#i am once again begging my moots to watch this show

[bakugosbratx]

NSFW 18+ The Assistant— AU Levi Ackerman x Fem! Reader

Warning: 18+ Content. Smut, degrading, cursing, punishment, dom levi, sub reader, bondage, bdsm, some angst, toxic relationship, spanking, cheating, etc.

Words: 3, 673

Check out my other works here

A/N: Me and my irl moot @idfkwtfgof came up with this idea so I decided to write it out. Enjoy this fifty shades of gray moment. I’ve been working on this for over a month 🙃 I’m sorry it took me forever.

Tags: @idfkwtfgof @awilddreamerwrites @peachsenpie

You take a deep breath as you approached the double doors in front of you. Your heart pounded against your rib cage. The silent hallways seemed to be echoing the thumps. Anyone in your position would be nervous too if they had to meet with the CEO of the Ackerman Industries. He was not one to enjoy much company nor request it. His gaze alone could intimidate the strongest of people and you are no different.

Fist resting on the wooden door in front of you, you hesitate, but close your eyes and knock anyway. You did not hear a response as you patiently wait. Instead, the door swings open to be met with the CEO himself, Levi Ackerman. Not a word was spoken, but he ushered you inside his huge office.

Scurrying, you slightly jump as you heard the huge door slam. You are in Levi’s office. Only businessmen and women are allowed in here. You feel not even worthy to be stepping on the same floor these successful people walk on. It could also be the fact that the office seemed spotless. For someone as busy as the CEO, he sure did know how to make a stack of papers seem neat in a stack.

“Sit.” Levi instructed as he strolled over to his desk chair and doing the said action. You looked around the room. Behind Levi is a wall of windows to overlook the city of New York. His desk his a beautiful dark brown that was so clean that you could see your reflection. Along with seeing your reflection, you can see —and feel— Levi starring at you. Meeting his silver orbs, you gulp.

“Do you know why I called you in here, Y/N?” Levi questioned, his tone remaining calm as always. Somehow, this intimidated you even more.

“No, sir, I don’t.” You admit. In all honesty, you are not sure why Levi called you into his office. He waited until almost everyone has gone home for the evening to set up this meeting. You have felt nauseous all day about it. Receiving an email from the CEO was enough to make anyone’s breath hitch, but to have a meeting — alone — with him is enough to make one soil themselves.

“I want to offer you a promotion,” Levi explained, his gaze hardening. “That is, if you want it?”

This is way better news than you expected. Levi has employees for a reason. He always calls the shots since it is his million dollar company, but why get his hands dirty when he can pay people to do it for him? Since no one is allowed in his office without special permission, this seemed a bit off.

“What does the job intel?”

“Well, my company is expanding even larger than anticipated this year. I need a personal assistant. Examining the work you have put in over the years, I decided you are cut out for the job. What do you say?”

You take a moment to contemplate his words. The offer is amazing and would definitely look great on your resume, but working so close to the CEO of the company is quite intimidating. Any bad habits you have developed better end swiftly or else it’s your job on the line. Levi is not afraid to terminate anyone not fit for the job.

“I’ll take it.” You smile, the words flowing out before you could even think any further.

“You start tomorrow. I expect you in my office 8am sharp. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re dismissed.”

Standing up, you straighten out your black pencil skirt and head your way towards the door. Levi’s eyes did not once leave your figure. The way you naturally sway your hips as you walk and the way the skirt hugged your hips just right. His eyes are enjoying the desires most men have yet when you turned to look over your shoulder, his eyes where focused on his paperwork.

You went home that night, excited to tell your significant other about your promotion. He did not even blink an eye in your direction. Instead, he is pissed that you are home later than normal.

“Babe—“

“Where the hell have you been?” He hissed.

“I-I was called into the CEO’s office. I got a promotion!” You stammered, nervous under your boyfriend’s glare. He always made you feel small and his anger tends to send you over the edge. This is one of those many times.

“Why would he have you in there this late? Do you think I’m really that fucking stupid?” He scoffed, shaking his head.

“Babe, I’m being serious. I would never lie to you.” You argued.

“And how do I know that?” He countered. “How am I certain that you aren’t cheating on me? Or even hurt? Are your damn thumbs broken, Y/N? Can’t keep me updated ‘bout what’s going on? I was worried sick about you.”

You let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, babe. I’ll do better.”

Your boyfriend walked over to you, embracing your body into a tight hug. You had so much more to say, but to prevent any further escalation of an argument, you apologized and kept your mouth shut.

The next morning arrived. You woke up extra early to have time to do your hair and makeup, dressed in your nicest attire, and wear the most expensive of jewelry. Since you are going to be around the CEO for now on, you cannot show up to work appearing sluggish. You gave yourself one last look in the mirror, your boyfriend leaning against the doorframe.

“Dressed quite nicely, huh?” He spoke, meeting your eyes through the mirror. You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat.

“I have to be.”

He stayed silent for a moment, his orbs tracing your figure. He hated when you showed confidence. It killed him inside and knowing that other men saw your beauty as well made his blood boil. He just has to ruin it.

“For the circus? Your makeup looks awful and your hair is tremendous.” He scoffed.

You bit your bottom lip. Tears welled in your eyes, but you prevented them from falling. You refuse to let him ruin your confidence. You are a strong woman and his insecurities shouldn’t be placed upon you. It is not your baggage to carry.

You meet his eyes again through the mirror. You feel your confidence crumble beneath you, but you remain strong. Turning around, you brush past him as you stroll out of the bathroom. You ignored him calling your name and demanding you to return. All he could do is watch as you left without even saying goodbye.

You arrived to the business earlier than expected. You have checked your hair and makeup more than once in the car review mirror. You are not necessarily even wanting Levi’s approval, — though he is quite handsome — you just want to look presentable. He is your boss, after all. He is not afraid to fire anyone on the spot. You are no exception.

Inhaling a sharp breath, you knock on Levi’s office door. You hear his approval to come inside and welcome yourself inside. You were not even receive a glance as you closed the door behind you. Levi’s gray orbs never left his monitor screen. You gulp nervously as you proceed towards his desk.

“I stopped to get some coffee. I brought you a tea,” you lay his cup on his desk, “just how you like it.”

He nods, still typing away. This did not help your anxiety at all. Is he regretting his decision making you his assistant? Are you disturbing him? Is he contemplating firing you? Your stomach turned at the thought.

The sound of the printer disturbed your nuisance thoughts. Levi grabbed the piece of paper and placed it on top of a neat stack. He stands up, finally looking at you.

“I have a meeting to attend to in an hour. I need these documents assorted in alphabetical order before then.”

Your eyes fall to the tall stack of papers. You definitely need more than an hour to get through them all. By Levi’s facial expression, you knew he was serious. Levi always looked serious.

“Yes, sir,” you grab the stack and meet his a gaze again, “I’ll get it done swiftly.”

“Good. I’m counting on you. Sit over there.” He orders, glancing at the couches and coffee table in the middle of his office. Maybe it is just your nerves, but his workspace seems bigger than remembered. This did not help your anxiety.

You began getting to work. You thought you are doing well on time, but time seemed to have passed you by. Levi is now towering over you, his unsatisfied silver orbs glaring down at you. You hesitate, but force yourself to meet them.

“Thought you said you would have this done?” Levi recalls.

“I-I’m really sorry, s-sir.” You stammered, expecting the worse.

“Sorry doesn’t sort the papers, Y/N.” He scolds, his silver eyes only being shown through slits.

“I—“

“We will discuss this after my meeting. Until then, I want my office spotless.” Levi continues, cutting you off. He begins walking towards the door and pauses once he reaches for the handle. “Oh and Y/N?”

You look up, meeting the CEO’s annoyed orbs. “Yes, sir?”

“You’re on strike one.” Levi warns. You did not even have a chance to ask questions as his office door slams shut behind him, leaving you alone to sulk in your thoughts.

You tidied up Levi’s office like he requested of you. Every paper went into its appropriate home, cushions are straightened out, rug is vacuumed, and you are currently dusting. This man is a clean freak by nature so there was not much to do. Still, your nerves were pulsating. This is only day one and you are not on Levi’s good side. You are becoming worrisome as your job is now potentially on the line.

The door opening made you jump. You can feel Levi’s silver orbs on you as you dust his bookshelf. He did not disturb you, though, as he proceeded towards his desk and went to work like nothing happened. Curiosity is begging you to speak, but you remain silent and complete your task.

You gather the cleaning supplies and place them back into the small closet. Returning on the guest side of Levi’s desk, he does not even look up from his monitor.

“I’m finished cleaning, sir.”

Levi did not say anything. Instead, he stood up and went to the window. His fingers grazed along the exterior which collected dust on the tips. He studied it for a moment. Your heart stopped as your breath hitched. You did not mean to forget the windows, but they look so clean already. They truly do not need much more cleaning.

“Seems like you missed a spot.” He remarks, turning to face you.

“I-I’m so sorry, sir. I thought—“

“Your cleaning is lamentable. Back to dusting. Now.” He demands, cleaning the dust off of his fingers with his handkerchief.

“Yes, sir.” You reply, gathering the cleaning supplies once again. You sprayed the windows and clean every inch of them until lunch time. Levi was sure to inspect your work before releasing you to go get something to eat.

“You’re dismissed.” He finally speaks. You are quick to collect your belongings leave his office. You stroll the long hallway to the elevator. You are finally alone with your thoughts and honestly, they were overwhelming. This job is very nerve racking and it’s only your first day. You are not making the best of impressions on your boss.

Digging in your purse, you check your cellphone. You have several missed calls and texts from your significant other. A pit in your stomach began to drown your appetite. You know this is going to cause a major fight between you two. A fight you did not want to participate in.

Reluctantly, you call your boyfriend back. He picks up on the second ring.

“Where the fuck have you been?” He hissed, sending chills down your spine. The elevator doors open and you head towards the cafeteria.

“Working. I can’t be on my phone while I’m—“

“So work is more important than me?” He interrupts.

“What? No. That’s not it at all.” You argued, picking up a bag of chips and a drink from the dispensers before checking out.

“Then answer my damn calls, Y/N!”

“I can’t when I’m at work!” You exclaimed. You hand the cashier money before mouthing the words ‘thank you.’ She gave you a worried look, but you disregarded it. This is not the first time that have heard a heated conversation between you and your boyfriend.

You go find an empty table to eat by yourself. The bickering between your boyfriend did not end on a good note as the other line went dead. You slammed your phone back into your purse and forced yourself to eat your chips. You did not even want them. Your relationship is falling through the cracks, you are failing at your job, and you are on the verge of losing what is left of your sanity.

Time really slipped away while you fumed in anger because you are now late to returning to Levi’s office. Tears prickled in your eyes. This is not good at all. Levi is going to be furious. Even possibly firing you.

You raced to his office. You did not even take the elevator as it will take far too long to get to his office. You are panting by the time you arrive and sweat droplets formed at the top of your forehead. Your hands began to shake as your hand rested on the handle. You need to go in there, but your body did not want to move. Your boyfriend is already pissed. You did not want to deal with your furious boss.

Sighing, you forced yourself to go inside. “I am so sorry.” You blurt out as you enter inside. Levi is giving you a disapproving look.

“Take a seat, Y/N. We need to have a talk.”

Following your boss’ orders, you sit in the chair parallel to his. You begin to tremble as you expect the worse. Levi’s glare does not help you feel any less uneasy either. His silver orbs are staring deep into your soul and making you feel small.

“You know you’re on strike three.” Levi begins. You gulp.

“I know, sir. I’m very sorry. I’ll accept any punishment you have in mind for me.” You sigh, trying to remain brave. Levi can see right through it, though. His gaze hardens and he makes his way around to your side of the desk. He folds his arms but does not remove his gaze from you once.

“What punishment do you think you deserve?” Levi ask, hoping you have the same answer in mind as him.

“I-I’m not sure. I’ll take anything. It’s what I deserve.” You admit, a flustered feeling coming across you. Levi studied your features, clicking his tongue.

“Bend over the desk.”

“What?” You whispered, not sure if you heard your boss correctly. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His intimidating glare pierced through you.

“Talking to that lame ass boyfriend of yours must have you goin deaf. I said bend over my desk.” Levi instructs, letting go of your chin once you catch his drift. You do as your told, bending over his desk. You are uncertain what he is planning to do, but the removal of your skirt gave you a pretty good idea. Your cheeks felt hot as your bare ass is now exposed to Levi’s viewing.

“Lace panties, huh? You planned on being put in this position later?” Levi chuckles, his digits playing with the strap of your thong. You bit your bottom lip, not knowing what to say. A hard smack to your bare ass caused you to release a moan.

“I asked you a question. It’s only polite to answer, brat.”

“Yes. It was for my boyfriend.” You confess in embarrassment for more reasons than one.

“Oh, I see. Your toxic little relationship is in need of fixing, but the only thing you have to offer is your pretty little pussy.” Levi analyzes, rubbing his hand on your ass before delivering another slap. You wince in pain, but you mentally screamed for more. You wanted Levi to continue spanking you.

“That’s not it, sir.” You mumbled. His hand landed down on your sore ass once more while the other hand finds refuge in your hair. He pulls it, tightly, bending your head back.

“What really gets me is this mouth of yours. I suggest you use it to tell the truth before I stuff it.” Levi growls lowly in your ear, letting go of your hair to return behind you.

Another slap was delivered. Little melodies of moans escaped your lips that you attempted to conceal. Levi did not comment on it as he proceed with the punishment. Your cunt dripped with your slick. It is begging to be touched, fucked, anything Levi desires really.

A few slaps and a very red ass later, Levi’s digits founder their way inside your soaked cunt. “Someone enjoyed themselves, hm?” He teased, curling his fingers in you. You shuffle a bit, enjoying the sensation he is giving you. The removal of his fingers made you whine in a needy tone.

“I did, Levi. Please fuck me.” You cry, wanting his cock already. He chuckled at your begging, his hand rubbing your red ass then hitting it again.

“On your knees. Now.” Levi demands. You happily oblige before him. He pats your head in approval. “Good girl. You do know how to listen.”

Levi begins unbuckling his black belt. You are practically foaming at the mouth as he slides the leather out of each loop. He sets it on the desk before proceeding to unbuckle his pants, releasing his hard cock for you to pleasure. Your eyes light up at the sight. The tip of his erection is at your lips, ready for you to move forward. Your tongue teases his sensitive head before you let each inch slide in-and-out of your saliva filled mouth.

“Yeah, like that, baby.” Levi praises as you deep throat his length. You choke some, but continue taking all of his cock. Your tongue spends time playing with the veins in his cock while his head relaxes in your throat.

“The cock hungry slut having a hard time deep throating all my cock?” Levi mocks as you pull it out to catch your breath. A string of saliva connected your lips and his cock together as your lust filled orbs met his.

“Not a chance.” You grin, placing his dick back in your mouth. Levi groans in delight as you repeat the same patterns as before. His cock twitches inside your mouth as pre-cum leaks from the tip and down your throat. You gladly swallow it as his cock becomes overwhelmed, releasing his semen onto your tongue. Not a drop was spilled as you milked his cock for all he had to offer.

Pulling away, Levi praises you again. “Such a good little slut you are. Time we give your pussy some attention, huh?”

“Yes, please, sir.” You beg, eagerly. He taps his desk.

“Bend over my desk.” He commands. Following orders, you bend over his desk like before. You arched your back so your ass and pussy is more accessible for Levi. He spreads your legs out more so your weeping cunt is fully exposed. The cold air sent chills down your spine. Levi is already hard again as he stares at your pussy.

Aligning himself, the tip of his cock enters your dripping hole, sliding in perfectly. You moan as he thrust a rough rhythm. His hips slap against your ass and his hands cling onto your hips. You tightly hang onto his desk as he pick up the pace. You sob out pleas for more.

“Better quiet down. Don’t want your coworkers hearing me fuck you like the whore you are now do we?”

You did not even care. You wanted Levi and you wanted him bad. Groans and profanities filled the room from you two as Levi hits all the right spots. You babble incoherent sentences as you start to climax again on Levi’s girth. Your walls clenched on his size and released when he re-enters himself. This does not stop Levi, though, as he chases after his own high.

“Already cumming again, slut?” Levi teases as he is slowly losing himself inside you. He hit your ass again while his dick twitches. “Ask permission next time.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” You cry out, not wanting him to stop. He pulls on your hair again, bending down to whisper in your ear.

“I’m going to fill you up so much that you have to hide it from your boyfriend.”

“Please Levi.” You beg, not even caring anymore. You wanted Levi. You have wanted him for a long time and the feeling is mutual on his end. That is why he hired you, after all.

Levi’s cock could not withstand the pressure anymore. Releasing into the depths of your cunt, he huffs profanities as every drop enters inside of you. You gladly take it as you breathe heavily. He finally pulls out, leaving you a cum filled mess. Giving your ass a gentle tap so you will get up.

“You are dismissed for the day.” Levi grumbled as he situated himself and you did the same. You straightened out your outfit and fixed your hair. You will fix your makeup in the restroom. You proceeded to exit your boss’ office when he called out to you. “Oh, and Y/N?”

“Yes?” You purred, looking over your shoulder.

“Let your boyfriend know you’re my slut now.”

©bakugosbratx

All Rights Reserved

[tenspontaneite]

Peace Is A Journey (Chapter 23/?)

In which a Healer visits her patient, three unfortunate children have a very cold day of travel, and Corvus learns something unexpected during his convalescence.

(Chapter length: 14k. Ao3 link)

Warnings: non-graphic descriptions of respiratory illness, an amputated limb, and non-consensual administration of medical treatment. Discussions of suicide and mercy-killing. Depictions of early stages of adapting to a new physical disability. Mentions of cold-related injury in background characters.

---

A runner came for them early. Early enough that Sarli and her apprentice had barely risen. Seeing as Sarli was not yet presentable, Cairon answered the door; she listened to what little she could glean of the conversation through the walls.

She heard “Yes,” and “yes,” again, and then “I understand. I will tell my master.”

Sarli finished dressing and went out to receive the news. “Well?” she questioned, once her apprentice was within her line of sight, and he straightened.

“The castle requests our attendance to the prisoner at our earliest opportunity,” he reported. “And there is someone to show our way to the new cell waiting outside.”

She considered this, and the urgency it implied. It was fortunate that they had no appointments booked until the afternoon, apparently. “Have they any news of his condition?”

“Sick, and weakening.” Cairon was succinct.

“Unsurprising.” Sarli went to her medicine cabinet and opened it, considering the arrayed items with a careful eye. The infection was surely still persisting, so, something for the reduction of fever. The lilium, of course, for pain. It would be well to bring an anti-inflammatory, too. Perhaps several. And, if the elf persisted with his reticence, then…the needle, too.

She plucked a few vials and bottles from her shelves, then went for the other assorted basics of bandages and disinfectants, and handed some of it off to Cairon to pack while she wrapped the rest. And then there was nothing but for the two of them to leave their House of Healing and follow after their waiting escort.

The elf’s new prison was apparently in a wing of the castle proper; or so she surmised when they did not divert for the dungeons once through the castle gates. She supposed the stipulation of moonlight cut off many of the more secure below-ground options; she had been very clear in specifying that some amount of moonlight must be upon the cell for as close to the entire night as possible. She wondered how they’d managed it.

Once they were through the inner doors, one of the Crownguard took up her escort. “Healer Sarli,” she greeted, with a nod of respect. “If you’ll follow me? Your patient is waiting.”

“Of course,” she said, and so they followed a little further. The castle was well-guarded today, she noted. Very well-guarded. And increasingly so, as they progressed into a wing that did not seem designed for prisoners at all. “Is this not a residential wing?” she asked at last, a little nonplussed by the finery of the halls she crossed. Cairon, too, seemed a little narrow-eyed about the affair, though he did not speak. His eyes marked each and every Crownguard as they walked.

“Diplomatic wing,” corrected their escort; despite her professionalism, there seemed a hint of unease to her countenance. “I’m afraid your stipulations for all-night moonlight access were difficult to manage, Healer. The diplomatic quarters are empty for the moment, and they have always had high security anyway, so it was decided that one of the rooms should be converted for use as a cell. The windows are…larger, here.”

Sarli raised an eyebrow. She supposed there had been no call for the crown-castle to host Moonshadow prisoners before, but even so… “Surely that must have been rather a lot of work.”

“Less than you’d think. It was mostly a matter of replacing the door and putting a cage on the window. And stripping the room, of course.” The Crownguard hesitated for a moment. “It did take the night, though. The prisoner was only moved here two hours ago.”

She paused. “So, then, he has had no moonlight this past night.” Although her tone was neutral, she thought it plain that she was not pleased. Beside her, Cairon looked grim.

“Regretfully, no.”

Sarli pursed her lips, and said nothing more until they reached the cell.

It was apparent when they reached it. The door was thick and iron-banded, adorned with bolts and keyholes and chains. It was a sharp contrast to the finery of the rest of this area of the castle. There were two Crownguard directly outside the door, and several more posted the length of the hallway. Evidently, they were taking no chances with the elf that had slain the King. The effort they’d gone to was testament indeed to how valuable they considered this prisoner.

There was also a man who was certainly not a guard of any sort, waiting for them. He looked up as they neared, eyes sparking with recognition. Clearly, he knew her by the robes. “Healer Sarli,” he greeted, and offered a short bow. “You have been anticipated.”

Sarli stopped across from him and eyed him appraisingly. No sign of military conditioning, but a certain self-assurance to his manner regardless. He seemed sharp-eyed and shrewd, and was dressed smartly in predominantly dark colours. She recognised his like. “There has been no tribunal yet,” she observed, a little startled to see an observer from the Crow Lord’s office here.

He nodded agreeably. “There hasn’t. I believe they aren’t in any particular hurry to hold one either, since it will be a moot point if the elf doesn’t survive the new moon.” The man’s eyes slid from her to Cairon, then back again. “I am Teyron. I will be present for any and all meetings between the prisoner and his guards and visitors of any kind.”

She inspected him. “Seeing if there is anything to glean from non-exceptional measures?” Her voice was dry.

Teyron smiled. “That, too.”

Sarli shook her head. It was like that, was it? Very well, then. She supposed it mattered little to her. Cairon seemed a little confused, though, so she turned to him and said “This is a member of the Crow Lord’s office. He is here to gather information on the prisoner via the passive methods of observation and insight. He is also here to ensure no one attempts covert communication with the prisoner during visits.”

She was watching him closely to be sure he understood, and was satisfied to watch him fall briefly still. “I see,” Cairon said, in the end, eyeing the Crow Lord’s man with some mixture of caution and curiosity. “Is that standard for prisoners of war?”

“It’s standard for prisoners with a covert operations background,” Teyron said affably, and inclined his head to the door. “Shall we?”

“Yes.” Sarli approached the door as one of the Crownguard reached over to slot a thick key into the mechanism. When it was opened, she allowed Teyron and the guards to precede her, then followed without further ado.

She lingered in the doorway for a moment, taking stock of the room. If this had been ambassadors’ housing, she could only imagine it had been for lesser members of a delegation. The place was well-lit, but it was not large. Even stripped of its finery and furniture, it was emphatically not large. A servant’s posting, perhaps? Even such a lowly use was beyond it now. It was utterly bare but for the trappings of a prison. No bed, not even a pallet; but there was a chamber-pot, she was glad to see. That was certainly more than the Lord Protector had provided.

As the Crownguard had said, there had been bars affixed around the broad window of the impromptu cell; the mortar barely looked dry where they penetrated the walls. She thought humourlessly on how much work it would be to rehabilitate this room when it had expunged its use as a prison.

And then there was the prisoner himself. Her patient. The guard had not thought to mention the chains affixed to the wall, but he was well-secured by them. There were cuffs at his neck, both shins, and the surviving arm, all held fast by long chains that coiled around him like darksteel snakes. They seemed to allow him a surprising range of motion, and Sarli guessed that he would easily be able to reposition himself in front of the window, should he desire. And yet, he had made no attempt to do so. Instead he was slumped backwards against the wall, peering narrowly at them; he seemed too weak to hold himself fully upright.

Sarli inspected him in a fast, evaluative moment, then stepped forwards. “You will remember me, I trust,” she said, and approached without ceremony to lay her pack down. Cairon trailed at her heels, silent and watchful. “I am here to continue your treatment.”

The elf did not reply. His eyes slid from her to Cairon, and then to Teyron. There they lingered for a while, dark and suspicious. She supposed he must be aware of what that man represented. At all times, Teyron would be watching for any opening or weakness implied in his reactions. The elf had already been silent and taciturn, and she doubted this would help matters.

So she sighed, and beckoned Cairon over. The Crownguard followed as well, which she noted with some asperity. The territoriality was reflexive; a Healer should not be managed in her treatment of a patient, nor crowded in such an unseemly manner. “Are you a Healer’s assistant as well as Crownguard?” She questioned the woman, annoyance lending sharpness to the words.

“Begging your pardon, Healer,” said the Crownguard. “I am protection. He has sufficient leeway in his chains to attack you.”

“And perhaps that would be a legitimate concern nearer the full moon,” Sarli said. “But for the moment, my patient is so weak he trembles at supporting himself upright, even leaning on a wall. If I cannot stop him, my apprentice will. Step back, if you please.”

Two faces went disgruntled at once: the Crownguard’s, and the elf’s. The latter, she supposed, was unhappy with her entirely accurate characterisation of his weakness.

“As you say, Healer,” The Crownguard conceded, finally, and did step back. Satisfied, Sarli went to her work.

Her first order of business was to give her patient a thorough looking-over. In plain daylight, his inhuman skin-tone was more evident, but the sickly pallor held to it nonetheless. His face was a little too pale, and the shadows beneath his eyes were dark. She felt for his pulse, and found it shallow and laboured. His temperature was somewhat higher than preferable, though not yet dangerously so. She inspected the stump of his arm next, removing the bandages and gauze, and noted that it had healed very little at all. It was not bleeding, but the edges of the wound had made no visible effort at sealing, even as careful as her stitching had been. Sarli saw that it was at least not visibly infected, even if the inflammation was severe. Finally she gestured for the stethoscope and listened to his lungs again. Their condition was more advanced now, though she could have surmised that merely by listening to him breathe.

For his part, the elf bore the examination stoically, flinching only the first time she touched him and then not at all thereafter. At last she sat back and observed him. “Will you take your medicines of your own accord?” she asked, and he blinked slowly at her. There was no hostility in his eyes, only a weary resolution. Outside of the dark, they lacked their uncanny phosphorescence, and seemed a great deal more human.

“I will not,” he rasped, as he had once before. The Crow Lord’s spy watched avidly from the corner.

She inclined her head. “I respect your pride, and your force of will,” she said. “But it is my duty to heal you.”

The elf’s eyes slid briefly to Teyron again. She expected him to remain silent after reminding himself that they were observed, but he surprised her. In that terrible rattling voice, he said “Your duty, to heal one who is already dead.” It was not quite a question, but had the taste of one regardless.

Sarli considered the words, feeling in them some edge of a culture unknown to her. There was significance here that she was not privy to. “I know nothing of the ways of your kind,” she said at last. “If you think you are already dead, then perhaps you are. I cannot heal a corpse. But I am human. If you are not beyond my aid, then the alleviation of your suffering does remain my duty. I will see it done.”

He exhaled, and the sigh would have been silent if not for the crackle of his lungs. He descended into a brief, painful series of wet coughs, then he met her eyes. They were oddly steady. Again, that rasping voice: “I have heard of how human healers alleviate suffering.”

In the corner of her eye, Sarli saw Teyron shift, less with interest than with wariness. She could read the thoughts, there. The elf’s words were not quite an overt invitation of a more permanent mercy, but they skittered close enough that an information specialist might fear what she would do.

And well he should. It would be easy, after all. No one could stop her from mixing the lilium a little too potently. It would spare him his pain. Spare him the suffering of the next few days. Spare him the inevitable torture that would come, should he survive.

Sarli regarded the elf, expressionless. Beside her, Cairon was very still. “You speak of the mercy-killing that a Healer may practice as if you would invite it,” she said, at last, and he made no objection to the words. Just watched her. “You refuse to eat or drink on your own, and accept no medical aid that is not forced upon you. In this regard, you behave as one seeking to die.” Sarli watched him, and nodded to herself. “…But I think that there are limits upon that intention, for you. If you truly wished to end yourself, none could stop you. Yet you have not.” Slow and deliberate, she set the stethoscope fully aside, and reached for her medicines. “If you will not do it yourself, do not ask it of me. I will not be the instrument of your destruction.”

The elf looked away, deliberately taciturn. There was a flicker of frustration in his expression, but nothing else. She wondered if he had been wishing that someone would take the decision from him and enact his death themselves. She wondered if his strange culture, such that it was, forbade direct suicide. Either way, he had not died, and he was not yet upon the nadir of suffering and despair that would see her change that.

Not yet. But she had given the quiet death before, and might well give it again, should there be a need.

