#she's avoiding the truth by fully devoting her attention to something else

[hecatesbroom]

Just watched Sick and Tired (Golden Girls s5, episodes 1 & 2) and aside from the obviously great work these episodes did in highlighting just how awful it can be to be diagnosed with a chronic illness, I had to take a minute to appreciate Rose. Because she's genuinely amazing here.

We're in these episodes where obviously, Dorothy isn't at her best. She's not there to be the voice of reason, to make sure everything runs smoothly — and usually you'd think Sophia would turn into the anchor then, because she seems to have most of her wits about her. But rather than Sophia, or even Blanche, it's Rose who steps up and keeps some semblance of order around the house.

Rose goes to New York with Dorothy because she's comforting, because she's sweet and understanding and unlike Blanche, she's able to take Dorothy seriously without considering her own problems. Rose takes care of Blanche during her... writer's high? If that's what we can call it? And it's just. She displays so much emotional intelligence in these episodes, and she keeps it all together for the four of them when all the others are falling apart. I love the rare episodes where we get to see how important Rose is; how much there really is going on underneath the surface.

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Let’s say England has a long-term girlfriend he knows isn’t the biggest fan of marriage bc her family had been really really pushy (before she got the heck out of dodge) about her marrying + reproducing ASAP. How might he react if she came to him and said she was kinda starting to like the general concept of marrying him — that is, the whole ‘together forever’ bit. Thanks!

I confess darling that I have been trying to finish this prompt for well over a year, and I offer my sincerest apologies that it’s taken me this long to finish it. Still, despite my tardiness, I hope you enjoy, and I thank you for your patience with me.

You had never intended to fall in love, not with the constant push of your relatives to fall in line like a perfect child.

First, marriage to someone they deemed acceptable, raising the perfect 2.5 children, followed by quietly settling into parenthood and complaisant contentment until the day you last drew breath.

Truth of the matter was, you had avoided all chances of romance for the first few years after you moved away from home, carefully slipping away from anyone who seemed remotely interested in you.

You knew your folks would have disproved such behaviour had they learnt the truth, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to care. You had your own dreams to pursue, your own story to tell, your own life to live; you didn't need someone by your side to feel complete.

You were happy as you were, finding enjoyment in your work and figuring out your place in the world.

You didn’t need, or frankly want, anything more than that.

That was of course until you met him.

Falling in love with Arthur Kirkland had been a complete accident. He slipped past all of your defenses and took up residence in your heart as if he had always belonged there.

It started out slow enough; at first you simply knew him as a familiar face from the cafe in Waterstones, steaming cup of Darjeeling and a chocolate croissant sitting forgotten on the table in front of him, always too focused on his reading to pay any attention to the outside world. After one particularly crowded Sunday afternoon, he began to transition into your favorite dining companion, the two of you often taking turns paying for each other’s food. Slowly but surely, you began forgetting about your books, too wrapped up in conversation, and before you knew it-

You had come to love every part of him- the gentleman that you begrudgingly introduced to your parents, the rebellious and passionate activist, the cocky and playful little shit who had long ago memorised all the best ways to disarm you, and the ancient soul who cared so deeply, who still stretched himself thin most days in effort to protect each of his loved ones.

You fell in love with his voice, whispering sonnets and sonatas and sweet nothings in your ear while his arms cradled you from behind.

You fell in love with his eyes, still losing your footing sometimes when the light caught them just right, dreaming momentarily of summer forests and grassy glades and the misty dews of spring.

You fell in love with his smiles, from the satisfied grin at stirring up Peter’s ire to the breathless wonder each time you kissed or complimented him, to the bright, beautiful, blinding smile he wore when he was incandescently happy, his entire countenance iridescent from his joy.

You loved him completely- for his devotion, for his sweet gestures, for his damned impishness, for his wit, his sass, and the soft spoken affection.

You loved him: for his patience, for his recklessness, for his resilience, for his possessive pride that was somehow more charming than alarming.

He was unique, an enigma that, even after having lived together for years and dating even longer, kept you on your toes, his energy and random spouts of spontaneity proving to you that, even if you spent one hundred lifetimes with him, he would always remain a puzzle you would never fully solve.

And by God did you want to.

Arthur had stolen your heart away from you before you had even noticed he was close enough to take it, offering his own in its stead.

You had remained reluctant, confided in him your fears about settling down, how much you dreaded becoming trapped in a monotonous rut of tedium. He was quick to reassure you, showing through words and actions far more impassioned and teasing than he had ever shown prior, that an eternity with him could never be boring.

Even on quiet days, like today, with a steady drizzle painting the world in greys, Arthur humming quietly while adding another patch to his denim vest, and no other disturbance apart from the cat’s chittering at the robins playing in a puddle by the iron fence- Even now, you weren’t so much bored as you were pensive.

You had been thinking about a future with him a lot in the past few days, some irrelevant ad on your mobile about wedding venues catching your attention and slithering into the back of your mind.

What kind of wedding would he like? Would Arthur prefer something small and intimate, or would his hubris crave a larger venue, giving him yet another chance to prove to the world that he belonged at your side, no one else?  You couldn’t help but wonder if he would wear his uniform or a suit, if he would leave the rats' nest he called a hairstyle untouched, or if he would perhaps slick it back in that way that somehow made the normal rakishness disappear, a confident, refined cavalier standing in his place.

You knew of course that none of this mattered unless you actually talked to him first; as far as you were aware, he was content with the current arrangement, and he respected your views of marriage.

He had known, for a long time, just where the grim outlook stemmed from, and he never breached the subject again.

But now-

You had thought it was enough to hold his love, his faith, his vulnerabilities. But life was so fleeting, and now those few things were no longer enough.

You wanted to wake up every morning next to him, wanted the cheesy partners’ towel and flip flop sets. You wanted the physical reminder that you held his heart, the comforting reminder that he completely possessed your own. You wanted to be by his side forever, holding his hand through the good and the ill, facing new worlds and challenges and the uncertain future together.

You knew the risks, of course.

Marriage to a Nation carried an even heavier burden than the simple oath of “till death do us part.”

No, marrying Arthur would mean weaving your entire lives together, binding you on a spiritual level far surpassing mortality; it would mean sacrificing your chance to ever grow old, to eternally give yourself away: heart, mind, body, and soul.

But this was Arthur, who sang showtunes in the shower, who spent hours making silly faces at the cat, who was ridiculously competitive about Halloween costumes, the man who sat down and memorised the entirety of The Tempest in one night just for the bragging rights.

He already owned your heart, constantly invaded your thoughts and daydreams, and God knew he had long, long ago claimed your body, making certain not a single millimeter of his new territory went unexplored.

Would it really be so bad to give him your soul, too?

Glancing back up, seeing his eyes narrowed in concentration, his fingers handling the needle with expert precision, lips slightly parted, reading glasses fallen halfway down his nose-

You knew your answer.

It was always going to be Arthur for you, only Arthur.

Forever, should he have you.

But now you faced the challenge of telling him that.

It should be simple enough; you really held no more secrets from him, and he no longer bothered trying to hide anything from you. You loved how open you were with one another, cherished the honesty that served as the very foundation to your relationship.

But the truth was that you were terrified.

It had been so long since either of you had spoken of marriage, since the topic was even a thought in your minds, and-

What if he didn't want you anymore?

What if he-

"I can see the steam coming outta your ears."

The unexpected presence of Arthur's voice startled you, eyes darting back over to the very man who was unwittingly tormenting you.

He had barely moved from his earlier position, though his glasses had been pushed up into his hair and he was studying you curiously, if not bemusedly.

"You good there?"

By default, you nearly responded with an affirmative, some playful, lighthearted thing that would have dismissed his concern immediately. You cut yourself off mid-start, then, while shifting to sit properly in the armchair, you decided to push forward. "Can we talk?"

You watched as his expression shifted, revealing his concern as he tied off his thread, setting aside the patchwork and gestured for you to join him on the sofa.

There were a few awkward moments where you took up your favourite positions, Arthur tossing an afghan across the pair of you despite your insistence that you didn't need one, the flicker of a grin as you begrudgingly thanked him, and then shifting around as you both got comfortable, but soon enough-

"Alright, now; talketh at-eth me."

It was impossible to fight the smile his choice of words triggered, a reference to an inside joke so old now that you could scarcely recall its origin. Seeming to deem it a success, his own soft, reassuring smile greeted you.

"Seriously though, luv-" His hand came to rest atop your own, his fingers gently tapping a familiar rhythm against your skin. "What's troubling you?"

You were half-tempted to offer something short of sincerity, something innocuous and mundane that you could both laugh over and forget again within a few hours. Yet, you knew that if you didn't tell him now, didn't ask him now, you would never find the courage again.

"I've been thinking-"

"Ah. A scary premise in its own right."

"Oh, shut up," you retorted to his tease, smacking his arm for his troubles. He rewarded you with a grin, all fondness and mischief. Opting to ignore him, you pressed on, eyes downcast to avoid whatever judgement he may offer.

"As I was trying to say earlier, before I was so rudely interrupted-" The teasing fell off, and the worry crept back in. "I've been thinking. About us."

"O-oh?"

Were you not so consumed by your own anxieties, you would have noticed his stutter, would have seen the sudden tension in his posture, the fear in his eyes. As it was, you were completely oblivious to all of it, and made yourself continue at his prompting.

"I- I think I'm ready."

He mimed the word "ready" to himself, parroting it with utter befuddlement. "For wha-"

"I mean, I know I wasn't for such a long time, and-" Suddenly, you were off, half unhinged. Now that you had admitted the truth aloud, it was all rushing out of you, everything you had come to love about him, everything that-

A finger pressing firmly against your lips stopped you mid-tangent, and when you glanced up to find piercing, blazing emerald focused on you as if you were the very center of the universe, whatever remained of your ramblings disappeared entirely.

"What are you trying to say?"

A simple question, so easy to answer, yet it carried with it the weight of Infinities, demanding nothing save the truth, in its most basic state.

You were lost in his gravity, half-drowning in whatever this new feeling was. It was addicting, another riddle to be solved.

"Marry me."

Time stood still, the words weighing heavily in the space between you, now seemingly insurmountable despite being no more than mere decimeters.

Arthur showed no reaction, revealed no indication that he had even heard your plea, your query, your command, your request, and yet it echoed over and over in your own mind, the tone, the weight, the untimeliness-

Every facet- from your inflection to chosen tempo- crescandoed as an accusation, a mocking symphony that he would reject you, that you would be left with only the haunting strains of your ill-conceived proposal.

And yet-

There was a hesitation in his eyes, the face of a man who wanted wholeheartedly to believe what he had heard, but had been burned far too often in the past to dare allow himself hope.

"You-" His eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed as he studied you once more, only for the suspicion to disappear again almost immediately, disbelief swiftly taking its place. "You're serious?"

It was then that you finally read his nervousness, understood the strange emotion reflecting in his eyes.

You had lead him to a precipice, the vast Unknown before you both, and-

And he was just as fragile as you were, even if he was better at hiding it.

You gave his hand a light squeeze, hoping to ground you both, and offered him a nod. “If you’ll have me, anyway.”

His eyes flickered between your own, darting back-and-forth so quickly in search of a lie, of any doubts, of any hint that you were less than certain- yet you knew he would find none of that.

“What about your family?”

The question took you by surprise; in the moment, you had completely forgotten anyone else even existed.

You weighed his question carefully. Marrying Arthur would give your family leave to gloat in self-satisfaction, and you knew with absolutely certainty that they would hold it over your head for the next three decades. But looking into the eyes of the man before you, remembering all that you had already seen and done together, you found that others' opinions no longer mattered, really hadn't mattered in a long, long time.

“I couldn’t care less about them. Arth-”

Whatever you were going to say was forgotten as he closed the remaining distance between you, moving so swiftly that you scarcely had a moment to steady yourself before he captured you in a searing kiss, one of his most passionate by far.

Somehow, despite the suddenness of it all, the initial force, the intensity- 

He was being incredibly gentle, and moving slowly enough to almost be more a torment than a treat. Almost.

You found yourself lost in a daze when he finally pulled away, just enough for each of you to catch your breaths, just far enough that he could study you with rapt attention. You could have drowned in his eyes, endless greens magnetizing in their intensity. His hands were still cradling your cheeks, still holding you firmly in place, a not completely foreign expression creasing his features.

You couldn't quite place it, even as your memories shifted desperately in search of its mate.

"'If I'd have you?'" His words, a rhetorical refrain of your own mere moments earlier, were scarcely a shared breath between you, murmured in timbre so low it summoned a shiver. There was the smallest twitch of his lip, his head tilting ever so slightly as more of that damned deviousness made its presence known. "I fully intend to have you regardless, luv. But the formality of it all certainly adds a particular je ne sais quoi, wouldn't you agree?"

You'd be damned if he knew just how that made your heart flutter, if he knew just how much weight that reassurance had lifted from your shoulders.

Carefree, content, you offered a playful smile. "Till death do us part then?"

Arthur no longer bothered trying to restrain his smile, soft and sincere in a way that left you breathless. "I'll love you till even the stars go cold, my dear."

Thanks for reading~

[the-modernmary]

to be enough || aaron hotchner x gn!reader

Summary: During a movie night with your boyfriend Aaron, you accidentally stumbled onto his old wedding video, and it makes you wonder if you could ever compete with his first love?

A/N: This was an anonymous request, thank you SO MUCH for sending this in!! It’s my first request and it was so much fun to write!! I love soft Hotch so, so much. I’m sorry this took so long to get out. I was sick on and off for like two weeks straight, it was a whole thing. I hope you like this!!

masterlist || read on ao3

“I’ll make popcorn and open the wine, you pick the movie. We’ll meet back on the couch in ten minutes,” Aaron said quickly as he pressed a kiss to your cheek before making his way to his kitchen.

  You giggled at your boyfriend’s eagerness as soon as he opened the door to his apartment. Truth be told, you couldn’t blame him, though. It was rare that the two of you ever really got the chance to just hang out at his apartment. Whenever Aaron was home, he liked to spend as much free time with his son as possible, which you completely understood. So between spending time with Jack and Aaron being away on cases, you lived for these small moments of alone time and domesticity. 

  “You might regret letting me pick the movie, my love,” you called to him jokingly as you sat down in front of his TV, looking for where the remote was hiding. “I am very loyal to my early 2000’s chick flicks.”

  The sound of Aaron’s laughter floating through his apartment made your heart swell. He had never been the tough, FBI unit chief around you, but he was also rarely so carefree and light. There was always a shield around him, especially with the way he would carefully choose his words so as to not give away too much of himself. He was always so guarded and unwavering.

  Aaron poked his head out of the kitchen, hair falling in his eyes. “In the interest of honesty, I’m fully planning on moving this to the bedroom before we even get halfway through the movie,” he admitted, his voice carrying even over the sound of popcorn in the microwave.

You giggled again and shook your head fondly, unable to stop the smile spread across your face at his words. Seeing him be so playful was like a gift — always a surprise, but never unwelcome. You lived for those small glimpses of the man you knew he was.

  Aaron went back to choosing the perfect movie night wine and you settled on the couch, turning on the TV and ready to pick out the goofiest, most feel-good movie you could find. Before you could pull Netflix up, however, the DVD that was already in the television began playing.

  The film was grainy and the camera work was shaky at best, so you weren’t sure exactly what you were watching at first. There was a church in the background and men dressed in nice suits. Kids dressed in their Sunday best ran around in the grass. The camera panned over to a couple who were clearly getting married, going by the big white dress the woman was wearing.

  The camera zoomed in on the couple and your heart dropped to your stomach, because there, right in the center of the screen was Aaron. It was a much younger version of him, of course, probably law school, but it was definitely him. 

  Oh god, this was his wedding video. Which meant that the beautiful, blushing bride wrapped in his arms and making him throw his head back in laughter was Haley.

  Aaron had told you about Haley and everything that had happened between the two of them right up to her murder pretty early on in your relationship with him, but then it was never really mentioned again. But you had heard the whispers on nights out with his team, listened to them all gossip amongst themselves about how “I never thought Hotch was ever going to move on?” .

  Despite every logical bone in your body screaming at you to change the film before Aaron came back into the living room, you couldn’t help but watch in morbid fascination. The Aaron on the screen was so different from the man you had come to love.

  You watched as the film Aaron spun Haley in circles and peppered her entire face in kisses. The entire time, they never once stopped touching each other, even if it was something as simple as holding each other’s hands. Aaron kept glancing over at Haley with the biggest heart eyes you had ever seen, and it was nothing like the way Aaron had ever looked at you. Even when the couple was supposed to be paying attention to the people giving speeches around them, Haley and Aaron kept sneaking glances at each other, mouthing “I love you” like it was the only thing they could think to say.

  Aaron looked so happy and so free and it was so unlike the man in the other room. In the year and a half you had been dating him, you had never seen Aaron with a smile so big. He never gave you PDA so freely, and it wasn’t something you realized you even wanted until you saw him do it with somebody else. Suddenly, you wanted to feel young and reckless and dizzy in love the way he looked back in the film.

  It was unfair to ask him to live every day with you feeling like it was his wedding day, and you knew it. Still, something stirred inside of you that made you crave for Aaron to look at you like that, even just once.

  What you had with Aaron now was safe and a certifiable “adult” relationship. Not to say it wasn’t nice, and there was plenty of passion and fun in it. All of your friends constantly expressed how envious they were that you had found somebody who was so stable yet still unpredictable and could sweep you off your feet with romantic dates under the stars. Being with Aaron felt like home for you, and you had always thought that he felt the same, although now you weren’t sure. It had never occurred to you that Aaron may not have ever really gotten over his first love.

  The microwave beeped, signaling that the popcorn was done and that Aaron would be back in the living room at any second, and you quickly switched the TV to Netflix, clicking whatever movie popped up first, not even bothering to look at the title. 

  Just in time, too, because not long after, Aaron made his way over to the couch, precariously carrying a bowl of popcorn, two wine glasses, and a bottle of a sweet red wine that had become a go-to for you both. He generally preferred red wine, but you hated the dryness of it and basically only drank sweet, dessert wines, so when the two of you found this one, it had seemed like fate. Most of your relationship with him felt like fate, honestly.

  You forced yourself not to think about the fact that Aaron was happily drinking white wine in the wedding video.

  “Either the definition of ‘chick flick’ has changed drastically,” Aaron started, plopping down next to you. “Or Mad Max is very different from what I remember.”

  “I decided to change it up, put on a movie neither of us will be invested in,” you lied, desperately fighting to keep your voice even. “That way we can move right into the bedroom portion of the night.”

  “I like the way you think, sweetheart,” he chuckled, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. His thigh was pressed against yours, but even then, he felt a million miles away from you.

  It was unfair to get so worked up over this whole wedding video thing, and you knew that. His time with Haley had ended long before he had even met you, and logically, you knew that people could fall in love multiple times. Still, that didn’t quell the anxiety that was bubbling in your stomach, making you queasy.

  Why was he even watching that video, anyway? Did he often sit right there on the very couch you were cuddling with him on and rewatch the happiest day of his life? After a date with you, did he ever come home conflicted about his own emotions and feeling guilty for moving on, and go down memory lane to remind himself who his real true love was? 

  You kept thinking about how giddy he had looked in that video, and how easy it had seemed for him to be with her. And Haley… God, how could you compete?

  She was stunning, no doubt about it, with her blonde hair and bright eyes that shined, even through shitty 90’s video camera quality. The pink on her soft-looking lips only seemed to make Aaron want to kiss them more and more, maybe to see if he could smudge her lipstick. It never once budged, though, because of course it didn’t. She seemed too perfect to have faded lipstick on her wedding day. She had floated across the makeshift dance floor, like a fucking Disney princess leaving a trail of fairy dust and sunshine everywhere she went. Everything about her seemed soft and kind and good, all things you had never once associated with yourself.

  It was no surprise that Aaron had decided he was going to marry her from the first time he saw her, as he had said in his vows. She was everything you could have ever wanted to be, and clearly, she was everything Aaron had ever wanted.

  Aaron’s voice snapped you out of your rapid descent into crippling insecurity. “I can hear you thinking from here, honey.”

  You took a long sip of your wine, avoiding his piercing gaze. “I’m just concentrating on the movie,” you lied.

  “The movie you picked specifically so that we didn’t have to pay attention?” he retorted, eyebrows raised. Really, you should have known better than to try and give him such a blatant lie. Aaron reached over you to grab the remote and paused the movie, placing his hand lightly on your knee. “What’s going on?”

  How could you even explain what you were feeling? It definitely wasn’t jealousy, although you almost wished it was. At least with jealousy, you could push it to the side as an awful, gross feeling that comes from years of internalized misogyny and being told that other women are inherently competition for the attention of men. You could deal with that feeling.

  But it wasn’t that at all. Despite Aaron’s obvious devotion to her, you found it hard (and a little twisted, if you were being completely honest) to be jealous of a woman who was violently murdered in her own home in front of her young child. Besides, jealousy would imply that you and Haley were on somewhat equal ground, which you so clearly weren’t. 

  Haley was his high school sweetheart, the love of his life, the woman he had chosen to have children with, and you…

  Well, at one point you thought you could have been that, too, but now you were faced with the fear that you were nothing more than a person to fill the hole in his heart that Haley had left. Even worse, however, was the sinking feeling that you weren’t sure if you were ever going to be enough to fill it completely. 

  “It’s stupid,” you stuttered out, avoiding Aaron’s eyes, which were so full of concern. That was the worst part. It would be one thing if Aaron didn’t love you, but he did love you. Just not in the way he loved her. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you.”

  “I—” You cut yourself off with a sigh and shifted on the couch so that you were facing him. “Am I enough for you?”

  Aaron looked about as taken aback by your question as you felt. You hadn’t meant to burst through the gate with that particular insecurity.

  “Are you enough for me?” he repeated slowly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, like the question didn’t make any sense. In all honesty, it probably didn’t. “If you mean ‘am I happy with you’, then yes. Incredibly. Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

  That should have made you feel better, but it wasn’t the answer you were looking for. You absentmindedly picked at a loose thread on your sweater. “I saw your wedding video,” you admitted shamefully. It felt like you were a little kid getting caught with your hand in the cookie jar. “And, I don’t know… You looked so happy and so… alive with her. That’s a once-in-a-lifetime love, Aaron. I’m never going to be able to be that for you.”

  Aaron’s frown deepened, and for a moment you were worried that he was going to get angry at you for watching the video. Maybe you had tainted that one happy memory for him. But the lines on his face softened just a bit and he covered your hand with both of his.

  “Have you always felt like this?” he asked cautiously, attempting to keep all emotion off his face. “Like you’re not… enough?”

  You shrugged. “Sometimes. If I think about it too much. Especially when we first started dating. But never this intense. I guess since I had only heard stories of her, it was almost like she didn’t exist? But now that I’ve seen her and how you looked at her… I love you so much and I want you to be happy, but I’m scared I can’t be that for you. I’m sorry if I’ve crossed a line, but this has been eating me up from the inside for a while now and I—”

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Aaron cut you off mid-ramble, and you took a shuddering breath. Guilt was written all over him, which made you want to crawl into a hole and never be heard from again. “Have I done anything to make you think I’m unhappy?”

