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kell-be-belle · 4 years

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Desperation

a/n: I am so unbeliveably proud of myself for finishing this. It has been a long time since I’ve written anything and it has been such an amazing experience to create again. This fanfiction was written as part of the @grishaversebigbang project. I am only a minor piece in a great work of art so be sure to check out all the other amazing stories and artworks all dedicated to Leigh Bardugo’s @lbardugo incredible grishaverse.

Corporalki: @december-dragon

Materialki:

@phy-be [Artwork] @randomlpsbrecken [Artwork] @ahkielos [Edit1] [Edit2]

Summary: Kaz Brekker never thought he would find himself hopelessly in love, let alone with his own Wraith. Unable to contain his feelings and unsure how to confess them, a desperate Kaz seeks help from his fellow crows. But he may have gotten a little more than he bargained for.

Ao3: Read It Here

In all his life, Kaz Brekker could only recall three instances where he had found himself feeling truly desperate. The first time had been when he had awakened on the Reaper’s Barge, tossed mercilessly amongst the foul, festering corpses without regard for the life to which he still clung. Using his own brother’s rotting corpse as a flotation device was an act of survival and one whose consequences echoed well into his present.

The second time had been on the flat shores of Vellgeluk after their harrowing escape from the Frjedan Ice Court; watching as his meticulously orchestrated plans crumbled between his leather gloved hands. Four million kruge gone. His team weary and in varying stages of unraveling. Inej small and limp like a child’s doll in the arms of the Squaller as she disappeared over the distant horizon. How hollow he had felt. The fire inside him temporarily extinguished leaving him teetering on the very edge of collapse.

The third time was now as he sat perched on the sofa of the Van Eck mansions’ lavish parlor. Kaz had made it a personal policy of his to spend as little time as he could at the estate. Had he been Wylan, he probably would have seen the place burned to the foundation long ago. Something so absurdly ostentatious had no business existing. The furniture was too plush, the wallpaper too colorful, the floral arrangements too plentiful and pungent. Kaz would take the hollow under a bridge long before this monstrosity.

Jesper Fahey, however, was in his glory.

Jesper was swathed in a rich velvet smoking jacket, the sleeves embroidered with shimmering gold thread. He cradled a glass of deeply colored wine in the curve of one hand. He pinched a thin cigarillo between the fingers of the other. His grin was oil slick and smug as a gambler on a hot streak as he took a drag of the cigarillo and breathed it’s sweet smoke back into the even sweeter air.

“Ah Kaz,” he purred, the smoke standing white against the richness of his Zemeni skin. “I’ve been wondering when you would finally grow the dice to come seeking my expertise.” He swung one spindly leg over the other in a high arc and the wine sloshed in his glass like a small sea.

Kaz allowed himself the momentary pleasure of imagining knocking out Jesper’s obnoxiously white teeth with the head of his cane. The leather of his gloves creaked as his grip on said cane tightened. “Well… here I am,” he rasped. “And with the dice I assure you I had long before today.”

“Oh no doubt, but I assure you that having the dice to con the most powerful man in Ketterdam and having the dice to do this takes two totally different sets.”

Kaz clenched his jaw and teeth, like his gloves, creaked menacingly. “Enough with this ridiculous euphemism. Is the deal the deal?”

“Oh, you mean right now?” Jesper quiried. His attempt at a poker face was pathetic as ever. It was no wonder he lost so frequently. “It’s just… you’ve never come to me to help with this sort of thing and I’m finding myself… overwhelmed with emotion.” It was some emotion, but it certainly wasn’t something as innocent as love for a friend.

Shame burned white hot under Kaz’s skin. He knew full well that the request he was making was unorthodox if not hideously pathetic. However, that did not mean that he had to sit here and suffer mockery from the likes of Jesper Fahey. “That’s it. We’re done here.” He rasped, his coat surging around him like the tides of a stormy sea as he took up his cane and limped defiantly towards the door.

Jesper sprang from the couch like a tightly wound coil. He had wanted to have his fun, but he hadn’t meant to drive Kaz away. “No, no wait!” he squawked, scrambling to place his wine glass safely on the side table so he could pursue the retreating Kaz. “C’mon Kaz, I was just fooling arou-!” Jesper clapped a hand on Kaz’s shoulder.

He couldn’t have made a bigger mistake.

Even on his best days, Kaz struggled to cope with the trauma of his childhood. Today was most certainly not what he would consider one of his best. Instinct took hold and wielded him like a marionette. He twisted around and snatched Jesper’s arm with the speed of a striking viper. He wrenched it backwards and the joint of the Zemeni’s shoulder groaned in its socket. Kaz was not a hesitant fighter. On the streets of Ketterdam, hesitation brought certain death. Within a heartbeat, he hefted his cane and lifted it in a high arc with the steel crows head aimed to strike. “K-Kaz please! Wait!”

Realization washed over him and Kaz snapped back to his senses as if plunged into the canal midwinter. His eyes flickered up to see his cane; the steelhead glinting in the light of the crystal chandelier. A star teetering on the edge of the heavens. A meteor set on destruction. Kaz released Jesper with little grace and the Zemeni fell on all fours with a gasp of relief. Jesper rolled his shoulder and winced. “Saints, Kaz… I wouldn’t have teased you had I known it would entail an attempt on my life…”

Kaz made no remark, only blinked tiredly down at Jesper before he turned and slunk away; pushing a hand through the sheaf of his dark hair. Why was he even here? Seeking Jesper out had been a thoughtless idea and his regret was palpable. There was only a small handful of people Kaz dared to consider comrades, but still he kept them at arm’s length. It was smart. It was safe. Making Jesper privy to this information was a betrayal of his most sacred of rules- never expose your weaknesses.

Jesper recovered with the kind of ease that only he could manage, smoothing the lapels of his smoking jacket and picking up his cigarillo from where it was smoldering feebly on the carpet. The Zemeni perched it back between his lips and took a long drag. He breathed the sweet smoke back into the parlor. “Boy… it’s worse than I thought. How long has it been?”

Kaz pressed his lips together, “Much longer than I care to admit.”

“You make it sound like you have some kind of disease,” Jesper chuckled watching the smoke tendrils dance into the air above him.“It’s only love, Kaz.”

Even the word made Kaz’s stomach twist. Love. What even was love? It was something that he might have known at one time, but was so distant in his past it may as well have been another lifetime. The concept was so foreign to him now that he struggled to understand where and when it had managed to entrap him like a rabbit in a snare.

Inej. Kaz loved Inej.

Somehow, this Suli girl had managed to wheedle her way under his carefully structured armor. He should have just been able to swallow it down. He should have buried it in the deep pit inside himself where he shoved all other feelings that didn’t pertain to revenge, control, or power. All the things that made him Ketterdam’s Bastard of the Barrel. However, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t and he had tried with every ounce of willpower in his broken, miserable body. Every time he looked at her, caught the scent of her perfume, felt the warmth of her touch lingering on the window sill; he felt himself unraveling.

Kaz forever envisioned his life spent with no company other than his own and he had accepted it with no qualms. He enjoyed his own company. Now he was posed with a situation he had never prepared for and had no clue how to proceed with. And it was for that reason that Kaz was here today.

Kaz was desperate.

When it came to choosing an acquaintance with romantic experience, his options had been slim and even that was an extreme understatement. His choices included Jesper Fahey and Nina Zenik. Neither of them were nearly capable enough to handle this sensitive information with any form of maturity. At the very least, Jesper lacked Nina’s ruthlessness.

“Jesper!” A voice rang out from the nearby foyer. “Jesper, I’m home!”

“Shit, it’s Wylan!” Jesper hissed, scrambled to the table beside the sofa and opened the lid to a small trinket box. He hastily snubbed his cigarillo out inside and snapped the lid shut before waving his hands like an overgrown bird in an attempt to disperse the lingering smoke. He only just had time to throw himself into a lounging position before Wylan appeared in the door.

Wylan Van Eck had grown quite a bit since he had first joined the ranks of the Dregs. His face had lost some of its boyish roundness.

Wylan stopped mid stride, his nostrils flaring as he raised his chin and took in the fading scent of Jesper’s freshly extinguished cigarillo. “Jesper! How many times do I have to tell you, stop smoking those in the house! That smell gets in the carpet!”

If only Jesper’s smile was as effective in getting him out of trouble as he believed it to be. Wylan sighed exasperatedly, but made no further comment. This was obviously an ongoing struggle. Wylan crossed to the card table adjacent to the fireplace, depositing his armful of packages on its surface. “So… what business, Kaz? It’s not often we see you here…. I know you can stomach this place just about as well as I can.” Wylan had made it known more than once that he had absolutely no sentimental feelings towards his childhood home. It seemed his presence there hinged solely on his affections for Jesper who had settled into life of luxury as if he had never lived any other way.

Kaz hesitated. It couldn’t have been more than half a moment, but the subtle arch of Wylan’s brow indicated he had caught the uncharacteristic action. “I need help with a job. I came to ask Jesper for help.” It wasn’t entirely a lie though not specifically the truth either.

“Oh, really?” Wylan queried, unwrapping one paper swathed package. “What kind of job?”

Jesper was the one to intervene, springing up from his perch on the sofa once more like a tightly wound coil. “A stakeout!” he blurted. Wylan blinked at him suspicion. “Uh… yeah, a stakeout! It looks like the Black Tips have been sniffing around Fifth Harbor and Kaz wants me to keep an eye on the borders.”

“A stakeout, huh?” he queried once more, lifting another of his packages. He pulled away the paper slowly and deliberately. The slow riiiiiiip it produced should have been classified as an instrument of torture in Kaz’s current state. “That doesn’t really sound like a job for Jesper.” Kaz glared pointedly at Jesper. The Zemeni merely grimaced, bouncing his shoulders and mouthing a silent word of apology. “Did something happen with Inej?”

“No. It didn’t.” Kaz came out much more bitter than he had intended which caused Wylan to arch his brow even further. It didn’t take an idiot to know something with their story didn’t quite check out, but still Wylan had become so damn perceptive since entering the ranks of the Dregs. His cunning rivaled Kaz’s own which at most times impressed him, but sometimes left him mildly disquieted. He would make a fine successor should he ever decide to abandon some of that meddlesome humanity.

“Alright, sounds good. Be safe.” Wylan abruptly stated, gathering his unwrapped purchases in the cradle of his arms and proceeding out from the parlor. “I’ll be in the lab if you need me!” echoed out behind him as he rounded the grand staircase and disappeared from sight. Kaz and Jesper stood silently, gawking at the empty space where Wylan had been as if they hadn’t yet processed the fact he was no longer there.

