Upendi

Pairing: Kíli x Reader

Word count: 2,475

Warnings: None

Synopsis: Kíli's actions may be reckless but you have never regretted following him once.

Author’s note: The story was vaguely inspired by the song Upendi from the Lion King 2!

The path which led to the lake was narrow, covered in soft needles fallen from the nearby trees and an occasional cone there and there. Stepping on the latter was rather painful, especially considering the fact that your feet were bare and in the dim light of the moon you could not see all of them clearly. There were few quiet ouches leaving past your lips before you finally reached your destination, the place you wanted to see since you left your home with Thorin’s Company—the lake.

As you approached it, now walking down the mossy ground, you could not stop staring at the reflections dancing on the waters’ surface, the moon swaying to the sides as if it was dancing rhythmically to the melody only it could hear. High bulrushes were growing at the southern shore, perfectly hiding the shallow waters from the eyes of any curious passersby, if there would only be any. The forest in which The Company decided to rest for tonight was peaceful and welcoming, much different than the magical lands you wandered through, full of dangerous and wild creatures you have never seen before.

Placing your shoes at the sandy coast, you took off the tunic and looked around to make sure that nobody was following you for the last time. You would never suspect any of the loyal and honourable Dwarves of such a thing, however… you had your doubts about Thorin’s nieces. Very reasonable ones. You did not want to have your clothes stolen for the sake of some kind of joke, that is why you decided it would be better to be safe than sorry and hid the tunic in the nearby bushes. If something happened, you would at least have one piece of fabric to cover yourself up.

Turning around, you took few steps forward to check whether the water was cold or not with your toes. Considering the fact that the latest days were unbearably hot, it should be warm and you craved a bath too much to withdraw now. It was your evening, you deserved it after killing few vicious orcs which were chasing The Company. There was still dirt and black blood in your hair and under the nails, you probably smelled of sweat and the grass stains on your clothes certainly did not add anything positive to your overall miserable look. Cold or not, you needed a solid bath.

“It may not be as hot as you, but I can assure you that it’s quite nice.”

You turned your head to the right so suddenly that you almost felt the cramp in the muscles. To your surprise, there was a pair of dark eyes staring at you from above the enormous rock and the familiar smile spreading on the lips of the person you recognized immediately.

Kíli observed you with the amused expression, his elbows resting on the rock as the lower half of his body must have still been in the water. For a moment he reminded you of a mermaids you heard the stories about and the image of him weaving his chubby fish-like tail almost made you lighten up. Almost, for the initial thought which could explain his presence here was nowhere near funny for you, and so, you asked:

“Where is Fíli?”

Kíli pouted.

“Am I not enough company for you?”

“I don’t want any company, I want to take a bath!”

“Well then, that makes two of us.” Even in the dim light you could see him wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“Oh, please…”

Resting your hands on the hips, you looked at him. You would have to be blind to not notice the way he was talking to you, flirting with you, charming you every day in almost every moment. For some reason, the young prince grew fond of you and the thought itself was quite flattering, you had to admit, but it did not change the fact that you were not sure whether his uncle would approve your relationship. Kíli’s feelings were returned, very much so, but no matter how much you adored him, you were still just a human.

The possibility of never truly being with him broke your heart.

“Come on,” he encouraged, his voice suddenly losing the frivolous tone and becoming purely sympathetic instead. “The water is warm, I promise.”

You smiled, seeing the way the moonlight reflected in his eyes. You knew that he observed you, when you took off the rest of your clothes and placed them on the sand, you could feel his gaze ghosting over your body, remembering it and caressing with the delicacy of his loving heart. Eventually, you went in the water, first to the ankles’ level, then calves, thighs, hips and waist. Bending your knees, you sunk into the lake deep enough so only your head was above the surface.

Indeed, the water was warm.

“Now, you ruined the whole show,” Kíli sighed theatrically and shook his head slightly.

“How so?” You approached him so close, that you could rest your arms on the opposite side of the rock and look at him in the eyes. “I thought I was not your type.”

Kíli blinked few times, apparently confused.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve heard exactly what you said during the dinner in Rivendell,” you teased, content that for once you were the reason for the adorable, puzzled expression on his face and not the other way around. “How did it go? I’m not fond of those maids because of their thin figure, creamy skin and what else?”

“I did not mean that!”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“Besides,” he frowned, solemn. “You are far more magnificent than even the greatest of Elf maids.”

The way he said those words proved you that he really believed in them. There was no false, no bad intentions, just the overwhelming adoration and sincere truth.

Slowly, Kíli reached to you above the rock which was now irritatingly separating you two, and stroked your cheek. He smiled when you leaned to his hand, responsive for his touch and loving the way his fingers felt against your skin.

“You are perfect to me,” he confessed quietly. “And I love, love your high cheekbones.”

Kissing the inner side of his palm was another way to hide the amusement which painted on your face, the undeniable proof of the effect his words had upon you. It surprised you when he suddenly moved back, taking his hand away from you and diving in the lake, the cheeky expression not fading until his head went completely underwater.

Turning around, you tried to look for him, perfectly aware of whatever kind of shenanigans he was up to, but spotting his dark hair in the equally black water was impossible. You did not move, firmly standing your ground near the rock and ready to either hold it for your life or even immediately jump out of the lake on it if needed. You knew how much he and the other members of The Company enjoyed playing in water, splashing around with a lot of roaring laughs, competitions and challenges, that is why you were expecting the worst already—to get splashed or pulled underwater or tickled with some kind of seaweeds or any other unpleasant, slimy thing. What you did not expect, however, was that Kíli would eventually emerge from the water right in front of you, so close that your chests were almost touching, and do it carefully and slowly, keeping an eye contact with you until he stood straight on the sandy ground below your feet.

Droplets of water were running down his hair, long strands now clinging to his cheeks, forehead, shoulders and back. Some of the beads fell down, back to the lake, trailing the various wet lines on his body, while the others rested in the curly hair on his strong arms and chest, slightly reflecting the pale moonlight just like his eyes were. It was not the first time when you saw him half-naked but definitely the first time when you were so close to each other in such a state.

“Admiring the view, my dear?” he teased, apparently noticing the look in your eyes.

You could only hope that he did not somehow notice how dry did your mouth became all of a sudden.

Before you could think of any proper answer or wit comeback, he gently took your hand and pulled you after him, saying:

“Come with me, there’s something I want to show you.”

You agreed, partly grateful that he did not decide to continue this discussion you had no chance of winning, not after showing such an obvious interest in him. Still, you were curious about his idea, you could not deny that those were often quite dangerous but no less fascinating and always led to something worth remembering. It was impossible to refuse, especially when you remembered what he told you few days ago, when you followed him to one of the apparently abandoned caves to look for the hidden treasures, most likely forgotten by their rightful owners. The place stank of fear and the quick possibility of getting eaten alive by some vicious creatures but before Kíli went down the cave, he looked at you in the eyes and swore:

“Don’t be afraid, I won’t let anything bad to happen to you.”

He kept that promise, as he always did.

This time, you followed him to the eastern shore, walking through the shallow waters and carefully taking every step just in case there would be sharp rocks on the bottom. Either there were none or you managed to dodge all of them, eventually you found yourself standing in front of the enormous pile of rocks, half drowned in the lake, and that was the place where Kíli stopped and turned back to you, still not letting go of your hand.

“Do you trust me?” he asked firmly.

“What kind of question is that?” You frowned at how serious his voice was. “Of course I do, but–“

“No buts! Keep that thought in mind and follow me, alright? Can you hold your breath?”

“It depends on why—Kíli, what do you want to do?” You were growing more and more suspicious but somehow with him by your side it was not anxiety which overwhelmed you, but rather excitement. He would never risk your life, that was for sure, so you had no real reasons to be afraid. Somewhere deep in your heart you knew that if he had to, he would risk his life for your safety without hesitation also.

Mahal, how could you not fall for him?

“You won’t regret it,” he assured you, now cheerful back again, as he knew that you would not turn away now.

“It doesn’t answer my question in the slightest.”

“Just trust me. Look, do you see this very ominous, dark hole under water, right there?” Kíli pointed a finger at the place where the pile of rocks was touching the lake’s surface and drowning deeper.

You nodded, not wholly convinced if you wanted to see it.

“We’ll have to dive in there, swim under the rock and then we’ll reach something absolutely fantastic! You’ve never seen anything like that before, I can assure you.”

His enthusiasm was undoubtedly contagious, because soon you found yourself wondering what could wait for you on the other side. Being a human, you were not overly interested in the undergrounds, small and dark spaces appearing as claustrophobic and not even as closely as stunning as the beauty which could be seen on the earth. However, you have spent enough time with Dwarves to learn that once you would get rid of the prejudices and expectations, you could find the greatest treasures and values in the darkest times and places.

And so, you sighed deeply and asked:

“Ladies first?”

Although you were wary of the time you were supposed to spend underwater, the distance was not even half as long as you thought. Holding your breath and swimming in the darkness while surrounded with nothing but the stones was not the most pleasant experience, you had to admit, but Kíli made sure that you always felt his presence nearby. He helped you to find the surface once you were on the other side and when you caught your breath and blinked, adjusting your sight to the dim light, you realized that you were no longer exposed to the moon—on the contrary, you were inside the cave with roof so high that you wondered if you were still by the same lake. Nevertheless, it was not the mystical passage to that hidden place, nor its size which got you awestruck but the source of the delicate, blue light.

It seemed as if the thousands, millions of tiny lanterns were hanging from the roof and the walls, wet stones reflecting the light and making the whole cave shine as if under a magical spell. Long branches and leaves were reaching down the ground, illuminated reminding you of a colourful jellyfishes, floating in the thin air instead of the water. Or, as you believed for a while, it was you who suddenly learned how to breathe underwater and observed this whole scenery of the world you have never experienced before.

Being to mesmerized by the view in front of you, you could not notice how Kíli’s undivided attention was focused completely on you, on discovering how your features changed when you realized where you were, on how the happiness and surprise changed the way you looked around, on how freely and completely you were yourself in that very moment. He could not even think about the beauty of the surroundings, not when he had you in front of him and the overwhelming love filling his heart.

“How did you know about this place?” you asked, genuinely curious and only then caught his gaze upon you.

“I was roaming.” He shrugged and approached you, the water as bright as the cave’s roof. “It made me think about you.”

“Do you often think about me then?”

“All the time.”

His confession was sincere and to prove that, he placed his hand at the side of your neck, caressing the line of the jaw with his thumb and hungrily eyeing your lips. He wanted to kiss you so badly, to hold you in his arms and never let you go, to stay in this magical place together, where nothing could disturb nor harm you. Instead, he simply leaned to you and rested his cheek at the crook of your neck, feeling how chill and wet your skin was against his.

“I love you,” Kíli whispered and the cave almost swallowed the soft sound of his voice. “You have no idea how much you mean to me, my dear.”

Little Lion Man | The Story of Cary / Part III

tw: rape, infidelity, pregnancy, stepcest

Exactly at seven-thirty that night, the door chimes sounded, punched by an impatient finger, forcing Caren to hurry lest the man waken Cary who hadn't liked being put to bed at such an early hour.

If she had taken pains to look her best, so had Harry. He strode in as if he already owned the place and her. He left behind a drift of shaving lotion with a piney forest scent, and every hair on his head was carefully in place, making her wonder if he had a thinning spot. She figured she’d find out for herself sooner or later.

She took his coat and hung it in the hall closet, then sashayed over to the bar where she busied herself as he sat down before the log fire she had burning nothing had been overlooked; She even had soft music playing.

By this time Caren knew enough about men and the ways of pleasing them best. There wasn't a man alive who wasn't charmed by a lovely woman bustling about, eager to wait on him, pamper and wine and dine him, if you asked her.

“Name your weakness, Harry."

"Scotch."

"On the rocks?"

"Neat."

He watched her every movement, which was deliberately graceful and deft. Then, turning her back she mixed a fruity drink for myself, lacing it lightly with vodka. And with her two little stemmed goblets on a silver tray, Caren seductively ambled his way, leaning to give him an enticing view of her braless bosom. She sat across from him and swung one leg over the other to allow the long slit of her rose-colored dress to open and expose one leg from silver sandal midway to the hip. He couldn't take his eyes off it. 

"Sorry about the glasses,” Caren said smoothly, well pleased with his expression, "I don't have room in this cottage to unpack everything I own. Most of my crystal is in storage and I have here only wine glasses and water goblets."

"Scotch is scotch no matter how it's served. And what in the world is that thing you're sipping?" By this time he'd shifted his gaze to the low V of her gown.

"Well, you take orange juice freshly squeezed, a dab of lemon juice a dash of vodka, bit of coconut oil, and drop in a cherry to dive after. I call it A Maiden's Delight."

After a few minutes of conversation, they drifted to the dining table, not so far from the fireplace, to eat by candlelight. Every so often he'd drop his fork, or spoon, or she would, and both of them would go for it, then laugh to see who was fastest. Caren was, every time. He was much too distracted to spot a missing fork or spoon when a neckline opened up so obligingly.

"This is delicious chicken," he said after demolishing five hours of hard labor in about ten minutes. "Usually I don't like chicken-where'd you learn to prepare this dish?"

Caren told him the truth, “A Russian dancer taught me, she was on tour over here, and we liked each other. She and her husband stayed with Leeland and me, and we'd cook together whenever we weren't dancing or shopping or touring. It took four chickens to feed four people. Now you know the nasty truth about dancers; when it comes to eating we are not in the least dainty. That is, after a performance. Before we go on we have to eat very lightly."

He smiled and leaned across the small drop-leaf table. Candlelight was in his eyes, sparkling them devilishly.

"Caren, tell me honestly why you came to live in this hick town and why you've got your heart set on me for a lover."

"You flatter yourself," Caren said in her most aloof manner, thinking she was very successful in appearing cool on the outside while inside she was a web of conflicting emotions. It was almost as if she had stage fright and was in the wings waiting to go on. And this was the most important performance of her life. Then almost magically she felt she was on stage. She didn't have to think of how to act or what to say to charm him and make him forever hers. The script had been written a long time ago when she was hidden and first found out her mother had married him. 

"You're not being honest with yourself," Harry said softly, "You know better than anyone where that missing piece is, or I wouldn't be here."

His voice was so low and seductive as he stood and took her into his arms to dance.

Caren put her head on his shoulder as they went on dancing, "You're wrong, Harry, I don't know why you're here. I don't know how to fill my days. When I'm teaching class and when I'm with my son, then I'm alive-but when he's in bed and I'm alone, I don't know what to do with myself. I know Cary needs a father, and when I think of his father I realize I've always managed to do the wrong thing. I've read my reviews that rave about the potential I had... but in my personal life I've made only mistakes, so what I accomplished professionally doesn't matter at all." 

Caren stopped moving her feet and sniffled, then tried to hide her face, but he tilted it upward, then dried my tears and held his handkerchief so she could blow her nose. Then came the silence. The long, long silence. Their eyes met and clung and her heart started a faster thumping.

"Your problems are all so simple, Caren," he began, "all you need is someone like me, who needs someone like you. If Cary needs a father, then I need a son. See how simply all complicated matters are solved?"

Too simply, she thought, when he had a wife and she was discerning and cynical enough to know he couldn't possibly care for her enough. 

“You have a wife you love," Caren said bitterly. 

Caren shoved him away. She didn't want to get him too easily, but only after long and difficult struggles against her mother, and she wasn't here to know.

"Men are liars too," he said flatly, with some of the zest gone from his eyes. "I have a wife and occasionally we sleep together, but the fire has gone out. I don't know her. I don't think anyone knows her. She's a bundle of secrets, wound up tight, and she won't let me inside. It's gone on so long I don't care to be let in now. She can keep her secrets and her tears, and eat her way out of her anxieties and whatever it is that makes her wake up in the night and go and look in that damned blue album! Now she's overweight and she's written she's just had plastic surgery, a face lift, and I won't know her when she comes back. As if I ever really knew her!"

Caren panicked inside, he had to care! How could she break up a marriage that was already coming apart? She needed to feel she'd accomplished this against overwhelming odds! 

“Go home!" Caren said, pushing at him. "Get out of my house! I don't know you well enough to even listen to your problems, and I don't believe you. I don't trust you!"

He laughed, mocking her, aroused by her puny efforts to push him away. His libido was fired and it flamed in his eyes as he grabbed her upper arms and drew her hard against him. 

“Now you come off it! Look at the way you're dressed. You had me come here for a reason. So here I am, ready to be seduced. You seduced me the first time I saw you, and for the life of me it seems I've known you much longer than I actually have. Nobody plays games with me, then calls it a draw. You win or I win, but if we go to bed together we might wake up in the morning and find out we've both won."

Red lights flashed, Stop! Resist! Fight! Caren did none of those things. Caren beat on his chest with ineffectual small fists as he laughed and picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. 

With one hand he gripped both of her legs to keep them from kicking, and with the other he turned out the lamps. In the dark, with her still beating on his back, he carried her into her bedroom and threw her down on the comforter. She scrambled to get up, but he came at her fast!

There wasn't a chance to use the knee she had ready. He sensed her dancer's ability could defeat him so he lunged, caught her about the waist so they both tumbled to the floor! Caren opened her mouth to scream, but he clamped his hand upon her open lips, then pinioned her arms with his iron strength and sat on the legs that tried to kick herself free.

“Caren, my lovely seductress, you went to such a lot of trouble. You seduced me long ago, ballerina. Until the week before Christmas you are mine, and then my wife will be home-and I won't need you."

His hand eased away from her lips and she thought she would scream, but instead she bit out, “At least I didn't have to buy you with my father's millions!" 

That did it. He crushed his lips brutally hard down on hers before she realized what was happening. This wasn't the way she wanted it! Caren wanted to tempt him, set him on fire, make him chase her, and give in only after a long and arduous pursuit that her mother could watch and suffer through, knowing she could do nothing or she'd talk. And yet he was taking her heartlessly, more ruthless than Leeland at his worst! 

Savagely he bore down on her. He squirmed and writhed to grind in, even as his hands ripped and tore off her clinging rose dress. All she had on then was pantyhose, and soon he had those pulled down so her silver slippers came off and stayed inside of them.

With his lips still crushed brutally hard on hers, he carried her resisting hand to his zipper and squeezed until her knuckles cracked. It was either tug it down or have her fingers broken! How he managed to wiggle out of his clothes, even as he held her naked beneath him, she’d never know. 

When he was naked, but for his socks, she kept on wiggling, writhing, squirming, butting and trying to scratch or bite while he kissed, fondled and explored. Caren had her chance to scream several times—but she too was breathing fast and hard, and jerking upward to force him off. But he took this as a welcoming arch of invitation. He entered, and had his too quick satisfaction, then pulled out before she had any.

"Get out of here." Caren screamed. “I'm calling the police! I'll have you thrown in jail, charged with assault and rape!"

He laughed scornfully, chucked her under the chin playfully, then stood up to pull on his clothes. 

“Oh," he said, mocking her with an imitation of her own voice, “I am so frightened.” Then his voice was deeply earnest.“You aren't happy, are you? It didn't work out the way you planned it, but don't you worry, tomorrow night I'll be back, and maybe then you can please me enough, so I'll feel like taking the time to please you."

"I've got a gun!" She declared thought she didn't, “And if you dare set foot in this house again you're a dead man! Not that you are a man. You are more brute than human!"

“My wife often says the same thing," he said casually, zipping up his trousers shamelessly, without the decency to even turn his back. “But she likes it just the same, just as you did. Beef Wellington, you can have that tomorrow night, plus a tossed salad and a chocolate mousse for dessert. If you make me fat, we can burn off the calories in the most pleasant way possible,and I don't mean jogging." 

He grinned, saluted her, put one foot behind the other to turn in a smartly, military fashion, then paused at the doorway as Caren sat up and clutched the remnants of her gown to her breasts. 

“Same time tomorrow night, and I'll stay the night-that is, if you treat me right."

He left, and slammed the front door behind him.

Caren began to cry, not from pity for herself. It was frustration so huge she could have torn him limb from limb!

She’d lace the beef wellington with arsenic. 

A small timid sound came from outside her door then.

“Mommy... I'm scared. Are you cryin', Mommy?" Came Cary’s soft voice.

Hastily she pulled on a robe and called him in, then held him close in her arms. “Darling, darling, Mommy is all right. You had a bad dream. Mommy isn't crying... see?"

Cary peered into her face worriedly, he heard too much, not that he understood it all. Cowering in his bed scared, before he finally got up and got to his mother’s door.

Caren brushed away the tears, for she'd get even.

Three dozen red roses arrived while Cary and she were eating breakfast, he long-stemmed variety from the florist. 

A small white card read: I'm sending you a big bouquet of roses, One for every night you'll have my heart.

No name. And what the devil was she supposed to do with three dozen roses in a matchbox house? She couldn't send them to a children's ward; the hospital was miles and miles away. 

Cary decided what to do with them, "Oh, Mommy, how pretty! Uncle William's roses!"

For Cary she kept the roses instead of throwing them out, and in many vases she scattered them throughout the house.

He was delighted, and when she took him with her to dancing school he told all the students, roses were all over his home-even in the bathroom.

After lunch Caren drove Cary to the nursery school he so loved. It was a Montessori school that was inspiring him to want to learn by appealing to his senses. 

Already he could print his name, and he was only three! He was like Daniel, Caren told herself, brilliant, handsome, talented, oh, her Cary had everything—but a father. 

From his bright blue eyes shone the quick intelligence of someone who would have a lifetime curiosity about everything. 

“Cary, I love you."

"I know that, Mommy. I love you too," he said before he waved good-bye as she drove off.

Caren was there to meet him when he came from his school, his small face flushed and troubled. 

"Mommy," he said as soon as he was beside her in the car, "Victor Harding, he said his mommy slapped him when he touched her there." 

And he shyly pointed at her breast, “You don't slap me when I touch you there,” Cary whispered.

"But you don't touch me there, not since you were a little baby and Mommy nursed you for a short while."

"Did you slap me then?" He asked, looking so worried. 

"No, of course not. Babies are meant to suckle their mother's breasts, and I would never slap you for touching there, so if you want to try me, go ahead and touch,” Caren said.

Cary lifted his small hand and reached out tentatively while he watched his mother’s face to see if she'd be shocked. 