  “No, of course not! You’ve been nothing but wonderful. But I’m not Haley. I can’t make you as happy as she made you. And maybe this is selfish of me, but it hurts to know that you don’t love me the way you loved her.”

  Aaron’s frown deepened, but he still held on tightly to your hand. “I didn’t think you would want me to,” he said, and now it was your turn to be confused.

  You could practically see the gears turning in Aaron’s mind as he tried to find the right words to verbalize the floodgate of emotions that had just opened. Being vulnerable and open about his feelings wasn’t something he was very comfortable with, and it definitely didn't come easy for him. The fact that he was trying and willing gave you some comfort.

  “What I mean to say is…” he backtracked. “You’re right. You’re not Haley and the way I loved her is different from the way I love you. I love you differently because you’re different. And I’m different now, too. But different doesn’t mean less, and it never has. I would never want you to think that you’re just some consolation prize.”

  He was looking at you with such intensity and sincerity that you could have cried. “It’s just that when I realized you had been rewatching your wedding, I kept thinking that maybe she was your one love,” you explained nervously. “I don’t know what that leaves me.”

  Aaron took your hand that he was holding and moved it so that it rested on his chest and you could feel his heartbeat. “My love isn’t finite. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”

  You melted into his touch, and it was like the sun came peeking through the storm clouds. He didn’t have the exact same expression that 25-year-old him did on the wedding video, but it was something close. Maybe even something more. It was warm and inviting and felt like coming home after a long day. 

  “You’ve been nothing but the picture-perfect boyfriend,” you assured. “This is all me and my own insecurities. I saw that you had been watching the video and I just… spiraled, I guess.”

  Aaron mindlessly rubbed his thumb back and forth on your hand. “I should probably explain why I was watching it, then.”

  “God, no, you don’t owe me any explanations for what you—”

  “I was showing Jack,” Aaron interrupted, his voice soft. “He doesn’t remember her that much, and he definitely doesn’t remember when we were married. Most of his memories are of fighting or divorced parents. I wanted to show him that his parents loved each other.”

  Your face went hot as embarrassment spread through you. “Wow, that makes perfect sense and I feel like an idiot,” you breathed. “I’m sorry.”

  Aaron pressed a chaste kiss to your lips as he stood up from the couch. “You’re not an idiot, and you have nothing to be sorry for,” he promised. “Come on, let’s get changed into something a little nicer.”

  You looked down in confusion as your movie night outfit. “Why?”

  A mischievous glint flashed in Aaron’s eyes as he bent down and gave you another kiss, one much less chaste than the one before. “Because,” he mumbled against your lips. “I’m going to take you on a date and show you just how much I love you.”

[belit0]

1500k Commission [Uchiha Obito / Coffy Fem Reader] @obitobrigade

Cause I rarely see this anywhere... How about Kakashi admitting to Obito he's kinda jealous that Obito got with Coffy/reader instead of him. And Obito enjoying that fact while he cuddles on the couch with Coffy(she wearing obito shirt of course) fluffy and NSFW. *same girl from my first commission*

[Writer: My imagination flew with this scenario, I hope you like it, it's not exactly the same but it meets all the requirements !]

"I think you're exaggerating a little..."

The grey-haired man said casually. He had come to Obito's house only a short while ago and they had been talking for a moment. Or rather...

"But I am not. Watch your mouth, idiot."

"All I said was that your girlfriend is indeed beautiful... what's the matter with declaring truths out loud?"

Kakashi's intentions were not as expected, and his mere presence there was for an entirely different reason. After trying to find you at home and failing, he figured it would be best to try his luck at your partner's, even if it meant crossing paths to the one who got the woman he wanted so badly.

"I swear on my life, Kakashi, if you don't shut up right now, I'm gonna..."

"Ma, ma, Obito. How grumpy you've been lately... I wonder what she saw in you such as to stay here..."

"Are you fucking with me? Do you really want us to beat each other to death in the middle of my house?”

The patience of the Uchiha was getting closer and closer to its respective limit. He was aware of the situation, you had let him know to avoid him feeling insecure, and you had asked him not to confront his friend. Sensing a deep betrayal, Obito felt his family's genes flourish when Kakashi showed up at his door, looking for you, and decided to try to torture him to get the bitter drink out of his mouth.

"Why would that happen? We're just having a conversation. Like friends do. I'd like to talk to [Y/N], is she-"

"Too bad for you, she's mine and she’s not here."

"Since when is she a thing? You bought her and didn't tell me? What did she possibly perceive about you..."

"I treat her best, you stupid bastard, and she loves me as much as I love her."

"I don't think you love her as much as I do.”

That ended his patience. It was one thing to covet his girl, which he could not tolerate, but which he could not do anything about. You are beautiful, a woman with no equal, it is obvious that looks and desire are attracted to you. But something totally different is to come and claim love, even worse, to love you more than Obito, an impossible task.

"What did you say?"

"Uh? What?"

"Repeat it if you've got the balls."

"What? That I don't think you're worthy of her? That I don't think you can handle her? That I think it must be torture for such a woman to wake up next to... you."

"What the fuck is wrong with you? I thought you were my fucking friend."

"I thought so too until you decided to steal [Y/N] from me and play dirty. You have no shame."

"I believed it was me who treated her like a thing. Listen to you, you fucker. She decided. And she chose me. Deal with it yourself."

"She was fucking mine."

"She's fucking mine."

Both men faced each other, dangerously close and holding on to their clothes, threatening themselves with body and words.

Yes, perhaps at first your attention had been on the grey-haired one, but by now you were sure it was because you did not know Obito at that moment.

Once he appeared in your life, it was impossible to look at anyone else, things happened on their own and everything went as it should. Not being in any commitment with Kakashi, you put him in the back of your mind, enjoying the wonderful man you now had by your side.

More violent words continued to fill the room when everything suddenly fell silent before the noise of the main door. There, entering as if nothing had happened, with your bag and your phone in hand, looking at the screen and distractedly singing one of your favorite songs, was you.

Both of them let go of each other in front of you, wanting to pretend everything was fine and nothing was going on. Obito had promised to keep things calm and let you deal with the problem, and he really wanted to meet your expectations.

Dropping onto the couch with a murderous expression towards the other man present, he looked ahead and completely ignored the situation.

Kakashi, on the other hand, smiled seductively, quickly approaching to greet you.

"I tried to find you at your place earlier because I wanted to talk to you about..."

With just a glance at your man, you understood that he was making his best effort not to beat the other one up just then. No doubt was the right one. Determined, and with a politically correct grin, you knew what you had to do.

"There's nothing to talk about, Kakashi. I thought I had made it clear multiple times at this point.”

Faced with your statement, the Uchiha looked at you pouting. It seemed that he could start crying at any second. His insecurities were something that you worked together daily, and he had made enormous progress, but he still had a few problems.

"I insist that-"

"And I insist that you must leave, now. My boyfriend and I have things to do. May I show you the way out?"

The grey-haired man didn't need to hear anything else, and left the house with a loud slamming door, while you left your things in the entrance and sat next to your man on the sofa.

As soon as you touched the cushions, he hugged you, putting his head in your lap and his arms around your waist.

"I'm sorry... I know what you said but I kept going crazy trying to do nothing... I thought I could help..."

"Love, love... it's okay... it was unfair from me to demand you not to act, it must have been difficult"

You caressed his hair, while he hid his face in your body to cover his regret. Your fingers ran over his scalp, while your nails scratched and sent warm sensations to his whole form. In your grip and drift, he was completely happy.

"Do you feel a little better now? More relaxed?

"As long as you give me your affection, I'll be fine."

"Actually, let me show you how devoted I am to you."

Rising and running his head carefully, kneeling in front of him, you looked at his sad little face, and decided to make him feel better with his preferred activity.

You stretched out to kiss him, joining the lips of both of you in a slow and compassionate smooch, caressing his cheeks and taking your time to savor him in your mouth. The Uchiha leaned back on the sofa, letting his arms fall to the side of his body, too depressed to even try and reciprocate.

Dealing with his inner doubts was always difficult for him, and when it came to you, they were even more intense. To be enough, to be at your level, to give you everything you deserve. He wanted to fulfill every one of those things. When he failed, he felt completely useless, wanting to hide in bed and not go out for days. But you had discovered the best way to work on his self-esteem was to let him know how utterly perfect he was.

You dragged your hands across the extension of his neck, across his chest, and onto his waist. There, you unbuttoned his trousers, still keeping his lips on yours at a slow pace, revealing a flabby limb.

Breaking the kiss, you knelt again and took his cock in your hands. Bending your head over his lap, you inserted it into your mouth, gradually for him to feel every wet corner of your cavity. Your tongue traveled and wrapped around his length, while you started with up and down movements.

His face contorted at your action, and a soft moan was born from within. The moment was not tinted with passion or hunger, as usual, rather it was an intimate, sweet situation, where love for each other became the professed act of the body and not words.

Hands caressing your hair, while your eyes were fixed on his worked figure, increasingly warming to your supplies.

His erection hardened to the maximum quickly, while your mouth continued to work on him. Grasping his waist, you ran over the head of his limb before sliding your tongue down, finding his sack and sucking.

"I... love you... too... much... I'm sorry...."

Releasing your cavity, you occupied one of your hands along his shaft as you stretched towards his neck, sitting on him but not imposing any weight on his limb. The fact that you were both fully clothed added a special bonus to the occasion, and by kissing his skin, you spoke.

"There is nothing to apologize for... let it go... feel me on you and remember that I am yours..."

It didn't take much more work for his seed to explode, staining both your garments while his body relaxed under you.

"I would really be lost without you."

"But that's what I'm here for."

[forever-rogue]

Hey, i really love your writing :) hope you are doing good. I'm not sure if i can make a request, if not then i'm sorry:) but could you write something about Oberyn and ellaria ( or Just Oberyn is fine to) with the reader being pretty shy and not very talkative, but they have to go to a feast and get uncomfortable. I hope this is alright :)

Thank you so much, kind friend! I went ahead and just used Oberyn for this, but in our hearts Ellaria will always be there! Enjoy 💕💕

So, this turned into something entirely of its own, and is pretty self indulgent, I will not lie. But it’s soft, and I am craving some soft hours 🥺

»»————-　♡　————-««

You played with a loose thread on the edge of your gown, twisting to and fro, eventually creating a bigger and bigger strand until the hem was frayed. A nervous habit, you realized, a bad one, but you couldn’t help it right now. In the midst of this grand feast, you wished you were anywhere but here. You weren’t even sure why your mother and father had made you attend; you literally had just stayed tucked in the back avoiding any and all people as best as you could. There was only one person you desired to see but they were not in attendance.

Your presence really wasn’t needed; as the youngest daughter that seemed to never gain a betrothal or make much of an impact or impression on anyone, you really weren’t there for any reason. But your parents had refused to allow you to remain behind, dragging you along with all your siblings and their spouses. You loathed large, grand events such as this, preferring the quiet comfort of your chambers at home. You could have been reading, knitting, cooking, out exploring the evening wilderness, literally anything rather than this. This was the absolute worst, and you really didn’t even want to speak to anyone.

“Stop fidgeting,” your mother came over and gave your arm a light slap as she looked around to make sure no one was paying attention. Pulling out of her touch, you did your best not to roll your eyes at her, “go out and talk to people. Pretend to be enjoying yourself at least.”

“But I’m not,” you sighed at her, “I told you I wanted to stay at home. I hate parties, all these people I don’t care about that also don’t care about me. Why should I pretend to like them and have fun when it’s so far from the truth?”

“Because you are a member of this family,” she hissed at you, “and you will act accordingly. If you ever have any hopes of getting married, you’d best starting acting at least somewhat pleasant.”

“But what if I don’t want that-”

“It’s not an option,” she insisted, grabbing your arm and forcing you to stand up. You really didn’t want to do that...not with anyone of her choosing anyway, “now get out there, put on a smile, and mingle.”

Before you could argue and say anything in response, she raised a stern eyebrow at you and pushed you towards a large crowd that was standing around and talking. They were loud, boisterous, and clearly had a few too many drinks in them. Knowing that your mother’s eyes were still firmly planted on you, you walked over to them and grabbed a nearby goblet of wine, throwing it down quickly, before attempting to make your way into their conversation. You laughed at a joke that was funny in the slightest, throwing in a few comments here and there.

But as soon as you were sure the coast was clear and you’d given your mother enough of a performance, you chucked the goblet down and parted from the crowd. It wasn’t hard to slip through the large crowds unnoticed and you kept walking until you made your way out of the warm great hall and into the cool evening of the air. The gardens here were beautiful and you eagerly strolled into them, already feeling much better in the company of the flowers and plants versus people.

Spotting a nearby bench, you almost ran over to it before sitting and relaxing, a long sigh escaping your lips. You sat there in silence for a while, listening to the now distant rumble of people and music, intertwined with the sounds of insects and chirping of birds that were still. So much better, you thought to yourself, this is better than people any day.

You were so lost in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice the sudden appearance of the person next to you. Almost jumping out of your skin at the feel of the hand on your thigh, a small bit of giggles met your ears as you turned to find Oberyn Martell grinning at you.

“Oberyn,” you relaxed once you realized it was him, turning your body and practically crawling into his lap. He practically beamed at you as you grabbed his face, giving him a few soft kisses before resting your forehead against his, “my love. I thought you weren’t going to be coming tonight?”

“Let’s just say I can be very persuasive and that sometimes being a prince has its perks. I was able to clear up my schedule and come. Besides,” his large hands were gentle, so tender, as his traced his fingers over the contours of your face, “I couldn’t stay away knowing you would be here. You look beautiful, sweet girl.”

“I’m so glad you came,” you sighed contently, “this night as been awful, but it’s already much, much better. I’ve missed you so much. It’s been nearly a month, and I fear I cannot bear to be apart for so long again.”

“Then we can make it so we are never apart again,” he insisted as you stared at him with wide doe eyes. You’d been...seeing, for lack of a better word, Oberyn for some time, shrouded in secrecy as you tried to figure out how to make this work. He was your love, you knew that much, you’d known that for some time; it had come to you as a revelation shortly after meeting him. And he loved you too, fully completely. But you were from different worlds: you were of one of the great Northern Houses, young, beautiful, and a catch for any man that offered enough of dowry for you. Oberyn was older, already had children by multiple women, was considered wild and untamed, a prince of Dorne (an area that many people, including your family had a disdain for) and yet he was utterly devoted to you.

You’d met by chance almost two years ago, after you’d caught the prince’s eye and he managed to woo you. But it would never work, that was a conclusion you had reached early on, making sure your trysts would be keep a secret. It was since then that you’d made it a point to make yourself undesirable to any man that attempted to court you. It had worked up until this point, but you were sure that your mother and father were starting to catch on, and they’d figure your little plan. Your worst fear was that they would force you into a marriage, and that you’d end up miserable and unhappy for the rest of your life.

For some reason, smart as they were, they never seemed to catch onto the fact that a certain prince was coming up north more and more often, and you spent more and more time away from home at those corresponding times. It was risky, you both knew that from the start, but worth it; it was worth getting to be with the love of your life at any cost.

“Oberyn...” you asked softly, biting your lip as you looked at your lap, starting to fidget with your hands. He quickly grabbed your hands, holding them in his for a moment, before bringing them to his lips and pressing soft kisses to your knuckles, “w-what do you mean?”

“I mean we tell them,” he stated boldly, and you swear you stopped breathing for a moment, “we tell them that we are in love and that we want...we will be married.”

Immediately feeling tears pricking at the back of your eyes, you looked in those dark, honeyed eyes to find that he was speaking truthfully. You wanted nothing more in the world than to marry him and be swept off to Dorne, but still you worried. You shook your head lightly, a few tears cascading down your cheeks, “we can’t...they will be angry, everyone will-”

“It doesn’t matter,” he insisted, reaching up and wiping your tears away, “let them talk and be angry. They cannot stop us, sweet girl. I want nothing more than for you to be my wife, to share my name, my home, my family - everything. I’m tired of hiding, and pretending you do not exist. I am a man grown and you are a woman grown, we are free to make our own choices...”

“There will be consequences...” you trailed off, holding onto his hand for dear life. This was what you had wanted, what you had wanted from the beginning, but you were still worried about what could possibly happen, to him more than yourself. You would never forgive yourself if something happened to him.

“I do care about the consequences,” he promised, “if they want to start a war, let them. I will fight every last war and take down every man in my path if it meant I would be able to spend my life with you.”

“Oberyn,” you looked back at him, his face so unsure of your reaction, and that’s when your mind was made up. If you could not spend your life with him, then you did not want to spend it with anyone. It was him, it was always him. Nodding slowly, you grabbed his face again and kissed him with a searing intensity that was so strong, you’d never quite felt anything like it before. He held you tightly, hugging to his body, afraid that if he ever let go, you would disappear, “let us tell them. A life without you is a life I do not want. I want you and nothing else.”

“Then let us spend eternity together,” he grinned against your lips, feeling a lightness in his heart that he had never experienced before, “I want nothing if it is not with you.”

“I love you,” you whispered softly, nuzzling your nose against, “you and only you.”

“I love you, sweet girl,” he promised, “no matter what may come, I am with you, always.”

[deafeningnightcollection-things]

Hidden Lives ~ Winn Schott

Chapter 6 - A Truth Among Lies

Boom.

Lily rubbed her eyes sleepily as Hank ordered yet another missile launched at Kara. She glanced over to see Alex also rubbing her eyes, it was no wonder considering Hank had dragged them out of bed at the crack of dawn to test the limits of Kara's powers.

"Is that the fastest that she can go?" Hank complained as Kara dodged the onslaught.

"Are these tests mandatory for everyone?" Kara asked over comms, "or is it just because—"

Hank cut her off, "it's not because you're a woman, Ms. Danvers. The DEO requires months of tests and training before allowing operatives into the field. We've accelerated the process in your case, but we still need to be sure."

"I was going to say 'alien'," Kara muttered, a little deflated from Hank's lecture.

Lily grimaced, Hank had that effect on people. He always managed to make you feel like a scolded child.

"We need to be sure you're in full control of your powers. You're no good to us if destroy half of National City on accident."

There was another boom as Kara flew by even faster this time.

Alex laughed as she spoke, "my sister just broke the sound barrier, Sir."

Hank didn't look impressed in the slightest. "Fire again," he barked the words, motioning rapidly with his hands to speed the process.

Lily sipped her coffee, not awake enough to interfere in the conversation.

After a bit more coffee and a few more earth-shattering booms as Hank launched yet more missiles, Lily finally felt awake enough to talk. She sidled over to Alex, who was making notes on a small clipboard, the glass whiteboard she'd previously been using had been shattered by Kara's sonic boom.

"Anything interesting?" Lily asked peering over Alex's shoulder.

"No." Alex shook her head thoughtfully, "it's all at or below Clark's levels. Which is to be expected since she hasn't used her powers in over a decade." Alex's last comment was more of a mutter to herself as she made another note.

Now that Lily was more awake she could truly appreciate that, while noisy and cumbersome, the missiles may have indeed been the best way to test Kara's powers. Their speed and destructive power could very well be comparable to that of some of the Fort Rozz escapees.

Kara landed lightly next to them, looking sore but exhilarated.

"How many missiles is that?" Kara asked resting a head on Alex's shoulder with a sigh.

Alex shook her head. "I lost count after the first dozen."

"Ugh." Kara stretched dramatically, "can't he just accept that I know what I'm doing?"

Lily and Alex shared a look before laughing sarcastically.

"Hank doesn't do trust very well." Lily spoke up first, "he barely trusts us and we've been here for years." It was a bit of an exaggeration, but true enough in this case.

"Hank always wants to see for himself," Alex added, bending down to pick up a piece of the shattered whiteboard. She quickly copied what is said onto her clipboard.

"Sorry about that." Kara offered awkwardly, motioning to the former whiteboard.

Alex shrugged her off, picking up another piece, and repeating the process.

Lily nudged Alex playfully, "Alex loves jigsaws and you've just given her a thousand-piece puzzle."

Kara laughed as Alex stuck her tongue out.

While Alex's attention was focused on another glass shard, Kara leaned towards Lily and whispered. "I'm really glad Alex had someone like you here."

Lily was taken aback by Kara's warm smile, she'd been worried that the Kryptonian would be more hostile about the whole kidnapping ordeal. Lily's cheeks flushed under Kara's kind gaze, still not used to affection from anyone other than Alex.

"It was nothing," Lily responded awkwardly, avoiding Kara's gaze for fear she'd turn even redder.

"Ms. Danvers," Hank barked. "If you're done gossiping we have a test to finish."

Kara groaned, stretching again, before flying off.

Another boom shook the camp and Lily sighed, this was going to be a long day.

———

It was noon when Hank finally let them go back to their location in the city. Kara had been called off to deal with a fire in the port, and there was no point continuing without her. Lily's neck was stiff and sore after staring at the sky for a few hours straight, and she rubbed it as she moved down the hall to her office.

She wanted nothing more than to have a relaxing lunch, but in the chaos of getting up a few hours earlier than usual, she'd forgotten to pack one.

She grabbed her purse, intending to make a coffee shop run when her phone buzzed.

Winn: Are you free for lunch?

Lily smiled to herself as she read the text, she could practically hear the hesitation in his words. Wondering if he was pushing too far too fast. Lily wondered that too occasionally, but something just clicked when she was with him.

Alex's words flashed tauntingly in her head as she stared at her phone. Would they click this well if she told him everything? As her thoughts strayed to her brother, her job, and all the other secrets she was keeping she almost said no.

Her stomach grumbled in protest, reminding her why she was halfway out the door with her purse in hand.

Lily: Have you ever been to Noonan's?

It was about halfway between the DEO and Catco, no more than a 10-minute walk either way.

She played around with the phrasing for a minute before realizing she was overdoing it and just hit send. She poked her Hermione bobblehead anxiously as she waited for a reply.

Winn: A million times. So it's a date?

Lily: See you in 10

Lily headed absently towards the locker room before remembering that she hadn't actually changed into her uniform yet today. Mentally smacking herself, she moved towards the front entrance instead. She paused for a moment as she passed the hub, half of the screens were always devoted to various news channels so they could keep an eye out for alien disasters. One of the headlines jumped out at her, Supergirl: Hero or Ecoterrorist?

She couldn't hear what the newscaster was saying, but Lily had to assume the fire at the port hadn't gone well. Lily quickly pinged off a text to Alex. She'd probably already seen the news already, but Lily wanted to make sure she could be moral support for her sister if she needed to be.

She resumed her path to the door, gratefully turning her thoughts toward lunch.

———

Noonan's was crowded when she arrived after all good food meant a busy lunch rush. Thankfully, Winn had gotten there first and saved her a seat.

"Hi." She greeted as she sat down, still a little awkward. This was the first time she'd seen him since he'd kissed her cheek. "Thanks for getting a table."

He smiled, shrugging. "My friend, Kara, always drags me here so I know the owner." He explained conspiratorily.

Lily laughed, even as a stab of guilt went through her at Kara's name. "Well, since you're the expert, what do you suggest we get?"

Winn adjusted a pair of nonexistent glass and glanced down at the menu. "Wellllll." He drew out the word climactically, "they have very good sandwiches here."

