when you came over.”

“I didn’t, I was only twenty-five but I was thinking if I did, it would be a solid investment, or even if I didn’t, it’s a lot easier to sell a bigger house these days.”

“You are so sensible.”

“Too sensible for this,” She laughed. “Maybe that’s why I was never gone on marriage, the waste of money.”

“Is that how you feel still?” Tom looked at her worried. “Why did you say yes?”

“I want to marry you,” Danielle stated immediately, Tom said nothing whilst waiting for her to make explain what she meant. “I didn’t say that right, what I meant to say was perhaps that’s why marriage was never something overly appealing to me before, the dislike of the financial part of it. I always thought it to be an unnecessarily expensive endeavour; I still do, as you can see but I do want to be married to you. I just don’t want to spend twenty thousand euro doing it.”

“Why did you pick that number?”

“The average cost of a wedding in Ireland is twenty-one thousand euro.” She informed him.

“Can you imagine how cheap and expensive some people make their day?”

“Well, Ashford castle is about an hour from here and that’s actually one of the most expensive locations to get married in the country, so…”

“Where?”

“It’s where Rory McIlroy and Pierce Brosnan both got married, very exclusive,” Danielle commented, not paying too much heed to him until she realised Tom was on his phone. “What are you doing?”

“Checking something.”

“Tom...don't even think about it.”

“I am just looking.”

“Tom!”

“Which is closer the church?” Danielle said nothing. “Elle…”

“No, we are not considering it. I don’t even know why we are considering this, this is all crazy.”

“I just want it all to be incredible, so when I am ringing you from a set saying reshoots are going to be another few days and miss that party we had planned, you can remember I am not actually a bad husband.” He explained as they walked towards the front door of the abbey as the rain began to fall again.

Danielle rolled her eyes as she listened to him. “I don’t need a fancy wedding venue for that.”

“I know, but it may help.” Tom held the door for her as they walked inside.

As soon as they did, it appeared that the manager was eagerly waiting for them and rushed over to them, a woman behind him with a file of some manner with her. “Mr Hiddleston, Ms Hughes, how wonderful to meet you, I am MacDaragh Canty, I am the manager here and this is Aoife Zeigler, our events coordinator.” He introduced them. “We are so honoured you have considered us for your wedding.”

“Thank you.” Tom smiled, shaking the man’s hand. “Elle was saying this place was beautiful but I have to admit, I think she sold you short.”

“Thank you. We try to keep it looking well. I will allow Aoife to take you around and discuss different aspects of the building with you, she is very knowledgeable on the building and grounds and has practically every name of note that you could want from florists to chocolatiers regarding a function to hand and if you wish to discuss anything with me, please, do not hesitate to ask and I will be at your service.”

“Thank you,” Tom repeated before looking to the woman in front of them who had yet to speak as the man walked away to deal with another matter.

“Follow me please.” She ushered them to the edge of the foyer and began to discuss the different manners in which guests would be welcomed and other such things as she walked through the building with them.

For the most of an hour, Aoife went through everything with them, talking about extra security measures they could put in place, all things considered. After it all, they sat and discussed the cost of everything. More than once, Tom felt Danielle’s shock beside him, knowing she did not want to pay so much for the day but he rubbed her hand slightly to have her remember that this was not an issue for them.

“And would you be getting married at the church here?” Aoife asked.

“No, my parish one, it’s halfway between here and Galway.”

“Right, so you are talking an arrival time of about four then, or do you want the pictures here?”

“More than likely here.”

“Okay, well, we can take all that into account, we also need to make note of dietary needs. Any allergens?”

“Gluten sensitivity, dairy sensitivity, a few vegetarians and two vegans are the major ones.”

“Okay, so if we make the meals for all of the vegetarians vegan, we can ensure the meal is satisfactory for all of them, as regards the sensitivities, we will treat them as allergies and keep their food separate, the best thing to do would be to prepare them near but not next to the vegan food, for obvious reasons.”

“Thank you.” Danielle smiled.

“So, do you want to make a reservation now or think it over?”

“We would actually like to take the night to consider it.” Tom declared. Internally, Danielle frowned but did not let it show for fear that it would force Tom to say something aloud he did not wish to discuss. “We are staying nearby so we can sort the deposit tomorrow if required.”