Oh, how fast the young learned all the taboos, Caren thought. 

And when he'd touched and God's lightning hadn't struck him down, he smiled, very relieved. 

"Oh, it's just a soft place," he laughed at the pleasant discovery he made before he threw his arms his mothers neck, “I love you, Mommy. Cause you love me even when I'm bad."

"I'll always love you, Cary. And if you're bad sometimes, I'll try and understand." 

Yes, she was not going to be like her mother. She was going to be the perfect mother, and someday he'd have a father too. 

How was it that little children, such young ones, would already be talking of sin and being slapped for only touching? 

Caren stopped to buy stamps before she reached home, and left Cary dozing on the front seat. 

Harry was in the post office, which was no larger than her living room, buying stamps too. 

Charmingly he smiled at her, as if nothing untoward had happened between them the night before. 

He even had the nerve to follow her to her car so he could ask how she liked the roses. 

"Not your kind of roses," she snapped, then got primly into her car and slammed the door in his face. She left him staring after her without a smile-in fact, he looked rather miserable.

At five-thirty a special-delivery man brought a small package to her front door. It was certified so she had to sign for it. Inside a larger box was another box, and inside of that was a velvet jewelry case which she quickly opened while Cary watched, all eyes. On black velvet lay a single rose composed of many diamonds. Also a card with a note that read, ‘Perhaps this kind of rose is more to your liking.’ She put the thing away as a trifle bought with her mother’s money, so it wasn't really from him, no more than the real roses.

He had the nerve to come that night at seven-thirty just as he'd said he would. Nevertheless, she readily let him in, then led him silently to the dining table with no to do about cocktails or other niceties. The table was set even more elaborately than the night before. She'd hauled out some boxes and done some unpacking, and on the table were her best lace mats and covered silver serving dishes.

Neither of them had as yet spoken. All his forgive-me roses she'd gathered together and they were in the box near his plate. On his empty plate was the jeweler's velvet container with the diamond rose brooch inside. She sat to watch his expression as he put the jewelry box aside casually, and just as casually moved the flower box out of his way. 

He reached for the domed silver lid, ostensibly hiding the Beef Wellington underneath. His gaze lowered to stare at the huge platter that held one hot dog and a small dab of cold canned beans. 

The disbelief in his eyes, his utter offended shock gave her so much satisfaction she almost liked him.

"You are now gazing upon Cary's favorite menu," she said, gloating. “It is exactly what he and I ate tonight for dinner, and since it was good enough for us, I thought it was good enough for you, so I saved some. Since I've already eaten, all of that is yours alone, and you may help yourself."

Scowling, he flashed her a burning, hard look, then savagely bit down into the hot dog which she’d sure had grown cold as the beans. But he gobbled down everything and drank his glass of milk, and for dessert she handed him a box of animal crackers. 

First he stared at the box in another expression of dumbfounded amazement, then ripped it open, seized up a lion and snapped off the head in one bite.

"I take it you are one of those despicable liberated women who refuses to do anything to please a man!"

"Wrong. I am liberated only with some men. Others I can worship, adore and wait on happily.”

"You made me do what I did!” he objected strongly. “Do you think I planned it that way? I wanted us to find our relationship on an equal basis. Why did you wear that kind of dress?"

"It's the kind all chauvinist men prefer!"

"I am not a chauvinist, and I hate that kind of dress!"

"You like what I've got on better?” Caren sat up straighter to give him a better view of the old nappy sweater she had on. With it she wore faded blue jeans, with dirty sneakers on her feet, and her hair was skinned back and fastened in a granny's knot. Deliberately she'd pulled long strands free so they hung loose about her face, slovenly fringes to make her look more appealing. And no makeup prettied her face. 

He was dressed to kill.

"At least you look honest and ready to let me do the pursuing. If there is one thing I despise, it's women who come on strong, like you did last night. I expected better from you than that kind of sleazy dress that showed everything to take the thrill from discovering for myself.”

He knitted his brows and mumbled, “From a damned harlot's red dress to blue jeans. In the course of one day, she changes into a teenybopper."

"It was rose-colored, not red! And besides, Harry, strong men like you always adore weak and passive stupid women, because basically you're meek yourself and afraid of an aggressive woman!"

"I am not weak or meek or anything but a man who likes to feel a man, not to be used for your own purposes. And as for passive women I despise them as much as I do aggressive ones. I just don't like the feeling of being the victim of a huntress leading me into a trap. What the hell are you trying to do to me? Why dislike me so much? I sent you rose and diamonds, and you can't even comb your hair and take the shine from your nose."

"You are looking at the natural me, and now that you've seen, you can leave."

Caren got up and walked to the front door and swung it open. “We are wrong for each other. Go back to your wife. She can have you, for I don't want you."

He came quickly, as if to obey, then seized her in his arms and kicked the door closed. “I love you, God knows why I do, but it seems I've always loved you."

Caren stared up in his face, disbelieving him, even as he took the pins from her hair and let it spill down. Out of long habit she tossed it about so it fluffed out and arranged itself, and smiling a little he tilted her face to his. 

“May I kiss your natural lips? They are very beautiful lips." 

Without waiting for permission he brushed his lips gently over hers.

Why didn't all men know that was the right way to start? She wondered. What woman wanted to be eaten alive, choked by a thrusting tongue? Not her, she wanted to be played like a violin, strummed pianissimo, in largo timing, fingered into legato, and let it grow into crescendo. 

Deliciously she wanted to head toward the ecstatic heights that could only happen for her when the right words were spoken and the right kind of kisses, given before his hands came into play.

If he'd done for her only a little last night, this night he used all the skills he had. This time he took her to the stars where they both exploded, still holding tight to each other, and doomed to do it again, and then again.

He was hairy all over. Leeland had been hairless but for one thatch that grew in a thin line up to his navel. 

She turned off her mind, and gave in to her senses and to this man who was now treating her like a lover.

But he didn't love her, she knew that. Harry was using her as a substitute for his wife, and when she came back she'd never see him again. She knew it, but still she took and she gave until they fell asleep in each other's arms.

When she slept, she dreamed. Leeland was in the silver music box her father had given her when she was six. Round and round he spun, his face ever turning toward her, accusing her with his jet eyes, and then he grew a mustache and was William, who only looked sad.

She ran fast to set him free from death in a music box when it turned into a coffin-and then it was Daniel inside, his eyes closed, his hands folded one over the other on his chest. Dead, dead.

‘DANIEL’, she shouted.

She awoke to find Harry gone and her pillow wet with tears.

Why did her mother start this, perhaps had she not, maybe she would have found Daniel right away, and before anyone else. She would have fallen in love with him with no revenge to carry out or repayments to deliver. But then she wouldn’t have Cary. But perhaps she still would have found Leeland and maybe he would have been what she wanted had she not had so many other priorities and he would have been good to her too.

Holding tight to her son's small hand she led him out into the cold morning air on her way to work. 

Faint and far away she heard someone calling her name, and with it came the scent of an ocean breeze. 

‘Why don't you come, Daniel, and save me from myself? Why only call in your thoughts?’ She thought.

Part one was done. Part two would begin when her mother knew she had Harry's child.

Harry and her didn't have to sneak around furtively to meet.

The houses where he lived were far apart and no one could see them when he came to her through the back door that opened out into a yard with a fence. In back of that was a country lane, shrubbed, and made private by many trees. Sometimes they met in a distant town and their lovemaking in a motel room was wild, sweet, tender, erotic and altogether satisfying, and yet she froze when he told her at lunch, “She called this morning, Caren. She'll be home before Christmas."

"That's nice," Caren said and went right on eating her salad and anticipating the Beef Wellington that would show up soon. 

He frowned and his fork loaded with salad hesitated on the way to his mouth. “It means we won't be able to see as much of each other. Aren't you sorry?"

"We'll find ways."

"If you aren't the damndest woman!"

"Don't get so worked up over nothing. All women are monsters to men, and maybe to ourselves. We are our own worst enemies. You don't have to divorce her and give up your chance to inherit her fortune. Though she could outlive you and have the chance to buy another younger husband."

"Sometimes you are just as bitchy as she is! She did not buy me! I loved her! She loved me! I was crazy about her, as crazy for her as I am for you now. But she changed. When I met her she was sweet, charming, everything I wanted in a woman and wife, but she changed." 

He stabbed the salad fork toward his mouth and chewed viciously, “She's always been a mystery-like you."

“Harry, my love," she said, “very soon all mystery walls will crumble."

He went on, as if she hadn't interrupted, “That father of hers, he too was a mystery; you'd look at him and see a fine old gentleman, but underneath was a heart of steel. I thought I was his only attorney, but he had six others, each of us assigned to different tasks. Mine was to make out his wills. He changed them dozens of times, putting this family member in, and writing another out, and adding codicils like a mad man, though he was sane enough right up until the very end. The last codicil was the worst."

Of course, no children for him, ever, she knew.

"Then you really were a practicing lawyer?" Caren asked.

He smiled bitterly, then answered, “Of course I was. And now I am again. A man needs something meaningful to do. How many times can anyone tour Europe before boredom sets in? You see the same old faces, doing the same old things, laughing at the same jokes. The Beautiful People what a laugh! Too much money buys everything but health, so they have no dreams left to purchase, and no aspirations, so in the end they are only bored."

"Why don't you divorce her and do something meaningful with your life?"

"She loves me.” That's the way he said it. Short. Sweet. He stayed because she loved him, forcing Caren to say, "You told me when we first met that you loved her, and then you say you don't which is it?"

He thought about it for a long time.

"Honestly, ballerina, I'm ambivalent and resentful. I love her, I hate her. I thought she was what you seem to be now. So please, smother that bitchy side that reminds me of her and don't try and do to me what she did. You are putting a wall between us because you know something I don't. I don't fall in love easily, and I wish I didn't love you."

He seemed suddenly a small boy, wistful, as if his pet dog might betray him and life would never be good again.

Caren was touched and dared to say, “Harry, I swear there will come a day when you know all my secrets and all of hers, but until that time comes say you love me, even if you don't mean it, for I can't enjoy being with you if I don't feel you love me just a little."

"A little? It seems I've loved you all my life. Even when I kissed you the first time it seemed I'd kissed you before, why is that?"

“Karma," she replied and smiled at his baffled expression.

Harry spent more time at her small home than at his huge one. He piled her with as many gifts, as he did Cary. 

He ate his breakfast, lunch and dinner with them on the days he didn't spend in his office, which she privately believed was more a facade for appearing useful than a functioning law office.

Her dancing school suffered from his attention, but it didn't matter. She was now a kept woman. Paid to be his mistress.

And Cary was delighted with the little leather boots Harry gave him. 

“Are you my daddy?" asked Cary, who would be four in February, "No. but I sure wish I was and I could be,” Harry answered.

It was only second before Cary was out in the yard, tromping around and staring down at his feet that fascinated him now that they wore cowboy boots.

Caren and Harry lay entwined after their lovemaking, listening to the wind blending with Cary's shrill laughter, racing after the poodle, Rainbow, that Harry had given him. 

A few snow flurries were beginning to fall. She knew she had to get up soon so Cary wouldn't run in and catch them,  just to tell them it was snowing.

He couldn't remember other snows, and barely would the ground be sugar-coated than he'd want to make a snowman. Sighing first, she kissed Harry, then reluctantly pulled from his embrace. She turned her back to pull on bikini panties as he propped up on an elbow and watched.

"You've got a lovely behind," he said. She said thanks, "What about my front?" He said it wasn't bad and she threw a shoe at him.

"Caren, why don't you say you love me?"

Caren whirled about, startled. "Have you ever said it to me and meant it?" She asked as she snapped on a bra.

"How do you know I don't mean it?" he asked with anger.

"Let me tell you how I know. When you love, you want that person with you all of the time. When you avoid the subject of divorce, that alone is an indication of how much you care for me and just where I belong in your life."

“Caren, you've been hurt, haven't you? I don't want to hurt you more. You play games with me. I've always known that. What does it matter if it is only sex and not love? And tell me how to know where one ends and the other begins?"

His teasing words were a knife in her heart, for somehow, without meaning to let it happen, she'd fallen madly, idiotically in love with him.

According to Harry's enthusiastic report, his long gone wife came home from her rejuvenation trip looking smashingly young and beautiful. 

“She's lost twenty pounds. I swear, that face lift has done wonders! She looks sensational, and damn it, so unbelievably like you!"

It was easy to see how impressed he was with his new, younger-looking wife, and if he was only trying to take the wind from her too confident sails, Caren didn't let it show.

Then he was telling her she was just as necessary to him as before in a tone that said she was not. 

“Caren, while she was in Texas she changed. She's like she used to be, the sweet, loving woman I married."

Men! How gullible they were! Of course her mother was sweeter and nicer to him now that she knew he had a mistress who was very accessible, and that the other woman was her own daughter. She'd have to know, for it was whispered all about how much Harry’s mistress looked like a younger version of his wife.

"So, why are you here with me when your wife is back and so like me? Why don't you put your clothes on and say goodbye and never come back? Say it was sweet while it lasted, but it's all over now, and I'll say thank you for a wonderful time before I kiss you farewell."

"Well," he drawled, pulling her hard against his naked body, “I didn't say she was that sensational looking. And then again, there is something special about you. I can't name it. I can't understand it. But I don't know if I can live without you now." 

He said it seriously, truth in his dark eyes.

So she'd won.

Quite by accident her mother and her met in the post office one day. She saw her and shivered. Her lovely head lifted higher as she turned it slightly away, pretending she didn't know her. 

She would deny her as she'd denied Cassidy, even though it was so obvious that they were mother and daughter and not strangers.

But Caren wasn't Cassidy. So she treated her as she treated her, indifferently, as if she were nobody special and never would be again. 

Yet, as she waited impatiently for her roll of stamps, she saw her mother dart her eyes to follow the restless prowl of her young son who had to stare at everything and everyone. 

He was a handsome, graceful, and charming boy who drew the eyes of everyone, who had to stop and admire him and pat his head. 

Cary moved with innate style, unstudied and relaxed, at ease wherever he was, because he thought the whole world was his, and he was loved by everyone. 

He turned to catch her mother's long stare and he smiled.

"Hello," he greeted. “You're pretty-like my mommy,” he told her.

Oh, the things children say! What innocent knowledge they had to see so readily what others instinctively refused to acknowledge. 

He stepped closer to reach out and tentatively touch her fur coat. “My mommy's got a fur coat. My mommy is a dancer. Do you dance?"

She sighed, and Caren held her breath and thought, ‘See, Momma, there is the grandson your arms will never hold. You'll never hear him say your name. Never!’

"No," she whispered, “I'm not a dancer,” and tears filmed her eyes.

"My mommy can teach you how,” Cary smiled.

"I'm too old to learn," she whispered, backing off.

"No, you're not," said Cary, reaching for her hand as if he'd show her the way, but she pulled back and glanced at Caren reddened, then fumbled in her purse for a handkerchief.

Cary frowned slightly and went on unperturbed, “Do you have a little boy I can play with?" He questioned concerned to see her tears, as if having a son would make up for not knowing how to dance.

"No," she said in a quivering weak whisper, “I don't have any children.”

That's when Caren moved in to say in a cold, harsh voice, "Some women don't deserve to have children." 

She paid for her roll of stamps and dropped them in her purse, “Some women like you, Mrs. Walters, would rather have money than the bother of children who might get in the way of good times. Time itself will sooner or later let you know if you made the right decision."

She turned her back and shivered again as if all her furs couldn't keep her warm enough. Then she strode from the post office and headed toward a chauffeur-driven, black limousine. 

Like a queen she rode off, head held high, leaving Cary to ask, “Mommy, why don't you like that pretty lady? I like her a lot. She's like you, only not so pretty."

Caren didn't comment, though it was on the tip of her tongue to say something so ugly he would never forget it.

In the twilight of that evening Caren sat near the windows, staring toward her mothers house and wondering what Harry and her mother were doing. Her hands were on her abdomen which was still flat, but soon it would be swelling with the child that might be started. 

One missed period didn't prove anything except she wanted Harry's baby, and little things made her feel sure there was a baby.

She let depression come and take her though. He wouldn't leave her and her money to marry her and she'd have another fatherless child. 

What a fool to start all of this, but she'd always been a fool.

And then she saw a man slipping through the woods, coming to her, and she laughed, made confident again.

He loved her! He did and as soon as she knew for certain, she would tell him he was to be a father.

“Caren, you told me there was no need for precautions!"

"There was no need. I want your baby.”

"You want my baby? What the hell do you think I can do, marry you?"

"No. I did my own assuming. I presumed you'd have your fun with me and when it was over you'd go back to your wife and find yourself another playmate. And I'd have just what I set out to get, your baby. Now I can leave. So kiss me off, Harry, as just another of your little extramarital dalliances."

He looked furious. They were in my living room, while a fierce blizzard raged outside. Snow heaped in mounds window-high, and she was before the fireplace, knitting a baby bunting before she began a bootie. She was getting ready to slip a stitch then knit two together when Harry seized her knitting from my hands and hurled it away. 

“It's unraveling!” Caren cried in dismay.

"What the hell are you trying to do to me, Caren? You know I can't marry you! I never lied and said I would. You're playing a game with me." 

He choked and covered his face with his hands, then took them down and pleaded, "I love you. God help me but I do. I want you near me always, and I want my child too. What kind of game are you playing now?"

“Just a woman's game. The only game she can play and be sure of winning."

“Look," he said, trying to regain his control of the situation, “explain what you mean, don't double talk. Nothing has to change because my wife is back. You'll always have a place in my life/"

"In your life? Don't you mean more correctly, on the fringes of your life?"

For the first time she heard humility in his voice, "Caren, be reasonable. I love you, and I love my wife too. Sometimes I can't separate you from her. She came back different, as I told you, and now she is like she was when we first met. Maybe a more youthful figure and face has given her back some confidence she lost, and because of it she can be sweeter. Whatever the cause. I'm grateful. Even when I disliked her, I loved her. When she was hateful, I'd try and strike back by going to other women, but still I loved her. The one big issue we fight over is her unwillingness to have a child, even an adopted one. Of course she's too old to have one now. Please, Caren, stay! Don't leave! Don't take my child away so I will never know what happens to him, or to her...or to you."

Caren laid it out flat, “All right, I will stay on one condition. If you divorce her and marry me, only then will you have the child you always wanted. Otherwise, I'm taking myself, and that means your child too, far away. Maybe I'll write to let you know if you have a son or a daughter, and maybe I won't. Either way, once I leave, you are out of my life for good.” 

Before the fireplace he stood with his arm up on the mantel, then he rested his forehead on that and stared down at the fire. His free hand was behind his back and clenched into a fist. His confused thoughts were so deep they reached out and touched Caren with pity. He turned then to face her, staring deep into her eyes. 

“My God," he said, shocked by his discovery. "You planned this all along, didn't you? You came here to accomplish what you have, but why? Why should you choose me to hurt? What have I ever done to you, Caren, but love you? True, it started with sex, and sex only was what I wanted it to stay. But it has grown into something much more than that. I like being with you, just sitting and talking, or walking in the woods. I feel comfortable with you. I like the way you wait on me, and touch my cheek when you pass, and rumple my hair and kiss my neck, and the sweet, shy way you wake up and smile when you see me beside you. I like the clever games you play, keeping me always guessing, and always amused. I feel I have ten women in one, so now I feel I can't live without you. But I can't abandon my wife and marry you. She needs me!"

"You should have been an actor, Harry. Your words move me to tears."

"Damn you for taking this so lightly!” He bellowed. "You've got me on a rack and you're twisting the screws! Don't make me hate you and ruin the best months of my life!

With that he stormed out of her home, and she was left alone, ruefully regretting that she always talked too much, for she would stay as long as he needed her.

Dear Diary,

A lot has happened and I don’t want to write about it all but… I guess I should. It’s March now, my birthday month. The second triwizard task has passed and things are supposed to be calm now until it gets closer to the next one but they’re not really.

Tom sent me a birthday gift earlier this week. The first gift of the year. I didn’t even know he knew when my birthday was, but he sent me a unicorn soft-toy and it’s holding a heart that says ‘You’re Magical!’ I’m going to pin the note here, but I don’t think he’s very good at writing, so don’t make fun of him.

 Deer Faryfayce,

Happy Birdday!

Your big frend,

Tom

 I honestly can’t believe he remembered my birthday never mind that he got me a gift. I’m really glad he did though, I mean, it must mean I’m important right? Like, we really are almost best friends? Maybe we can be actual best friends now. I was really happy about it until I found out that he got Talula a necklace for her thirteenth birthday. That's such a grown up gift. It's the kind of gift you get the girl you like, not like a soft-toy. You get your little sister a soft-toy. I know I shouldn't care, it's not like we're dating or anything, I'm dating Jamie and I like Jamie. I don't like Tom. But it still bothers me. Maybe it's because he called me a baby.