Silent, she gestured to Cairon, and received the needle and the lilium from his hands.

“Know this, my patient,” Sarli said finally, and watched the elf’s eyes turn guardedly her way. “Once Mercy becomes a knife, there can be no more Mercy thereafter. But where life persists, there is Hope of change.” The words sat holy upon her tongue, and she lingered for a moment beneath the weight of them. She exhaled, silent, and finished “This is a lesson that the centuries have taught us very well, and that you would do well to learn.” Then she kept at her work, eyes steady on her tools. She did not look for her patient’s reaction.

When she lifted her eyes to regard him, he was very carefully expressionless. If her words had provoked any response in him, he was allowing none of it to his face. Stoicism stared back at her. There was a light tremor in his living arm; she eyed it, finished her assembly of the needle and reservoir, and reached out to prick the skin. He barely twitched as the lilium joined to his blood, soon to bring him the relief from pain that she had promised; but only that. No more. Her Mercy was not yet a knife.

The elf endured the treatments in silence. She had come prepared for the notion that he might not accept medical aid, but even so, the medicines that could be administered to the blood were not many. The lilium, yes. The anti-inflammatory as well. But she had no recourse to treat his fever if he would not drink. She sighed, and set it aside, well within his reach. “If you change your mind about accepting medical treatment, this here is for your fever,” she said, and he glanced at it. “It will aid your body in fighting the infection. Consider it.”

He blinked, slowly, then looked deliberately away. Apparently he was done with speaking for the day.

She accepted it, and then finally rose. Her old bones ached from kneeling for so long, but she refused to show the duress; she handed the bags to Cairon and then turned to leave. “I will return tomorrow, in the morning,” she stated, to the Crownguard and the observer both. “If there is any change in his condition before then, send for me.”

They murmured their assent and bowed lightly as she left; she waved off her escort and left with Cairon without ceremony. He was very quiet, saying nothing, and watching the guards they passed on their way through the castle. Though his expression was well-schooled, she knew him well enough to see his unease.

Once they were upon the streets, surrounded by the hubbub and bustle of the castle-city, he finally ventured to speak. “Did you mean what you said back there, master?”

She glanced at him, and found him looking troubled. “I rarely say anything I do not mean, Cairon,” she answered, just a little wry. “But perhaps you should be more specific.”

He looked away, not meeting her eyes. “’Where life persists, there is hope of change’,” he quoted.

Sarli considered it. “Yes. I spoke it truly.”

“You believe that.” He was not one to doubt her word, but he seemed searching now. Uneasy in his skin, as though the answer mattered to him. “Even for…him.”

‘Even for the assassin that slew the king’, went unspoken. Or perhaps, ‘even for an elf’.

For a moment her heart burned with familiar anger, familiar grief. But those were the trappings of Sarli-the-person; thus Sarli-the-Healer breathed out and cast them aside. “Even for him, Cairon, yes.” she said. “Hope is a beacon to every soul.”

The comment occasioned some glances from the people around her; and well it should. It was not lightly that anyone devout spoke ‘hope’ aloud, and a Healer was always devout. “I wouldn’t think someone like him has much in the way of that,” Cairon said, after a moment, and though it wouldn’t be clear to a stranger whether he’d meant hope or soul…

She stilled a little, and cast him a warning glance. She looked deliberately around at those around them. He took the admonishment and fell silent until they were alone again, walking to the mouth of the Valley, and near to home. Then she spoke, before he could, as if no time had passed at all since his badly-placed comment. “His prospects are ill, yes,” said Sarli, “but not hopeless. Never hopeless. You should know better than that. Certainly you should know better than to express such a sentiment in public.” It was a rebuke and a warning both. He should know better. Few indeed were the people who would not.

He flinched as though struck, and did not try to defend his words. Good; if the wrong ears had marked her apprentice saying such a thing, it could cast a shame on her, to have taught him so poorly. And that was the best of the potential negative consequences.

“Perhaps you need a reminder,” Sarli allowed, opening their door and easing herself through. Cairon glanced warily at her, setting out the bags, and she went directly to the bookcase. She pulled out a leather-bound tome, bloody red, a lotus engraved on the cover in metallic silver. It was the work of moments to find the correct passage, and she presented the book to her apprentice without preamble. He took it in his hands and stared at it as though it were a live snake, for all that he had certainly heard and read its scriptures before. She commanded, “Read.”

“…The tools need cleaning, master,” he offered, hesitating. “The medicines need putting away.”

“I will do it,” Sarli said at once, and then again: “Read.”

Again, he hesitated. And then his eyes fell upon the page, and its old sacred tale. He winced at it, very slightly, then finally exhaled. Sarli knew then that he would do as she had commanded, and turned away to begin attending to the tools of her trade; behind her, out of sight, words as familiar to her as her own breath filtered into the air upon her apprentice’s voice.

“’When the Last Light came to Her, She was lingering silent among the death-shrouds, and Her hands were wet with the blood of mercy’…”

Learn, she bade him, in the privacy of her own mind, and finally felt her heart settle from the clamour his public heresy had set it to. It could have been worse. He hadn’t spoken loudly, and his phrasing had been ambiguous; the onlookers might well think he was calling the person-of-discussion soulless, rather than hopeless. Still unsettling for someone not aware of the situation, but not dangerous.

And dangerous it would be, should anyone find him – a Healer’s apprentice – to have verbally denied that the Last Light existed for everyone. Even the lords, even the royalty, secular as they were, would never say such a thing where someone might hear.

Her apprentice thought himself very subtle, and often he was. But not always. And certainly not around her.

Be more careful, Cairon, she thought to him, though she did not speak. I will not always be here to protect you.

“’…this is a dark time, and its shadows may stretch for many years. / But I have something to show you, and I wish for that you will take heed. / So come with me, and I will show you Hope / In the dark of a thousand shadows…’”

 ---

She was warm; she was comfortable; she didn’t hurt. Rayla slept, and slept very well.

The lilium kept her under for the first span of the night, blotting out the shifts and sounds that would ordinarily wake her. It ebbed after a while though, and a thin edge of pain made her blink groggily awake. The tent was not dark; Bait glowed in his sleep, and the egg glowed too. That was normal. Everything was fine. She went back to sleep.

A while later she stirred again, feeling the warmth of the tent ebbing as the night’s cold encroached. But it wasn’t so bad. She went back to sleep.

Later, again, she woke with the disorienting sensation of sudden and unexpected contact. She made a surprised noise and cracked her eyes open to look. Callum had burrowed himself into her side, all curled-up, like he was cold. The lilium must have still been in effect, because all she did was sleepily think oh, that’s nice, take a drowsy moment to appreciate his warmth, and go back to sleep again.

The final time she woke that night was to a dragging awareness, somewhere in the back of her sleeping mind, that something was amiss with someone’s breathing. Not right. Not normal, for the middle of the night. She dragged herself to consciousness, eyes opening. She checked Callum first, who was still plastered against her side, deeply asleep. This time she had enough presence of mind to feel flustered about it. There was nothing wrong with him, though, so she turned her head to inspect the rest of the tent’s occupants…

…and found Ezran sat upright, plainly awake, running a hand calmly and absent-mindedly over the shell of the dragon egg. He didn’t look like he’d only recently awoken, either. He had the look of someone who’d been sitting up for a good while, quiet and weary in the night’s stillness.

After a moment, he seemed to notice that she was watching, and his eyes slid her way. He looked so tired. “…Hi, Rayla,” he said, voice hushed and quiet, as if to avoid waking anyone else up.

She blinked, then squinted, half sitting up. “What’re’y’doing awake?” she questioned, words a little slurred and incoherent from sleep. “It’s only…” she groped at her Moon-sense, which was growing rather weaker as it waned. “…three. Three’n the morning.”

“Huh. Is it.” He seemed vaguely interested, as if he’d had no idea what time it was before she told him. And…she supposed he hadn’t. What must it be like, being human, not knowing at all times what the time was? She made an impatient noise at him, and then he seemed to realise she’d asked a question. “Oh! Um.” He glanced down at the egg in his lap, hesitant. “Zym’s awake.”

Rayla frowned. She’d been worried, in a half-asleep sort of way, that he’d maybe been kept up by nightmares, or grief, or both. But… “And that woke you up?” she surmised, and he nodded tiredly.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Can’t get back to sleep, either. It’s…hard to be asleep, when someone’s in your head being all…awake.”

She considered that, thoughts slow and groggy. “You tried putting him down?” she asked, eventually.

“Yeah,” he said again, morosely this time. “It helped a little, but not much. He’s just…awake.” He patted wearily at the eggshell. “He used to be mostly-asleep all the time, before the storm. Now it’s more like he’s…I don’t know, a regular baby or something. Asleep a lot. But not all the time.”

She’d heard elf parents complaining about their babies keeping them up all night; she thought of that with a vague sleepy humour, finding the circumstance of the baby Dragon King keeping the child King of Katolis awake to be weirdly amusing. Unfortunate, though. “That sucks,” she said, eventually, still struggling to manage anything more coherent. She did not feel properly awake.

“Mm.” He shrugged tiredly. “Not much I can do about it, though.” His eyes slid back her way, and lingered. “Did I wake you up? I was trying to be quiet…”

“Kinda,” she supplied after a moment. “I could tell someone wasn’t asleep. Wanted to check everything was alright.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Ez watched her, eyes just a little too luminescent in the dark for it to be normal. It could have just been reflection from the egg…but it wasn’t. “You should try to go back to sleep, then,” he said eventually. “Just because I can’t get back to sleep doesn’t mean you need to be awake.”

Rayla accepted the sense of that reluctantly, aware that she was tired and really did want to sleep, and that there probably wasn’t anything she could do to help Ezran by being awake. But, even so, it felt a little wrong. “I can sit up with you, if it’d help,” she offered.

He shook his head. “Nah. Thanks, but…it wouldn’t really help anything. And you need your sleep.”

“So do you.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have a baby dragon in your head being unhappy about how squashed he feels,” Ezran pointed out.

She sighed. “Fair enough.”

Callum chose that moment to make a tiny murmuring sound and curl a little further into her side, all balled-up, one hand settling with its fingers curled over her waist. She stiffened, abruptly reminded that he was there, being cuddly, visibly so, and Ezran was awake to see it-

Even tired as he was, Ezran very plainly did see; his eyes flickered to his brother, and a trace of a smile lifted his lips. “At least one of us is getting a good night’s sleep,” he commented, with a lightness to the words, like the sight had pleased him somehow. “He looks pretty comfy there, huh.”

Her shoulders hunched defensively. She half wanted to turn away, to shield Callum from view, but it was a little late for that. Instead she held herself stiffly motionless, cheeks prickling with heat, and said “He’s just – cold. He’s cold and I’m the biggest warm thing around. That’s all it is.”

Ezran barely twitched before shaking his head. “Nah. Callum’s just like that, when he sleeps. He’s either moving about and kicking the covers off or he’s hugging. He doesn’t really have any in-between. You should see him at home – he usually just ends up hugging a big pillow or something…” He tilted his head, looking at them. “But, yeah, maybe he’s cold too. He does look kind of…balled up.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if he was cold, but then she noticed he’d picked his cloak off the floor and slung it around himself. He didn’t look too chilly. “Right.” She muttered, self-conscious, and tensed a little further when Ezran cast his brother a thoughtful look and reached over.

He touched his fingers to Callum’s neck and smiled. “He’s so sleepy,” he said, affectionately, and lingered there for a few moments longer. “And, yeah, he’s a little cold.”

“I said so,” Rayla said, vaguely soothed by this apparent corroboration, but-

“And he’s warm and comfy where he is, and it’s nice.” Ez finished, drawing his hand back, settling with the egg again. “Or that’s about what I can get from him when he’s asleep, anyway.”

She didn’t say anything, but could feel the flush rising in her ears. She was entirely, acutely aware of the weight of Callum against her side…and the way that he, too, felt pleasantly warm. In the end she made a sort of vague, disgruntled noise, too embarrassed to offer something more coherent.

Ezran looked at her, then. He seemed almost curious. “Do you not mind, though?” he asked, inquisitive. “I remember you were annoyed about him moving around in his sleep, around when we first started travelling. And now he’s cuddling you.”

Rayla looked away, face hot. “…If you try to push him off, he just comes back,” she muttered in the end, half-exasperated and half-flustered. “He doesn’t even wake up. Just…” She nodded towards him without actually looking, because she wasn’t sure she could particularly cope with the sight of Callum’s sleepy face and messy hair right now. “Easier to get a full night’s sleep if I just leave him.”

She didn’t realise her misstep until a few moments later, when she became aware of Ezran’s silence. She looked up at him, and found his watchful gaze on her. “So it hasn’t just been tonight, huh?” he asked, plainly picking up on what she’d given away. She grumbled again, but didn’t answer, averting her eyes. More thoughtfully, as if to himself, Ez said “And you don’t mind.”

“Who says?” she retorted, disagreeably. She’d certainly minded plenty near the start, after all.

But, again, Ezran was thoughtfully quiet, for long enough that she eventually glanced back at him. In the shadows, the faint luminescence of his eyes was striking; something she’d expect more of her own kind than his. With those eyes on her, he said again “You don’t mind.” It wasn’t at all a question, and strangely, her breath caught. She found she couldn’t answer.

Ezran looked at her with such a solemn weight of knowing that she felt stripped bare, felt exposed, as if she faced a priest of the Moon's Shadow instead of a ten year old boy. A priest of the Shadow, with the eyes to see the secrets hidden beneath her skin. She stilled, oddly shaken, until the moment passed and Ezran nodded, eyes falling on Callum again.

“Good,” he said, softly. “That’s…good. Callum needs more people who’ll care about him.” Before she could flush at that, he smiled. “And he always has been pretty huggy.”

Uncomfortable, Rayla glanced down at Callum’s sleeping face. Only half of it was visible at the moment, with how he’d smooshed it into her side. “I noticed,” she said, a touch dryly. Then she hesitated. “Ezran…” He looked at her inquisitively, and suddenly it was hard to force the words out. “You…are you going to tell…” she trailed off, not even entirely certain what she was asking.

He fixed her with that oddly penetrating look again, as if he knew what she was trying to say better than she did. As if he understood, even without having touched her at all. “Am I going to tell him he gets cuddly with you when he’s asleep?” he offered, now with a little spark of mirth in his eyes. She stared narrowly at him, suddenly absolutely certain that he was enjoying this. “Or that you’re okay with it?”

There was something about the way he said that last part. Teasing, like he meant something else. Something more horrifically embarrassing, like ‘that you’ve got a huge crush on him’, or possibly another equally terrible equivalent. Was she imagining it? Did he actually guess that she – or was she just overthinking…?

She looked at him again. At the tiny smile, the knowing look, the glimmer of mischief.

Yeah, he knew. Or at the very least, he knew more than she wanted him to.

Her face burned, and her shoulders hunched as she looked away. She’d hoped to keep this hidden from him, even despite his empathic abilities and uncomfortably astute people-reading skills. She’d been an idiot. It would never have worked for long.

“Any of that,” she agreed, in the end, not meeting his eyes. She was so hyper-aware of Callum’s presence now that it almost itched, that she wanted to push him away. But she didn’t want to risk him waking into this conversation, of all things. As it was, she was thanking the stars for how much of a sound sleeper he was.

Ezran smiled, tilted his head consideringly at his brother, and hummed. “I guess I won’t tell,” he decided, in the end. “Callum can be kind of slow about this kind of thing, so it’ll probably work out better if I don’t say anything. At least for a while.”

What was that supposed to mean? Slow about what? What would work out better?

Still. She could at least appreciate the decision he’d apparently made. Rayla glanced at him warily, but though he was clearly having a good time with the topic, she didn’t see any duplicity in him. Her shoulders eased a little, and she sighed. “Thanks,” she said, begrudgingly.

“Plus, it’ll be way funnier to watch you guys if I don’t tell,” Ezran added helpfully. Rayla glared at him. “What? It’s true. Last night was already great, with how you laid all over him like that, his face was hilarious-“ at her tiny strangled noise, he cut off, looking at her inquisitively. “What? Do you not remember?”

She hadn’t, until he’d mentioned it. But now…the memories were hazy, and dreamlike in that characteristic lilium-drugged way, but they were there. “I do now,” she muttered, tense with mortification, suddenly awash with the recollection of how nice it had been. Drugged-Rayla had found such an entirely uncomplicated contentment in the whole thing that it warmed her even now. “Ugh.” Then, since he already knew, and she might as well: “This is exactly why I was worried about taking the lilium.”

Ezran stared at her. “It is? I thought it was because you didn’t want to act weir-“ He stopped. “Ohh. I get it. You don’t want to act all crushy around Callum.”

Her shoulders went up, and she reflexively looked down at the human prince pressed into her side to make sure he was still soundly asleep. Thankfully, nothing had changed on that front. Still- “Shh!” She hissed at him, prickling with self-consciousness.

Undaunted, he said “You were fine, you know. Just kind of cuddly. Cuddly’s fine.” He indicated his brother’s sleeping form, as if to present it as evidence. Rayla followed his gaze and pinked. “He’s, you know, a cuddly person. So he was surprised, but…” Ezran shrugged.

She intensely wanted to escape this conversation. But it wasn’t like she could just…leave. Opening the tent would waste all the heat and leave them all properly cold for the rest of the night. So she did the only thing she could: “Enough talking,” she said, firmly, ignoring the flush in her cheeks. “You should try to go back to sleep now.” Seeing him open his mouth to object, she added sharply “Try. Even if you can’t. Laying down with your eyes closed is still better rest than being up and awake all night.”

“Aw, fine,” Ez accepted, and eyed her. “You’d better try to go to sleep too, though.”

She sighed. “I will, Ezran.”

He extended a hand over his brother’s side, littlest finger befuddlingly extended. She stared at it warily, uncertain what he meant by it, and after a moment he prompted “Pinky promise?”

“What in Xadia’s name is a pinky promise?”

“A promise you make by linking your pinky fingers and shaking them,” he explained. “Means you can’t break it. So?” He waggled the finger.

She’d always thought they were called ‘pinkos’. “I don’t have pinky fingers, Ez.”

Undeterred, he said “That’s okay. You can just use your last finger. It’ll count.” So, sighing, she relented and extended her left hand to link fingers with him. He shook it twice, very solemnly, and then the promise was – supposedly – sealed. He looked very satisfied with himself. “There,” he said, and leaned back. Then, true to his word, he gathered up the egg again, repositioned the grumpily half-asleep Bait, and planted himself down on the ground, eyes determinedly closed.

It looked kind of comical, actually. His face was a little screwed up, like he was trying to stubborn himself into unconsciousness.

Glad for the reprieve from the uncomfortable conversation, and mindful of the weird human finger-vowing custom, Rayla settled back down herself. Callum hadn’t shifted much when she sat up before, and didn’t shift much now. He just pressed his face into her shoulder instead of her arm. She glanced at him one last time, for a very long moment, and then closed her eyes. Sleep followed soon after.

 ---

 Rayla woke again a few hours later. It was a while past dawn, and though the Moon would still linger above the horizon for a few hours yet, its recession pulled at her. Habit brought her awake with unerring ease at that sensation, so she blinked her eyes open and rose. Callum mumbled incoherently as she displaced him; she glanced at him quickly, but was relieved to see he was still asleep.

She sighed, quashing the increasingly-familiar flutter in her chest, and carefully extracted herself, reaching out to pull his fingers out of the wool of her jumper. That complete, she shuffled over to the tent doors, noting that Ezran had evidently managed to get back to sleep at some point…though, he was stirring now. That was unusual. Usually he slept as deeply as his brother, and didn’t budge even when she moved about. He sat up and yawned as she started undoing the door toggles, blinking sleepily at her. “Morning, Rayla,” he greeted, after a moment, voice rough.

One look at him and she recalled the middle-of-the-night conversation they’d had, and the mortifying details therein. She offered him a wary half-smile, folding the tent-door back. Instantly, it was colder; the air between the two tent layers made goosebumps lift on her skin, even with most of it swaddled in wool. She shivered, but reached outwards for the next door anyway. “Morning,” she echoed, after a moment, fingers working carefully at the toggles. Her left hand prickled with a strange numbness as it moved, clumsy as if cold, even though it was just as warm as the other one.

The outer door opened, and the air from outside was so frigid it felt like a slap in the face. She grimaced, inhaling sharply, and that inhale half-burned her lungs with the biting chill. “Ugh,” she said, and a few seconds later, Ezran made a similar noise as the air hit him.

“Oh, wow,” he said, sounding a little impressed. “I guess the tent really does make a difference.”

“That’s kind of the point, yeah,” she agreed, then forced herself outside.

It was a very bright morning, even now. The sun had just about poked past one of the mountains, and the sky was a pale, clear colour almost devoid of clouds. What little cloud-wisps there were moved noticeably; it was still relatively windy. She squinted against the brightness, then ventured out. Frost crunched beneath the boots she’d apparently slept in.

There hadn’t been any more snow in the night, so the area she’d cleared hadn’t particularly filled in, but it was white anyway. She frowned at her footprints, stamping a few times experimentally, and confirmed that it really was just frost. Frost, at least a couple centimetres thick. She turned around and found it had settled on the exterior of the tent as well, turning the whole thing pale and icy-looking. “Ugh,” she said again, disgruntled, knowing that they’d need to clear that off before they could pack it.

She’d headed over to the burned-out campfire by the time Ez followed her out, having pulled his boots and his cloak on, shivering. “What’re you doing?” he asked her, as she piled in their remaining firewood and went for the flint. He had Bait in his arms, the toad looking half-asleep and as grumpy as ever.

“It’s a cold morning,” she said. “Better have a hot drink or something before we go. It’ll do us good. Plus, I think our meat is all frozen, so we’ll need to heat up breakfast, too.”

“Oh, right.” He paused for a moment to think. “Can I help?”

“You can take the scarves and gloves and stuff off the snow-people,” she offered, dryly, and nodded to the line of icy sentinels at the edge of camp. “Since you and Callum apparently forgot to do that last night. They’ll need warming, too.”

Ez winced. “We did forget.” He sighed, put Bait down by the fire, then trotted off to obey. He returned a short while later with some particularly frosty winterwear, which she put close-ish to the burgeoning fire. Hopefully not close enough to catch alight. “Are we going to wake up Callum soon?”

She glanced consideringly back at the tent, which she’d left entirely open. “Cold will probably wake him up on its own soon enough,” she estimated. “But sure, why not.” So she stood and went, Ezran apparently deciding to follow. She found Callum curled up and shivering on top of her cloak, chasing the last vestiges of warmth, shifting like he was on the verge of awakening. She rolled her eyes, then reached through the tent-layers to poke him in the thick wool socks over his feet.

He giggled, apparently ticklish, and squirmed when she poked him again, and then finally cracked his eyes open. He peered at Rayla, then at Ez, as if not awake enough to comprehend what he was looking at. “Cold?” he offered, in a sort of incoherent questioning complaint, and then squinted at the brightness of the light from behind them. “Mm…too bright. Shut the curtains?”

Ezran snickered. Rayla lifted an eyebrow. “No,” she answered, helpfully, and watched him blink a few times more. He frowned.

“Tent,” he realised, seconds later. “Camping. Mountains. Right.” Finally he pushed himself up, then frowned. “Why am I on your cloak?”

Beside her, Ezran’s face was suddenly beset by an enormous grin. Rayla pointed her finger at him sternly and said “No.” Turning back to Callum, she added “…Probably it was warm, or something. Give it here, though, I’m getting chilly.” She ignored Ezran’s expression and prodded Callum until he was up and pulling his boots on, then reclaimed her cloak. He seemed to wake up a little when she started struggling to get it around her shoulders alone; for all that her hand didn’t hurt at all anymore, the motions for pulling clothing on still tugged unpleasantly at the wounds on her arm and shoulder, and she was all-too-aware that the lilium had worn off.

Rayla sighed, and lingered in place while Callum sat up to help her with the cloak. She was getting used to that, but it still rankled a little. She carefully didn’t look at his face, too aware of Ezran watching them.

“Thanks,” she said, when he was done, then receded from the tent doorway. “Now get up. We’ve got a long way to go today.”

“Don’t we have a long way to go every day?” he asked, pulling his boots on, and she snorted.

“Generally, yes. But considering how many days we’ve been sat around lately, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

He seemed a little surprised to see the fire re-lit when she led him out, but settled under the explanations of breakfast and a warm drink easily enough. “It’s a good idea,” he agreed, a little ruefully, settling to hold one of his icy gloves over the fire, just far enough not to burn. “I feel all numb and cold and stiff, kinda. Would be nice to warm up a bit before having to move.”

“We’ll all feel fine when we’re walking.” Rayla shrugged, and checked on the water. “But, yeah.”

A while later, when they’d all had some pine tea and they’d boiled some meat into a bland but serviceable semblance of breakfast, he glanced at the stiff way she was holding her arm and inquired about her pain levels.

She blinked at him owlishly. “Hurts, but not any worse than usual?” she offered, shrugging. Almost on reflex, she flexed her bad hand, as though to chase some of the familiar stiff ache from it, but there was just…nothing. No pain at all in the hand itself. In the wrist, sure, but the hand?

It didn’t feel normal. But it didn’t hurt, either. She wasn’t sure what to think about that.

He noticed the motion, of course. “Is your hand bothering you?”

She sighed, and looked away. “No.” Her voice was a little short. It didn’t hurt. It was bothering her, though, just…in a way she wasn’t sure she was ready to think about yet, let alone talk about.

He accepted that easily enough, even though he plainly wanted to press further; he was so annoyingly considerate. “Alright. Well, I was just wondering…” he glanced at her arm, hesitated, then went on. “…if it’s been long enough that it’s safe for you to take willow bark again. So you can take something for the pain while we’re travelling.”

Rayla blinked, nonplussed.

“You didn’t think of that, huh?” Ezran spoke, observing her reaction, and she frowned.

“I didn’t,” she said, after a moment, and considered her injuries, invisible past the bandages and several layers of clothes. “It’s…hm.” Eyes narrowing a little, she thought about it. It wasn’t like there wasn’t still stuff going on under the surface. Willow bark probably would slow or disrupt that. But, at this point, the seal on the wounds was solid enough that it wouldn’t necessarily be dangerous.

“Rayla?” Callum prompted, when she’d been quiet a long time.

“I think it’ll make me heal slower,” she concluded, after a while. “…But, now I think about it, I’ll barely be healing at the moment anyway, so…I might as well?” She shrugged, and felt a little lighter; it was undeniably cheering to think of maybe having some painkillers to tide her through what would be a pretty physically-demanding day.

She’d already got caught up in the relief of that idea, so was a little taken-aback when Ezran squinted at her and said “Why not?” She frowned at him, confused, and he elaborated. “Why aren’t you healing at the moment?”

“Oh.” Somehow, even after spending so long with them, confirming every day that they were human…she’d forgotten they wouldn’t know. So, with a false nonchalance, she nodded towards the sky, where the pale crescent of the sinking Moon still remained, washed out in the bright blue of daylight. “It’s New Moon soon,” she explained, averting her eyes from theirs. “It’s just…like that. For Moonshadow elves.” She scowled a little. “Especially without moondust.”

“Oh, right.” Callum nodded, as if remembering. “You said you’d be weaker at new moon. I didn’t know it affected stuff like your healing too, though.” He hesitated, looking at her. “How far away is it?”

Rayla grimaced. “Three days, ish. Including today.” She hadn’t in her entire life seen an unmedicated elf at New Moon. The ones who were crazy enough to go without moondust hid themselves away for the duration. She didn’t know what it would be like, but…

“And it’s already making you heal really slow?” Ez seemed morbidly interested. “Even days away?”

She was quiet for a while, uncertain if she wanted to admit it. “My healing, and my senses, and my strength.” Her voice was curt. “I’m weaker already. It’s not so bad yet, but in a day or so…” She shrugged. “No avoiding it, I suppose, but I’m not looking forward to it.” It was nagging at her, even, in a strange insistent way that she wasn’t used to. There was an animal awareness in the back of her mind, intent on the waning Moon, itching and whispering at her as if to say that she wasn’t safe, she wasn’t secure, she needed to find somewhere to hide before it was too late…

Callum and Ezran shared a glance. “Can you tell us what to expect?” Callum asked, trying for pragmatism, though she could tell he was worried.

She snorted. “No, not really. People tell a lot of stories about natural New Moon, so it’s hard to know what’s true.” She squinted at the sky. “I’ll have a better idea the day before, though. By then I should be able to tell how hard it’ll hit me.”

He hesitated. “Is it…” he seemed to struggle for the words, and she looked at him until he managed it. “Will it be dangerous? For you?”

Her first instinct was to snort dismissively at the notion, but then she paused. “…No, probably not,” she estimated, after a little more thought. “If I was sick, maybe, it could be a problem. Or if I was more badly injured.” She glanced at her arm consideringly. “We get sick easily, at New Moon. If that’s worse off of moondust…” A pause for thought. “I suppose the worst case scenario is my arm getting infected.”