“Perfect, thank you very much for your considering us. I am the only one to have the dates you discussed with us, so do not worry about it becoming public knowledge, I understand that these things are a concern for you both but we will not permit that information to become public knowledge.”

“Thank you, we appreciate that.” Danielle smiled.

They walked to the car and said nothing to one another as they got in, Danielle startled that Tom took the driver’s side, but she sat into the passenger side and watched as Tom chuckled as he pulled the driver’s seat back so he could actually get into the car properly. “So...is there a reason you are not booking?”

“Yes, the fact you are speaking about me saying yes and not us.”

“I just don’t know.”

“What don’t you feel is right?”

“I am not sure.”

“Talk to me.”

“I don’t know. I just am not blown away by it.”

“Okay, well, that’s why we’re here. We’ll get something that you do actually want,” Tom commented as he drove out the gate

“It’s not all about me.”

“No, there are two of us in it but I don’t want to say yes to somewhere, pay a considerable sum of money and for you to look back at not have the biggest smile possible at the thought of the day. I like it but if you don’t.”

“Tom, we could get married in a registry office in London, Cork, Galway, fuck even Ballinasloe and I would be happy, as long as I get to call you my husband at the end of it. I would get married today, in these clothes, half wet and no make-up just to be married to you, it’s not the place or the cost, it’s the fact that in twenty years time, when I have long fucking forgotten what we even ate at the wedding, that I get to see the band on my finger and remember that it is there because I am married to you, that is what matters. When some post comes through the door saying ‘Danielle Hiddleston’ or when people call us Mr and Mrs Hiddleston and it’s not an error, that’s what I want. I don’t care about a venue in the grand scheme of things. That’s not what we are doing this for. I don’t care about the wedding, I care about having a good marriage to the man I love who will call me to tell me he is stuck doing reshoots for a few more days so I have to go to a party by myself and when I roll my eyes, I wonder why I married him in the first place, that is all that matters.” She explained.

Tom stared at her wide-eyed, processing everything before one part of it stuck out above everything else, causing him to pull in for a moment. “Danielle Hiddleston? You would take my name?”

“Yes, why?” In everything, she had not thought that something to focus on.

“You...really?”

“Yes,” She nodded, thinking it an odd thing to say before looking at him. “Would you want me not to?”

“I never thought you would want to.”

“Why wouldn’t I take my husband’s name?”

“Well, you’re a very independent woman, you are getting your name for your work, changing it because of getting married and with how other women keep their name for that reason.”

“Well, that’s their choice, I would like to take yours. I always liked the way families are traced through it and if we have kids, I rather have the same surname as them and their father.”

Tom said nothing in return, he simply leant over and kissed her with as much passion as he could muster at her declaration.

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Hi! :D I thought I wanna try my luck with requesting, as the first thing I do every morning is checking Tumblr for new updates from you! I know it might have its flaws, but overall, I hope it’s okay, do-able and not too confusing! - Jaskier and Y/N are old friends/acquaintances and whenever he visits them, he raves about his travels with Geralt and dream of visiting the coast someday. Over time, this makes Y/N really sad, as they suddenly can’t get near the coast, up into mountains [1/2]

or into the woods without getting really sick, so they stay safely at home. Jaskier doesn’t like them hurt and asks Geralt for help. Long story short: During one of their travels they met a sorceress who fell in love with Jaskier, but saw that he was hopelessly in love with Y/N (he thinks it’s an unrequired love) and out of jealousy and spite the sorceress cursed Y/N, so that they may never (again) accompany him while he does what he loves. I have no idea for the ending though, sorry! [2/2]

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 1,526Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @kemmastan a/n: I hope this is close to what you were picturing and that you like the ending I gave it! Thanks!

“Do you think I should buy a horse? I’ve given up on Geralt ever letting me ride Roach unless I am literally at death’s door, and I’ve learned that mountains are hell on foot,” Jaskier said as he stared idly at a horse being auctioned.

“I think it may be cheaper to get a more suitable set of boots,” you said, eyeing the fashionable but not very sturdy pair he wore today. Jaskier glanced down and then back up at you with a perplexed expression.