Lily laughed again, it was not the answer she'd been expecting. "Two sandwiches it is."

Their hands lay next to each other on the table as they waited for someone to take their order. Her fingers brushed his lightly, unsure if holding hands was a step too far, but he seemed to get the idea and laced his fingers through hers.

It was a comforting warmth, having his hand pressed against hers as they sat together at the small table.

"How was work today?" She asked gently, trying to keep the calm mood.

He sighed, leaning back a little, but didn't remove his hand from hers. "Stressful."

She squeezed his hand lightly, nodding. "you have no idea." Lily smiled sarcastically, "I was up at the crack on dawn because my boss wanted to get started as soon as possible."

Winn squeezed her hand back in support. "Well, my day beats that—"

The waiter came by then and Winn ordered them two turkey sandwiches.

At the momentary break in the conversation, Lily's gaze wandered around the room, eventually settling on the plasma above the bar. The news-anchor she'd seen earlier was interviewing Maxwell Lord about Supergirl's fumble with the dock fire.

Lily sighed, she knew Maxwell well enough to know that whatever he was saying about Supergirl was for his benefit and no one else's. They'd met on more than one occasion, there'd been a time when he and Lex had been for lack of a better word, close. But when Lex attacked Metropolis, Maxwell had stepped back. Yes, he was self-serving, but not to the point of megalomania.

She shook away the bad memories that threatened to drown her at the sight of his face.

Winn must've noticed where her gaze was because he commented, "they're being too hard on Supergirl. She's new at this."

"Huh," it took a moment for his words to fully register as she shoved the memories back down. "Yeah, she seems like she's really trying."

"Exactly." He clapped his free hand against the table, clearly passionate on his friend's behalf.

Lily giggled, his energy was infectious and it warmed her heart to know how much he cared about his friends.

"Aw. Do you have a crush on Supergirl?" Lily teased lightly even though she knew the real answer.

Winn's cheeks reddened slightly, embarrassed at the insinuation. "No." He mumbled, looking away like a scolded child.

"Good." She squeezed his hand again, "I'd hate to have competition."

Now his cheeks turned really red, and his smile stretched wide, clearly pleased by the statement.

They stayed like that, just smiling and chatting idly until the food arrived.

"Mmm." Lily swallowed her bite before speaking, "that's an exceptional sandwich."

Winn laughed in response, "I told you."

The rest of the meal was spent in satisfied silence as they scarfed their food down.

Tell him, the thought pinged around her head as she finished her food. This really did seem to be going somewhere, and she couldn't build an entire relationship on a lie.

"Winn." Something in her tone must've been graver than she intended because he looked her in concern when she spoke.

"Is everything okay?" His hand found hers again as he spoke.

"Yeah." She squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I just need to tell you something, can we meet up for dinner tonight?"

"Of course." He still looked worried, but less so than a few moments ago.

She was saved the trouble of coming up with a reply when her phone rang. Alex's name flashed across the screen and she answered the phone hastily.

"Hello?"

Lily had barely gotten the words out when Alex barreled into a response, "there's been a firewall breach. Hank wants you to look into it ASAP."

"The firewall?" She echoed, confused. No one had messed with her firewall in a long time. Winn glanced up at her words, an odd expression on his face.

"Yeah, the system was probably glitching, but you know Hank would never take that chance."

"Ok. I'll be there in a minute." She hung the phone up quickly. Honestly, she was glad to leave, the awkward air that had permeated the room at her words was stifling.

Lily turned to Winn apologetically, "I have to go. There's an emergency at work."

He nodded, but that odd expression remained. Unease threatened to grow in the pit of her stomach, but she pushed it away.

"I'll see you tonight." She kissed him on the cheek and was gone.

———

The firewall breach turned out to be much more severe than Alex had said. It took Lily only a few moments to figure out what had been taken, thankfully nothing, but a lot longer to figure out who had gotten in. They'd managed to penetrate the first firewall but had been kicked out by the secondary firewall, meaning that no government secrets had been taken.

It was still alarming that someone had gotten through at all, even if they hadn't been successful in the long run. Someone somewhere had plans that involved the DEO and that couldn't be a good thing...

When Lily was finally able to track the hack she ran the numbers twice just to be sure of what she was seeing.

There had been two hacks. One had piggybacked on the other, so at first glance, it looked like just one. The original hack had a very familiar signature... Suddenly all the pieces clicked together in her head.

Winn...

His reaction at the restaurant when she'd mentioned a firewall suddenly made sense and she wanted to bang her head against the keyboard. It was going so well.

Lily shook the thought away, she had a job to do. After another twenty minutes of staring at the screen and making no progress on the second hack, she knew what she had to do.

It was early afternoon, if she hurried she could still catch Winn at Catco. She didn't really want to do this in a public place, but she knew she couldn't put it off another minute.

She spent the entire walk to Catco mentally playing out the confrontation in her head. Would he deny it? Would he accuse her right back? Why had he done it?

Her thoughts kept running in circles as she walked and it was all she could do to keep her face blank. Whether she wanted to scream or yell or cry, she wasn't sure, but if she stopped clenching her jaw her expression might break.

She'd walked to Catco, but when she arrived she was out of breath as though she'd jogged the whole way.

It was only when she saw the security desk in the lobby that she realized she hadn't thought this through. She rubbed her face with her hand before pulling her phone out.

Kara picked up on the first ring. "Hey, Lily. Does the DEO need me?"

Lily shook her head as she spoke even though Kara couldn't see her. "No. I'm in the lobby, can you let me up?"

"Yeah, of course. Is something wrong?"

"No. Yes. It's complicated, I just need to get up there."

"Ok." Kara sounded like she had a million more questions to ask, but for now, she called down to the desk to buzz Lily up.

Lily leaned against the back wall of the elevator as she wondered, not for the first time if this was really the best course of action. But then the doors were opening and Kara was there, and there was nowhere to run.

"What do you need?" Kara asked in place of a greeting.

"I have to see Winn."

Kara blanched at the name, clearly surprised that Lily knew it at all. "How do you know—"

Lily stopped her. "I promise I'll explain, just right now I have to talk to him."

Kara nodded reluctantly, stepping back and allowing Winn's desk into Lily's line of sight.

Lily marched over. "Winn."

Winn looked up in surprise, multiple expression flashing across his face. "Hi." He tried a poker face, but he looked scared.

"We need to talk."

Winn nodded gravely, "I suppose we do." He stood up, pausing the video game he'd been playing and motioned for her to follow. They ended up in a cramped alcove that Lily suspected was generally used for more intimate things.

"You hacked into a secure government server!" She accused without warning.

"You hacked me first." He shot back just as accusatory.

"I had to see if you were a threat." Winn blanched at the last word, and something in her heart tugged, but she was too mad to listen to it. "You were helping Supergirl and H—my boss wanted to know if we could trust you."

Something clicked behind Winn's eyes and he tossed an accusation at her that she had not been expecting. "When you came to my apartment, that was part of the job too. Was this...?" His voice trailed off as he looked between the two of them and suddenly all her anger was gone.

Lily had been used by too many people not to understand what Winn meant. There was still fire in his eyes but he let her grab his hand as she spoke. "Never. This was all real." His posture relaxed a little, still wary but clearly wanting to believe everything she'd said.

Lily sighed, now was as good a time as any to come clean. "I suppose you want the full story." He nodded once, no less wary. "I work for the DEO. I don't know how much Kara has told you—" his eyebrows shot up, clearly surprised that she knew Kara's identity but he let her continue without comment. "We monitor and police alien activity on earth. I run IT, so it was my firewall you hacked." She couldn't resist being personally offended by that fact. "I was at your apartment that day because I was sent to do a threat assessment of you. It all went out of control from there, I didn't expect to fall for you..." She mumbled the last part quietly.

Winn drew in a long breath before he spoke. "Kara told me about Alex and the DEO," he paused picking his words carefully. "I wasn't going to look into it, but when I saw your trace on my computer I had to do something about it." He rubbed his neck awkwardly, as though it sounded stupid now. "I had no idea it would be you on the other end."

"You're lucky it was," Lily replied, a bit of the fire from earlier returning. "Do you know how much trouble you can get into for hacking an agency that isn't supposed to exist?"

Winn's posture which had relaxed earlier, became standoffish as her words hit the wrong way.

She rubbed her temple gingerly before speaking again. "I'm going to have to explain all this to my boss, but I'll make sure you don't get in trouble."

As the conversation cooled off, Kara appeared nearby and Lily had to resist sighing exasperatedly. "How much of that did you hear?" Kara looked at her and smiled sheepishly. The answer clear on her face, she joined Lily and Winn. Not quite in the alcove because there wasn't room but close enough for a normal conversation.

"How long has this been going on?" Kara asked, trying, and failing, to sound politely curious.

They shared a glance before Winn answered, "a few weeks."

Kara turned to Lily, "and you did a threat assessment of me." Kara didn't sound angry, just disappointed and that was worse because Lily was used to disappointing people.

Lily looked away as she answered, unable to look Kara in the eye. "It was Hank's orders and Alex already punched me for it so maybe don't Kryptonian super punch me—"

Winn turned to Lily, concern on his face. "You said that was a work accident."

"Not exactly, look it's fine I basically invited her to hit me." It was not the first or last time Lily was punched on the job. She tried to get the conversation back on the rails. "I'm sorry I betrayed your trust, both of you." She glanced at Winn and away again, to find him still studying the fading bruise on her cheek. She squeezed the hand she hadn't realized she was still holding.

Kara shook her head. "I trust you and I trust Alex."

Lily smiled at her tentatively.

Winn was studying her like there was more he wanted to say.

Kara seemed to pick up on this as well because she said, "I need to go, Ms. Grant needs another latte."

Winn waited until Kara was out of sight before opening his mouth, he closed it several times before finally mustering the courage to speak. "You did an assessment of me, so that means you know everything about my life and my...my father." His voice trembled on the last word as though it hurt to say.

She nodded, unsure if there was a right thing to say.

"And you still chose to start this?"

So many secrets jumbled around in her brain, demanding to be spoken, to be heard, but she swallowed resolutely before speaking. No one trusts a Luthor.

"Winn." His hand was trembling and she squeezed it gingerly. She placed her other hand on his cheek and his eyes met hers. "You are not your father." His eyes met her, wide and trusting and in pain. She drew him closer to her in the alcove. "Your father left a terrible legacy behind, but you are not a part of it. Look at all the good you've done, you're working with Supergirl."

Winn chuckled wryly at the last part, "my dad would hate that."

Lily smiled, sensing that the mood had changed for the better. She hugged him fiercely, and if she felt a few quiet sobs escape him, neither of them mentioned it.

They stayed that way for what felt like a few minutes but could easily have been half an hour. As they broke apart Lily rested her forehead against Winn's for a moment, savoring each other's comforting warmth.

"I should let you get back to work." She spoke eventually. Slowly untangling herself from him.

He grabbed her wrist as she pulled away, "will I still see you tonight?"

Lily shrugged noncommittally, "if you still want to."

In answer, he pressed his lips against hers gently.

"So that's a maybe for tonight," she commented playfully.

He laughed. "Now shoo, I have work to do."

"I would love to but..." Lily gestured to Winn's hand which was still wrapped firmly around her wrist.

"Right, yeah," he withdrew his hand quickly, looking flustered.

Lily was still smiling to herself as she walked away.

[aspiestvmusings]

ZEP: S1 - MAX & ZOEY TIMELINE

This is part of my ZEP: S1 Thoughts Master Post

Here’s the new & updated long analysis post for ZEP S1. This one features the whole season, all 12 episodes.

Just me...dissecting & analyzing the storyline...with focus on Zoey & Team Max. But since the stories are so intertwined, there’s Zoey/dad & Zoey/Simon talk, too. Among other things...relevant to it all...

ZEP: MAX & ZOEY -  THOUGHTS 1 [LINK HERE]  

Zoey/Max Timeline

Yes, unless Max knows something we don’t know about Zoey (that she, just like her dad, actually, secretly loves big gestures and moments) his choice for how he professed his love seems to be wrong way to declare his love for this specific lady. Because according to what we know Zoey is not into music (but then again…the use of a flash mob was a plot twist device by the writers… who just decided to use that surprise for Max/Zoey, when it could’ve been any other character… but this was simply done so that the show could mess with Zoey’s powers and give her character “oh, this isn’t in my head, this is real” moment.) But… that’s just a possible bad choice by the character, not anything horrible. And that’s the way he knows how to say it, even if a small, personal, reveal seems more Zoeys style.

But… are we actually correct in assuming this? After the flashmob she never once mentioned anything about it being “too much of a public declaration for her taste”. She even called it “an amazing gesture”, which tells us that while she might be uncomfortable with “big moments” in general (public speaking…), she is comfortable with them with people she’s closed to (her dad, her best friend…) And we saw her talk about it with Max & with Mo. Her only worry was related to him telling her, in reality (not just in her mind…via heart song) that he has feelings for her. She has not shown any worry regarding it being done via “grand gesture”. So… is it possible that it actually isn’t so “not her” as we assume?

Just as perhaps Max from 1x09 is not as “passive” and “not interested in promotion” as Max from 1x01? Perhaps time & peer reviews, and everything else…has changed him? And he’s actually interested in climbing the career ladder.,.. as opposed to the Max in the Pilot, who told Zoey that he does not want any of that…

Maybe Zoey is her fathers daughter, and actually (secretly) loves big moments & grand gestures? Because her dad is all about “big moments”. And maybe it’s actually really appropriate for Max to tell Zoey about his feelings this way, in “big moments/grand gesture” style flash mob? To honor her dad…in a way. Cause Mitch loves these kind of moments & Mitch is No 1 in Zoey’s life, so…  maybe we’re all wrong in assuming it was “not Zoey’s style”? Everything on the show so far points to this - there’s no indication that she didn’t like the “big gesture”. The only reason why it “freaked her out” is because of her superpower...which he had no knowledge of at that time/moment.

We saw the events through Zoey’s eyes & her POV on what’s going on with/between her & her bff.

From Max’s POV this is what’s going on with Zoey/his relationship with Zoey:

She ends their regular movie nights…with no explanation. Something that they’ve done…forever…since they are best friends. (He probably thinks it’s because of her dad’s health and that she’s focused on..that… after her promotion he even asks if her “weidness” is because of “her dad” and/or her now being his boss)

She starts acting strangely…around him, and general…and she doesn’t talk to him anymore (it’s been implied that they’re BFF and talk about everything… but she hasn’t told him what’s up with her). He wonders if it’s because of her dad’s health and everything related to it (but he doesn’t know if its only because of that, or if there’s something more/else, too)

He has feelings for her, but he doesn’t tell her (she only finds out cause she can hear his heart songs). Finding out that her BF has deeper feelings for her freaks her out, even though he himself does not pressure her or anything like that..yet. She is the one who assumes their “discussion” at work is presumed as “lovers quarrel” & she is the one who presumes that “is it a date” means he considers a meal together as date…when all he means is “are you free to go” (to the new place which they both wanted to go to..as friends) Up until the flash mob there is zero “pushing” from him.

He only sings love songs to her when he’s single - during the time he’s dating someone else (Autumn) he stops singing to her, because he’s not a cheater. When he’s with someone, he’s with that someone, and devoted to that person..only. So he stops for a while.

He sees & hears her say that the thing she had for/with Simon is over (1x06) & that she’s not doing any of that anymore. Since she doesn’t talk about any of it with him, this is all he knows so he assumes she meant it, and she’s done chasing the engaged man. This is also probably the only inside info she has on the whole Z/S situation - what he sees/hears during the “burnt roses” moment. (So… it is not a nice surprise when he learns in 1x08 that after everything her words were not true, cause it’s not all over/done with S…)

Why he doesnt believe her right away when she tells him of her powers: As a rational person he has a hard time believing her claims about superpowers at first. Also… it seems like such a “lie” to change the subject, and simply avoid giving him an honest answer (yes OR no) But after hearing some more facts he starts believing. And by the time she “glitches” he has no doubt that she’s going through all this…

Both Zoey and Max are emotionally challenged. (tbh, just like Max I believed Autumn when she said that all is cool when they broke up during their morning jog. I’m emotionally challenged, too. I honestly did not know that what she said and what she thought/felt were different, so I get why it came as a surprise to him to learn she wasn’t cool about it) The whole Autumn/Max break-up tells us that Max doesn’t get the subtle clues, and needs to hear the words to know the truth. Hence he believes what Zoey tells him… at first.

He misreads her signals in 1x05 - 1x06 - 1x07 (”I need more Max”, reinstating their movie nights, touching his bicep, commenting she needs more Max in her life, checking him out when he’s shirtless, etc), and based on that confesses his love for her via flashmob. What surprises him is not so much that she doesn’t respond with the same, but that she doesn’t give him an answer…at all. (Mo explained it best to Zoey…later; the boy deserved an answer… even if it’s “I don’t know…yet”. Also… we’ve never heard her say that she didn’t appreciate it because it was a big gesture…so she might not be as uncomfortable with the gesture as we think) Instead she runs, and then she avoids giving him an answer, kinda changing the subject, and telling him about her powers. Instead of telling him the truth right away, cause truth might hurt, but it’s better than avoidance/ignoring.

This is shown later in the episode, when after Zoey finally gives him her…messy & selfish answer… he’s hurt, but content. She tells him that the reasons why she isn’t ready to go from friends to more is because her focus has to be on her dad for now & because she’s afraid that “they” won’t work out & she’ll lose her best ftiend…for good… and she can’t risk that… at this time. This is not the answer he hoped for, but as Mo predicted…this is the answer he accepts. That can be seen in the elevator scene with Simon. He’s OK with waiting & this not being the right time (cause she needs to focus on her dad at the moment). He also doesn’t say they’re done, he asks what she asked - pressing pause on their traditional friends activities like movie nights.

During the 1x07 end elevator convo he also learns that the totally engaged man has been “keeping tabs” on Zoey & Z/M. Which concerns him. Cause why is an engaged man looking at other women & paying attention to whom they socialize with (when his focus should only be on his fiancee)? Like Mo, he probably thinks “the guy is a player” after this convo. And again… he, as Zoey’s friend, is not in the wrong, when he thinks he should “protect” her from the morally questionable guy.

Then in the “very next day basically” he learns that she wasn’t completely honest with him. And since she promised 100% honesty to him, he’s hurt that she as his friend isn’t being honest. She sings him a love song (it is possible that she wasn’t aware of her deep feelings for him…but after this she definitely is…100%)…but then tries to take back the honesty and claim that the truth she spoke is not the truth. But what really hurts him is how her “honesty” from their last convo turns out to be a lie (and we know it is, because we’ve seen Zoey tell her mom & Mo about her real feelings, not the cleaned up version she told Max at the end of 1x07) - and he voices why he’s upset. It’s not because she doesn’t return his feelings, it’s because she wasn’t honest with her best friend. Because through her heart songs he knows for a fact that she has feelings for him - that she loves him, too. So he’s not upset that she doesn’t love him back. He even says it during their bathroom convo - the best reason to be “mad” at her is that she told him she loves him/she’s his, when she didnt mean to tell him this (the truth). Meaning: she thinks it’s “unfair” he’s upset that “she sang him a heart song, when she didn’t mean to”… or in other words: she thinks it’s fair to keep the truth a secret from him…and this rigth after she promised 100% honesty to him… and he doesn’t agree with the secret-keeping.

We saw Max’s feelings progression since Pilot: in 1x01 he THINKS he’s in love with her, in 1x02 he’s a SUCKER for her & by 1x07 he fully admits he LOVES her. With Zoey the timeline is..kinda… starting in 1x06… The “500 miles” moment is her “I think I love you” moment & her heart song to him in 1x08 is basically her “I love you” moment.

She claims she isn’t ready for a relationship because she needs to focus on her dad right now, when in reality she really is torn between two men - and she wants Max to be her emotional support and shoulder to lean on (knowing he loves her, and knowing that he knows that she knows he loves her), while she herself is pursuing another man, Simon. An engaged man she’s obsessed with cause she “finds his body hot & has a grief bond with”. (in reality: her role has mostly been being his grief therapist - and she’s not really told him about her dad that much…so it’s pretty much one-sided anyway) But just as she didn’t want to be the other woman, he doesn’t want to be the other man/third wheel… and that’s understandable.

Then when Max gets the job offer he goes to his best friend for support. And while I personally read the scene as him saying “no, that was not the right answer, but it gave me mine (I’m taking the job)” being a response to her asking “was this the right answer?” because this meant she wasn’t still being honest with him, and instead of giving her her true answer she gave him the answer she thought he wanted to hear… I am willing to accept that what the writers meant was that he wanted her to give a more personal answer and/or ask him to stay because he is a valuable member of the team.

Her reply was as his boss, and co-worker/friend. She only focused on their work relationship, not their personal friendship. She’ll miss sitting across from him… not that she’ll miss him outside work (and  yes…it’s only two floors up, and working in different departments does not mean they can’t hang out oustide work…) but still her answer did not include her role as best friend/possible future romantic partner….even when he asked her to specify the “I’m Your’s Zoey’s” answer - she only focused on the work related part when replying…to that.  This gave him the clarity needed - she’s not into him, so he did the right thing & put space between them. Since she didn’t include the “I’m Yours Zoey” that meant to him that she’d choosen Simon…and  just as it’s very human to grieve and cheat…it’s also very human to feel hurt/heartbroken. And he should not have to subject himself to seeing her with someone else (when he knows she has feelings for both) - making the same mistakes over again she’s made before with her relationships. So his choice was the right one…for both. They need time apart, time to grow as individuals, time to reflect…

Yes his speech in 1x10 was directed mostly to her, but he was adressing the whole 4th floor/Team, really. Cause no-one stood up to give him a “good luck” hug when he came to collect his things. And his best friend didn’t even have any encouraging words to him…on the day he moved to the 6th floor…. and even admitted she didn’t get to get him a “good luck gift” (which he could just assume is because she’s busy with her dad, but we know that while she had 4 days to buy that pen/mouse…and didn’t, she managed to get a plant as housewarming gift for the other man in like 4 hours. And we also know that she voiced no concerns about losing her best friend and a good team member at work…while talking to Mo… yet she had lots of things to say about “the man who just broke up, and whom I said I would not chase anymore, but now that he’s been single for 4 seconds, we can make out and it’s not cheating this time anymore”… so she’s showing no signs of caring about his best friends life changes, while caring a lot about the other mans life changes)

So of course he feels underappreciated on the 4th floor. The peer reviews, the boss, the team manager, the job offer… it all plays a part in his decision. And the D*rk Point boss knows exactly what to say…to make him feel appreciated…something he didn’t feel he got on the 6th floor… but he didn’t realize until he heard Ava point out his good work..with the maze, with the chirp pitch…and though he may not realize that Ava, too, has her own agenda, hearing that he is appreciated…as a worker & as a human…made him feel good  (we saw how important positive feedback is for everyone during the peer reviews plot), and he realized he didn’t get any of that, really, on the 4th floor. And once again… while he may have secretly wanted to hear her say “stay”, what he actually really wanted/needed was for her to encourage him, and show genuine happiness for him, and for her to be completely honest with him. And he didn’t feel like that’s something she could be right now. To put it in her own terms: “everyone is so nice & polite, and no one is giving me the raw & honest feedback”…cause her reply to him when asked about the job offer was “polished” & “nice”, not “honest & raw”. (and I think we all agree that her telling him to take it  & him taking it was the right move…for all… cause they both need space & to grow individually)

In the Pilot we learn that Max thinks he’s not management material & he’s not looking for career opportunity. So to Zoey’s knowledge this is not in character for him? So whether or not he’s changed during the time between then & now, to Max’s knowledge she knows that he likes being just a coder. So for her to not know him…and not remember that he’s told her this, could be disappointing. So her reply: That’s a great career opportunity MIGHT tell him that she doesn’t know him and what he wants. (this is the flashmob argument: we, fans, think that a flashmob is “not Zoeys style” & we, fans, think that promotion is “not Max’s style”. We might be wrong, cause we don’t know everything about the characters + they can change…over time…)

Another thing she says to him when he asks advice regarding the job offer is “I would never stop you from going after what you want”. When they both know that what he really wants is her - he’s made it clear. And yet… here she is saying she’d not stop him, when she is “stopping him” from doing just that. And at the same time…as pointed out in the last part… is a promotion what Max really wants? Cause it is not the case for “1x01 Max”…and we & Zoey haven’t been made aware that he’s changed his mind. So… does his best friend not know him? (or does she known him better…and know he’s changed his POV on promotions)

Max & Zoey have been best friends & colleagues…for 5 years…since the first day on the job. From Max’s POV…something changed..suddenly…a few months ago. For a while he didn’t know why and what, but now he knows why.  And just like it took time for Zoey to adjust to her “power”, same applies to Max (adjusting to her powers).