Anyways, Lion’s Den happened on Sunday and… Well, it started out okay, if you pretend Alasdair wasn’t there. And Dumb Vicky… but Dumb Vicky brought sea salt caramel cake and we were all meant to be celebrating March birthdays like mine and Andie's. I gave Andie some cake and she ended up knocking the plate into my face. I was covered with icing and cake so I jumped over the couch and smeared cake on her too and everything was just fun, you know? Andie wasn't being mean to Jamie. There was no fighting. Artie and Dumb Vicky and the prefect, Bree, all left and so it was just us and Lex and Alasdair and Ramon who came in to eat cake but he started picking on Andie and so she and I teased him back. At some point though, Andie was teasing and going at Ramon, so I ended up full body binding both of them. I really only meant to get Ramon but then Andie stepped in the way. Anyways, Alasdair and Lex left and I asked Jamie if they had a marker. I was hoping they’d go back to the dorms so I could release Andie but Jamie’s an artist so they actually had a marker on them. And they were all like ‘I don’t feel good about this, you should let them go, Ressy.’ Which sounded like a terrible idea because they’d both be real angry at me and if they were free, they’d be able to curse me back. Anyways, Jamie got all serious and was like ‘I’m going to wait in the clocktower. I know you’ll make the choice that’s right for you.’ And so when they were gone I freed Andie. But Andie thought I /tried/ to curse her and so she was real mad at me. Or maybe it was because it took a whole lot of tries to free her, I’m not sure which. I told her that I was going to free her anyhow when Jamie left but that didn’t work out so anyways, we tried to free Ramon and it took us both forever and her spells kept failing and apparently it hurt Ramon when they did. Well, anyways, I finally got him free and he started yelling and cursing at us. I felt like crying but then instead I started to laugh, I really don’t know why. It was like, I couldn’t help but to laugh at the whole stupid day. And I mean, I was glad that I was laughing instead of crying in front of Andie and especially instead of crying because this dumb boy yelled at me but then he started calling me a freak and talking about my eyes. He called me an alien and an abomination and said that I was lucky I wasn’t a boy because he would’ve smashed my head in. He also called Andie… some not so nice stuff...and a donut? Anyways, I don’t know if it’s because he called me a freak or if it’s because he was insulting Andie or if it was because I stopped taking my calming draughts when Professor Mac told me I should but I ended up shoving Ramon and telling him to try it then. Andie freaked out and grabbed me so I couldn’t punch him in his stupid face even when he kept calling me a freak and calling Andie names too. I’ve never been that angry in my whole life- even before Hogwarts, before calming draughts. I just wanted to hurt him and I told him I hated him and tried to kick him but Andie was pulling me away. I ended up remembering I had my wand in my hand and I hit him with a knockback jinx and Andie made her gum fly up his nose. He ran away and Andie left to go back to the dorms but… I hate him. I hope he’s afraid every moment until we graduate and that he’s always looking over his shoulder afraid that we’ll curse him, /really/ curse him like the Fae in my books.

I left after that and went to meet Jamie in the clocktower. I really feel like maybe I’m not as good a person as they think I am. I couldn’t tell them that though. I told them about what happened though and about how tired I am of always being yelled at because people think I won’t do anything about it or being told that I’m a freak or a beast because I’m part veela. I’m tired of being told I should just let people be mean because they’re just scared or because I might get hurt! I told Jamie everything and they agreed and hugged me and I think they’re honestly the most good a person could ever be. I could tell the conversation bothered them so I asked them about the birthday gift they had for me and so they dug in their backpack to get it and… Well, it was wrapped in this blue-green shimmery fish-scale paper and it had a bow on it that reminded me of mother-of-pearl and when I opened it it was this mechanical mermaid! She swam out and she kind of floats around and everything. Jamie said they wanted to bring a piece of the ocean to me which is one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me. It’s up there with being called fairy-face and being asked if I’m a mermaid. I loved it so much I couldn’t even tell Jamie how much so I just hugged them really tight. Of course, when I was hugging them, I remembered I had cake on my face and told them I should clean up and ask if they wanted to go to the commons with me.

On the way to the commons, we ran into Everlina and… That was not really good. You remember that boy Rubicon? I wrote about him before, he’s the one who told me my violin sounded like a dying boggart and also he doesn’t like me because I’m part veela? He and Everlina have been friends since before we were even sorted, when his house burned down, he went to stay with Eve and her family… Well, he only just realised that she’s halfblood and ended up totally losing it when he found out! Everly says he basically went crazy and started talking about how non-purebloods just want to kill purebloods and steal their magic and how he started to hurt himself and was crying and stuff and she wanted him to go to the Hospital Wing with her but he just wouldn’t! Anyways, Everly was really upset about it and so I gave her a hug but really I want to find him and curse him too for making her cry. I don’t know why people in this school are just allowed to get away with this stuff! I just don’t get it! I think I’m going to write Professor Green about it, she’s his head of house. Maybe she can do something about it, unlike when Professor Rask told us Octavia was just scared. Talula warned me to stay away from Ruby himself though because we’re too evenly matched, being in the same year, and he might really hurt me but I’m not afraid of him! We all decided to disperse and head back to our commons when the Head Boy caught us. I think Jamie expected us to get in trouble but he was really nice.

I ran into Tom in the Great Hall the next day and I thanked him for the soft-toy and gave him a hug and everything. He and Talula (and Eve too, though I didn’t find that out until later) got these letters from these dueling clubs telling them they were interested in them when they graduate. That’s really cool, right? Tom’s club was the Dragons which he says is a really cool team and that they must be interested in him because his da must be one. I know Tom really likes his Da, so maybe that’s why he was so excited. They even sent him a t-shirt that he put on and started dancing in. He’s not really a good dancer but that’s okay, I told him he has wicked cool moves anyhow. He and Talula started talking about starting up dueling club again though which is really cool. Maybe, since the only spells I can really do are body binds and knock-backs, I can actually get good too. It felt really bad listening to everyone talk about their dueling invites. I know they all deserve them and they’re all really good, I just keep thinking about how I failed my charms exam last year and the practical part of the DADA one and how I’m just really bad at casting magic in general and it makes me feel worse and worse.

Anyways, I remembered that I don’t know Tom’s birthday so I asked him when it was and he said he’d give me his address so I can send him something. I was thinking about sending him a dragon soft-toy but then he said not to send him one. I might send him one anyhow and something else, something cool too. His birthday’s on the 21st of August. He also said I could come visit him in Surrey over the summer when I told him he could come visit me too. He says his mum’s almost never around so maybe he’d like the company? Jamie said I could come visit them too in a muggle community, so that cool too! Maybe I’ll actually do something this summer instead of just being sent away.

I think that’s everything I have to write about this time, but it won’t be long before I write again.

Merlin’s Blood

A/N: sorry if you’re allergic to walnut bread, you can just pretend i wrote something else!

masterlist

chapter 1

Chapter 2: A Moment with a Miracle

“Motherfucker—“

Mother would be sooooo mad if she heard me speaking like this.

But you had landed pretty hard in your defense, you hadn’t teleported in forever because after you nearly crash-landed into the firing zone for archery practice, mother had put a stop to it.

You landed on the top of a rather large cliff that overlooked a small town below it. “I really really hope this is Brugee or else I’m fucked.” You got up and dusted the soil of your cloak, there was a small rip at the bottom but thankfully that was it.

You started walking down the hill, pausing every few minutes to listen to your surroundings and make sure you weren’t being followed.

I can’t believe I would have the fantastic fate to meet the man who’s supposed to kill me. Also, he’s a Witcher, which makes this even worse! And now he knows what I look like, ah fuck, fuck, fuck… What am I going to do—

“Geralt I still don’t understand why you have to kill her! She’s so sweet and it’s not like you’ll be able to find her since she poofed! Into thin air!”

Shit.

You crouched down immediately upon hearing the voice of Jaskier. About 20 yards away, Geralt was walking with the reins of Roach in his hand along with Jaskier rambling off beside him.

Oh my gods, I guess my fight or flight skills decided to go halfsies and not take me to Brugee, but just get me out of imminent danger…

“—Don’t you see how horrible your reasoning is? She saved me from getting shot with a crossbow at the tavern and then trusted me to help her, I think you need to question who gave you the order to—“ Geralt suddenly perked up and put his hand out to silence the bard. You took a small breath and held it, hoping his enhanced abilities weren’t as amazing as the legends.

In a quiet voice, the Witcher said, “I smell something, lavender…”

Oh sweet peaches and cream, my oils.

Your mother had let you choose an oil for your 11th birthday as a signature statement for a young princess. You used it as a perfume and as you got older you still used it instead of the fancy ones many suitors anonymously gifted you.

You enjoyed that the scent was your own, one you grew up always having. It kept you closer to nature since once the whispers of war started you were locked inside away from harm.

Alright, deep breath Y/N.

You closed your eyes and concentrated, it only took a moment before the wind shifted to be blowing the opposite direction, taking any trace of you with it. You watched from afar as Geralt tilted his face upwards to see if he could find the scent again, but alas nothing was there anymore.

“Come on, let’s go.”

The two men walked farther away from you and once you could no longer see their silhouettes, you let out a long sigh. You looked up to canopy above you and bit your lip to keep it from quivering.

I’m alone.

The thought of that made you more scared than when your killer had been in front of you merely minutes ago.

Tears welled up in your eyes and for the first time in a long while, you started to cry.

Oh, Mama, Papa, please find me, I’m scared…

You fell asleep curled up next to the giant log you had hidden behind, the thoughts and worries swimming in your head as you fell into a blank sleep.

                                                       …

Light shimmering between the leaves of the tall trees woke you. The forest was very peaceful in the bright morning and made you feel a bit better than the night before. The forest was alive with life and wonder in the early light.

You sat on the old log and watched as some small pixies danced along the adjacent stream that no bigger than a log, perfectly pixie sized. They were brightly colored, one purple, another pink, and the last a vivacious yellow. On the other side of the very tiny stream was a deer with two small wings and a long tail, like a lion.

Creatures that resembled monkeys swang through the trees. These creatures were various versions of green, each had two sets of eyes and two tails. Long floppy ears fell down around their faces as well.

It made you smile to know that the friends of the forest you once knew very well had managed to thrive while you were confined to the castle.

Spirits of the forest and other magical creatures knew not to be afraid of you. The magic in your blood from Merlin, one of your ancestors, lifted the veil of protection that others always see when walking through the woods.

Even the most powerful mage would not be privy to such a masterpiece of wonder. The Brotherhood used magic that was, well you could say, tainted. They drew power from other things but you had your own, it was apart of your very being.

Your mother used to tell you stories about how the blood that runs through your veins was some of the most powerful in the universe.

 You always believed it was made up as a child but as you grew older, some of your royal classes turned into magic lessons leading you to question if it was all just fairytales she told you or history.

A few pixies flew down to you and floating next to them was a slice of walnut bread. You took the bread from the air and smiled at them.

 “Have you been working on your magic baking?” They are nodded, you ate the pastry and instantly felt better. The magical bread seemed to lift your spirits and you decided it was time to get moving.

Alright, it’s time to keep going.

Away from the lovely killer I’ve got on my tail…

It took some time, but you finally found the trail leading to town. You took a guess and headed in the opposite direction, hoping the two others would be going to get food instead of hellbent on finding you.

If I can just find a good stream to drink from, maybe I’ll have enough energy to get out of here.

After walking through the dense forest, you stumbled upon a good size river. It was perfect for taking a quick sip but the problem was you’d need to cross it somehow. The current seemed to be fairly strong and you weren’t at the moment. You found a spot of land that was at level with the river and rolled up your sleeves.

The water was like nectar after all this time. It was cool and icy against your palms, you took the canister Branson had been carrying in the bag thank the gods and filled it to the brim.

Who knows when I’ll find a reliable source like this again.

Poor Branson, I know he wasn’t that fantastic of a bodyguard but he did want to keep me safe, and for two weeks he did. I hope he’s in a better place now, with lots of archery fields and sword fighting classes. He was always a fanatic for fighting.

“Alight, how on earth do I cross this now…” You mumbled to yourself. You kicked small pebbles into the river as you walked alongside it. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. There’s got to be some way I can just—cross it.”

Then an idea popped into your head. You turned to the tree next to you as if to speak to it, “If my bloodline is as powerful as people say, then I should be able to just,” you put a foot out, “walk across it.”

It was exhilarating.

You’d never heard of anyone walking on water but here you were, taking a few steps on top of the gushing river that flowed beneath your shoes. You laughed and twirled across the water, dancing with the fish that jumped up every so often as to say ‘hello!’ to you.

I wish I had known about this ability long ago, crossing the moat would have been such a breeze!

But then the water started to slowly lower as if someone was taking a sponge to a spill.

Huh?

You watched as birds flew from the left, away from something. Animals on the side of the creek ran fast as if they were being chased. “What in the world…” But the worlds died o your tongue as you watch a giant tidal wave come towards you.

“Oh my gods.”

Your instinct kicked in and you immediately moved your hands. One went in a full circle while the other drew symbols on the inside of it. Water swirled around you, creating a bubble as the tidal wave roared over you.

It was horrifyingly beautiful. You watched as flowers floated in the current, most likely ripped away from the sides of the land. Some deer, sadly drowned, ran with the steam as well. They must have been crossing farther up in a shallow area, taking a rest in the lovely stream when it washed them away.

 But what was the worst, was the little doll you saw right above your head, and someone’s tiny hand reaching for it.

You closed your eyes immediately, not wanting to see the body that might come into view.

The wave must have cut through a town, but how is this possible?! It’s a river, someone must have been the cause of this…

Maybe the ones trying to kill me.

You opened your eyes at the thought, now shaking a bit as you realized the situation at hand. “This enemy has strong powers, strong enough to easily kill me.”

The river leveled a bit as the wave raced down the path. You dispersed the bubble and looked at all the debris floating downstream. You ran as fast as you could across the water, you were almost at the edge when you heard something.

A voice.

Someone called out from help, farther down where the wave must have just hit. You turned, wondering whether you should keep going or help the poor soul.

“Help, I’m stuck!” You heard them shout.

Fuck okay.

You darted down the river, sliding down the water like you were surfing when it started to drop at an angle.

Maybe it’s a farm boy? A small child? Who would be in these woods right now, maybe a survivor from the town?

You weren’t expecting to find Jaskier clinging to a log in the middle of the water, his tunic caught by something beneath the rushing stream, and the Witcher who said he was to kill you, knocked out on the bank of the river on the side you had been crossing to.

So I guess they didn’t go to town for supplies after all.

Damn.

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The Chronicles of Narnia: The Battle of Calormen

Chapter 10: "More questions than answers"

I hurriedly walked through the dark halls of the castle. Lately the weather made Cair Paravel seem like a gloomy place. The sun was setting, or so I supposed as there was no sign of it in the sky, not even patches of light coming through the clouds. Just dark mantles of condensed water glided over the narnian sky. It looked like spring had turn into a storm season.

The humidity was unbearable. The floor was sticky, the walls were sticky, I was sticky. Barely livable and because of the breeze coming from the windows of the castle.

I kept walking down the halls, occasionally tripping over my long cape, I have clumsy feet. Allyri was meant to pick me up on the kitchen's back door I was invited to participate on full moon spring harvest. It was actually an herbs harvest, we were picking up herbs on the night of the first moon of the season, and I'd heard that the herbs harvested on this particular night are magical.

I think it's supposed to mean that the herbs that we collect tonight have a more concentrated essence, they will be great to use as a base in medicinal concoctions. I believe it's because we will be collecting the ones that survived the winter, therefore the strongest ones. Allyri laughed when I voiced this conclusion.

Allyri, the centaur. Who lives near a castle in a land inhabited by talking animals, humans and what I used to believe that were only mythical creatures, like Allyri, the centaur, or Bavra, the faun, or the minotaurs, or the giants, or the dwarves, dancing trees, and the list can go on and on. Did I mention that I stumbled on this land when I crossed the street going for groceries with my brother in London? A year ago?

Maybe they were magical herbs after all.

I heard hushed voices coming down the corridor and as I turned the corner I saw the emitters of the voices. Susan and Edmund. Susan was talking heatedly, I couldn´t see her face, her back was turned on me, but I could see her moving her hand frantically and I could see Edmund's astonished face.

I didn't want to interrupt what seemed a very important conversation, so I hide in the darkness of the corridor, just behind a tapestry. I hide to be found like I was eavesdropping the conversation between two monarchs. Great idea. Yep.

But although my mind kept telling me it was a very silly thing what I was doing, that I just had to keep on walking down the hall, do a little courtesy and continue on walking to the kitchen where I was being expected, my body decided otherwise. And it was often that my body decided for me let me tell you. And it didn't have extraordinary ideas as its clumsiness had attempted against my life on several occasions.

"We are not supposed to be here Edmund. We weren't coming back. This was over" Susan's anxious voice came to my ears.

Don't. Anne, don't eavesdrop, this conversation was not meant for your ears. Don't.

"But aren't you happy to be back? We are in Narnia" asked Edmund with incredulity.

I contained my breath, afraid that it would be heard in the silent corridor.

"Ask yourself this same question once this is over and you are back in your Cambridge room preparing for exams, pretending everything is normal when two days before you were a king" Susan sounded very distress . "Edmund, can't you see? This won't last, soon this will all disappear as if nothing ever happened. And at what cost? This is a war Ed, anything could go wrong, a poor shooting and someone could die".

This last sentence rumbled in my brain. A shiver went down my spine. She had just voiced what I had tried to bury in the depths of my mind a while ago.

"How can you go back from an experience so splendid as it is Narnia to England and being no one?" she questioned intently.

I poked my head, just a little from behind the tapestry. Susan's back now looked so small to me. So vulnerable and I guess Edmund saw her that way too as he held his sister in his arms in a tight embrace. I watched his face. A dim light illuminated it. His gestures were severe, but for a moment his shut his eyes tightly and the show sorrow. Just for a split second.

I hide behind the tapestry again. I was right. This moment wasn't meant for me to see or hear. I kept my eyes closed and my back glued to cold but pleasant stone wall. The rustle of their robes signaled me when they passed my tapestry in a silent walk and as I stepped on the corridor they turned the corner arm in arm, unaware of my presence.

A thunder outside made me jump, I was still standing in the dark corridor. I decided to reflect on what I have just heard when I came back. Now I had to get to Allyri.

Soon I arrived to the busy kitchen where a not very pleased centaur greets me.

"You are late" she states.

"I'm sorry Allyri" I apologized smiling hesitantly up at her.

Allyri was a beautiful female centaur. She stand tall in her brown horse legs, long upper human torso, she had a swarthy, earthy complexion and green piercing eyes which were now looking down at me, burning a hole in my face.

"You live here, how can you be late?" she asked me.

"Well-" but before I could answer, probably with a very bad lie, unless I wanted to confess that I was too busy eavesdropping a conversation between the king and queen of old, Hazel, the badger, my dear and savior friend interrupted what would be a dreadful stammer.

"Anne! Do you have your cape? Yes yes, you do" she was asking and answering herself checking me up and down with a motherly eye if I may presume. She was such a nice badger, she worked at the kitchens of the castle.

Allyri watched the exchange with a disapproval face, slight shaking her head while rolling her eyes. It always amused me to see her or the other creatures make such trivial expressions.

"Alright, let's go" she said pushing me out the door before Hazel could stuffed some food on my pouch.

Warm breeze hit my face as we walked through the garden.

"We have quite a long walk ahead of us Anne" Allyri said when we reached the long dry grasses that surrounded Cair Paravel, the trees that gave way to the forest just a few meters away.

Her long legs made it easy to walk for on the grass but I struggled hard to follow her long strides. My skirt and cape tangled in my legs, the effort was making me sweat a lot under my clothes. It reminded me of two days ago, this same situation, except for the wind and that a young king had to grab me by the waist when I fell face to the ground. I had the feeling that Allyri would only laugh if I fell.

"Where are we going?" I asked trying not to sound too agitated.

"Dancing Lawn" she simply answered.

I tried to put together what I recalled a map of Narnia looked like. It was far. I looked up at the sky. Lightnings were dancing on it.

"Yeah, we might not make it there before it starts to rain" Allyri commented looking at the sky too. "Here, grab my hand and mount on my back" she offered me her hand.

I looked at her in surprise. I have done that. A horse, yes, but mounting a centaur seemed like such a disrespectful thing to do.

"It's proper if I asked you to" she reassured me sensing my discomfort.

Hesitantly I reached for her hand and she pulled me into her back. I embraced her hips and she galloped out. She quickly reached the tree line and I hold on tight as she galloped rapidly in the woods.

She was such a beautiful and noble creature and everything that surrounded her and her people was just magical. I had already grown to love Narnia. Its kind inhabitants, majestic landscapes, culture, everything.

I sometimes thought of home, back in England, but the memories were fuzzy now, I could not remember very well. I was forgetting the meaning of things back at home, some names, the sounds of a busy street, smells, and family too. But I don't exactly feel sad. Narnia fulfilled all my needs. I felt complete here.

But then again, Susan's words made my fears resurface. We are at war here. Anything could happen and I couldn't nor wouldn't afford that. My mind went to Bill, my not so little brother who, since we arrived in Narnia, had developed such a strong character, but his gentle nature was what had me worried.

I was afraid that in a desperate attempt to help he would grab onto something that's bigger than him and that he will go down with it. He is my brother and it's hard for me to see him as a soldier. We suffered war back at home, we lost uncles, friends, and our dad lost part of him in that hell. I am not willing to lose my brother here. We are going back home together. I would make sure of it.

And this leads me to another big question, when are we going back home?

From what I've learnt in my time here the Pevensies spent fifteen years the first time they got here. Fifteen years, and that was over a thousand years ago, and they went back home to their own ages and then they came back, and then back to England, and then Lucy and Edmund came in a third time and got back to England, and now they are all here again. Back and forth through thousands of years, yet the oldest of them is twenty four.

How crazy is this? Funny thing time.

I understand that our arrival here has a purpose. But a year later I still don't know what that is, I was hoping to meet Aslan, The Great Lion, I hoped he would tell us what are we supposed to do here, because fighting a war and dying in it does not sound like a logical purpose to get us out from home. There has to be something else.

So, since we arrived I pushed myself to learn everything I could, maybe it will help me find an answer. I was lucky enough that the centaurs took me in and taught me their beliefs, it's an honor for me. And this made me welcome to the community of creatures that live here in Narnia. Beautiful souls they are.

And if we are here to fulfill a purpose, why did the Pevensies came too? Apparently they don't know either.

In my search for answers I find myself with more questions than responses.

"We are almost there" called back Allyri interrupting my unstoppable train of thought.

I looked around it was very dark now, night time, only trees surrounded us.

Soon we started hearing noises, voices talking actually. And as I dismounted Allyri in the Dancing Lawn where the other centaurs were gathering a deafening thunder rumbled across the night sky.

Chapter Four | Peter Pevensie

[Red Series Book One: Roses]

Synopsis: With World War Two ravaging the world, no one is safe and no one is happy.

Despite their protests, Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy Pevensie are evacuated from London and sent to live in the English countryside with an old professor. Scared and unhappy, only the youngest Pevensie child remains optimistic and ends up sharing her hope with her siblings in the form of a wardrobe that takes them to Narnia, a different world where they are the only form of hope to bring an end to an evil witch's reign of terror.

Rosemary Bennett has no more hope left in her heart. Her brother and father are off fighting for their country, the former having gone missing months ago, and her mother ignores her, preferring the company of a bottle over her own daughter. Giving up seems the only logical plan of action. But when it finally comes to carrying it out, she's transported to a different world, with talking animals and a prophecy that doesn't involve her. Unsure as to why she is there, she must navigate a new world and ponder the possibility that maybe - just maybe - she doesn't actually want to die.