“The aesthetic, Y/N,” he said simply but then, “Well, perhaps you’re right. What would you do?”

The smile on your face fell away before Jaskier could think about the words he’d said, already regretting them. You turned and suddenly became very interested in a rusty dagger that was being sold as “antique.”

“I don’t think it really matters what I would do. Would’ve done,” you corrected.

There was a time when these supply shopping expeditions were for you as much as Jaskier, but that was back when you could go with them. Now if you left the boundaries of your town you grew ill, a fever striking you suddenly and a great dizzy spell. You’d tried to push past it but you’d begun to cough up blood. Once back home the symptoms ebbed away before a healer could be brought.

“It may again one day,” Jaskier said, reaching out to take your hand, squeezing it encouragingly, “Geralt told me that he’d investigate the issue. He’s reached out to Triss and she may have answers for us yet!”

“But what if the answer is that this is just how life is for me now?” you asked, voicing the fears you’d been holding quietly inside for months.

“Well… I just simply refuse to believe it!” Jaskier insisted, jutting his chin out defiantly. You smiled faintly at his determination and turned back to the horses.

“If you do get one, it won’t be one of those,” you remarked, “It has a bad temperament. I can tell.”

“So does Geralt but I manage with him alright,” Jaskier joked.

“Hmm.”

Both of you jumped from the sound behind you and you found Geralt scowling at Jaskier, arms crossed in front of him. Though he glared you could see a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“Geralt! We were just talking about you!” Jaskier exclaimed.

“Mmhmm.”

“Geralt, have you heard from Triss?” you asked, more excited that you wanted to be. You tried to keep your hopes from getting too high but you wanted so desperately to find a cure. Jaskier had been talking more about the coast recently, his dream vacation, and you wanted to go with him and see his face light up as he stepped foot in the ocean.

“Let’s talk,” Geralt said and then walked off towards your usual tavern, Jaskier and you following behind.

—–

“Who?”

“Gwynen Trostt,” Geralt repeated. Jaskier’s brow furrowed as he thought hard, trying to conjure a face that matched with the name but coming up empty.

“I simply don’t remember her, Geralt, but what on earth would she have against Y/N?” Jaskier asked. Geralt glanced at your anxious face and back to Jaskier’s confused one, trying to decide how to phrase this delicately. This was never his strong suit. He’d tried to convince Triss to come back with him to explain but she’d refused, stating she had no desire in meddling with these matters. Magic was one thing, love was a different beast altogether.

“It appears she recognized some… affection you held for Y/N and grew jealous,” Geralt said. Jaskier paled slightly as you scoffed.

“But that’s ridiculous! Jaskier isn’t in love with me!” you exclaimed. Jaskier could feel Geralt’s eyes on him and moments later, yours as well. He knew he could deny it but he’d already taken too long to speak.

“What of it?” he asked defiantly. Geralt sighed and Jaskier could hear his judgment but as far as Jaskier was concerned, Geralt had no room to talk about the ways someone shared their emotions.

“She’s cursed,” Geralt said simply. He’d planned on breaking the news slowly and carefully but you were still so stunned by Jaskier’s casual declaration of love he counted on it hardly glancing off of you. He’d counted right.

“What are the parameters of the curse? She can’t go places now?” Jaskier asked.

“Hmm,” Geralt confirmed. He glanced over to see how you were taking it but you still stared at Jaskier.

“You… hold affection for me?” you said finally, unable to make your mouth for the much shorter word.

Geralt rose from the table and walked away towards the bar, leaving you and Jaskier alone at the little table, facing each other.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, perhaps I should have told you sooner, perhaps never at all… I had no idea this would cause you pain. In fact that’s exactly what I was trying to avoid,” Jaskier said.

“Are you daft?” you asked. Jaskier’s pale blue eyes filled with hurt and you shook your head.

“Jaskier, no, I’m not… I’m not upset that you…” your voice trailed off, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

“Love…”

“Love me, gods no how could I? That’s the best thing I ever heard!” you exclaimed.

“But you’re trapped because of it,” Jaskier argued, “And- wait, sorry, does that mean you love me too?”

You opened your mouth to reply but couldn’t find any words that would do your feelings justice so instead you closed the distance between you and pressed your lips against his. His arms wrapped around you and he moved into the kiss, deepening it. You pulled back and gave him a small smile.