From Max’s POV…his best friend is dishonest with him, she avoids him, she has changed, she comes to him when she needs him… but she herself doesn’t offer anything back (yes, he is aware she’s grieving, and he understands it, but his best friend is not letting her friends help her during the time she needs to lean on family/friends). We have rarely seen her talk to him about anything else than office gossip…or her powers related stuff…recently. And it’s heavily implied they used to talk…all the time… about everything. His best friend also set him up with another woman…just to avoid him after she learned that he has feelings for her. His best friend claims her focus has to be her dad, and she can’t do more than friendship at this time, but at the same time she continues pursing another man. And this after she promised to be 100% honest with him. And she betrayes that trust the “very next day”. So he has every right to be upset, and hurt.

Zoey has every right to be upset about the fact that she thinks Max is “pushing her to have feelings for him” (when they both know… for a fact..after her heart song that she does have feelings for him), but in this case Max has every right to be upset about the fact that he thinks “she is avoiding him”. She has the right to grieve, so does he. If she has the right to be upset that Simon doesn’t return her feelings… then Max has the right to be upset that she doesn’t return his feelings. The same rules have to apply to all, not just main character. And if you look at the storylines closely, you’ll see the parallels… the things that Zoey is upset about (fans are upset about) regarding Simon’s behaviour (when pursuing him) are the same exact things that Max is upset about regarding Zoey (his pursuit of her). The same way that some fans point out Max is “obsessed with Zoey” there’s a parallel story with Zoey is “obsessed with Simon”. All Max wanted from Zoey was what Zoey wanted from Simon - clarity. For her/him to have clarity. And just as she felt the other man didn’t have it, he felt that she didn’t have it.

Because we, the audience, know that Zoey (thinks she has) has feelings for both men - her behaviour in past episodes (especially 1x06 - 1x07) and her heart song confirm that she has feelings for Max, and because he knows her secret, he knows that that’s a fact. So he has every right to be upset that she  “doesn’t like him back/doesn’t want to be with him”, when he knows that she does love him back, while claiming the opposite. And she won’t talk to him about it…

From his POV it is as follows: they both have admitted they love each other. She claims she needs time to deal with her grief and can’t risk their friendship. She tells him she loves him…and the very next minute goes to another mans arms - that’s the part that upsets him. He’s not upset that she’s not returning his feelings/not wanting to date him, nope. He’s “upset” because he, as her best friend who knows her & her past relationships, knows that her thing with the engaged man will not end well for her.  And yes, he is not wrong in saying that in a case when she has feelings for two men it’s a better option to choose the best friend, who has always been there for her (she’s said this herself) than the totally engaged (until just recently) & morally questionable, emotionally unavailable grieving hot guy.                      

While Max choices have been just “mistakes” (perhaps not the best idea to confess your feelings via flash mob to a girl who only listens to podcasts?), then Simon’s choices have been actual “bad decisions” - cheating. And though both Simons & Zoey’s bad choices have been rooted in their grief/depression, they cannot “excuse” it with being a mess due to grief. Instead of continuing the downward spiral they should own their mistakes, acknowledge them as not good choices. It’s one thing to use the wrong gesture to confess your love to somone, and completely another thing to cheat on your fiancee (and blame it on being a mess cause of grief). Those two things should not be comparable.

I can’t believe how some people see Max response to her “no one understand why you got the promotion” (translation: you didn’t deserve it) as harsh. Like her cruel words were “justified” because she’s grieving...or just because…even though she was not right to say them, but his behaviour has been “unacceptable”. Yes, his comments to Zoey are not the friendliest (when he’s telling why he chooses 6th floor over 4th… after the “The Boy is Mine” sing-off, but they are nothing compared to Zoey’s “you don’t deserve this promotion & you are selfish for not being there for me whenever I need something from you”.

We can all see & understand that each character has flaws & makes mistakes & says some things they shouldn’t. But some of these things are “worse” than the others. And his reply to her rude-fuled-by-her-anger-phase-of-grieving comment to him was tame. He was actually quite calm & cool during his response to her (you’re calling me selfish?). And he directed the coded message at Zoey on the 6th floor directly at her because he knows she’s emotionally challenged, so she needed to undrerstand that it was directed at her, too…so she’d start understanding that she hurt him with her words/behaviour too. He wanted her to get that message, cause he had seen that until now she had no idea how her actions/inactions affect him.

He may seem like being “upset” with her… but it’s also understandable, because she kinda broke his heart, and just as she’s allowed to not return his feelings, he’s allowed to feel sad that she doesn’t. To put it in “fairytale terms”. But he’s in no way pressuring her to return his feelings & start a relationship now. All he wants/needs from her is honesty & clarity.

And mostly… when will Zoey finally give Simon the advice he needs - go see a professional therapist! What the man needs is professional help not a mind-reader, who is a mess herself. And is Zoey doesn’t stop keeping it all in and won’t talk to her family/friends about her grief, then she, too, will soon need professional help… (therapist).

Through all of this Max’s there for her:  he supports her when she’s interested in the new guy..(until he finds out the man is taken); he supports her to go after the promotion; he brings her dad… his “closest thing to a dad he’s had” soft food…that he can eat, he goes to support her when she gets a call about her dad’s health & he finds a way to get her to her dad..fast; he saves her “glitch song” and turns it into a pitch for the CEO; he goes to check on her, & gives her her mom’s message..even when he’s hurt by her (and on top of that he gives her good friend advice about her dad). And she does acknowledge this..on several occasions. So…this “social distancing” (physical distance between them during work & off work) is needed to make her/them start to see things from different perspective, and realize some truths… that only distance/change could give them.

There is a real inconsistancy between what she really feels & thinks…and  what she says/acknowledges she feels & thinks.

And it all won’t start moving forward & she won’t start character development until she’ll truly embrace her powers. Cause she still seems to view them as “burden” instead of “helpful tool”. Sure… she has started to realize the good she can do with having this ability (in general Howie/Abigail situation was the first time she really used her ability to really improve the situation & first time she really emphatized...though we could say that in a way the first case was her downstairs neighbour, Bonnie), but until she fully embraces it all, she’ll remain “lost”. The turning point will be actually losing her dad…for real.

There is a lot that I don’t understand 100% about what the show is trying to do… with Max “pushing* Zoey for answers to his confession of love” & his reaction to her answer about whether he should take the job offer…or even why they keep saying there’s a deep bond between Z & S, when all they’ve established is that they talked to each other about losing their dads & are physically attracted to each other. Or even why Zoey says that they kissed, when in reality he kissed her. Or Simon’s behaviour…which I don’t think is ONLY just about not dealing with his grief…and all that.

* I don’t see it as him pushing her or demanding answers or anything like that. But this is the sense many get, hence I used this word

[karasgay]

im just posting my fic under the cut because the link to ao3 post looks v ugly to me w the big header so ignore this

the incorrigible study of strawberries on a summer’s afternoon

for lena, summers bring exhausting fêtes, sun induced headaches, and trips down to the lake. why anyone would prefer such a glaring season, lena could not understand. the only saving grace comes in the form of a small red fruit held in the palm of one kara danvers.

Lena has always held a strong distaste for summer: the dry air, the lack of rain, her mother’s elaborate brunches. The most detested feature, though, is the sun. Lena thought it had no business shining down so harshly, burning her delicate skin and blinding her all afternoon. For all the pain it casts, Lena must thank the weather for the harvest of her favourite fruit. The abrasive sun is less of a distraction today while she sits on Kara’s worn jacket in the grass underneath her parasol with a healthy punnet of strawberries between them. Today, the sun permits Lena to concentrate on her favourite part of summer. With suspenders hanging down her hips and white shirt reflecting the sun, despite its wrinkles, Kara’s fingers play with the stem of an egregiously plump strawberry. Perfect teeth piercing the crown; its juices dripping down a strong chin quickly wiped away by a firm arm, slightly staining the tan skin. Lena could go on and on about strawberries, truth be told.

Despite her attention better devoted elsewhere, her eyes trace the solid lines and soft skin away from the previous subject of study to the full basket below. Small and large strawberries, sweetly red with no hint of white or green skin; anything less than perfect would not be tolerated in such a situation. How Lena could get lost in her appreciation- how perfectly they balance exhilarating flavors: sour to spark swift blood flow and sweet to soothe the mouth, to liberate the tongue, to elicit a smile. Lena knows the consumption alone conjures the addicting emotions and rapid beatings in her chest. And if Lena were to divert her attention farther south, she would notice the matching hand to the one that so carelessly played with the beloved strawberry stem, she would notice the long fingers and spread palm, most of all she would notice the disturbing lack of distance she would need to cross to intertwine said fingers with her own. But Lena was nothing if not attentive in her observations. If she completely missed Kara’s conversation, she would have no one to blame but the strawberries.

“- get me wrong, Lena, you know I love seeing you in your nice dresses with your hair done up, and all the wonderful food”, Kara leans further onto her hand, her other twiddling the stem between her fingers, “I just don’t know how everyone would take my being there.” She squints against the gleam of the lake, leaving only half her face, stuck between a grimace and a wry grin, for Lena to observe.

“You’re being silly, Kara, no-one will bat an eye over a server girl’s face they saw three parties ago."

(how anyone could forget Kara’s pronounced cheekbones, the slope of her nose, the golden hair, the not-so elegant crease between eyebrows when she spilled tea on Morgan Edge, Lena could never understand. especially Kara's eyes, the piercing blue that Lena’s almost certain has the power to unearth every secret she holds dear. their pale color is a direct contrast to the deep red strawberries, a direct accomplice to the heat they kindle in Lena’s chest. unlike the strawberries, Lena finds she cannot linger on them for long.)

“No-one will care as long as you look the part,” she continues.

Kara hums, eyes shifting across the lake.

Lena’s not sure why Kara’s so enamored with the, frankly unimpressive, basin of water when there were more captivating subjects to study. (she does not feel entitled to such judgement while she compares the shade of blue to Kara’s eyes as the minutes tick by.) She might imagine the freezing lake could provide some relief to the sweltering weather, but it would ultimately disturb her concentration on her favourite summertime activity. So enamored with the concerns of muddy lake temperatures, Lena nearly fails to refrain from a jolt when she notices Kara gazing at her over her shoulder. She knows the dangerous game those eyes faithfully tempt her with, Lena swallows against the tartness in her mouth and reaches into the basket for a strawberry.

Kara seems oblivious to her rising distress, “Why’s it so important that I attend?” She ducks her head chasing Lena’s eye, “Why can’t we just take a trip to the lake again, or to the orchard? Maybe some apples have ripened already.”

Lena wrinkles her nose, never a fan of such crispy fruit like apples. She sinks into the delicate strawberry, “And what, let you spoil yourself on sweets?”

Kara clutches the strawberry stem over her heart wincing in faux pain, “Never knew you held the power to revoke such a pleasure.”

Lena rolls her eyes, still steadily avoiding Kara’s, “Or maybe because you have always wanted to attend as a guest? And because you know how awfully boring my mother’s company is.”

Kara turns her body to fully face Lena, the sun catching on her blonde hair, “And you’re sure your mother won’t recognize me?”

“And if she does,” Lena raises an eyebrow. “You're no longer a servant”, she nods at Kara’s pencil and notepad laying on her thigh.

There is something conflicting in Kara’s eyes, somewhere so deep that it questions Lena’s sound hypothesis. She blinks it away before Lena can examine its meaning.

“I just think it’ll be awkward. That’s all.”

Maybe it is the summer heat, or the rich fruit, or simply the topic of the upcoming brunch, but Lena cannot muster the willpower to prod. Like with most of her decisions when near Kara, she falls back on what she is comfortable with.

“It will be if you come dressed like that. You might want to look nice.”

After a beat Kara follows her lead, winking, “You know I always look handsome.”

Lena cannot help the disappointment that dampens the thump in her chest.

“Not with strawberry juices covering your wrinkled shirt, darling,” She does not need to look at Kara to know she was peering down, dripping more juice onto the affronted shirt. Kara freezes and bends her head to lick at the trail running down her arm. A dart of pink from the swipe of her tongue reminds Lena of what started all this in the first place.

The forsaken heat flares again and Lena flits her eyes down at the offending strawberries, “Just promise not to be a slob for once.”

(sometimes she wishes Kara really were a slob, it would be the perfect reason to excuse her misplaced fascination. what else could educe such horrible feelings inside her? lena has never been around someone with so little manners, such carelessness in the face of etiquette and tradition; let alone a woman suspiciously similar to herself, but she buries that damning observation deeper than any other.)

The strawberries reflect the sun’s rays directly into her eyes taunting her, daring her to act or to shrink into herself.

(she almost swears she feels Kara’s eyes on her, the way they study her guarded eyes and the blush on her face. lena knows better, though. lena is nothing if not thorough in her research, a distasteful summer’s day will not deter her from gathering further data.)

Lena succumbs to her curiosity and lays her eyes on the most confusing woman she has ever met. The sun shining a halo onto her perfect head, the depths of blue eyes complementing the lake and the clear sky, the stained red lips from the goddamned strawberries. Kara, for her part, cannot help the way nature works in her favour. Lena knows when she meets those eyes she is cursed for the rest of her days, those deep blue eyes gazing at her with an emotion Lena dreads to see mirrored in her own.

“As long as you promise to help sully me after.”

God, Lena really hates summer.

[darkpoisonouslove]

Valtor catches Griffin sneaking behind his back to meet someone else, an enemy of theirs, but is that a good enough condition for him to rip her out of his heart and tear her apart?

36 - unconditional

He’d followed her to Magix to find out where she disappeared off to every other week. She usually had excuses that were even good enough for his mothers but not for him. Not when he knew her and knew she was lying. She got distant and cold every time he asked her about those trips and it was like a fire he couldn’t control spreading through his veins and burning him, filling his lungs with ashes to know she didn’t want to trust him with the truth when he’d trusted her with his soul and his love. He could only think of one reason that could explain her behavior and as much as he hadn’t wanted to doubt her, he was getting proof that he’d been right to.

She was off with more than just a few planets from her supposed destination, lost somewhere at the busy streets of Magix where she couldn’t find anything about the magical tome she’d claimed she was after but would at least lead him to the truth. She’d covered her tracks well, to the point where he’d had trouble tracing her–he was torn between being proud of her and getting even more suspicious if that was even possible–but he’d found her. Just in time to see Faragonda walking out of the mall where he knew Gtiffin was.

He felt a different heat surging through him and the anger almost got the better of him as he barely stopped it from pushing his magic to burn through his disguise and go after her to finish her once and for all. He couldn’t get sidetracked with revenge, though, if he wanted solid proof that Griffin had done nothing that would hurt him, nothing that would require him to hurt her. He had to find something, something that would make him believe that even after he saw her coming out of the mall herself a few minutes later. Something that would allow him to keep loving her even when it was confirmed that she’d been meeting with the fairy, for his love wasn’t conditional and just because he was supposed to purge it from his heart when he’d have to burn her, didn’t mean he would be able to.

He grabbed Griffin's arm as she was walking down the street, headed towards her next stop which would be crafting a deception good enough to trick even Lysslis, and pulled her into an alley that seemed forgotten by the world where she would have all the time to give him some explanation that could save their love.

She struggled against his grip at first when she thought it was someone attacking her but it all ceased when she saw it was him and the look on her face broke him and made him want to scream but that would draw attention to them and steal away her opportunity to save them both. So he held himself back even at the sight of the terror in her eyes at the face of what they both knew he had to do to her and it only proved their love was lost, for she’d given him a reason to give her a reason to be afraid of him. Or perhaps she was afraid of herself, of what she’d done to them.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, holding on to her, for he didn’t want to let her go. He was giving her infinite opportunities to lie to him with being so vague and yet none at all because he wouldn't have been there in the first place if she could get away with hiding the truth. So he hoped that she could find some roundabout way to explain her actions or weave a net of half-truths that he could let himself fall into, otherwise his soul would follow her in the flames where they’d both die.

“I haven’t betrayed you,” Griffin said, her voice full of restless energy like she had so many ways to explain things that she didn’t know which one to go.

He hoped she’d find the right one because he wanted to believe her. He wanted to, wanted to trust that the way she was grasping at his sleeves was a desperate attempt at holding on to him and not a measure to prevent him from hurting her. He would never. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t.

“This has nothing to do with you or the Coven,” Griffin sounded torn but whether between lying and saying the truth, or between keeping her firm grip on him and reaching to cup his cheek, he couldn't really tell. “This only has to do with me and Faragonda,” she said as she seemed to have made her choices, her fingers opening and letting go of his sleeve and it felt like she was abandoning him even if she was reaching to touch his skin.

“She’s one of them,” he hissed, still wary of their surroundings, and grabbed at her hand, to keep her off of him, for he was too vulnerable and he was afraid her touch wouldn’t be soothing now like he was used to it being. He was still gentle enough not to crush her hand in his outburst, though. He didn’t want to hurt her, even when she was hurting him. Faragonda was an enemy, one of the Company, and he couldn't understand how Griffin had trusted her enough to meet with her and put herself in danger. It could’ve been a trap. She could've gotten herself killed, leaving him with all that love for her in his heart that would’ve remained unshared and would just stick to its walls until it hardened enough to stop it from beating.

“She’s my friend,” Griffin objected, her voice quiet and tears filling her eyes. He’d hurt her despite his will when it had been the one thing he’d wished to avoid. “She’s my friend and I miss her,” Griffin sobbed out as her body slumped in defeat against the wall behind her back, the tears falling from her eyes, and if he hadn’t been there to hold her, she would’ve fallen on the ground, like a body with no soul, like a corpse.

It hurt him that she’d trusted Faragonda enough to share her secret with her but not him. Faragonda was on the side of the Company, yet, Griffin had been meeting with her and hadn’t even told him about it, trusting the fairy not to betray her while she’d been fearing he’d hurt her. It should have alarmed him, should have been a red flag, but the world would lose all color without her and he couldn’t see anything through her tears. Her cries echoed in his mind like those of a bat that had no other way of finding home, for it was blind and alone. And it hurt more than his thoughts.

He drew her into a hug and felt her wrapping her arms around him slowly, weakly, but with intent, as she held on to him and her touch didn’t hurt like he’d feared it would. It had been the doubts that had hurt him and they seemed distant and unreal now that she was in his arms and he was in hers and they were together again, no secrets standing between them, no lies that were painful. Just their unconditional love that could survive anything, for they were fully devoted to it.

“I love you,” Griffin whispered, but it was still the loudest sound in the universe. The only sound he wished to hear. “I don’t ever want to leave you,” she said, and he believed her because he wanted to. Because his love was unconditional and he wanted to believe hers was too. And he did.

He did believe it when she offered to stop meeting with Faragonda and he said he’d cover for her if she needed him to because he couldn't watch her suffer, even if he felt like he was on the wrong end of her love and she was giving more of it to Faragonda than to him. He did believe it when she came back every time even if he wished she would've never left because she took his heart with her and he was afraid she wouldn’t return and he’d have to go look for her only to find her dead with his heart clutched in her grip, making it impossible to pry it from her cold, lifeless fingers. He did believe it when the Company kept fighting them without any further knowledge on them, for she hadn’t betrayed them and was risking her life just to go see her friend. He did believe it and he came to regret it just like he’d been afraid he would when she left him. Because he’d believed a lie.

He should have killed her right then and there when he’d caught her sneaking behind his back but that would've killed him, too. She was so deeply entangled in his soul that he couldn't have removed her without destroying himself. She’d known it, too, and she’d still left even after he’d put so much faith in her, even after he’d put himself in her hands. She’d let him down and torn him apart and now he was in a million pieces broken against the floor, not even a body left behind, when he could have avoided it if he’d just killed her on time, but his heart had made him weak.

Never again. He wouldn't listen to it anymore. No matter how hard it was to ignore it with the need it was making him feel to kiss her, and look at her face, searching for a reflection of his own feelings in her eyes, searching for a reflection of himself, for he was all woven from his love for her  and without it he’d unravel out of existence but he was safe because it was unconditional and no matter what she did, he couldn't stop loving her even if he wanted to. And he did. He really wanted to stop loving her. It felt too good even when it hurt and made him weak. Weak for her.

[songsofbloodandfire]

The Woman in the Painting

The woman that looked back from the canvas was a face that she hadn’t seen in years. Younger and arrogant, the flame bright hair matched a temper and fire that in some ways hadn’t cooled much since then. Hindsight was an amazing thing, but it was generally hard won and for her it had come at the cost of a few too many close calls and deep scars in body, mind and soul.

This woman on the canvas was the woman that Xavion had known, had loved and been infatuated with. Some of who she was had been manufactured, designed to capture his attention and lure him into her web with the intent of stealing from him, all for the sake of power. She had done so much, ruined so many lives including her own, all for the sake of power. It wasn’t just the power of wealth she had sought, but the power of knowledge and the power of magic. She still pushed her limits, still constantly challenged her own skill and power to further herself, to try and reach further and further in the search of more power and while she was a bit more reserved in the risks she would take, she knew if it came to it she would still take many of the same risks she would have then. The difference was time and gaining so much she held dear was beginning to teach her regret and humility.

At first she hadn’t been sure why she had lied about Xavion’s actions. It wasn’t too long ago that she had been out for his blood, eager to see him destroyed for what he had done to her. The pain and scars he’d inflicted on her body and psyche. Being trapped in the dreamstate with him, being caught in memories and being forced to share his pain, pain she had inflicted on him, had made her realize the depth of her actions. As deep as he had driven the knife in her, she had done just the same to him. All because she’d been too much of a coward to admit her love for him when she should have.