Jesper glanced dazedly over at Kaz, “Okay, well…. I guess, that… settles that.” Jesper clapped his hands together and swiveled on the balls of his feet to face Kaz. “Alright! Let’s talk about the game plan! I’m thinking some new clothes.”

The pit that had been growing in Kaz’s stomach grew deeper still. If it were possible to feel worse about this decision than before than he most certainly would, but it seemed there was no choice now. No mourners, no funerals.

******

“Alright,” Jesper sang, clapping his hands together. “Inej should be arriving back in Ketterdam sometime in the next few days correct?” Kaz affirmed with a bare nod. “Why don’t we start with the basics?” Jesper had brought Kaz to a quaint little square in the Zelver district. The planters surrounding the square were bursting with freshly bloomed crocuses and tulips. Townsfolk were perched at wrought iron bistro tables, nursing cups of steaming coffee bright with fresh cream or pecking at delicate pastries from the neighboring coffeehouses. A small handful of children ran around chasing a brightly colored ball in a jubilant cacophony of giggles and shrieks.

Kaz hated it.

Places like this so reminded him too much of the brief dream of a life he and his brother had lived upon their arrival in Ketterdam. It reminded him too much of the house with the blue door and white lace curtains in the windows. Too much of hutspot and rich hot chocolate and a porcelain doll of a girl with a red ribbon in her hair. Suffering had been the forge in which Kaz Brekker had been created and remembering that there were people had never known the same was always hard for him to swallow.

Still, Kaz couldn’t complain. He refused to take any of Jesper’s so called “lessons of love” anywhere in the remote vicinity of the Barrel or East and West Stave. The risk of him being recognized in those places was too great and he didn’t wish to expose himself any further than he already had. Here he was blissfully anonymous and therefore exempt from some marginal amount of embarrassment or so he believed.

“Alright, so generally when people are happy they tend to smile, correct?” Jesper was pacing a line in front of Kaz, the crumbs of a recently eaten pastry still stuck to his lips. Kaz didn’t bother to tell him they were still there. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually smile before. I mean, I’ve seen the scheming face smile before, but that doesn’t exactly count, does it? It looks more like that kind of smile an opponent might give you when they’re about the beat your hand with a royal flush and-! ”

“Jesper.” Kaz barked, setting the Zemeni still like a hound called to heel. “Please, I am not getting any younger sitting here listening to your ramblings over the opinion of my expressions. I would appreciate you getting to your point at some moment in my lifetime. Also there have been crumbs on your face for the last ten minutes. For saints sake, clean yourself up.”

Jesper blinked at him a moment before swiftly brushing the crumbs from his mouth with a swipe of the back of his hand. His cheeks were dark with embarrassment. “Right, okay focusing…” He took a collective breath. “So, you need to let Inej know you enjoy being around her.”

“I’m not sure if you’ve realized, but that’s the whole reason we’re here.”

Jesper sighed exasperatedly, “Work with me here, Kaz. You can’t just run up to Inej and scream about your feelings in her face. You have to start small; baby steps if you will.” Kaz raised one dark brow. “You have to start subtle. Start smiling at her more, maybe throw in a laugh at something she says. Make her feel like you enjoy being in her company.”

“But I do enjoy being in her company.”

“Yeah, I understand that, but you would never know it with that sourpuss of a face you have.” Kaz furrowed his brows. Jesper swallowed thickly. “N-not that there’s anything wrong with that! I mean, your face is what it is and it’s perfectly handsome,” Kaz brushed off the fact that Jesper had just referred to his face as ‘perfectly handsome.’ “But maybe you should just try and-!”

“Fine.” Kaz cut Jesper’s ramblings off at the knee. He no longer had the patience for them. “I will… try to smile.” Kaz moistened his lips, stretched his mouth out and back in to test the functioning of his muscles. He took a collective breath. The corners of his lips twitched upwards; a direction they were not accustomed to moving in. He believed he was doing a fine job of things. He certainly didn’t think he was the picture of serenity, but he thought the smile looked genuine. Unfortunately, judging from the look Jesper was giving him, the Zemeni didn’t think the same.

Kaz’s smile fell. “What? Am I doing something wrong?”

“Not really, it’s just…” Jesper sucked the air in through his teeth with a small hiss. “Well you’re kind of just making your scheming face.” Kaz’s stomach dropped. Conspiratorial smiles were all well and good in his line of business, but not when trying to convey affection to significant others. Kaz furrowed his brow, not entirely sure how to proceed. Jesper must have sensed his frustration and jumped to encourage him. “Hey, hey don’t get discouraged! You just need some practice, that’s all! Look, try again and I’ll tell you how to make it look more genuine, okay?” Kaz agreed reluctantly because what other choice did he have?

For the better part of the next hour, Jesper coached Kaz on how to smile like a proper man and less like a Barrel-born thug. He offered little bits of advice like smoothing is brow, relaxing the tension in his jaw, and showing just a hint of teeth. By the time they were through, Jesper was looking at him with accomplishment in his grey eyes. “Not bad, not bad at all,” he mused. “I would almost say you look genuinely happy! Alright, that’s enough practice for now.”

Kaz let his face fall back to its natural expression, massaging his cheeks with the tips of his leather clad fingers. He had endured beatings, knife wounds, several broken bones- one of which had caused him a permanent disability- and yet somehow learning how to smile had been more arduous. The muscles in his cheeks twitched from the strain. They were painfully underused, afterall.

Jesper was beginning to explain phase two of his plan when a brightly colored ball bounced towards their bench, rolling the last few feet before coming to a stop at the edge of Kaz’s pristinely polished shoes. He tilted his chin upwards, watching as the gaggle of children who had been frolicing about the square barreled towards them in pursuit of their escaped plaything.

With one look at Kaz, however, the children stopped dead in their tracks; their combined momentum nearly sending them toppling onto the cobblestone like dominoes.

Kaz knew how he appeared to children, a creature comprised of sharp angles and shadows that more resembled the monster under their bed than it did a man. He had no qualms against this vision of himself since he had no fondness for children as proven with sweet little Hanna Smeet. He looked down at the ball with distaste. It’s overly-saturated color made his eyes sting as if staring into the light of the sun.

“Oh, this is perfect!” Jesper clapped his hands together jubilantly. “Okay Kaz, here’s where all the hard work comes into practice! Bring that ball back over to those kids and give them your best smile when you do it.”

“You can’t be serious.” Kaz rasped, bitter coffee gaze sliding from the ball to the Zemeni as he flopped onto the bench beside him.

“I assure you that I am one hundred percent serious. You don’t get unrestricted candor from anyone like you do from children. If your new smile works on them, then all of our hard work will have been worth the effort.” Jesper flashed his own brilliant white smile. It was just as bright and damning as the ball- as the sun.

Kaz looked down at the ball, looked back up at Jesper who’s unrelenting smile was beginning to shift from aimable to unnerving. He certainly wasn’t giving up on this no more than he would surrender his beloved pearl handled pistols. “Fine,” Kaz growled. “Just stop smiling at me like that.” Kaz scooped the ball into the palm of one hand and grasped his cane with the other, hoisting himself up from the bench with a small creak of protest from his bad leg. He limped towards the children, the steel tip of his cane rasping against the stones beneath.

The children stood paralyzed, caught between their fear of the monster approaching them and their desire for the ball in his hand. Their knees knocked, lips wobbled, eyes swimming with the imminent threat of tears. This couldn’t possibly end well. Nevertheless he persisted, intent on seeing this through. He stopped a few feet before the children and used his cane to lower himself into a kneeling position. His bad leg creaked in protest once more and he growled with annoyance. The children shrunk away with a chorus of barely contained gasps.

“No wait, I…” The children waited with bated breath, curiosities momentarily overshadowing their trepidation. Kaz took a collective breath, briefly tested the muscles of his lips. He leaned forward, offering the ball in his outstretched palm. He thought back to all of Jesper’s tips, smoothing the furrow of his brows, relaxing the tension of his jaw, revealing a hint of teeth. “I believe this belongs to you.”

The children scattered like roaches caught by the light, screaming and bolting off in a multitude of directions. In her haste, one little girl tripped over the hem of her skirts and collapsed face first to the cobblestones. One braid had come loose from where it had been wrapped around her head and it hung limply against the side of her dirt and tear streaked face. One boy mustered up enough courage to turn back, grasping his friend by the arm, dragging her up from the road, and carting her off towards a cafe.

Kaz sat there dumbfounded. Of course he hadn’t believed that would go well, but he still didn’t expect the disaster that unfolded. He surmised that one of them would snatch the ball with a hurried word of thanks and then the lot would scurry off to continue their game. Instead they had run off like the grim reaper galloped on their heels atop his skeletal steed. Kaz had expected nothing and yet was somehow still disappointed.

Kaz swiveled on the balls of his feet, craning his neck back to where Jesper sat by the bench, hands clasped over his mouth to silence the laughter that was still evident in quiver of his shoulders. Kaz shot up from his position despite the protest of his leg, stalking across the square back to Jesper. The Zemini snapped straight and still as Kaz approached like a soldier to his commanding general. “We’re going.” Kaz barked. “If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone ever, Saints help me Jesper I will shove a hundred kruge down your throat and then slice you open so they tumble out like a damn slot machine.”

Typically, such a threat would be disturbing to the average person, but Jesper only cast him a wry smile and fell into step behind him. “Whatever you say, boss. Whatever you say.”

*********

After the incident in the Zelver district, Kaz and Jesper thought it best to seek out new territory to continue their lessons. The cherry on the top of this day would be some pinched faced merchant wife crying for the Stadwatch and demanding repercussions for the Barrel thugs who terrorized her little darlings. Jesper and Kaz moved eastward, passed the Church of Barter and towards the University District. This district was blissfully void of the snotfaced cretins known as children.

Unfortunately, children of another kind populated this particular district. The incredibly cocksure, yet sickeningly nebulous breed known as the university student. It was nearing the end of the term and they were skittering about like rodents; wild eyed and bristling at the slightest inconvenience.

One student bumped shoulders with Kaz and reacted with a fiercely growled, “Watch where you’re going!” And muttered afterwards, “Lousy cripple.” It probably wasn’t meant to be heard, but was there nonetheless and Kaz wasn’t in a particularly passive mood. Kaz brushed his shoulder off with a practiced word of apology. The student righted himself and readjusted the stack in his arms before turning to bustle off to wherever he had been hurrying to before the collision.