*Warning: this book deals with depression and suicide. Though mental illness isn't what this story revolves around, the act of suicide and depressive thoughts are intertwined with the plot and act as 'backseat drivers' to the novel.

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Curled up in a chair with a blanket laid over her, Rosemary sipped at her tea, not caring if it burned her tongue and throat because at least she would be warm. Also, if she was going to eat fish, she didn't want any taste buds.

Once Mrs. Beaver was comfortable in the other chair, she turned to Rosemary. "Ask away."

Rosemary had no idea where to start. She was sure she was still in shock, and she was definitely delirious. A beaver was talking for God's sake.

"Are you sure I'm not dead?"

Mrs. Beaver nodded once, sure of herself. "Positive, my dear. You're in Narnia. Why do you believe you're dead?"

Rosemary couldn't immediately bring herself to answer Mrs. Beaver's question. She had no idea her suicide attempt would fail so she was absolutely humiliated by the prospect of failing at the one thing she had been so determined to do. If only Daniel could see her now.

"I jumped," was all she said. Mrs. Beaver clearly understood what the two words meant by the quiet 'oh' that slipped past her lips. "Thank you for saving me though. I know I didn't want to be saved, but I appreciate the gesture all the same."

Mrs. Beaver perked up at that and smiled softly at the Bennett girl. "No disrespect, but even if I did know, I still would've saved you. I haven't known you long but I can already tell that you are a lovely young lady. Someone that I would be proud to call my daughter."

The tears fell suddenly and Rosemary's lower lip wobbled. Mrs. Beaver had no idea how much her words meant to Rosemary. It was her mother's avoidance and ignoring act that had pushed Rosemary to jump off that cliff so even though she hadn't known Mrs. Beaver long, she felt more loved by Mrs. Beaver in that moment than she had in a long time.

"Thank you," Rosemary whispered. "That means a lot."

Mrs. Beaver reached over and patted Rosemary's hand. "Of course my dear. Glad I could make you feel a little better."

Wanting to stop crying and move on from the subject, Rosemary asked another question. "You said we are in Narnia but...I have no idea what or where that is. I don't recall it being on any maps."

"I can't really describe it - Aslan would be the best option - but Narnia isn't on your maps because it belongs to a whole other world."

"How did I get here then? I jumped off a cliff in England and somehow I end up in a completely different world?"

"That is something I don't have the answer to. I wish I did so I could tell you, but I don't. But I do know that Narnia has a will of its own, and if it needs something, it will get that something. I believe that when you jumped off the cliff and into the water below, you were somehow transported to Narnia and came in through the Western River. That's where I found you."

"How do I get back to England?"

"That's a question for Aslan, whom we can try and get you to. Beaver will know more about that so you can ask him when he returns."

"Thank you," Rosemary smiled gratefully over the brim of her cup. "I understand this is a whole other world - still working on the whole believing part - but does it follow a different seasonal pattern? I mean, it's late summer in...my world, but it's winter here."

"Oh, it's been winter for the past hundred years in Narnia. Ever since the White Witch began ruling Narnia. She calls herself the Queen of Narnia but that's just rubbish. Narnia is only ever right and good when a child of Adam and/or Eve is on the throne. Not some stuck up witch."

Rosemary shouldn't have been surprised by the notion of magic in this other world - she was having tea with a talking beaver for Heaven's sake - but she was. The shock obviously hadn't worn off yet.

Rosemary wasn't sure what to say to that. "Well, at least your dam is nice and toasty."

"Yes. I suspect Beaver misses the warm weather so he makes it dreadfully hot in here." Mrs. Beaver made a show of waving her hand like a fan in hopes of cooling herself down and Rosemary giggled.

"Considering I almost froze out there, the blistering heat in here doesn't seem too bad."

"And would you look at that - Beaver's actually helpful for something." That made Rosemary laugh and she had to put her empty cup down before she dropped it. Who knew that some new company would lighten her spirits so much so quickly?

Over the next couple of hours, Mrs. Beaver made a lot of tea for the two of them and she entertained Rosemary with stories of Narnia - both good and bad. She told Rosemary tales that had been passed down over the generations about all sorts of things - Aslan the Lion, dancing trees, mermaids, and more.

By the time the sun had finally disappeared behind the towering trees and the sky began to darken, Mrs. Beaver had begun to pace. "He should've been back an hour ago. Ugh, he's probably out messing around with Badger. They always lose track of time when they're together. Sometimes, I think he's more married to Badger instead of me."

Rosemary recalled playing with Daniel before he left for war. They always lost track of time when they were doing something together - whether it was reading or playing hide-and-seek. "I'm sure that's it Mrs. Beaver. My brother and I were a lot like that too."

The lady beaver paused at the new information. All night, Rosemary had been avoiding talking about her life - aside from mentioning that in her world, everyone was at war. The war to end all wars, Rosemary had called it. But before Mrs. Beaver could ask Rosemary about her brother, she heard voices outside and bristled. "That better be Beaver."

Marching outside, Mrs. Beaver called out, "Beaver, is that you? I've been worried sick! If I find out you've been out with Badger again, I-" Mrs. Beaver lost her voice as not only her husband came into view, but four children. Four human children. Two sons of Adam and two daughters of Eve dressed in oversized fur coats trailed after her husband, marveling at the dam. "Those aren't badgers."

"Hello, Darling," Beaver kissed his wife on the cheek but she barely payed attention, moving closer to the four children.

"Oh, I never though I would live to see this day! And now not only Rosemary but you as well!" Quickly changing gears, she swatted her husband on the shoulder before smoothing herself down. "Look at my fur! You couldn't give me ten minutes warning?"

"I'd have given you a week if I thought it would've helped," Beaver teased, snickering behind his paws. Laughter bubbled up in Lucy and she let it loose behind her sleeve. Peter smiled briefly. His mother and father used to tease each other like that before his father went off to war.

"Oh, come inside, and we'll see if we can't get you some food. And there's some civilized company inside so that should cheer you lot up."

"Company?" Beaver gawked, trailing after his wife. "We never have company."

"And yet, now we have two parties. And they're all human!"

"There are other humans here?" Lucy wondered, following after Susan. "Mr. Tumnus made it sound like there weren't any other humans here."

"There aren't - oh, excuse the mess. Rosemary was brought here just like you four were. Except, well, her journey was a little wetter."

Inside, Rosemary had heard the entire conversation - thin walls in a dam, she supposed - and had gotten up from her chair to make some more tea. There was a small hole in the ice by the wall that acted as both the water supply and the way in and out of the water for the Beavers. She dipped the kettle into the water and then moved over to the stove to turn it on. After pulling out as many mugs as there were, she went back to the chair she had spent the last few hours in and pulled the blanket over her shoulders.

By the time the Beavers and Pevensies entered the home, she was already fast asleep.

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Princess, part 8

     [This story is a prequel, set several years before The Fall of Doc Future, when Flicker is 16.  Links to some of my other work are here.  Updates are theoretically biweekly–going to try to get the next one out by mid-March.]

Previous: Part 7

      Journeyman ran his fingers through his hair and sighed as he looked at the picture Flicker sent to his handcomp.       "Yep, that's her," he said.  "Dr. Reinhart has a rep of knowing a lot about how minds are put together--and how to take them apart.  She seems to be effectively immune to mental influence and hostile probability manipulation--no, I don't know how she manages that--and I've heard enough complaints to believe that she can mess up Diviners and Seers just by being near what they're trying to see.  Not sure about Oracles.  Also, she's hard to kill.  If she's willing to help you, I doubt she'd be a weak point."       "That sounds good.  Except that the Database says her specialty is mind control.  But I guess she concentrates on defense?  That part wasn't clear."       "A lot about her isn't clear," said Journeyman.  "She is very good at using fear, though.  General opinions I hear about her are mixed.  I have connections, and while I keep them private, the general idea isn't a secret--I swap gossip, assistance, and so forth, move things around, and link people with what they need, all fairly quietly.  Dr. Reinhart clearly has connections, but nobody knows how they work.  She can show up somewhere, have coffee with a few folks, and sometimes everything stays quiet, and sometimes all hell breaks loose.  Odd accidents, fits of madness, sudden unexplained deaths from no obvious cause, and occasionally 'Blood--blood everywhere!'  And afterwards the details of what happened don't always add up.  Except usually some grim entrenched problem has disappeared.  That part is acknowledged, but she still really puts people on edge.  Oh, and there are rumors that she's seriously annoyed several intelligence agencies, but they're still trying to hire or co-opt her.  Jumping Spider would know more about that than me."       "Well, I needed to talk to Jumping Spider anyway."  Flicker frowned.  "Anything else?"       "I don't doubt Dr Reinhart's competence to advise you about social interaction."  Journeyman looked down.  "Motivation, methods, side effects?  That's over my head, but I would expect some warnings from your AI."       "Why?  Just her reputation?"       "Well... I know Doc is twitchy about mind control, and Dr. Reinhart apparently has issues with his methods.  And the spy stuff."       "She has a negative threat index--that means she's helping.  Doc is pragmatic about that."       "Up to a point."  Journeyman spread his hands.  "Anyway, that's what I can tell you.  Hope it helps."       "Yes."  Flicker sped up to virtual type a response to Dr. Reinhart, then slowed back down again.  "There.  She's traveling, and pretty inflexible about privacy, so it will be at least a few days before I can meet her, regardless."       She stood up from the high speed interface station and glided over to stop in front of Journeyman where he sat on the couch.  He watched her warily.       "Thank you," she said, and paused.  "I'm willing to at least consider rescheduling Speedtest, but I don't want to argue about it right now.   You don't feel safe here and you probably need sleep.  How much did you get last night?"       He shrugged.  "A few hours before you woke me up.  None since."       "Then get sleep, consult your Diviners or whatever, and we can talk more tomorrow."       "Might take a while to find anybody.  If I even can.  Tracking down Diviners is rarely easy."  He looked away.  "And Flicker?  I don't want to argue about it at all.  I'll send what I find to the Database.  Argue with Doc, or Jumping Spider, or Jetgirl, or whoever you need to.  Not me."       "I don't..."  Flicker stopped and swallowed.  "Argue isn't the right word.  It's just the one that sounded human to me.  And my anger isn't really at you, that's just where I attach it.  I think there's something wrong with my human emulation."       Journeyman shook his head.  "No.  Humans make mistakes, and they get angry, and no one should expect anything different.  Least of all me.  This isn't something we can solve.  Sometimes you can't get from where you are to where you want to be."       "And what I want is the problem."       He waved his arms.  "No!  I'm the problem.  I thought I could still finesse a way through, despite everything stacked against it, and I. Was. Wrong.  And that's why I have to go."       "Partner..."  She stopped again.  "Damn.  Having an emotional reaction to that word."       "...Yeah."  He blinked then raised his hand.  "I'm sorry I don't have any magic words for you.  Primum non nocere is all I've got left."       Flicker pulled off her glove and reached out to complete their fingertip touch.       "Take care," he said.       She couldn't find anything to say.  So she just nodded.  Journeyman took a deep breath and teleported out.       A faint whirl of disturbed air, then nothing.       Flicker looked around the room.  It felt far emptier than was reasonable.       *****       Evening back home, pre-dawn in Kenya.  Flicker didn't want to wake up Jonathan or his family, but Chaser was awake and running to greet her as soon as she slowed down.  Flying tackle and friend bites and his ridiculously tiny meow, and they played chase dance and dangle the fuzzy toy the way he liked.  Then he flopped down on her feet and purred as she held him.       Chaser wasn't her cat.  He wasn't anyone's cat.  He was his own cheetah.  But Flicker had rescued him as a kitten, taken him far away from the lions that had killed his siblings.  It wasn't clear what had killed their mother, but life was full of perils for cheetahs, especially when they had to share shrinking habitat with lions.  He stayed with the family of a park ranger, on land Flicker had purchased next to a wildlife reserve.  Extravagant?  Maybe, but it wasn't hard to figure out why she'd identified so hard with an orphan who had social problems with other cheetahs.       Time zones made visits awkward, and they still hoped to reintroduce him back to the wild someday, but in the meantime she could hold him close, and whisper that he was a good cat.  He purred and didn't mind her tears from trying to accept a present that had crumbled unexpectedly, and a hoped for future that had been a mirage.  He didn't judge, didn't care whether she was human or not; she was just his fast friend.       An hour under a slowly brightening sky made the world a slightly better place.  Still not good, but better.       *****       Later evening.  Ghosting through the darkness at 500 kilometers per second.  Flicker was moving fast enough to be effectively invisible, but slow enough to leave no traces behind her.  It fit her mood--she didn't particularly want to be anywhere.  But there was someone she needed to talk to at Doc's.       Superhuman speed implied a superhuman ability to interrupt.  So Flicker and Doc had worked out a protocol that allowed for degrees of urgency and desire to avoid disruption.  'Open door' had a particular implication because of Flicker's dislike of them.  It was a way for Doc to indicate that she could join a meeting in progress, but it would be polite to wait and listen quietly until an appropriate pause, absent an emergency.       At Doc's.  Flicker entered the recovery room next to one of the med labs, sat in one of the chairs, and slowed down.  She didn't say anything.       Jumping Spider was sitting up with her left leg extended.  Something complicated covered the knee--it looked like one of Doc's support and monitoring minibots.  Doc was frowning at a large display showing... Not her leg.  Her left jump boot.  Which wasn't in the room, though her spare pair was.  A quick Database check showed her main boots were down in one of the big fabbers in Doc's workshop being repaired.       "...crash cushioning cells seem to have handled the landing fine," Doc was saying, "and at least blunted the impact. Still..."       "They did the job," said Jumping Spider.  "Sometimes a gust of wind hits you at just the wrong time, and one did, right after I'd hopped off the roof."       "The fourth story roof.  Over icy concrete.  In a blizzard."       "Yeah, it was Tuesday.  Wednesdays are overpasses.  Hi Flicker."       "Hello.  What happened?"       "Nothing major.  I banged up my knee a little yesterday and used the crash guards on my left boot.  Doc's going to give the boots a checkup, recalibrate the jump jets, and--" She turned her head to look at Doc. "Not stay up all night making minor improvements.  Right?"       Doc raised an eyebrow.  "I am most definitely going to run unit tests after the tuneup and the data updates."       "That will only take an hour or two.  And Flicker wants to talk to me anyway."       Flicker didn't understand how Doc's relationship with Jumping Spider worked, except that it did.  It was close, but they usually saw each other only a few times a month.  Jetgirl described it as 'co-conspirators with benefits.'  There had to be more than that after almost two decades, but Flicker didn't get how most more typical relationships functioned either.       "All right," said Doc.  He nodded to Flicker.  "I'll give the two of you privacy, then."       "Thank you," said Flicker.       Doc must have read her expression--or more likely her 'No personal small talk currently welcome' Database flag--and left the room without further comment.  Jumping Spider pulled the swivel arm table with a Database interface over so she could use it.       "We're secure--privacy locked," she said.  "Yes, from Doc too.  Check."       DASI was insistent on leaving up the warning flag on Flicker's visor about limiting Doc's access in his own HQ, but she confirmed the privacy lock.       "Verified," said Flicker.       "Now we can talk," said Jumping Spider.  "My knee isn't much worse than usual.  But I heard you are.  Doc says you seem determined to push a hazardous test series on short notice and you don't look happy.  Did Journeyman just turn you down or did you manage something stupider?"       Jumping Spider could be tactful.  She usually chose to be blunt with Flicker.  They weren't friends, but Flicker tried to listen to her advice, because she was right far too often to ignore.       "Both," said Flicker.  "I don't think I have a partner anymore."       "You don't think?  Want to tell me what happened?"       "No.  But I should.  I'd been pushing patrols for a while and was off duty yesterday when I got an alert that Hermes was back..."       Flicker summarized the mess of the last two days, with a pause while Jumping Spider watched the vid of the handover of Hermes at the Box.  It was even less pleasant to explain than she'd expected.  She had to bounce up to speed mind several times to maintain her composure while staying on track.  Jumping Spider said she would save any questions for later, which was just as well.       "...and after he ported out," Flicker finished, "I did memory assimilation work, then visited with Chaser until the Database told me you were available.  It's been a long day."       "It sure has," said Jumping Spider.  "The Database security AI called me for help.  It needed a human other than Doc with the right clearance level bad.  You ignored warnings, bypassed the blocks, and managed to set off a cross-domain priority conflict and a legacy conflict this afternoon.  Why settle for one crisis at a time when you can have more?"       "Um.  Those were for something that actually helped."       "A book that flaunts that it's full of traps in the dedication and you're sure it helped?"       "Well... I'm running sims."       "Yeah.  You do that."  Jumping Spider smiled sardonically.       "Why was the cross-domain priority conflict so bad, anyway?"       "Because the AI was forbidden from telling Doc about something in one domain, and required to tell him in another--and he's normally the one that resolves those conflicts.  And you were no help, because you were causing it.  So it had to call me, because I was the next person in line with clearance.  I figured I'd better drop what I was doing to deal with what you stirred up.  Doc was already on the way to get me when you sent your message about Dr. Reinhart--his flying car does come in handy sometimes.  And I have heard of her.  But I need to do some Database poking before I'm willing to make a judgement, so are you up for doing some tedious but necessary work to help me fill in a few holes?  It would make up for what I had to drop, and let me test something."       "Depends.  What kind of work?"       "Spying.  Under the direction of someone who knows what she's doing.  That's why most of it will be boring.  But it will also involve a lot of purposeful running around, which I'm guessing you could use.  You've amply demonstrated how fast you go stir-crazy.  I want to double check some clues to whatever was wrong at the Box that they didn't want you to see, and have you take a quick look in some other places.  I expect a lot of verification of negatives, or whatever is in the Database, but I have a nasty suspicious mind and suspiciously nasty things have been happening."       "...Yeah.  Okay.  It'll be slower in the dark, though."       "Oh, some parts will be in daylight."       Flicker waited a moment, and the Database projected the outline of a list that was far too long to fit on her visor display.  It started with a survey of just who was staking out the home of the magician she'd talked to at the Box, and included whole sets of vehicles and buildings associated with spy agencies and less identifiable groups.       "All right," she said, and headed out.       *****       Flicker settled into a rhythm.  Slow down, take action, verify, speed up, move on.  And consider her life, while she moved.       Human--for some value of human that was possible for her--was part of what she wanted to be.  Speed and motion were a much bigger part of who and what she already was.  Human was an illusion, an emulation.  A load bearing one.  Maybe even a necessary one, in the long term.  But she wasn't good enough yet.  If the last few days had proved anything, it was this.       She'd read various versions of a joke about how many people stopped growing up and just started faking it after about age fourteen.  Even humans sometimes had to fake being adult humans.  And that went to the essence of what she thought Journeyman had been trying to say.  For her to connect, to feel, to be the person she wanted to be, meant being socially human.  But to relate as an equal, as a full partner, as... well there weren't proper words, but to connect fully with him meant being a responsible adult.       And Flicker couldn't manage both at the same time.  Not yet.  She could fake it for a while, but push too hard?  Add the stress that came with being who she was in the world she lived in?  Her emulation broke down.  Humans used age as a proxy for responsibility, and she'd been fixated on the unfairness of that.  But all the advice, the common wisdom, assumed you were human.  And social support was centered on 'normal' human, for an extensive and arbitrary set of dimensions of normal.       But if she gave up on human, if she fully accepted that there was no one like her, that she was alien to this world of odd bipeds, she risked finding the breaking point of the fragile thread of empathy that connected her to that world.  Because they could be so foolish, so cruel to one another, so ignorant, so blind.  Doc had always been very clear about the danger in that.  And the Volunteer had spent a whole day talking her down from the edge, after her big fight with Doc, when she'd wanted to act, to treat the world like a dysfunctional terrarium that cried out for intervention to stop the evil, the oppression, the war, the starvation and brutality and shortsightedness and indifference, all the so very unnecessary pain, outside the narrow range of actions allowed for a superhero.       The most frightening part of that day had been seeing the edges of some of the Volunteer's load-bearing illusions.  The ideals that let him help the things he could, as an alien in a world of humans.  But those illusions couldn't be hers.  Because she was more alien?  She didn't know.  She did know they'd broken others who had tried.       She needed to find her own way.  While she could still care.  Because if she stopped caring, it would be way too easy for her to go over any one of several edges.       Maybe Dr. Reinhart could help Flicker find better ways to connect to humans.  But she also needed to learn more about who, and what, she already was.  The limits and idiosyncrasies of her power and being.  Doc hadn't stopped her experiments because they'd reached any firm conclusions.  He'd stopped them because they'd become too dangerous to continue on Earth.       How fast was she, really?  What new realms of sense and ability were beyond the limits she needed to maintain on Earth?  The aim of Speedtest was to find out.  It was the only thing she looked forward to now that was truly hers.  It was past time.       *****       More than an hour and numerous additions to the list later, Flicker was finally done.  She'd spent a lot of the extra time following up discrepancies in Italy.  There was a messy but still relatively quiet political crisis going on there, triggered by some combination of Hermes' rampage in Rome, the identity and contacts of the now dead magician who had summoned him, recriminations over the botched response that had resulted in his death, and a long-simmering conflict over the reasons that Italy didn't currently have any resident superheroes.       She'd taken a brief moment to ghost over to the shop in Florence where she'd gotten takeout gelato with Journeyman to celebrate first becoming partners.  It was still closed in the first hint of dawn light.       Sentimental human indulgence.  Was there a point?  Maybe there would be again, someday, a time when it would mean more than something she'd thought she'd lost, but never really had.  But for now, it was closure.  Acceptance.       She headed back to Doc's HQ and decided against speeding up.  Speedtest would be soon enough, and there was no point in leaving a bright plasma trail that could set off alarms for satellite watchers who might wonder why she was hurrying across the Atlantic at night.       *****       "I recommend that you agree to Dr. Reinhart's conditions," said Jumping Spider.  She sipped from her coffee cup and eyed the Database display in front of her with mild disapproval.  "She's right about the amount of inconvenience adjusting her work around advising you will be."       "You think she's safe?" asked Flicker.       "Heh.  No.  I think she's followed consistent goals, and she's functional, competent, as expert as you're going to get, skilled at error recovery, and very smart.  Smart enough to understand just how vital and risky giving you psych advice will be.  But don't try spying on her.  She didn't think much of your failure to consider the consequences of stalking Journeyman."       Flicker frowned.  "How do you know that?"       "I talked to her while you were gone."       Jumping Spider paused, waiting to see if Flicker would ask a question.  She sped up.  Her human emotion emulator indicated her nominal reaction would be anger or irritation.  Human emotions weren't serving her very well lately, so she ignored it.  It would be a drop in the bucket compared to everything else, anyway.       DASI?  Anything security relevant that I need to know about Jumping Spider contacting Dr. Reinhart?       No.       Well, that was unambiguous.  She'd asked Jumping Spider for her professional assessment as an intelligence expert, and it was clear she was testing Flicker's self-control, too.  She slowed back down.       "Go on."       "It was an illuminating conversation.  She referenced some of my more subtle tradecraft tricks like an academic being careful about citation footnotes.  If you focus on her advice rather than trying to emulate her, respect boundaries, and maintain a healthy level of skepticism about untested theory, I think her aid will help you.  Once she's ready to meet--it will be at least a week."       "Good to know.  Thank you.  Was the information I verified for you helpful?"       "I don't know yet for most of it.  But your performance was technically adequate while under direct supervision."       Jumping Spider had no qualms about hammering at a point or reminder until she was sure it got through--in this case that Flicker was still bad at the judgement part of spying, however technically skilled she might be.       Flicker nodded.  "Any other suggestions or comments?"       "Do you want my assessment of what happened to Journeyman?  It's speculative, and you may find it upsetting."       "I don't ask for your opinions because I think I'll like them."       A snorted laugh.  "Okay.  I think Hermes' arrival was part of an op, and was deliberately timed to coincide with whatever Journeyman did just before exfiltrating.  I also think we're unlikely to ever get enough evidence to prove that.  From an operations viewpoint, I think Journeyman got entangled and dragooned into something far more dangerous than he'd ever voluntarily agree to, but all sides--and I definitely think there were more than two--in the conflict that might have wanted him dead knew he had your backup, and that's why he lived.  Tell me.  If demons had killed him in some dimension you could get to, what would have been your first impulse?"       "Burn it to the ground, then burn the ground," said Flicker.       "That's the sort of thing Oracles and Seers pick up on.  But since he came back alive, you're much less inclined to do anything disproportionate, right?  Because attribution is much tougher, even if an attack is aimed at you or Doc.  And there will be probably be completely uninvolved people living in the same place even if you do know who is responsible."       "...Yes."       "That's also the sort of thing Oracles and Seers pick up on.  I also think that whoever Journeyman believes is your mother is part of one of the sides, and that an opposition tactic that he fears is a framing attempt to deflect any retaliation onto her.  And he got dragged deep into the wilderness of mirrors, no longer fully trusts his own judgement, and didn't want to drag you there, too.  I'll give him credit for that."       Flicker sped up to consult the Database.  'Wilderness of mirrors' was an intelligence term for living in a state of perpetual uncertainty about a messy mix of hard to attribute hostile action and coincidence.  Just the sort of thing she hated.       "Great.  So, was he being deceptive about--No. There's no point it getting angry about any of it again until I can talk to Dr. Reinhart."       "You're learning.  And you stopped Hermes without killing him or anyone else, Journeyman got back alive, you didn't lose it when he disengaged--which was inevitable--and it's much harder to attack someone who's in a different dimension.  And you know who is at home in the wilderness of mirrors?"       "You?"       "Dr. Reinhart.  I do all right, but I suspect you'll get along better with her."       "Okay.  Thank you for your assessment.  Do you think I should delay Speedtest because of Journeyman's warning?"       "Because of his warning?  Are willing to put it off indefinitely?"       "No."       "Then no, because he didn't tell you anything actionable.  But whether it's a good idea at all is not my call.  Talk to Doc."       "I will," said Flicker.  "Jumping Spider?"       "Yes?"       "This was... less unpleasant than talking to you usually is."       She smiled.  "Don't worry.  I'll make it up to you next time."       Flicker shook her head, but felt her mouth want to twitch in response.  Human wasn't something you could just turn on and off...       She headed out to find Doc.