Selfish, nearsighted fear had kept her from telling him the truth back then. Losing Del and the only family she’d known back them in the form of their crew had damaged her in ways she hadn’t understood until gaining the family she had now. She was terrified of losing people. Would go to extremes and justify actions that she shouldn’t in the name of making sure she wouldn’t lose them. She’d done it with Xavion, convincing herself that she could live as R’shana and be happy in that lie because she loved him and wanted to stay with him. She’d done it with Aether, letting him inflict damage on her body, almost getting her killed multiple times because of a nearsighted devotion to him born out of a fear of losing him. A fear of being left alone.

Knowing this didn’t make it any easier to avoid making the same mistakes. She was more mindful about them at least and she figured that had to account for something at the very least. What it didn’t account for was why she’d had a change of heart and had spared Xavion instead of allowing her family to kill him.

She knew the man was a voidmage. That was, once she found the truth out about him, part of what had drawn her to him like a moth to a flame. As dangerous as he was, he had been alluring. Truthfully, time had done nothing to take away from the allure when she admitted it to herself. Something about someone beautiful and dangerous simply did it for Sana, even if she wasn’t fully conscious of it. Even now she had no illusions he was dangerous and yet, despite everything he had done to her, not only had she spared him but she lied about it. The only person who could have bore witness to the fact that his actions had indeed been his and not that of the voidsent’s and she lied about it.

As much as she wanted to blame it on a momentary lapse of judgement, she knew it wasn’t that. As much as she hated him for what he had done, how he had damaged her in ways she likely would never recover, there was still some part of her that loved him. Some part of her that would always have an emotional bond that would lead her to be compromised where he was concerned. She hated admitting to herself that she still in some way loved him, let alone that her love for him had allowed herself to feel enough guilt for what her actions had caused that she’d tried to spare him as much as she could.

If he remained alive seemed to be in question given he was currently being held captive in a property she owned, or rather one of her aliases owned. She wasn’t about to let him anywhere near anything directly tied to him, but this at least allowed her to keep track of where he was and what he was doing. Not that he was going anywhere easily being bound to the bed and his magic suppressed so he couldn’t escape. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but she wasn’t sure what else to do with him.

Annoyance played over her features as she picked up an old and worn palette knife and began to remove still wet oils with sweeping motions. She wasn't the woman on the canvas anymore. She wasn't about to let her own fear and indecisiveness ruin her life anymore, not if she could stop it. She needed to talk to him. She needed to understand the emotions she'd felt from him in the dream and not what her own mind thought they meant. She needed closure that she'd denied herself out of fear of the truth.

Coward. She needed to stop being a coward.

[galleywinter]

A Prayer You Can Borrow

It’s been a minute since the last chapter. I can only apologize. But I’m here now, finally, with this. I hope you enjoy it. I hope you enjoy finally getting to see glimpses of who Camdyn truly is apart from being stuck reacting to her own (in her opinion) mortifying behavior. If you’re still here, thank you.

I’ve taken a few liberties with the setup outside of Light’s Hope. For the purposes of this story, it truly is a small military training yard, complete with a couple of modest barracks flanking the gates.

Camdyn was also meant to have retrieved Ashbringer by the time this chapter closed. Given her track record, I don’t know why I was so surprised when she didn’t stick to the plan.

This wouldn’t have been at all possible without @eleneripenneth‘s editing or @zeroredemption‘s patience with my teeth-gnashing. Previously: [Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3][Chapter 4][Chapter 5][Chapter 6][Chapter 7][Chapter 8][Chapter 9]

Read Chapter 10 on AO3 Read Chapter 10 on FFN

Chapter 10 ____

Camdyn dutifully follows Varian from the kitchens, fully expecting him to lead her to the portion of the Petitioner’s Chamber reserved for inbound travel. As they pass through the massive doors and into the throne room, she immediately begins to head toward the main hallway, only to be brought up short by a strong, inexorable pull in the opposite direction.

Startled, Camdyn looks down. Varian’s fingers are wrapped around her elbow.

Varian's fingers are wrapped around her elbow. Confusion - well, it has to be confusion, doesn't it? Certainly nothing else. She can't feel anything else when her king is touching her - makes her stomach flutter. "General?" She hopes she doesn't squeak. She really doesn't want to squeak.

She manages to not squeak as she continues to follow him across the massive breadth of the throne room. When they cross in front of the Lion’s Seat, he lifts his chin in the direction of one of the guards stationed there but doesn’t break stride.

“Raquel." The guard somehow snaps to even stricter attention. “Fetch Farran. I need him in the library immediately.”

“Yes, sire,” she answers with a nod of her head before stepping down from the dais.

The closer they draw to the open doors leading to the gardens, the easier it is to notice the smell of the sea rolling in on the breeze. The air is thick with salt and the edge of a tang from metal smelting in the Dwarven Quarter, and Camdyn wishes she could stop just to breathe in the smell of fresh air. The smell of home. Her throat tightens unexpectedly, but she shoves it down. There will be time to rest - to be homesick - later.

She hopes.

Varian glances at her as they step into the gardens. “I’d prefer to avoid both interruptions and explanations,” he says simply as they continue around the garden’s perimeter. “The library is better for a portal in that case. Quieter than the Petitioner's Chamber.”

Camdyn bites down the edge of a smile and keeps her gaze carefully forward. “Unless Professor Jones is present,” she says.

If she didn’t know better, she would have thought Varian’s step hesitates for a fraction of a moment. She could almost swear his shoulders roll, though, and he chuckles quietly. “Neither Professor Jones nor his devoted students will be a problem."

This time it's Camdyn's step that hesitates, and what's becoming an omnipresent desire to melt into the floor tiles wells up again. For the briefest, barest moment, she had allowed herself to forget he was the king. Of course Professor Jones won't be an issue. She can feel his eyes on her as she shoves the irritation and embarrassment aside and lengthens her next stride so that her steps are once again in sync with his.

Her prayers that he won't ask her to speak go completely unanswered.

"You don't seem yourself," he says as they round the edge of the garden. His tone is far from intimate, but it also isn't quite regal. "What troubles you?"

She refuses to let her step falter this time. Her tongue, though, is like lead in her mouth and the swallow she forces to alleviate it feels dry and prickles her throat. "I think any who claim to feel like themselves in such dark times as these is a liar, your Majesty." It isn't the complete truth, but it isn't a total lie, either.

Camdyn's heart stops in her chest as a flicker of something indiscernible passes over Varian's expression, and then he hums a quiet sound of assent, making relief crash over her in a palpable wave that leaves her fingertips tingling.

"You are far from wrong," he says. "These are truly darker times than we've ever faced. But I refuse to believe these are times without hope."

"No dark time is ever without hope, Sire, so long as even a single light remains." They had been Everett's words when she was small, after their father had fallen, when it had been only the two of them left in a world that seemed determined to break their spirits. She had clung to them then and they had carried her through countless battles since. The ghost of a smile playing at the edge of Varian's mouth eases any lingering doubts about the propriety of sharing them now, with him.

"While true," he says as they reach the doors to the library, "I'll continue to pray that there is more than a single light in this darkness." He ushers her through the doors with an upturned palm, and everything else, even him, momentarily slips away.

For as many years as she can remember, Camdyn has loved the Keep’s library. It’s a treasure trove of information and stories unrivaled by anything save the Explorer’s League Library in Ironforge. The times she has been allowed access have been few and far between, but they have always been breathtaking. Despite the circumstances, now is no different.

She doesn't even have to glance around to find any spines she doesn't recognize; one sits directly at her eye-level on the shelf before her. It takes a massive force of effort not to reach out and run her fingers against it. Instead, she begins what she hopes is a surreptitious scan for any other new finds, building a running mental catalog of how many she's never seen and estimating how much time she'll need to request for her next visit to study them all.

Her calculations are interrupted by a slight addition of weight on her elbow. She looks down to find Varian's fingers closed around it again. His eyes sparkle a bit with amusement at her expense, and her throat restricts while damnable heat creeps up her neck. "Farran is almost here," Varian says.

Determined footfalls echo through the open door, and she can almost curse herself for having been so distracted as to have missed them. Varian's hand falls away from her elbow, and she's finally able to quell the spreading blush.

Moments later, a lanky man with dark hair dressed in robes of Stormwind blue stands in the doorway. "Your Majesty," he says with a brief bow in Varian's direction.

"We need a portal, Farran," Varian responds with a gesture around the edge of the bookshelf. Camdyn leads the way with Farran following close behind and Varian bringing up the rear.

As they step around the bookcase, Farran's long stride quickens and he moves even farther back than Camdyn expects, nearly racing for the back corner of the library. Once they've reached the back row of shelves, he glances around and then nods to himself, seemingly satisfied. The sleeves of his robe hang low over his hands, and he shoves them violently up over his elbows before wiggling his fingers and then allowing the arcane power to build and swirl between his palms.

“Where do you want to go?” He doesn't even look at her as he asks, his gaze instead flicking between the wisps rolling over his knuckles and the table nearest her.

“Light’s Hope," Camdyn answers. "The graveyard behind the chapel.” Farran looks at her then, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. She can’t help but give a half-hearted shrug. “It’ll be deserted this time of night. I figure it’s safer that way.”

Farran makes an amused snort. “A paladin worried about ‘safe’,” he mutters. “You’re lucky my brother has business dealings with the Crusade. I’ve gone with him a time or two to Light’s Hope and know the graveyard.”

The magic flows from his fingers into the rough yard of space between her hip and the table, spiraling and then coalescing before her into a portal. The eye of the portal widens, and what had once only been the smallest pinprick of light grows and expands until she can see Light’s Hope wavering in the portal’s epicenter. A heavy warmth she hadn’t expected settles in her gut at the sight of it.

She scrambles in her belt pouch for her coin purse, finally finding it stuck beneath her inkpot with its drawstring tangled around her miniature pestle. It takes a moment of fumbling to free the drawstring, but finally she does, and then withdraws two silver pieces and holds them out to Farran.

Instead, he stares at them in consternation for a moment before starting and then hesitantly reaching for them, frowning the whole time. The momentary worry that it wasn’t a large enough tip flashes through her; two silvers is the customary rate, but he is a mage in service to the king. She hesitates and fingers the drawstring of her coin purse again. Farran says nothing, however, still frowning at the silvers in his palm.

Taking it as an indication that he doesn’t expect more, Camdyn tucks her coin purse back into her belt pouch and secures the latch. As she straightens, she catches sight of Varian from the corner of her eye. He, too, is frowning in the direction of Farran's hand, but there’s no darkness under the set of his brow.

The realization that she might have caused some grave offense to her king makes her heart stutter in her chest before common sense gets the better of her. If Varian had been offended, he would be sure she knew it.

As she turns to face him fully, she can see that the corners of his mouth are beginning to quirk upwards ever so slightly.

She raises a fist to her shoulder and nods sharply, fighting the vestiges of adrenaline that are still leaving her shaky and threatening to cause a blush. “General,” she says.

His face softens and his head inclines in her direction. “Light’s speed, Camdyn.”

She turns back to the portal, and Farran, too, nods to her before turning and bowing to Varian and then exiting the library.

Camdyn refuses the urge to cast a final look in Varian's direction before stepping through the portal.

The first thing to hit her, even before she's fully crossed, is the smell. The incense, sweet mustiness of parchment and warm earthiness of leather immediately give way to the cleanly sharp, herbaceous scent of pine. Though the Plaguelands lie just beyond the walls of Light's Hope, the pungent stench of rot never dares to so much as waft in on the breeze.

The sun is red and brilliant as it sinks down behind the mountains, giving her more than enough light to see plainly as she takes a breath of the clean fresh air and then takes off at a run around the edge of the graveyard to the front of the cathedral. As she races through the gate near the front of the chapel that marks the border of the graveyard, she can see the front training yard.

It's empty and silent.

Camdyn's heart is in her mouth. She isn't sure what she expected, but it certainly wasn't this. The barracks are dark and silent. Craftsman Wilhelm's forge sits cold and dark, wholly untended, and Duke Zverenhoff and Quartermaster Breechlock are missing from their tent. Even Fiona's caravan and Khaelyn Steelwing are gone.

Light's Hope looks abandoned.

Her pulse thumps in her ears in time with the impact of her boots on the ground as she runs up the steps of the chapel. She shoulders bodily through the massive doors, and the tension in her finally loosens as Lord Tyrosus's deep voice reaches her through the widening gap. He sounds clipped and terse, but it isn't panic; it's authoritative command, and years of training have her responding to it instinctively, her nerves settling and her next breath a little deeper.

As the doors open enough for Camdyn to slip through, she sees Lord Tyrosus and Lord Shadowbreaker huddled over a small table where there once was a pulpit. Brother Barthalomew stands close by, the bones of his feet almost indiscernible from the white tile of the floor. He spots her first, but doesn't alert Tyrosus and Shadowbreaker, only inclining his head in her direction and shifting position just enough to allow her to sidle between his body and the table.

She closes the door firmly and whirls on her heel to face the front of the chapel again. "Lord Tyrosus!" she calls as she takes the first step down the aisle. It's a struggle to keep her stride purposeful and not simply run the rest of the way to him. She feels like she's done nothing but run for two days straight.

His head jerks up from the table at the sound of her voice, frowning. "Camdyn," he answers, sounding slightly astonished, his face softening as his eyes light with recognition. She slows to a stop as she reaches the table, nodding briefly both to Brother Barthalomew and Lord Shadowbreaker. She has only enough time to process that a map lays stretched out between them across the tabletop and that it isn't a map of Azeroth as a whole before a heavy gauntleted hand grips her shoulder almost paternally. "We heard what happened on the Broken Shore from the survivors of Highlord Fordring's excursion. I've also heard we have you to thank for having any of them back at all."

She shakes her head once firmly. "That's not true. And it isn't also what's most important right now. Highlord Tirion-"

"I know," Lord Tyrosus says, his voice warm but final. The corners of his mouth set and his hand falls away from her shoulder. "The Legion devastated us. I still can't believe it." Under the gruff authority, his voice is raw at the edges. It's too close to her own feelings, and a tight lump forms in her throat. "But we have to go back. Tirion had the Ashbringer with him."

Grief rips through her again as she realizes that the map on the table must be the map of the Broken Shore. "That blade cannot fall into the Legion's hands." He looks up at her again, his eyes sharp and appraising. It takes every bit of her training to simply stand still under the weight of that gaze. "You're the only paladin from the battle on the Broken Shore in any condition to lead us to the place where Tirion fell. The Ashbringer could be anywhere on that infernal island by now, but starting there is as good a place as any. Get some food, get your wounds seen to, and then come find me. We leave within the hour."

She nods sharply. "Yes, sir. I also bring word from King Varian. He requests an accounting of our numbers and to know who leads us after Tirion's loss."

Tyrosus makes a noise deep in his chest, and his mouth twists. "I'll be sure to send the answer to Stormwind as soon as I know it myself."

Tyrosus's answer makes her blood run cold with the realization that she has no idea where Everett is. A lump forms in her throat, and she swallows past it. "Where is everyone else, sir?" Despite her efforts, her voice is still rough, edging on raw.

"We pulled them back to keep them safe," he says softly. "Brother Barthalomew?"

Brother Bartholomew clears his throat, an affectation Camdyn thinks he must have carried over from life, before shuffling over to the left-hand windows of the chapel. He digs the spike on the end of his axe between two specific joins of floor tile. With a single, sharp twist of his wrists, a portion of the floor measuring at least four meters by seven meters rumbles and then scrapes back into itself, revealing a stone staircase beneath.

Shock and confusion leave her staring dumbly from the steps to Brother Barthalomew to Lord Tyrosus and back again. Nothing she had ever seen or heard had prepared her for the possibility of a hidden room under Light's Hope. Somehow, of all the things she has experienced in the last two days, this feels the most ludicrous, and she isn't sure how to respond to it.

"It's a hidden sanctum," Lord Shadowbreaker says gently as his hand comes up on her shoulder. "Kept apart and secret for times of great need."

If Camdyn ever had a true brother, more of a peer and less of a parent, it would be Grayson Shadowbreaker. Everett raised her, Gaibrial trained her, but Grayson had been her mentor in the order proper. He had led her through her early adventures and more than once helped her mend her wounded pride as surely as Everett had mended her skinned knees. She can't feel Grayson's hand on her shoulder through all the layers of leather and plate, the but weight of it is as massive and devastating to her nerves as the first blow of a siegebreaker to a dam, and it makes her throat burn and her thighs quiver with the mere effort of standing.

"Everett's downstairs," Grayson murmurs, voice low and soothing. "He's been.... hoping to see you again. Go get cleaned up, and I'll fetch you for Tyrosus in an hour."

Hearing her brother's name is all it takes to send Camdyn barreling down the stairs.

She manages to make the hard left just fine, though she takes the next hard right a bit wider, and when she nearly vaults the final small set of steps at the bottom, she almost slams directly into the paladin standing guard at the foot of the stairs on the left. He looks vaguely familiar, but she can't place him and doesn't really care to try.

The room she's stumbled into is split into two, each side a mirror of the other in shape and structure. The side to her right houses a rectangular table long enough for a dozen paladins to sit shoulder-to-shoulder on each of the long sides and take a meal, and three large curved alcoves. The alcove at its head has a map of the Broken Isles pinned to the wall, a second has no fewer than a half dozen massive bookcases reaching from floor to ceiling set from stones into the wall, and the third has a projection of Azeroth slowly spinning over a metal pedestal of what appears to be Titan make.

On her left, she sees an identical table, two library alcoves, and what she thinks are weapon stands in the alcove at the table's head.

Before her, the hallway seems to stretch for miles, passing through at least one more set of rooms before dropping off at the end into what appears to be a chapel that almost rivals the Cathedral of Light in size.

There's a continual low buzz of conversation, punctuated by the occasional clatter of weaponry and armor, and the smell of stew permeates the air. There are too many people to pick out her brother, and she doesn't have the time or the patience to go the length of what feels like an underground city to find him.

She whirls around to face the paladin at the foot of the stairs. "Everett Morris," she says to him, the words pressing their way out of her mouth. "Have you seen him?"

There's the sound of running feet behind her before the man she'd asked can answer. Hands clamp onto her shoulders, turn her around, and then she's pulled into a hug so tight that the joins of her armor actually squeak in protest.

"By the Light, baby sister," Everett murmurs into her hair, "I was so damned worried."

The adrenaline surge of being grabbed is immediately negated by the weight and warmth of her brother's face pressed to her temple. Her knees almost buckle, but his arms tighten around her and support her, giving her the strength to stand. She buries her face in his shoulder, her nose pressing into the side of his neck. The comforting, familiar smell of his shaving soap and the sound of his voice and the feeling of his skin is all too much. It's the last of anything her frayed nerves can take, and the tears begin to fall in earnest.

It's slow and silent at first, little more than barely ragged breathing and a slow trickle from her cheek to his shoulder, but it builds in her like a tidal wave, the grief and the anguish and the fear and the loss pulling on her soul until it's too heavy to bear, and she's openly sobbing in his arms, chest heaving with the effort just to breathe.

She cries until she's sure both the collar of her gambeson and the shoulder of his shirt are soaked through, until all that's left are dry hiccups, but she still can't stop.

"Ev. It was terrible. Just terrible." The words are little more than a rasp of sound, and they don't do justice to the horrors she witnessed and to the grief she carries. But they're the only words she has.

He doesn't ask her to elaborate. He doesn't even say anything. He responds the same way he did when she had nightmares as a child: he shushes her and makes to smooth his hand through her hair. His touch is soothing and familiar, and she eventually lets herself be calmed by it, cheek still pressed to his shoulder.

Callused thumbs stroke carefully against her cheeks as he turns her head so he can really look at her, and she winces at the pain in his grey eyes, at the pinched skin between his eyebrows as he spots the gash on her temple. Guilt that she hadn’t thought to heal it herself before she saw him gnaws at her gut even as he sighs and hovers a hand over her temple. Light warms her skin, coursing into her until it doesn't hurt anymore. Until the cut on her forehead is healed and her heart doesn't ache, until she just feels tired and spent instead of ravaged and raw.

"Come sit down and let me look at you," Everett says, leading her away from the foot of the stairs and to a nearby table. He directs her onto the bench, and she dutifully sits. "Is there anything else?" he asks as he sits next to her and pulls her left hand into his lap where he begins unbuckling the straps of her gauntlet.

A small part of her is equally amused and annoyed that he's undressing her as he did when she was a toddler, but the larger part of her is too tired to protest and is grateful for the moment to let someone else care for her. Grateful for a moment where she doesn't have to make any decisions. "No," she says as Everett pulls the gauntlet off and turns her hand over in his own, inspecting it to his satisfaction before placing her hand back in her own lap and reaching for her right one. "That was the only injury I had left. Promise."

He huffs a tiny noise as he works the straps of her right gauntlet. "They've got bathing stations set up down the hall and behind the privacy screens on the left," he says, almost under his breath as he pulls her gauntlet off and begins squinting at her fingers. He finally places it back in her lap, seemingly satisfied. "You go get cleaned up," he says as he stands from the bench and then bends to kiss her forehead, "and I'll see about getting you some fresh clothes and some food."

Camdyn's hand shoots out of its own accord, latching on to his, desperate for the touch and the contact. "I can't." Everett's eyebrows shoot up, and he stands stock still, waiting for her to finish. The reality of what she needs to do is too heavy to voice, weighing down her chest. But she forces a deep breath and exhales, ignoring how tremulous it sounds. "I have to go back to the Shore."

Everett's face looks like she might as well have reached up and slapped him. She's almost positive he even rocks back in his heels, just a fraction. "What?"

"Lord Tyrosus needs me to lead him to-" There's a catch in her throat. The swallow she forces past it makes her belly jump. "- to where the Ashbringer fell."

The storm clears from behind Everett's eyes, and he crouches in front of her. He places his free hand - the one she isn't clutching between both of her own - on her knee. "I understand," he says. It's little more than a murmur, but it's enough. They're both paladins, both soldiers, and they both know orders are orders. The knowledge still makes the lines around her brother's eyes deepen as he frowns, looks somehow older and grayer and more tired than he had a moment ago. "How long before you leave?"

"An hour."

"Do you need me to come? I can-"

"No!" The thought of it makes her heart stop. Felfire and brimstone flash across her subconscious, and she's almost sure she can smell burning flesh and the stench of death. Her nose stings as tears threaten again. "I wouldn't be able to do my job."

"An hour is enough time to think ab-"

"No."

Everett watches her for a moment, his expression slowly fading from concern into paternal affection. He pats her knee as he stands, her armor ringing slightly under his palm, and there's an impish smile lurking in the corners of his mouth as he looks down at her. "Well, then. The Crusade may still need you, but you smell like a demon's outhouse. And an hour is more than enough time for a bath."

Before Camdyn can so much as splutter in indignation, Everett tugs her to her feet. She barely has enough time to grab her gauntlets off the table before he drags her back to the main walkway where they turn away from the staircase leading back up into the chapel. They cross under a massive stone arch and step into what look like training rooms. A row of privacy screens flanks the left side of the walkway, while medical cots sit in neat rows on the right.

The Crusade had, apparently, been expecting more survivors from the Shore. Three dozen cots sit waiting, but only a half dozen are in use.