Callum looked dismayed. “Rayla, that is dangerous. Infections are bad.”

She glanced at him. “Yeah, they can be,” she acknowledged. “But worst comes to worst, we’d just have to hold out for…Half Moon, I suppose, or anything past it. That’s one bonus of not being on moondust.” She grimaced at the thought. “Moonshadow elves off moondust are pretty impossible to kill with infection, near Full Moon. So, there’s that.”

She didn’t mention, because she doubted it’d help anything, that people tended to tell tall stories about the extremity of weakness that the New Moon brought. Stories that indicated that an unhealthy elf could sicken and die so quickly that they were gone before the Moon could turn back. But she wasn’t that unhealthy. She had injuries, maybe, but she didn’t have anything that could suddenly get worse and really mess her up. She should be fine.

Her hand, though. She recalled the weird experience she’d had the first time the binding had loosened, and twitched. If the human healer was to be believed about the dangers, that could have been the sort of thing that’d go wrong at New Moon. But, thankfully, she was plenty past that now.

The words had apparently reassured Callum, at least. “Well, thank Mercy for that,” he sighed, then looked at her curiously. “So, if you have a sick Moonshadow elf, do you take them off moondust to help them recover, or…?”

Rayla rolled her eyes at him. Trust Callum to get curious about the details of it. “Not if it’s close to New Moon,” she said. “Then they’ll just get worse. Or – actually, they get better for a day or two, then they get worse fast.” It was something she’d been taught about, with regards to first aid in the field. If someone was sick or severely injured near Full Moon, you stopped their moondust, and the influx of magic would sort them out once the drug left their system. But if the Moon was waning, it wasn’t worth the risk.

“But the full moon makes you recover,” he said, thoughtfully. “Do you heal faster, too?”

She glanced at her arm, momentarily pensive. She wondered what it would look like, when the Full Moon had passed. “Yeah.” Shaking her head as though to dispel the thought, she shoved a jar of icy cooked meat into Callum’s hands, and said “Heat that up, would you? I’ve got some packing to do.” She took that opening to escape the conversation, too-aware of the throb of her wounds and the strangeness of her hand.

She left the boys by the fire as she went around the snow-banks, pulling the wrapped slabs of frozen meat she’d shoved in there for cold-storage yesterday. The venture had been successful enough that divorcing the supplies from the surrounding ice was a little challenging; the snow had turned icy, and clung to the packages in sharp-edged clusters. Finally she brought it all back to the cleared space and got to work.

It was an annoyingly long time until they were ready to leave. Heating up breakfast took time, getting frost and ice off of their stuff took time, getting the contents of their waterskins to melt into something drinkable took time, and getting their gloves into a fit state to be worn took time as well. Rayla was fully impatient when at last they could put the pot away, and even then…

Reflexively, she tried to pick it up one-handed. Left-handed. It felt heavy; her hand shook, and her wrist ached, and the pot slipped from her fingers. A pot, and it was too heavy to hold. Her jaw clenched, and she reached with the other hand instead. She lifted. That, at least, was properly effortless.

Is it always going to be like this? she wondered, dismayed, keenly aware of the unhealthy fatigue in her wrist. Then, ruthlessly, she shoved the thought away. She tucked the hand carefully against her side, and went back to the increasingly-familiar awkwardness of trying to conduct camp chores with only her right hand available.

The dull ache of her damaged wrist harried her until, eventually, she took some willow bark between her teeth and chewed for long enough that all her pains went a little further away. It wasn’t as effective as the lilium, but her mind was clear, and it was a relief not to have to travel with her wounds searing at her so terribly.

“Right,” she said, when everything was finally in order. “Let’s get moving.” She pulled on her gloves at last; the fabric itched and tingled strangely on the skin of her left hand.

The boys checked their snowshoes, hefted the straps of their bags, then tromped over to her where she waited at the edge of their former camp. She settled her own straps over her uninjured shoulder, glanced around to make certain they’d not forgotten anything, then started walking.

“Goodbye, snow-people,” Callum said to their icy constructs, both boys waving the things farewell as they left. Despite herself, Rayla shook her head at them, and smiled.

 ---

 The snow was icier today, and a little easier to walk on with the snowshoes. That was a mercy, considering literally everything else was harder.

Just a few days ago, the initial burst of mountain-hiking had set Callum’s legs to aching more fiercely than he’d ever experienced in his life. He’d acquired soreness from combat training plenty of times over the last few years, but that didn’t hold a candle to the stiffness of legs unused to walking uphill for days on end. Then the thundersnow had happened, and he’d had a chance to recover. There’d been some walking yesterday, but not enough to reduce him to the same state as before.

He suspected that would change today.

The going was almost entirely upwards, and it was steep. Even with the snowshoes, it was hard to find his footing, and in places he pretty much had to climb, bracing his hands against rock directly in front of him to pull himself up. Ez, being considerably shorter, needed to be helped up those parts, Bait riding in his sweater to free up his hands.

It made him miss the first few days of their journey, a little; back when the ground had been level enough he’d been able to draw as he walked. Now he didn’t dare look at anywhere except where he was putting his feet.

…Most of the time, anyway.

He couldn’t really help staring around with wide-eyed wonder, sometimes. Every time they crested a slope or finished climbing the steeper sections, he could look ahead or behind and see the mountain range sprawling out around them. The angle wasn’t quite right for him to see all of the way they’d come, but some of the lowlands were visible anyway. They looked impossibly green and verdant from where he was, up on the mountain with its snow and ice.

It was weird to think that, mere days ago, he’d been somewhere warm enough to not feel the chill biting at his fingers. There wasn’t even much sunlight to help warm him; the clear skies of the early morning had given way to a patchy, sullen layer of clouds. It made for some pretty scenery, what with the rays of light casting between them over the landscape, but it didn’t soften the chill at all.

The cold wasn’t all bad, though. It created some really beautiful things. Callum found himself admiring the branching twigs of a leafless shrub, eyes following the strange frigid crust they’d accumulated. Ice clung to the undersides, an inch long, in an odd rippling pattern that made his hands itch for charcoal. Ice was on everything today, but this looked different. Where most every other grass and shrub around them was white and lumpy with thick frost, this looked clear and almost glassy. He tilted his head to see the watery light glimmer through, thinking of how he’d shade it.

It was then that Rayla nudged him, breaking him from his reverie. “Something interesting?” she asked, eyebrow raised. He offered an embarrassed laugh.

“Er,” he said, and indicated the shrub. “Just…that. The ice on it. It’s pretty.” He shrugged.

She looked blankly where he’d pointed. “…It’s twigs.”

“Pretty twigs,” he insisted, lips twitching. “The ice is really interesting! Sort of…wave-y? Ripple-y?”

“Kind of like icicles, maybe?” Ezran suggested, sounding a little winded as he leaned in to look. He evidently wasn’t having any easier a time with the walking than Callum.

Callum eyed the shrub appraisingly. “Yeah, something like that. Like sort of…lengthways icicles.”

Rayla shook her head at him. “It’s ice on twigs,” she said, exasperated. She was smiling a little, though. “Nothing special.”

“Well, I think it’s nice,” Callum announced, in staunch defence of the icy twigs in question. “And I want to draw it.”

She rolled her eyes, then reached out to tug at his cloak, beckoning him onwards. “Uhuh. Sure. But later. Now’s for walking.”

He mock-saluted, hand to his chest, and walked.

It was tough going. A mere hour later, his head was fogged with exertion and his legs were burning, and he seemed constantly out of breath. It wasn’t as though he was unaccustomed to the feeling of tightness in his chest, of labouring for steady breaths for what felt like hours on end – but it was distinctly different to experience it free of the usual panic or distress. He got out of breath during training, sure, but – not like this. Not in this strange, persistent way, where even the short breaks they took didn’t seem to help.

Given the exertion, it took him a while to realise that the breathlessness was a little weird. A lot of the walking was more like climbing, and it made sense to be panting during that. But they came to a plateau around midday, and walked on nearly-flat ground for a good fifteen minutes, and he still couldn’t quite catch his breath. “…Is it just me,” he managed, between gasps for air, “or is it weirdly hard to breathe today?”

Ezran’s breath was huffing and puffing too. “Not just you.”

Rayla glanced at them, and then at the mountain range ahead of them. “It’s the altitude,” she said, plainly, and both of them turned to blink at her, still plodding numbly onwards.

Callum frowned. “What?”

“Why we’re finding it harder to catch our breath,” she clarified, waving at the mountain. “It’s altitude. When you’re up high enough, the air’s thinner. Harder to breathe.” She shrugged. “And we’ve climbed a lot today.”

“…Oh,” he realised, nonplussed. Ezran, for his part, seemed too busy staring exhaustedly at the sky to have many thoughts on the matter. “Isn’t that mountain-sickness?”

“Same thing, different names.” Rayla agreed, pausing to stretch out her legs and shake them a little, as if to dispel some stiffness. Whether it was the oncoming new moon, or just the harshness of the ascent, she seemed to actually be feeling the exercise for once. “We must be past three thousand metres now. That’s when most people usually start getting mountain-sickness.”

He considered asking what that was in feet, but didn’t quite get around to it before his brother spoke. “That’s a lot of metres.” Ez mumbled, tiredly.

Callum glanced at him, then back at Rayla. “Should we be…worried, about this? I don’t know much about mountain-sickness, but can’t it get pretty bad?”

“We’d need to go a lot higher for the breathing to be an actual problem,” Rayla said, shaking her head. “But let me know if you get weird headaches, or feel sick, or dizzy. That’s the stuff to watch out for. For now, though…” She hummed pensively, and narrowed her eyes at the scenery. “…I’m thinking we won’t have to go much higher than this. It’s not like we’re trying to summit anything. We’re just trying to get onto the next mountain.” She tilted her head to scrutinise the route. She pointed out a vaguely-sloping plateau a fair distance away, somewhat lower on the mountainside than their current position. “I reckon we can start going down again that way, and then find somewhere to camp past there. That’s got to be a couple hundred metres lower. Should be easier to breathe.”

“Sounds good,” he sighed, and lifted his face to a cold breeze. He hadn’t expected to be grateful for the freezing weather, but with how hard he was working…if it had been warmer, he might have passed out by now. He pulled in a few more unsatisfying breaths, then pushed onwards.

After about half an hour, they stopped ascending quite so viciously and instead began a meandering up-and-down path along the mountainside, heading steadily downwards. This was when Callum discovered that going down mountains was just as hard as going up them, albeit in different ways. It was so icy that they had to take it painstakingly slow, and even then he felt constantly on the edge of a nasty fall. His toes crushed together at the fronts of his boots, beginning to grow sore.

The third time Callum slipped on ice and had to be steadied from falling face-first down-slope, Rayla went away and snapped a branch off of a large pine, shearing off its needles with her blade and scraping off most of the bark. She judged it against his height for a few moments before unceremoniously chopping several inches off the end. “Here. Walking cane.” She said, presenting him with it, and went off to go find another branch, which she prepared for Ezran.

They mumbled thanks at her, exhausted, and continued their descent with somewhat greater poise than before. The descent pulled at different muscles to the ascent, so his legs weren’t complaining quite as much, but the fronts of his toes were starting to hurt in that sharp way that suggested there’d be blisters soon. He’d never had blisters on the front of his feet before, and wasn’t especially looking forward to the experience.

The pine-canes weren’t sturdy, and Callum snapped his after less than an hour. By that point though he didn’t need it as much, so he just went without until – finally – Rayla glanced at the sky and announced their lunch break. “Oh, thank Mercy,” he muttered, dropping his backpack with abject relief and collapsing to the ground.

Ezran lowered his with rather more care, but made an incoherent noise of gratitude when he finally sat down. “Shouldn’t that be Fortitude?” he mumbled, tiredly. “Since we made it this far without falling over?”

“Speak for yourself,” Callum huffed, wiping a hand over his face. Even through the gloves, he thought he could feel the livid heat of his skin, warmed by exertion. He imagined he was probably super red-looking right now. “I’ve fallen over tons of times. Or…nearly fallen, anyway.”

Rayla lowered her bag and the tent pack carefully, as though being mindful of her other shoulder, then collapsed with obvious relief beside them. “You have a god of not-falling-over?” she asked, sceptically, and he rolled his eyes at her.

“Not a god,” he said back, just a little amused, eyes closing as he panted for breath. “Paragon.”

“You have a paragon of not-falling-over?” she corrected, and when he opened his eyes to glance sideways at her, her lips were twitching.

He snorted, then closed his eyes again. He half wanted to turn over and plant his face directly into a snow bank. It’d help him cool down, at the very least. “Pretty much,” he sighed, and after a moment of consideration, did reach to his side and pick up a handful of icy snow. He smooshed it onto his face, the ice crystals a little sharp-edged on his skin. “Endurance, and willpower, and keeping going even when stuff’s hard.”

“Fortitude’s a good Paragon for us right now, I think,” Ezran said, sounding exhausted, and Callum offered a wordless hum of agreement.

“If this had been an official mission, people would’ve sent us off with him, you know,” he said, almost wistful. “They’d have said ‘Fortitude follow you’. And ‘Prudence guide your feet’. That’s traditional for big or important or tough journeys.”

Rayla offered a dubious hum. “Well, this journey’s definitely all three of those.”

For a while, they just laid there, getting their breath back, trying to cool down. Callum’s under-layers began to feel cold and clammy with the sweat, indicating they’d probably smell terrible later on. He was too tired to bring himself to care.

Eventually, Rayla pulled herself up, even though she plainly didn’t want to. “Right,” she said, determinedly, in as bull-headed a manifestation of Fortitude that anyone could have asked for. “Food. We can’t take too long with this break, so…food.”

Callum made a face. “I’m really not hungry.” In the wake of the sheer exertion of the morning, eating seemed unthinkable. The mere notion turned his stomach.

“Yes you are. You’ve just not cooled down enough to feel it,” Rayla refuted, pragmatic, and went for the reserves of cooked meat she’d put in her bag. “It’s hard to eat after exercise, but when you’re on a stupid long journey, you do it anyway.” She opened the jar and waved it aggressively at them. Both of them complained pitifully at her, but she wasn’t having any of it. In short order they’d both reluctantly withdrawn a portion and sat up to start nibbling on it.

“You’re like aunt Amaya is about breakfast,” Ezran muttered, mouth part-full, chewing around the bite he’d taken. “She’s really bossy about that too.”

Rayla looked nonplussed. Plainly, she wasn’t sure what to think about the comparison.

“Imagine if we told her that,” Callum put in, uncertain whether to be amused or alarmed at the thought. “Wonder how she’d react to being compared to an elf.”

“She’d definitely make a pretty weird face,” Ezran offered thoughtfully. “She’d probably be glad Rayla’s making sure we’re eating, though.”

She grimaced at that, looking like she’d swallowed something sour. “Don’t know about that. She’d just stab me for running off with you two in the first place.”

Callum opened his mouth to protest, remembered the depth of his aunt’s sentiments for elves, then shut it. “…Well, I mean…”

“Don’t worry, Rayla,” Ez said, reaching out to pat her on the knee. “If you ever meet aunt Amaya, we’ll make sure we’re there, and then we can convince her to be nice to you. No stabbing.”

Rayla glanced at him, expression slightly pained. “…If you say so.” It was very obvious, from her face, that she had absolutely no intention of going near their aunt if she could help it. Not for the first time, Callum wondered what kind of reputation Amaya had in Xadia.

“We can keep teaching you sign language, too!” His brother went on, determinedly cheerful. “I bet she’d be too surprised at an elf trying to talk to her properly to, um,” he searched for a word.

“Stab me, clobber me with her shield, or throw me in a dungeon?” Rayla suggested, and both of them made faces at her. Callum, for his part, had recently seen Rayla contend with what would surely have been a fatal stabbing if he hadn’t tossed her assailant off a cliff, and wasn’t particularly keen on imagining any Aunt Amaya variations on the affair.

It was uncomfortably easy to picture, though. He’d seen one of his aunt’s famous Battalion sparring sessions, and she was…very, very good at fighting. Struck suddenly wordless, he said nothing.

Ezran shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

Rayla sighed, and for a moment, looked down at her left hand. She flexed its fingers carefully, slow and methodical, and Callum remembered how she’d been looking at it earlier. For all that she hadn’t wanted to talk about it, she’d seemed…unsettled. “Well,” she said, quietly, after a moment. “I guess sign language is…probably pretty good exercise, for this hand.”

“Keeping it moving, helping circulation?” Callum supplied, after calling back to mind the Healer’s advice. “Yeah, I guess it would be. We could do a quick bit of it now, while we’re resting?”

She eyed him, then rolled her eyes. “Suppose. Might as well make it something useful, though.”

“Like what?” Ez asked, intrigued.

“Like watch signals. Check-ins, and stuff. The kind of thing my lot would use ictus for.”

“Huh,” Callum blinked, and thought about it. It wasn’t like he’d not seen military sign language terms being used before, given who his aunt was, so… “Yeah, sure. What first?”

Rayla, apparently, had been drilled thoroughly enough in proper silent report-giving enough that she had a list of important terms ready to go. She determinedly worked her hands through learning the signs to demand a status report, report all-clear, report a problem, and report possible enemies in the area. It was all pretty basic, but she clearly wasn’t used to learning this sort of thing, and…well. And her hand was obviously giving her problems.

He didn’t comment, because he could see she didn’t want him to. But it was slow to move. The fingers trembled strangely in certain positions, and didn’t quite seem to respond right. Several times, between his demonstrations of new signs, he saw her flex the fingers and shake the hand, as if trying to dispel some stiffness that wouldn’t quite deign to leave...

“That’s probably enough for today,” he decided, once she’d navigated her hands through a quick practice exchange of an all-clear status report. “Or, at least, for now. Probably won’t sink in, if we try for more.”

She blinked, then nodded. “Yeah, probably,” she agreed, and glanced briefly at the way ahead. “We should be moving again, anyway.”

“Next time, we’ll teach you something more fun,” Ezran promised.

She glanced his way, smiling a little as she hefted her bags over her one good shoulder. “Like what?”

“Like talking about your favourite foods, maybe?” he suggested, picking up the bag with the egg carefully, and kneeling to let Bait jump onto its top, riding there like a monarch in his carriage.

“That sounds like a good way to get ourselves stupid hungry with nothing good around to eat.” Despite the words, she sounded amused.

Callum thought longingly of the castle meals, and regretted not eating more at lunch. Rayla had been right; he really had been hungrier than he’d felt at first. “Still nice to think about,” he said wistfully. “Give us something to look forward to when this is all done.”

“Suppose.” When he looked at her, she looked a little wistful herself, as though she were caught in similar thoughts of home.

As they started to walk, he glanced at her sidelong, and eventually asked “So…what are your favourite foods, back home?” If, as she’d claimed, everything in Xadia was magical…did that include the food? What did magic food taste like?

She hesitated for a moment, like she wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to say, or even if she wanted to. But then she smiled, still wistful, and started describing her favourite Xadian fruits and berries to them, and which ones she’d learned to find and pick herself in the forest she apparently lived in.

He listened to it all, interjecting with questions here and there, and…though she was pretty sparing with the details, started to get a better idea of the place she’d grown up in. A forest full of magic, and wild fruit vines growing on trees tall enough they’d probably overshadow the cliff his home castle was built on. Trees tall enough and immense enough to carve houses out of. It was so fantastical to imagine. Thinking of the wonders of Xadia, waiting so far ahead, made it a little easier to keep walking.

The hour passed like that, with easy curious conversation to take their minds off of the travel, and in the end Callum felt lighter than he had in days.

Even if Rayla wouldn’t tell him what was in a moonberry surprise.

 ---

 In the wake of the storm, the Healer’s house grew busy, and from his sickbed Corvus bore witness to it all.

The first day, there was a stream of miners displaced from the mountain by an avalanche. Broken bones on two, sprains on a few more. A day later one of the same group, only recently recovered from the mountainside, was brought in hypothermic and near-dead, losing two toes and a finger to frostbite before she was stabilised. No one had died, apparently, but it had been a near thing.

Now, the whole town was effectively on standby, waiting for the weather to improve. The tail-end of the thundersnow was still lashing at Verdorn’s periphery, for all that the mine-folk apparently thought it had moved past Farel – and, accordingly, the mines – by now.

“It’ll be another day before it’s safe to go back there,” said the Healer’s wife, a woman named Serris, who oversaw the mines and was apparently rarely home. “So in the meantime, we’ll just have to do our best impressions of directionless layabouts. At least you lot have the excuse of injury, eh?” This last comment she directed at her battered fellows in their beds, a good-natured jibe, and they jeered back at her.

“I’ll be glad to see a little more of your face in the meantime, at least,” said the Healer Marla, her voice dry. “And if you’re so offended by being a layabout, you can come help me mix these salves.”

“A harsh taskmistress, my wife,” commented Serris to the house’s residence, amused, before she went as commanded to help with the work.

Corvus quite enjoyed the company, in honesty. He’d grown accustomed to travelling and serving with the Battalion, and though he was frequently detached for his tracking endeavours, he missed the camaraderie of his fellows. It was good to have people to talk to, even if most of them were as bedridden as he was. And, with little else to do, they all spent a lot of time talking. He was recipient to a lot of questions about his current mission, which he couldn’t answer, and a lot of questions about the Battalion, some of which he could. He admitted when asked that he’d been told to stand by and heal, so wouldn’t be heading anywhere soon.

“I’m to get transportation to Greatport if I can do it without risking myself,” he said, a little wistful. He liked Greatport. If he had to convalesce anywhere, it would have been a good choice. But… “Apparently, I’ll have to hold off on that for a while, though.”

“You certainly will, master Corvus,” Marla said severely, without even looking up from her mixing. “Horseback would be terrible for you as you are now. It’s waiting for a cart to take you or nothing, and we’ve a while until the next of those is due to leave.”

So that was how his days passed, in the thick of the storm. He tried not to spend too much time worrying about the General, or the princes. For better or for worse, he was off the mission now. He just…wished he could have done better. If he had, maybe the princes would be safe now. Instead, he’d undoubtedly driven them straight into that deadly storm, with their captor potentially too badly injured to see to their safety.

He tried not to fret. But it was hard to avoid, when he had frostbitten testaments to the dangers of the mountains convalescing around him. The elf wasn’t the only danger to those boys, was she? And his failure had sent them straight into that gauntlet. He’d wanted to save them, but instead…

Still, Corvus did what he could to avert his thoughts. He’d sent what information he could to Amaya. There was nothing else he could do, at this point.

Except:

“The tavern had some interesting visitors today,” said Serris, after returning from checking in with her workers at the tavern in question. She shot a piercing look at Corvus as she spoke. “A couple of kids, one of ‘em in Crownguard armour. They said they’re tracking that elf.”

Corvus straightened on his headboard. So did everyone else in the house of healing. “Kids?” he repeated, then processed the Crownguard part. There was only one Crownguard he knew of who was young enough to easily be called a kid. He was suddenly at full attention. “Siblings?” he questioned, intent. “A girl with dyed hair? Her brother the Crownguard?”

Everyone was looking his way, now. “You know them?” Serris guessed, after a moment.

Lord Viren’s children, here? “I’ve met the Crownguard,” he said, slowly, mind working furiously. They were tracking the elf? That made no sense. That wasn’t a job for Crownguard, it was a job for the Battalion, the military – for him. And the dark mage…

He thought ‘elf’. He thought ‘dark mage’. Then he thought, ah.

For a moment, it all seemed to make sense. He considered Lord Viren with unease, and everything he’d heard of the man, working so closely with the General. Perhaps he wasn’t content with what could be harvested from the five felled Xadian assassins. Maybe he wanted the sixth, too, and had sent his daughter and son out to that effect…

…except, that didn’t quite fit.

“…Is that what they said?” Corvus asked, after a long silence, aware of the sudden quietness of the room of convalescents. “That they were after the elf?”

Serris eyed him, cautious. She folded her arms. “They tried to hide it at first, but, yeah. They didn’t know you were here, either. Seemed interested in that. They might come visiting soon.”

Corvus made a noncommittal noise, and tried to pore over his thoughts, tried to identify what tasted wrong about this situation. He’d been on a low dose of lilium for days now, and it slowed his mind more than he cared to admit. He needed his wits about him now, because there was something off here. Something important.

Slowly, through the fog, he drew the discrepancies from his gut into his mind.

Viren was Lord Protector now. If he wanted a pursuit of the elf, why not make it larger-scale? Why send only his children? Why not work with General Amaya, who was expressly pursuing the elf already, and surely had the best knowledge of the resources available? Soren certainly wasn’t a trained tracker. He doubted the girl, the dark mage, had that sort of training either, at her age-

He stopped. Examined the thought.

Dark mage. Tracking. Were there spells for that sort of thing?

For the first time, he felt an inkling of anger. If they had a way to find the princes and they’d been withholding it…!

Except that wasn’t right either. They said they were tracking the elf, not the princes. And, at this point, the news that the princes were actually alive probably hadn’t spread very far. So…Lord Viren had sent his children, a talented but inexperienced Crownguard and…a dark mage…in pursuit of an assassin thought to have slain royalty. Why? Were the ingredients worth so much to him? Was there some other motive?

…He’d sent his children covertly. Hadn’t given word to General Amaya, or Corvus would certainly have been notified by now. He wanted that elf found, and either he didn’t trust the General, or…

Or, there was some other motivation at play here. Something secret. Something, perhaps, that the Lord Protector would only trust to his own family.

Corvus recalled, all at once, that the elf had her wrist bound by magic. It was what had given him the advantage in the fight with her, knowing about it ahead of time, knowing what to target, what to exploit…and the Healer had said it was dark magic, hadn’t she? Dark magic, when there were only two dark mages who the elf might have encountered. One of those mages was now here.

Something isn’t right here, he thought to himself grimly, and felt his fingers itch for a quill. Amaya needed to know about this. But…

He sighed. Kora hadn’t returned in a while, so he could only assume she’d been put to work on the other end, relaying vital information to those places and people she was bound to. If he wanted to report, he’d have to do it by the town’s rookery, and send it to the Crow Office for redistribution. That would take time, and he still didn’t have the full story. If the Lord Protector’s children were here – if he could talk to them-

He needed to report. But it would be better to wait until there was more to say.

“If they ask…” Corvus said, slowly, to a dozen keen pairs of ears. “Tell them where to find me. I think we need to talk.”

--

End chapter.

Chapter Notes: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1OGBo7nKVDIfWjhxGe90fwaS3lP0IfQJ3?usp=sharing

Link to PIAJ chapter notes folder (Google Drive folder including worldbuilding, commentary, medical notes, research notes, and misc notes for all applicable chapters within this section)

This chapter's notes cover: travel details, the Crow Lord’s office, Hope, Mercy scripture, Moonshadow religion, rare Moonshadow elf abilities.

Timeline: https://docs.google.com/document/d/107eD8zmLAAFBWSOgsLyl8g4pAdQF4EgMh4rpN_m91U4/edit?usp=sharing Link to PIAJ Timeline Google doc ( to be updated as story progresses)

PIAJ Masterpage: https://tenspontaneite.tumblr.com/piaj Link to PIAJ Masterpage on tumblr (containing links to chapters, meta, art, Q&As, and resources) (Link may not work properly on mobile/app)

Author Notes: 

So. It’s been a while. You can pretty much completely blame that on a single scene, which blocked me so hard that it actually kicked me directly out of the fandom. I’ve never had that happen before. I had to slowly claw my way back via my other tdp fics. The scene in question is written now, thankfully. I deferred it to the start of next chapter out of desperation, and then managed to write it all in a mad burst of inspiration the other day.

Various things have happened in my life that you can, like, vaguely catch hints of if you read back on my tumblr, if you’re into that sort of thing. Otherwise:

Credits: more Hogarth inspiration for one Sarli line in this chapter, specifically 'Where there is life, there is hope of change'. It's not word for word in the text, but there was definite inspiration there. I can't quite remember which book it was – In Extremis, maybe? Middle of its series, in any case.

Next chapter is done, and I’m very excited about it. It has some fun content, but most of all: it has my favourite Runaan plotline scene. I wrote it a long time ago, relatively early on in piaj development, and have been in love with it ever since. I’m so excited we’re finally to the point of me being able to publish it. I’m going to write a fucking huge author’s commentary section for that chapter’s extended notes, I have so much to say about it.

For now, though…I like this chapter a lot, actually. I’ve reread it so many times while trying to block-break over the last few months, and normally that would make me sick of it, but I still love it. Really enjoying starting to get to The Good Stuff. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! Or some sort of stat enrichment! It’s incredible fuel for the writing engine.