Kaz gripped the head of his cane in his gloved hand. He jabbed the steel tip backwards with pinpoint precision and struck the back of the student’s knee. He folded to the ground like a gambler with a losing hand; his papers falling around him like a hail of confetti. They caught on the breeze like escaped birds. The student made no movement to recapture them. He laid there on the stones with his face scrunched in a way that couldn’t have been anything other an effort to hold back tears. Had that truly been all it took? Kaz almost felt sorry for him as he strode away.

Almost.

“Did you really have to do that to him? Final exams are a ridiculously stressful time.” Jesper said reproachfully casting a glance back at the student who was still lying in the street. He had curled in on himself like a dying insect.

“It certainly made me feel better so… yes. Yes I did.” Jesper rolled his eyes, but judging from the quiver of his dark lips, he was trying not to find too much satisfaction in the student’s retribution.

Jesper and Kaz settled in a courtyard just off the main thoroughfare. It was mostly secluded, save for a single student perched on the bench in the far corner. Her nose was buried so deeply into a leather bound tome that the rest of her face was not even visible. She wouldn’t be interrupting them any time soon. They sat down on a bench as they had in the Zelver District, Jesper tucked into the far right and Kaz the far left. Kaz closed his eyes for a brief moment; drinking in the serenity of the courtyard. After the cacophony of sensations from the square, this place was a sanctuary.

He felt the planks of the bench beneath him bow and bend as weight shifted atop them. He opened his eyes and glanced sidelong at Jesper who appeared to have grown closer. Kaz eyed him warily, but determined the space between them was still sufficient enough. Kaz tried to immerse himself back in his moment of peace when he once more felt the bench planks bow and bend as Jesper inched closer still. He swiped his cane from where it had been propped against the bench and wielded it as a makeshift barrier between them.

“Jesper. Whatever it is you’re doing it better stop right now. I require a least two feet of distance from you at all times.”

“First of all, ouch. Second of all, prepare yourself because this is lesson number two, Kaz.”

“If lesson number two involves the continued invasion of my personal space, then I’m afraid this lesson is over.” Kaz retreated further down the bench though there wasn’t much space left to retreat into. The curled, wrought iron of the armrest pressed into his side through the bulk of his wool coat.

“C’mon Kaz! Do you want to win over Inej or not?”

“I don’t know, Jesper, would you like to lose an arm?” Kaz growled. “Because that’s the direction we’re heading if you don’t shift down the other end of this saints forsaken bench.” Customarily, Kaz did his utmost to contain the sickness inside him. Exposing it meant exposing what was perhaps his greatest weakness and weakness was not of Kaz Brekker’s list of desirable personality traits. However, the stress of this day had left him cracked.

“Do you want to win over Inej or not?” When Kaz didn’t immediately respond, Jesper shifted closer. “Well, do you or don’t you?” He stared at Kaz expectantly, his grey eyes seeming to penetrate through to his very soul. Kaz pressed his lips together and gave a bare nod. “That’s what I thought. Just sit back and let the master show you how it’s done.” Jesper shimmied a little closer, further closing what little space remained between them. Kaz’s skin crawled, but he remained still.

“So, when you’re sitting next to her, you start moving in closer. Remember to take your time with it; you don’t want to be intimidating.” Jesper was now a hair’s breadth away; he could feel the warmth of the Zemeni’s body. It made his stomach roil. “Now, this is when the magic happens.” Jesper’s grin was not assuring of any type of magic. “So, sit like this for awhile. Kind of let that tension grow. Drive ‘em a little stir-crazy. Then, real smooth like, pretend like you’re going to yawn, stretch your arms up,” Jesper raised both lanky arms over his head; stretching them out before casually bringing one down and around Kaz’s shoulder. It settled there as if there was nowhere else it had ever been. “And boom, there you have it. Now the two of you are nice and cozy and perfectly poised for smoochin’.” He winked. Kaz nearly wretched.

“Oh dear… am I interrupting something?” Kaz nearly jumped from his skin, leaving it like a molted shell on the bench behind him. He whirled around to see none other than a deviously grinning Nina Zenik. Kaz swallowed thickly. The cat about to devour the canary. “Jesper Fahey, how could you?!” she bewailed. “I always knew you were a degenerate, but cheating on your sweet innocent Wylan with Dirty Hands himself?” The student who had been buried in her book across the courtyard briefly bobbed above the pages.

“Nina… dear…” Kaz’s voice was low and feral, barely contained like a wild animal moments away from breaking its restraints. “Would you kindly shut that plump little mouth of yours?” Unfortunately with Nina, everything worked in the opposite. All positives were negatives, all negatives were positives, and ‘shut your mouth’ meant ‘please continue on as emphatically as your obnoxious voice box can manage.’

“Oh, poor Wylan will be devastated- absolutely heartbroken! I fear he may never recover from such a blow. I hope the taste of danger was worth it, Jesper!”

Jesper looked stricken. “Nina! How could I? How could you? I love Wylan more than life itself! And even if I didn’t, would you truly think that this-” He gestured to Kaz- “Would be the one I would choose?” Kaz glowered at Jesper. “No offense, buddy, you’re just not my type.” Kaz could’ve ripped his hair out.

Kaz stood from the bench, his coat once more rising in a swell around his legs. “I told you to shut your mouth.” He turned the ferocity of his gaze on Jesper. “And I extend that to you, too. I can’t stand either of your wailings. I swear, you’ll make my head split.” It was true that Kaz’s head was beginning to ache; his temples throbbing like the steady beat of a drum. This day had put him into so many situations beyond the limits of his comfort zone and it was starting to wear his nerves thin.

Nina and Jesper exchanged a glance. “Alright, fine, Kaz, we’ll stop…” Nina muttered. She made it her personal business to give Kaz as much hell as humanly possibly, but something must have told her to push that aside. Something about Kaz was different. He wasn’t just being his usual disgruntled self. Whatever this was, it ran deeper than the average vexation. “But seriously, what is going on? I know how particular you are about your personal space so you must have a good reason to be out here letting Jesper put the moves on you.”

Kaz only sighed, collapsing onto the bench. “It’s none of your business, Zenik. Just run off and eat cake or raise the dead or whatever it is you do for fun these days.” Kaz pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes in hopes to relieve some of the pressure building inside his skull.

Telling Nina Zenik to mind her own business was like telling the sun to not shine. Now that she knew something was amiss, she would pursue it like a dog with a bone. “Like hell it isn’t, Brekker. I know you’re about as personable as Genya Safin on a bad hair day, but this is beyond even that. Whether you like it or not, Kaz, I’m your friend and I want to help.” As frustrating as she could be, Nina was fiercely loyal and Kaz had to give her some credit for that. However, he still wasn’t in the mood for this.

“I said no.” Kaz bit.

“And I said tell me,” jabbed Nina.

Jesper, having grown restless with the building tension finally blurted, “Kaz is in love with Inej and we’re trying to come up with ways he can tell her!” The words left him in one great rush and he had to suck in a deep breath to recover. When he realized what he had done, he clapped his hands over his mouth; eyes twitching back and forth between Nina and Kaz.

“Oh, that’s all,” Her laughter fluttered like butterflies wings. “I already knew that. You like to think you’re Mister Cool-and-Detached, but I’ve been watching you pine after her for years!”

Kaz sucked a breath to retort, but found all his words caught in his throat. Had… had really been so painfully obvious about it? He supposed that it must have been somewhat unsubtle since Van Eck had known to use Inej as a pawn for negotiation. Still, he found himself somewhat embarrassed knowing Nina had noticed.

“If you’re looking for ways to win over Inej, then look no further! I happen to be an expert in the art of winning affection.” Nina dismissed with a wave of her perfectly manicured hand. “The way to any woman’s heart is through her stomach!”

Jesper and Kaz exchanged a quick glance at each other, brows arched in matching expressions of confusion. Jesper piped up, “Umm…I thought that only worked on men?”

“Of course, typical male chauvinists!” Nina huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You do realize that not everything is about men, don’t you? A woman’s heart can be won over just as easily with the offering food. An example of one such woman stands before your very eyes.” She says with a gesture to her ample form. “So, what kind of food does Inej like?”

“I don’t know.” Kaz replied curtly.

Nina’s smile fell. “You… don’t know? Well, saints Kaz, you claim to love her and yet you don’t even know what kind of food she likes to eat?”

“Do you?” he bit back.

Nina furrowed her brow, stroking the smooth curve of her chin as she gave Kaz’s question some thought. “Um, well- I guess… I don’t know either. She’s not really much of an eater.”

Kaz leaned forward on his cane, his fingers steepled across the crow’s head. “Then enlighten me, my dear Nina, on what makes you think that cooking a meal would do to win her over?”

Nina puffed her cheeks. “Well, at the very least I know she likes waffles. Good waffles. Thick fluffy waffles soaked in golden honey syrup and smothered with soft, salty butter. Bejeweled with luscious red strawberries and… oh, just thinking about it makes me famished.” Nina’s cheeks had flushed a dusty shade of pink. Her relationship with food clearly bordered on the edge of unnatural and Kaz did his best not to think too hard about it.

Nina blinked and broke free from her pastry induced stupor. “A-anyway, I think you should cook something for her! Knowing that someone took the time and effort to make something especially for you is extremely romantic. It would certainly mean a lot coming from you especially because your every waking moment is dedicated to your unhealthy obsession with kruge”

“I think you forget that my unhealthy obsession with kruge is what helps to feed your own. Every time you sit down to stuff yourself with biscuits or cakes or waffles, you should be saying your graces to me and not your Ravkan saints.”

Nina looked at him momentarily with a wooden expression as if she could not believe Kaz Brekker could be so unspeakably conceited. She seemed to think better of it though since she had known Kaz several years now and knew that he, indeed, could. “Either way, I am not the issue, here. The whole reason you’re out here practically spooning with Jesper on a public bench is because you need to learn how to woo Inej. Preparing a meal is a very reasonable solution. There is, however, one little hitch… Kaz, do you even know how to cook?”

“He knows how to cook up some pretty good heists!” Jesper chortled, his face plastered with an idiotic grin. He had shaped his fingers to resemble pistols and shot a round at both Kaz and Nina accompanied by the appropriate sound effects. The joke did not have the desired effect and Jesper awkwardly lowered his “guns”. “Uh… sorry…” He coughed, shoving his hands under his thighs.

“Anyway,” Nina dispersed the awkward air with a small clap, “I know a bakery not far from here that actually offers lessons in the art of waffle making! We should go see if they’re having a class!”