For a moment, hope lightens her chest. Eight survivors of Tirion's regiment had been on the gunship with her. She counts the cots again to be sure, her pulse sounding in her own ears. Perhaps two of them hadn't been as badly wounded as it had seemed. And then she sees it: at the end of the line, nearest the cathedral, two cots swathed in white, the bodies on them nothing but unmoving lumps. Her stomach wrenches, and her fingers grip Everett's.

"It's not fair," she spits.

Everett squeezes her hand gently as they continue down the walkway. "War never is, buttercup," he murmurs. The name he's called her by since he took her in is a slap in the face and makes his words even more stark.

"I know." It scrapes out of her throat, barely even sound, but loud enough if the second squeeze of his fingers is any indication.

He finally leads her around a privacy screen. There's a simple metal tub filled with clean, steaming water and an equally simple washstand. A soft-looking, clean towel and wash rag sit folded on a three-legged wooden stool, and a plain vanity sits in the far corner, a comb and brush laying neatly on its wooden top. Everett finally releases her hand, and his broad shoulders droop a little. It terrifies her in ways she can't describe. For as long as she can remember, her big brother has been a stoic rock for her to build her own foundation upon.

Camdyn never knew their mother, and she barely remembers their father. But she does remember the terrible days after their father's death, when she had been nothing more than a little girl convinced she had been left alone and abandoned, absolutely certain that the gods were enacting some terrible vendetta against her personally. And then Everett had come for her, and even though he cried for their father just as she did, he never seemed to wear his grief.

But now, seeing the weight of yet another war he's living to experience pressing down on him, a primal, visceral anger rises up in Camdyn, bubbling under her skin.

"It isn't right," she seethes. Her tears are hot as they run down her cheeks, and this time her jaw aches from the force of clenching her teeth together. Her gauntlets clatter to the floor by her feet, and her hands crank into fists, her fingernails biting into her palms.

Everett's back is still to her, but she watches as his shoulders rise and then fall with a slow, deep breath before he turns around.

There's lightning in his eyes, but there are also lines on his face that she can't recall ever seeing before. He looks weary, and it breaks her as surely as the subtle slump of his shoulders does. "War isn't ever fair," he says again, his voice low and measured and so worn. Camdyn chokes down her rage, trying to temper and quiet it so as not to add another burden to his load. But her tears just won't stop.

He cups her chin in his left hand and raises his right to her face, wiping her cheeks with his fingertips. "It isn't ever fair," he repeats gently. "And most times it isn't even understandable. You know that. You've lived through enough of them. I've always prayed you'd never live through another."

She swallows down a hiccup, and her hands slowly uncurl at her sides, relaxing against her brother's touch. "This isn't even a war, Ev," she finally whispers. The thought of giving it full voice is still too much, but she needs to speak the words all the same. "It's a massacre. We lost so many people, good people, and I had to watch so many of them die. I saw things that will haunt my nightmares forever." Pain twists his face, and she reaches up to wrap a hand around his wrist where he still holds her chin. "Gul'dan means to utterly destroy us. We have to stop him. I just don't know how."

Everett sighs and then lets his hands fall away from her face. His gaze slides past her shoulder, growing distant as he sets his hands on his hips. "You drive them back, one battle at a time," he finally says. "It's all you can do. Make them earn every inch of ground they try to take, and then refuse to let them have it."

It isn't the answer she'd hoped for, but at least it's a truthful one. Everett reaches up again to chafe the pad of his thumb across her cheek, presses a kiss to her forehead, and then steps toward the border of the privacy screen. "I'll see about finding you a clean gambeson and underpadding," he says. "Does your armor need any repairs?"

"No," she answers, trying to force away the rawness of her throat. "It should be fine."

Everett's eyebrow arches imperiously. "'Should be' or 'is'?"

"Is," she corrects. "It is fine."

He nods once in response. "I'll leave the gambeson and padding out here." And then he's gone.

The silence eats at her when he leaves. There are still others - the hum of conversation carries over the privacy screens - but for the first time since the Broken Shore, she is both alone and sober. It would be easy to succumb to the quiet, to let her fears and her anger and her pain fill the void. But she had never been drawn to what was easy. So instead, she carefully releases her hammer from its baldric and sets it aside before pointedly focusing on each step of her armor doffing, on each strap of leather and the give of each hinge closure.

Taking her hair down is no easy feat, stuck fast as it is with ichor and sweat and grime, but she carefully pulls each ruined hairpin free and sets it gently aside.

When she finally sinks into the steaming water, she mentally recites the names of her brothers and sisters who didn't make it home, and then says a prayer of thanks naming those who did. She turns herself over to the fragment of Light she carries within herself. Anger slowly gives way once again to grief, and then that, too, gradually eases.

In war, she knows, the hurt and the anguish will come in waves. The trick is to avoid drowning in them.

When she can finally take a breath that doesn't leave her lungs feeling constricted, she picks up the wash rag and the soap. She takes her time, letting herself feel the scuff of cloth against her skin, the slick slide of lather, focusing on every sensation. Washing her hair gives her time to focus on the feel of her fingertips against her scalp, the weight of the suds in her hair, and the feeling of that weight lifting as she scrubs.

Three washes later, and satisfied that not a speck of ichor remains in her hair, Camdyn finally rises from the tub. The water is cool as she steps over the lip of the tub and reaches for the towel, but it feels good against her skin in the slightly chill air of the chapel. It's a biting contrast to the heat of armor she's been trapped in for almost two days straight, and yet another way to scrub the experience of the Broken Shore from her skin.

Sticking her head around the edge of the privacy screen, she sees Everett has been true to his word. A small stack of clothing - topped by a new pair of underwear and a new breastband - sits neatly folded well within her reach.

She could rush through getting dressed and rearmored, but the solitude, the peaceful quiet are a balm to her nerves. So she stretches the moment out as long as possible. In nothing more than her underthings, she moves to the vanity and combs through the length of her hair. A quick check of the vanity's drawers turns up a pile of leather strips. She uses one to tie her hair back into a serviceable ponytail. She'll probably have to braid it closer to her head before battle, she knows, but for now, this will do.

After that, with no further distractions to focus on, it's a matter of a few minutes to get into her fresh underpadding and her armor.

As Camdyn exits the makeshift bathing chamber, a passing squire yanks the clump of soiled linens from her arms. She's left blinking after him for a moment, wondering if she should chase him down and say something, but then she sees him stop at each of the bathing chambers and collecting each of their linens as well.

Shrugging it off, she simply stands in the walkway, taking in the fingers of warmth seeping into her soul, wondering if the Light within herself is calling back to the Light swelling within this holy place. Her brother's hand curls around the back of her neck over her gorget.

"It's almost time," Everett murmurs.

Camdyn can't help the wince. She doesn't want to go back, but she knows she has to, so she steels her resolve and turns to her big brother. He doesn't look quite as weary or old as he did before, and it mends a crack in her spirit she doesn't want to think about. "I love you, Ev." She isn't sure if she ever tells him enough.

Everett smiles a little, something small and wistful, and then his arms are folding around her and bringing her in to his chest. "I love you, too, buttercup."

[sterling-starlight]

Chapter 10: Ebb and Flow

The fact that he could see his own breath, coming out in erratic bursts, said that he was anxious. The fact that White seemed to be sitting right in the middle of this bitter cold said that she was anxious and terrorfied. Staring at him with wide eyes that glistened like ice hands clutching onto the material of her hoodie like it was the single thing anchoring her to this reality. Or the only thing keeping her from running away.  There was a faint ringing in his head, something trying to pound the belief that it was just a hoodie and that White was just a frightened young woman into his brain. His common sense battling against what he knew to be the truth of the matter. 

“You came back.” Ingo said, breaking the silence. He drew his coat closer to him, fightint against the chill that was settling into his bones. 

“I had to,” White replied in a wavering voice.  One of her hands reached up to twist into her hair, ice crystals sprouting from her fingertips. She didn’t seem to even notice the ice creeping up to her scalp. 

“Where’s Emmet?” Ingo’s eyes canned the room for his brother. The younger twim popped up from beneath the counter like he had been summoned, two mugs and the tea kettle in his hands. Completely unpreturbed by the drop in temperature. 

“Oh, hi.” He greeted like this was a completely normal thing that happened every Tuesday. “I found her outside our apartment. Said she didn’t want to talk until you got home. Honey-lemon?”

This wasn’t Emmet’s usual nonchalance. Emmet only broke out the tea when he needed something to distract himself. Something he could focus on to avoid the Donphan in the room.  Ingo breathed in through his nose, but coughed when the frigid air assaulted his lungs.  Regathering his composure, he strode across the room to the couch White had taken over. She huddled into one corner nervously, so Ingo respectfully took the opposide one.  

“What did-”

“Do you two hate me?” 

Ingo and White spoke at the same time, the former being completely taken aback while the latter continued to fidget with that lock of her hair. It was almost entirely coated in frost. 

“I beg your pardon?” He questioned, “Why would Emmet and I hate you?”

“Because I’m not human.” White replied, she glaned at him out of the corner of her eye. “Because I kept this-” she waved a hand down her front, and the material of her hoodie looked more like fur than cotton. “-From you both.”

Thinking back to the stories and legends Ingo had been pouring over for the past three days, he took a while to choose his words carefully. Selkies in the stories were always desired and romanticized. There were only one or two that portrayed them as monsters to be fear as hated; but those were the stories where they were horrendous demons. As mockeries of Arceus’ Holy Design. 

White cut him off before he could defend himself. “You and Emmet... you looked at me like I wasn’t even me. Like I was... a thing.” She said, her voice barely audible. 

From  the kitchen, the kettle dropped onto the strove too heavily to be on purpose. 

“That isn’t-” He Ingo began uncertainly. He took off his cap to run a hand over his hair. “I apologize if it came across that way,” he said carefully. “It was just... suprising. Creatures like you-” He paused when he saw the hurt in White’s eyes. He cleared his throat, “People like you, we’ve only heard about them in folklore and children’s stories. How were we supposed to react?”

“...I dunno...” White replied weakly. She drew her knees up to her chest, finally letting go of her hair in favor of lacing her fingers together. “I had my mind set on you two being like me. I never really con-consi-...thought of what I would do if it turned out another way.” 

Ingo dared to shift just a little closer. He took the fact that he wasn’t instantly pushed back by some sort of cold wind as a positive sign. “We don’t hate you,” he assured gently. She turned her head to face him fully and smiled. Ingo wasn’t sure if it was just him, or if it was the room itself that had warmed up. 

“I’m really glad,” she said. “You two are my favorite.”

She smiled bright enough to illuminate the world. Ingo wanted to protect such a precious treasure with every fiber of his being.

As casual as he ever was, Emmet plopped down on the empty cushion between Ingo and White (although he still kept a respectable distance away from her), three mugs of tea expertly balanced on a tray. “Now that we’ve cleared the air a little bit,” he began, hanging Ingo a mug of honey-lemon and nudging a separate cup of what looked like hot coco in White’s direction, “how about some TV? White, I heard the newest episode of My Love; My Devotion airs tonight.”

“For real?! Turn it on, turn it on!” White bounced in her spot, the cold almost melting off her body as she stared at the blank television screen impatiently. Emmet chuckled and flipped the TV on to the drama station. Ingo signed and relaxed into the overstuffed cushions, resigning himself to a night of poorly written romance. 

---------------------------

“How could he do this?!” Surprisingly, it was Emmet who voiced his disbelief at the show.  As far as Ingo could tell (he was only half paying attention to the dribble), the male lead had chosen to go overseas to Hoenn for the sake of his business rather than stay in Kanto with his girlfriend. His heavily pregnant girlfriend because of course she was.

“Right? Doesn’t he know abandoning his pups is the single worst thing a parent can do? And he was so likable before.” White agreed vehemently, hugging her Seel plush (she had rushed to grab it during a commercial break). “Tatsuya deserves Nanase more than Kazuto does, anyway.” She said, referring to the three parts of the show’s main love triangle.  Honestly, polyamory would solve everyone’s problems, since all three parties clearly loved each other. Oh, but that wouldn’t be dramatic enough would it? How else would the writers incorporate a “whose baby is it, anyway?” story line? Despite how badly he wanted to rip this show’s writing to pieces, White was enjoying it. She was acting more like her old self; open and affectionate and happy. 

The episode finally ended with a grand, sweeping crescendo as Tatsuya boldly declared that he would take care of Nanase and her unborn child before it finally cut to the credits. Ingo breathed an internal sigh of relief, while Emmet and White boo’d. White was so displeased that she threw a few popcorn kernels at the screen. Which she quickly scooped up and ate before dropping herself back onto the couch. 

Ingo’s watch chirped happily, alerting him that it had just turned ten’o’clock. Had he really lost so much time with that show? There was no way it was only an hour long...

“Well...” White began as she stood back up, sucking the salt and butter from her fingers. “I guess I should get going now.” She offered a weak smile  to Ingo and Emmet. “Thanks for having me over, and for... being so nice to me. Not many humans would be, after learning what I am.” She began twisting a lock of hair around her hands again and looked away.

Ingo and Emmet exchanged glances. “It’s getting late. Are there even going to be bunks available at the shelter?” Emmet questioned. 

“If there isn’t, I can sleep in one of the canals,” White replied with a faint shrug. Her smile faltered at the corners, “I’ve done it before.”

“Or you could stay the night.” Ingo spoke up, causing the other two to look at him curiously. White shifted her weight, her eyes narrowing and lips pouting in consideration. It was unnatural, seeing her with so much restraint. “It’s too dark for you to be wandering the city by yourself.” He continued. 

White opened her mouth to argue, but the rumble of thunder quickly shut her off. She squeaked and held herself. “Where did that come from?” She asked in a quavering voice, glaring at the ceiling through her bangs. 

“A storm started brewing during the show’s run time,” Ingo informed. His sentence was punctuated by another, louder rumble. 

“OkayyouwinI’mstayingthankyou.” White somehow managed to say that entire sentence in a single breath. She practically dove back onto the couch, grabbed her plush, and snuggled into Emmet’s side for protection.  He wrapped his arm around her like he had done it a thousand times before, and Ingo felt disgusted that he was jealous over his brother.  Emmet was completely and utterly devoted to Elesa, what threat could he-

Ingo’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. Threat? Had he seriously classified his own brother as a potential threat? Arcues, this was maddening. But Ingo did the only thing that he could do whenever his thoughts and emotions began going places he didn’t want them to-

“Please excuse me,  I’d like to get to sleep early.”

-He got up and ran away like the gods damned coward that he was. Because that was all he knew how to do.

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

An Honest Betrayal

I’ve wanted to write this fic ever since I first played Masamune and Kojuro’s routes. 

Masamune is sterile and Kojuro and MC are desperate to protect him. Even if that means lying to him. NSFW  - Masamune x MC, Kojuro x MC. You can find it on AO3 

Someone stop me from writing smut to Panic at the Disco. Shenanigans occur. @yoosungshoodie and @kiserusmoke, this one is for ya’ll 

In adulthood, the son of Date Masamune came to be known as a great many things. His enemies pored over strategies, eager to destroy the son of the one eyed dragon, all while his allies remarked at his gentle smiles and quick wits. He was the perfect successor to an honourable bloodline, a fact that other people only ever said many years into his lifespan, but MC knew for certain at the time of his birth.

He was born in the middle of the night, while all sat silent and still and MC gripped at the hands of her midwives. As she cried out into every contraction, she searched the room for familiar faces, usually landing on the window last of all. No matter how the hours ebbed by, the moonlight outside remained exactly the same, leaving her to wonder exactly how many hours had passed by. Was the rest of the world frozen in time but for her little room? 

MC’s maids knew before she did that something was wrong, shooting each other second glances whenever she ran a hand over her stomach and groaned without fully realising. Her husband, she learned later, did not budge from outside. He sat beside her at her first contractions, planting gentle kisses to her forehead whenever her expression was contorted by pain. MC had seen him return from battle and fight for his life more than once, though she had never seen him so frightened nor so helpless as when she was no longer able to form coherent words and the midwives ushered him outside. 

As soon as she held her son in her arms, however, the agony of the previous hours faded from memory. She could not tear her eyes from his balled fists; the soft hair across his crown. She had no way to explain how she felt in that moment, but it was difficult not to think of bright futures and new beginnings. 

Masamune’s reaction was even more subdued than her own. He came crashing into the room the moment one of her maids poked their head around the door, only to freeze in place at the scene before him. When he moved, it was an afterthought, sinking to the floor beside her without a word. 

His first question was the one everyone else had been too polite to ask. 

“The eyes…are they….” 

“No.” 

In truth the child’s eyes had yet to take on their permanent colour, but that question had lingered at the back of his mind from the moment they put any serious thought into having children. Masamune had never gone so far as to say it, often falling into deep thought after sex and smoothing his fingers where usually he wore his eyepatch. If ever anyone was to comment on the child’s future looks, he would smile softly and only ever accept the notion that they would look very much like their mother. 

And, as MC guided their son into his nervous arms, she understood why he took the time to count every finger and toe. Any flaw on their newborn, any mark or oddity, would only serve to bolster the same rumours that had haunted Masamune from birth. 

As it was, he sat in silence for a long while, holding onto the baby with the same degree of care that one would expect when handling a vase or fragile tome. MC found that she could not help but gaze in awe at the sight of them, for he was so very big and their son so very small. MC found the rumours of the One Eyed Dragon ridiculous most days, but they bordered on laughable as she watched him fall still any time the baby so much as twitched an eyelid. 

“Perfect,” he said at last, smiling softly. “He has your nose.” 

“Mine?” 

“Mhmmm, look.” 

MC peered over, leaning her head into Masamune’s shoulder. 

“See?”

He shot her an affectionate glance and, even though she saw no resemblance, MC nodded all the same. 

“Do you think he knows he sent the entire castle into a frenzy?” 

MC raised an eyebrow at that, for it was news to her as well. She had been in her private rooms when the first contractions began and strayed only as far as her study, so even though she had been to tea outside of her rooms only the day before, it felt as if she had been gone for several years.

She cast her mind back through the fog of the last day to the tea in Masamune’s study, realisation slowly sinking in. It would be wrong for her to demand all of his attentions even in the final weeks of her pregnancy; he was the Lord and had far more of an obligation to his followers than to her. Even so, she noticed very quickly that Masamune’s meetings and paperwork grew few and far between, while Kojuro left the castle so often on one matter or another that in recent months it was unusual to see him at all. 

That day, as she poured tea, Masamune made two revelations. One, that Kojuro was home, having spent a fortnight meeting with one of the border clans in his lord’s place. The situation was delicate, though, and however respected Kojuro might have been, he was no true replacement for Masamune in everything. 

He was scheduled to meet them a few hours after they met for tea, though MC could tell he was reluctant from the way he scowled into his cup. 

It did not take her long to imagine the situation from there.: Masamune meeting with the leaders of the border clans, only to rush away at the news that she had gone into labour; Kojuro left behind to make sincere apologies. 

She touched a hand to her mouth and giggled. 

“Poor Kojuro.” 

“I’m sure he will forgive us,” said Masamune, gazing fondly into his son’s face. “Once he sees this face.” 

APPROX NINE MONTHS EARLIER As Yahiko, MC concluded very quickly that Yonezawa was a labyrinth. At first she cursed its overwhelming scale and endless passageways that led into little more than uninhabited rooms. As the Lady of the castle, though, she found it rather useful. It was never difficult to avoid a particular person, nor to find solitude. 

During her time as a page, she discovered her favourite hiding place of all; an abandoned garden accessible only by slipping through a side door of an equally abandoned study. While agonising over her situation as a page, as Masamune’s lover, as a poison taster, it was comforting to slip away and sit under the stars. 

Of late, she found she visited rather more than usual. 

After marrying Masamune and taking on the title of Lady Date, many-including her mother and Yahiko-had jested that her life was to become a great deal easier. She would not have to worry about magistrates or her next meal any longer; she had servants to take care of her, a devoted husband and by extension the loyalty of a clan who commanded influence. 

It was an optimistic thought, however. While it was true she had finer clothes and a grander lifestyle, the notion that it was simpler stayed only at the surface level. Her clothes were fine and her maids eager, but she had far more complicated problems to match the intricacies of her position. 

These problems sent her rushing into the abandoned garden in the middle of the night, clumsily wiping tears from her eyes. 

A wife of any status was expected to produce an heir. She had not been in the least bit surprised, therefore, when it came up in conversation a matter of months into their marriage. If anything, she found herself naively amused at the nervous, businesslike manner in which Masamune initially brought up the topic, using language he had almost certainly overheard from Kojuro. Having children was certainly prudent to securing the clan though only after she blushed did he admit to genuinely wanting a child. 

She understood his nervousness from the beginning, of course. There were already rumours about his character, both in the castle and many miles away. Whatever preconceived notions the world had of him would almost certainly follow through to his offspring and MC knew that the thought of a son or a daughter shouldering such a fate left him gloomier than ever. In the end he remained optimistic, though. No one had ever hated MC and a child would be as much hers as his. 

Months passed by, though, without a sign of pregnancy. MC continued to bleed as she always had, waking up to spots on her sheets that instantly dashed any hopes that this time she was with child for sure. 

After almost a year without a child, it was only natural that others would notice and MC accepted every medicine handed to her; every examination asked of her, all while pretending that a child was inconvenient. If ever the question came up, she merely laughed and commented that her husband was so busy of late that he had no time to raise a son. It was better for the people to believe they did not wish a child yet as opposed to the harsh reality. 

On this occasion, she was more upset than usual. 

Masamune left the day before to convene with extended members of his family and even though Kojuro had insisted on going with him, he received a firm refusal. The pair of them had only recently returned from battle, with Kojuro staying a while longer to calculate the losses and gather remaining resources. Masamune’s refusal was simple; as it concerned his family, he would take Shigezane instead, leaving Kojuro to stay in the castle unless otherwise required. 

MC had laughed at his disgruntled face as she said her goodbyes at the gate, whispering into her husband’s ear that he had better come home soon, for she had a feeling she would have good news for him. 

He had been gone only a matter of hours, though, when she began to bleed and, as a consequence of unfortunate timing, spent that particular evening with only the cobwebs for company. She could not stand the thought of Masamune returning to the same disappointment as before; the same grief that gnawed her insides. 

And so, for the second night in a row, she eyed her empty bed only to leave for the abandoned garden, craving silence and an unblemished sky. This time around, though, she was not alone. When she opened the hidden door, the scent of kiseru smoke lingered in the air and Kojuro sat under the stars as she had meant to. From the surprised way he turned to look at her, MC gathered the garden was one of his hiding places too. 

“MC?” He said, expression of contemplation quickly fading. “I didn’t know anyone else knew about this place.” 

“Neither did I,” she said and for a moment silence resumed. They had not planned to run into each other and, now that they had, both felt oddly exposed. Finally, Kojuro gestured for her to sit down beside him and she silently obeyed, considering how rare it was for her to be alone in his company. Kojuro was a constant presence alongside Masamune, though as an individual MC felt she hardly knew him at all. 

“I’ve been coming here since Masamune and Shigezane were young,” he said quietly, with a thoughtful puff of his pipe. “I thought matters were complicated even then.” 