[koheletgirl]

She-ra?

favorite character: ????? how ??????

least favorite character: shadow weaver fuck that bitch

5 favorite ships (canon or non-canon): glimbow, catradora, seamista, scorfuma, entrapdak (im problematic). look at me and my canon ships (:

character I find most attractive: mermista but it's the voice again

character I would marry: bow <333

character I would be best friends with: catra i think we would vibe

a random thought: i watched a few minutes of the hebrew dub once and it was Fantastic

an unpopular opinion: dm me for my unpopular opinions on spop ☆ no im kidding but the main thing with me and this show is that i like it a lot and it makes me really happy and it's one show i choose not to take that seriously.

my canon otp: catradora sorry moots

my non-canon otp: there are none bless <3 maybe mara and lighthope? idk

most badass character: mara

most epic villain: horde prime. perfect villain 10/10

pairing i am not a fan of: i dont love catra x glimmer

character i feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): very popular opinion, entrapta. as in they should have had the princesses treat her wayyy better

favourite friendship: best friends squad 💖

character i most identify with: scorpia. just please like me girl i beg

character I wish I could be: glimmer

send me a fandom/ship/character

[dorki-c]

Metanoia

Characters: Dabi and reader

Relationship: Dabi X Pro-hero! Reader

Quote: “Metanoia”

Gift for: @glitterfreezed (Aka photoshop goddess) THANK YOU for being one of my very first moots on this crazy platform! I really hope you enjoy this one shot (as I spent way too much time on it XD) and for anybody reading this: GO CHECK OUT GLITTERS PLAYLISTS!! They are honestly amazing!

Tw: Kidnapping, Use of Guns, Slight nudity

Going on patrol lately has been boring.

Sure, (y/n) wouldn’t pass it up for helping little old ladies get across the road or helping itty bitty children find their parents within a crowd.

But besides that, there was little to nothing to do- no paperwork, no criminals terrorising the streets, or vigilantes on loose- the streets were cleared and scrubbed down from any crime lately.

It was strange.

Nothing has been the same ever since Kamino ward as well.

The moment you found out your lover was a villain; you took great lengths to create distance from him. Not sparing him a second glance or another phone call- let’s not forget you blocked his number- although doing these things made you seem like an asshole; you are a hero.

Heroes do not date Villains.

Its absolutely forbidden.

Though should you have stayed with him, something could’ve happened- he could’ve used you for blackmail, ransom, and maybe trafficking- as terrifying as it sounds, at least your far from your old apartment.

At least your away from that freak. That sadistic freakshow, with his stupid smirk and (beautiful) weird ass scars.

Luckily, the clock had ticked to the hour that announced your release from countless wasted minutes of scrolling through your phone as two feet laid disrespectfully on the hero agencies desk where nobody pointed out the blatant rudeness she was showing.

Even if she wanted to stay here, the female should get home soon. Even if there was no problem during the day, that doesn’t reassure that there will be trouble when walking through the evening.

Where you had the inkling of protection that is provided to you by your muscle memory, nobody should rely on themselves to do a simple task like walking home when there is such a thing as societies creepy-crawly insects withering across the nooks and crannies of cities and flooding the deepest rabbit holes with their sickening ideals.

Just thinking about them brings revolting nausea into the churning acid within the insides of your body as it screams out to stay aware of the footsteps you take, of the glances you throw out, and of your hands gripping the cheap handbag- that you bought on a whim from that one charity shop around the corner of the apartment building- when a hand of yours dipped inside the bag to grip the weapon that laid unaware of whose blood it could spill today.

The three walled mirror room moved down from whatever floor it was on and when opening the doors, a small (and annoying) ping was heard through the (also) small lobby area.

When approaching your apartment door with your guard up and one of your hands swiftly opening the rusted door handle allowing a small gust of air to run into the vacant apartment, the eyes of a human watchdog sporadically darted from one place to another.

Making sure she can securely (slam) open the door, the pro hero steps in one footstep at a time like one of the cliché spy movies before throwing her bag down and yanking the heavy weapon out of her bag.

Its matte black exterior elongated to show the vertical and horizontal bits and pieces of the weapon as (Y/n) rested one of her fingers on the trigger whilst fiddling with the safety lock to make it unlock.

Once unlocking the safety lock of the gun, she leaned it towards the ground, turned around for a brief second to retrieve the key from her apartment door, then kicked said door shut with the heel of her foot.

Even when she investigates her almost empty apartment three times without a peaceful resolve at the end, the female is already sitting on her couch scrolling through another apartment renting website for herself.

It’s pathetic.

She’s on the run from her ex-boyfriend because she knows that if she gets caught by him, there will be a low chance of her escaping from his grasp again. It was quite evident from his group’s little broadcast that if anyone “tries to catch us, you’re going to be caught first.”

What if that applies to people wanting to escape from them?

.

.

.

Stripping herself of the day’s tiredness, the female wore the loosest clothing within her wardrobe and ventured out to the shit-tip of her kitchen- the sink only had a few dishes in it, but, otherwise the trash looked like it got taken out once a year and there were so many letters scattered in piles over the counters.

Sighing at the sight, letting a hand of hers travel up her shirt to soothe an itch on her back, (y/n) shook her head at her own mess and still continued to go towards the fridge to dig through it in order to find the cheap- most definitely shitty- microwavable food she bought from the store only three days ago because to be completely honest, she’s saving up for buying a ticket out of this shit country and living in another one.

Ripping the film cover off of the food’s plastic container, she shoved her shitty food in the microwave and let the annoying beep sound through the apartment while (y/n) went into the small living room, grabbed some shorts that were sunbathing under the flickering yellow bulb and put them on in order to take out the trash.

When entering back into the apartment however, a flash of darkness alerted her body to go limp.

What was this feeling of restraint around her arms and legs? Moving one of her wrists- in an attempt to pull them out of the bindings- a harsh rub of a frictional material bit across the sensitive layer of the underside of your wrist, where it elicited a hiss to very subtly slip from your lips.

That seemingly helped beg a question in your curious mind. “Are my eyes covered?” Although when opening your eyes, a flurry of white blinded you causing a multitude of red freckles to dance across the pale illumination.

Whoever thought not putting a blindfold on you was a smart idea, it seems clear to me that they didn’t watch enough spy movies.

Okay, time to take a look of your surroundings.

First of all, Y/n glanced down to see if she had any major injuries- nope, the only thing missing from her body was her clothes and if that didn’t count as being kinky, then (y/n) doesn’t know what it counts as- along with her feet barely touching the carpeted floor, her ankles were tied to what she assumes to be a wooden chair.

Looking off to the side after shifting her gaze from her feet to her forearm her eyes picked out the surroundings behind her and the type of seat she was sitting in. Wow, whoever kidnapped you, really knows how to do it inefficiently.

Though, if they’ve used cheap ass rope and tied you up to a wooden chair- out of all the chairs in the world, they choose a wooden chair- along with forgetting to put a blindfold on you, they probably didn’t take any precaution when kidnapping you because the criminals probably have back up on hold.

Meaning there was more than one culprit involved and that they don’t expect you to get out of this area due to being outnumbered.

Moving your head upwards once more, the outlines of what seems to be a closet and a drawer were all that you could observe before some sort of jiggling sound was emitted through the silent room.

It wasn’t till the door opened that it revealed somebody that (y/n) didn’t expect. A hitch lodged itself like a six-foot down corpse where only grave looters would be able to find it. Was she seeing a ghost? Perhaps. Did she care? Maybe, however she was trained to not overreact in a situation like this.

“Well, look what we have here…” The metal contraptions that held the person’s tough layer of skin nudged a little in the direction of the muscle’s movement. “…A squirming itty-bitty hero.” The venomous hiss of their voice slipped real close to her ear as the lamp pointing obnoxiously into her right eye was turned off.

“So, this was your doing?” Snapped the hero as the villain sat down on her lap and gently grasped her chin- just like the old days- where his fucked up (handsome) grin shone brighter than the hero on her first debut. Dodging the question, the male let his weight lean onto the female’s thighs as she harshly craned her jutted out facial bone away from his hold.

“Oh, and it looks like your still as feisty as ever.”

“Yeah, I am. Got a problem with it, villain?” The hiss made the patchwork villain only recoil an inch backwards before narrowing his pupils at the nickname and gripping the very first thing his eyes land on, your neck, where the surface of his skin was smouldering to the touch.

“I wouldn’t say that if I was in your position.” He proclaimed as the slimming of her lips straightened out to a thin line, “Now, I’m here to offer you a position and…” From somewhere on his body, he pulled a gun- one of the many similar pistols that you hoarded in your apartment for safe keeping- then pointed it straight at your thinly protected heart where the brush of stainless chilled metal tingled the very fabric of your body.

“…it would be wise of you to listen.” Sure, a gun was pointed literally at her chest- lets not forget that she’s being forced into this position of unwillingness- but hopefully, some otherworldly deity will let (y/n) live one more second.

“Okay, good girl?” You’ve never committed to metanoia before, but at this point, you might as well.

[cooliogirl101]

Since I've seen no one else doing it for this one, Hisana/Gin romantic

Gin falls for her, both through a series of sudden realizations and so gradually he doesn’t notice it until loving her is as much a part of him as Shinsou is. 

1. Chemistry

Talking to Yukimura Hisana is easy. 

It’s little more than a passing thought, easily dismissed, and yet he keeps coming back to it. The way she never falters under his gaze like so many others do. The way she always has a retort ready, matching him word for word. It feels like they’ve known each other for years despite only knowing each other for a few short months. 

He knows it can’t last, of course. Sooner or later they’ll be enemies; she’ll do everything she can to stop him (because she’s Hisana) and when she does, he’ll show her no mercy. Their relationship is already complicated by a million lies, by opposing morals and Aizen Sousuke and her knowing exactly what kind of person he is. 

And yet despite all that, being with her feels like the simplest thing in the world when it should have been anything but. 

2. Similarity

She understands.

He once told her that they were more similar than they were different and it startles even him at times how true that statement rings. He has never hidden what he is from her and when they’re alone together– when she’s away from her precious sister and boyfriend, when she doesn’t feel the need to hide her fangs– he can see the same single-minded intensity he feels (to crush those who would dare take away what’s his) mirrored in her eyes. 

Then there’s the fact that she’s guessed far more about him than he should be comfortable with. She may not know about his relationship with Rangiku and all that he would do for her, but she’s intuited that there’s someone he cares about and that alone should have him viewing her as a threat, an enemy.

He doesn’t and that, more than her ability to see through him, is what truly unnerves him. 

3. Loss

Gin doesn’t regret his part in Hisana’s death. It was necessary, he’s long since made his peace with that, and it would have happened even without his involvement. Yukimura Hisana’s fate had been sealed the moment she raised her voice in favor of those already condemned. 

He doesn’t grieve for her. But he can’t help but think that a world without Yukimura Hisana is far lesser for it. 

4. Trust

She came back.

Upon discovering Khimaira’s true identity, even Gin isn’t sure how to explain his decision to propose a partnership with her instead of killing her. He’d made the decision decades ago that killing Aizen would be his duty, and his alone. Confiding in another person was out of the question; people, shinigami especially, were stupid, careless, weak. They were a liability, even those you cared for. Especially those you cared for– he’d learned that long ago. 

And yet, with Hisana…he’d personally witnessed her come back from the dead, from having her soul ripped apart and her mind shattered, just so she could hand-deliver a giant, heartfelt ‘fuck you’ to the person responsible. How could he not begin to believe in her?

(He’d had her pinned against a wall, Shinsou to her throat and ready to kill…and then he’d released her. 

“Why?” She’d asked. Why not turn me in, why let me go?

He hadn’t been sure how to explain that in the event that things went wrong and he failed, she was the only person he trusted to finish his job for him.)

5. The future

A fool’s dream.

He’d long since accepted that he could have no future with Rangiku. One didn’t simply betray Aizen Sousuke and survive. And even if he did, then what? If he returned to Soul Society, he’d be branded a traitor, executed for his betrayal and the murders he had committed on Aizen’s orders. And Rangiku…he knows her well enough to know she’d never accept that. By defending him though, she’d be forever stained, disgraced by her association with him. He loves her far too much to do that to her. 

And yet–

“Ya ever consider what you’ll do after we win?” Gin leans back casually, resting his weight on the palms of his hands. Hisana (and he’ll always think of her as Hisana, no matter what name she uses or face she wears) glances at him, amused.

“A bit premature to say that, don’t you think?” She asks wryly. “There’s no guarantee either one of us will survive winning.”

“Indulge me,” he says, watching her closely. “Would ya go back to being Hisana?” 

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment. 

“I don’t know,” she answers finally, when the silence stretches on too long. “I don’t know if I can ever go back to being Hisana, if it’s even possible at this point. I just…I hate the thought of being his legacy. Of owing everything that I am to him. This body…” She motioned at herself with a disgusted expression on her face. “Sometimes I wish I could just erase myself. Start over, with a clean slate. I deserve that much, don’t I? A new beginning, unburdened by old memories.” Her words trail off towards the end, soften to the point that he has to struggle to hear them. “Then again, I don’t really want to forget. Too much I’d miss, I think.” 

He wonders if he’s imagining the way her gaze drifts towards him as she says that last sentence.

“I suppose the two don’t need to be completely mutually exclusive. I can reinvent myself and keep a piece of my past with me at the same time– I have before. I can do it again,” she muses. 

“Would ya let me be there when that happens?” He asks quietly. He knows it’s too soon, far too soon– premature, as she called it– to be thinking thoughts of the future, but he already knows he wants to be a part of hers. “Be there as you…start again.” Hisana looks at him for a moment, speculative.

“You’re such a large part of my present, my past, it’s difficult to imagine you not being a part of any future I have as well,” she says slowly. “You should know though that I won’t chase you. I’m not in the habit of begging people to stay.” 

“I wouldn’t expect ya to,” he says, before falling silent.

Chances are, the whole topic was a moot point anyway, an interesting thought experiment between two people who knew full well the subject matter they were discussing was purely hypothetical. He knows he doesn’t expect to survive this war and he knows Hisana feels the same way. 

And yet despite knowing that his fate is set, despite having resigned himself to dying for the sake of his revenge over a century ago, despite knowing it’s the height of stupidity to wish for anything else at this point…something about Yukimura Hisana makes him hope for an after. 

(Is this too fluffy? It feels too fluffy considering that it’s from Gin’s POV– it feels weird writing him from a softer point of view. I do think that the process of him falling in love with her would go something like this though-- also the first 3 steps are already WTL-canon, take that as you will.

Probably wrote a bit too much for this– technically the prompt was ‘come up with one headcanon’ and I came up with five– but I couldn’t help it, it combines several of my favorite tropes: ‘enemies to friends to (implied future) lovers’ and ‘two deeply damaged people find comfort in each other/us against the world’

[derekscorner]

When relevancy goes too far

Relevancy is a bit of a complex topic the more you think about it. How far do you push it? Which parts of a story are needed to know the other? How should something define the follow up? These questions have widely different answers depending on the person and especially depending on format.

Hell, if you wish to nit pick it further, even the series in question is a factor. Some series’ thrive on whats done while others drown in their own scripts. I believe Kingdom Hearts is one of the latter.

That said, I am not someone who hates KH’s expanded stories simply for existing. The “side games” in of themselves aren’t bad nor is the idea of using such things to expand a world. The same could be said for game novels or comics in my opinon.

However, these things can be a slippery slope or a lazy exist. For example, Assassin’s Creed threw out it’s whole Juno arc into a comic just to get it out of the way which completely shattered my investment.

In turn, Nomura himself isn’t at fault for as much as we bash him for. Something he’s admitted himself as seen here;

So, the new Days is one of the three titles announced in the Autumn of 2007 as new projects in the KH series.

Nomura: Those three titles were all announced at the same time, but in reality the opportunities for the projects were raised in a disjointed way. Birth by Sleep is a project that was raised within our company, but Days is from Nintendo, and coded is from Disney, so we started by talking to each of them.

-source <--Link btw

And anyone that’s read interviews out of curiosity will know that there’s also factors like how ‘Birth By Sleep’ was shifted from PS2 to PSP or that ‘Chain of Memories’ wasn’t a planned title either. (seen here)

So if these things aren’t inherently bad or planned that begs the question of why it’s a problem here? At least in my opinion of the series.

The answer is simple and it lies solely on Nomura’s shoulders for it as a fault, relevancy. The man goes out of his way to make each and every game, concert, or otherwise is attached to the series in some meaningful way going forward.

Naturally, any expanded media is tied to the main narrative in some way. I know this, I am not that foolish. The problem is that Nomura makes them plot relevant going forward.

These titles can’t be true “side games” because they dictate the story going forward in some way. It’s for this reason the more radical fans hate to hear the terminology “side game” to begin with.

This problem was especially bad for years because of how spread out the series became among other gaming systems. And while some like to say it’s fine now due to the collection discs I dont think this will last long given the “phase 2″ images released for KH’s near future.

Hell, I’d even argue this problem isn’t even fixed in truth because the current KH story involving Foretellers, Luxu, and so on is all things spun from a mobile game. Yes, you have to sit through scenes on YT or play a mobile game to fully grasp that cat creature (Chirithy) you saw in KH3.

Naturally, it’s much easier to watch the scenes on YT these days but that also feeds into the loop of not paying for the game itself. I personally see no issue with it but companies are much worse in recent years for shutting down Youtube channels over loose definition of “piracy”.

No game series is worth several consoles. Of course, I’m just speaking from experience, with KH now on the Xbox this may be a moot point in a few years.

I am rambling, off track, lets focus. “Why is this an issue?” is what you’ve read this far for me to explain. The biggest issue with this poor decision making is how it harms the main narrative you’re telling.

For comparison, look at Sora in KH3. He’s often confused by people he doesn’t remember meeting or events he doesn’t remember nor took part in. This is roughly close to what it would be like for someone that’s only played KH1, 2, and 3.

Sora has that same level of insight including what he was told about others like Roxas or Aqua but other characters in-game. This feeds into KH’s misconceived air of complexity.

Kingdom Hearts, as a story, isn’t that complex. It has deeper themes it throws to the wayside but it is easy to follow if you play most games in some form. This ties back into how the series was handled up until the PS4/KH3.

Ever want to know who Roxas was in KH2? Well you had to play Days or you can sit through that horribly boring 3 hour movie on the Remix disc. Even then, the Roxas you see in Days wont be like the one in KH2.

Wish to know who Xehanort was? Play Birth by Sleep! All three campaigns with little variance. Then once you’re done get ready to sit on YT or download a phone app and play Kingdom Hearts Dark Road.

The Foretellers, Luxu, or the Master of Masters? That’s another set of hours, if not days, with the KH Union X Cross, KH Dark Road, and should you choose you can even watch the Back Cover movie which answers nothing at all but shows you the Foretellers in Kh3 graphical glory.

You wish to know how Namine knew who The Lingering Will was? Well dig up a fan translation of a script the Japanese voice cast read for a music concert event. (yes that happened)

You can see where this is going I assume and this is just scratching the surface by the way. You wish to know the finer details like Keyblade types, the inconsistent time traveling, “recompletion”, and so on then be prepared to read word of god interviews, in-game dictionaries/journals and always be ready for a few to change.

Whether it’s a true retcon or just an ambiguous statement, the series is ongoing, Nomura heads the ship, and he is by no means obligated to stick to previous statements if he can make a new one to alter those events.

Then again, holding too much weight in words said outside the game itself is a faulty way of doing things that most fans (like me) have fallen victim too at least once.

At the same time, all of these things are relevant by Nomura’s decision. Sure, the remixes have fixed this to a degree but it’s anyone’s guess for how long. Better yet, at what cost did the remixes fix anything?

The best example of what I mean is Coded. It was originally a game for phones. At the time, only Japan had a phone capable of playing it. Feeling that a shame the game later found it’s way to the DS for all fans to play.

At this point in time Coded was the only true example of a “side story”. It was by no means necessary. The whole datascape plot was more convoluted than it needed to be despite data!Sora being far better than the original at this point, and easy to miss.

But...well that was good. The DS version of Coded was fun as hell to play. The only version of the “command deck system” I’d consider worth any semblance of praise. It did it’s job of getting some level of fans invested such as my friend @blackosprey​ and it’s story was missable.

You did not need to play Coded to understand Dream Drop Distance or further. This was perfect. This is what games like Days, KH Chi/UX, 0.2, and DDD should’ve been.

Games that reached out to grab new people, games that played around, and games that expanded on the main narrative without dictating it’s direction. A side game is something that exists alongside or outside your main story.

However this isn’t what we got. 0.2 A Fragmentary Passage was a short sequel to BBS but also a pretty tech demo for KH3. Dream Drop Distance was there to show the real Sora that people needed help and to show us that Xehanort was back.

KH Chi was a browser game meant to show the Keyblade War and how it shaped Sora’s era. Now it’s an ongoing curse on the series with time traveling plot that affected KH3 directly.

Coded was made into a movie you needed to sit through thanks to one small newly added scene. Days lost many small interactions it’s fans loved in the transition to a movie that is hard to sit through.

I’ve also heard KHDDD and 0.2 were “shaved off” KH3 in a sense to be their own titles...this...this makes so little sense.

Nomura calls KH “Sora’s story” but this is a lie. If it truly was Sora’s story then your main narrative would be BBS, KH1, CoM, 2, and the original combined form of KH3. That’s the titles he’s relevant, those are the titles he stops Xehanort’s plans.

These other titles could’ve been so fun but none of them were truly allowed to breath and be themselves. They were weakened and limited by Nomura deciding to prop the ongoing story upon them like they’re stilts.

Then as a result you can’t close out KH3 without resolving all of these other events and characters which drags it’s own story down. KH3 feels all over the place because it is. It’s trying to tie as many knots as it can from threads created in titles that were way more relevant then they needed to be.

Kh3 can be seen as a clean break for many but I see it as a matter of time. KHUX and now KHDR are still there casting a shadow, dictating what comes next. Melody of Memory is one of several games planned for an unknown but hopefully more thought out direction.

I worry I haven’t explained what I meant well enough but moral of my story is that making things too relevant hurts not only your main story but these new stories you wish to explore.

You can’t have a story and it’s cast breath if you’re tying a knot of mythos too tightly around their necks and this is a tragedy to me. KH began life with such potential but it constantly holds itself back because so few entries into it’s story are truly just an entry.

And I am not saying games can’t follow up one another nor that they shouldn’t. What’s needed is a clear idea and some breathing room. A good example would be to save people in Days with the game DDD. DDD could’ve wiped away some clutter to focus on the final Xehanort battle in a sense.

Nomura has a huge problem with wanting connectivity without letting games be connected by the name alone. It’s like he wants to do the opposite of what Final Fantasy has done but to detrimental results.

This harms so much but worst of them it hurts development. Because Days was made so important, we had a movie made. Because Coded was elevated, a movie was made. Because the keyblade war was so popular, Union Cross was made.

The Remixes would’ve been better to consolidate lore not waste time trying to appease every whim. KH’s relevancy is a huge problem and I doubt it’ll stop any time soon.

[originalhybridloverfics]

I Can’t Let Her Die Ch 6

A/N: I want to thank everyone who has shown an interest in this story. I really appreciate it.  ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

“The future?” Digg repeated flatly.

“This is right up your alley, Felicity.” Roy shot her a teasing grin. “Like that Doctor Who TV show you’re always going on about.” 

“This is not like Doctor Who. I doubt he used a tardis to get here.” Felicity shook her head. “But that does beg the question how did you manage time travel?” She looked at Oliver curiously. 

“Magic,” Oliver answered. 

“Magic?” Felicity repeated, remembering a time before she joined the team when they talked about magic. 

“Magic.” He confirmed. “I know a guy who let’s say is quite good with magic, and he performed a spell to send me back.”

“But why did you need to come back?” Digg questioned. 

“I lost someone very important to me.” Someone Oliver couldn’t live without. “I came back to save that person.”

“It wasn’t Thea, was it?” Roy asked alarmed. He hadn’t seen Thea since she left Starling City, but it would kill him if something happened to her.

“No.” Oliver shook his head, looking directly at Felicity. 

Felicity swallowed hard, her chest tightening with the way he never looked away from her. It was a dawning realization that had a pit forming in her stomach. 

The way Oliver reacted to her when she came down the stairs. The way he clung to her, his tears. Even now with the way, Oliver refused to look away from her for even a moment. Like he was afraid, she was going to disappear. Or the way he clasps her hand, remaining some kind of physical contact with her no matter how small as if he was reassuring himself she was real.

Felicity’s throat constricted with a wave of fear. 

Digg was having a hard time believing in magic and time travel; however, he got distracted when a sound of distress escaped Felicity, her skin paling. “Felicity, are you alright?” 

Felicity couldn’t answer him; however, her focus narrowed down to Oliver. Future Oliver. “It was me, wasn’t it? I mean, I’m not presumptuous but the way you’re looking at me right now, I can’t help but think it’s me who you lost.” Her frown deepened. “Except, I know I’m important to you, but I doubt I’m important enough for you to take such drastic measures like time travel.” 

“Don’t say that.” Future Oliver shook his head. “Don’t do that to yourself. You’re more important than you possibly know.” 

“Why would you think you’re not important?” Present Oliver steps forward until he was standing side by side with his future self directly in front of her. 

“Because of you, you idiot.” Future Oliver snapped, finally looking away from Felicity only to glare harshly at his younger self. “You can’t just tell her you love her and then reveal it was a plan to take down Slade. You should have talked to her first. How did you think that was going to affect her?” 

“Hey, you’re from the future. You did the same thing.” Oliver protested. “If I am an idiot, so are you. You did the exact same thing.”

“You’re right. I am an idiot. But I’m not the one with my head still stuck so far up my ass that I’m too scared to take a chance on something real.” Future Oliver snapped. “I know what I want, and I know what I’m willing to do to fight for her.” 

Oh, wow. Felicity’s heart thudded against her ribcage. That sounded like a declaration. 

Present Oliver clenched his jaw eyes darkening in anger. 

Felicity’s eyes widened, and she bit her lip, watching as the two Oliver’s glared one another down. The veins in their neck straining, tension coming off them in waves. 

She never thought she would see Oliver literally arguing with himself or looking like he was going to throw a punch any second with the way their muscles were bunching.

It was hot in a weird way. Felicity bit her lip. Something was wrong with her. 

Something was definitely wrong with her. She should not find it hot that they were arguing or that they were arguing over her. 

It was not hot. It wasn’t. 

She nibbled on her bottom lip. Maybe, if she repeated that on a loop to herself, she could convince herself of the lie. 

“Can we not do this right now?” Present Oliver’s eyes flitted to Felicity then back to his future self, arching an eyebrow. 

“I’m not gonna hide anything from her.” Future Oliver threw back at him. 

“This is so weird.” Felicity murmured. “It was already weird with there being two of you, but it’s extra weird that you’re fighting about me. I mean, I might have dreamed about there being two of you before, but you hadn’t been fighting over me. There was zero fighting, but there was fuck-” Felicity cut herself off abruptly her face flushing red as both theirs eyes snapped to her with a laser-like focus. 

She hadn’t meant to say any of that. 

“I mean, there was no fu- um, there was sharing going on, in the strictly platonic sense.” Felicity bit down on her lip to keep from embarrassing herself further. 

“Yeah, I’m sure it was completely platonic.” Roy shot Felicity a teasing look. “Like how when you can’t take your eyes off him when he’s working out. Is that platonic, too?”

Felicity shot out her arm in an attempt to swat at him, but he was too far out of her reach. “Quiet, Scarecrow.” 

“How does it happen? When does she get killed?” John demanded, stepping toward the two Oliver’s, his eyes flitting to Felicity in concern. 

His questions sucked the teasing and playful air out of the room. 

“Three weeks?” Felicity repeated, her voice rising in alarm. “So I’m really going to die?” 

“No.” It was an echo from all four men, but it sounded harsher from future Oliver as he took her hand in his again. 

“I am not going to let you get hurt again. I will protect you with my life.” 

“That’s great, and all but you’re not the only one here who wants to keep her safe,” Roy interjected. 

“Exactly, so we need to know everything so we can protect her,” John said. 

Felicity knew they didn’t mean anything by it, but they were talking about her like she wasn’t standing right there. “Can you guys stop talking like I’m not here. It’s my life we’re discussing.”

“I’m sorry.” Present Oliver apologized. “We want to keep you safe, but you’re right. This is your life. I, I mean, he-” he nodded at his older self beside him. “Will explain, and we will take it from there, and you have a choice in how we handle all of this.” 

Felicity nodded. She turned her focus on future Oliver, squeezing her fingers around his. “Tell us.”

“In a few days, bodies are going to start to drop. Arrows being the chosen weapon. A copy cat Hood.”

Roy frowned. “Like the ones who took Thea?” 

“No,” Oliver shook his head. “It’s just the one man, and this isn’t about what happened with the Undertaking or the Glades. It’s about me. About who I was when I first came back to Starling City. About the killer, I used to be.” 

“But you’re not that person anymore.” Felicity protested. 

“That’s why this man surfaced.” Digg realized. “He thinks he’s doing the Hood’s work.” 

“No, he resurfaces to remind of who I was. To prove that the person I’ve become is too weak to be the symbol this city needs.” 