“That’s perfect!” Jesper exclaimed, springing up from his place on the bench. “We’ll all take a lesson! Oh man… imagine what Wylan would think if I surprised him with breakfast in bed and with a breakfast I made! Oh… all the smooches I’d get…” Now Jesper’s face had gone flushed and dreamy.

“No, I don’t want to hear it!” Nina suddenly cried, returning to her earlier bit. “You leave that innocent boy alone! You’ve toyed with his heart enough!”

“Oh, for Saint’s sake.” Kaz growled, snatching his can and hauling himself from the bench. “Can we just get a move on already?” He stalked off towards the entrance of the courtyard and paused as he reached it. He looked up the left side of the street and then the right and sighed exasperatedly. “Nina, I don’t know where I’m going!”

“Calm down, you big baby! Take the right.” Nina and Jesper trailed after Kaz and together the three of them proceeded down the path in a jumble of laughter and growls.

The student who had been sitting in the courtyard at last lifted her book and rested it spine down against her lap. She had absolutely no idea who any of those people had been and sure that none of them belonged to the university. She was glad they were gone, but she couldn’t help the heartening sense that she hoped he got his girl. She lifted her book and buried her nose and once more submitted herself to her studies.

************

Kaz, Nina, and Jesper soon found themselves outside the bakery Nina had spoken of. The sign out front displayed the name Zoet Verliefed. Sweet Love. How sickeningly appropriate. Nina breezed through the front door as if she were the breath of spring herself; Her hair trailing behind her in a cascade of chestnut curls. There was a young boy standing behind the counter. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen. The son of the owner, Kaz pondered. He was playing with a coin, spinning it with a flick of his fingers and observing how many times it revolved before clattering back to the counter.

“O-oh! Ms. Zenik!” he gasped, his face flushed red all the way to the tips of his ears. Oh. Kaz understood now. It seemed that Nina was a regular customer here. Perhaps more than regular judging from the way the counter boy sputtered so abashedly.

“Hi, Gerrit!” she sang, fluttering her way up to the counter with her curls all abounce. She pressed her palms to the counter, bracketing the ample shape of her bosom with her arms and giving her assets just the right amount of lift. “I haven’t seen you in so long! I’ve missed you,” she purred, bouncing on the balls of her feet and making her form jiggle.

Gerrit looked like he could’ve passed out.

“T-t-that’s okay, Ms. Zenik! I’m just glad to see you’re well!” That probably wasn’t the only thing he was glad to see judging from the way he squirmed.

“Oh please, I’ve told you not to call me that, you make me sound like an old lady!” Nina giggled, twirling a lock of hair around one perfectly manicured finger. Kaz cleared his throat into a closed fist, reminding Nina that they were here for reasons other than harmless flirting. “Oh, right! Gerrit, are you having one of those little cooking classes here today?”

Gerrit broke free of his stupor, meeting Nina’s eyes with an owlish gaze, “Cooking class?” He echoed back like a mockingbird. “Oh um, no we aren’t. We usually only do them on Wednesdays and Fridays.”

Nina jutted out her lower lip, sank heavily against the surface of the counter.

“You see my friend back there?” She gestured to where Kaz and Jesper stood behind her. Gerrit’s eyes darted between the two of them, not entirely sure to which friend she was referring. “Not the human beanpole, the one that looks like he might bite your face off.” Gerrit’s eyes settled on Kaz, flinching slightly as their gazes met. “You see… underneath that unforgiving exterior is the bleeding heart of a man yearning to love.”

“Nina,” Kaz growled lowly. Nina held up a hand to signal his silence.

“Yes, there is a girl he loves so deeply and passionately that he has risked life and limb for her and yet despite all that he is too emotionally stunted to confess the true nature of his feelings. Jesper and I,” Jesper gave a small wave. “Have been working all day to help him find ways to make his true feelings known and we thought cooking a meal would be the perfect solution!”

Gerrit stood there a moment, gaze darting from Nina to Kaz to Jesper, back to Nina then Kaz and back once more at Nina. He licked his lips nervously, clearly unsure where he fell into all of this. “Um… that’s uh… really sweet?” Nina’s smiled twitched.

“Yes… it is,” she drew out. “But, oh woe!” she cried, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead like a damsel about to swoon. “We are here on a day when no cooking class is offered! Whatever are we going to do?” Nina paused, sneaking a glance at Gerrit to see if her acting had made things any more clear. He blinked owlishly, his hands wrung around the excess material of his apron. Nina’s smile twitched once more, obviously losing patience with this boy and his obliviousness. “If only… there was someway… someone-” she emphasized the word- “Who could help us out.”

Something inside Garrit seemed to click, “O-oh! You mean me! Oh, well, uh… I guess my dad won’t be back for awhile, but there won’t be anymore to mind the shop if I’m in the kitchen….”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about the shop. Here,” Nina reached into her pocket and extracted a small stack of gold coins, placing them on the counter with a like clink. “For your trouble.”

Gerrit’s eyes flickered once more between all parties, now with the addition of the gold coins stacked on the counter. He wrung his apron more tightly. “O-okay, but only for you, N…Nina…”

Nina squealed in delight, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. “You’re just the absolute sweetest! Oh, I could kiss you!” Gerrit once more looked like he could’ve passed out. His eyelids even fluttered.

“O-Oh y-you don’t have to do that I m-mean…” He bumbled helplessly, his face growing redder as the idea seemed to take root in his mind. His hands wrung his apron so tightly Kaz swore he could hear the cloth groaning with the strain. “The kitchen is this way!” Gerrit suddenly blurted, scurrying off through a set of carved wooden doors.

Nina looked quite satisfied with herself, smirking from ear to ear. “That’s how it’s done, boys.”

Kaz stepped up to the counter beside her, “Have you no shame?”

“No more than you do, crow boy. And put those coins back, won’t you? I actually like these people.”

Kaz huffed softly and did as bidded, returning the stack of coins Nina had placed there as if they had never been anywhere else.

********

Gerrit was a whirlwind as he set up the kitchen; setting out various bowls and spoons and ingredients. For something that was supposed to be so simple, it seemed like more effort than it was worth. Why make something yourself when it could be more easily purchased? Call him strange, but he would much prefer to be bought a steak dinner properly cooked than made one that was all grisel and fat. There was something to this he didn’t understand, but he supposed that was why he asked for help in the first place.

Kaz stripped himself of his jacket and hung it up on a post near the door. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to the elbow, partially exposing the crow and cup tattooed on his inner arm. Gerrit eyed it warily, but swiftly turned his gaze when caught staring.

He wet his bottom lip, “Um… I-I think cooking might be easier if you remove your gloves.”

“And I think cooking might be easier if you mind your own business.” Gerrit pressed his lips together and stepped back. He had heard Kaz’s bark and seemed smart enough not to goad him to bite.

“Okay… then, let’s start.” Gerrit explained to them the basics of waffle batter. Told them about the balance between wet and dry ingredients, proper stirring techniques to ensure optimal fluffiness. As he talked, he performed each task with a practiced ease. He seemed sure of himself here. He was no longer the bumbling boy who had nearly passed out at the sight of a little flesh. When the batter was complete, he showed them how to use the waffle iron. It was all simple enough. If this child could make waffles with such finesse, there was no reason why Kaz Brekker- Leader of the Dregs, Conqueror of the Fjerdan Ice Court, Bastard of the Barrel- could not do the same. Kaz looked down at the ingredients. Flour, eggs, salt, milk…

“Do you really think Inej is going to like this?” asked Jesper from Kaz’s left. His flour was already sifted into his bowl, soft and powdery like freshly fallen snow. He was now measuring out the salt.

“Of course, why wouldn’t she?” conferred Nina from Kaz’s right. She paced evenly with Jesper in the process of her batter; her dried ingredients all resting in the bottom of the bowl. She was working on removing the cork from a bottle of milk. Kaz’s heart skipped a beat. How had they managed to work so quickly and without his notice? He jumped to start his own batter. He wasn’t going to be shown up by the likes of Nina and Jesper.

Nina continued on, unaware of Kaz’s inner plight. “Whenever Inej is home from sea voyaging, we always make sure to meet up for a waffle date. Waffles were one of the things we always talked about getting when we returned to Ketterdam from Fjerda.”

Kaz paused in measuring his flour. Wait, they did? Kaz didn’t always see Inej when she returned to Ketterdam. Sometimes he would find only a small bag of birdseed on the windowsill of his office, a small handwritten note beside it bearing the simple phrase ‘don’t forget.’ It brought him back to the memory of Inej perched on that same windowsill. Stray locks of her midnight hair tugged free from its braid by the breeze, her lashes soft and feathery against her cheeks as she basked in the dying sunlight. She seemed to glow gold, an immortal being trapped in the lowly world of men. Outside, the crows pecked merrily at the seed she had thrown. The Queen of Scavengers. The Goddess of Lost Things.

Kaz slipped back into reality with an inaudible gasp. Had he… put in one cup of flour or two? He peered down into his bowl. It didn’t seem like very much; he had probably only just added one. He measured another and dumped it in.

“I guess you’re right about that,” Jesper hummed as poured the milk into the well of his dry ingredients. He did it little by little, mixing between each bit. “I don’t always get to see her, but I’ve gotten quite a few letters from her! She’s always sending me information on all the weapons she’s come across in her travels; sketches, samples of ammunition. She even sent me the latest in Zemeni revolver tech! It fires eight rounds in under ten seconds! Wylan and I tested it out some of his father’s old portraits.”

Kaz looked down at his bowl, half full of flour. He, too, had received letters from Inej, but they weren’t frequent and weren’t especially personal either. They typically contained a vague description of her current whereabouts, information about the slavers she had apprehended and the people he should be looking out for on the homefront. She often asked after her parents. They had long since moved on from the dismal streets of Ketterdam, but Kaz was sure to keep tabs on them to make sure they were well.

He started adding salt and baking powder.

The only thing that ever caught him were the signatures of her letters. She always finished them with the phrase ‘yours, Inej.’ Yours. It was such a simple word used constantly with little consequence. Did she have any knowledge of what she was doing to him? Did she know how his heart writhed every time he saw that one little word scrawled so careless at the end of every correspondence? Did she know how it drove his sleep away and left him tossing and turning on the narrow shape of his bed, grappling with the question of whether or not he dared to think of her as his? No… Inej belonged to no one. She was her own keeper.