It was difficult not to feel wistful as she watched the way the smoke from his pipe hit the night air and lingered for only a matter of seconds before disappearing completely. He spoke of times she had never known and would never touch, just as one day the both of them would disappear into the night like kiseru smoke, remaining alive only in stories like those. 

“I suppose they probably were.” 

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, before shooting her a sideways glance. “Tell me. The reason you’re here tonight… is it the same as mine?” 

MC blinked, a thousand awful scenarios flooding her senses at once. 

“I…” 

“In the interest of discretion, I have been the one organising the doctors and their potions,” he said, fixing his gaze on the stars. “Considering they have not succeeded, I have only two interpretations. That you are so very ill that there is no doctor in Japan with high enough credentials to uncover the problem….or…” 

He frowned at that, expression darkening. MC knew without having to ask what his second line of thought was and why he did not wish to pursue it. 

She too had reached that same conclusion around about the third or fourth time a doctor touched her body and repeated the same verdict as each one before: she was in excellent health and should not have any problems conceiving a child. 

There was only one to come to; one that became increasingly obvious the more she denied it. Perhaps the doctors were right and she truly was in excellent health. If that was true, however, then that meant the burden of infertility lay with Masamune, where such a fact was almost certainly dangerous. Masamune faced unrest and rumours at the best of times, but the knowledge that he could not sire an heir would cause problems in his own clan. 

At first her tears were hot and silent, shoulders shaking as she tried-and failed- to blink them away. She should have been relieved, but seeing Kojuro so concerned only made her realise exactly how conflicted her own emotions were. With a choke, she shielded her face with her hands and began to sob. 

“I don’t... know what to... do…” She managed to mumble, crumbling completely when Kojuro’s response was to ruffle his fingers through her hair as if she wept over a skinned knee and not the future of Yonezawa. 

“We’ll think of something,” he said softly, and even though he meant to soothe her, she found herself crying harder. 

“How? There needs to be an heir and we cannot just conjure one!” 

“I know. But we’ll think of something.” 

He sounded so convinced that she almost believed him. 

“There are...two possibilities.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yes,” Kojuro sighed, “though I do not like either of them.” 

“Tell me anyway.” 

The first choice was obvious and so too were Kojuro’s objections. Calling in more doctors to observe Masamune as opposed to MC had a decent chance of success, though it came a great risk. There was no guarantee that these doctors would not leak information to any of Masamune’s rivals, any one of whom would be grateful for the slightest hint of weakness. As much as Masamune loved MC and claimed her the most important person in his life, there was no denying the fact that she was merely his wife and could be replaced at any given moment.

The second was slightly more obscure, though its flaws equally clear. MC would fake a pregnancy and they would raise a foundling instead. Even if everyone involved were able to keep up the deception, the fact remained that the child would be one of convenience as opposed to their own flesh and blood and their responses and affections would reflect this simple fact. 

Their farewells that night were awkward, polite nods and formal words as if they had done far more than talk. Deep down, though, the awkwardness did not come from their conversation or the fact that they did not know one another very well, but from the third option that neither dared to mention but both had identified. 

The third option was for her to lie with another man.

Weeks passed, each day bleeding into the next. MC slept only at brief interludes, waking up to an empty bed and conflicted heart.

She knew it was unreasonable. As a matter of fact, it bordered on depraved. It was a betrayal, plain and simple, and Masamune took any to heart. Throughout history, men had lost their lives for lesser crimes and she hated the way it lingered at the back of her mind, never tempting, though always present.

After two weeks, she pulled on a cloak and left her room; begging forgiveness from her absent beloved as she sought out out a lover in the dead of night. A man trustworthy enough to keep her secret and not in the least bit shy about shouldering his share of the blame.

That night, she laid in the arms of a man who smelled of kiseru smoke; whose cheeks flushed pinker at her reaction to his disheveled room than her eyes across his body. She had expected his touches to feel somehow dishonest, yet her body relaxed into his so easily that she cursed herself, wishing she could close off her mind every time their lips touched. It was difficult, after all, not to think of the life she might have had. A life as Kojuro’s lover and possibly even Kojuro’s wife, scolding him over his messy floor and scattered papers.

She reminded herself that he would never love her, even as she wondered how it might feel. Without meaning to, she found herself running her fingers through his hair and her nails across his back, willing it to feel indecent and sighing into his kisses instead.

That night, they filled the room with sounds of pleasure; flesh against flesh and whispers in the dark. He slammed his hips into hers far harder and faster than her husband ever had, leaving her gasping and trembling from the intensity.

When she came the first time, it was with a silent scream, muffled by her own knuckles. Kojuro’s release happened only moments later, pleasure overtaking him as he spilled inside of her. The haze of pleasure that followed left MC feeling even more emotional about her circumstances than usual. She wondered if she loved him as much as her body did.

It was to be their only night together; they had only a small window of opportunity and had to make it count. MC lost count of how many infidelities she committed in that room, the number of times she and Kojuro both moaned into their respective climaxes.

He fell asleep with his head on her chest, exhausted and barely able to move. MC knew she ought to go back to her own bed, but her arms and legs were heavy from fatigue. Instead she settled for taking in the definitions of his jawline and the fall of his hair, considering that he was handsome and she had never paid attention before. If that evening left her pregnant, would their child inherit his features?

Rationally speaking, that was the worst outcome but as she stroked her fingers through his hair, she found she could not consider it so.

PRESENT DAY

Within a matter of days, the young Lord’s eyes changed to a vibrant green. The same as his father’s, according to almost anyone who looked, never knowing how right they were. Masamune smiled brightly whenever he peered into them, stroking the child’s hair and speaking in a soft voice that even MC had not heard before.

On occasions that he couldn’t sleep and Masamune had yet to come to bed, MC would lift her son into her arms and take a walk into the abandoned garden. Most nights she was alone save for her son, who squirmed in her arms on the occasions he did not sleep, stretching out pudgy fists and sometimes even opening his eyes to the sound of her lullaby.

Every time she sat alone in the garden, she pored over his face; his brilliant green eyes and chubby cheeks; his soft brown hair that most attributed to her incorrectly. Even when he fell asleep in her arms, she found herself remembering the way Kojuro had looked sleeping on her chest. Their son was a near perfect copy, without a hint of Masamune or herself. He was all Kojuro and, almost ironically, in that he was safe. Had she taken another man to her bed, Kojuro would almost certainly be the one to piece together her lie.

On this night in particular her son fell asleep earlier than usual, and she watched the stars instead, wondering how it was she had come to feel so lonely in a place she once escaped to for solitude.

The answer came to her with the opening of a sliding door.

“Oh...I...I did not expect to find you here,” said Kojuro, turning to dismiss himself from her company.

MC considered saying that she did not believe him, but instead smiled faintly and motioned for him to sit beside her. His body was warm against hers and she caught the scent of smoke and dust from his clothes. The same scent that lingered about his room as he ran his hands across her skin.

“Do you think we did the right thing?” She asked, picking out a particularly bright star above the nearest roof.

“I suppose that depends on what you mean. House Date is secure. We achieved our objective.”

“It was still a betrayal,” said MC, “however honest.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he stole glances at the infant in her arms. The child who one day she was certain would resemble him in every way. Finally, he reached into his pockets for his pipe, only to rethink it and run his fingers through his hair instead.

“If he brings honour to the Date clan, then it was worth it,” said Kojuro. “That’s the only expectation I would have of a son.”

He smiled into the face of her sleeping child and lowered the hand that tousled his hair, hesitantly reaching to touch the child’s crown, but retracting his fingers at the last second.

Not for the first time, MC wondered who had truly betrayed who. One thing she knew, though. No matter his circumstances, her son would be a great man; honourable, wise and gentle. He would be the sum of his parts, even if it left her empty.

In the years that followed, she was not wrong. Her son grew tall and strong, with Masamune’s soft smile and her own laughter. He was beloved by the citizens of Yonezawa, many of whom could point him out at sixty paces. In every illustration ever made and every story, one detail remained the same. The son of Date Masamune carried a kiseru pipe, handed down to him from his father’s advisor and mentor in childhood. A pipe he held affectionately, though never smoked, for the scent left his father nostalgic and his mother in tears.

[redinkofshame]

Ink Blot, coming soon

Some of you know by now, of course, but I wanted to let my followers know that 

Red Ink is expecting a baby ink blot in March!

The pregnancy has really been affecting my ability to get any writing done, but Blot and I are doing just fine.

To celebrate I wanted to write a papae!Solas fic :D I also wanted to get it done like 3-4 months ago, but... Well anyway, this is one of the first scenes that came to my mind when I moved to Solavellan Hell, before I started devouring fic and lore. 

This is a post-Inquisition, pre-Trespasser fix-it fic! But, like, a sad fix-it fic, so I’m going to spoil it at the same time I give you the content warnings: Everyone will be okay, but if you’ve had/been close to someone who’s had a miscarriage or stillbirth, or any other child death really, this is likely not for you. But everyone will be okay.

I’ll also be posted it on AO3... When I think of a title. Edit: Here you go!

Okay, papae!Solas, under the cut!

Fen’Harel shone in resplendent armor atop a long forgotten battlement in Tevinter’s late afternoon sun. His feet were planted wide as he surveyed a small troop of infiltrators preparing for their mission on the ground below. Once comprised of hungry refugees, his forces were now fully equipped and approaching semblance of organization, however inexperienced. Then again, they were mortals all, and none held the lifespan to gain mastery in his eyes.

They would do for his purposes. They would have to.

They would leave in shifts with the sun, covertly entering Par Vollen in groups of two or three, depending on the task he’d assigned them. He, of course, would not be joining them—the Dread Wolf had more important matters to attend.

His first lieutenant, Arel, approached him—elven, feminine, and spirited enough to occasionally cause him grief, they were nonetheless devoted entirely to his cause.

“Report.”

“All operations are on schedule, My Lord. No complications are expected, though we are well prepared for many contingencies.”

He clasped his hands neatly behind him. “And the Inquisition?” he asked, face carefully neutral. Despite his best efforts to act detached, many of his agents had inevitably learned caution when broaching the subject of Inquisitor Keria Lavellan, or the Inquisition at large. Distasteful, that he had failed to conceal such complications from his own people; unavoidable, perhaps, that his enemies might learn of his weakness. He could hardly fault his spies—he had chosen them for their skills of observation, after all.

“No changes. Their forces will not be a problem, My Lord.”

“Do not lose caution. They’ve been known to change targets upon only her whim.”

“Yes…” they drawled, sounding confused. “But given the circumstances we can discount that factor. It is excellent timing indeed that we do this now. If I may say so, I believe with her passing we will have ample time to move forward on many fronts.”

His mind felt foggy in its attempt to understand them. Had he missed a written report? The passing of what?

“What do you mean? Speak plainly.”

They sighed. “It has been four days, and still no changes. She is surrounded by the finest healers they could send for, but I’ve never known a woman to survive after enduring this long.”

Solas’ eyebrows knit and he snapped his attention to his lieutenant. Keria was…Ill? Dying? That could not be.

Eyes cast to the parties below, Arel did not notice his reaction and continued. “With the Inquisition in mourning and without leadership they will be unlikely to take any new measures for some time. Our spies suggest that the advisors are already prepared for this eventuality, however, so we still need to act quickly. It is expected that they will announce Lady Pentaghast as the new Inquisitor, but of course delays will be expected as the sword changes hands.”

He felt disoriented, as if lost in a new section of the Fade that refused to listen to reason—nothing they were telling him made sense. Panic rose like a storm. “What do you mean? Why-why was I not told about this!” he demanded.

They raised an eyebrow as if he were an impetuous child—they were the only member of his army brave enough to do so. “We always knew this was a possibility, Lord Fen’Harel. Any woman, no matter how powerful, can fall victim to the birthing bed.”

The birthing… His eyes were wide and unseeing as his mind whirled. Keria could not die—It was not yet her time! She had a few years left to find happiness; how could something so mundane take a spirit such as hers? Why had he not been told, when had this…?

His hands clenched behind him as he forced himself to think. Time had never been his ally. It would have been forty weeks, more or less, if she was in labor now. Just over nine months, assuming she had not come early. He was still with the Inquisition at that time, three months before the final battle—

He was still with her at that time, he realized. Travelling, on their way to Crestwood…

Lost in a haze made equal parts of bliss and denial. She had imbibed of the Well, and though for now the truths it whispered in her ear would propose more questions than answers, he knew that with her focus it was only a matter of time until she mastered enough to understand.

He’d been furious with himself for allowing it to happen, and further disappointed in himself still that he in some small part felt relieved—he knew this meant it was time to tell her his own truth, their own truth. She needed to know, to harness her high-priced knowledge, and he could finally come clean as if himself submerged.

He’d come to his senses before his cleansing could come to pass, fortunately. He had broken off what never should have been.

He pictured six months ago, twenty-four weeks, holding the shattered remnant of his foci in his hands and the dread of knowing what sacrifices came next weighing like stone in his chest. He remembered leaving his heart behind, unable to even bid the bare-faced Dalish girl farewell before disappearing from her life.

Not a week later, one of his new recruits—still wearing an Inquisitor’s scouting uniform—was nervously reporting to him.

“You’re familiar with the, ah, rumors going on around Skyhold about the condition the Inquisitor is in?”

“I am well aware of the state of both the Inquisitor and the Inquisition when I left. Your job is to update me on any changes,” he’d snapped.

“Right, well… You know how she was pretty severely injured at the battle with Corypheus?”

“I was there,” he repeated, irate. He needed no reminder of watching her small body flying through the air like lightning and striking broken stones crossing over from the Fade. It had been only a few days, a blink of the eye, since he held his shattered orb in his hands and walked away from his heart.

“She-she is expected to make a full recovery. It seems that, miraculously, the baby survived the injuries.”

Any relief he’d felt was washed away as fury flooded him. While true that some of her inner circle affectionately referred to her as a ‘baby’ due to her intolerance of pain, this miscellaneous recruit had no right to the demeaning nickname. “Watch your tongue,” he warned, seething through bared teeth.

“Wh-what? I, um, yes, Fen’Harel. My Lord. Nothing else to report.”

After that he no longer took scout reports directly.

That couldn’t be it, surely. They would have mentioned it again. What else had he missed? Then he remembered four months ago when his newly appointed second in command had glossed over something he hadn’t quite caught.

He’d been examining a relic recovered by his agents, trying to determine if it still held value, held power. It would prove useful, could he get it working anew, but he did not think that would be the case. Arel found him and gave him what could be described as a report only if one was generous; it much more closely resembled idle gossip regarding the going-ons of his men. He should have balked at their informality, but the company was tolerable and it never hurt to know more about those who served him.

“Jonan’s wife is pregnant. Their first. He’s not asking for time away yet, but he seems rather anxious about it. We should avoid asking him to do anything overtly dangerous for the time being--no point in forcing him into refusing to follow orders. We’ll have to be careful not to appear to be giving him special treatment, of course, or else all kinds of pregnant wives or sick relatives will come out of the woodwork.

“Speaking of, the Inquisitor is starting to show, too, it seems. Winter comes early to Skyhold though, so only her inner circle will have noticed so far. Not that there aren’t rumors in Orlais, but there always have been. Unsurprisingly, she is not allowing it to slow her down. I imagine it will be easy to continue to hide until spring.” He hadn’t understood what they meant by ‘show’--making a show of force, or manipulating trade under the noses of the Orlesians perhaps? For all that she hated it, Keria had a keen mind for politics. He did not get the chance to ask before they continued, though. “Which reminds me, I left supply reports on your desk. Nothing interesting; the winters are mild this far north, and we are well stocked.

He remembered two months ago. He had just finished communing with a guiding spirit in the Fade when Arel found him.

He had been agitated, and in a hurry. What he’d learned from the spirit was concerning: there was an untrustworthy agent in his midst. They would need to be swiftly taken care of. Arel did not get in his way, but he recognized the way they bowed as he passed—a way reserved for when they had something of some urgency to tell him… Or something regarding Keria.

“Be quick.”

“Yes, Fen’Harel. The Lady Inquisitor has finally confirmed her condition publicly. Nothing else to report.”

“Condition?”

“Physical condition, my lord.”

“Fine, thank you,” he had said, brushing them off. He did not have the time to wonder over the significance of confirming something they already knew, however curious it was to announce publicly that the Anchor was growing. Keria did not often admit to weakness.

He thought back to four days ago.

He’d been in his war room, large detailed maps of different countries on intricate stone tables. Arel strolled from the map of Tevinter to that of Orlais and Ferelden, covered as it was with pieces indicating the Inquisition’s movements.

“The Inquisitor was investigating rumor of a lingering rift in the Arbor Wilds and came upon a ruin near that of Mythal’s temple and the former Well of Sorrows. Reports say it appears to be untouched, though of course centuries of neglect have not been kind. It appears to be a temple dedicated to Elgar’nan.”

They paused, then, looking at Solas pointedly. They were waiting for him to confirm that he’d been aware of the temple’s existence. In truth, he had not—it had not existed in his time. Long ago Mythal’s temple had been much larger, so it was likely she’d only discovered an annex that was dedicated to her husband. He wondered if Keria would find the annex dedicated to him.

He said nothing. Posturing was necessary—it would not inspire his ranks to see him guessing, to suspect that he only partially knew how to accomplish his goals. Better to seem as if he already had all the answers, and only shared them with his followers when the time came. As an added benefit, it also discouraged unwanted questions.

Faced with silence, Arel continued. “Any excavation has been suspended due to the Inquisitor going into labor, however. A presence will remain to protect the area, but she wants to be there when it is opened for the first time. I don’t know what she’s hoping to find, but if you have any reason to suspect we should investigate ourselves first, now would be the time to do so.”

He didn’t understand what new labor they spoke of, or why Keria would wish to oversee it herself—physical labor was never her forte and the Inquisition had many labor forces across Thedas bringing in various resources—but it mattered little. “No. There is nothing to be found in the Wilds.”

Atop his wall in Tevinter, Fen’Harel stared unseeing as the pieces slowly fell into place.

He strode away without a word, long legs quickly crossing over the stones beneath his feet to a nearby hall. A flick of his wrist and an eluvian hummed to life, scarcely in time for him to walk through it. Once he was through he closed the portal behind him. Out of view of his soldiers his pace quickened further. Sprinting now, panic chased him through the labyrinth and broken steps of shattered memories. He thought only of Keria, his heart, her pulse slowing as she lay in her deathbed due to a condition he had inflicted upon her.

It should not have been—his seed should not have been able to take root in her. He’d taken measures against it; as had she, as unreliable as mortal means were.

He nearly considered that the blame might belong to another and not him, then, but no—despite the relief the idea brought, it was only an attempt to assuage his guilt. It made no matter, in any case. This could not be allowed to happen.

He knew he had concealed men watching the eluvian that led to Skyhold, but he was beyond caring about being seen running to her. He was panting hard, unwilling to waste even the small amount of mana needed to keep his body comfortable; he did not know just what he was walking in to.

He jumped in the portal, landing in the small misused room off Skyhold’s gardens. He burst out the door, hardly noticing the startled guards standing to either side of it. They called out confused alarms but he did not slow, darting to the main hall.

Other guards, standing before the door that led to the Inquisitor’s suite, saw him coming. They heard the shouts, saw the expression he wore. They snapped to attention and one made as if to block the door, but the other grabbed their shoulder and muttered something. They each looked at a loss at what to do.

The Inquisitor had once given an open-ended order to allow her apostate consort into her bedchamber at any time, day or night; by the guards’ confusion, she had never officially rescinded the order, but they expected he was no longer welcome.

He did not care what they decided—he did not need their permission to pass.

With a gauntlet he harmlessly knocked aside a spear as it crossed over the door, not allowing it to slow this progress. Past the door he took the stairs two or three at a time and flung upon the door to her room—once his, once theirs—and made quick work of those stairs as well. He took in the somber environment as his head rose above the banister.

Despite the balcony doors open wide to the bitter mountain air the room was warm, humid, the air thick with the scent of sweat and blood. Keria laid abed, twisted in damp sheets, and it was small wonder why she suffered so; too petite by half even in her condition. Especially in her condition. Her storm-black hair, normally full of static and wind, clung damp to her forehead. It had grown longer since he’d last seen her.

Surrounding her were several women; midwives and healers. The room was too quiet for a birthing. There were neither screams nor soothing assurances, no instructions to push or breath measured breaths. Hardly a sound at all. There was only a dying legend, surrounded by those attempting to keep her alive for as long as possible. Across from him, sitting limply in a stiff chair was a weary Dorian.

Why would a necromancer…?

His heart seized as he remembered overhearing a report given to Leliana in the rookery from his position at his desk, soon after the incident in Crestwood and her replacing him with Dorian in her missions. She had fallen in battle without him there to shield her, and Dorian had to take hold of her very spirit and force it to return to her lifeless body.

And here he was, looking utterly spent, empty lyrium bottles crowding a small table beside him.

All this he took in within a single heartbeat before rushing to Keria’s side, paying no heed to Dorian climbing to his feet accusatorily, or to the boots stomping up the stairs behind him. He reached a hand to Keria’s abdomen, a quick seeping of magic allowing him to analyze her condition.

A confirmation of his fears. Drastic blood loss and muscles too weak to move, her body was giving up the fight. Her breast hardly rose or fell with her breath as she drifted in and out of the Fade.

“What are you doing to her?” demanded a Tevinter accent, but he scarcely heard it. Through the hand resting on his vhenan he sent a flood of healing magic, spreading through her exhausted muscles to revive them, washing into her marrow until fresh blood ran through her veins.

The Anchor flared green and she gasped as if she’d been drowning, electric eyes flying open in surprise.

And then she screamed in pain.

The midwives rushed forward, finding their voices as they propped up her legs and folding up the blanket once more.

“Can you push?”

“Is that the father?”

“She’s still losing blood.”

“He shouldn’t be in here.”

“Just one more big one, Lady Inquisitor, just one more push…”

“Are you going to kick him out?”

He turned his attention to dulling her pain, removing his gauntlets to take her unmarked hand. Dorian gripped his staff, but glanced uncertainly between him and Keria. That is, until the feet crested the stairs, steel clearing scabbards.

“Seize h—Solas?” The Lady Seeker’s voice was incredulous over the sound of screams.

For her he spared a glance over his shoulder, saw her men on alert and waiting dutifully for her command.

“He helped her, Cassandra,” Dorian explained helplessly.

“You did it!” joyfully cried the woman standing at the foot of Keria’s bed, turning the heads of Cassandra and both mages. “You’re done, you did it, Lady Inquisitor.”

He turned his attention to his heart, her hand still in his. Tears fell from her eyes like rain, her face twisted, and he knew it was not from the pain.

“Why are they quiet? Are they still? I failed, didn’t I?” she asked, choking on her sobs. “I’m sorry, I tried, I’m so sorry ma da’len, I…”

Aside from her plaintive apologies a hush fell over the room, a loss of words for her loss. And then, a new cry shattered it.

Solas’ attention snapped to the squirming bundle in the midwife’s hand, small and red and shrieking as a second pair of hands attempted to clean it with a rag. Joyfully, tears in her eyes, the woman said, “You see? You hear your son’s cries, Lady Inquisitor? You did it. You did wonderfully.”