“That’s not true.” Felicity protested. “You’ve become a symbol of hope for the city.”

“He doesn’t want me to be a symbol of hope. He wants me to be a symbol of fear.” present Oliver realized. 

“Yes, and he figured he could bring forth the man I used to be by taking the people I care about away from me. Starting with the Team.”

“Felicity was his target then. Kill her and bring forth the killer inside of you,” said Digg. 

“No.” Future Oliver shook his head. “Roy was the target. Felicity pushed him out of the way and was hit with the Arrow that was meant for him.”

“What?!” Roy’s eyes shot to Felicity in alarm. He didn’t want Felicity to die for him. It had been two months since everything that happened with Slade, and in that time, he was more involved with the team, and they had become his family. Felicity was the sister he never even realized he wanted. 

Felicity’s brow furrowed. She didn’t like knowing she was going to die. No one would, but in a strange way, it was better knowing her death wasn’t pointless. She gave her life for someone she cared about. 

Felicity glanced at Roy, seeing his look of alarm, she knew he didn’t see it the way she did. 

She pulled her hand from Oliver’s and took a step toward Roy and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Hey, relax. It’s okay.” 

Roy shook his head. “No, it’s not. I’m not going to let you die because of me.” 

“She doesn’t die because of you. She dies because of me.” Future Oliver interjected with a pained look. 

“This isn’t anyone’s fault,” Felicity told them both. “I made a choice to save a friend, and I can tell you I would make the same choice. It’s my life, and I would choose to give it for a friend. It’s not either of your faults.” 

“It’s a moot point.” John crossed his arms. 

Roy’s eyes shot to him in betrayal. “How can you of all people say that? We just find out Felicity dies for me and your response is it’s a moot point. Like her life doesn’t matter?”

“Oh, it matters.” John’s voice took on that hard soldier edge. “It’s a moot point because we’re not gonna let it happen. If we take this guy down before he even starts dropping bodies, Felicity won’t ever be in danger.”

“Exactly.” Present Oliver agreed. “We find him and make sure he doesn’t have the chance to hurt anyone in the name of the Hood and then I,” Oliver waved a hand at his future self. “He will go back to his time.” 

“As soon as Felicity’s life is no longer in danger, and my task is complete. I will immediately return to my time.” Future Oliver said, moving closer to Felicity again. He just needed to be in arms reach of her. 

“Is that a qualification of the spell?” Felicity’s head tilted in curiosity. 

“Yes, once you’re life is no longer in danger, I’ll just return to my time,” Oliver confirmed. 

“Well, that makes it simple.” present Oliver declared. “We’ll know for sure that the danger is gone when you are.”

“If we’re going to stop him before he kills anyone, let alone me we should get to finding him.” Felicity moved to her computers, pulling Oliver along with her because he refused to let her hand go. “Give me his name, and I’m sure we can find him.” 

“No, need.” Oliver squeezed her hand. “I know where he is. I will go there and handle him, and then you’ll be safe.”

“We’ll go.” present Oliver interjected. 

Felicity frowned. “Which one of you is going to wear the hood? And how is the other one, going to disguise themselves?  What about the bow?” 

“He can use one of my hoodies and my old bow.” Present Oliver stated. 

Future Oliver didn’t protest. Mainly cause he didn’t care who wore the suit. It was meant to be a symbol of heroism and what he planned on doing was not heroic. 

He didn’t need a bow because he planned on killing the man with his bare hands. Again. Instead, he replied. “Let’s suit up.” 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Felicity monitored the two Oliver’s and Jonn on the monitors, listening over her comms. Roy was sitting next to her, silent. That wasn’t unusual. No, what was unusual was that he wanted to stay back with her. Especially when he liked being in the thick of the action. 

“You know, you didn’t have to stay back with me,” Felicity told him. 

“I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to.” Roy needed to. The knowledge that Felicity in the future died for him was a future he didn’t want, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

Felicity looked at him a moment, the tense set of shoulders, his eyes hard and his frown deepening by the minute. A wave of empathy hit her. She couldn’t imagine what he was feeling to know a friend, that she sacrifices her life for him in the very near future. She reached up and muted the comms before focusing her attention entirely on Roy. “Are you okay?” 

“Am I okay?” Roy shook his head in disbelief. “You just found out you’re going to die, painfully, I might add in three weeks, and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

“Yeah, I am.” Felicity concerned didn’t waver. 

“I’m fi-”

“And don’t say fine. I hear that enough from Oliver. I don’t need to hear it from you, too.” Felicity leveled Roy with a look. “Are you okay?”

Roy looked away from her. “No, I’m not. I mean, how can I possibly be okay when I learned a friend is going to die for me?”

“Hey, it hasn’t happened yet.” Felicity patted his arm to get him to look at her again. “And once we get this guy. It’s never going to be something either of us will ever have to worry about again.” 

“I hope you’re right.” Roy couldn’t lose his sister, and that’s what Felicity was to him. 

“I always am.” Felicity patted his hand before unmuting the comms her eyes widening at the commotion she heard on the other line. She couldn’t ever remember hearing Oliver swear so much over comms. 

“Fuck! This is not fucking happening. That murdering bastard is supposed to be here!” Oliver’s voice thundered, echoing in her ear, his heavy breathing, telling her just how angry he was and knew instantly that it was future Oliver that was losing it in a fit of rage. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

A primal rage coursed through Oliver’s veins, making him feel like his blood was boiling over. 

Andrew Miller was supposed to be here. It was the same place he had found Andrew resided in when he hunted him down in his time. An office in the Glades.

But here, he wasn’t there. There was the chance that he hadn’t set up roots here yet, but what if that wasn’t the case. 

What if one of the consequences of him coming back changed how Felicity dies by Andrew Miller’s hand? Or God forbid what if it sped up the timeline for Felicity’s death? 

He kicked a desk, swiping boxes off another, he picked up a lamp and threw it at the wall, the ceramic shattering on impact. 

“Don’t you think you should stop him? Destroying everything isn’t doing us any good.” John looked at his partner. 

Present Oliver made a face, he understood why the other him was angry. How were they going to protect Felicity if they didn’t know where her killer was? He turned his gaze away from his future self just as he picked up a box and threw it at a window, shattering the glass. “Why does it have to be me?”

“Becuase it’s your future self having a meltdown.” John crossed his arms. 

Oliver rolled his eyes but stepped forward and grabbed his future self by the shoulder just as he slammed a fist through the wall. “That’s enough.”

Future Oliver whirled around, knocking his arm away. “Don’t touch me!”

“You need to calm down,” Oliver ordered, stepping forward. 

“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down!” Oliver shoved his self back with a hit to his chest. “He’s not here. I have to find him and kill him.” 

“Whoa,” Digg stepped forward. “Who said anything about killing this guy? We neutralize him and hand him over to the authorities.” 

Future Oliver spun on him, leveling him with a murderous look. “I’m not going to let the man who kills Felicity live. I’m not going to give him the chance to take her from me again. He will die.” 

“Oliver,” John stepped forward brushing past the present Oliver. “Killing is a last resort. When there is no other choice.”

“There is no other choice when it comes to Felicity’s life. I will kill whoever I have to, to keep her safe,” The words vibrated from his chest. “And I will put anyone down who gets in my way, and I don’t care who it is.” 

The threat was clear. 

“Oliver, that’s enough. We don’t go around threatening our friends.” Felicity’s voice sounded in his ear, and future Oliver tensed, his shoulders slumping forward. He hadn’t intended for her to hear all that. 

Oliver didn’t want Felicity to know that her death had brought the killer in him back to the surface. “Felicity,” he whispered contritely.

“Come home,” Felicity said, and Oliver nodded, he barely spared his present self or John another thought as he pushed past them and out of the room, intending to get back to Felicity as soon as he could not wanting to be away from her any longer than he had to be. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Felicity stood as John, Present Oliver, and Future Oliver came bounding down the steps. “I already started running my searches for Andrew Miller. Hopefully, we get a hit soon in the meantime I feel like we need to discuss that no matter what is going on, we don’t turn our anger on each other. We need to be on the same page.” 

Present Oliver moved to put his bow away, and John followed. “She’s talking to you.” Oliver threw over his shoulder at his future self.

“I’m sorry.” Future Oliver stepped forward, reaching for her hand. “I just want to make sure you’re going to be safe and not finding Andrew, where I found him in my time, has me worried.”

“I understand, but that’s no reason to come at John the way you did. We will get Miller, but we cannot let this create a divide in our team.” Felicity laced her fingers with his. “Please, try to show some restraint.”

“If it’s you asking I will.” Oliver murmured. 

Felicity blushed, her cheeks warming and the way Oliver was looking at her with soft eyes wasn’t helping either. 

“Where’s Roy?” John asked. 

“He went to talk to Sin. See if she knows anyone by the name Andrew Miller.” her brow furrowed in concern. “He’s not handling this well.” 

“And how are you handling this?” Present Oliver wondered, trying his hard to ignore the way Future Oliver had his fingers laced with Felicity’s, standing barely two inches apart. 

“I’m fine.” Felicity browed furrowed, realizing it was hypocritical of her to say that when she had just given Roy a lecture about it. “I mean, I’m okay. Still processing and everything. It’s easier when I keep busy.” 

“If you want to talk about it we’re here,” Present Oliver assured. 

“I know,” she ran a hand through her hair. “For now, I’m just focused on my searches.” She gently tugged her hand free from future Oliver’s grasp and returned to her computers. 

“Hey,” Oliver called out to himself when he moved to follow Felicity. “Let’s spar. You can get some of the anger off your chest, so you don’t lash out at the team.” 

“I doubt that’s going to help but fine. I really need to punch something anyway.” 

While the two Oliver’s moved to the training mats, John took a seat next to Felicity. “I know this has to be scary, but I promise we are not going to let you get hurt.”

Felicity looked at him. “This is scary. I don’t want to die.” he frowns deepened. “And I don’t want to be the reason Oliver kills again. I hate that my death had such a negative effect on him.”

“That’s because it’s you. You’re irreplaceable, Felicity.” John reminded. “And you mean more to him than any of us realized.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Felicity wasn’t sure what to think about that, and ultimately she was more concerned with Oliver’s emotional well being. 

Her eyes found future Oliver again, and she hoped he was able to get through this still the good the man, the hero she believed him to be in one piece. He didn’t deserve to suffer more than he already has. 

Why couldn’t the world for once give someone as selfless as Oliver a much-needed break? Hasn’t he earned that reprieve?

Felicity worried her bottom lip, watching both Oliver’s spar her concern shining through.

Felicity was more concerned for him than she was her impending death, and she knew that said a lot about how she really felt.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Felicity settled on her couch. She had just gotten out of the shower; her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, her hair still damp. She wore a simple pair of panda pajama and a green tank top. 

She had left the foundry around two. Her searches had not gotten any hits, but she set up an alert on her phone for when they did. 

John had headed home to Lyla but only after following Felicity home.

Both Oliver’s had still been sparring when she left and showed no signs of stopping and Roy had accompanied her home. 

He had wanted to stay, but Felicity insisted he go home. Felicity understood he wanted to protect her. But she was not going to drop dead that second and she didn’t need her boys hovering over her constantly.

And she really just needed some time to be alone and really process everything. 

She was going to die in three weeks if they couldn’t stop Andrew Miller. 

If they found Miller, she had no doubt that future Oliver was going to kill him. He was going to get blood on his hands again. 

She didn’t want him to kill someone in her name. She didn’t want to erase the strides he had made in being a hero and not the killer he once was when he first returned to Starling before the Undertaking happened. 

She didn’t want to die, and she didn’t want to be the reason why Oliver suffered. 

It was hard to believe that her death would cause him so much suffering. 

What could possibly change in three weeks between them that she was so important to him? 

Felicity thought back to Oliver’s fake I love you and the moment they shared on Lian Yu and how they talked about it. 

Had his words really been a lie? Or did Oliver love her, and that was why he couldn’t cope with her death. Was that why he came back to save her?

Oliver had lost a lot of people he loved. More than one person should in such a short expanse of time. 

His dad, Shado, Tommy and his mother, yet it was her death that he was trying to change. 

She wanted to understand, but she was also afraid of the answer and what it could mean for her?

She was afraid of knowing too much about the future. The consequences that knowing too much would bring forth. 

And if Felicity was honest with herself, she was in a bit of denial about the ticking time bomb that was her life. 

Three weeks.

What if they couldn’t stop it? What if she was meant to die and there was nothing anyone could do? What if it was fate? What if it was just her time?

She needed more time than three weeks. 

There was still so much she wanted to do. Things she had yet to accomplish. 

Hell, she was too young for a bucket list, but if she was dying in three weeks, maybe she should get started on one.

Felicity looked around her apartment, feeling more alone than she had in a long time. She jumped when her eyes passed over the window near her kitchen. A man was standing out on her fire escape. 

She scrambled from her couch, reaching for the first thing she could find grabbing the umbrella by her front door and wielding it like a baseball bat, she walked toward the window. 

In hindsight, she should have grabbed her phone from the table and sent out a 911 to Oliver, but she wasn’t exactly thinking with a clear head. 

She moved closer, and her eyes widened when she was able to make the hooded figure out. “Holy Frack!” 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

A/N: Thanks for reading. Feedback is appreciated. 

Tags: @erika-amber @msbeccieboo @faegal04 @eloiselili @jendiaz69 @omglovechrissie @icannotbelieveiamhere @hope-for-olicity @keabbs  @lageniuswannabe @it-was-a-red-heeler @aguschaer @epj27

If I forgot to tag one just remind me for next time. 

[lilacmoon83]

Dreaming Out Loud

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 93: Skies Are Blue

The Enchanted Forest

27 Years Before the Dark Curse

Cora looked out over her Kingdom from the balcony in the palace chambers of the Queen. Two years ago, she had married Prince Leopold and their coronation as King and Queen had happened quickly after that. Their daughter, Princess Zelena had been born not long after that.

Almost from the beginning though, their marriage had settled into indifference. For the most part, Cora was fine with that. She had what she wanted. She was Queen and her daughter would be Queen someday. The Kingdom was none the wiser that Zelena was not biologically Leopold's daughter and that secret had died with Princess Eva, which she took great satisfaction in.

But with Leopold being away and their marriage quickly becoming stale, Cora had briefly sought comfort in the arms of someone else. Another Prince actually by the name of Henry. And the dalliance resulted in another daughter. Henry had agreed with Cora that it could not come out that their daughter Regina was not Leopold's. They had agreed that not even Leopold could know, but Henry still yearned to be a part of his daughter's life. So Cora hired him as caregiver for her daughters. It was not very common for a man to hold a position as a caregiver or nanny for noble children, but it wasn't unheard of. Leopold didn't protest, because the girls seemed to take to Henry very well and he remained none the wiser.

Regina was born two years after Zelena and now, her girls were twelve and ten. Zelena was a natural when it came to magic and she had developed a wicked streak, one which Cora encouraged. If she had learned one thing from her mentor, only ruthlessness in this world would get you what you wanted. And that was certainly true for her. She planned to make sure Zelena knew that and did what she had to in order to stay on top. Regina was much kinder and gentler and she often thought that Henry's tenderness with her would only result in making her soft. But as much as she had considered getting rid of him, she knew how much Regina loved him, even if she didn't know the truth. She knew eventually she would need to send him away so she could mold her daughter in her image and ready her to seek her own Throne. Zelena would ascend to her Throne one day and Regina would have to marry into a Kingdom somewhere. And Cora was going to see to it that she ensured both.

"My my...you've certainly done well for yourself, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin trilled. Cora turned and smirked at him.

"Hello Rumple," she purred in response, as he observed Zelena's practice with magic below. Regina was having a riding lesson and showed little interest in magic.

"She had a natural talent," he mentioned. Cora smiled proudly.

"That's why I want you to take her on as your student," Cora replied. He giggled.

"And what, pray tell, would I get out of an arraignment like that?" he questioned. She smirked.

"I know what you need, Rumple...and Zelena can do it for you," Cora responded.

"She can cast your curse," she added, as he looked down into the courtyard again, where the redheaded princess vicious zapped a poor bird with her green magic.

"A bit savage that one," he commented distastefully. A curse under Zelena...what a nightmare that would be. On the other hand...if it got him what he wanted and back to Bae...he could hardly refuse.

"She lacks finesse and discipline," he remarked.

"So did I...but you taught me so well," she purred.

"Fine...bring her to my castle, twice a week, and we'll see if she has what I need," he decided, as he grabbed her arm roughly.

"But if she crosses me the way you did...there will be no mercy for her, dearie. If you think I cannot find another to cast my curse, you are quite mistaken," he warned. She smirked.

"Duly noted," she responded, as if she was hardly worried. Rumple disappeared at that point, but continued to watch Zelena.

Truthfully, she was the best option, but he wasn't about to admit that to Cora. He had briefly considered King Eli's new Queen, Ravenna, but he quickly determined that her psychotic rage toward her now two-year-old step daughter wouldn't bode well at all. Teaching her magic would lead to catastrophe and most certainly Snow White's death. And he knew from his visions that little Snow White was extremely important to his entire plan. Without her...there would be no Savior one day and then his curse would be moot. But as he watched Zelena, he wondered if this one would be much better. Still...it was something to work with...for now. And if it turned out that she was too dangerous, then he'd take care of her if she threatened his plans...

~*~

The Enchanted Forest

19 Years Before the Dark Curse

Ten-year-old David peered inside the tavern and spotted his father at the bar, drinking again. Disappointment rooted inside him, as he faced the reality of all the broken promises his father had made to him. Four years ago, when he was six, Robert had been going for supplies and promised David that when he returned things would be better. That he would be better. But when he returned, Robert seemed like an even more broken man, reeking of alcohol and returned with no supplies. He knew his mother had been livid and as he got older, he knew more had happened on that trip than he was told.

What he couldn't know was that his father had journeyed to Pleasure Island to try and retrieve the son they had given up to the King. A brother that David knew nothing of. But the King had taken him back and Robert barely escaped that island with his life. First the King had ordered he be killed, but then pirates had killed the guards in order to steal anything of value from them. The Captain had almost killed him so as to not leave any witnesses, but a magical puppet of all things, had pleaded with the Captain to spare him, imploring that a young boy would be fatherless without him. Though Robert had told him the same thing, the puppet boy had managed to strike a chord somewhere within the cold-hearted pirate Captain and Robert was spared that night.

Unfortunately, he had not been able to keep his promise to David. He had been so depressed by everything and failing James that he lost himself in a bottle again. He even had the presence of mind to realize that ultimately he was failing David too by breaking his promise of sobriety to Ruth and David. When he had returned, he came back broke, drunk, and with no supplies. Putting David to bed that night hungry had been the last straw for Ruth. When Robert awoke from his stupor the next morning, she was gone and had taken David with her. He searched the nearby town, but no one could tell him where they had gotten off to. He didn't find them and knew he only had himself to blame.

Meanwhile, Ruth had taken David and made her way into town, looking for work. She surprisingly found it when a woman overheard her begging for work in the marketplace. The woman had taken an immediate interest her and her little boy. She told Ruth that she lived alone on a modest estate in the countryside and needed someone to help with the upkeep. She offered room and board, as well as meals for her and her son. At this point, Ruth was leery of something that sounded too good to be true, but accepted and they went with the woman, who told them that her name was Serafina. That stunned Ruth to her core.

"You can't be...Serafina. Queen Serafina?" Ruth questioned, as she almost felt the need to kneel.

"Not anymore," the kind woman replied. She was beautiful, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and she wore a nice, but modest dress. Kindness radiated from her, making Ruth almost sure that any kind of marriage she had to King George had to have been arraigned.

"Queen Serafina...I heard she died four years ago," Ruth said in confusion.

"When I failed to produce an heir, we adopted a baby boy," she said, as her eyes watered, especially when she looked at David.

"He was my world and I was so thankful that he had come to me. But my husband is a monster that intended to raise my sweet little boy in his image. I protested and planned to run away with my son. But I was caught," she revealed.

"Word spread through the Kingdom that I was ill and the King would soon be a widower. But in reality, the King's men ripped me away from my son that night and I was to be taken to a secluded place where they would commence with my execution," she continued.

"Then you escaped?" Ruth asked. She nodded.

"One of the Knights had always fancied me and was very kind. He told the others that he would carry out the sentence alone. He somehow convinced the other Knights that I deserved to die with dignity. Once we were alone, he told me that my family's house, though abandoned, still stood. He gave me an allotment he had managed to stipend from treasury and told me to go," she replied, as a few tears fell.

"I almost refused, for I thought life without my son was no life that I wanted. But he told me that I had to live for James...that perhaps we could be reunited someday. So I have been living in exile, hoping that someday, I may be reunited with him," she stated. Ruth put her hands on David's shoulders.

"Then you know who I am?" Ruth questioned. She nodded.

"You're the woman that gave me my son," Serafina replied. She nodded sadly.

"And now you want my David," Ruth realized, jumping to conclusions.

"No Ruth...I promise I would never try to take David from you. But I know that you and your son deserve better than the lives you have. I believe that your husband loves you, unlike mine, but he is a broken man that cannot take care of you," she said.

"But I can," she added.

"What do you want in return?" Ruth questioned.

"Company...a friend. Even family someday if it happens. I just don't want to be alone anymore and I know that you don't want that either. I also know that you cannot take one more night of your son suffering from hunger pangs and I can't stand that either," she pleaded. Ruth softened and saw the sorrow and sincerity in this woman's eyes.

"And we won't keep Robert from David if he wants to see his father," she added.

"If Robert can manage to stay sober...he can see David then," Ruth replied, with bitterness. She smiled kindly.

"Perhaps you can help me make dinner then. I am afraid I am not so good in the kitchen," Serafina said.

"Mama...I'm hungry," David said, as he rubbed his eyes. He was also tired, as they had been walking for a long time. Serafina smiled.

"Well...we cannot have that. Come...my home is your home now," she offered, as they followed her inside.

That had been four years ago and David had only seen Robert a handful of times. He had lost the farm and went to work on a neighboring farm, when he managed to be sober. Ruth was getting tired of Robert disappointing their son by failing to stay sober and missing visits. And so was David, for he had sneaked away that very day to find his father, if for no other reason as to see why he kept missing his visits.

"Boy...what the hell do you think you're doing in here?" the bartender bellowed, as he grabbed the boy's arm.

"Easy Hal...he's my boy," Robert drawled, as he stumbled toward them.

"This ain't no place for brats...get him out of here," Hal scolded, as Robert took him outside.

"David...what are you doing here?" he asked, as he squinted. The sun was like a thousand knives piercing his head.

"I wanted to see you...you were supposed to come visit today," David replied. Robert sighed.

"I'm sorry David...but does your mother and that woman know where you are?" he asked, saying the last part with bitterness. He blamed Serafina for his broken family, though he knew deep down that it was him that drove Ruth away. David looked away.

"No...I sneaked away while mama was tending to the chickens and mama Sera went to the market," he confessed.

"Mama Sera…" Robert muttered bitterly.

"David…" a voice said.

"Speak of the devil," Robert murmured, as Serafina stood there with her hands on her hips.

"Uh oh…" the boy said.

"Uh oh is right...your mother is probably frantic right about now," she scolded.

"I'm sorry Mama Sera," he said. She sighed and gave him a piece of silver.

"Go to the bakery stand and buy the bread. Then we'll go home," she said. He nodded and hurried off, as she stayed behind to speak to Robert.

"Guess my visit is canceled," he drawled.

"It wouldn't be if you were sober…" she scolded.

"I don't need a lecture, especially not from the woman that stole my family," he retorted.

"I did not steal them from you," she protested.

"Oh, so you're not sleeping with my wife?" he questioned.

"Ex-wife...and Ruth and I fell in love. We did not plan it, but it happened. This is not about us though. It's about David," she responded sternly.

"I love my son," he insisted.

"Then get sober," she responded.

"Don't you think I want to?" he asked.

"Of course...but you can't seem to shake your demons. You don't think I miss and am just as worried about James as you are?" she asked in return.

"Don't bring up James to me," he growled.

"We both love James and wish we could take him away from George. But at the same time, we cannot neglect David. All your son wants is your love. It's not too late, but it soon will be...David is growing up and right now, he doesn't resent you. But he will...especially if he finds out he's not enough for you," she admonished. As much as he hated, he knew she was right.

"If you can refrain from a drink the rest of the day...you may come for supper tonight. It would make his day," she said, as she went to find him. Robert watched her go and saw David take the hand she offered him. He wanted to be better...he had to be better.

~*~

Zeus looked on with disdain from his Throne upon Mount Olympus. If there was one thing that Zeus had never counted on when he allowed Hades to abduct Persephone centuries ago was her actually falling in love with him. That had led to her restarting his heart and allowing him to occasionally leave the Underworld. And he believed it was all because of the little demi-spawn between them. They had brought the little half mortal spawn to see Demeter and the other Goddesses that just simply loved to dote on Persephone's fair daughter. It was pathetic. Not only had his brother forgiven Persephone for cheating on him in the first place, he actually loved the little waif.

"It's sickening…" Deimos mentioned, as he stood dutifully beside Zeus' Throne.

"Yes...quite," Zeus agreed.

"Word has it that Queen Ravenna loathes the little retch too," Deimos mentioned.

"Which is irrelevant. Persephone is powerful...and has the backing of almost all the Gods. They prefer her over me. If I were to even arrange for something terrible to befall her precious little Snow, it would lead to a revolt," Zeus warned.

"Then we find a way to get rid of Persephone and seal Hades back where he belongs. Then no one else would dare to challenge you," Deimos responded.

"And you have a way to do this?" Zeus questioned. Deimos smirked evilly.

"I have some thoughts," he responded.

~*~

"Oh Snow...every time I see you, you've grown so much," Demeter gushed.

"I've missed you, Nana," Snow said, as Demeter hugged her and then she saw Artemis.

"Aunt Arty!" she called, as she hugged the other woman.

"There's our snowdrop...I have something for you," Artemis said. Persephone smiled and looked on.

"So...I suppose you won't be staying long," Demeter mentioned.

"You know we're pushing it by coming here at all. Zeus looks ready to toss lightning bolts at us," Persephone replied.

"It's mostly me. He hates that I can leave my station now," Hades interjected.

"We'll be nearby at our cottage, mother. It's more comfortable and secluded, with a lot of room for Snow to play," Persephone replied.

"As long as it's safe...please let me put more protection spells up," Demeter pleaded. Persephone sighed.

"We'll be fine, Mother," she insisted.

"I don't like the disdain that Queen Ravenna has for my granddaughter. That horrid woman would hurt her if she thought she could get away with it," Demeter warned.

"We don't agree on much, but I'm with her," Hades agreed. Persephone sighed.

"Believe me...I don't like that woman either or the treatment Snow receives. I've already talked with Eli and believe me, I'll be having my own talk with his sanctimonious wife when I return Snow in six months," she said.

"That's my point, darling...I don't think Snow should go back there," Demeter pleaded.

"Mother...I can't take her away from Eli. He loves her very much too," Persephone responded.

"And I'm not saying you should. But please...go the edge of realms. It would be a wonderful place to raise her and you could give Eli access to it any time he wanted to see her. It would be a safe place and only people you allow access could come there," Demeter reasoned. Persephone looked thoughtful for a moment, as she watched her daughter.

"You know the ominous warnings I have received from the Oracle," Hades reminded.

"The Oracle is never clear...she only speaks in riddles," Persephone argued.

"Perhaps, my love...but Snow's future is clouded in what could be an exorbitant amount of danger, simply based on who she is," he reminded, as he took her hands.

"Before she was born...I could have gone down a very dark path, but it was the Oracle that showed me a clear vision of the life I could have if I let go of my thirst for revenge. I saw happiness and that happiness was you...and our little Snow," he continued.

"I love her as my own and I cannot bare it if anything were to happen to her," he pleaded. Persephone still looked torn. She promised Eli that she wouldn't take Snow away...and she knew he would see this as exactly that. But at the same time, she had to protect her little one.

"Mama...Papa Hades...look what Aunt Arty gave me!" Snow said with excitement, as she showed them the bow and quiver of arrows.

"Ah...the perfect weapon for a Princess such as you, sweet pea," he praised.

"Aunt Arty is going to teach me to use it, right Aunt Arty?" Snow asked.

"Of course, sweet pea," Artemis answered, as she looked at her sister.

"We'll retire to the cottage for now...then I'll summon Eli that we need to meet," she decided. Demeter hugged her daughter.

"I know it's hard that this is the reality...but this will be for the best. She must be protected, sweetheart," Demeter implored.

"What have you seen, Mother?" Persephone asked.

"Athena will only say that Snow has a grand destiny that's written in the stars. She will find a love so incredibly true that it will create light magic in this dark world. And that light may be the only thing that can keep darkness from ruling. She must be protected," Demeter revealed. Hades and Persephone exchanged a glance and he put his arms around her.

"She will be...no harm will come to her as long as we draw breath," he assured, unaware of the menacing stare of Deimos in the near distance.