“Does that answer your question?” you asked.

“Hmm…. No. I think I need a repeat,” he replied. You rolled your eyes and moved in but suddenly you felt the strangest sensation. You paused, resting your hand on the table and Jaskier watched you with concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I just feel… I don’t know how to describe it. I feel off,” you said.

“Oh gods it’s the curse isn’t it? Geralt? Geralt!” Jaskier cried. The witcher snapped his attention back to them and ran over as quickly as he could despite you trying to wave him away.

“No I’m fine I’m not hurt or anything I just…,” your eyes rose to Jaskier’s, a solemn but intent look in your eyes, “I need to leave this town right now.”

Before Jaskier could respond you had risen and were hurrying out the door. The two men looked at each other in confusion for a moment and then scrambled after you.

“Y/N what are you doing?” Jaskier cried.

“Just trust me,” you called over your shoulder.

“But the curse!”

Geralt ran out in front of you and you shared a silent look. Jaskier had almost caught up with the two of you but saw Geralt nod once before whistling for Roach.

“Gods, thank you Geralt, alright back we go,” Jaskier said, taking your arm as Roach rode up. Jaskier had turned back towards the inn when he felt your arm be pulled out of his and spun to find you on Roach’s back behind Geralt.

“What in the gods’ name are you doing?” Jaskier cried.

“Just trust me,” you repeated. Roach took off and Jaskier ran behind. He fell farther and farther behind but never stopped, following the sound of hoofbeats, knowing exactly where you were going, fear fueling his steps to move faster than they ever had before. By the time he caught up with you he found you standing in the road, Geralt beside you.

“Jaskier,” you said, looking back at him, happy tears shining in your eyes, “Look.”

You took a step back over the line dividing the town and the rest of the world and Jaskier watched with bated breath for… anything.

“You feel alright?” he asked, moving towards you. You nodded in reply.

“I want to go farther,” you said, “Come.”

You held out a hand and he moved to take it, exchanging a worried glance with Geralt. You and Jaskier walked hand in hand, going nowhere in particular. Jaskier continued to look back nervously as they moved farther and farther away from the boundaries of the town but finally when it was no longer in sight and you still smiled at him, symptomless, he pulled you in for a happy embrace.

“How?” he breathed, “I don’t really care how but… how?”

“True love’s first kiss,” Geralt’s voice came, leading Roach with him.

“Of course,” Jaskier said with a little laugh, “Gods how stupid I’ve been.”

“Not stupid, just… uncharacteristically cautious,” you said.

“Well let that be a lesson to me. From now on Jaskier de Lettenhove throws caution to the wind!” Jaskier declared.

“Hmm.”

“So,” you said, “Where to now?”

“Well the hunt is-”

“The coast,” Geralt said. Jaskier’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked at the witcher.

“What?”

“The coast,” Geralt repeated. He began to ride off, offering no further explanation or direction, and you took Jaskier’s hand in yours, pulling his attention back to you.

“Let’s go, Jaskier, adventure is waiting.”

[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass: 01

Read along on AO3 here.

Summary:  Thrawn brings Ezra Bridger back to the Ascendancy and finds himself in a role that brings everything full circle. Now the attaché to the only Human Skywalker in the Ascendancy, Thrawn has to adapt to his new role while trying to figure out why his new commanding officer, former aide-de-camp, and long time friend Eli Vanto will not speak to him.

Pairing: Thrawn | Mitth’raw’nuruodo / Eli Vanto

(A multi-chapter story without a concrete update schedule. This is a side project I really wanted to start sharing.)

>> Next Chapter >>

The courtyard was beautiful in an ethereal way. The plants were like ice, almost, crystalline and fragile-seeming. Ezra had been instructed not to touch them, so he refrained. It was tempting, though.

The cross breeze caught him by surprise, though. He shivered. The interior of the building was supposedly warm by Chiss standards, or so he'd been told. To Ezra, it even seemed comfortable now, compared to the outside.

Not far from him, inspecting the scrolling face of a frost-colored tree, stood Thrawn. "They are treating you well?" He asked without turning to face the younger Jedi.

"Well enough," Ezra shrugged.