“Kaz…? You alright there, boss?” Jesper’s queryshook Kaz free from the devolvement of his thoughts and blinked at Jesper owlishly.

“Alright? Of course I’m alright. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well you were just kind of… staring at your baking powder,” piped in Nina.

Kaz looked down at the bowl of powder cupped in his palm. It was made from thick ceramic and adorned with a motif of tittering blue birds. Had… had he actually added it? He peered down into his bowl, but everything was a wash of white. He couldn’t tell what was flour and what was powder. What was sugar and what was salt. “I was… just remembering the recipe. Two teaspoons of baking powder.” He scooped out said amount and dropped it in amongst the other white nonsense.

Within a short amount of time, the three of them had each accomplished the creation of a waffle batter. Kaz frowned into his bowl. How could something look so lumpy while simultaneously so runny? It seemed to defy the very laws of physics and Kaz questioned how he had managed to bring such a strange substance into existence.

The group was about to cook their batters when the faint tinkling of the shop bell took Garrit’s attention. He hurriedly excused himself from their presence and scurried off between the kitchen doors. “Wait for me before you use the iron!” he threw behind him. The three of them watched the doors swing back and forth on their hinges before ultimately settling with a small rumble.

“Screw that.” Nina snatched her bowl of completed batter and strode over to where the waffle iron still sat red hot and unattended.

“Wait Nina!” Jesper titered. “Gerrit told us to wait until he came back.”

“When have I ever done as I’m told? When have any of us-” she waved her arm in a broad gesture to the rooms three occupants- “Ever done as we’re told? All I know is that I want waffles and I want them now.”

Jesper thought about it for a moment, but then bounced his shoulders in a shrug, “Enh, you’re right! Besides it’s just a waffle iron. How hard could it be?” He huddled near the oven with Nina and the two of them chattered and giggled as they each took their turn and brought their creations to life. Nina’s was the picture of perfection

Kaz stepped up to the oven, glancing briefly between his bowl of batter and waffle iron. It sizzled quietly with the residue of the last batch. He was still not sure how he had gotten to this point, but he supposed it would be a waste if he didn’t see it through. He greased the waffle iron with a thick pad of butter and it hissed into new life. He poured his batter in the center and it flooded through the nooks and crannies with the rush of a rogue wave. He swiftly slammed the lid shut before it could run out the sides.

“How did you do, Kaz?” piped Jesper, suddenly appearing over Kaz’s shoulder. His proximity was certainly too close for comfort and Kaz shifted away from him.

“You know it’s not supposed to be a liquid, right?” added Nina, appearing at his other shoulder.

Kaz scowled and stepped away from them, “I didn’t hover over your shoulders and criticize your handiwork so why should you with me?”

“Because something about it really didn’t look right,” Nina retorted. “I have to make sure you’re not over her committing atrocities against waffle kind over here.”

Suddenly the waffle iron was overflowing; batter seeping through the cracks of its cast iron shell and dripping into the fire below. It sizzled and sputtered and spat back at him in thick drops of hot grease and fat. He gave silent thanks for his gloves for without them his hands would’ve surely suffered burns. Jesper and Nina had begun to shriek, their own skin unprotected and already turning pink where the batter had spat at them.

“Saint’s, that fucking hurt!” Nina keened, cradling her injured hands against her chest. “What the hell, Kaz?! What did you do?”

“What did I do? Absolutely nothing!”

“Well you clearly did something because I’m pretty sure waffles aren’t supposed to do that!”

Jesper interrupted their bickering, “Uh, guys? It’s getting worse!” He pointed a freshly blistering finger to where the fire beneath the waffle iron had grown nearly twice its original size. It licked around the edges of the oven like a beast lashing out between the bars of its cage.

“Water! We need water!” Nina whirled around, her curls following behind half a second slower and whipping her in the face. She sputtered and tugged the chestnut locks from her face as she stumbled blinding in the direction of the sink. One curvaceous hip swung out and struck the corner of the table. The dishes on top spilled forward, rolling off the surface and onto the floor in a spray of ceramic shrapnel. She swore to herself.

“A little broken china is not really the priority,” Kaz pointed out.

“You’re not helping, Kaz!” Nina stepped around the broken china as best she could, some crunching underfoot as she made her way to the sink. She swiftly filled a nearby basin and swung it into her arms, the liquid inside sloshing over the sides and onto the floor. She made it halfway back towards the blaze when she slipped on a spilled puddle of water. Nina sprawled out across the floor in a mass of tangled limbs and scarlet fabric. The bucket flew from her arms and the water inside along with it. It was close enough to reach the fire, but it was enough to reach Kaz and Jesper. The two now stood with their clothes thoroughly soaked, the excess running down their faces like fresh rainfall.

Kaz could feel the vein in his temple throb as he pushed a hand through his dampened hair in an attempt to return it to shape. “Thank you, Nina, you’re doing such a marvelous job. Have you considered joining the fire brigade?” he growled sarcastically.

“Shut it, crow boy! I don’t see you doing anything to help!” Nina raged, peeling herself from the floor. Her dampened hair clung to the side of her face like pieces of seaweed. “In fact, I don’t see either of you doing anything! If this place burns down, I’ll be sure they’re sending you the bill!”

With that Jesper shuttered to life. He had enough gambling debt as it was; he couldn’t afford to add damages for cruddy bakery on top it. “O-Oh, I got it!” He then sprung into action, swiping the basin from the floor and leaping over the fallen Nina. He skirted around puddles and danced over piles of broken ceramic. He made it the sink and filled the basin once more to the brim. He proceeded back towards the blaze, slowly pricking his way back along the path he had used to get there in the first place.

“Sometime before we all burn to death would be preferable,” snapped Nina.

“I don’t think we’re going to get another shot at this so I’m trying not to spill it, unlike someone.” He glared briefly and pointedly at Nina who clenched her fists in a familiar, but now useless fashion. Had this been a few years ago, Jesper would’ve sunk like a stone cast into a lake.

Gerrit pushed through the kitchen doors, “Sorry about that, I-!” He promptly cut his sentence short as he discovered the state of the kitchen. The floors slick with water and ceramic shards scattered around like some kind hazardous confetti. Nina was still half sprawled out, Kaz still dripping wet, and Jesper about to pour water on a grease fire.

Gerrit jerked forward like a puppet whose strings had been tugged. “Nononononono don’t do that! Don’t use that water!” He scrambled across the kitchen to where Jesper was mid motion; mere moments away from pouring the whole basin into the flames. He tackled the Zemeni with the force of a charging bull, knocking the wind from them both and sending crashing unceremoniously into the nearby wall.

Jesper coughed and groaned, “Fu… ugh, what the hell kid?” Gerrit was not listening. Not in the slightest. He was gasping like a fish out of water, half clutching his shoulder as he scrambled back towards the oven. He snatched an inconspicuous can from the floor close to the oven, squinting his eyes against the heat of the fire. Gerrit ripped the lid off and it clattered to the floor. Whatever was inside, he threw it into the flames where it then backfired in an explosion of white powder. The four of them coughed and choked on the cloud until it had dispersed enough to allow the normal flow of oxygen.

Kaz looked down at his shirt. It was still soaking wet, but in addition he was now also covered in… flour? He swiped a little from his chest and rolled it between the fingers of his gloves. Definitely flour. It had begun to mix with the moisture in his shirt and was quickly becoming a thick paste that he was sure would have cement like qualities if allowed to dry. Kaz lifted his gaze and saw Jesper and Gerrit were both in similar states. Three spectres, all the victims of a blazing inferno now left to haunt the housewives come to buy bread.

If only they had been so fortunate.

Gerrit swallowed thickly and finally croaked, “My…. my father is going to kill me.”

“Not if we kill him first.”

Gerrit looked up at Kaz with a mixture of horror and appraisal, for a split moment seriously debating whether or not he should take this newly born ghost up on his offer. He didn’t.

If only Kaz had been so fortunate.

********

Nina convinced- demanded, more appropriately- that Kaz and Jesper stay to aid her and Gerrit in the cleaning the Zoet Verliefed kitchen. They could have very easily ditched and vamoosed their way back to the Van Eck estate, but Nina insisted that she simply could not live without the bakery’s confections and was unwilling to burn that bridge. Kaz would’ve burned that bridge. Kaz would’ve every bridge in Ketterdam just to take back this absolute catastrophe of a day.

By the time they arrived back at the Van Eck estate, the mixture of flour and water that covered Kaz had dried to the plaster-like consistency he had been expecting and it was just about as pleasant as one would expect. His shirt scraped against his skin and crackled with his every movement. This certainly wasn’t the first shirt Kaz had ruined, but he still mourned the loss of a well tailored piece of clothing.

Wylan looked up from his sketch pad and immediately dropped his pencil. It rolled across the floor with a light thk thk thk before ultimately settling under the coffee table. “Oh my…” His mouth worked up and down. ��What in Ghezen’s hand happened to you?” He rushed up to Jesper, furiously rubbing his hand against his cheek in an attempt to remove the dried flour paste.

“Wylan…. Babe, please,” Jesper protested weakly, his words distorted as his cheek stretched back and forth. Wylan spoke right over him.

“I can’t believe this! I let you off on your own for one day and look at what’s happened! You lot look like you got in an argument with a baker.”

“I wouldn’t say we got in an argument with one, but we certainly caused one some trouble.” Nina chuckled. Wylan momentarily ceased his ministrations to furrow his brows at Nina before returning to his cleaning of Jesper. This time he licked the pad of his thumb for extra cleaning power.

“Wylan, please!” Jesper barked exasperatedly, taking his boyfriend’s wrist in his grasp. “This stuff is only coming off with one very long soak in the tub; preferably one with lots of bubbles and some champagne to soothe my frazzled nerves.” Wylan stood stubbornly for a moment, but ultimately gave up the fight and let his arm fall to his side.

“Seriously, what happened? I thought you were just going to teach him some stupid pickup lines or something. Maybe council him on which bridges give the best view of the stars, not blow up a bakery.”

“I’d just like to clarify that we didn’t blow up a bakery, but I would be lying if I said we didn’t come close to it,” Nina chimed in. “I would also like to add that if we did it would have been completely unintentional. I would never consciously bring harm to a pastry.” Kaz, Jesper, and Wylan simultaneously cast her a look. “Y’know what… I’m just gonna go clean myself up. I’ll come back when all of this-” She gestured broadly to the boys- “is sorted out.” And slipped from the parlor assumingly to take refuge in one of the mansions many luxurious bathrooms.