~*~

"Mama!" David called, as they arrived home.

"Oh David...do you have any idea how worried I've been?" she scolded.

"I'm sorry Mama," he said apologetically. Ruth sighed. It was very hard to stay angry at David.

"Go inside and wash up for supper," she ordered, sending him on his way, as Serafina approached and kissed her.

"He went to the tavern, didn't he?" Ruth questioned.

"I'm afraid so. Robert was there," Serafina replied.

"Drunk I suppose," Ruth said bitterly. She nodded.

"I implored him to get sober for David. I told him it wasn't too late and we both know it soon will be," she replied.

"You mean if our son finds out he has a twin we gave up and he's never been enough for his father," Ruth said bitterly. Serafina put her hands on Ruth's shoulders.

"Robert realizes that this is how David will see it...but there is still hope for him to be better," she urged. Ruth shook her head.

"I want to believe that...for David's sake," she said.

"Then believe it…" Robert said, as they saw him standing there in the near distance.

"I can't let you break our son's heart again...not with another one of your empty promises," Ruth said bitterly.

"And I won't...not another drop and this time, I'll make it stick," he pleaded.

"And what makes this time different from all the others?" Ruth demanded to know.

"Because I know what a terrible father I've been and I realized that I'd rather have one son doesn't hate me than one that does and another that may never know me. Please...I hated my father and I've become him now. I don't want my son to hate me," he pleaded. Serafina looked at her and nodded, as Ruth sighed.

"Wash up for dinner," she told him. He let out a breath in relief.

"One drop...and you're out," she warned. He nodded.

"Fair enough...and I won't let him down this time," Robert promised.

"We'll see," Ruth responded, as they went inside the house. And for David's sake, she sincerely hoped that he was sincere about his promise this time.

~*~

"Wow…" Emma uttered, as her head was spinning from all she had seen already.

"So Regina was born after all," she mentioned. Athena nodded.

"Zelena may have turned back time, but messing with time like this is having some very unique effects," the Goddess answered.

"But...it's not all bad. I mean, my Mom is so happy. Hades...loves her and Persephone. And my dad...I know what he went through. I mean Grandma Ruth did her best...but his childhood was no picnic before," Emma mentioned. The Goddess nodded.

"That's all very true. Robert lives, despite still being a drunk. But David has two mothers now and lives comfortably. Even I did not foresee Queen Serafina escaping King George's death sentence," she mentioned.

"Yeah...that was pretty wild," Emma commented.

"Looks like Deimos is still scheming though," she mentioned.

"Yes...that did not change and he will always be a danger," Athena responded.

"Much can still happen though and there is no telling what other changes may occur," she added. Emma nodded.

"So what you're saying is I need to keep watching?" Emma asked. Athena smiled and nodded.

"Much can still happen and the moment for you to change everything back is not yet upon us," she replied, as they continued to watch events unfold in this new reality.

[aceofwands]

Ria hateblogs Discovery: Episode 9 (I can’t even be bothered looking up the title), liveblogged to @kendradaynes

we cut back to Discovery in orbit of Pahvo waiting for the Klingons to arrive. apparently the Vulcan Admiral has ordered all Federation ships to go back behind Federation lines, and is ordering them to retreat????

how ... does that make sense? like yes, they blew you up last time. but what has Starfleet been doing the past 6 months? twiddling it's thumbs?? is Discovery's dumb spore drive their only innovation?? they haven't come up with any other new weapons or tactics or anything?

Lorca is arguing to save the Pahvans - like why is Starfleet not pro saving these aliens lives? they're trying to save the Discovery instead. shouldn't they send every ship they've got?

apparently, he's just explained (I keep pausing it again lol) they're NOW trying to regroup to crack the secret of the invisibility screens. this is just so bad. and as usual, defies all belief! they haven't been working on this the entire time??? they need all these warships to retreat to help out with this????? 

like what. it doesn't even make sense

"You want me to run from a fight, and leave a peaceful species to face annihilation" - Lorca, for once arguing for the right thing, solely because the plot needs him to, but also because vengeance lol

he's going along with the order ... at Warp 5 ... because he has no intention of reaching their destination (starbase 46) because if you're planning on defying a direct order, best not to advertise the fact ... ummmmmmmm what? huh? what exactly are they gonna do about it if you do??? this show is so dumb Shin I swear to god

they now have 3 hours to figure out how to get through the invisibility screen apparently. even though we all know Klingons can't fire while oh that's right it's not cloaking technology -eye roll-

he's now talking to Stamets about faking a reason they can't jump (and i'll probably stop pausing it to explain every little plot nuance cause then I'll be here all night and like, I have better things to get back to after this lol)

LOL Stamets is now being ordered to get a full physical at medical. and run every test possible. for their fake alibi. except he's freaking out because LOL he's been having really obvious issues that no one has reported cause Tilly is dumb and I guess everyone else has been brushing it off??? 

idk I can't even come up with reasonable excuses any more. it just makes zero fucking sense and I am so glad it's going to be done for the next 2 months

also my friend shared a rumour that they're going to be stranded Voyager style so we'll see

I haaaaate the warp effect, stupid JJ abrams BS

Michael just called it a cloak. WHICH THE KLINGONS DO NOT HAVE FFS. they're science-ing it up ......................................................... their solution ... is to beam aboard the Klingon ship ... and put sensors on board........... I can't even Shin. that is the dumbest fucking plan I've EVER HEARD

Tyler is now explaining how they'll use the Discovery as bait ....... they're talking about how the Klingon ship has to lower its cloak to fight them, and that's the window they'll use ... but then like ..... if they're fighting them .... they won't be cloaked .... .... so what's the issue? why are they even doing this?

HUH now Michael's saying it'll take days for them to collect this sensor data. and Lorca is all "we don't have days, but we do have a spore drive"

fuck off with this dumb show already omfg

cut to Doc Culber being all 'lol you wanted evidence there was an issue HOLY SHIT IS THERE AN ISSUE' apparently it's reshaping his brain. Lorca isn't phased. because Stamets is claiming he isn't experiencing side effects. why is everyone on this crew so stupid???

now Lorca wants him to make 133 jumps to get the sensor scans super quick. Lorca is making a sorrowful speech. Stamets is like 'the system isn't prepared for this' now Lorca's telling him that won't stop him cause he's an explorer, didn't stay in a lab, blah blah blah.

Lorca has been accumulating data on the jumps the whole time. oooooooooh and they've been seeing pockets of parallel alternative universes. Lorca does not seem surprised by this ... Mirror Lorca theory is seeming more legit

"We have to win this war, but then" "then the journey continues" yeah like this dumb show cares about exploring diddly

Tyler is requesting Michael accompany him to the Klingon vessel ... that did NOT go well last time ... but she's the only one who knows where some thing is on the ship. Michael's now telling Lorca off for not wanting her to go. blah blah blah impassioned speech. she's the most qualified to do this, blah blah, or else she has no purpose here blah blah

uuuuugh it's so tedious Shin. I wish you were watching at the same time solely so I didn't have to explain all the dumb shit because there is just ... so much 

LOL so Doc just came to say he's gonna make sure they take precautions with Stamets and Tilly is all 'oh I'm so glad he finally told you about the side effects'. Doc: "SIDE EFFECTS?". Doc is PISSED. understandably. Stamets looks so betrayed - yeah like it's Tilly's fault you're an idiot. he looks so sad going in

ugh Lorca is giving a speech "when I took command of this vessel, you were a crew of polite scientists, now I look at you, you are fierce warriors all. No other Federation vessel is capable of pulling this off, just us."

the Klingons arrived, Disco jumped back. uuuuuugh Klingon scenes. "the humans are fools" well you're not wrong Kol

what exactly are these dumb Pahvans doing now these two enemies are here anyway? exactly nothing because their purpose is served

apparently they have pattern simulators that will mask Tyler and Michael's human lifesigns. because THAT'S a thing that exists ffs!

the battles are seriously like video games. they look SO fake, and the pew pew phasers are the worst!

but we're already with Tyler and Michael on board the ship, their bloody sensor things TALK TO THEM! they're on a STEALTH MISSION! it literally said out loud "uplink to Discovery established" WHY WOULDN'T YOU PUT IT IN MUTE?guarantee someone's gonna hear it when they put another one

Michael is now detecting a human lifesign. and is insisting they have to go after it. why wouldn't you plant the sensors first ............ he just told her she had 60 seconds to crack the door and then when she didn't do it first go, immediately said 'let me try' like ummmm worst dialogue ever. he's pulled off the panel with a knife and cut the cords lol. 

and what a surprise, it's the admiral they all forgot about! L'Rell is in here too. Tyler has his phaser pointed at her, and she's getting up. flashback to her torturing him. Tyler's freaking out, Michael stunned L'Rell

he's the only character I care about atm, some actual decent acting

LOL the Admiral just explained that she's treated patients like him with PTSD and he's in shock NO SHIT

Michael is leaving Tyler and the Admiral to go and plant the sensor on the bridge or whatever

cut back to the battle .... this is one of the worst space battles I've ever seen! they only showed the briefest bit - it doesn't even feel like the ship is at battle!

that is the quietest, most chill Klingon bridge in battle I've ever seen

the Discovery is jumping around shooting it ... why do they even need sensors to find the cloak frequency from on board the ship???????

THIS PLAN MAKES NO SENSE

IF THEY HAVE A SENSOR ON BOARD THE SHIP THEN THEY HAVE THE LOCATION OF THE SHIP

THEY CAN JUST SHOOT AT THEM????????????????????????????????

*OUTRAGED NOISES*

Disco is jumping around getting its wild scans. but no surprise Stamets is being massively effected. if only he'd told anyone other than Tilly about the side effects he was experiencing!

the Admiral is counselling Tyler .... explaining that he's experiencing past trauma ... usually I'd be all about Star Trek tackling trauma, and it's not entirely terrible, but ugh

the music is all tragic strings while Stamets is starting to go crazy. Doc is begging them to stop. but Lorca is ordering them to continue ....... how is this EVEN MORE ethically dubious than the Equinox?!

the Klingons have picked up sabotage on board. Michael is now shooting them - I think they were gonna warp away? idk

OMFG SHIN so Michael just said she wanted to talk to Kol (she was literally hiding right on the bridge, but because it's a giant stupid cathedral it wasn't hard to hide) and - get this - is explaining that she didn't speak Klingon, she's using a universal translator "an example of human ingenuity"

KLINGONS HAVE FUCKING TRANSLATORS

THEY KNOW WHAT THEY ARE

HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN FUCKING ENTERPRISE? they have an entire fucking Klingon court scene where Archer speaks into a translator if my memory serves. just like Kirk in Undiscovered Country

they're not even pretending they're in the prime universe any more 

ffs I just unpaused it and Kol goes "all I see is another attempt to rob us of our Klingon identity"

what

Michael: "it's proof of our desire to communicate"

IT'S A TRANSLATOR! IT'S A NECESSARY PART OF ANY SPACEFARING RACE! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!!! 

he's now speaking English btw so doesn’t that make his whole argument moot?

Kol has Georgiou's badge. blah blah she's telling him off for having no honour, explains she was here when T'Kuvma fell and Kol stole his ship, I don't even fucking care any more it's just so bad

back to Tyler and the Admiral (who can't move her legs btw) she's trying to shoot them, and telling off Tyler for not getting up to help???? 

ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh looooooord a flashback to him kissing Michael from last ep broke him out of his shock! FUCK OFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

back to Michael facing off against Kol. she's now demanding he fight her

.................

where is the Discovery during this??????

are they still jumping around?

WHY DOES NO ONE CARE

THEY ARE LITERALLY STANDING AROUND WATCHING THEM FIGHT NOW

THE CREW IS JUST STANDING THERE

WATCHING

YOU'RE IN THE MIDDLE OF A BATTLE

I CAN'T EVEN SHINy

eah, she got knocked down, gets back up ... and we cut back to Disco jumping and a montage of them jumping, about to do the last one

which you wouldn't know was happening based on the KLINGON BRIDGE

5 mins to analyse data. LOL Lorca just asked 'why aren't they firing?' when they were sitting around after the last jump

BECAUSE THEY'RE WATCHING A FIGHT ON THEIR BRIDGE

BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT KLINGONS DO IN THIS RIDICULOUS ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

OH LORD the camera is swirling around during the fight. 

stop

moving

ugh making me sick so I'm gonna look at the chat window

looks like she stabbed him

LOL they're beaming them out of there. L'Rell just jumped onto Tyler when they transported them off. Michael stole the badge from Kol, did a dramatic jump off the balcony that's on this stupid bridge, and was beamed off

Saru just told Lorca that they also beamed on the Admiral, and his face is like OH SHIT BUT I LEFT HER FOR DEAD

this has been .... the most un-tense. un-dramatic battle

they just blew up the Klingon ship

why they couldn't have beamed something over there and done this IDK

there's lotsa dramatic stares between Michael and Lorca, Tyler, Saru, as the ship explodes .... slow mo of the dramatic looks .... and epic choir music .... and it was the most un-dramatic thing I've ever seen

they had to do all these dramatic effects and music to make it seem exciting

apparently the Vulcan Admiral is totally cool with Lorca disobeying a direct order?

they want Disco to return to Starbase to award Lorca the Legion of Honour

.................

I'm not even surprised at this point

Michael has come to visit Tyler in his quarters. they're having an emotional talk about how he puts on a facade that he's fine

WAIT WHAT

Michael: "but when you saw that Klingon .... who is she to you?"

WHAT, HE LITERALLY WENT INTO SHOCK. WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK SHE IS MICHAEL

Tyler: "I think you already know" NO SHIT

omg they're talking about this and it's so awkward

this is the ONLY genuine part of the whole fucking show

how have they actually managed to write something REAL? within the rest of this garbage?

I still think he's Voq and his memories were just erased

oh lord they ruined it now: "you deserve to live in peace", him: "I've found peace, right here," and then they kiss

like god way to ruin it

now we're back to Stamets who is looking out of it. Lorca is saying they wanted to give him a medal, but he told them to give it to Stamets, GOOD! finally he's being decent! 

huh Lorca then just said there are more Klingons on the way, hell bent on revenge, and he wishes they could stay and fight ... are they actually gonna send any other ships to deal with that???? 

LOL

Stamets is saying they'll do one more jump to get the crew back to safety

HERE WE GO

GUARANTEE THEY'RE ABOUT TO GO VOYAGER ON US

Stamets is saying one more jump and he's done with it "because I need Starfleet's best doctors to examine my condition and figure out what's been happening to me" and Lorca is all ' ..... okay I guess' 

he looks SO reluctant

ugh, flashbacks of Tyler and L'Rell

do we really need to see this

WERE THOSE KLINGON BOOBS

ffs I miss PG Star Trek

he woke up from his nightmare and has gone to see L'Rell in the brig

"what did you do to me?" "do not worry, I will never let them hurt you"??? huh

"soon"

yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah guarantee he's Voq

awww Stamets and Doc finally got to kiss

it's so predictable

even if I hadn't heard they were gonna get stranded

watching this makes it so obvious

oooooooooooh

LORCA ENTERED THE COORDINATES "let's go home"

yeah he's from the Mirror U

Stamets just screamed when it activated. they jumped. they are totes going to the Mirror U

Stamets collapsed, his eyes are going funny

yep, they're unable to confirm their position

LOL

predictions for the next half: they're in the mirror universe, Tyler will be revealed to be Voq 

Boy am I glad that’s over until January!

[findsarahh]

As the Moon Rises

Chapter 12

Summary: Isera Lavellan was sent to her brother, the Inquisitor, at the urging of their mother. The world is changing and Isera needs to be there to help.

Solas x F!Lavellan.

[Ch1] [Ch2] [Ch3] [Ch4] [Ch5] [Ch6] [Ch7] [Ch8] [Ch9] [Ch10] [Ch11] [Ch12]

Isera hears the chattering of the voices around her. Her mind feels heavy like something is weighing it down. The voices from the Well make it challenging to think and process information, let alone hear her own voice.

Isera tries to force her heavy lidded eyes to open. Real. The voices she hears are from her environment rather inside of her head. Isera groans in pain. The voices in her head are unobtrusive at the moment.

Isera’s eyes flutter open as she tries to maintain an awareness of her surroundings. Through blurred vision, Isera realizes that she has sustained her vision thus far. She is in the Inquisitor’s room.

“Isera?” Her brother calls, his hand clutches hers. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?” He is standing next to her, eyes filled with concern.

Isera nods as she looks at him. “Okay, I think. How long have I been asleep?” Isera yawns as she tries to sit up. Her body feels weak, her arms struggling to support the movements.

“Two days.” Solas. Isera recognizes his voice. She blinks rapidly as she looks for him.

He is standing at the foot of the bed. Isera glances up at him. His face is unreadable as he stares down at her. After a moment, a small yet caring smile appears on his face.

Banreas stands up. “I’m sorry…I just came to check in; I’m in between meetings.” Banreas tells her as he leans down to kiss the top of her head. “I’ll have the servants send up tea and those frilly cakes you like.”

Isera nods wordlessly as Banreas leaves the room.

Solas moves to sit closer to her, staring intently at her. “How are you feeling?” he questions as he takes her hand into his.

Her body feels heavy, and her mind is foggy. “Groggy,” Isera replies with a smile as she squeezes his hand. Overall, she appears fine, given recent events.

She watches as his body becomes tense. He shoulders are pulled back, his blue-gray eyes narrow with irritation. “I begged you not to drink from the Well. Why could you not have listened?” His voice is harsh and distressed. The grip of his hand is tight around her fingers as he presses harder.

“Solas…” Isera murmurs. He’s upset that she didn’t listen to him.

He shakes his head as he looks down. “You gave yourself into the service of an ancient elven god!” He appears incredibly disappointed with her.

Isera is absorbing his words. “Meaning…?” She finally caves, allowing him to explain to her what he believes to have happened.

For her, it does not matter. Her role is to assist her brother—if that meant drinking from a magically based source with unknown effects to defeat an enemy, then that is what she would do—what she did do. This action has affected Solas to the extent that Isera does not understand.

He grimaces. “You are Mythal’s creature now.” He whispers. “Whatever you do, whether you know it or not, will be for her.” He pauses. “You have given up a part of yourself.” His sounds…broken at that idea. Isera watches the anger fade to sadness and concern.

Isera scoffs, shaking her head. “We don’t even believe in the Gods!” His emotions feel unjustified and misplaced. The Gods, even if they did exist, no longer live. The creation of the power and who it theoretically would be linked to is moot.

His eyebrows come together as he glares at her. “I don’t believe they were gods.” He argues. “But I believe that they existed. Something existed to start the legends. If not gods, then mages…or spirits…or something we’ve never seen. And you are bound to one of them of them now.” He concludes. He implies that his argument is straightforward and obvious.

Solas sighs, his face softens. “I suppose it’s better that you have the power rather than Corypheus.” He looks down then back up at her with a slightly hopeful look on his face.

“What will you do with the power of the Well once Corypheus is dead?” He questions.

Isera feels overwhelmed at the sudden change in emotions. She hesitates before answering. “I will help with the change. The world will be unable to return to what was normal before the Mage and Templar War and the Breach. The only way to go now is forward.” She answers as thoughtfully as she can.

He continues to stare, his eyes unmoving upon hers. “You’d risk everything that you have in the hope that everything is the future is better? What if it isn’t?” He’s glowering at her, awaiting her response. She feels the intensity of his stare as she casts her eyes down. “What if you wake up and realize the future you shaped is worse than what was?” He continues.

Isera freezes at the intensity of his emotions. She feels that his emotions are out of place, but does not question him.

She rubs her lips together. “I am surrounded by allies and friends. I would seek out those I knew to try again, of course.” Her answer is simple.

He looks bewildered with her response. “Just…like that?” he says. He leans back at the idea she suggested.

Isera nods. “Well, if we don’t try then we won’t be able to make things right.”

He leans back, eyes still fixated on her. The look in his eyes appears to be relieved to hear her response. “You are right. Thank you.” He tells her. His hand is still laced with hers, almost painfully so.

Isera looks at him with confusion. “Okay…but for what?” She asks. Isera concludes he is acting strangely. She knows him for being passionate about history and legend—but this feels different than his usual argumentative nature.

“You have...impressed me.” He answers. “You offered hope that if one keeps trying, even if the consequences are grave, that someday things will be better.” He smiles and appears vindicated in his thoughts.

Isera stares at him oddly. What is he talking about? Isera thinks.

Solas looks down in thought. “Forgive my melancholy. Corypheus has cost us much. The Temple of Mythal did not deserve such a fate. The orb he carries, that at least may be recovered. The past may yet survive.” He tells her.

Isera eyes him with discomfort. “You are being grim and fatalistic in hopes of getting me into bed, aren’t you?” She jokes with a rigid grin. She resorts to humor to change the subject.

He chuckles. “I am grim and fatalistic. Getting you into bed is just an enjoyable side benefit.” He replies with a slight grin. Isera looks at him in surprise before giggling.

Suddenly, Solas is standing up, attempting to pull Isera out of bed. “Come with me, vehnan.” He demands, gently pulling at her hand.

Isera scowls and shakes her head no. “Oh, no, no, no.” She snaps.  “There is a servant about to come up those steps any moment now. I am not leaving until I have my tea and frilly cakes.” She tells him.

Isera watches as Solas looks down at her in surprise, obviously not expecting for her to say no. His cheery demeanor pauses for a moment.

Isera gives a sarcastic chuckle. “Trying to tell me what to do when frilly cakes are involved. Sit back down, now.” She mutters to herself.

“After you tell me what has happened in the last two days and I have ` one cup of tea and a good portion of frilly cakes, then we can leave.” She orders him to sit down.

Solas pauses, almost confused at her demand. Then he smiles at her. “My apologies. I will ensure you have had your full of frilly cakes.” He tells her.

---

Solas and Isera traverse into a small cavern that is illuminated by the soft moonlight. She stares up at the grand statues of Dalish Harts that are covered in green and herbaceous vegetation. Isera takes her time as they walk, focusing at the fresh, dewy green grass, graveled gray, dark stone, and the stars in the sky. She is nervous, wondering if she blinks too much or too little, will her vision become gray once more?

Regardless, she can still see the Veil pressing upon the world. It is like a stool of glittering, translucent, gossamer fabric that is cast over an object. There a gentle sparkle laced over the world.

Isera feels protected with him.  Solas has an ability to draw her in with his insatiable curiosity, desire to learn, and share knowledge. By no means is he perfect. She had listened to him become condescending to those who did not wish to hear his thought and made unfavorable comments against others.

Nevertheless, he is rough around the edge, but passionate and caring. With proper guidance, he made strides in an attempt understand others—to view them more than the stereotypes. She can sense that he feels deeply—Isera feels like she could drown in him.

She smiles at her own thoughts as they come to a stop by the water’s edge.

“The Veil is thin here. Can you feel it on your skin, tingling?” He asks with a small smile. Isera nods, looking around.

“I can see it, too.” She replies with a grin as she looks up at him. His hand brushes against her cheek. She leans her head into his hand. Isera looks up at him—her heart feels swollen and warm, it is almost hard to breathe. She is happy with him.

Solas is gazing at her, a smile on his face as he analyzes her features. “I was trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me.” He pulls his hands back, letting them trace her shoulders and arms traveling to her hands.

“I can offer a few suggestions,” Isera replies coyly, adding pressure her grip.

He chuckles, his eyes darting between her eyes and lips. “I’ll bear that in mind.” He says, pausing before continuing. “For now, the best gift that I can offer is…the truth.”

Isera stares up at him earnestly, yet confused by his statement. She does not know what he means.

“You are unique. In all of Thedas, I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade. You have become important to me, more important than I could have imagined.” He begins, his nerves showing through the slight changes in his voice.

She smiles. “As you are to me,” She responds, still waiting for his admission.

He looks down before making eye contact once more. “Then what I must tell you…the truth.” There is a slight frown on his face.

Isera maintains her guarded smile unaware of what he might mean. He's dramatic! She thinks.

He looks away again, his eyes darting back and forth.

“You care greatly for the elven people, and for your brother.” He states. His voice is smooth at this statement. Isera’s eyes narrow in confusion at his proclamation but does not interrupt him.

“The vallaslin …I have seen them in my journeys into the Fade. I have discovered what those marks mean.”

Isera stares at him, extremely confused to why he is bringing up the vallaslin, even though she is not marked with the Dalish markings. His voice feels awkward despite projecting confidence.

“Our People use them to show honor for the Gods.” She answers her voice monotone.

He shakes his head. “No. They are slave markings, or at least, they were in the time of ancient Arlathan.” He tells her.

Isera frowns in denial. “The Keepers shared that those markings honor the Gods. They are symbols of rebellion and hope to the people. We are the last of the Elhven. Never again shall we submit.”

Solas agrees. “That is only partially right. A noble would mark his slaves to honor the god he worshiped. After Arlathan fell. The Dalish forgot.” His voice is quieter than his usual pride damnation of the Dalish.

Isera looks down, shaking her head. “No-that doesn’t—how did we…we couldn’t have forgotten. We…were no better than Tevinter?” She mutters out.

“I’m sorry.”

Isera takes a deep breath, withholding the desire to cry. She straddles the worlds of knife-ear and flat-ear, never fitting into both. She had been raised apart from the Dalish by a Dalish Keeper, but away from the Alienage of the cities.

She’s a facade for both elven worlds. Too Dalish for the Alienage and too city elf for the Dalish.  Isera grew up on stories and legend, in search of the history of her people as commanded by her mother. Isera has walked the path of the city elf, the trials of an elven mage, and the trails of the Dalish—but none of these are her.

There are no writings about slave markings in elven history.

“We try to preserve our culture. And what we preserve are slave markings? We might as well be Tevinter.” Isera sighs, her voice shaking in defeat.

Solas reaches for her shoulders, holding them tight. “Don’t say that.” He commands. “For all they got wrong, the Dalish did one thing right. They made you.” His smile is soft and sweet. “I didn’t tell you this to hurt you.”

He pauses in thought. “I can teach you a spell. You can have the ability to fix what the Dalish forgot.”

She is tearful as she stares up at him. “How do you convince someone the sky isn’t blue?” she jokes. The saying she told him when he shared his story about his experience with the Dalish. The Dalish cling tightly to the remnants of what little history they have possessed. The vallaslin, in the Dalish minds, honor the Gods who are trapped in the Beyond.

Regardless of what they meant in ancient times, would the Dalish be willing to have their beliefs challenged by her?

His fingers are under her chin, tilting her head up to look at him. “I am sorry for causing you pain. It was selfish of me. I look at you and see what you truly are…” He pauses, his eyes flickering down. “…you have passion for preserving the past and to learn more. You can show the Dalish what the markings truly represent.”

Her head is spinning with information—something is off. She doesn’t understand why he thinks this information is important, but it is, in some way?

“Then teach me.” She finally responds feel obligated to do so.

“Come, sit.” He guides her gently, leading her to the edge of the water.

The spell he shows her is simple. He practices the movements with her until she completed them correctly on her own. Solas teaches her the chant of the spell until she pronounces every word correctly.

He practices on her one more time—his hands glide over her face as if he would be removing the vallaslin. He drops his hands, staring into her eyes. “You are so beautiful.” He murmurs. Isera smiles and laces her fingers into the leather strap of his necklace. He pulls her closer as he leans down to kiss her.

The kiss is soft and gentle. His arms wrap around her waist, pulling her closer as she pulls on his necklace. His finger traced down her spine, and resting on her backside. He gently squeezes her ass as he lifts her into his lap. Isera moves too hastily, and Solas is thrown off-balance, landing on his back.

Isera gasps in surprise as she straddles him. “I’m so sorry!” She laughs. She kisses him on the nose before sliding off of him.

He stands, assisting Isera to her feet. He is smiling at her—she feels like she is being consumed by his gaze.

Suddenly, he pulls away. His face contorts from being relaxed and content to concerned. “And I am sorry. I have distracted you from your duty. It will never happen again.” His voice is hard, yet broken.

Isera leans back in surprise and confusion. His face hardens as he steps further back, away from her.

“Solas…” She whispers as she reaches to pull him closer. He evades her grasps.

“Please, vhenan.” He almost sounds like he is begging her.

Isera looks around, almost in a daze after his declaration. “I don’t understand…” She tells him.

“Please, you have to trust me.”

Isera looks around in a panic, looking at everything and nothing at the same time. This doesn’t make sense. She feels pulled apart from her body, an outside observer watching their interactions. He’s supposed to tell her that he loves her.

“Tell me you don’t care.” She whispers as she finally looks him in the eye.

“I can’t.”

With every step closer to him, he takes a step away from her. “Tell me that you didn’t mean anything that you said. Tell me that I was a casual dalliance. Tell me, vhenan.” Her face contorts in anger, but her voice is broken, showing her pain and sorrow.

“I’m sorry…” He whispers. “I didn’t—” He coughs, turning away. “We should get going.”