Next: Part 9

Who Can You Trust? - Therren Feywind

Journal Entry 4 — Hello sister,

It’s been a while. I should have talked to you sooner but… I didn’t. I talked to Simon, though. It’s been so hard to make sense of these thoughts in my head, maybe if I take my time and go through them it will become clearer. Like Maximilian taught me to.      

So, some days ago now, we went on another adventure. This one had a little more direction than the last ones. Missing people from the town, dire consequences. Then again, there always seems to be dire consequences no matter how the adventure starts. Danger is an open flame and we are but moths, destined to dance around it until the day we finally get too close.      

Nymatra was there, as usual. Things are still… hard to read with her. At this point I don’t even know whose fault that is. Did I do something? Did she do something? I suppose we’ve both been complicated. I wish social interactions could just make sense. Nature was never this complicated. Hemmel, a dwarven man, joined the group too. Reminded me a lot of our friend Thymus. Say what you will about dwarves, but they build those bastards tough. That alone is worth respect.      

Maximillian was also there. You know, he grows on you. There’s just something, I don’t know, comforting? Something comforting about him. Even when he says something like how there’s “definitely no traps”, and you know there’s no way he could really know that so he’s probably full of shit, something in me just wants to believe him. Which, well, it can lead to problems. Sorry, I’m jumping ahead. Like I said, everything is a confusing mess. I’ll start over.      

So, we went out to some miserable swamps to track down some missing people, like I said. Found our way to some creepy looking outpost, tracks from the missing people leading inside. And some other tracks we couldn’t place. We were investigating the tower and, remember the thing I said about traps? I think we set off every trap possible along the way. If only Max’s faith that there were no traps was strong enough to make it so. Then again, we made it through all those traps without so much as a scratch. Maybe there is power in faith after all? Everything in my life is crazy, so why not?      

On the other side of some close encounters we ran into the things responsible for those tracks we couldn’t place, and had an even closer encounter. Strange lizard-folk. Like just about everything in these cursed lands, they were not interested in a non-violent solution.      

Close-quarters in a tower, not a great place to be relying on the range of a bow in a fight. I didn’t need your depth of experience to figure that one out. And these powers I have, they give me considerable strength in a close fight. But, I don’t know, I used my bow. I was scared, alright? I… I don’t like it. Whenever I, when I shift, it… changes me. I don’t like who I am when that happens.      

It was a selfish and irrational decision, a stupid decision. I knew it was the wrong tactical choice, and I made it anyway. And… and I paid for it. One of the lizards was shooting back at me. I was doing my best to avoid it, dodged one arrow, but there’s just so little space to move in an environment like that. Bastard got me good. Left myself open and he got me right in the neck. I barely had time to react to it.      

All the strength left me, and before I knew it I was on the ground. I tried to move my arms and legs, pick myself back up and keep fighting, but they wouldn’t move. I couldn’t even feel them. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Nymatra, taking cover on the staircase. I tried to call out for help, but I was choking. Drowning. I could feel the warmth and that coppery taste that I have unfortunately become familiar with as of late. Blood. Probably a lot of it. More arrows bounced off the stone wall beside her and she retreated further down the stairs and out of site.

I was alone, things were getting blurry and dark and quiet, and then something unexpected happened. I saw rolling, forested hills, immaculate grass-swept plains, a stream fed by a small, calm waterfall. Everything had this strange haze to it, and perfect sunset-colours. It almost looked like the fey wilds, but not quite. There was a warmth unlike anything I had ever felt. Every part of my senses told me I was safe, and loved. And… and Simon was there, sister. I was lying there, on the softest grass I had ever felt by the bank of the river, and I saw his familiar boots approach from the water’s edge. It couldn’t be him, just another trick of the mind, like when the Lion attacked Nymatra. Simon was gone, I saw what happened to him. But it was him. The same silver robes with the blue crescent moon. The same kind cerulean eyes. He crouched down, held my face in his hands. There was a sadness in his eyes, but he smiled. He said “It’s okay, let go” and he lifted me to my feet. A look over my shoulder and the sadness in his eyes deepened. “I’ll be right here. It’s okay to let go.”      

And then things got weirder, if that’s possible. I was standing there, by the river, forest all around. But I was also in the tower, Maximilian’s hand glowing on my neck. My confusion was drowned out by a flood of familiar anger, and the beast took hold again. I smelled blood, anger and fear. It was intoxicating, like being starved and smelling the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted suddenly in arms reach. It creeps me out thinking about how much I enjoyed that smell. Seconds later, and the two lizard-folk were in pieces. One moment they were there, and then the next moment they weren’t. I had torn them apart.      

Just then Nymatra charged back up the stairs, hands crackling with eldritch energy and a fiercely determined look in her eye, shouting “I’ll save you!” Better late than never, right? It’s a lot braver than I was when I abandoned you and Simon. The group took a moment to heal and gather their strength, relieved to have a reprieve from the monsters that lurk in the tower. But are they really safe? There’s another monster, in me, how can they be sure it won’t turn on them?      

I was walking through the tower, but at the same time I was walking through that strange etherial place. I couldn’t shake it. even when we got back to town I couldn’t shake it. I knew I was at the tavern, but I was also there in the woods. I can’t make sense of it. Sorry, I’m skipping ahead again. I’ll go back.      

One last push, to the top of the tower. Up a ladder, and a terrifying massive serpent awaited, along with some kind of magical lizard sorcerer. Before I knew it, the snake was on Max. Tangled around him and damn-near devouring him. My eyes darting from the serpent to the sorcerer, I took in as much information as I could as fast as possible. My beast snarled, pulling at the chain as I glared at the sorcerer. I knew it had to be some kind of magic, that he was the key to stopping the serpent and saving Max. I think I knew that. Did I know that? I remember being angry, I remember thinking about the other lizard-folk I had torn apart. I remember the hunger. Was I trying to save Max? I hope I was. I hope I didn’t just choose to leave him to die.      

I let the anger erupt inside me. I was gone and the wolf was in my place. Without a second thought I charged right for the sorcerer. The serpent lashed out at me with a hit that might have knocked me out in my elven form, but I didn’t care. All I could think about was the lizard. With a leap I was on him, teeth tearing at his form, trying to find purchase on his scales. With the lizard knocked to the ground, the serpent vanished. Was that the plan, or did I get lucky?      

The lizard had tricks of his own, shifting into the massive form of a crocodile. Its massive jaw clamped down on me, and my world became pain and anger. The pain threatened to overwhelm me, but the anger won out. Mind focussing, I found a target. Maybe I couldn’t get through its scales, but I didn’t need to anymore. I bit down on the creatures tongue and pulled with all my strength. We battled with nightmares, and mine was stronger. I walked away from that tower, he didn’t. The others managed to rescue some of the missing people. I’m a little vague on the details, my mind was on other things.      

We got back to town, and still I’m in the etherial woods. But I’m somewhere else. I can’t seem to find Simon again. I’ve been keeping to myself in town. Didn’t have time to go off on adventures, I needed to find Simon again. I even organised to go back to the tower in the swamp. I thought maybe going back to where I saw him last time would let me see him again.      

Travelling alone seemed dangerous, so I asked Nymatra to come with me. I think I trust her the most. She thought it’d be too dangerous to go without more protection and suggested bringing Max, but I kind of freaked out at the idea of sharing what’s going on with a group and cancelled it. But taking Max was a good idea, so I went to ask Max if he could go with me and- oh wow that sounds way worse than it is when I write it down like that, I- No, okay, it doesn’t just sound bad, that was pretty bad of me. Am I a shitty person? Damn it.      Anyway, yeah, I went to talk to Maximilian. About a lot of things. About what I saw, how I was feeling, my confusions. I really opened up to him. I haven’t really done that with anybody. I mean, I’ve told Nymatra a few things, but this was more than that. It’s just so easy to talk to him, and unlike any other time I relive my memories, I actually feel better with Max’s help. He’s very reassuring, and his advice somehow simple but something you never thought of.      

He agreed to go to the tower with me, which was relieving. I just feel like, whenever he’s in my group, I know we’ll get through it and make it back home. We talked about Simon. About how he was religious like Max. About my history with Simon, how we loved each other. I never really told anyone that before. But I guess I just feel safe talking to Maximilian.      

Maximilian talked about his religious stuff, about Pholtus, and there’s definitely part of me that really likes hearing about that stuff. He just seems so confident and assured about it. I think wish I had that kind of faith. I’ve never been that sure about anything. We reached the tower, but nothing for me. Just more unrecognisable forest. Retracing steps through the tower, and still nothing familiar. Back to that room in the tower, to the spot that I fell, the blood still staining the ground where I laid. Still nothing. No stream. No lazy waterfall. No Simon. No matter what I tried, I could not find my way back to him. I was half way to asking Max if he could beat me into another near death experience when I realised how ridiculous I was being. The whole trip had been a waste of time. I was not going to see Simon again.      

But Maximilian had another suggestion. I think it was some kind of religious technique? I don’t know, I’m not sure how any of that works. He guided me through some technique to get in touch with my memories. At first I thought it was another dead end, I was just seeing more of the same. Then I remembered Simon speaking, like last time but… not like last time. It was the same memory, but there were details I noticed that I had missed the first time, words that I had somehow forgotten. What Simon had said was “It’s okay to be angry. But you have to let me go. I’ll be right here when you’re ready. It’s okay to let go” I don’t know how I could have forgotten something like that, or missed it. Maybe the trauma and heightened emotion of the near-death experience had impaired me? Or maybe it was the distraction of being healed?      

Maximilian asked me what that meant, why I was angry, so I told him everything. That horrible night when I lost you, Sister. When I lost Simon, and the rest of the group. The nightmares that came after. The fear and hatred. The beast that lives inside me. But Max told me the beast was not evil, that if I let go and allowed the beast to take control he could prove it to me. It was a crazy idea, but I went along with it. Like I said, even when you know there’s no way he could know something for sure, he makes you want to believe him. I braced myself, took a deep breath, and let the beast out.      

I’m not sure what I thought would happen. Maybe I thought I would tear his throat out, or that I would bite his tongue off. Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t what happened. Nothing happened. The beast tested Maximilian, decided it liked him, and gave me back control. Afterwards Max told me he could sense when there was the presence of evil, and he sensed no evil from me.      

So I guess Maximilian is right. I guess Simon’s right. I’m not a monster. The beast is not a monster. Simon told me it was okay to let go. I don’t know if he meant let go of him, or let go of the fear of the beast inside. I guess either way it’s good advice. Maybe it’s time I start living again. Time to stop existing in that dark forest. Make some decisions for myself, learn more about Pholtus with Max. I’ll see my friends and family again someday, but for now I’m ready to move on.      

You will always be in my heart, but this is the last we’ll speak for some time. Goodbye Thiala.

Fate Au- Rider and Shay

More Fate AU. This one was started a while back and finished yesterday.

---

Shay doesn’t want to be a master. She doesn’t want to be a master, Rax wanted to be a master. Rax wanted the power and the glory, wanted to bring the Balmera name back up the ranks of the mage society. Shay was perfectly content letting him. 

She was happy not being in the lime light. Her mana wasn’t strong enough anyway. 

And yet. Here she was. 

“Servant Rider, happy to help you master.” 

“P-please call me Shay…” 

He smiled brightly at her, and held out one large dark hand. She took a long moment to examine it, nails bitten but clean, thick fingers and strong palms. She put her hand in his, her eyes scanning over the red marks there now, keeping them bound for the duration of this war. 

His skin is warm even though she knows he’s merely a manifestation of her mana in the form of a hero from another age. 

Honestly, that should be encouraging. It’s not. But if she could think about what she’s done here as an accomplishment she’d be proud. 

But she’s not. 

His hand is warm and his smile is bright but she doesn’t want this. 

She doesn’t want any of this. 

“I don’t want to die.” It’s sudden. It slips past her lips so fast it’s almost violent. Her throat is dry. 

His eyes widen in surprise and then immediately soften. His grip tightens around her hand and he pulls her in, wrapping his arms around her. 

“I won’t let that happen.” He says with such sincerity she doesn’t think she’s ever believed anything more in her life. 

She sunk into him. 

“I will protect you, Shay.” He presses.

She doesn’t know why she feels so safe, in his arms like this. She doesn’t even know his true name. Since the summoning had initially been for Rax he was the one who’d done all the research. Maybe her family said his name once while explaining the ritual to her. 

Maybe she hadn’t heard it over her panicked heart beat.

Or maybe they didn’t trust her with the name. 

Regardless, for someone she’d just met to be so comforting for her… 

“I will always come back to save you.”

Always…

—-

Their summoning takes place months before the start of the war. 

They have too much time together. 

Too much time to get to know each other. 

He thinks it’s smart that she doesn’t know his true name or noble phantasm. But his friends called him Hunk, he tells her, at least back when they were alive. 

She laughs, and he waggles his brows at her, asking if the name is accurate.

She says yes. 

Too much time to flirt. 

He says he learned most of his flirting from an old friend in his past life. He says he didn’t use it much because the girl he loved was already won over by then. 

She asked him about it. About the girl in his past life. 

He smiled at her. 

Too much time to care about someone whose existence would either be erased by a gruesome death or by the end of the war.

She asked him what he would do with his wish, if they somehow, against all odds, win the war and gain the grail. 

She’s wearing his relic as a ribbon around her wrist and he takes her hand. He brings it to his face and kisses the knot. 

Not the fake flirting he learned from his friend that makes her giggle. This feels more real. Genuine. Makes her pulse quicken.

He tells her he already got it. 

Too much time to fall in love with a ghost. 

She doesn’t want to die. But she doesn’t want him to either. She doesn’t want to lose him. 

She wonders if… 

maybe that can be her wish. 

The first time she tells him this he kisses her. 

Then he changes the subject. 

—-

Rider’s first interaction with another servant comes after four months. 

Four months and it’s the first time she sees him rattled. 

She’s ashamed when she thinks that maybe he’s scared. Maybe he’s not a strong servant and realized he couldn’t protect her like he promised. 

He finally asks her for a bit of mana to summon his steed. As a rider, of course he has one and she realizes suddenly that she has no idea what it is. 

She allows him to take the mana and some moments later she can’t hide the scream as a giant yellow lion takes up half the space of her fairly large kitchen. 

He doesn’t acknowledge the scream beyond a soft almost sad chuckle. And then he drops himself onto the lion, arms wrapped around its mane as it nuzzles the top of his head. 

“He used to be made of metal and altean magic but this form is really soft… good for comfort cuddles.”

Shay watches him cuddle the lion and asks what “Altean magic” is. Rider laughs awkwardly. 

“I’m… actually not too familiar with it. That was more the princess’s schtick.” 

Shay feels a pang in her heart, “princess? The...girl you loved?” 

Rider squeezes the lion but shakes his head, “Princess Allura was her name. Amazing girl. Saved the whole universe… but not my princess.”

The lion made to move, make itself more comfortable. Rider went right down with it, a pile of servant and fluff on her kitchen floor. 

“You’re my princess… always have been… in every life, it’s you…” he buried his head in the lion's mane and sighed, “I’ve been so lucky already... so of course this had to happen.” 

“What‘s wrong, Rider?” She asks him, trying to over step the ever present idea that he might look at her and see someone else. This is far more pressing. This is life or death. 

This is...

He sighs deeply, opens his mouth around a syllable he stops himself from uttering aloud and finally clarifies, “...Archer.”

—-

The actual altercation involves an arrow whizzing past Rider’s head as he escorted Shay to an evening of archery club activities. Shay isn’t a good shot but she goes to feel like she’s a part of something mundane and easy. 

It takes her a moment to realize the arrow isn’t one that belongs to the club and she realizes her lack of awareness means very bad things for her standing in the war. 

The arrow is metallic blue with a red tip and Rider stares at it in confusion as well. 

It’s been so long, they could almost have forgotten they were in a war. 

But that’s not why he’s confused. 

There’s a glimmer of mana around him, a man taking form at his back. The other archery club members are distracted and too far to realize what’s happening and Shay finds herself too terrified to scream.

“Well isn’t this surprising…?” says the stranger, his long blue gunners coat moving with the wind brought on by his sudden appearance.

Rider stays perfectly still as the man drapes an arm over his shoulder. His stance is casual then, a smile on his face, but his eyes are decidedly cold. A steely blue, clearly his preference. 

“Had to get a better look to be sure but man, it really is you, isn’t it?”

Rider speaks but his voice is too low for Shay to hear from her distance. The stranger laughs and releases him, his moves are wide and almost like he’s dancing. He seems like he’s used to smiling, like he’s used to making others smile. But Rider’s not smiling.

“No worries buddy, I’ll let you stick around a while longer but… you should know. This only ends one way. I’ll be seeing you.” 

He disappeared as quickly as he’d come, a laugh on the wind, and Rider sunk to his knees in his absence.

---

“Shay...Master, I’m sorry.” He explained, wrapped around his large golden lion. 

She stood beside him, confusion etched in her face. 

“Why are you apologizing…And why are you calling me that?”

“I’ll defend you, always. But… I can’t fight in this war.” He doesn’t look at her as he says this, his brown eyes are heavy with this decision. 

She knew winning the war was unlikely. She knew… but there was a part of her that had held onto the hope that maybe, if they won they could…

But if he’s not even going to fight. If he’s just going to protect her until his death… Then they’ll never…

There’s no chance at all.

There’s… no future…

She sits down beside him then, and asks if she can pet the lion.

He nods, “Of course you can. Sunshine is the best.”

“Did Archer know sunshine too?” She says it without thought. Much like when they first met. She knew there was something there and the words find their way out first. 

“...Yeah. He did.”

So Archer was also part of Rider’s old life. 

So… if Rider had to fight, he’d be fighting his friend.

…

“Okay. We’re not gonna fight.”

ALRIGHT HERE WE GO

AT LONG LAST: STEVEN UNIVERSE THE MOVIE WATCH

I’m staying up so late to watch this but Tumblr and Twitter already gave me three screencap spoilers so I gotta watch it now or I’m Gonna Die

Omg the opening curtains looks so official and cute!!!