With Nina gone, Wylan looked between Jesper and Kaz. He drew in a breath, on the brink of delivering a very interminable lecture, but it died in his throat and escaped as nothing more than a long sigh. “Jesper,” he breathed. “I should’ve known this would’ve happened. Your kind of romance is too much for Kaz.”

Jesper looked nervously at Kaz and back at Wylan, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. We weren’t doing anything romance related. We were at uh, uh… a stake out mission with the, uh… ah shit…”

“The Black Tips.” Kaz deadpanned. He knew the jig was up, but it was at least somewhat consoling to watch Jesper try and salvage it.

Wylan’s mouth tilted as he arched one coppery brow, “Really? So you’re telling me that Kaz didn’t ask for your help romancing Inej and that you weren’t teaching him that silly move where you pretend to yawn and then somehow conveniently end up with your arm around me?”

Jesper gaped at Wylan, slack jawed. He glanced helplessly at Kaz who only blinked tiredly at him.

“Oh, I knew what you were doing the whole time,” he chirped. “I have to admit, Kaz, I’m baffled as to why- out of all of us- you thought Jesper was your best ticket to winning Inej.”

Jesper clutched a hand to his chest in afront, “Wy… Wylan, you wound me! Have I not been a perfectly loving boyfriend to you?”

Wylan chuckled pressing the curve of his palm into the shape of Jesper’s cheek, “Of course you have and I love all those silly, romantic things that you do for me. I love when you recite me poetry or use your revolvers to write obscenities in my father’s portraits,” Kaz quirked a brow at that. “But those are things that work for us Jesper. Our relationship is our relationship. What we do won’t work for everyone.”

Jesper pressed his lips together, considering Wylan’s words. After a few moments he sighed defeatedly, “You’re… you’re right. All this time I was trying to teach Kaz the sorts of things I would do for you, but that’s not right. Inej isn’t you and Kaz definitely isn’t me.” Kaz’s frown deepened, but this time Jesper paid no mind as he was busy entwining his fingers with Wylan’s. “Boy, I always knew you were smart, but this is ridiculous.“

Wylan smiled shyly, “Well, when books aren’t an option you tend to read people.”

Wylan and Jesper turned to Kaz, but he was already gone as quick and silent as the wraith that ensnared his heart.

***************

Kaz found a water pump tucked into a narrow space behind the carriage house and stopped to clean the mess from his face. His skin was pinkened and raw by the time he had managed to scrub off the tacky mix of flour and water, but he at least he no longer looked like a ghost. His clothes, however, he could not do much about. Kaz buttoned up the length of his coat to hide to worst of it and sauntered from the grounds of the Van Eck Estate.

Kaz retreated south towards the place where the Barrel gave way to the last dregs of Ketterdam. There was a secluded bridge over the canal he liked to frequent when he needed a place to think free from all the responsibilities that bound him. He glowered down at his reflection in the canal. It was distorted and malformed in the water’s current. That was what he was. Distorted. Malformed. Broken. Cold. Ruthless. Monstrous. Creatures like him weren’t meant for things so human as love. The most human thing about him was his foolishness. Foolishness is what had driven him here and he loathed himself for acting upon it.

He swiped a stone from the bridge’s path, hurling into the water with a great splash. “Fool!” he cried to no one in particular. Not really to himself. Not really to the saints or to Ghezen. Perhaps most to the void where he supposed all unheard cries went.

When the water’s surface became placid once more, Kaz saw Inej peering back at him. Her eyes were unfathomably dark as if he could fall into them endlessly. He groaned and clutched the railing of the bridge, pressing his forehead against the grit of the splintering wood. His mind had been plagued with thoughts of her for so long that he had at last been driven mad enough to see her visage in the sordid waters of the canal. “Saints,” he rasped. “Cure me of this madness or strike me where I stand. I can’t take this any longer.” Only silence greeted him and he closed his eyes in defeat. There was no deliverance; not even divine retribution. There was only Kaz and his madness and the phantom in the water.

“I’m sorry, but I believe the saints are feeling far too benevolent to commit murder today.” Kaz’s heart leaped into his throat. He couldn’t even take in a breath around its girth and it made his lungs ache. There, on the bridge behind him, was Inej Ghafa. Live. In the flesh. No less a phantom than Kaz himself. She stood with the same knife sharp posture; both incredibly graceful and frighteningly intimidating.

“You are foolish.” The edge of her voice was hard. Serrated. The edge of a blade sharpened against a stone. “Foolish to have forgotten that all walls have ears. Imagine if you had, perhaps, admitted to your greatest weakness.” Her eyes shone with knowing.

Kaz unwittingly stepped back. A first for him since he was not a man often caught off guard. “W-what are you doing here? You weren’t due back until the week’s end.”

Inej arched a dark brow. “Goodness, I really must have been gone too long.” Lacing her fingers behind her back; she stepped forward towards the edge of the bridge where Kaz stood. Her steps were lined and measured as if even now she walked the highwire. Graceful. Powerful. “Have you really forgotten how to detect the presence of your Wraith?”

There was that word again. Your. Your Wraith. Yours, Inej. It made Kaz’s stomach tighten. He pressed his lips into a hard line. “I… I don’t know what to say…”

“Well, isn’t that a first?” The breath of her laughter speared through his heart like a hot iron spike. A wave of gooseflesh broke over the skin of his arms. “Seems that you can’t talk your way out of every situation.”

“So it seems…” He breathed quietly, casting his gaze to the boards of the bridge. They were withered from the moisture of the canal below. They were worn from the treads of thousands of feet. Perhaps, were he fortunate enough, the boards would give beneath him and send him plunging into the water never to resurface again. It seemed much easier than facing Inej.

“I heard it all, you know. Everything at the Van Eck estate,” she said. Her signature braid shifted from the perch of her shoulder as she turned on the toes of her rubber soled slippers and leaned against the railing beside him. How he wished to wrap that braid around his hand, brush his thumb over those silken plaits.

Kaz nodded barely, shifting his weight to the side furthest from her. She smelled of salt air and quiet, star-filled nights. He pictured her perched atop the tallest mast of her ship, her dark hair loose of that braid and draped about her shoulders like a cloak of shimmering silk. The Goddess of Lost Things. The Queen of the Night and Sea.

“And what of it, then…?” he asked quietly. He rapped the steel tip of his cane against the planks in a broken staccato. Nervous energy crackled under his skin.

“Of your current lack of charisma, or…?” He only looked at her gravely and her eyes shone once more with that knowing glint. She was only teasing him. Unlike Kaz, Inej was no fool. She breathed a soft sigh through her nose. “I’ve told you once before, Kaz. I will have you without armor, I will not have you at all.” Her gaze was steady and fathomless and she held Kaz in absolute rapture with it. He remembered. He remembered the last time she had spoken those words as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. Only this time was different because she was looking him in the eye. She had grown bolder in her time away from Ketterdam. She was more sure of herself than she had ever been in his company and it left him hopelessly intimidated. It made him desperately proud. “I will not say it a third time. I want you to understand that.”

Dread slithered in his stomach like a serpent. What was he to do? He had let Inej go once before and he had been living with the regret of it ever since. He had been young, then. Sharp edged and hungry and unwilling to yield to her requests out of ignorance. He was older now. Wiser. He knew what he wanted and here was the opportunity presented to him on a silver platter and yet it had not grown any easier. But he had to tell her.

It would eat him alive if he didn’t.

Kaz pushed off from the railing; leaving his cane resting securely against it. He squared himself in front of her, his mouth set and determined. “Inej…” He breathed her name quietly; hallowedly. “I am not a good man. I am not humble, I am not honest. I am not aimable or empathetic. I have built my life on the foundation of deception, bloodshed, and revenge and I don’t have much intention of living differently. I know nothing else now, however…” He pressed his lips together.

Words were failing him now. They rushed through his head in a flurry of blaring traffic. Every time he took one in his grasp it slipped between his fingers like water through a cracked glass. Kaz specialized in threats- in bargains and deals- not affections. What if he said the wrong thing? What if he offended her. His chest ached with panic. With desperation. Desperation to make her stay; to make her see.

Realization dawned on him like a crack of thunder. There was only one way to win over Inej. It didn’t involve charming smiles or snuggling on park benches. It didn’t involve music or poetry or elaborate gestures like homemade waffles. There was only one thing Inej wanted from him and it was the most dangerous gift he could give.

Shallow, rapid breaths rattled in his ribcage. Perspiration was beading at the line of his dark hair. His hands trembled as he hooked his fingers into the wrist of one glove and slowly peeled it away. He let it flutter to the wooden planks beneath them and the other followed soon after. They were sad, withered creatures without his slender fingers to give them life. Inej watched him all the while; her eyes dark and steady. The air on his skin was foreign and the chill of it sent a shudder up his spine. He felt naked. Exposed. Weak.

Kaz flexed his fingers, testing their dexterity without the hindrance of his gloves. He looked up at Inej who regarded him with the same steady curiosity as she had before. This was not the Kaz that she was familiar with. “I want to,” he rasped. She inclined her head towards him, listening more closely to his words. She looked at him from under the fan of her lashes and it made his heart flutter. “I want to… touch you. Would that be alright?” Just as much as Kaz struggled with his own inner sickness, so too did Inej. He did not want to do anything that would make her uncomfortable.

Inej nodded her head.

Kaz kept his movements slow and deliberate. It was just as much for himself as it was for her. There had been a time where he had been better, when he had been able to hold her hand without the barrier of his gloves. The passage of time and her absence had resensitized him to the touch of others. It was like learning to walk all over again. Kaz raised both hands; his palms up and fingers splayed. A magician with nothing up his sleeves. He breathed as deeply and evenly as he could, bringing his hands to hover on either side of Inej’s face. He could feel the radiating warmth of her skin and it made his stomach squirm with a mix of pleasure and disgust. He tried to ground himself as best he could, focusing on the sturdiness of the planks beneath his feet. He was on the bridge. Not in the harbor.

“Kaz,” she uttered softly; trying to rein him back from the place she knew his mind wandered.

“A moment… please,” he rasped. Give me the chance, he added wordlessly. He sucked in another breath and steadied himself. He closed the distance between his hands with the shape of Inej’s cradled tenderly in the middle. She stiffened only slightly. Something that would have gone unnoticed had he not known her so intimately. It melted away a moment later and she leaned into the curve of Kaz’s touch with a nearly inaudible sigh.

It drove him wild.