Isera stares at him in disbelief. “You didn’t—what? Oh, wait, you aren’t going to tell me are you?” She shouts as tears begin to form in her eyes. He bows his head in shame.

Isera barks out a pathetic laugh. “Go ahead. I’ll find another way back.” She tells him.

“Isera…” he pleads.

She turns away from him so he cannot see the tears beginning to stream down her face. She chokes back a spoke as she cast a spell. A gulf of white-blue smoke surrounds her.

He watches as a raven shoots out of the magical residue and into the sky leaving him alone with his thoughts.

[izazov]

If anyone is reading this, here is the third part of my, still untitled, soulmate fic. Other parts are here and here.

Tony cannot sleep.

Each time he falls asleep, he finds himself back in space, a nuke on his back, surrounded on all sides by Chitauri forces.

He wakes in cold sweat, trembling and gasping for air. 

He doesn’t go back to sleep. Won’t go back to sleep. 

(Can’t.)

He goes down to his workshop instead, and makes a suit after a suit after a suit.

(It’s not obsession. Not fixation. It’s being prepared. He’s seen what lurks out there. He knows something is coming their way. Knows it’s not a question of ‘if’ but ‘when’ there is another alien invasion.) 

He tinkers. He fixes. He creates. He deals.

But he doesn’t sleep.

***

Tony sees Steve once, on TV. 

He is in the workshop, frowning at the schematics of the new suit. “J, what am I missing here?” he says, drumming his fingers impatiently against the flat surface of the workbench.

“Aside from sleep, Sir?”

Tony presses his lips into a thin line, huffs out a disgruntled sound, but doesn’t take his gaze off the simulation. “Sleep is for the weak, now this-” Tony wheels backward in his chair, tilts his head to the side. “Blow up, J. Twenty percent.”

Tony stares at the digital image of the suit, his eyes darting across the numbers for the umpteenth time. Everything seems right, every damn number checks out, but he cannot shake off a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that insist that something isn’t quite right.

Tony scrubs his forehead with the back of his hand, rises to his feet, starts pacing. “J, run me a comparative scan with MARK 24.”

“Sir, may I remind you that this is MARK 26?”

Tony stops dead in his tracks, frowns. “Really?”

“Indeed, Sir,” JARVIS responds. It sounds almost like a sigh.   

Tony blinks, runs his fingers through his hair. “Huh.”

Maybe he really does need to sleep more.

Or he just needs to try harder. 

“J, give me-” Tony begins but his words trail off into silence when he catches sight of the familiar face on the TV screen in the corner of the workshop.

Rogers. Dressed in a uniform straight from the forties, standing in parade rest and smiling politely at the cameras.

Tony’s heart flutters briefly, his chest tightening fractionally.

Steve looks almost exactly the same as he did the last time Tony saw him. Which translates as unfairly pretty. Also, he is feeling uncomfortable as hell. Oh, he is putting on a good show, but Tony knows this game, has pretty much perfected it, and Rogers? Is regretting the life choices that are responsible for leading him to his current position.    

“... Captain America exhibit in the Smithsonian. Even President Ellis is rumored to have-”

“JARVIS, turn it off,” Tony orders in a quiet voice, suddenly feeling tired. He really should try to sleep. Maybe he’ll get lucky and he won’t dream.

(And if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.)

Tony doesn’t move. He stays rooted to the spot, his eyes directed at the TV screen even after it turns black.

Tony isn’t certain how long he stands there, still staring at the blank TV screen. 

He also doesn’t know when it happened - and even more distressingly why - but his right hand is now resting against his sternum, fingers splayed wide directly over the place that never stops aching. Longing for something it’ll never have.

Tony blinks, yanks his hand back as if burnt.

“Remote control,” he blurts out suddenly.

“Sir?”

Tony doesn’t reply, preoccupied with pulling up schematics, running numbers, the image of blue eyes and a strained smile fading into the background of his mind.

“J,” Tony says, grinning wide as the digital armor disassembles into parts in front of his eyes. “Sometimes I even amaze myself.”

“I will make a note of it, Sir,” JARVIS remarks. “File it in the ‘modesty’ folder.”

Tony snorts, waves a dismissive hand. “Screw modesty. I prefer flair.”

“And yet you hide it so well, Sir.”

Tony laughs out loud, not taking his eyes off the blue flickering lights, reaching after one of the gauntlets, all thought about sleep and rest forgotten.

***

The entire Mandarin situation? Not one of Tony’s finest moments.

It’s a disaster from the moment one. When Tony makes it personal.

Somehow, he manages to make it through.  

(He almost loses Pepper. After, he still finds himself in that moment; staring helplessly at Pepper, falling, and falling and falling, out of his reach, forever.)

Then, at the end, he makes a choice.

And in that moment, holding Pepper in his arms, and watching the suits explode one after another, until there is not one left, he is certain it is the right choice.

***

“You miss the light?”

Tony drags his eyes away from his chest - one hundred percent smooth, and arc reactor free - to throw a glance at Pepper, who is leaning against the bathroom door, wearing only one of Tony’s shirts.

“Nah,” he says, grins. “It was messing with my beauty sleep.”

Pepper arches an amused eyebrow. “Really? The arc reactor used to keep you in the workshop for hours?”

“Well, it must have,” he says lightly, then saunters up to Pepper and wraps his hands around her waist. “I’m here now, am I not?”

Pepper smiles, then leans forward, brushing his lips against the shell of Tony’s ear. “It would be even better if you joined me in bed, Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up, his mouth curving into a grin. He steps back and waves a hand toward their bedroom. “Well by all means, lead the way, Miss Potts.”

***

Tony is happy.

Really. He is.

But.

He misses the suit. Misses the flying. Misses being Iron Man. There is also a distinct possibility he misses the Avengers.

(Sometimes he catches himself thinking about that hectic day of the Chitauri invasion. He thinks about the team. Remembers how well they worked together when they needed to.)

Okay. For some inexplicable reason, he does miss the Avengers. All of them. Even Rogers.

Which is somewhat a moot point because of the fact that he cannot not miss Rogers.

But yeah, Tony is happy.

And if he sometimes toys with the idea of turning the Stark Tower into Avengers’ headquarters, who can blame him? Everyone has daydreams.

(Although, not everyone has blueprints ready to make them into reality.)  

***

Distinction between lying and omission?

Doesn’t really matter.

Both end up biting you in the ass when you least expect it.

And Tony? He really should have known better.

Later - miserable, alone and very, very drunk - Tony will laugh at the idiotic way he managed to fuck up the best thing that has ever happened to him.

But in the actual moment it happens, he is merely distracted.

“Which one?” Pepper asks, holding up two dresses.

Tony glances up from his phone, tilts his head in contemplation, utters, “The green one,” then returns his attention to his phone.

And freezes.

His breath catches in his throat, and his heart skips a beat when he realizes what he’s done. 

Slowly, carefully, Tony raises his gaze, hoping that Pepper didn’t catch the deeper meaning of Tony’s words. 

His hope shatters when he meets Pepper’s gaze, wide and startled. 

“Green?” Pepper repeats in a high voice, throwing a bewildered glance at the two dresses in her hands, then back at Tony. “How can you know that? Tony?” 

Tony takes a deep breath, lowers the phone down on the table, and rises to his feet. He doesn’t consider lying. That would only make everything worse. If it can get worse. 

Judging by the dawning horror and betrayal on Pepper’s face, there is a distinct possibility it cannot.

“Tony, please tell me this isn’t what I’m thinking,” Pepper says, her eyes filling with tears. “Please, tell me you didn’t lie to me.”

Tony swallows, takes a careful step forward, then another, and another, until he is standing in front of Pepper. He reaches out, only to pull his hands away when Pepper flinches back from his touch.

“I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you,” Tony says, wincing inwardly at the half-choked sob that leaves Pepper’s mouth. “I meant to tell you. I really did. It just,” Tony trails off, shrugs helplessly. “It never seemed the right time.”

“Never seemed the right time?” Pepper repeats in an increasingly shrill voice, gives Tony a look of utter disbelief. She shakes her head, drops the dresses down on the floor. “You want to know when it had been the right time? The moment it happened!”

Tony grimaces, watches as Pepper turns her back to him, his stomach twisting into knots.

Tony had fucked up many, many times in his life. But never on this level. Never quite so needlessly. He could have told Pepper the truth. So many times. But he didn’t. Because he’s a stupid and selfish idiot who really should have known better. 

“Look, Pepper, I know-”

“How long?” Pepper demands without turning around.

Tony screws his eyes shut for a moment, steels himself. “Since New York.”

Pepper turns sharply, a deep crease appearing on her forehead. “New York? You mean...?”

Tony doesn’t say a thing, just nods.

Pepper shuts her eyes, and even from a distance, Tony can see a tremor shaking her entire body. She remains silent one long moment. Then, she opens her eyes, squaring Tony with a level look. “Who?” she demands in a quiet voice.

“Pepper, please, it doesn’t matter who it is,” Tony begs, his heart going into overdrive. He takes a step forward, but stops when Pepper holds up a hand in warning. “I want you. I love you.” 

“Who, Tony? You owe me that much.” 

Tony swallows thickly. It does absolutely nothing to ease the burning sensation in his throat. “Steve Rogers,” Tony says in a flat, empty voice, his shoulders sagging in defeat. A small frown of confusion appears on Pepper’s face. Tony swallows down a surge of hysterical laughter - really? you think it matters she doesn’t know his real identity? now? - and forces himself to grit out, “Captain America.”

“Your soulmate is Captain America?” Pepper says, a touch of hysteria entering her voice.

Tony grimaces, nods. Watches as Pepper’s face twists into a pained grimace. A bright, sharp flare of pain sears through his chest. It’s like watching Pepper fall again, knowing he failed her, knowing he wasn’t good enough. 

And the worst thing?

This time, Tony isn’t only the man who didn’t save her. He is also the one who pushed her away. 

[ethicallysourcedhumanmeat]

Practically Impractical: 30

[ < ][First][ > ]

Just a reminder my asks are open for Seven and Saeran’s Birthday this weekend.

[AO3][Masterpost]

She was so bored.  It had been a week in the new house, a week home from the hospital, stuck in the brace, with explicit instructions to do nothing that could not be completed left handed until further notice and what seemed like an army of friends ready to enforce those instructions.

Not to mention she was largely alone.  Zen had been keeping his head down while his blacklist sorted itself out, spending a lot of time at Surana’s dance studio, or at the hospital with the children the two of them had been working with.  Yoosung was now chest deep in clinicals, with the house so far out he couldn’t even swing by for a minute on his way home.  Saeyoung and Saeren insisted she couldn’t see the bunker until it was finished and Jaehee and Jumin simply worked normal jobs.

Cookies and Punch still had her on disability so she didn’t even have media licences to sort out for her old crew, and tournament season was over so no reason to even get dressed and leave the house, aside from going for a walk, but you could only do that so many times in a day.

She met with her physiotherapist every second day.  Jumin had hired someone to come to the house but at this point she would have rather had to go somewhere.  This morning she’d finally been approved to leave the brace off during the day time on a trial basis.  It had only taken her 2 hours to do all the little things the boys had missed cleaning up. 

She’s so bored she calls Surana and begs her to come by.

“Please, I have this studio and the boys will kill me if I practice alone.”

“Somehow you think this makes you special, deserving of in private home lessons?” Surana’s voice is dry, but Callie is sure she’s intrigued, probably has been since Martin called her.

“No,” Callie admits, “but wouldn’t you like to tell me all the ways I’ve disappointed you in the comfort of my house, while you fold me into uncomfortable positions and drink my expensive wine?”

There is a long suffering sigh on the other end of the line.  “My morning classes end in an hour Amy.  You will have lunch prepared for me, and then I will consider causing you pain. “

“I’ll thank you either way,” Callie says.

When the dancer gets there a light lunch is on the table with a bottle of Jumin’s wine.  Surana is suitably wooed.  Callie leaves Surana with her second glass of wine and cleans up their lunch dishes.  Surana follows her to the studio and watches as Callie unlatches the shelves on either side of the room, turns them on their wheels and hooks them back into place.  Each unit holding her neatly displayed instrument cases turning to reveal a mirrored back.

Surana makes a small impressed sound and Callie tends to the music while the petite woman begins to strip off layers until she looks almost exactly the way Callie remembers her. 

It’s more than an hour later and Callie is dripping with sweat, the music had increased in severity and merged with the forceful way Surana instructs.  There’s a barrage of insults and disappointed noises and Callie doesn’t hear the door to the house.

“You never fail to disappoint me,” Surana says grabbing her by the calf.

She grabs onto the bar with her good hand as she feels her balance falter and lets her heel fall back to the floor.  “Shit.” She grunts.

“If Delonge thinks that you and that wet noodle you’ve sent me will do anything together he is as foolish as he ever was.”

“Still trying to compete with me?” Callie laughs.

“You were never competition,” Surana snorts.

“Didn’t stop you.”

They both laugh and then simultaneously jump when a man clears his throat in the living room.  Callie spins around but Surana simply makes aggressive eye contact through the mirror.

“Has this been approved as part of your recovery?”

“Hello Mr. Han.  Welcome to my home, can I offer you a drink,” Callie smiles and grabs the loose shirt she’d stripped off 3 drills in.

Jumin’s father stands in the middle of her living room and folds his arms.  Surana continues to stare.

“I guess,” she continues smiling, “you don’t get updates anymore now that my doctor works for Jumin, but yes, as long as I am conscious of my shoulder and don’t attempt anything too complicated alone I am allowed to dance.”  She fumbles with her phone and fires off a text to Jumin while she turns down the music.

“I see,” he frowns at her.  “And this woman here is qualified to instruct you?”

Callie puts a hand on Surana’s shoulder when she spins around to face the Chief.  “Mr. Han I’m sure you’ve heard of Surana Iwakura?  We trained together as children, she’s danced in the Uk, and Russia, she owns three studios, one in the UK, one here and another overseas.”

His eyes narrow but he nods.

“And Surana I’m sure you know of Mr. Han, my friend Jumin’s father, the Chairman at C&R, my boss basically.”

Surana snorts.  “I suppose we can end this farce here, perhaps once you start visiting me in my studio this room will not seem like such a waste.”  She begins pulling her shed layers back on to leave while watching Callie carefully.

Surana had never been her friend but she could see that she was uncomfortable leaving her alone with a clearly uninvited man in her home.

“Mr. Han,” Callie continues to smile, “would you like to join us for supper tonight, Jumin is picking Max up from school today, she’s been begging to see you again, and I did promise to cook for you.” She says to put the other woman at ease. 

Surana shrugs and makes for the door. 

Callie turns off the light in the studio and pulls the sliding door shut.  She never stops smiling at Jumin’s father, who simply stands in the living room watching her.

“Mr. Han, don’t get me wrong I appreciate everything you’ve done for my recovery, and I was expecting this visit, but could you please relax and let me get you something, before I listen to your lecture?”

His face relaxes.  “I offered that hospital a lot of money.”

“And I told them they’d still get it,” she says, arms folded.

“Confidently I assume,” he frowns.

“I am home,” she laughs.  “Mr. Han, we both know your altruism was not for my benefit.  I know Jumin was a mess but I have a kid too and as much as Jumin probably benefited from having me in the hospital where he could keep an eye on me Max needed me more.”  She stops smiling, he soft tone goes hard.  “Not to mention that I assumed Jumin was the one responsible for keeping me there and was, understandably I think, frustrated with him for that. 

“All of this being completely moot as I’ve done the short program for this recovery more than once and am an adult, capable of being in charge of my own recovery, capable of making my own choices.  I’m not beholden to your or Jumin.”

He follows her to the kitchen while she calmly lectures him, his frown replaced with his usual bemused expression.  She hands him 3 fingers of scotch.

“Could you explain to me, Ms. Miller, how capable you are in that respect?  Considering what you’ve been doing this afternoon?”

“I didn’t take my second dose of painkillers, or muscle relaxers,” she says calmly.  “Specifically so that I would be acutely aware of any negative impact on my shoulder. In the hospital I was forced to take what they give me when they give it to me, I am always medicated for my exercises and I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve got a few issues with pride?”

He chuckles.

“I push myself too hard in the hospital because I can’t feel the impact of my own stubbornness, so being home is good for me. However I have a feeling you showing up when you assumed I would be alone was not just an attempt to lecture me on how seriously I’m taking my recovery.”

Callie continues on with her work in the kitchen, she’s pulling out vegetables, cutting boards, knives, frying pans, and spices.

“You’re an observant woman Ms. Miller.”

“I can read people,” she laughs.  “You’re particularly easy.”

He frowns.

“Oh not in the board room,” she laughs.  “But you are an open book when faced with most women.”

He shrugs.  “I’ve suspected for a while.”

“About Jumin and I?”

He nods.

“And you’ve asked Jumin.”

“You know what my son is like,” he shakes his head.

“He’s very private,” she nods not looking up from her cutting board.  “And I’m afraid I respect his feelings on that so I am not sure if I can help you out here.”

“Your situation is not unique,” he says. 

“Mr. Han,” she looks up at him from across the counter, and points the knife at him like and extension of her finger, “I’m afraid you’re not even a little aware of our situation and I am not going to clarify or justify it to you.  That is between Jumin and you.”

“Could you at least tell me if this situation will affect my business?”

She snorts and has to cover her mouth.  When she’s finished laughing she smiles widely at him.  “I can say with the utmost sincerity that it will not.  Mr. Han we have a bit of a gathering on Friday evenings, like I said you’re welcome to stay, maybe that would ease your mind?”

Now that the music is off she can hear a car pulling up outside and she can tell by the way he adjusts his shoulders he has heard it too.

“Calliope could you tell me one thing, without breaking my son’s confidence in you?”

“I can try?”

“Is he happy, with whatever arrangement you’ve made?”

“Mr. Han, you could stay, even just a little while if you have dinner plans, and see for yourself.”

The door swings open and Max bursts into the room, followed by Jumin who is laden with her jacket, hat, backpack, and a huge stuffed wolf.  She throws herself at her mother and then grabs the wolf and runs off.  Jumin is hanging Max’s things in the entry way.

“So what did my father want?” He asks, unable to see his around the corner.  “He didn’t stay long did he?”

“Well,” she starts, frowning at Mr. Han. 

“Did Saeyoung get a new car?”  Jumin asks, coming into the kitchen.  His entire demeanor changes when he sees his father. “Oh.”

“I was just inviting your father to stay for dinner,” she says.

He glances around the room.  “Oh, I’m not sure he’d be interested.”

“It’s alright Jumin,” his father laughs.  “I have plans of my own.”

Jumin’s eyes narrow on the empty wine bottle in the sink.  “Calliope, you’re not supposed to be drinking on the muscle relaxers you’re taking.”

“Good thing I didn’t take them this afternoon,” she smirks and the bacon she’s been cutting sizzles as it hits the hot pan.

He frowns at his father.  “How long have you been here?”

“Not long,” Callie answers.  “Did Jaehee mention if we’d see her tonight?”

“Ms. Kang does not usually share her plans with me,” he frowns.

“Mom,” Max yells from the stairs, “when is Uncle Zen going to be here?”

“I don’t know,” Callie calls back walking past Jumin and his father, “you’re not asking because you named that wolf Zen are you?”

“His name is Ryu II,” she shrieks and cackles.  Callie can hear her heavy footfalls running up the stairs.

Jumin is stirring the bacon in the pan when she comes back to the kitchen and his father appears to be leaving.

“It was very nice to see you Mr. Han.”

“You as well Ms, Miller,” he nods.

“We do this every Friday, you’re always welcome.”  Her smile never falters.

“I will consider what you told me.”

Callie shrugs, and goes back to cooking.  Jumin has hung his jacket over pantry doorknob and rolled his sleeves up.  He watches her carefully while she finishes cutting the vegetables she’d pulled out.  She sets them aside and opens another bottle of wine.  She pours them both a glass and he frowns at her.

“What did you tell my father?” He still hasn’t relaxed.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she laughs and takes entirely too big of a drink from her glass.

Jumin frowns.  “I did ask.”

“The chief didn’t just drop by to lecture me about leaving the hospital, I mean he did that, and we had a talk about how I am also a parent and an adult.”

“Did that go well for you?”

“We’ve established your father loves me, so of course.”

Jumin laughs.

Callie crosses the space between them and brushes his hair out of his face.  “Your Dad wanted me to tell him what we are.”

He frowns.  “What did you tell him?”

“I told him that he should ask you, that it’s not my place to speak on your behalf, and that I was sure that if he was asking me that question he probably already knew the answer.”

“Was he satisfied with that answer?”

“He’s a Han so of course not,” she laughs and kisses him on the nose.  “Of course he assumes the worst about Saeyoung and worries about your reputation.  I told him if he had concerns he should talk to you, or he could stay for dinner and see how little he has to worry about our arrangement with his own eyes.”

His frown deepens.

“I’m not going to lie to your Dad, especially when he’s just worried about you.  I respect that you don’t think it’s his business and I understand that you’re Dad would probably accept his assumptions easier than the truth.  You don’t have to tell him and I didn’t clarify. But I’m not going to straight up lie, he just wants to see you happy, you know?”

“I can respect that,” Jumin says hugging her. 

[petite-neko]

Boyhood Blues - 03

Fanfiction: Boyhood Blues Story Summary: Actions, and inactions, have their repercussions. It may not be immediate but somewhere down the line, the effect will be seen. Chapter Characters: Sabo, Luffy, Ivankov, Sakazuki, Ace, Jinbei Pairing: LawLu Rating: T Warnings: Swearing, Universe Alteration, canon-typical violence, angst, A/N: LOOK I AM PRODUCTIVE TODAY. Please note: Mondays/Tuesdays might not be a staple time for posting by the way. I’ll just be ensuring that it’s posted on a weekly basis!

.xxx. > Time/scene skip

.+++. > PoV change

Read on Ao3

Chapter 2 || Chapter 3: Bonds || Chapter 4

The introduction had been brief, for Iva had taken him aside before informing him of everything that had happened so far. Ace’s vivre card, the happenings in Impel Down and their escape. It hadn’t been long until there was a tearful farewell to the man who had opened the gates for them. (One Sabo truly did not understand, merely because he had not known him. But, he didn’t like seeing Luffy cry like that.)

And after it was all said and done, Sabo just sat down, trying to understand everything. Because, simply, he didn’t. Why he was here. What it had to do with these two brothers. And why the hell he hated seeing Luffy doing anything but smile and laugh.

At the very least, he knew he could trust his instincts. It was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place…

“You weren’t in the prison, right?”

Sabo glanced up at that to see Luffy sitting next to him. He wasn’t frowning, but at the same time he wasn’t exactly smiling either. It really unnerved him.

“No, I wasn’t.” Sabo itched to get away. He had enough on his mind right now and he didn’t need Luffy just pestering him and looking at him like that. Couldn’t he just smile already?

“Then how’d you get on this ship? Did the Marines capture you? Iva said you were a revolutionary…” Well, he supposed the innocent curious expression on Luffy’s face was better than that neutral one.

Sabo sighed and shook his head. “No. I snuck aboard this ship and stowed away. I was hoping to end up at Marineford.” And then you went and commandeered this ship, which annoyed the hell out of me. He didn’t add the last point however, as it was moot considering that was their destination at hand.

“Really?”

When Sabo glanced at Luffy, all of his nerves unwound themselves. There. That was much better, the way that Luffy was looking at him, eyes practically glowing.

“Yeah, from what Iva told me, for the same reason as you.”

Luffy made some strange sound of happiness. “Really? How do you know Ace? I mean, I hadn’t seen him in three years so I don’t know all of his friends and.. ”

…Goodness he was just going off on tangents, wasn’t he?

“I don’t know Ace.”

And that put a complete halt in Luffy’s spiel. “…Huh?” He looked confused again, but still happy, and that was good enough for him he supposed.

“Don’t ask me why, but for some reason I can’t let this happen. It…it makes me angry. It turns my stomach I just…” He shook his head. “Let’s leave it at that, shall we? I can’t exactly explain why I am the way I am.”

It was just… fact. Luffy just didn’t know him or who he was or his past and while he didn’t think Luffy would understand hopefully he wouldn’t pry.

“Okay!”

…Huh?

“It’s just your instincts right? I understand that perfectly fine.” He was laughing now. “I don’t get why your instincts tell you to save Ace, but I’m happy they are.”

…Weirdo.

.xxx.

Luffy was currently telling him about Ace. Explaining what he looked like and his personality and his devil fruit and Sabo, well, he listened. He might as well learn just who this man was that he had decided to risk his life for.

“And, and then I met him in Alabasta! It was funny because he was waiting for me there but people forgot to tell me his message, but I met him anyway.” He laughed sheepishly. “That’s where he gave me this.” And Luffy pulled out a burning piece of paper from his hat. He made a sad expression before putting it back. “It was so nice to see him after three years. He invited me to his crew but of course I refused. The pirate king has to be the captain!”

There was more laughter, and yes, Sabo was more confident that this was how he liked to see Luffy. Smiling and laughing and just having fun. He’d question why later.

“And! Oh!” Now Luffy was grinning. “I showed him my prized possession.” Now, oh that grin had turned into this expression. It was just… so happy. “You see, my friend Vivi, she was secretly part of this organisation…” Then Luffy had a sour face, gesturing towards Crocodile. “And she had wanted posters and!” Luffy’s eyes lit up again as he returned to the topic at hand. “You see, there’s this really cool pirate and I have his wanted poster and Ace and I knew him as kids and I showed Ace!”

…This idiot was giddy. What the hell.

“And I met him a few days ago at the tree-islands and Torao has all these cool tattoos when he became a pirate! He’s got this cool beard too! And this really awesome-looking sword! And this bear and…”

…That wasn’t telling him anything Luffy. Nothing at all. And he wasn’t aware of any pirates named (or nicknamed) Torao either…. And Luffy was going on about just how cool this Torao character was…

He doubted they’d be getting back to the subject of Ace anytime soon…

.xxx.

More news came out about Luffy and Ace and Dragon however. How apparently Luffy and Ace were not brothers by blood, but by bond.

(It only made him remember that image of sake and the taste as it burned down his throat…)

What was it? And why?

Sabo sighed and just rested his head against a wall.

“Someving the matter, Sabo-boy?”

He opened his eyes to look up at Iva. “Headaches.” He explained, and truthfully, yes, he getting them in droves right now. Whenever that fog came in or certain things were said… And they just kept happening.

“Ah. Are vou vinking vhat I vink vou’re vinking Sabo-boy?” Iva said, gesturing towards Luffy.

…Now that Iva pointed it out, yeah, it was starting to make some sense…

“Vi vould suggest vou vait on vat Sabo-boy. Not vat Vi’m saying it’s not possible but…”

Sabo nodded. “He has enough on his mind right now.”

Iva nodded. “It’s highly possible, vou know. Vou both originated from East Blue after all.”

Not to mention, well… he doesn’t exactly remember it at all, and wouldn’t that be a slap in the face? No, let Luffy worry about Ace, and not some kid from his past whom he may or may not be.

.xxx.

This? It was war. Completely and utterly, and those damn Marines had the upper hand with Ace in sea-stone cuffs. And after hearing that this publicity was all over the fact of who Ace’s biological father was, well it only ignited that fury within him even more. In fact, it was almost blinding, that anger. He had to save Ace, he had to save Ace. He couldn’t let the Marines have him.

And he fought. Luffy fought. They all fought. Many fell, allies and foes alike.

(All of this, over a fucking bloodline!)

Here the Marines were, demonising these two brothers based on who their fathers were. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t righteous. Not one bit of it. And finally when they achieved hope, when Ace was freed and on the run…

Sakazuki descended, and he attacked. Not only with lava, but with words.

Sabo saw it coming. They all probably did. Except Ace. (Or if he did, he didn’t care.)

Ace refused to keep running, and Luffy was trying to convince him to continue. Begging him. Telling him that this wasn’t what Whitebeard wanted and Sakazuki was just goading him on and they needed to leave.

(The others were too preoccupied with the other admirals. He needed to get there, it wasn’t boding good. Not with Luffy’s condition, or Ace’s temper…)

And he saw it. Saw the way Sakazuki had aimed his molten fist towards Luffy. Saw the way that Ace had stepped in the way to protect his younger brother… Saw as red exploded everywhere. Fire. Lava. Blood. Saw the fist as it impaled Ace… Saw Luffy as he tilted back, screaming to the heavens...

He saw Ace die.

He saw Luffy break.

(No… no, his mind screamed. No!)

The shock shook him and brought him back to the present. And he watched… Watched as Sakazuki brought his fist back…

“NO!” Sabo screamed as he charged towards the admiral with a haki-infused claw. Anything. Anything. He needed to stop him from killing Ace…

And Sabo diverted Sakazuki’s attack.

He heard Ace’s scream of pain, and Luffy’s strangled cries of worry, but he had to ignore it for now. No. He needed to keep Sakazuki handled, he couldn’t let this… this monster harm these brothers anymore.