He'd spent the last five days being interrogated by miscellaneous Chiss officers. They were polite, though he could tell they weren't entirely thrilled about a human in their midst. They were exceedingly interested in the extent of his abilities as a Jedi, though, and each person who had spoken to him had been accompanied by a young girl - a different one, each time - who Ezra could feel within the living Force.

As for Thrawn, he had acted as Ezra's translator upon their initial arrival. Not long after, they'd been separated. Apparently Thrawn was to be debriefed while he was subjected to questioning. The Chiss, to their credit, hadn't treated Ezra like a prisoner so far, but he wasn't stupid. This was the Unknown Regions. He had no idea where he was or where to go even if he did manage to get his hands on a ship. Hyperspace lanes didn't exist out here. He couldn't just plug in coordinates for Lothal and go home...

Besides: Thrawn had asked him to consider helping the Chiss. Thrawn, Ezra marveled, who never asked his enemies for anything. Though, they hadn't killed each other, despite everything leading to their arrival… wherever this was, exactly. In fact, Ezra got the feeling that Thrawn might respect him. Just a little. And even if he didn't, it didn't mean every Chiss had to answer for his transgressions. So, Ezra agreed to hear them out. He hadn't agreed to the lengthy interrogation, but supposed he should have expected as much.

"The language barrier has not been too difficult to navigate?"

"I mean, they probably would do better with a translator," He supposed. For sake of keeping things civil, Ezra let his snide remark about how he wouldn't trust Thrawn to translate for him anyway dissipate on his tongue. "I think they understood most of what I said."

Thrawn nodded, but said nothing else.

The wind picked up again. He pulled his jacket - made of an unknown, thin black material that seemed sturdy but didn't do much against the cold - tighter around himself.

"How do you people - er, the Chiss," Ezra corrected, "Deal with this?" He asked, doing his best not to tremble. "It's freezing out here."

There was no sound but the wind for a while. It figured that Thrawn would stop answering once it suited him, but then again, he didn't have to. Someone else did.

"Didn't do a very good job of warnin' me about it either," They said. Their Basic was accentuated, but not like the Chiss. It sounded familiar. The tone was inviting, as if the speaker were smiling as he elaborated, "The cold."

Ezra didn't turn around just yet. He reached out with the Force, trying to anticipate if this was some kind of test. He flinched in surprise, suddenly realizing that the man behind him wasn't Chiss at all! He wasn't even Force sensitive. Ezra couldn't believe it, having to whirl around to see it with his own two eyes.

"You're… human?!"

The man laughed. It was warm. It reminded Ezra of sunshine. "I am," He said, and the Wild Space twang seemed so much more pronounced now that Ezra had a face to match against the sound.

Ezra inspected the man who stood across the small courtyard in one of the arching entryways. The man was older than him. His hair was the color of Lothalian sand, dark brown with the faintest glint of lighter pieces, blonde and tan. There might have been some hints of gray in there, but not in any real pattern. His eyes crinkled at the outer corners, just a little. Based on that, he presumed the man to be at least twice his age, somewhere between late thirties to mid forties.

More than that, he felt something shift beside him in the Force. The man didn't even look at Thrawn, though, so the strange lurch, like a dissonant chord plucked on a harp, made little sense. Nothing had happened. Thrawn hadn’t so much as moved, and the newcomer’s gaze was intently resting on Ezra. "If you can believe it, it's almost the end of spring.” Apologetically, he continued, “Though, it's not much warmer here in the summer."

The young Jedi resisted pulling a face, instead looking to Thrawn. Thrawn, who was now staring at the older human so intensely that Ezra thought for a moment he might be in shock. Still no eye contact though, the guy seemed content to ignore him. Snidely, Ezra felt a perverse pleasure at that. The man had an easy confidence about him from his bright brown eyes and a comfortable posture in his all black uniform. He looked at home here, though this could hardly be his homeworld.

"So are you the next one to question me?" Ezra asked. Thrawn finally peeled his stare from the other man to regard him with no shortage of unimpressed and well contained distaste. Whatever uneasy feeling - Ezra couldn’t believe that it was the Force reacting to Thrawn, the man was always stone faced and in control even when his life was in jeopardy - had passed.