Kaz tentatively arched a thumb, caressed the pad of it ever so softly against the apple of Inej’s cheek. Her skin was pliant, but not the sagging, spongy thing all his nightmares insisted it would be. It was warm and sent his whole body into a burst of fever. It was as if he were lying under that bridge so many years ago; his body aflame with the Queen’s Lady Plague. Black starbursts appeared in his vision and he had to fight not to be dragged back down into the memory.

Inej did not break her gaze. What at first had been intimidating was somehow becoming comforting. She was like a lighthouse shining bright at the shore of a stormy sea guiding him home. Kaz moistened his lips and slowly leaned forward; pressing his forehead against hers. ��Rietveld,” he breathed quietly. Inej blinked at him quizzically. “My name… my true name is Rietveld. Kaz Rietveld.” Her gaze flickered briefly to his shoulder, making the connection between this and the seemingly aimless tattoo that stained the skin there. “One day… one day I promise to tell you… to tell you how I became Kaz Brekker, but for now I hope that my name will suffice. Think of it as collateral.”

Her smile was a soft and tender thing, nearly unnoticeable by anyone who did not know her. “It’s nice to meet you… Kaz Rietveld.” No one had spoken his true name in years and the sound of it struck him with unexpected poignancy. Hearing it in the smooth hush of Inej’s voice only made it more so.

Despite himself, he found that he had started smiling. It was a weak and fragile thing, but it was perhaps the most genuine one had made in all his life. He moistened his lips once more, “I… I want to kiss you. Would that be alright?” Her lips parted slightly in silent invitation, but Kaz still waited for affirmation in the bow of her head.

Kaz stroked his thumbs over Inej’s cheeks; acquainting himself further with the feel of her skin. Desensitizing himself. Preparing himself for the next step. He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, following its deep curve. A shudder coursed up Inej’s spine and it made Kaz burn with desire. He had spent countless nights imagining this moment. He had spent countless nights awake, tossing and turning in his bed for want of her; his mind alight with the thought of what her lips would feel like.

Inej did not move. She stood there were her hands still laced gingerly behind her back; her face cradled between Kaz’s bare hands. Her eyes had slipped shut and her lashes fluttered with the ebony gloss of crows’ wings at the tops of her pinkened cheeks. Kaz’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm in his chest as he further closed the gap. Further and further until nothing more than a hairsbreadth remained between them.

And then at last they met.

The two drew in sharp breaths; the meeting of their lips as achingly nerve wracking as it was anticipated. This moment was never meant to be a moment for them; the forces of the universe had robbed them of that long before their paths had ever crossed. Phantom hands tugged at them, urging them to push distance between themselves. It was tempting; to retreat back into the comfort and familiarity of distance. But Kaz was a fighter. Inej was a fighter. And now that they had finally fought their way into one another’s arms, they would not so easily be broken apart.

Inej’s hands unlaced from behind her back and came up to twist in the material of Kaz’s sleeves. Her nails grazed the skin of his forearms and he shuddered, but did not pull back. For the first time in his life, his head broke above the surface of the water. In the rot, there bloomed life. There was only the balmy crush of Inej’s mouth against his own and the exuberant thrum of their heart beats. It had made him more daring and in the heat of the moment he even went so far as to card his hands through the silken sheaf of her hair.

When they at last separated- foreheads still pressed against one another- Kaz was reeling. The world rocked around him in the warm and pleasant way that being drunk did. It blurred at the edges, pushing everything out of focus save for the Suli girl in front of him. He returned his hands to her cheeks and stroked them tenderly. Her skin was sweet and supple and he reveled in the feel of it. He swore nothing had ever felt so wonderful.

“I love you,” he whispered, unwittingly. It had slipped from his mouth before he had the chance to stop it and for a moment, he tensed. Life had trained him to expect the worst of every situation and one brief moment of triumph was not going to make up for that. The worst, however, never came. Instead Inej smiled wide and bright. The Queen of the Night and Sea. The Empress of his heart.

“I know, I’ve always known… but it was still nice to hear you say it. Sometimes even monsters and wraiths need the reassurance that someone loves them.”

#grishaversebigbang #grishabigbang #six of crows #crooked Kingdom #kaz brekker #nina zenik #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #inej ghafa #kanej #fanfiction #grishaverse #leigh bardugo #lbardugo #gvbbcreation

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cchellacat · 5 years

Text

The Price of Magic

Inspired by WHALTC and Charles Blackwood.

Warning: No smut ahead, none, not even a little bit. Not even fluff.

Supernatural.

He was late. I sat in the car debating my next move. Charles prided himself on punctuality. One of his many little idiosyncrasies, but one that I had over the course of a century knowing him, come to appreciate. I could count on one hand the number of times he had stood me up in the last ninety years and each and every time he had gotten himself into trouble. I turned the letter over in my hand, re reading it for the tenth time.

He’d gone to check on some distant family. He’d check in on the Blackwood’s every few decades, introduce himself as a cousin, find out how bad things were for them. It was a tragic story and one he’d told me only once. A curse placed on his family’s line, one of madness and power. I knew he’d hoped it would eventually die out, but magic was poisonous. It often exacted a terrible price. It was also something that grew stronger over time when tied to blood. I wasn’t sure why he bothered going back, but every time I tried to explain that the curse would only grow more powerful he shut me down.

This time he thought he had the answer. The money, the silver pieces, he thought if he could gather them all up, remove them from the family, the curse would cease to have influence. Maybe he was right, but magic would work against him, stop him.

He and his brother had been close once, but Charles brother James had grown greedy, killed their friend who had wanted to marry their sister and then stabbed Charles in a fit of blind rage when he had challenged him. That’s how I’d met him. Laying at the bottom of a cliff, blood pooling on the rocks, sinking into the sand, the stink of dark magic heavy in the air, curling around the dying man. I’m still not sure I made the right decision, healing him… changing him.

He wasn’t happy at first. Haunted constantly by the thought of his brother, his twin. We’d spent fifty years together before he’d decided he needed time on his own. Living as long as we do, I understood the need for space. We spent a decade apart before joining each other again. He’d come back lighter, more sure of himself. He’d come back fluent in Italian and Portuguese. Another few decades passed and we parted ways for a time again. That’s when he got himself in trouble with some witches in the French Quarter. I loathed New Orleans, the place made my bones hurt. Magic thick and suffocating, sunk deep in the ground. Getting him out had been tricky, I’d had to buy his freedom with blood. It took him nearly a year before he was himself again after that. Then there had been Tibet. The stupid man had went looking for some mystic or other and fell down a mountain, getting trapped in a crevice. He was lucky the locals had remembered the path he took or I might never have found him.

Charles always meant well, but he was too reckless, too ignorant in how magic worked. I couldn’t blame him, it wasn’t in his veins as it was in mine and I guarded my own secrets closely. He hadn’t had hundreds of years to learn to be wary, to be careful of what it could do. He seemed to think because he was technically immortal that he couldn’t be hurt. That fallacy was far from the truth, it just meant we had longer to truly appreciate the horror of death. It meant people could get creative with us and not worry about permanently killing us.

He was over a week late for our meeting. I eyed the address on the back of the envelope. It seemed I’d have to go find him and pull him out of trouble, again.

The Blackwood house was a wreck. The roof caved in in places, windows broken and boarded up. Just what had happened here? I didn’t dare approach the house, the place was warded, it was sloppy, but effective. I could break the wards with a little effort, but I decided to wait, watch. See if I could spot him.

Five days later and not a sign of my charming lover had me agitated.

I waited till dawn before breaking the outer ward, running a mental hand over my link to Charles and tugging. There was no response, but the link was still there, so wherever he was, he wasn’t dead. I had worried after smelling the linger scent of ash and smoke from the house that he had actually been killed. Fire, the only way to truly kill our kind.

Picking my way through the undergrowth I reached another set of wards, marking off the garden. Kneeling I dug my fingers into the earth and found the ward anchor. A silver coin. I almost dropped it on contact. The piece felt slimy and corrupt to my own magic.

This then, was one of the pieces of cursed treasure. They were planted all around the house! What madness could possibly have taken root so strongly to make any witch worth her salt think spreading such tainted objects so liberally would do anything other than make everything worse threefold and three. I centred myself and followed the ward lines. They were sealed in blood, anchored not just by the tainted treasure but by sympathetic magics too.

A cluster off to the right circled a mound of freshly dug earth. It didn’t take much to figure out where he was and why he hadn’t returned. The warding was to keep things bound to the earth, to stop them returning. It was old magic, magic I thought I had managed to eradicate decades ago. A binding spell to keep my kind in the grave. Just how had they managed to pull this off? How had they known? Or was it just dumb luck? I’d have to break the whole warding scheme to free him. When I got him out of here I was going to kill him myself. First thing first, I needed set up my own wards, I didn’t fancy being killed because I got complacent.

Breaking the ward was more taxing than it could have been, digging up his corpse had me reaching my limits. When I finally had him free, I checked him over. No pulse, no breath… lodged in the back of his skull a piece of glass. I wrenched it out and sat exhausted, waiting for him to come back.

The jerk of his body and the sudden choking intake of breath startled me more than it should have. Charles eyes were wild with fright and shock. When he saw me he reached for me, burying his face in my shoulder as he cried, my name a whispered prayer of relef on his lips. What the hell had happened here?

I felt the tell tale tingling of another magic user and looked over my shoulder. The girl was ungainly and thin, hair braided harshly on either side of her head. Looking into her eyes, all I could see was madness. The quiet sort that twisted a mind and ate away at sanity. There was death in her shadow, she’d taken many lives. I could feel the corruption on her soul. She’d used magic to kill.

“Stay back.” I reached for my own power and sent it out in warning. Charles jerked, head up, staring at the girl. I couldn’t read his face, but I felt his fear, his confusion.

“He’s dead. I killed him. Why is he back?”

I ignored her and hauled Charles to his feet. We were leaving, I couldn’t stand to stay another moment in this place.

She glared at me as I led him away, her fingers curling into fists. We wouldn’t be safe until we were far from her influence. Actually seeing the cursed silver and feeling the taint of the magic in this place gave me much more information than I’d had before. The source of the curse was not human, but demonic. The girl was too far gone to be helped, even if we had managed to find a way to lift the curse, she would always be a danger. I’d have to contact a coven, owe another favour to those damned witches in New Orleans.

Charles stumbled beside me silently, his arm slung over my shoulder.

“Are you going to say I told you so?”

I rolled my eyes and tightened my grip on his waist

“No. I think you’ve learned your lesson this time.”

“She killed me.”

“Which one was she?”

“Merricat. I… God my head’s a mess. I feel like I’m waking up from a nightmare.”