I just tried to turn on subtitles rip

Aw this feels like some kind of musical! How cute. And this opening is so beautiful! I love the style

“What a revolution, a gem that loves and grows” Ahh part of this song sounds like the Diamonds singing it. It reminds me of a disney song

OMG THIS REALLY IS LIKE A DISNEY FAIRYTALEOPENING that’s hilarious. I love it! This is so beautiful. Man I’ve missed this show so much :’)

AW STEVEN’S VOICE IS SO MUCH DEEPER I LOVE HIM....BABY BOY GREW UP. he’s 16!!!

I love that the Pearls were running the news feed, that’s so cute

Aww his Diamond aunts, that’s so cute :’) They really do feel like super overbearing loving aunts. “Don’t forget I’m not Pink Diamond!” POOR STEVEN

This is such a cute screenshot 

“We’ve been so good! Please stay with us Steven!” Aww they all miss Pink so much

MAN THE ANIMATION IN THIS SHOW IS SO GORGEOUS I can’t get over how beautiful everything is. And AW EVEN CONNIE IS BIGGER I love her hair style! And dang they got such a huge high-tech upgrade

WHO PAINTED THIS I LOVE GARNET

OH SNAP SHE KISSED HIM ON THE CHEEK awh these kids are really growing up aren’t they *sobs like a proud parent*

“Nothing to fear, no one to fight” Oh don’t say that now Steven, we’ve still got over an hour to go

Ohh I wonder if Jasper is going to show up some time in this movie, I’d like to see her again! I miss her

ITS PEARL AND GREG!!!! I’VE MISSED THEM SO MUCH I MISS ALL THESE CHARACTERS

GARNET’S SINGING....I MISSED GARNET’S VOICE

THERE SHE IS...THE LOVE OF MY LIFE....THIS IS MY FAVORITE SCREENCAP EVER

“LITTLE HOMEWORLD” OMG THEY HAVE A LITTLE COLONY CITY THERE, THAT’S SO CUTE AND AHHH IT”S ALL THE HEALED GEMS!!! OMG OMG OMG

I LOVE WORM GIRL’S DESIGN

BABY AMETHYST....I LOVE HER LITTLE MESSY HAIR STYLE.....

THE LITTLE SELFIE THEY’RE SO CUTE, I FORGOT HOW MUCH I MISSED THIS SHOW...

WAY TO JINX IT STEVEN

“NICE PARK JOB DINGUS” AMETHYST PLZ

gosh I love the animation they use for this gal Spinel, she’s such an old-school villain, I love it. AND SHE’S GOT A GREAT SINGING VOICE

sHE”S GOT A FRICKIN SCYTHE GEM OH MY GOSH THE GEMSONA COMMUNITY IS GOING TO LOSE THEIR FRICKIN MINDS

HELL YEAH CRINGE CULTURE IS OVER!!!!!!!! GIVE YOUR OCS THE EDGIEST WEAPONS EVER!!! I LOVE IT

WHOOPS WELL. NEW OUTFITS FOR THE CRYSTAL GEMS I GUESS

OH SHOOT SHE ACTUALLY HIT HIM AND HIS LINES GOT ALL WEIRD

UH OH WHAT DID SHE DO TO HIS GEM AND POWERS

STEVEN GO TALK TO LITTLE HOMEWORLD AND TALK TO A GEM ABOUT THIS, STEVEN COME ON THIS ISN’T SEASON ONE

“I just have no idea what’s going on!” “Well son, now you know how I feel almost all the time” Lmao Greg I missed you so much

Uh oh is Pearl going to come back messed up. UH OH WHY IS SHE A SEA SHELL

OH NO SHE RESET ALL THE GEMS OH NO OH NO OH NO OH NO

OH NO SHE’S ATTACHED TO GREG NOW THAT’S HORRIFYING

SPINEL IS TERRIFYING she’s essentially a home-made best friend. No wonder she was trying to reset everyone, she wants Pink back to be reset

Steven WHY DON’T YOU JUST GET THE REST OF THE GEMS COME ON

Spinel’s heart hair works the same way as Mickey Mouse’s ears do that’s so funny, really leans into the Disney aspect of it.

You guys really gotta get the injector out of the hill, this is killing me

“Wow. Quick turnaround” “It took me a month to quit trying to kill him” “I’m still on offense” GUYS PLEASE

“I COULD’VE LOST ALL MY CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT” PERIDOT PLEASE

I like Bismuth’s new overalls. And that was so sweet that he went to Bismuth for advice when Garnet’s not there (BUT ALSO OUCH WHEN HE SAID “Garnet would know what to do”)

“As long as one of us is standing to brandish that star” GOSH THAT’S SUCH A GOOD LINE

Oh no wait if they send Steven to space he won’t be able to breathe gUYS NO

THE HEAVEN AND EARTH BEETLES ARE SO CUTE

SAPPHIRE SAVED HER AWH...THIS IS SUCH A BEAUTIFUL MAGICAL GIRL TRANSFORMATION

GARNET IS SO CUTE IM WEEPING I LOVE GARNET SO MUCH

“PEARL YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THAT, I OWN A CAR WASH” LMAO

Well Spinel’s super freaky, definitely gives me a Disney vibe for sure. I do feel kinda bad for her though since she’s obviously just a very lonely little girl BUT STILL

I love that Ronaldo’s still trying to capture weird stuff going on in Beach City despite the fact that they literally have an alien civilization living next to them

AW Peridot put little sunglasses on her orbs

Peridot: Amethyst, get away from me, I can’t stand to see you all vacant and bereft of personality Amethyst: Yo I’m back you dip Me: *HIDEOUSLY LOUD SNORTING LAUGH*

lmao Peridot’s machine is a microwave, I love that

Maybe the Cluster can help with the poison leaking into the spoil????

FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE STEVEN JUST GO ASK THE DIAMONDS FOR HELP

NOOOO NOT YOUR NICE NEW JACKET STEVEN

“We’re going to die anyways” Thanks Peridot

AW GEMS ARE GOING TO THE ROCK SHOW TOO THAT’S SO CUTE

“This has got to bring Pearl’s memory back! It’s all about quitting a crummy service job!” LMAO

OH SNAP AMETHYST IS REALLY GOING TO HIT HER WHERE IT HURTS

“As long as you exist” Steven: “OH HEY LET’S KILL GREG”

OH SHOOT ARE THEY GOING TO FUSE!??!

AHHH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH

AHHHHHHHHHHH IM SHRIEKING 

HE HAS A FRICKIN SIX PACK

HE”S A FRICKIN JOJO ROCK STAR IM LOSING MY FRICKIN MIND

AW GARNET IS WEARING STEVEN’S CUTE LITTLE JACKET

I’m screaming, Greg and Steven’s fusion is literally a god of music that’s so cool, I wonder who his VA is, I love him

PEARL’S TRANSFORMATION SEQUENCE IS SO BEAUTIFUL....And Amethyst and Pearl’s dance...that’s so beautiful AHHHH OPAL!!! OPAL OPAL!!!! SHE”S SINGING OMG OMG OMG

Aw I do feel bad for Spinel, she’s so lonely....

OH NO...THE POISON IS LEAKING INTO THE OCEAN

You know that one scene in Toy Story 2 where Woody is having a nightmare? Andy says “I don’t want to play with you anymore” and he drops Woody into the garbage bin? I feel like Spinel’s been living that nightmare for the past 6000 years.

“Just this morning things were perfect. Why did everything have to change?” I feel like Spinel’s probably thinking the same thing, except wrt Pink Diamond

OH NO...SHE REALLY HAS BEEN WAITING IN THE GARDEN FOR 6000 YEARS....I knew those were her shoes we saw at the very very beginning of the movie

“And then she smiled, that’s what I’m after” OH MAN........this show is still so good at ripping my heart out....Pink Diamond really messed a lot of stuff and a lot of people. She was really young and didn’t realize the effect she had on other people :(

Heart shattered yet again

Hmmm I rewound this a little bit and I’m thinking about stuff I’ve done in the past, and if I’ve ever made someone feel that way without meaning to because of some careless action. I really hope not.

I just thought about that “When She Loved Me” song and legit felt some tears well up but I HELD THEM BACK

I wonder if the Diamonds are going to adopt Spinel as their new Pink

CONNIE DOING A TRIPLE FLIP OUT OF LION I love her

I really love the type of villain Spinel is

AND IM REALLY GLAD STEVEN SNAPPED THAT OVER HIS KNEE that’s what I wanted to do too

HER WEDDING RINGS....AND ALL HER DIFFERENT FORMS...GARNET I LOVE YOU

OH NO GREG’S ARM!!! Steven’s healing powers better get pumped up to max by the end of this episode otherwise everyone’s gonna be in trouble

OH WOW STEVEN’S ACTUALLY BLEEDING we’ve never seen that before

“There is no happily ever after. I’ll always have more work to do” Man that hit way too close to home

GO KISS THE WHOLE PLANET STEVEN

“Staying hydrated is very important when it comes to smooching” I love Garnet

I can’t believe I called The Diamonds adopting Spinel holy heck

WELL

I will say that movie wasn’t what I expected at all but I wound up loving Spinel so much more than I anticipated. I felt my hyper-empathy kicking in so hard it made my heart ache. I really loved Spinel’s song, I think that was my favorite song in the entire movie! AH SHOOT I JUST REALIZED WHY PEOPLE WERE TALKING SO MUCH ABOUT THAT “Let’s go in the garden” SONG FROM ADVENTURE TIME TODAY, HECK. But anyways I’ve been listening to Spinel’s song on repeat for the last 20 minutes, the topic and the kind of character Spinel is really struck something in me. I might try and rewatch this tomorrow again if I have the time.

The movie reminded me of just how much I love and miss Steven Universe. I want to rewatch the entire season now, I miss the memories I have attached to the show. I love how much love is put into this series. I’m glad it exists.

excerpt from BTJ that i kinda wanna put on here bc it’s loki in therapy (haha couldn’ta come sooner amirite) and talking abt how he sees his relationships w hogun, volstagg and fandral respectively

“I’ve always kept diaries,” Loki says. He sighs, dragging his palm over the blanket beneath him: it is made of cream-coloured wool, with a soft brown pattern dyed into it. “Since I can remember, I kept diaries of everything I felt, everything that happened to me. In my library, I have thousands of them – I tend to fill five or six a year. It was the only way to get things out. In Asgard—” Loki trails off, and then he stares down at his hands. “One does not discuss one’s innermost feelings. One ought merely be merry, and go about one’s life with drinking and song.”

“Nobody can be merry all the time,” Sven says quietly.

“No,” Loki agrees.

“Did you have many friends, on Asgard?” Loki hesitates. “I am not here to judge you. Anything you tell me will be held in confidence – think of me like a tool, a mechanism that will allow you to look at your life through a healthier lens.”

“You wish me to dehumanize you?”

“If it makes this easier.” Loki bites at his lower lip, dragging his fingers over his palms.

“Then— No. Growing up, I was alongside Thor. We were as close as brothers could be, utterly inseparable. But he was older than me, by some years: when he met the cusp of his adolescence, he was allowed permissions I was not. To travel more freely, to run alongside the Warriors Three, and Sif, his good friends. I was very solitary, as a child, when I was not in Thor’s presence. Later, of course, I would travel within their band.” Loki closes his eyes, and he imagines himself in the golden halls of Asgard’s palace, walking with silent step over the stone floors, quite alone. He would spend his waking hours in the library, or in his bedroom, and elsewise he would walk the gardens, putting his seiðr into breeding flowers or coaxing new fruits to life from the boughs of old trees. “And, and I became friendly with the keeper of Asgard’s orchards. Iðunn.” He hears the quiet scratch of Sven’s pen on a piece of paper. Writing down her name.

“That friendship did not last, I take it.”

“No,” Loki whispers. “I betrayed her. After that, we spoke not.”

“I see,” Sven says. “Tell me about these Warriors Three, then. Friends of Thor, you said?”

“Yes. The eldest, Volstagg. Volstagg the Lion, he calls himself, but most call him Volstagg the Fat, or Volstagg the Voluminous. He is very tall, with a thick beard of braided auburn hair, and he is large indeed… He is much older than Thor, with old age at his heels – in his youth, I am told, he was a most formidable warrior, but that is much changed, now. He has many children, and he’s a most devoted father.”

“You sound like you respect him.”

“I do,” Loki murmurs. “He’s an old coot, and he over-embellishes his own strengths, often telling stories that are more lie than truth, but… He is very kind, at his core, and very gentle. When I was as yet in my youth, he was sometimes reluctant to allow me to travel with them, if the journey was to be fraught with danger. That— Obviously, as I grew older, he saw me less as a child. And then Hogun. Hogun the Grim, he is called – he is of Vanaheim. When Asgard conquered Vanaheim, Hogun challenged Thor to a battle, one-on-one, and Thor beat him, but Hogun was undeterred. He wished to follow the fight, he said, and he agreed to be Thor’s shieldmate, that the two of them might fight together. He speaks very little, and we used to play chess, at times. He has an incredible mind – for all that he does not say, a thousand thoughts go on within his stony head. He believes in actions more than words.”

“You admire him?”

“Yes, I think so. It’s difficult not to.”

“And what did Hogun and Volstagg think of you?” Loki sighs, softly.

“Hogun despised me. He would be polite, outwardly, for I was the quietest of the six of us, and subsequently I was the easiest with which for him to stand beside for long periods, but— He was always first to distrust me, first to blame me for some trouble. He hated my way with words, my predilection for deception and strategy. And magic, magic he hated most of all.” The way Hogun had once looked at him, as if Loki was the most disgusting thing to crawl from the banks of the lakes of Asgard… “And Volstagg cared not for me either. Often he would call me a coward, or make fun of my feminine features, my lacking beard. There were a few years, where… I had married, and I had two sons, and in that time, he mocked me less. We bonded, some, over each being parents, where the rest of the band were childless, but when my sons were killed, he drew back. He wasn’t unkind about it, of course, but I think he knew that speaking on his children would upset me. Even with his sympathy for me, Volstagg never liked me.”

Doesn’t it sound pathetic, to lay things out like this? To tell this stranger, odd connection or not, all about how Loki’s compatriots despised him? Thought him weak, and womanly? He looks to Sven, but Sven is an expressionless as ever as he asks, “And the third of the Warriors Three?” Loki hesitates.

“Fandral,” he says. “The Dashing.”

“Dashing?” Sven repeats. “A ladies’ man, is he?” Loki nods his head. “And what do you think of him?”

“He is foppish: a dandy. Chivalrous, in his own mind. He cares more for the cut of his jerkin than he does for aught else. He has blond hair, flaxen, and a curling moustache… Bright blue eyes, soft skin. He is the smallest of the Warriors Three, built like me, but with narrower hips – and he’s barely a year or two older than I, closer in age to me even than Thor and Sif. He holds a rapier, and he dresses himself ever in soft greens.” Loki cannot help the contempt in his tone, and he watches, detached, as his fists clench in his lap.

“Sounds like there’s quite a bit of bad blood between you.”

“He could be very cruel, when he wanted to be,” Loki mutters. “Asgard held me in contempt because I was— Ergi. Feminine, womanly. I used magic and short blades; I grew no beard; I wove, and sang, and gardened. But Fandral could grow no more a beard than I could, and instead kept his obscene tufts of yellow hair. He sang often, and danced, and wrote poetry. And yet he was not reviled in the least – even as a cuckold and a heavy drinker, people would merely laugh and brush off his fun as harmless mischief, whereas I would be roundly despised. He was charming; I was a deceiver. He was handsome; I was pallid, or pretty in the way of a corpse.”

“And what did Fandral think of you?”

“He thought of me as a toy, a curiosity. Often, he would—” Loki begins to conjure strings between his hands, braiding them into tight, complicated knots, just to keep his hands busy. “He would play with me.”

“Play?” Sven repeats. “What do you mean?”

“I tended to keep myself away from the other warriors, because I knew they did not truly want me there. They accepted my presence only because of my fraternal connection to their leader: I knew my place. So I would take to the sides of parties, read, make quiet conversation… And he would watch me. I would feel his gaze on me, and he would come up, make some semblance of conversation. He would make his stare… Intense. Or he would smile, as if readying himself to seduce me. And he would draw closer, so close, until we were almost touching. Say things that were laced with innuendo.”

“And how would you respond?”

“I would remain steadfast, at first. Refuse his attempts to fluster me. But he—” Loki feels the shame within him heavy in his chest, feels it hot within him, and he grips the strings between his hands so tightly that a knot frays and comes apart. “He knew that I found him handsome – everyone found him handsome – and sought to use that to his advantage.” Sven slowly nods his head, his lips pressed loosely together. “In the end, I would flee, from whatever party it was. Mostly he would let me go, but sometimes he would follow me, speak loving poetry in my ear until I burned him, or cast him off with magic.”

“And – forgive me if I’ve missed something – how did you know this was done with your pain in mind?” Loki blinks, staring down at the knotted string between his hands.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it seems like this fellow, Fandral… You’re saying he flirted with you; that you found him handsome. What makes you think he did this out of some desire to hurt you, as opposed to a desire for you?” Loki is suddenly very aware of the weight of his own tongue in his dry mouth, pressed against the back of his teeth. He thinks of Fandral’s easy smiles, the way he would playfully shove Loki in the side after a battle, thinks of Fandral’s fingers cupping his cheek as he pins Loki against a corridor wall.

(“You don’t think I’d tell Thor, do you?” he had asked, lowly. His lips had been so pink, and his breath so warm against Loki’s own, and Loki had felt like dropping to his knees and letting Fandral take whatever he wished. “I won’t. It’s a tumble in the sheets, my prince – what, pray, are you so frightened of?”

“Thor is your prince. Not I.”

“Loki—”)

“I was his good friend’s younger brother,” Loki murmurs. “I was to him as forbidden fruit. As we each grew older, he ceased his teasing, for I was more confident in refusing his attentions, not falling prey to his japes, and once I was a widower, I’m sure I was less attractive to him. But even then, he would never allow for my solitude. He would constantly draw me into conversations when our band was riding out, forcing me into the spotlight. He would mockingly praise my attributes, or play as my defender when the others spurned me.”

“You mean, he would strive to include you in conversations,” Sven says, not unkindly, “and that he would stand against his friends when they were cruel to you?” Loki feels a sickness make itself known in his stomach, and he stares down at the wood-panelled floor of Sven’s cabin. “Is it so unlikely this young man was just trying to be kind to you? That he genuinely enjoyed, and desired your company?”

Of course it is, Loki wants to say, There wasn’t a soul on Asgard that didn’t despise me, barring Thor and Mother.

“I don’t know,” he says instead.

“Let’s take a walk,” Sven suggests quietly, and he stands to get his coat.

Make Them Kiss (Shirasuzu and Yuzuobi)

... it’s all @superhappybubbleslove‘s fault for calling my out like that.

The plan was supposed to be easy. But as any plan including Suzu and romance, it has been doomed from the beginning – and Yuzuri, after three years of blood and sweat and energy drained, stands on the verge of giving up.

Her verdict is clear.

Suzu is too clumsy for love.

She tried, she really tried, but no matter how many times did she give him a chance or momentum – the second she left him to his own devices, he slipped up.

At age six and twenty, Yuzuri feels like a battle-worn veteran, tearing at her hair whenever Suzu misses his chance.

“You should stop doing that. Your hair is thinning,” comes a shrewd remark from behind, and as she glances up, Obi greets her with two flasks of beer.

“But if he is so… dumb!” she flails around with her arms vaguely. Today she has deliberately locked the two pharmacists into the southern hothouse for almost half a day, hoping that the hot and humid air will somehow stick them together – only to discover them well-dressed and well-behaved, deep in a scientific discussion.

“You should probably stop doing that too,” Obi sits down beside her, helping himself with a bite of her tart. “I get that you love playing the matchmaker, but there are certain matches that even you can’t make.”

Yuzuri grabs one of the bottles and drinks at least half of the beer before she replies.

“I may have failed getting you and Shirayuki together, but not everyone sees her as some celestial, untouchable being.”

“My bad,” Obi cocks his head to the side, flashing his predatory grin at her. “I hope you’re not that mad that I married you instead.”

Yuzuri’s frown softens, fondness replacing frustration. She downs the rest of her beer, reaching out for the one Obi has brought for himself.

“I’m not that mad,” she teases softly, leaning in for a lazy kiss. “But I would’ve killed you if you knocked me up and left.”

“Aren’t we lucky,” Obi whispers to her ear, “that we have two eager babysitters guarding the little demon tonight?”

Yuzuri pulls back, eyes wide with surprise. “Two?”

“You asked Suzu, didn’t you?”

“You asked… Shirayuki?!”

“I heard a good husband supports the aspirations of their wife.”

*

Taking care of a child has never been one of Suzu’s specialties – not that he had too many to begin with. He is painfully aware of his lack of talents – especially when it comes to the romance department, but children department follows shortly.

The dervish born from the affair of Yuzuri and Obi has midnight blue hair and bright golden eyes, rosy cheeks and mouth half the size of his head – and oh he screams, he cries, he whines.

“Come on, Mori. Just one more bite,” Suzu babbles in his kindest voice – undoubtedly a tone he could never master in front of Shirayuki.

Be it her huge green eyes or soft pale lips, or the reddened tip of her pointy nose; be it in the morning or the afternoon, or late night as they say their goodbyes after a party – he could never coo to her, not in a thousand years.

The sudden knock on the door makes him jump. He drops the bite-sized piece of pie into his lap, calling forth another cry from Mori. “Damn,” he murmurs under his breath as he stands to get the door.

Ideally, he would not wear a pair of pie-speared beige pants with a disheveled black shirt that a baby has teared at to greet the subject of his longtime affections. Ideally, Shirayuki would not greet him with a practical huff, walking past him and chirping to a baby.

“Shirayuki?” Suzu walks back to the room, catching her in the mid of cleaning up the mess he created. Mori sits in the chair his father made for him, a content smile spread across his face, his puffy red cheeks being the only indicators of his tears just a moment ago. “How come you’re here?” the question comes out agitated. He is not angry at her, oh, how far from it – he is mad at himself, unable to handle the situation. Yet his voice cuts, cold and reserved, and he cannot help but notice the small frown running across Shirayuki’s face.

Congratulations, you managed to hurt her, he thinks to himself.

“Obi told me that they wanted a night out with Yuzuri,” Shirayuki replies. She looks composed, but red tints her ears – a sign of irritation.