The air left his chest.

Somehow…

Somehow in his rush to save Keria he had all but forgotten that children were often a consequence of labor.

He stared, unmoving, unbreathing, only his eyes following as the neonate was walked to Keria’s side and passed to her arms. She was laughing, she was crying, and she was holding…

“A son?” Solas whispered, unbelieving.  

“Yes…” slowly answered a healer, eyeing him hesitantly.

“He’s so beautiful,” Keria murmured.

“Is that the father?” whispered another healer again.

“Yes,” Keria answered this time, speaking clearly. “He is.”

“And he shouldn’t be in here,” Dorian said, irritated.

Solas supposed he had right to be.

“If he helped her…” Cassandra replied, uncertain.

“He’s staying,” Keria commanded, voice regal despite her rough throat. “If he wishes. He may come and go as he pleases.”

That stopped Cassandra and Dorian both, though they looked unconvinced. The healers continued their routine checks, and explained to her that the newborn was undersized, but healthy.

An unsure moment passed, mother gleefully quieting child, before she begged the nurses to take him back. “I’m sorry, I’m too tired, I’ll drop him. Take him. No, wait—his father. He should see his father.”

Cassandra made as if to move forward. “Inquisitor…”

“Just for a moment. I just need to shut my eyes.”

Her eyes were indeed blinking slow and sleepily as the nurses tried to take the infant, but she passed him to Solas instead. Not knowing what else to do, he took his son before she could drift off into a natural slumber. He was glad he’d divested of his gauntlets, afraid to hold the infant against the cold of his dragon bone armor or the hair of the pelt slung over his shoulder. Knees weak he sat for stability at an angle upon the bed in which his heart slept.

He could not take his eyes off the miracle before him; not when the healers filed out and the midwife warned that she’d be back soon to rouse Keria into feeding the baby, not when Cassandra relieved Dorian of his post and dismissed the soldiers, nor as she stood guard before the only exit and scowled at Solas with her hand on her hilt and a few inches of the silverite blade exposed.

Instead he saw only plush pink skin, small gripping fists, and impossibly small, delicately pointed ears.

He choked on a sob.

He thought of his transgressions, his role, his guilt. He thought of those he’d trapped when he spun the Veil, their spirits caught in a limbo that he’d planned to free when the veil was no more. He thought of the knowledge, the history, the connection with magic and spirits that was now lost on his people, never to be regained. He thought of the millennia of years the elves had spent enslaved despite his efforts to stop exactly that, and tried to imagine the pain each and every one of them had gone through.

His tears fell upon the small blanket swaddling his son. He noticed for the first time that it must have been embroidered by his mother’s hand. Cassandra released her grip upon her hilt and moved out to the balcony and watched the sun setting.

He wept for his people because, looking at his son, he knew he would no longer save them.

He alone could walk the din’anshiral. He alone could undo what he’d wrought and restore them to what they were meant to be. But he would not.

For this was not the first time he’d held his child.

He’d been a father before. He’d lived a long life, and had been graced with many loves and with several children. He’d loved each of his children with his whole heart, had been so proud of who they became… And he was, ultimately, responsible for each of their deaths.

Some had died in the war he’d started, his rebellion. Two slain fighting right beside him, others casualties of politics in effort to stay his hands. He rose the Veil in an effort to save them all, to protect the family that remained to him, to save his people from themselves…

He did not know how long it took him, trapped and wandering in the Fade, to learn of their fates. For countless years he hunted and traded secret memories, searching for answers. One by one, he learned of what happened to each of his beautiful children. There was not one demise met that could not be laid at his feet, either directly or as a consequence of the chaos he’d caused.

It was too late to save any of them, but it was not too late for this one small son that should not have been. He entertained only briefly the thought of waiting before giving up his journey; perhaps the boy was mortal, perhaps his mission could wait until after their lifetime. But no--there could be grandchildren, could be generations more. He could not treat his son’s life, Keria’s life, as if it were merely an inconvenient delay. He must commit to a single decision, and he knew in his heart he was more powerless now than the wriggling infant exhausted from the burden of being born.

And so he wept; for all these centuries his efforts and his name had been twisted into something vile, now he would become Betrayer in truth.

He felt a warm, weak grip on his wrist. “It’s okay. It’s okay, it’ll be okay.” Astonished, he turned and looked at Keria, her large eyes as wet as his own. That she could still treat him with kindness after he’d abandoned her… Would she still, once she knew the truth? Voice a hoarse whisper, she asked him, “Are you back?”

He shifted so that he could cover her hand with his without disturbing his son. “Yes. For good, this time.”

[red-shepherds]

The Prince And The Cartographer

Segment two; Phaethon’s POV. I like POV switching but....to be real, it’s mostly gonna be from mine. I feel uncomfortable writing as Phaethon being attracted to me, it’s so meta and tangly that it gets weird haha!

Sea breezes played in my hair as I took my watch. I expected no trouble, not tonight—not on such a fortuitous night, surely. After all, for the first time in a long time, I was not entirely focused on the task at hand.

The reality of that almost frightened me.

It had been years—literal, entire years—since I'd been anything but fixated on one quest or another. Since.....since I was sixteen and set out to kill my father, at least. Seven years. I shut my eyes, pushing down the memories of the labyrinth. Not what I needed to be thinking about—now or ever.

I forced my mind to go in a different direction, thinking over today's events. And, of course—it got pulled right back to Adina. It scared me, the degree to which they were dominating my thoughts, but I couldn't change it and wouldn't if I could've. I kept thinking back to the interest I'd seen in those pale eyes of theirs—green, I think they were? Green or the nameless pale of the sky, I'd say. Hard to discern when I was respecting their personal space.

Tall, with wide shoulders but a willowy body, and not a curve on them—not really my type, usually, but they had wiry muscle to spare and a clever mind. And gender ambiguity, which was actually more attractive to me than you'd think. I like women and men. Someone who's neither...is actually more ideal than I'd realized.

I had to be careful. Rushing headlong into things wasn't my way, and certainly wasn't theirs from how they kept shying back. But wanting something for the first time in a long time was...a new sensation, for me.

I sighed, reprimanding myself. I didn't even know them yet, not really, and I was already scaring them off by being overeager.

The sea rocked around us as I settled myself back down, and I was almost back to normal by the time the door to the belowdecks creaked behind me. From the scent...Adina. Hyakinthos smelled of a touch too much wine usually; Lachesis of nothing more than the sea. Adina...parchment and dust and spices clung to them, mixed with their own natural sweetness. Heady and intoxicating and—I had been too distracted by the smell of them to notice that they were walking across the deck, right toward me.

Their slender arms draped over the railing, pale white against the dark wood, and I looked up at them casually. They weren't looking at me, rather up at the stars with some unreadable emotion. My eyes traveled downward, to the swan curve of their neck, to the prominent collarbones.

Gods, I was already in over my head, here.

“We should probably get to know each other, y'know. Five months on a ship...it'll get old fast without at least a little context.” they didn't look at me, but they smiled a bit. “Of course. A game, then—I ask a question, you ask one in turn?” “I'll consent to that, yeah.”

“Why cartography?” “Because I have an atrocious sense of direction and I need some context as to where I'm going. Besides, I have to be drawing something at all times. Maps give me an excuse. How did you find me, out of every cartographer in Knossos?”

“You signed the atlas you gave me years back. Only a single signature, on one page, but it was clearly a passion project and...well, I'd know about those. Why would you doubt being chosen?” “Because I doubt everything, my king. Same reason I've been parrying your advances—it's near impossible for me to admit to myself that they're genuine. So...what would you know of passion projects?” “Everything I do is a passion project, Adina. Rising to power was, sailing is, raising Heli—it's all because it's what I want to do. Everything I do is because I have a drive.” “You'd have to, to raise Heli.” “Are you calling my child a ruffian?” “No, I'm saying you adopted her when she was already a fully formed person. She must rebel more than you'd really like.”

“Ah. No, we have mutual respect. She's a good girl, usually. As good as any fourteen year old could be.” Adina seemed satisfied with that, nodding.

“I was fourteen when you reached the throne. Wish I'd been older—I could've understood so much more about everything at the time.” “To be frank, I didn't understand much either. I was seventeen, a bronking buck of a man. I didn't know what was going on, not really, but I knew I'd done what I had to do. Of course...that was after the labyrinth. I understood more and less after that ordeal.” “I think it's time to turn the topic at that. Um. What do you like to do in your free time?” “Puzzles, riddles...anything that works my mind. Wandering the city is nice as well. And...this. Being out on the open ocean, surrounded by the sea.” I closed my eyes for a second, and when I opened them, Adina had moved a little closer, relaxed their posture by a good measure. They were starting to see more of the man in me, it seemed. Good.

“Your turn,” they said, softly.

“What do you think of me, Adina? Truly.” “I'm still trying to figure that out. I think you're handsome, and you seem to be kind, and clever, and funny. And...intimidating, and a challenge to my idea that no one would be into me. You...are into me?” “There you go leading me into it again. Lachesis isn't here to keep me from speaking my mind this time, and that's the only warning I'll give you. You're sure?” “I think I'm prepared this time. I can always write this off as a dream.” “Please don't. If you're sure of anything, be sure that this is real or we are sharing a dream, and in that, there is no difference.” “How do you know you aren't dreaming me?” “I—don't. But my dreams are darker than this, always. I don't see—I'm pretty sure I'm awake.” “Then go for it. I'm ready. Tell me the honest truth.” “As opposed to the dishonest truth?” “You're stalling.” “I'm trying to think of clever lines, Mx. Adina. I'm clever but not necessarily quick.”

“Okay, okay.” “Since I've been given no time to be clever, I'll be honest. I think you're devastatingly attractive, at the very least. I'm strangely enthralled by you—I think it's cute that you're shy, and I think it's adorable that you keep asking for me to flirt and then getting scared by it. I think you don't give yourself nearly enough credit for your work, or your appeals. I think....I should like to get to know you better, Mx. Adina of Chalcis.”

“I think you've been given ample time to,” they replied, unconsciously leaning closer.

“Yes, but I still need to devote my attention to it. As though I had a choice at this point. You've captured my—” I broke off when I heard a noise from the front of the ship. A sharp look up revealed that we'd drifted into exactly what I hadn't expected—trouble. I dashed to the front of the ship, and saw it—a whirlpool forming, huge and glowing slightly.

I cursed, trying to think of something—anything—that could be done to avert the coming disaster. We were too close to avoid it, already starting to get caught in its force. First course of action—wake Lachesis and Hyakinthos. Adina was ahead of me, there—I turned in time to see them disappearing belowdecks to get them. By the time the whirlpool finished forming, we were all above decks and awake enough to function. Lachesis had a steely look in her eye—that of a hardened sailor. Hyakinthos was mostly just tired. Adina...Adina was panicking, understandably so.

There was nothing else to be done at the moment—all there was to do was comfort them. I walked closer, placed a hand on each of their shoulders. Their eyes stopped darting too and fro and settled on me. Their breathing didn't even out, but they settled slightly.

“What do you need me to do to get you calm?” I said, softly. Giving them back some measure of control was step one.

“Let me hold your hand? I'll probably squeeze it half to death but—” before they finished speaking my hand was in theirs, and they had a vise-like grip going.

The whirlpool took the ship, then. We'd be spiraling for a while but...it caught us, and we began speeding up exponentially.

When we went under, it was a few seconds of disorientation and spinning, and then...nothing. Adina's hand never left mine, and I kept my lungs as full of air as I could. Eventually it was just black water, all around us, the surface farther away than I really thought I could swim.

Adina wasn't moving.

I had seconds, probably, to get us to the surface—my lungs were burning, and if Adina was out, theirs were likely full of water. It was a long way up but...I pulled Adina into my arms, placed one around their waist, and started kicking.

We didn't reach the surface before my body told me to breathe, so when I got to it, I had a lungful of water. Luckily, there was a plank, and I dragged myself and Adina up onto it, spitting my load of water back into the sea, where it belonged. I rolled Adina onto their stomach as best I could, and a thin trickle of water streamed from their mouth. Not good.

Strangely, there was land in sight—and on that land were two figures. Figures that were, it seemed, Hyakinthos and Lachesis-shaped. Without hesitation, I slipped back into the water, using one arm to swim, and the other to pull the plank behind me.

It was about two minutes before we reached the shore, and I pulled the plank up behind me. Adina was still out, unmoving, even their chest having gone still.

I knelt, feeling for a pulse—nothing. Lachesis took over for a second, a firm press on Adina's back causing them to dislodge water, so much of it that I was amazed it could've fit in their small body. Rolling them back over, she pressed on their chest and breathed into them, which finally got them moving. Lachesis stepped back quickly as Adina flailed, looking for something—anything—to grab onto. That's when I saw the cut on their head—it was finally beginning to ooze blood, now that their heart was beating again.

“Shh, you'll be alright,” I said softly, kneeling. That got a whimper from them, and they grabbed tightly onto the leather armor I was wearing, clinging desperately. Their eyes were wild, enough so that I knew they were in the middle of panicking.

I picked them up and pulled them to me, rocking them gently as I sometimes did Heli, when she was having horrid memories of the labyrinth. Adina continued to whimper and shake, until they finally pushed me away lightly.

It seemed they had something in mind to do, so I let them go. They knelt, murmuring a prayer barely above a breath, slapping at the ground. Praying to Hades, then—maybe thanking him for not keeping them.

I sat back on the sand, veritably collapsing. Hyakinthos and Lache joined me, Kinthos with his head in his hands. Adina joined us after a few minutes, soaked wet and visibly shaken.

“We're all alive,” Lachesis said, quietly, “more or less. Adina—do you have any concept of where we might be?” “Not in our world. The stars aren't ours,” they said, nodding toward the sky, “and a whirlpool doesn't toss you far enough away that the stars change.”

“Okay, then that means all navigation is out the window, right?” “Couldn't navigate anyway,” Hyakinthos said, “our ship is wrecked. We're going to die here.”

“You're being fatalistic. We can fish; we can find water. We can map the island and set up a life here even if we can't get back, which we can. There are things to do. Finding shelter is first. Go. Make yourself useful and calm yourself down.” Lachesis, level headed as always, waved him off.

“Now. What do we have to do to get home? That whirlpool was clearly sent by something like the gods, and I doubt we'll find another like it,” I said, thoughtfully.

“We survive until we find a way. Adina—are you sure none of these look like our stars?”

“The ones at the horizon look something like tk. If we got thrown, it would be west, to some island no one knows of yet. So...east is the way back to Crete if we can get there.”

“Good! See, that's productive. Maybe we're not in anywhere within our realm of experience, but we know our quest. We can overcome this.” Lachesis tried to reassure them.

“I never said we couldn't. But...I do think it's going to be a long, hard journey.” “Wouldn't have it any other way,” I said. At that, we split off to find water, food, I don't know—anything useful.

[lesceriises]

——  KATHERINE CHARACTER AVAILABLE?: YES PINTEREST AVAILABLE?: YES FULL BIO AVAILABLE: YES, PER REQUEST AS IT’S WELL OVER 1000 WORDS LONG.

identity

FULL NAME: katherine anita clark

NICKNAME(S):

kat for people in general. if you've known her for a long time / are wealthy / etc you'll know her as kitsey or kits as that's what everyone in her family & circle of friends/acquaintances has always called her

AGE:  verse dependent   

GENDER IDENTITY: female, she/her

SEXUAL IDENTITY: heterosexual 

HEAVENLY VIRTUE: kindness

DEADLY SIN: all of them alternated to be honest

COLORS: deep purple, vintage pink, blue, deep red, grey

IDENTIFYING TRAITS:

crowd-pleaser. hard-worker. disciplined and self-restrained (albeit not by nature). energetic. encouraging. charitable. devoted. can find almost everything fascinating/interesting. self-conscious. moody. avoidant. impatient. materialistic. can be very jealous. forgetful. coward. ashamed. tease. damaged. libidinous. kind.  allows herself to be defined all by the things a person shouldn't (material things, appearance, sex, etc)

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: 

blue eyes, hourglass figure, right arm is slightly bent at the elbow from an old injury (she broke it, it didn't heal right, she has insecurities about it ), puts on weight easily (when she lets go a little her face prompts begins to round a little).

ALLERGIES: typical pollen allergy

CHRONIC CONDITIONS: she has officially been diagnosed with adhd and dyslexia.  

SELF-ESTEEM: generally a 2.3 internally and a 4.5 externally.

HABITS:

dances around when she's cleaning/tidying up, spaces out, fidgets, mumbling to herself, chewing on her bottom lip, checking her phone often, always forgets to carry an umbrella when it's supposed to rain, needs to have something to read or watch while eating, forgets bills and pays late fees more often than she should thank god she's rich

HOBBIES:

researching random things on google, watching cooking shows, watching short movies, watching tedtalks and random videos/documentaries on youtube, (barely) listening to audio books, swimming, playing tennis, indoor rock climbing gyms, dancing, a good extravagant party, trying new things in general, coloring books, sudoku, puzzles, taking random classes and workshops, judging people’s choices on house hunters international

PET PEEVES:

being stuck behind slow people, being interrupted, bad commercials (the secondhand embarrassment is too much), slapstick comedy, clothing that fits funny, people invading her personal space, noisy children, people who eat with their mouth open, whistling, people who go outside to smoke but are only two feet from the door, people who think taking two days to reply to a non-urgent text or e-mail is disrespectful 

OCCUPATION: verse dependent  

OTHER DEVELOPED VERSES: asoiaf, harry potter 

appearance

HEIGHT: ‎5 feet 3 inches (1.60 m)

HAIR & EYE COLOR: brown & blue

BODY MODIFICATIONS: ears pierced, the left one 3 times.

SENSE OF STYLE: katherine isn't a fashionista but she has a good sense of style, the sort that comes from the habit of affiliating with people who have a naturally good sense of style and know what suits them rubbing on her. 99% of her clothes are from luxury/high-end brands and she seldom wears very bright colours or bold patterns. when out and about she always wears either heels or (fancy) trainers - there's no in-between. when she's at home she wears comfortable clothing only, usually a comfortable oversized cashmere jumper or t-shirt and black leggings. unless it’s a special occasion she dislikes to - and frankly doesn’t have the patience to - wear a lot of makeup, often wearing only lipstick. she does however invest a lot in skincare and skincare procedures.

OTHER: her right arm is slightly bent at the elbow from an old injury (she broke it, it didn't heal right, she has insecurities about it ). she puts on weight easily (when she lets go a little her face prompts begins to round a little).

FACE CLAIM: danielle rose russell, crystal reed, alison brie, abigail spencer, alexandra daddario, melisa pamuk 

relationships

PARENTS:

arthur and elizabeth 

SIBLINGS:

4 brothers and 3 sisters. she’s the third oldest.

OTHER NOTABLE FAMILY:

nephews/nieces, siblings-in-law

RELATIONSHIP STATUS:  verse dependent  

CHILDREN: verse dependent, usually none or twins. in the verses where she doesn’t have children she would like to have them but is reluctant as she thinks she won’t make a good mother.

PETS: n/a. she wants one at some point, but she's scared she'll be a terrible owner.

basic bio 

There’s something deep in Katherine's bones which prompts her to always want to looking at something closer. Like an invisible string tugging at her and pulling her nearer. And she follows often times without realising it. 

Alas, things have the propensity to break in her hands, even when she’s being careful.  

She doesn’t know how or why but it often seems to happen, and she doesn’t know why she can’t help herself from reaching out and wanting to hold things in her hands and inspect them closely ( even if it’s only to put them down a couple seconds later ).  

This is how she manages to break her mother’s elegant mechanical wristwatch (given to her by her mother, who got it from her grandmother). It was a piece unlike any other, something so different from anything her young eyes had laid on that she couldn’t resist having a closer look. Her fingers moved slowly, carefully not to grasp the watch too hard - she was even careful not to touch the glass with her fingers as to not leave a print. She didn’t need to know what she was holding was an art deco antique, or that the twinkling stones adorning it were diamond and sapphires; just by looking at it there was something in her that told her what she had in her hands was precious. 

She was so careful not to grasp it too hard that it had slipped right through her fingers when one of her siblings walked into the room, startling her. 

She’s upset, her mother is upset. She cries, her mother doesn’t. She apologies once twice five ten times but her mother’s too busy fussing over the watch to pay attention. It’s a desperate feeling that begins to take over her chest, consuming ever fiber of her being entirely, head to toe, making her heart beat faster and faster, and all acerbated by the lack of acknowledgement and reassurance she's getting.

It’s an episode she should have been too young to remember, but she does nevertheless, in the back of her brain. Not the details of it but the feeling it left and which still lingers: things - family legacies - take precedence over her.

                                             --------------

With her there never seems to be an in between, and it's difficult  to keep herself distracted or in check in a healthy way, especially when her emotions are running high. 

She figures out at an early age ( too early of an age ) that certain things sooth her - shopping trips, discussing nail colours and hair styles, what's in and what's out... it's harmless and easy. There's no need for substance or real discussion. It's all dopamine hits and she leans into those habits like they're a crutch.  ( Does she really need another dress? A new pair of shoes? She finds herself thinking about it at times. Does she? Doesn't she have enough? Don't so many things in her closet still have their tags on? What's the point of it? What's the point of thinking about it? She smothers those thoughts out by flipping through catalogs. )  

Then come the parties.

Privately, she can’t help but to feel like the biggest cliché there is sometimes.

A rich girl who loves parties – what else is new?  But it’s the truth.   There is something deeply freeing about a good proper party. The kind where phones are left at the door, everyone knows everyone, and what happens there stays there. There’s always gossip, always something that goes slightly awry even if it’s turned into comic relief – but it rarely bleeds into the next day. Not openly anyway. For all the drama that might happen, everyone has something to lose, and the same thing to protect: their (family’s) reputation.  

She finds it therapeutic to be in a place like that. Laughing loudly, stealing kisses, dancing on tables – she always sleeps better after, not tossing and turning in bed for literal hours before sleep finally arrives.  

                                           --------------

for someone so chronically genuine, katherine's whole life has felt like a big performance.

”family first” was the motto of her childhood. you don’t go against family, you don’t discuss family with outsiders, you do everything to make family proud. (katherine’s parents have always ran their family like he did their business, and they did an outstanding job with no repercussions - on paper, that is.)

the only kind of problems katherine doesn't have are money problems. wealthy, low-key walking disaster with an outfit that's always on point but a brain that's always a mess (therapy and medication help though - sometimes), she's truly trying her best to be a good person but often comes up short in all sorts of ways.

the simple truth is that there’s no bettering her life in a lasting long-term way without fully recognizing her own mental illness and the toxicity of her family, and those are two things she can barely recognize let alone talk about or battle against. so she keeps holding things in or suppressing parts of herself, feeling like she’s constantly about to burst at the seams, never actually patching any problems up but just slapping some tape over them. and she always does burst eventually, which usually leads to a nervous breakdown, after which she tells herself she was just being dramatic, and the cycle keeps going.

katherine can easily befriend people from all walks of life, but bringing them all into her life is nearly impossible unless they fit the standard of the kind of people her family and childhood friends would approve of. even if she feels this is wrong, she lacks the strength to go against it.