“Another revolutionary?” The man of magma spat at him. “How dare you…”

Sabo hardened his gaze on the admiral. “You will not harm these brothers!” He channelled all of his fury at this man. The man who hunted down Luffy and Ace. The man who tried – and almost succeeded – in killing them.

(He could hear sobbing and muttering behind him. In fact, he heard his name muttered, but whether or not they were referring to him or the other Sabo, he wasn’t too certain.)

He didn’t allow himself to be distracted, no. He used his Haki to disrupt the magma from seeping behind him. God dammit, couldn’t somebody just fucking grab them already?

(He heard the sound of a body hitting the ground and a heartbreaking scream ripple out into the air. What happened? Fuck. what happened?)

“I’ve got them now! Ace is still alive!”

(…That was Jinbei. Oh, thank god...)

Chaos, it was chaos everywhere, and in his relief, that damned Sakazuki broke away from him, and began to chase after the fishman carrying the two unconscious brothers away.

Bastard.

He was able to spare a glance at Ace finally, and the sight was not pretty. If he didn’t see a doctor soon… (And if he hadn’t diverted Sakazuki’s blast…)

Sabo narrowed his sights on the admiral once more… He couldn’t let that bastard win.

[maniibear]

for @ishipallthings -- happy belated birthday, dear! The gift is 84 years late, but I hope you enjoy the stony :)

Word Count: ~5400 Warnings: mention of abuse, non-graphic asthma, a Hamilton reference Summary: StevexTony; Steve has a one-night stand on Sunday, and a job interview on Monday. Guess who is his potential boss’s son?

Six in the morning, and the world is just starting to wake up. Steve’s in the middle of the city, but deep enough into a nicer area that he can only hear traffic from a distance. The local noise is still crickets and sprinklers, and the occasional van rolling in with deliveries to the rich and famous dwelling here in the heart of Manhattan.

Steve’s sure enough he’s not going to get mugged here, and he’s tempted to savor the brightening solitude, but he can also feel the dull scratch of anxiety at the back of his mind. Maybe if it was a Saturday, he could have savored the pleasant ache in his body, given in to the compulsion to smile like a dope and be less concerned about his terrible bed head. If it were a Saturday, he wouldn’t have even gotten out of bed.

But here he is, loitering on the street on a Monday morning, thin frame wrapped in a shirt that was conspicuously missing a few buttons and definitely not fooling the throng of blue collar workers making their way to their employers’ terrifically expensive condos. Steve is just in the process of politely refusing a squished granola bar from the cavernous tote bag of a sweet granny type who speaks little English, but clearly manages to convey that she thinks he’s pillow pet who’s been kicked out before some rich-and-famous’s spouse returned, when he hears the familiar roar of Bucky’s motorcycle. Steve hastily thanks granny, vows to learn a little Vietnamese, and bolts.

He jumps on the back of the bike and hastily taps the side of Bucky’s hip. “Go go go!”

“Aw, runnin’ out on your girlfriend, Stevie?”

“Buck!” Steve grits his teeth desperately.

Bucky just laughs and tosses the spare helmet back.

“So,” he says happily, once Steve is all strapped in and they’re on the way back to their apartment on a less manicured side of town. “This all seems wildly irresponsible.”

Steve woke up to the sound of the radio playing low, like it was meant to be background noise than anything else. A cursory glance showed the bed was empty beside him. Steve shuddered into further wakefulness and picked up on the sound of running water coming from the adjoining bathroom.

Right. He fell back on the bed with a huff, crumpled sheets keeping the bare minimum of his modesty in check, and stared up at the chandelier. The bathroom door opened just then. Steve let his head fall to the side and smiled at a very gorgeous and equally naked Tony. It dawned on Steve that he was enough of an art nerd to look at him paused in the doorway and think of Donatello’s David.

“Hey.”

Tony looked briefly startled, but a smile spread across his face before Steve could think anything about it, and the next thing he knew, Tony took a flying leap and cannonballed into his arms. The sheets tangled further around their winding legs, fingers intertwined, and mouths pressed against each other like they hadn’t spent the last twelve hours together.

Tony tasted like mint and fresh water and his eyes sparkled like the insets in the chandelier above. “Let’s just do this all day,” he suggested. “I’ll order breakfast; whatever you want, from wherever you want.”

That made Steve laugh. He couldn’t help but think that if Tony bottled and sold his apparent ability to make endorphins happen, he’d make a killing. Not that Tony was in any dire need of money; no, judging by how he hadn’t yet let go of Steve, it was pretty obvious what he did need.

And Steve was happy to give it. He ran his hands along slim thighs resting between his own; he kissed Tony’s palm when it brushed his cheek, and god, it was tempting, this offer to roll around in bed all day. Surely, there were some errands he could put off for another weekend. Steve just let his eyes fall shut to try and recall his schedule, and the radio drifted in.

‘You’re listening to NPR and it is Monday 6:15 AM’—what?!

“Fuck!” Steve shot up so fast that he dislodged Tony, who landed beside him with a small ‘oof!’.

“Ow?” he complained, but Steve was too busy grabbing at his phone and staring in shock at a number of missed calls from Bucky, and a text from Sharon wishing him luck on the first day of his new job.

Fuck fuck fuck!

“I have to go,” he wheezed at Tony, who was still sprawled in bed with his chin in his hands as he watched Steve wrestle his clothes on. His eyes weren’t quite so bright anymore.

“Uh-huh.”

“No, I don’t mean…I’m proposing. A lady…” Steve winced at the look on Tony’s face. His brain could handle threading his belt and texting Bucky at once, but clearly drew the line at adding coherent speech. Hitting send on the text begging his best friend to pick him up from his ‘night out’, Steve took a breath.

“Sorry, I meant, I have to make a proposal to someone kind of important today. God, I can’t believe I forgot! It’s been on my calendar for a month.”

“Not the marriage kind, I’m guessing?” Tony asked. Steve wondered if it was normal to be this stupidly pleased that he was smiling again.

“No, just the work kind, I’m afraid.” He swallowed thickly when Tony stretched on the bed, arching ridiculously and then slipping off in a pile of sheets and long limbs.

“Yeah, I have to be somewhere too,” Tony said ruefully. He padded over to Steve, still naked, and poked his chest. “You’re free for dinner, right?”

“You’re telling me that our boy here, who literally would not shut up about this contract with the Stark Foundation, had to be picked up from a one night stand on the first day.”

“Tragic, isn’t it?” Bucky replies.

“I blame you,” says Sam. “Ten PM, and did you know where your best friend was?”

“Did you?”

“Hey, I have a real job. You work from home, Steve’s your responsibility.”

The barstool creaks when Bucky settles on it. “He’s a cry for help.”

Steve spits the last of the toothpaste into the sink and ducks out to glare at his friends. “First of all, neither of you are my parents,” he says, pointing the toothbrush viciously at both of them. “Second of all, how come you two can get along to rag on me, but can’t bother when I...I don’t know, have an important client?”

To their credit, Sam and Bucky exchange a look that might have been apologetic about the whole Prince of Wakanda incident, but it all becomes moot when Sam asks, “So, does that guy like cats or…?”

“Oh my god!” Steve rolls his eyes incredulously and disappears back into the bathroom as Sam doggedly follows up with, “Dude shows up dressed like a cat, Steve; you weren’t even a little curious?”

“Anyway, we still wanna know who kept you out all night when you had a job today.” Bucky sings when he doesn’t answer. “Come on, Stevie, don’t make us hold your portfolio hostage.”

Steve dashes back out, shirt halfway buttoned and a severe look on his face. Sam and Bucky just smile back at him serenely. Not that he should have expected anything else—his friends might be assholes, but they knew better than to mess with his work. They latch on to his relief, though, and loom over the counter like cats that spotted cream.

“I…ah, geeze,” Steve focuses on smoothing his shirt down and hunting for his jacket to combat the blush climbing over his cheeks. “His name’s Tony. He’s well off, I guess…young, though.”

“How young?”

Steve resists the urge to mess up his combed hair with a nervous gesture. “Uh, he was at Triskelion for his twenty-first birthday.”

This time Bucky and Sam exchange another look of high strung exasperation. 

“Steve, you’re only twenty five, not ninety, so don’t think you’re cradle robbing or anything.” Bucky says. “Although, I question why a guy who lives in the kinda place I picked you up at is celebrating his day of legal booze at Triskelion.”

He asked Tony as much and Tony just grinned, warm and lush and impossibly attractive in his birthday suit.

“Why were you, uh…?”

“Slummin’ in the city in my fancy heels?” Tony laughed. And how was Steve supposed to resist leaning up to kiss him?

“So,” he murmured against Tony’s lips when they parted. “Were you searching for an urchin, or what?”

Tony exhaled in a long sigh, and pushed him back so Steve’s back hit the impossibly soft mattress again and his palms slid up Tony’s thighs. “You’re a smart guy, Steve, artist extraordinaire,” he said. “I’m sure you don’t think today was really my first time drinking.”

Steve hummed affirmative. He didn’t think too many first timers went for the whiskey.

“This huge deal about my 21st, it’s mostly for the show. I’m sure Dad’s expecting me to head downtown and make the glamour section. Maybe even get locked up.”

“Tony!”

Tony snickered, looked down at Steve like he was adorable. “Relax, I’d get bailed out in an hour, tops, and nobody would talk about it again. Told you it’s just for show.”

If Tony expected Steve to be ok with that explanation, he was wrong. It just made him more protective of this boy he’d only met a couple hours ago. But who was he to tell Tony what was what? Steve stroked heavily down Tony’s thighs, himself warm with drink. “Ok,” he said instead. “So, you’re rebelling against your parents by having a quiet night in?”

“Just my dad,” Tony drawled. “…and…” he slid down Steve’s legs in a sinuous move that made his mouth go dry, and parted his thighs without breaking eye contact. “…I’m hoping I won’t be quiet for long.”

At 9 AM sharp, Steve finds himself sitting on an expensive microfiber couch, draped tastefully with a throw rug. His clothes are neat, his hair is combed, his portfolio is stacked with several excellent examples of why he should lead the branding effort for the newly minted Maria Stark Foundation.

There’s a strange, premonitory quality to the air that Steve chalks up to nerves. Not for the first time this morning, he chides himself for going drinking before the interview. He wants this job, he should have acted like it. But then, a vision of Tony’s firework grin flashes through his mind and Steve can’t bring himself to regret his life choices too much.

Steve absently scratches a bruised spot on his chest, remnant of an ardent hickey, and already thinks about their meeting tonight. He imagines greeting Tony with good news, easily envisions the delighted kiss that would come after.

“I told you!” Tony would say, probably against Steve’s lips because he’d be too impatient to wait until they finished kissing. And Steve would laugh--

“Mr. Rogers?” 

The door to the main office stands wide open and a redheaded assistant looks inquiringly over at Steve, who sits up and banishes his decidedly unprofessional train of thought.

 “You can go in now,” the assistant says.

 - 

There’s a piano in the far corner of the studio and there’s someone playing it. The piece sounds good, albeit halting, as if it were still being practiced. Steve can’t see who, but doesn’t think they should be the focus of his attention anyway. Howard Stark greets him with an air of severity from behind the cherrywood desk.

“The artist,” he says. “Rogers, is it? Stephen?”

“Steve, sir, and yes.”

The melody on the piano hits a sour note and falters.

A frown crosses Howard’s brow. “Unfortunately, Maria couldn’t be here, but she shortlisted you, so you must have something worth a look.” He turns to the piano with a somewhat sardonic curl to his lip. “Anthony, would you like to join us?”

A few more notes tinkle out of the piano before it finally stops. There’s a shuffling noise, and Steve finally turns to cast a look at Anthony--

--and immediately breaks into gooseflesh. Sure, he has on more clothes and his hair is neatly combed back, but Anthony and his talents on the piano are none other than his Tony. Tony, who immediately gives a knowing smile as he crosses over to the desk, and Steve has to quickly school his features before Howard can notice. Speaking of which, how did Tony end up in Howard’s office?

It becomes more obvious when Tony gets closer. Oh please, Steve thinks, don’t let it be--

“My son,” Howard says.

Steve smiles wanly. “Oh.”

Tony bites his lip to keep from laughing.

Tony grinned delightedly and swaggered closer to Steve’s side of the pool table. He raised his eyebrows and made sure Steve was watching before sliding up to sit on the edge and position his pool stick behind him.  

There were dollar bills lying on yet another edge-- crumpled 5’s from Steve’s pocket and a tidy 20 from Tony’s. It was the first time Steve had ever taken up a random stranger’s offer of a game, but it wasn’t exactly a hustle. Steve hadn’t been fooled by Tony’s pretend fumbling more than he’d been distracted by how much the guy liked to put on a show, and then by his smile.

They knew each other for less than an hour, but Tony was somewhat of a rubik’s cube, and Steve liked a challenge.

“You’re not going to make it,” he predicted, eyeing the layout of targets on the felt.

Tony cast a disdainful glance. “Yes, I will.

Steve didn’t reply to that; he just made an acquiescing gesture and leaned heavily on his pool stick.

Tony licked his lips, took the shot, and--he didn’t make it. Bafflement looked adorable on him, though, Steve thought before he could stop himself.

“No, my math was right,” Tony slid off the edge and insisted. “I should have gotten the three and four.”

“You factor in how much you drank?”

Tony shot him another look. “Of course, I did.”

And yet, the pockets remained empty. Steve glided over to the table, judged the angles, and positioned his own stick. He took his shot, and both his targets obediently rolled into their goal. “You sure about that?” he asked Tony.

“Well,” Tony stepped into his space. “I might not have factored in how distracting you were.”

Steve could feel the warmth of their proximity and felt warm himself, looking at Tony’s lips. He’d come into Triskelion for a quick drink and a solitary game of pool to calm his nerves about his proposal tomorrow. He was supposed to have left an hour ago and should have been getting ready for a full night’s rest right about now, if not for some trashtalking punk challenging him.

Sadly, said punk was also ridiculously attractive and being near him thrilled Steve. He brushed his hand along Tony’s waist before either of them knew what they were doing. Tony looked startled for a moment, but then exhaled a soft, contented ‘ah’ as his whole body language melted into willingness. Steve could feel his heart jump, but wrapping his arm around Tony’s waist felt as natural as curling his fingers around a paintbrush; so did pulling Tony forward until kissing him was inevitable.

Obviously it never occurred to either of them to be shy. Steve was raring to go by the time Tony said, “You wanna get out of here?”

“Get out of here,” Tony gushes. “These are incredible!”

Pages turn noisily in his hands, but it’s not enough to mask the sound of Steve’s heart beating in his own ears. This feels ridiculously unfair. There’s a part of him that’s quite rightly mortified that the cute young thing that he’d hooked up with last night is his potential boss’s son. Then, there’s another, arguably bigger, part of Steve that watches Tony’s sincere delight in his craft and imagines reaching across the desk to kiss Tony until they were both breathless.

But that’s no way to think about a man’s son in his direct presence.

“Thank you,” Steve says instead, voice skirting a new and apparently razor thin line he’s discovered between giddy affection and gracious professionalism.

Tony glances up and smiles back impishly. Howard pointedly clears his throat.

“Slow down, Anthony,” he advises. “We have a few more candidates to go before we decide--”

“--decide who to get in bed with. I know,” Tony drones long-sufferingly, and Steve quickly disguises a strangled groan behind a cough.  

“Exactly,” Howard says in the dry tones of one used to Tony’s behavior for roughly two decades. “Glad to see you enthusiastically involved in the proceedings, for once.”

“Oh, you know me,” Tony lifts his chin to smile at Steve, and takes his time licking the tip of his finger before turning another page. “I see something I like, I have to be hands on.”

Christ. So, this is how it’s going to be.

Steve offers an eulogy for the weeks he’d spent practicing his answers to every professional curveball he might be thrown, because who could have predicted Tony Stark? Who could have predicted that the stranger Steve spent all night bending over various fancy furniture would appear at his interview and start firing off innuendo?

Whoever it was, they should also have known Steve wasn’t the type to back down.

“I’m glad you think so...Anthony,” he replies, dragging each syllable out on his tongue for as long as he dared. “Always happy to meet a fan of my work.”

“Oh, call me Tony,” comes the hurried reply, just before Tony leans casually on the desk and gestures at the illustrations. “And I’m curious: where does all this magic happen?”

“If I’m not working on-site with a client, have a setup at home, where I probably spend too much of my time,” Steve shrugs some of the stiffness from his shoulders and gives a short laugh. “I know you must think being bent over a drafting table for hours is awful, but it’s actually a lot of fun.” He pauses for effect before adding. “I enjoy it, anyway.”

It takes a moment for Tony to find his voice. “Honestly, I can see where you’re coming from,” he says, rougher than before. “So, do you work alone? Or is there someone helping out on that drafting board?”

“Well, they say too many tugs spoil the weave,” answers Steve, knowing full well that nobody ever said that. “I tend to be picky about who I work with, but sometimes--well, it’s entirely possible, you meet someone by chance and you just click.”

Winking flirtatiously might be inappropriate for the setting, but Steve has enough meaningful looks and bashful smiles in his repertoire to slip one under Howard’s radar.

On the other hand, Tony’s lopsided grin doesn’t quite cover the faint red on his cheeks. He casts his eyes down endearingly. “That sounds--”

“Needlessly romantic,” Howard interjects. He directs a sharp look at Tony. “Young Ms. Van Dyne rubbing off on you?”

Tony snickers. “No, I don’t think it’s me Jan wants to--” he trails off when Howard’s expression grows admonishing, and seamlessly rounds on Steve instead.

“Jan’s my friend,” Tony informs him. “But just a friend! Not like my girlfriend or anything. Just so we’re clear.”

“Uh, quite,” Steve nods, telling himself it’s not mollification he feels. Luckily, Howard seems too exasperated by his son to notice Steve’s inner melodrama.

“I think you’ve wasted enough of Rogers’ time today,” he says, and Steve winces when he plucks the samples from Tony’s hands. “Now, if you don’t have real questions, you know where the door is.”

“But I have questions,” Tony insists. Quickly, before Howard can object, he asks, “So, Steve, why do you want to work for the Maria Stark foundation? Besides the perks, the prestige, and the great work we do?”

Steve’s eyebrow twitches. He’s no longer surprised by cheeky questions, but it’s disquieting the way Tony resolutely avoids eye contact with his father. And as for Howard himself, Steve tucks the man’s callousness away in the back of his mind before his objection to it shows on his face.

“For me, it’s the people,” he answers finally. “I first got to know of Mrs. Stark’s work through the hospital charity, when my Ma was admitted.”

Tony lifts his eyes, somber but clearly curious. Howard remains impassive as ever.

“She patched us through to some good treatments; experimental stuff we wouldn’t have known about,” Steve continues. “Ma didn’t make it, but thanks to Mrs. Stark, I know it wasn’t for lack of trying. This is my way of giving back.”

Tony’s lips move. Steve can see them form the familiar ‘I’m sorry’ but Howard gets in first.

“Giving back what exactly?” he asks, even and unimpressed. “You don’t have enterprise clients or global experience.”

“But I have done my homework,” Steve counters smoothly. “The Foundation is still facing a public opinion problem--what with Stark Industries manufacturing weapons and the Foundation seeking to aid war-torn regions. If you turn to page eleven, my proposal to reconcile that is right there.”

For the first time, Howard looks interested. Steve keeps one eye on the elder Stark reading through his proposal and the other on Tony, who no longer seems as enthusiastic as Howard had liked. He scratches the side of his head, fingers carding nervously through black hair and trying hard to be subtle about it.

The urge to clasp that hand and kiss the nerves away makes Steve restless. He curls his palms on the desk, focuses on the cool wood before he does something stupid.

“Not bad,” Howard finally passes his verdict. “Could use a few improvements, but it’ll fool enough folks with deep pockets.”

In spite of himself, Steve feels his professional demeanor slip. Theoretically, he shouldn’t contradict an employer. Then theoretically, an employer shouldn't say shady things, Steve thinks, which dovetails right into him telling Howard, “Sir, I don’t want to fool anyone.”

Casually noting Tony's interest in the face of Howard's vexation, Steve continues, “I just want to show people that war may be a necessary evil, but that it doesn’t absolve us from humanitarianism; that we’re committed to improvement, not conflict.”

“That’s good,” Howard chuckles. “That should convince the hippies on the West Coast. Believe it or not, we still have investors in the Bay who are cagey about giving us money all because we’re in the weapons business.”

Tony sits up, features growing tight and resolute. “But SI makes more than enough profit to cover that gap.”

Howard’s expression grows abruptly thunderous. “You’re out of your goddamn mind,” he retorts harshly, and Steve starts in surprise.

What he’d assumed was normal tension between a straightlaced father and an incorrigible son gets quickly shadowed by the flash of real fear in Tony’s eyes. It isn’t there for long. Tony schools his features in seconds, relaxing back into a marvelous, calculated insolence, but Steve is hard pressed to be fooled.

“We’re not Santa Claus, to be out saving the whole world,” Howard continues. “Even a charitable foundation needs good business sense before it needs blind optimism, or do you think your mother’s bleeding heart is enough to keep the lights on? ”

Tony grows steely. “Look, I just meant--”

“Meant,” Howard echoes derisively. “I’ve told you once, I told you a hundred times, Anthony: what you meant doesn’t count for shit.”

“Sir, that’s enough.” Steve keeps his voice deliberately low, but it’s enough to stun both Starks into pin drop silence.

Howard looks predictably incensed at being challenged. Tony mostly looks surprised. Surprised, and grateful in a way that strikingly reminds Steve of his own youth--of boys twice his size, of blood flowing from his split lip or broken nose, of the first time Bucky extended a hand to lift him off the ground and Steve had stared at it like a goddamn miracle. It’s that same look in Tony’s eyes which makes him throw diplomacy out the window.

“I spent weeks preparing for this interview,” Steve gets in before Howard can rebuke him. “Everyone who knows me knows how I bad I wanted this job, and it’s not because I want to create press releases for profit, but because I want everyone to know Mrs. Stark’s work when they see it.”

Steve begins gathering up his samples, not-so-accidentally brushing Tony’s fingertips with his own. “But I won’t work with bullies, no matter the business sense.”

Howard contemptuously pushes the portfolio away. “I’d watch my tone, if I were you.”

“Well, sir, you’re not me,” Steve counters caustically, and snaps his binder shut. Standing up, he doesn’t have much of a height advantage, but a withering look taken from the best of Peggy’s repertoire works just as well. “But let me know when you catch up.”

Howard grows livid. “Get out!”  

They couldn’t stop kissing. Neither of them were terribly patient, it appeared, and Tony’s excited chatter might have kept them from sullying the cab on their ride over to the nicest building Steve had ever seen, but all bets were off once the elevator closed.

They stumbled into Tony’s apartment, still attached at the lips. Steve had enough wits about him to observe that it was a studio, but one that probably cost more than most folks’ entire houses. The bed in the corner looked like a literal mound of heaven, but if Tony’s hands didn’t stop wandering, they weren’t going to make it.

Steve gasped when they ran roughly over his chest and plowed through to his shoulders so Tony could mumble ‘Off!’ while relieving Steve of his coat. The garment slipped off to pool at their feet and Tony inhaled sharply.

Suddenly holding Steve at arm’s length, he tilted his head and drunkenly declared. “You’re tiny!”

Steve instinctively flinched, but before he could draw away, Tony swooped in for what he’d later dub the hug-and-fly technique and try to accost Steve with it at least thrice before the night was over.

“Hey, careful!” Steve yelped as soon as he got over the shock of being picked up and whirled around like a Disney princess. “My jacket—Tonyyyy!”

Tony giggled dizzily and leaned up for another messy kiss. “I’ll buy you another.”

“Not in time, you won’t,” Steve squirmed until Tony unlocked his hands and put him down. “My inhaler’s in there.”

“Oh,” Tony moaned more than spoke, then his eyes flew open and he scurried a few steps back from Steve’s reaching fingers. “Uh, are you going to be ok?”

“I’ll be fine,” Steve replied, moving his poor, vulnerable jacket to safer ground. “It’s just for emergencies. Trust me, it takes a lot for me to lose my breath these days.”

“Oh?” Tony casually grabbed the collar of his own t-shirt and pulled the whole thing off in one fluid motion so he was both, exposed and artfully disheveled.

Steve’s breath caught instantly and very audibly.

“You were saying…?” Tony teased, eyes glimmering.

Steve swallowed. “Well, there are exceptions.”

Steve barely makes it out of Stark Industries imposing headquarters before a familiar tightness in his chest fairly warns him to take a break. Even so, he stubbornly marches to the farthest end of the building block before seeking refuge in an empty bus shelter. Because why give Howard the satisfaction of seeing him keel over from an asthma attack on Stark property when a narrow bench and an illuminated ad for Vibranium brand condoms would do just fine?

Once there, Steve lets his portfolio slide to the ground and shoves one hand into his pocket to feel for his inhaler. When it comes up empty, he sternly wills himself not to panic. Panicking only made things worse, but it becomes hard to remain calm when the other pocket is also empty and he can’t even remember if he’d bought along a spare—

“Hey!” a familiar voice calls out.

Tony barrels into the bus shelter just in time to see Steve’s best impression of a goldfish out of water. Luckily, he’s also brandishing Steve’s rescue inhaler.

“I thought it was you,” Tony looks triumphant. “You left this behind and I remembered you…Jesus, Steve!”

The gist of what Steve remembers after is the familiar woodsy smell of Tony’s expensive cologne, a litany of anxious concern, and some awkward mishaps of someone new to dealing with medical emergencies. Happily, it ends with Tony shoving the uncapped inhaler between Steve’s shaking fingers and guiding it to his lips.  

Moments later, Steve counts his breaths while Tony settles down on the bench beside him to rub his back, unasked. Warmth blooms over his spine in slow circles, moves up to his shoulders, and drapes pleasantly over the nape of his neck. Ultimately, however, it’s knowing that Tony is there, safe, beside him that unravels the tightness in Steve’s chest until it’s a distant memory.

Steve shivers when Tony turns and kisses his shoulder. For a moment, everything feels right with the world. Like most good things, it’s fleeting.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says roughly. A moment passes, not awkward, but light with gladness at being together again. “I didn’t want to leave you there.”

“Yeah? ‘Cause you missed the look on Howard’s face,” Tony counters mildly, then chuckles. “Back when you were all ‘But let me know when you catch up’...” He raises his chin and brassily snaps his fingers in cartoonish imitation of Steve telling off his father. “I thought he was going to burst a vein, and then you marched, marched, out that door like James fucking Bond?!”

“You,” Tony breathes wondrously, eyes twinkling as he points leisurely nudges Steve with his shoulder. “are a badass, Steve the artist. And, I’m just gonna come out and say it: that was the most awesome thing anyone’s done for me.”

Steve tries and fails to match Tony’s earnest smile. The disquiet he felt in Howard’s office lingers still, even as he clasps Tony's hand hovering on his chest. Steve focuses on the pliable warmth of it, on the delicate bones and rough callouses, because if he doesn’t, he’ll get angry all over again.

“I don’t mean to make things difficult,” he starts.

“Difficult?” Tony echoes, with a frown that only grows more curious when Steve cups the side of his face.

“Tony, are you...I’m just…” Steve falters, unsure, and frustrated with himself for it. How do you ask someone if their parent was the hitting kind? In the end, he decides on plain words. Tony is too important to him to dance around this subject. “Is he going to hurt you?”

Tony’s eyes lift in surprise, then grow affectionately soft. He leans forward to brush his lips against Steve’s and says, "No, he won’t. I mean, I won’t lie—he’s pissed off after being yelled at by what he considers ‘the help’,” Once again, Tony teeters on the verge of laughter before growing sober. “But he’s not gonna hit me."

It doesn’t put all of Steve’s monumental worries to rest, but it’s something. Scooting closer on the bench, he pulls Tony into a hug and unhappily rests his chin on soft, dark hair. He also tightens his arms, squeezing Tony tightly as if to say: if you need me, I’ll be there.

For his part, Tony sidles up contentedly, his breath whooshing warmly along Steve’s collarbones. The sound of his organic circuitry blends with the white noise of the city at midmorning, and with each moment that passes, Steve only grows more unwilling to part.

“Keep your phone on,” Tony mumbles eventually. “Mom gets final say anyway, and I know she’ll want you.”

Steve finds himself smiling at how comfortable ‘Mom’ sounds on Tony’s tongue. “You sound so sure.”

Tony pulls away slightly, and looks up at Steve with mild reproach. “You saying I don’t know my own mother, Rogers?”

Steve taps a kiss on his forehead. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Hmph,” Tony rolls his eyes, but slips back into their embrace.

“Still on for dinner?” Steve asks after they’ve luxuriated in each other for a few moments more. “I could use someone to celebrate my new job with.”

Tony nods. “Wear something nice,” he says. “Something form fitting. I want to try our—shh, too late, it’s our move now—hug-and-fly again.”

Steve sighs.