“Yuzuri asked me to babysit,” Suzu says, deadpan from the fear crawling up his spine.

“Obi told me this as well. Knowing how it ended the last time you were here with Mori alone, I offered my help. I know… it may seem haughty but… I didn’t mean to question your capabilities,” Shirayuki says with a small smile. She speaks with caution, as if she was afraid she hurt his feelings by being here.

“Really?” Suzu asks. “Now, you may finish feeding him, since I’ve already failed. I’ll be in the kitchen making some tea.”

It is bad and turning worse, he realizes storming off.

He did not plan it this way. They had such a nice conversation going on after they got stuck in the hothouse. They had a thing going on; her eyes were sparkly and she tucked her hair behind her ears with that sly movement that flashed a considerable amount of skin on her arms. They were heated in a debate, inching closer and closer to each other with each remark they made…

Suzu planned to walk up to Shirayuki’s room and confess before Yuzuri asked him to look after her evil spawn – and now it all seems so far, like some dream or a story from another world.

He played his chances, and messed things up. Again.

He pours boiled water on the tealeaves with a long, dragged out sigh, indulging in his own misery for a minute or two.

He watches the leaves swim around in the teapot. One of them reminds him of himself; stuck on the wall of the pot, never quite reaching the water and the others.

“If only you didn’t mess up everything all the time,” he speaks, addressing the tealeaf as he would address himself.

“Not everything, and only around half the time.” The soft voice is followed by an even softer touch on his shoulder, encouraging. “Mori is the kid of Yuzuri and Obi after all. He inherited both of their worst traits. I don’t think there’s any shame in struggling to deal with him.”

“Yet, you manage so wonderfully,” Suzu says. His voice is no longer sharp like a knife, it is just sad. Stating facts as they are.

“He does love me for some reason,” Shirayuki admits, her hand running down his arm to stop by his hand on the teapot. “Mind to pour me a cup?”

“What about the devil?” Suzu asks, readying their tea.

“I fed him and told him a tale. He’s asleep now.”

“Are you some kind of magician?”

“I wish I was,” Shirayuki answers, cupping her mug between her hands.

“So… what would you do with your magic power?” Suzu settles across her at the table.

Shirayuki trails off a second, wondering.

“Try to heal the patients for whom traditional medicine can no longer help.”

“That’s such a typically Shirayuki answer.”

“Why? What would you do?”

“Something selfish, of course,” Suzu says with a hint of self-loathe in his voice. “Like travel back in time to correct my mistakes. Won’t you want to fix the things you regret? Or, do you even have any regrets?”

“Believe it or not, I’m full of regrets,” she replies. “Yet I believe that regrets make us to be who we are. You know, how people always go ‘what if…?’ Now imagine if you really did the thing you regret missing out on. Are you sure you would still be the same person?”

“Maybe I don’t want to be the same person I am today.”

“But then, won’t you make the same mistakes over and over again? You go back, correct the things you regret, and with no regret left you do them again.”

“Is there really nothing you wish to change?”

“Hmm… I wish I could travel back in time and save the life of my mother,” Shirayuki ponders. “I wish I could break it off with Zen on friendlier terms. I wish I did something stupid when I had the chance.”

“Something stupid?” Suzu jumps in. They had talked about Shirayuki’s mother, trying to figure out her illness and all known medication based on her hazy childhood memories and on the testament of her father – Suzu even accompanied her once to the village of the Mountain Lions, looking for similar cases and cues to the sudden illness. They also mentioned her relationship with the prince a few times – always when they were at least the three of them, and always when Yuzuri brought up the topic – but Shirayuki mentioning doing something stupid is new, unprecedented.

“There was this guy, at Yuzuri’s wedding three years ago,” Shirayuki starts, fingers dancing slowly around her mug. “He was dead drunk and I was tipsy, and he asked whether he could kiss me and all I did was laying him down on a sofa and telling him to sleep.”

Suzu remembers.

Oh how, for the longest of winters, he would not. He never forgets a thing he does, no matter how much he drinks. If it is a talent, he adds it to his curt list, right after the skill to make a fool out of himself at all possible social occasions. He was that drunk guy, introducing himself to everyone as a young and capable bachelor.

He is only half aware of emerging from his seat – his hands barely register the hardness of the wooden tabletop under his palm, his legs only faintly feel the edge of the table.

“Can I kiss you?” his lips utter the words, while his entire insides scream.

He would love to run away and hide. Yet he stands, pressed against the table and leaning over her, and he sees as her eyes widen in shock, surprise or disgust.

He may have a bad breath, he realizes.

She may not even have thought about him; his brain adds helpfully.

“If you’d still like to,” comes the unlikely answer, and Shirayuki tilts her head back for him, half-mast eyes looking at him expectantly.

He bends down, pecking her hesitantly.

The next moment he tries to flee and hide in a hole in his embarrassment, only to be yanked down against the table by the collar of his shirt. His thighs hurt, so does his nape where the fabric rubs into his skin.

Shirayuki kisses him fiercely, with the same amount of vigor and enthusiasm she pours in everything she does. Her lips taste like the tea he brew; they are soft but firm on his, and she pries his lips open with a lick of her tongue.

If he had any blood left in his body – which he doubts by the way his cock twitches in his pants – he would blush violently.

“Shira…” he pants when they part momentarily, but Shirayuki does not let him finish, standing up and coming round the table to pull him closer to herself.

“I hope Yuzuri and Obi does not want to spend the entire night out,” she whispers against his lips, his lids, his ears as she litters his face with kisses. “It would be atrocious to make out on their sofa.”

“Do you plan to make out?” Suzu asks back, catching his breath in huge, erratic gulps.

“Certainly, there are some regrets better be fixed,” she admits, cupping his face in her hands. “Some doesn’t even need magic.”

“Fix my regrets for me, while we are at it?” he leans his forehead against hers, nudging her nose adoringly.

“And what would that be?”

“There is this woman I’m head over heels in love with. She’s beautiful and intelligent and every time I meet her I make the biggest dork out of myself.”

“Only around half the time,” Shirayuki says, kissing him again. “Did this help with your regret?”

“Maybe… can I get another?”

“If you wish.”

*

Yuzuri is not even surprised when Shirayuki and Suzu leaves that night with fingers entwined.

“Should I even ask how you did this?” she turns to her husband.

“You have to choose your player well,” Obi replies. “Also, it can work wonders if you let them know that you are setting them up.”

Cayla Stark Info Fill (1982)

My crush’s name is: Tony Stark

I was born in: 1949

I am really: Happy

My eye color is: Hazel 

My shoe size is: 7.5 UK size (I think)

My height is: 5′7

I am allergic to: Certain ingredients in antibiotics. 

My 1st car was: I didn’t get a car until Anya was born. It’s nothing like Tony’s fast cars. It’s just a Range Rover. Not flashy at all but it will fit all four of us which is all I care about.

My 1st job was: Doing makeup for people. 

Last book you read: The Lion, The Witch and the Woredrobe 

My bed is: Comfortable.

My pet: We have a Coker Spaniel named Lady (yes, after Lady and the Tramp). We also have a white cat named Marie (Yes, after the Aristocats).

My best friend: Tony Stark (but also John Decon and Rachel Boyton).  

My favorite shampoo is: Anything that smells fruity.

Piggy banks are: Very cute (my kids actually have them).

In my pockets: I’ve got reminders scrambled up in them, candy for kids, probably a couple of hair ties and maybe money.

On my calendar: Birthdays, vacations, and lots of business related things.

Marriage is: The best.

My mom: Supportive. 

How many cousins do you have? A lot I think.

Do you have any siblings? No (in this universe).

Are your parents divorced? Yes

Are you taller than your mom? No 

Do you play an instrument? No but Brian has tried to teach me guitar. It never goes well.

What did you do yesterday? After some work stuff, Tony and I picked up the kids, ran errands, ran into Rachel and Rog, eventually came home to eat dinner, watch tv and get them bed.

[ I Believe In ]

Love at first sight: Not really. 

Luck: Yes

Fate: No.

Yourself: Kinda.

Aliens: Yes.

Heaven: Yes.

Hell: Yes.

God: Yes.

Horoscopes: Kinda (but they suck for the most part).

Soul mates: Kinda.

Ghosts: Yes.

Gay Marriage: Hell yes. 

War: Fuck no. 

Orbs: Like the orbs ghost show in pictures sometimes? Kinda?

Magic: Kinda. 

[ This or That ]

Hugs or Kisses: I really don’t have a preference.

Drunk or High: Drunk

Red heads or Black haired: Red heads (I’m biased).

Blondes or Brunettes: Brunettes.  

Hot or cold: Cold.

Summer or winter: Winter.

Autumn or Spring: Autumn.

Chocolate or vanilla: Vanilla.

Night or Day: Night.

Oranges or Apples: Appels.

Curly or Straight hair: Both.

McDonalds or Burger King: Burger King.

White Chocolate or Milk Chocolate: Both.

Flip flops or high heals: Flip flops (just because their more comfortable and I’m lazy).

Ugly and rich OR sweet and poor: Sweet and poor.

Coke or Pepsi: Coke. 

Buried or cremated: Cremated.

Singing or Dancing: Singing.

Small town or Big city: Big city.

Manicure or Pedicure: Both but my least favorite is pedicure.

Your Birthday or Christmas: Christmas.

Chocolate or Flowers: Chocolate.

Disney or Six Flags: Disney.

[ Here’s What I Think About ]

War: Is good for absolutely nothing. Pointless and it’s the worst.

Gay Marriage: Should be legal everywhere.

The presidential election: Rarely turns out the way it should. 

Abortion: The woman’s body, her choice.

Parents: Can be the worst sometimes but they usually mean well. Unless their awful.

Back stabbers: Conniving assholes.

Work: Has become more about supporting your life than doing what you love.

My Neighbors: Probably hate how loud me and the kids can get in the back yard.

Gas Prices: Always too high. 

Designer Clothes: Are a luxury but I don’t need need too many.

College: A lot of work but fun sometimes.

Sports: Confuse me.

My family: is my world.

The future: Looks very bright. 

[ Last time I ]

Hugged someone: I hugged quite a few people yesterday, my kids, Tony and Rachel.

Last time you ate: This morning, Tony made breakfast.

Saw someone I haven’t seen in awhile: Elton came over a couple of days ago and it was the best.

Cried in front of someone: I took the kids to see E.T and properly cried when he had to go home. They were confused.

Went to a movie theater: Actually went a few days ago with Tony, Roger and Rach.

Took a vacation: We’re trying to plan a proper one but we did take a short trip to New York with the kids.

Swam in a pool: A good while ago. 

Changed a diaper: Thankfully, Anya has been out of diapers for a couple of years.

Got my nails done: Way too long ago but there’s always more important things to do.

Went to a wedding: We went to one a year ago for one of Tony’s clients I wasn’t too familiar with but it was nice.

Broke a bone: Thankfully, never.

Got a piercing: I got my ears pierced when I was a teenager but I never wore earrings enough so the now are filled in now.

Broke the law: I haven’t really. I’m boring.

[ MISC ]

Who makes you laugh the most: Tony Stark 

Something I will really miss when I leave home is: My kids. 

The last movie I saw: E.T

The thing that I’m looking forward to the most: A weekend with my family and no work...hopefully.

The thing I’m not looking forward to: Having to cross paths with Paul or fucking Quentin.

People call me: Cayla.

The most difficult thing to do is: At the moment, answering tough questions kids ask.

I have gotten a speeding ticket: No, and somehow my husband never fucking has despite his driving. One day he will and I’ll finally be right.

My zodiac sign is: Pisces.

The first person i talked to today was: Anya Stark, she woke me up to tell me that Tony made breakfast.

First time you had a crush: Was when I was super young and didn’t realize what it was. It was actually a girl who lived near by.

The one person who i can’t hide things from: Tony Stark

Last time someone said something you were thinking: A couple of days ago when Tony told me to stop worrying about the kids. They were at home with a babysitter we trust but I still worry.

Right now I am talking to: Peter, he’s doing his homework while I fill this out.

What are you going to do when you grow up: I’m grown up so my goal is to stay young with my kids until they grow up and get annoyed.

I have/will get a job: As a manager for Queen but I’m also producing movies now when I have the time (which is rare).

Tomorrow: is Monday

Today: is Sunday 

Next Summer: Queen’s Hot Space tour 

Next Weekend: Family time.

I have these pets: Lady and Marie.

The worst sound in the world: I’m going to say it’s a tie between listening to Quentin speak or newborns crying.

The person that makes me cry the most is: I’m gonna say myself because I’ll get myself worked up over nothing.

People that make you happy: Tony, Peter, Anya, Rachel, Deacy, Roger, Freddie, Brian, Elton...and so many others.

Last time I cried: Not long ago due to the E.T fiasco.

My friends are: Amazing. 

My Car: Perfect for what we need it for.

I lose all respect for people who: Those who don’t treat people with common decency and respect.

The movie I cried at was: Again, damn E.T. Stupid little thing. Making me cry in front of my actual children who did not like him because of his ugliness.

Your hair color is: Auburn

Your dream vacation: At the moment, I want to take the kids to Disney World. They’ve seen much cooler places but maybe they’d like it too.

The worst pain I was ever in was: Emotional pain? When I was a teenager. Physical? Childbirth was just as bad as I imagined. Worth it though. Just won’t be doing it again if I can help it.

How do you like your steak cooked: I don’t eat red meat very often. If I do, it’s medium well.

My room is: Has lots of kids toys in it. I really don’t know how they keep getting in here.

My favorite celebrity is: I’ll go with Elton.

Where would you like to be: I’m happy at home at the moment.

Do you want children: I did and I got them. A bit sooner than I expected but they’re here now and can hold conversation which is fun. 

Ever been in love: Yes.

Who’s your best friend: Tony Stark 

More guy friends or girl friends: Guy friends.

One thing that makes you feel great is: Tony.

One person that you wish you could see right now: Freddie, he’s always so busy.

Do you have a 5 year plan: Not at all.

Have you made a list of things to do before you die: Nope.

Have you pre-named your children: Anya was sort of prenamed because I had thought of the name before but she was almost named Amelia for a while.

Last person I got mad at: Tony, for working through the night and not letting me come help out.

I would like to move to: We’re happy here.

I wish I was a professional: Singer and director.

[ My Favorites ]

Candy: Sour gummies

Vehicle: Range Rover

State visited: New York 

Singer: Freddie Mercury

Band: Queen

Animal: Tiger

Theme park: Disneyworld, though I haven’t been but it looks really nice.

Holiday: Christmas

Sport to watch: None but Peter likes football so I’m trying to learn a bit about that.

Sport to play: I’ve played some football with Peter but he’s way better than me.

Book: The Hobbit.

Day of the week: Friday

Beach: I don’t have a preference. 

Concert attended: Queen in Montreal, 1981 

Thing to cook: Pasta

Food: Greek or Italian.

Restaurant: Italian.

Perfumed: Anything thats not too strong.

Flower: Roses.

Color: Red.

Not Your Destiny: Chapter 5

Marked Book 1: Not Your Destiny

Chapter 5

[ Previous | First | Next ]

They pull up at the shop, and Tanner’s gaze drifts to where a classic Camaro sits to one side. The car gleams black except for the passenger side door which is painted with gun-metal grey primer and nothing more. “Isn’t that your friend’s car?” he asks, and Ángel makes a face.

“Oh? Someone I haven’t heard about?” Hayley leans over the back of Ángel’s seat, looking curiously at the car.

“We grew up together, but we’re not exactly friends now,” Ángel mutters. “I just found out he’s getting married in January.”

“Wow.” Hayley’s voice is a soft breath, sparks dancing across Ángel’s shoulder. “Wow, that’s young. Like, he’s our age, right? So that’d be like if you and I got married.”

He doesn’t touch her wrist, doesn’t even turn to look at her. For all intents and purposes, they almost did. That was part of the traditional intent of the ritual, right? Ángel presses his lips thinly together, lifts his hand as Cleto opens the door to the shop and stares at Tanner’s truck.

“You don’t have to wait,” Ángel decides. He’s pretty sure this would be a train wreck, and he doesn’t feel like trying to deal with his old life, his new life, and his very old life all crashing into each other like a bad high school reunion comedy. “I don’t know how long I’m going to be, but whatever proposal they have will hopefully include a ride home. Or maybe a miracle will occur and I’ll get my baby back.” He doesn’t have high hopes for that after the reactions so far.

Cleto steps back, and someone else comes out and looks at the truck. He’s tall, skinny, with dark wavy hair and a cherubic look despite the sharpness of his cheekbones. He rubs at the grease visible on his forearms, which does nothing to brush it away, then motions at the window as he approaches.

Ángel presses the button, and the window slides down. Hayley shifts to the other side of Ángel’s seat, leaning closer to the window.

The guy bends down, pushes his hair back from his face. Ice blue eyes blink twice and he seems to be waiting for Ángel to speak first.

“Hi,” Hayley offers from the back seat. “I’m Hayley.”

His gaze flicks to her. “I’m Luca. Which one of you is Angel?”

“Ángel,” he corrects automatically, and Luca’s gaze settles on him. Ángel grabs the handle and nudges the door open, pushing Luca back so he can get out. Ángel’s not short, but Luca makes him feel awkward; Luca’s a good four inches taller at least. There’s something cutting about his jawline, pretty if it weren’t for the streaks of grease.

“Tony’s still looking at what we can do for your sh—car,” Luca says, his grin sharp as he quickly shifts terms mid-speech. “He says it’s going to take a while. Gabi and Zita are waiting for you in the office.”

“Hey, dude, are you sure you want me to leave you here?” Tanner leans over the seat, arm on the passenger arm rest. “You can call me when you want to get home, okay?”

“We’ll make sure he gets home,” Luca says easily. “Besides. I think he’s going to be here a while.”

Ángel’s stomach sinks. He has no idea what this proposal is going to be, but it doesn’t seem to be in his favor. He turns around, leans in to touch Hayley’s cheek briefly, looking between them both. “You guys go out and have fun. Tanner, show Hayley around town, okay? Make sure you go into the library; you know Mrs. Hannigan won’t believe I ever dated someone so gorgeous.”

Hayley’s breath hitches, and Tanner winces. Ángel bites his tongue when he closes his mouth too quickly, lips pressed into a thin estimation of a smile. “Just go have fun,” he finally says.

“We will,” Hayley assures him softly.

Ángel pulls open her door, and she climbs out, moving into the front seat. She’s still buckling in when Ángel turns away, following Luca into the building.

Luca’s nose is wrinkled, and he doesn’t hide the fact that he’s looking Ángel over from head to toe. “That was awkward,” Luca finally says, the door closing behind him.

Ángel snorts softly. “You don’t even know the half of it, but yes.”

Luca points to the back, raises a hand when there’s a shout from somewhere on the floor. “Go on back to the office; Gabi said you know where it is. And try to ramp down on the angst. You’re stinking up the place.”

Huh. Ángel turns slowly, watches as Luca walks away. He knew that there had to be Clan in town, but he’d never met any. And there’s no other real explanation for a statement like that.

That’s not the kind of business we run.

Gabi’s words from the night before echo in his mind, and Ángel shakes his head to get the words out. This might not be his best plan after all.

Gabi, Maritsa, and a woman who looks like an older version of Gabi are all in the office when Ángel gets there. Maritsa pushes up from the chair she’s straddling, meets Ángel at the door. Her head tilts down slightly, brows furrowed as she leans in close, nostrils flared. She flips her hair, spinning on her heel to move out of the way, and leans against the wall, arms crossed. “We really don’t want him here,” she grumbles.

“Yes, we do.” The older woman steps forward, hand held out. “I’m Zita, and this is my shop.”

“And mine,” Gabi says dryly. “And Tony’s.”

Zita’s expression doesn’t change, eyebrows going up as she regards Ángel. He takes her hand, lets her squeeze down hard on his while he grits his teeth against showing pain. She nods slightly when she releases him, steps back and gestures toward the chair Maritsa vacated. “Sit down,” she says, and Ángel finds himself sitting before she finishes the sentence.

Gabi smirks.

Ángel almost stands back up just to prove he’s not that obedient. It seems like too much effort, so he licks his lips and stays put as Zita pulls up another chair, swings it around so she can sit facing Ángel.

“Your car is shit,” Zita says plainly.

“Thanks, but it’s also mine, and I’d like to get it back on the road,” Ángel retorts. “If that means calling somewhere else to have them come get it, then just let me know.”

“Feisty,” Gabi says.

“Argumentative,” Maritsa counters. “He’s always liked to start fights. He’s not really very good at finishing them.”

“Don’t be a bitch.” Zita’s tone is mild, but Ángel can feel the power in her voice. He wonders what kind of magic it is; it doesn’t feel like Empathy, but it has almost that same level of must be obeyed that he’s experienced from Empaths.

“Should’ve thought of that before,” Maritsa mutters. “Accurate language, self-fulfilling prophecy, right?” She yanks open the door again. “I’ll go get shit cleaned up and see if I can get the latest paperwork from Luca and Tony. Someone else can show Ángel how to file it.”

File it? “What exactly is this proposal?” Ángel’s words are punctuated by Maritsa stalking through the door, pulling it closed with a loud thunk behind her.

“Don’t mind Maritsa; she’s under a lot of stress,” Zita says.

“Ángel grew up with her. He already knows what she’s like.”

Zita glances at Gabi, who puts her hands up, then mimes zipping her lips. Zita’s attention returns to Ángel and she leans forward, just enough to imply that she’s getting into his space.

It feels like being stared at by a hungry lion.

“Your car needs a lot of work,” Zita begins again. “Probably several thousands of dollars worth of work, and I get the impression that you aren’t exactly rolling in money.”

Maritsa’s not here, or Ángel is positive she’d have some commentary on his financial situation. They’re not poor. They’re not rich, either. His family’s solidly middle class, which means everything they have is going toward keeping Ángel at PHU. Most of what he earns for himself is pocket money, or gas money.

“I don’t have a thousand dollars,” Ángel admits slowly. “Let alone more. What are you proposing?”

“We could use an extra pair of hands.” Zita nods at the door, then slowly sits back. Ángel isn’t under any illusion that she’s actually more relaxed; it’s a ploy, and he still feels her on the edges of his senses. “Maritsa and Cleto are getting married in three weeks, and they both have appointments that they need to deal with. I want them to be able to take that time without worrying that we’re left short, and Cleto says you have experience.”