"No, that won't be necessary. I was asked to walk you both back to the meeting room. I believe they've decided what to do with you."

-/

The panel was made up of a well rounded group. Military officers, a syndic from one of the more prominent ruling families, even someone who appears to be some sort of clinician. At the center sat Ar'alani, her lips pressed thin and her expression somber.

For them, it could mean anything. Thrawn does not expect bad news, he had not gotten the sense that they were particularly angry. Wary, perhaps. The door remained open a moment longer than necessary, making him wonder if Vanto's lingering would break the silence, his commanding officer issuing a sharp reprimand.

It did not. Small, near silent footsteps became audible as a young girl - a Navigator, he suspected by her age and uniform - stepped in and moved to stand beside Ezra Bridger, seated to his left. The door closed behind them and there was no further sound to indicate that Vanto lingered behind them, permitted to listen. He must have slipped out as the solemn young woman entered.

The seat beside Ar'alani - to her left and his right - remained empty, yet the navigator did not move from her location next to Ezra.

“I will translate for you, Ezra Bridger,” The girl said in softly accented but obviously fluent Basic.

Ezra’s shoulders rose sharply and he turned his eyes to the young Chiss. “You? But during the-”

Ar’alani called them to order, interrupting the young Jedi with the raise of her hand, palm out. “We do not… lay our cards out all at once,” She also spoke in Basic, though it was far more accent-laiden. She looked over Thrawn’s head at the door for a moment with purpose. Switching to Cheunh, her voice becomes more refined, elegant and sharp with the expectation of being listened to. Ezra sneaked a look at Thrawn. He was coiled tightly in anticipation, very obviously preparing to realign whatever his plans were with what the panel had decided.

“This panel has come to a decision regarding what to do with you, Mitth’raw’nuruodo, as well as the Human Skywalker, Ezra Bridger.” The Navigator speaks softly to Ezra, her voice a gentle chime, almost an echo. Thrawn could only make out his posture from the corner of his eye, but the young Human was rigid and at attention. Despite what his translator said to him, his eyes were trained on the Chiss Admiral as she spoke. “It was not an easy deliberation. Your actions under the employ Empire are…” She trailed off. “Concerning.”

Thrawn does not interrupt, but the question must burn in his eyes.

The Chiss woman narrowed her bright red eyes. “We recognize that it is not easy to navigate serving both sides,” She said, considering. “There are expectations that must be met. However,” Her eyes cut to Ezra. He does not shy from it, meeting her head on. “You ordered an assault on civilians, not to mention what your Emperor requested for you to do to the Skywalker...” She looked up toward the door again. Ezra followed her gaze, confusion written into his face, but whatever he saw did not draw a reaction. “It is one of the highest crimes. For all that you have questioned in your service to the Empire, all that you have undermined in what you’ve sworn was your dedication to the greater good,” She frowned. “That you would be capable of this-”

“You take him at his word?”

Ezra’s face is blank, and he does not argue. Perhaps it is because of the young woman speaking softly into his ear in Basic, but perhaps it is because he knows something Thrawn does not.

“I did not need his word,” Ar’alani admitted. “You have spoken for yourself. Any incrimination is your own.”

“I have spoken nothing but the truth.”

“And so has the Skywalker.” She leaned forward ever so slightly, addressing Thrawn directly. “What do you think of your actions, Mitth’raw’nuruodo? Do you believe them to bring honor to the Ascendancy?”

He does not speak, even when the rest of the room waits for him to answer.

Ar’alani seemed to look past him, appraising and cool. “You are not a fool. There could have been another way.”

“Not to stop the alternative project being developed by the Empire.”

“Your mission,” Ar’alani snapped, “Was not to save the Galactic Empire from its Emperor’s wiles, just as it was not act as an accomplice to their utter destruction of the remaining Jedi. Your mission was to determine if the Galactic Empire was strong enough to be our allies in the wars to come.”

“It is not,” Thrawn said.

“We are aware,” She replied tersely. “And so remains what to do with you.” She steepled her fingers in front of her, elbows on the dark table. “Do you have an opinion of that?”