Ángel wonders what happened to Cleto’s uncle’s garage that has Cleto working here now. “Some. The best friend of a husband of an uncle sort of thing, where he had a garage and I worked there in the summer during high school.”

“You can drive a truck and hitch a tow?” Zita asks, questioning eyebrows lowering when Ángel nods. “Good. And you can handle the phones, filing, billing. You’ll be on the truck either alone or with Luca, and Gabi’s always here in the office. I’ve got two kids; this is not where I spend my days, but you’ll see me often enough. No pay; you’re working off your bill.”

“Do I get my car back when it’s repaired or when I go back to PHU in January?” Ángel asks.

“That’s something else we have to discuss.” Zita leans forward again, her energy pressing into Ángel’s space strongly enough that he leans back, crosses his arms and sets his jaw tightly. Zita smirks, as if she knows he’s reacting to her. “I need you here through the wedding. Rearrange your plans if you need to, but you’re going to owe me. And I expect to be paid in full.”

Shit.

“I have a friend with me, and we weren’t planning on—”

“Make arrangements,” Zita says, and Ángel nods before he thinks about it.

His jaw sets tightly, and he looks away, refusing to meet Zita’s eyes. Gabi snorts.

“I’ll figure something out,” Ángel says slowly. “Hayley might not mind sticking around here a little longer, but if we do, we’re both going to miss out on the income we’d planned on earning over break. I’m going to be broke going into the semester.”

“You’d be broke after paying for the repair anyway,” Zita says easily. She rises with grace, holds out her hand again. Ángel takes it only after he rises as well, able to meet her eyes again once they’re on equal footing. Zita clasps strongly, then lets go. “Welcome aboard, Ángel.”

“At least you know how to pronounce my name,” Ángel mutters.

“Luca knows. He just refuses because he’s an ass.” Gabi pushes to her feet. “On the other hand, he volunteered to be your taxi service, so you’re on his hours. He’s listed on the sheet and you should make a note of that and talk to him about when he wants you ready for pickup in the morning. And give him your address.” She comes around the desk, bumping lightly into Zita on the way by. “Come on. Let’s give you a refresher course on the tow. It’s been what, two years according to Cleto?”

“Year and a half. I worked from when I was fourteen up until I left for PHU.” It’s not like it’s a dark secret. Ángel never minded anyone knowing that he worked at Rosalita’s. Half the time he was in the mechanics’ side of the shop, and the other half he was in Rosa’s cafe, serving coffee and pie to truckers. It’s just been a while since he’s dug his hands into anything greasy.

Gabi grabs Ángel’s wrist, and he digs his heels in, resisting when she tries to pull him out the door. He keeps his attention on Zita, where she watches them with her arms crossed and an amused tilt to her mouth.

“Do you need me to fill out any paperwork?” Ángel asks.

Zita huffs. “I’d say no, but if you’re towing, then I need to have you listed on the payroll for insurance purposes. I’ll get you the regular forms, and draw up a contract for the exchange of your take home pay for repairs. If you end up here longer than it takes to pay off your repairs, you’ll start getting a paycheck.”

Ángel nods. That wouldn’t be bad, if he can figure out how to handle things with Hayley.

Of course, Hayley might want to stay anyway.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, stop,” Gabi orders. “You reek.” She tugs, and Ángel follows her out onto the floor. “Luca!” Gabi yells. “Maritsa! Tony! Cleto!”

There’s a grunt from somewhere in the distance. Gabi shakes her head, lets go of Ángel while they wait. Luca finally slides out from under the nearest car, just as Maritsa comes around the corner, stopping when she spots them.

“Cleto’s out on a run,” Maritsa says. “Should be back with someone’s dead Bug in a while.”

“Classic or modern?” Luca asks, pushing his bangs back from his face and leaving a streak of grease in the wake of his touch.

“Classic, which means Tony’ll claim it. He loves old cars. Even your shitbox, Ángel.” Maritsa shrugs, hands spread. “No accounting for taste, but he gets those old engines. He’ll make it better than it was before, if you didn’t fuck it up beyond repair.” She stops, lips pressed together. “Oh and no magic in the shop.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about that unless it happened?” Luca asks, brows furrowed. “We were supposed to ignore that he’s a Mage, right?”

“Right,” Gabi says, glaring at Maritsa. “But some people just keep running their mouths when they need to leave things alone.”

“It’s not like I’m planning on doing Rituals here on the shop floor,” Ángel replies. It gives him a shockingly clear mental image—drawing out the edges and points in grease and used oil, a can of air for one element, and a torch for another, sand for earth and… he can’t think of something for water off the top of his head. But the image is enough to make him smile to himself.

“You made light last night,” Maritsa reminds him, and Ángel can’t deny it.

“Fine,” he agrees. “I’ll do my best not to do any instinctive Magic. But don’t leave me sitting around in the dark, either.”

Gabi rolls her eyes. “Just try to be reasonable, okay? I’m going back to work. Help Cleto get the car off the truck when he gets in, and Maritsa will show you where the guys leave their paperwork for you to pick up,” she says. “Luca, get his address and make sure he writes down your schedule. If he’s still in his underwear when you pick him up, that’s your problem.”

“You’re closed Christmas, right?” Ángel hadn’t thought to ask about the holiday.

“Christmas is on a Sunday, so we’re doubly closed.” Gabi huffs and shakes her head. “Only open Saturday mornings for emergencies and pick ups; no actual repairs unless Tony’s deep in working on something, so don’t worry about Christmas Eve, either, you’ll be home for dinner; I know that’s a big deal for you. Now get to work, all of you. I have billing to process.”

She turns on her heel and stalks off, leaving Ángel with the idea that she’s trying to be Zita and falling far short. His lips twitch and he presses them together to bite back the smile.

“I’ll get your address later, when I take you home.” Luca points at the car, the front tires up on ramps. “I need to finish this oil change so we can get this out of here. Maritsa, he’s all yours.”

“Joy.” Maritsa’s dry tone implies that it’s anything but. However, she takes him on a tour of the shop, avoiding one corner where a classic Mustang is up on the lift. “Don’t bother Tony when he’s working,” she whispers, and there’s a loud grumble from somewhere past the car.

She points out where the paperwork sits for each bay, collects a sheet from the empty bay at the center of the garage. She points out the billing information, whether it’s been paid and how, and gives him a quick overview of the filing in the office. For all that she seems constantly pissed off at him, Maritsa is obviously efficient when it comes to the business.

It’s strange to see her on that side of things.

“Do you still…?” Ángel jerks his head at the cars, and Maritsa almost smiles.

“Sometimes. When we need the extra hands. I like to prove to them that I’m as good as they are when they need me,” she says. “But right now I’m not touching anything until after my wedding. I’m still trying to get grease from two months ago out from under my nails. I’m allowed to be vain for once, it’s my wedding.”

“Does that mean they need help on the floor?”

Maritsa shrugs one shoulder. “Might. Tony’s pretty particular about how things are done. I’m betting he won’t let you near the cars other than the tow.”

She turns and heads out the front, Ángel trailing behind. Maritsa pushes a button and the middle bay garage door starts rising as they step out. Cleto’s parked the tow truck, a classic VW Beetle on the back. It’s in good shape, in that way that only southern cars seem to stay, with no salt to eat the paint from their metal skin.

Cleto doesn’t greet Ángel, just accepts the help when he jumps in to wrangle the car off the truck. Ángel shoulders on the one side, just inside the driver side, while Cleto takes the passenger side, and together they slowly push it into position in the center bay.

Maritsa holds out a crumpled sheet of paper. “Go turn this into proper paperwork,” she orders. Ángel takes it, and is already several steps down the hall before she calls his name again. He turned back slowly.

She stands with her arms crossed, her back pressed against Cleto while he has one arm around her middle. She huffs. “Tía says you should come by on Saturday after work. And that we’ll see you in church that night. I wouldn’t be inviting you,” she clarifies bluntly, baring her teeth in a quick snarl, “but for some reason Tía likes you. So you’d better be there. Don’t disappoint her.”

Ángel licks his lips, tries to steady his breathing. “Sure. It’s been a while. I’d love to see her again, and Rene, too. I’ll be there.”

It’s funny how his old life seems determined to reach out and drag him back in, as if he’d never left home.

[ Previous | First | Next ]

brace: a voltron fanfic

an Uliro Week Fic day one: endurance/weakness rating: T for some semi-graphic imagery [also on AO3]

This actually was supposed to be a birthday gift!fic for @queenvallkyrie​; I got so stupidly swamped I wasn’t able to finish it anywhere near in time. So here it is - double-dipping for uliro week, and for a friend. :) Happy very very belated birthday!

“It’s gorgeous,” Pidge breathes. Her eyes are sparkling as she gazes out the enormous window, nose pressed flat against the glass. “Wow.”

“A truly rare sight,” Coran agrees, smiling from his position at his control console. “You don’t come across a big ol’ ion storm very often these days. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“I can’t believe it,” Lance agrees. His face is smooshed at the window next to Pidge. “Wow! Look at that!”

Outside the wide windows of the bridge, space is lit up in absolutely stunning colors. Huge clouds of dark purples and orange billow all around them, the unique particles and matter spinning in their celestial, dangerous dance. Violet clouds stream past the windows as the Castle sails through, thrusters slow and steady. Sparks of ice-green lightning flash in the depths of the clouds; the lightning is not unlike a thunderstorm, or so Ulaz has been assured. He does not quite understand, but it is the term Lance continues to use - a “space thunderstorm” - and Ulaz has no wish to cause dissent. Sometimes agreeing with Lance is just easier.

Regardless of terminology, the ion storm is truly a sight to behold. It is, however, by no means an easy passage. The ship shakes as another bolt of “space-lightning” edges too close, just clipping the edge of the ship’s particle barrier.

“You sure this thing is safe?” Hunk asks, uneasily. Keith stands at his side, arms folded tight across his chest as he stares out at the natural phenomenon.

“Nothing to worry about,” Allura reassures him. She stands at her control posts, guiding the ship. Her smile is relaxed, easy. “I’ve flown through several ion storms with my father. This is rather calm.”

A brilliant flash of lightning slams into the particle barrier. The ship jerks, shuddering. This time the Paladins are ready for it, shifting their weight and stances to balance as the ship rolls through the movement. Ulaz’s own footing is secure enough he does not need to re-adjust. Outside, the lightning forks into three perfect strands, illuminating the peak of a swollen orange cloud in perfect, sparkling light.

“Woah,” Hunk and Pidge breathe together.

“Did I not tell you?” Allura asks, smug.

“So cool,” Lance echoes, shaking his head in wonder. His face squeaks against the glass. “Look at that. Keith, are you looking? Your face is kind of grouchy.”

“I’m looking,” Keith assents, and Ulaz almost swears that’s a little smile.

“Can we go out in this?” Pidge cries, wild with excitement. She peels back from the window, leaving a smudgy imprint of her face behind.  “Can the Lions handle a space-thunderstorm?”

“Far too dangerous for that, Number Five,” Coran says, snapping his moustache. “The Lions can handle modicums of electricity, but it’s best to wait this one out from in here. If it’s too dangerous, Allura will open up a wormhole and we’ll wormhole away to safety.”

“It will not come to that,” Allura promises. Lightning strikes the barrier again; the ship shudders with a great rumble of engines and machinery, but the particle barrier holds. All around Ulaz the Paladins are relaxing, awed at the universe’s majestic display. It truly is a sight to behold.

“What do you think?” Ulaz murmurs, to the Paladin standing at his side.

That is - he draws breath to do so. But there’s no movement out of his peripheral; no presence whatsoever. Ulaz turns, the words dying on his lips.

Shiro is no longer there.

He was standing by Ulaz when the journey through the clouds first began, but now he is gone. He is not anywhere on the bridge, as a matter of fact. He is not standing behind Coran, not leaning over Hunk and Pidge’s shoulders, not bumping elbows with Keith as he sometimes does. The bridge, while well-illuminated with the radiant light of the space-thunderstorm, is noticeably absent of Ulaz’s black paladin.

Rather than cause alarm, Ulaz quietly excuses himself during the next strike of the green lightning, and goes on the hunt.

Shiro is not terribly hard to find.

He’s sitting up on the secondary observation deck, tucked into a corner of the ragged couch. Every inch of him is curled up on said surface, knees pulled up to his chest and feet resting against the cushions. The space-thunderstorm blossoms out the wide windows ahead of him. His back is to the door.

That is not what gives Ulaz pause. What gives Ulaz pause is that every fiber of Shiro’s posture radiates tension, shoulders up, back tight. He does not react when the door swishes open, when Ulaz’s shadow breaks the light from the hall and stretches long across the floor.

Ulaz approaches, taking care that his footfalls are not silent. Still Shiro does not look up, utterly hunched in on himself on the couch.

A bad sign. Ulaz clears his throat. “Shiro?”

That does it. Shiro jumps, startled. No, not jumps - flinches. His head jerks up, turns over his shoulder.

“Ulaz,” Shiro says, in greeting. His voice is hoarse. There are tear tracks on his cheeks. Still wet, even, catching in the flash of light from outside.

Ulaz’s mind immediately launches to the worst.

“What is the matter?” Ulaz asks urgently. He crosses the room in three large strides, crouching down in front of Shiro immediately. It isn’t enough; even sitting down, Shiro would have to crane his neck up simply to meet Ulaz’s gaze. Ulaz drops to his knees. “Are you injured?”

“No,” Shiro says. He shakes his head, the movement stilted. “No, I’m not.”

The way his hand grips at his prosthetic betrays him. Shiro’s arms are not merely tucked behind his knees; his left hand clutches at the gleaming metal of his right arm, fingers tight and desperate.

Ah.

Slowly, telegraphing every move, Ulaz rises from his knees. The cushions dip beneath his weight as he settles carefully on the couch, leaving bare inches between him and Shiro. Shiro doesn’t look up. Nor does he pull his left hand away from the hated Galra arm.

For a long moment Ulaz says nothing. He sits next to Shiro, steady and present. Calm. The ion storm surrounds their ship on all sides, blooming clouds of darkest purple shot through with shades of vibrant coppers. A patch of clouds flash in the distance, too far to reach them. A brilliant streak of lightning illuminates the clouds to their right - still far - in a bold burst of green.

“Does it hurt?” Ulaz asks, at last.

“Not really,” Shiro murmurs.

Ulaz raises one eyebrow. Shiro sighs.

“A bit,” he relents. Every muscle in his shoulders is tense, a rigid stroke.

Lightning flashes out the broad windows again, this time too close. The ship jolts from the impact, bucking. Ulaz plants one foot on the floor, grounding himself. Next to Ulaz, Shiro flinches.

“Shiro,” Ulaz says.

“Yes, it hurts,” Shiro admits finally, through gritted teeth. His jaw is clenched so hard he’s probably well on the way to giving himself a migraine. His knuckles tighten over his prosthetic.

Ulaz considers. How could an arm made entirely of metal and quintessence still be causing Shiro such pain? The first thing Ulaz had done upon his recovery from the space-pocket-disaster was nullify every single one of Haggar’s “safeguards” left behind in Shiro’s arm. Ulaz had made sure of it himself, painstaking piece by painstaking piece. None of Haggar’s tricks and cruelty remain other than the arm itself. It should not be causing Shiro any more pain.

The ship shudders again. Shiro winces sharply. This time Ulaz is prepared. This time he catches as Shiro’s fingers grip still harder; this time Ulaz is alert, and finally realizes the precise placement of Shiro’s fingers above the metal arm.

Above.

Shiro isn’t holding his prosthetic. He’s gripping what remains of his own arm, the flesh and blood and muscle left behind where his real arm is grafted onto the metal. Where his flesh and veins are fused to the Galra technology through a scientific magic far too complex for basic understanding.

Quintessence might help the prosthetic, at its core. Ulaz’s own enhancements have helped, as well. But there is nothing that can be done for what remains of Shiro’s real, human flesh: nothing for the pain caused by real - not synthetic - nerves and bone.

“Shiro,” Ulaz breathes, horrified.

“It’s silly,” Shiro manages. Outside the windows the clouds continue to roll, emerald-green lightning sparkling in their depths. “On Earth - folks with old bones could predict the weather, kind of. My grandfather’s knee always bothered him when it was about to rain. My other grandfather’s hip knew when it was going to snow. I had an aunt who could accurately time a thunderstorm three miles away just from the twinge of her elbow. I always…I always thought they were being silly.”

“This predictive ability runs in your family?” Ulaz asks, surprised. “I am impressed. What is snow?”

“No, it’s - ” Shiro blinks, startled out of himself. “Seriously?”

“I am assuming it is a pattern of weather,” Ulaz prompts, deliberately.

Shiro shakes his head in disbelief. “Right. Of course you wouldn’t - we’re coming back to that one. What I should say - it’s not like that, with the weather predictions. There isn’t any magic in it. When humans get - when we age, we lose bone mass and density. The - where the joints connect just doesn’t work as well, so they end up aching when the barometric pressure starts changing, like with a storm or if it’s raining. But sometimes - I guess some injuries, too, they don’t -”

A massive bolt of green lightning slams into the particle barrier. The ship rocks as the shields absorb the impact, but hold firm. Shiro hisses through his teeth.

“Your arm,” Ulaz concludes. He needs no further explanation. “It is bothering you, like your elders.”

“I’ll be fine,” Shiro says. His eyes are tight and hard, pinched together. Watering.

“You are not,” Ulaz says, softly. “I know what your pain looks like, Shiro. You do not have to hide it from me. I already know.”

Shiro’s head jerks up. The tear stains on his cheeks are still visible; one unbidden tear travels down his cheek. The tears are evidence enough: evidence of a young man, pushed too far. Evidence of one so weary, exhausted and worn. Evidence of bitter pain, of hurts inflicted that run bone-deep. Too deep.

They hurt.

Ulaz could not help him when Shiro’s hand was taken. He was a spectator, trapped by circumstances of his own. Regardless, that Shiro has suffered so much is Ulaz’s fault. That Shiro suffers even now -

No. This is a promise Ulaz has since made, and a promise he will keep. Ulaz could not stop Shiro’s pain then, but he can do this much now.

“I will ask the Princess to create a wormhole immediately,” Ulaz decides.

“No!” Shiro’s hand shoots out, catching Ulaz as he rises. Ulaz startles, surprised. Shiro’s grip is firm, his gaze rock-solid and hard. Determined, despite his exhaustion and weary pain. “No. Don’t tell her.”

“There is no need for you to endure this,” Ulaz begins.

“The others were so excited,” Shiro says, right over him, “They wanted to see this so badly. It is beautiful. Even if it - it’s stunning. Isn’t it? What do you think?”

Outside the storm billows, constant and all-encompassing. The Castle rises over a cloud, sails through a wave of deepest blue-violet. An explorer, a brave speck of white in an endless, majestic sea.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” Shiro says. His voice is quiet; his eyes are turned to the window, though his hand remains on Ulaz’s wrist. “When I was in school, before I went up to space for the first time. Saturn’s rings, Jupiter’s gas pockets - all of that was fine, but this…? This is what I wanted. This is what I dreamed of.”

“Your species is prophetic as well?” Ulaz queries.

It works. Shiro laughs. It’s a small sound, the slightest quirk of his lips. It’s enough. “No. It’s a figure of speech. I wasn’t dreaming of space storms, exactly, but I was…I…”

He gestures wordlessly towards the window. Glimmers of distant lightning glint off the palm, shine against his Galra thumb. Shimmer against his wrist.

“I did want this,” Shiro says, vulnerable and earnest. His gaze is reflective and soft. “To see new things. To be the first. To go where no one has gone before, to explore…”

“You dreamed of this,” Ulaz summarizes, quietly. “I understand.”

“I did,” Shiro agrees. He swallows. Sparks of green flash in the distance, lighting up the observation deck and painting Shiro’s face in shadows of amber and violet stars. Ulaz cannot look away. “The others - we might never see something like this ever again. I’m not taking it away from them.”

He is correct, of course. Rarity of the storm aside, Shiro is the last person Ulaz needs to remind that they’re still at war.

“Their happiness is worth your own discomfort?” Ulaz asks, instead.

“Yes,” Shiro insists. “It’s not that bad.”

Lightning strikes outside, close. The particle barrier illuminates with the blow; Shiro shudders, yet again. His fingers dig reflexively into Ulaz’s bicep.

So be it.

Ulaz says nothing, merely folds his legs underneath him and sits fully on the couch. He does not dislodge Shiro’s grip on his arm, but - after a moment - carefully covers Shiro’s hand with his own. Shiro’s hand, strong and calloused and scarred, is still so small beneath Ulaz’s own palm.

“I am sorry,” Ulaz says, sincerely. Shiro’s head whips to him, surprised. “I am sorry that as a result of my actions, you have to endure this prophetic pain.”

Shiro laughs, a startled snicker bursting from his lips. He ducks his head briefly, hair shaking into his eyes.

“You weren’t there,” he says, laying his right hand atop Ulaz’s own. It’s a unique mix of flesh on metal: Shiro’s hand on Ulaz’s, which still covers Shiro’s natural hand, which is still pressed into Ulaz’s arm. Ulaz’s knee is touching Shiro’s thigh, where Shiro’s finally - finally - relaxed. Just a little. Just enough. “I don’t remember a lot, but I remember that much. I don’t blame you.”

“Your species constantly apologizes for elements outside of your control,” Ulaz counters, immediate but not sharp. “Is this not the same?”

Shiro flushes, heat racing to his cheeks. “It’s not your fault.”

“Be that as it may, I still apologize,” Ulaz says. His hand tightens ever so slightly over Shiro’s; slight, because Ulaz knows his own strength. Shiro is strong, yes, but claws are still sharp. “Allow me to make amends.”

“You already have,” Shiro says, honest. “Many times.”

This is an argument they have had before: a conversation worn like well-thumbed pages in a book.

The storm drifts outside, a murmur and a risk. The castle sails, protected and on guard. They are not through by a long shot, but are perhaps near enough that Ulaz can see the end.

“I shall sit with you then,” Ulaz says, simply. “If you would have me?”

Shiro smiles for the first time all afternoon. A rare sight; a revel.

“I would,” Shiro says, and allows Ulaz to settle in.