“I am a warrior,” Thrawn answered. “First and foremost, as I had hoped to have demonstrated,” It’s as much of a defense as he allowed himself, “I serve the Ascendency above all else. My service to the Galactic Empire was meant to help cultivate meaningful relations in the future with a secure government. I carried out the orders I was assigned to that end.”

“The Emperor did not ask you to fire on the innocent beings of Lothal.”

“The Emperor implored me to do whatever it took, as I have said.” His words remain measured and careful, even weight distributed throughout.

The Navigator’s puzzlement stole over her face halfway through her words. “The Emperor-” She looked to the door behind both men. “Tacahn?”

“'Implored,'” Came the reply in a steely Wild Space lilt.

Thrawn flinched microscopically. Eyes were drawn to him like predators scenting blood. All except Ezra, whose gaze shifted from surprise to very obvious concern.

“Ivant,” Ar’alani motioned to the chair beside her as if bored. “If you would.”

His footsteps are even and militaristic. His shoulders are back, posture strong and unyielding. He does not look infuriated or angry, there is no facial heat, no obvious tells. He is completely impassive and that might be what is the most frightening part.

To the human, the Admiral asked, “Would you have obeyed him if he gave you this order?”

“He knows I would not,” Ivant said, meeting Thrawn’s gaze for the first time in a very, very long while. His eyes are hard.

“This council has considered many arrangements,” Ar’alani said. There is a chance Thrawn does not hear her until the human officer dips his head to remind the Navigator to translate when she takes too long. “No being would take orders from a being who does not show his dedication to the Ascendency’s best interests.” She rose from her seat, looming above the former Grand Admiral, “Which is why you will not be in command. This council demands that you assist the Human Skywalker Ezra Bridger to assimilate into the Assendency’s ranks as he has agreed to remain with us at this juncture. You will teach him our language and translate for him until he displays mastery, and correct any other deficiencies identified. You will share in his successes and in his failures, and be responsible for them as if he is an extension of your own being.”

Thrawn does not react. His words betray no emotion. “Am I correct to assume this task will continue indefinitely?”

“A smaller committee will convene at regular intervals to discuss your progress. Ezra Bridger.” Her next words are in Basic, “You will report to Captain Ivant of the Warship Compass.” Ar’alani nodded and Ivant rose, earning Thrawn’s attention the entire way. “The Skywalkers have been looking forward to meeting you.”

“We believe,” Ivant spoke evenly, in a command tone that had the warmth behind it his eyes lacked, “That you will be of great help to our Skywalker Program.”

“You may go, Jedi Bridger” Ar’alani said, dismissing him. “There is one other item that we must address with Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

“Come,” The Navigator motions for him to rise so Ezra does. “You will collect your things and I will take you to the shuttle.”

Ezra regarded the committee. “Shouldn’t my…” He struggled to parse the right designation, “My attaché stay with me?”

The Navigator translated, struggling similarly with the term. Ivant corrected her kindly, taking over. His reply came, once again, in Basic. “If you do not trust the Navigator, I will accompany you myself.”

“No,” Ezra said, holding up both hands. “I just-”

“You need not worry about me,” Thrawn interjected tersely.

“You’re kind of making that difficult,” Ezra murmured back. “You’re acting strangely, even for you.”

“Navigator Un’hee,” Ivant said, switching back to Cheunh and ignoring whatever exchange was occurring between Ezra and Thrawn. “Please retrieve Syndic Mitth’ras’safis. Give him my regards as well as my apologies that I will not be able to retrieve him personally.”

“Yes sir,” The Navigator snapped to attention, quick to follow orders.

“Bridger,” Ivant cast his gaze from the Jedi to the door closing silently behind the Navigator. “With me.”

“You could ask to be dismissed, Captain.”

“You’d prefer me to be long gone before Thrass arrives,” Ivant said. No one bothered to contest it. “This is enough of a farce already.”

“So it is,” Ar’alani supposed. “Go.”

He inclined his head to her respectfully, stepping around the rest of the silent council.

“Admiral.”

She did not smile, but it is apparent that his actions met with her approval. "Captain."

Ezra looked to Thrawn one last time. “You’re sure.”

“Listen to your commanding officer,” Thrawn instructed. Whatever Ezra was apparently reading off him through the Force must conflict with his words, forcing the Chiss to continue. “Apparently I am to meet with my brother.”