“No wonder, she’d powerful, she’s been messing around with cursed silver and using magic for years. She’s a murderer. I could feel it. Your family weren’t killed by some servant or grocer with a grudge. It was her. She put death in their food and watched them die. How old would she have been? Twelve?”

“Something like that. She… god I don’t know what came over me… I think I hit her.”

“Charles, you can’t save them. They’re already as good as dead. Let the line end with them, let me clean this up. If that girl has children… it will never end, do you understand? She’ll birth a demon and bring hell to earth.”

“I thought I could save Constance, but once I was living in that room… I don’t know what happened to me, it was like I was someone else.”

“Are the family buried on the grounds?”

“How did you know?”

“A lucky guess. She’d trapped their souls there. You were probably being influenced by one and the curse would have been reaching for you too, this is the longest you’ve ever visited since your brother died. You’re lucky she didn’t burn you.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I thought… I wanted to help them.”

“Sometimes, there’s no help you can give.”

He looked at me sharply, but I didn’t buckle. He saw the harsh reality in my eyes, I watched as he gave in with a heavy heart. He knew what I would have to do.

“I’m sorry.”

I looked away. The trouble with Charles is that he’s always sorry.

“Don’t be sorry, just… don’t go off into danger like that again.”

The shower ran in the bathroom of our hotel room. The lights were on, I’d turned back the bed and I ran a towel through my hair, drying it as best I could. The usual whistling the silly man indulged in was noticeably absent. I took the clothes he left and stuffed them in a bag, I’d make sure we burnt them as soon as possible. The shower shut off and he appeared in the doorway, towel slung low around his hips.

“Better?”

“Well, I’m clean.” He answered somewhat bitterly.

“Charles…”

“I know. I’m sorry. I still feel like I’m about to snap.”

“It’ll take a few days before you start to feel like yourself again.”

I sat on the bed and patted the space beside me. He looked torn and I faltered for a moment. I‘d assumed the reason he’d written to me was because he planned for us to pick up our relationship where we left it twenty years ago but perhaps now wasn’t the time. Maybe he had someone else out there waiting for him to return to.

“Why did you come?”

The question unnerved me.

“What do you mean, why did I come? Haven’t I always come for you? Why would I stop now?”

“We didn’t part on the best terms, I only sent the letter so you’d know… if something happened to me. I didn’t expect you to come help.”

“Dear God you’re dense. We’re connected, you and I. I could no more leave you to your fate than I could cut a part of myself off. I can’t ignore you, no matter how long we live, I’ll always come for you if you need me.”

“I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve any of it. I don’t understand why you didn’t just leave me on that beach to die. Now I’ve cost you even more. What will they want from you this time?”

“The same as before no doubt, or maybe a future favour.”

“It’s not your debt, it’s mine.”

“That won’t matter to the witches of the French Quarter. They want power Charles and you don’t have any, at least none that they need.”

“You could have left me in the ground.”

“I could have. Did you want me too? Did you enjoy the silence?”

He sat beside me and braced his arms on his knees.

“It was peaceful, being dead. There was nothing, just…”

I touched his shoulder, running my had to the nape of his neck and rubbing softly.

“I know…”

“I’m sorry, about Prague. About leaving you like that.”

“I know. I didn’t like it, I might have disagreed. But I understood. Besides, it was twenty years ago. Your silly notion of needing to fight the good fight was the right one. I went to Rio and stayed there for the rest of the war. I knew you’d turn up eventually, you always do. I was just surprised it took so long.”

“You would really take me back? After everything?”

“I’ll always take you back.” It was the truth, I always would. He was stubborn and opinionated and passionate. He was everything.

“You ever going to tell me why you saved me that night?”

He lifted his head and I smiled sadly.

“Maybe one day.”

It wasn’t a lie, I would have told him, one day, when he was ready, when he remembered. It’s why I always came for him.

Memory like desert heat, rippled in my mind, hot sand under my feet and the sky an endless blue. Him. Standing in the light like a god, the play of powerful muscle beneath his sun bronzed skin, the spear held tight in his hand and the arena packed with people, screaming for blood. His blood.

I’d been foolish, falling in love with a mortal, even the magic I had could do nothing to save him that day. We’d had so little time, but it had been the happiest I’d ever felt, before or after.

He’d been tied to his family in this life, so much so that he couldn’t let it go. So driven by his need to free them that, although we had been happy together, a part of him was always plotting, thinking, scheming to find a way to help them. Maybe now, finally, he could let them rest.

“Come on, you need sleep, real sleep, not the two week dirt nap you took.” I scooted over to the other side of the bed and tugged on his arm till he lay down beside me.

He lay still, staring at the ceiling. He was always the same, in every life I’d met him, always obsessing over every little detail. I’d hoped, by linking his life to mine that eventually he might remember who he once was. I could see the same traits come to the surface each time, stubborn pride, a quick temper, his need to be in control. But under all that, the passion and heart of an artist. He was more than just a few two-dimensional traits bundled together, he was like all humans, complicated chaos personified. I switched off the light and we lay in the dark. I let out a breath when he finally fell asleep.

Sadness welled in me, he hadn’t reached for me once, not since he’d cried on my shoulder in the garden. Turning on my side, I finally let the tears fall. I knew the answer to the curse on his blood line now. I felt nothing but helpless anger. I’d brought it on myself, the price of magic. Foolish to think I had circumvented it for myself when I knew the laws as well as any.

Once upon a time I had been in love. In my anger at the man who ordered my lovers death I had summoned an entity I shouldn’t have, cursing him and all his line to madness and death. The gods of magic must have laughed, my love’s soul reborn into the same line I had cursed in his name. The price of magic was death. I knew the curse would continue, even my own magic couldn’t shield Charles forever. When he was the only Blackwood left, the curse would finally eat away at him, until there was nothing left but an unrecognisable shell of the man I once loved. The price of magic was death. My death.

#sebastian stan #hbc whalitc wednesday #charles blackwood #supernatural tragedy

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creativenicocorner · 5 years

Note

78 Stricklake

Thank you so much for being so patient! AAAH! This ended up being MUCH longer than I anticipated. And yet, it was an idea I kept circling back to as a concept. I’ve always wanted to explore Barbara taking responsibility for being a bit reckless sometimes, and what that could mean for not only others but herself as well.

There were so many many drafts, but honestly sometimes you just got to walk away. And that’s okay.

I like how the scene turned out, there are moments I think I can explore and flesh out more, but like I said, I gotta walk away a bit.I hope I stuck the landing though

78) Where is the first aid kit?

Rated: MatureFeaturing: Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Mature Language Japanese language translations used with this engine (EDITED with the lovely help and guidance of @illahmae Thank you again for reaching out to me!!)Please read responsibly, & enjoy!

Anna was expecting a lot of things that night. A quiet evening, a well written finale for her favorite fantasy tv show, and her package finally arriving were on that list of things.

It was a list that never came to be.

The instant the local coroner, and occasional forensic analysis for the Arcadia Police Department, heard her doorbell ring there was trouble. A trouble that arrived unannounced.

Anna groaned as she made her way to the door, and checked if her armpits smelled before opening the door.

It felt like a morbid set up to a joke. Except there was no chest to cut open.

Not yet at least.

For in her doorway was her best friend, her (supposed?) ex, and his friend. All of whom looked as though they went through a VIP tour through a slaughter house.

“Hey Anna,” said Barbara feebly through a busted lip. The good doctor winced through her attempted smile “we…ah, well, first I can explain..but um-”

“That’s not corn syrup, is it.” Anna’s question rang like a statement. “Hello again by the way.” she added dryly to the badly bruised Nomura who carried an even worse off Walter Strickler.

The strength of Nomura’s arms to carry a full grown man was duly noted.

Nomura looked away, and readjusted her hold Walter. Clicking her tongue when she noticed the amount of blood on her dress. Human, and changeling. Which gave a surreal effect to the fabric of her dress. Nomura didn’t even want to begin to think about the clean up job she’ll eventually have to do for her car seats.

Walter’s attempt at a salutation made it as far as turning his head.

“You’ve met??” asked Barbara, adjusting her dangerously cracked glasses.

“Looks like we all have some explaining to do.” Anna said rubbing a hand over her recently washed face. She sidestepped to give Nomura more room.

“At this rate Strickler’s going to bleed out.” mumbled Nomura. She made no effort to hide her impatience as she passed Anna’s threshold.

Anna’s brows furrowed, and quickly looked Barbara over again. Her eyes analyzing her best friend. To see if she was in a worse off state than Anna initially looked over.

Barbara’s lip was swollen, her hand clutched at her side that might have a broken rib, and there were cuts along her collar bone and arms and legs.

“I’m fine.” assured Barbara. Able to catch Anna’s analyzing eyes. “Fine enough to be sure Walter was patched for transport. Nomura’s worried. Then again, they’re like family-”

“Did he do this to you?” steeled Anna, remorselessly.

“What? No. Nooo-”

“I’m not touching anyone until I know he didn’t do this to you. And so help me God if he did. Cause I have no obligation to help the living Barb. And I can make that shit look like an accident.”

“I love you too Anna.” Barbara shuffled forward to hug her, wincing all the while. “I promise you he didn’t do this. I’ll…” Barbara tightened her hug with a guilty exhale. “I’ll explain as you patch me up. Please Anna. We can’t take this case to a normal hospital…and I need an extra steady hand if Walt’s going to make it past stable.”

“Alright. I believe you. Still stand by my statement though.”

“Terrifying as always. You’re going to be the primary suspect to so many of my ex’s.”

“Better believe it.” said Anna, kissing her best friend’s hairline.

“Hey, uh DOCTORS, he’s bleeding again!” called out Nomura from Anna’s living room.

Barbara frowned, and rubbed her eyebrow, smearing some of the drying blood, “We need to hurry Anna. Where’s the first aid kit?”

“I’ll get it. Can you walk to the kitchen?”

“I was able to walk to your door, wasn’t I?” snarked Barbara, trying to ignore the rising panic Nomura’s pacing over Walter was inspiring.

Barbara tried not to look into Anna’s living room. At how Walter’s hand hung off the couch. The way his breathing looked shallow. How Nomura’s pacing would slow to a stop to gently, and fearfully, adjust Walter’s hand.

All the same, Barbara’s frown deepened.

Bravely she tried to scrub her hands clean in Anna’s sink. Ignoring the pain in her side as much as she could. Barbara couldn’t tell if her shaking hands was from potential unchecked nerve damage, or the still lingering adrenaline.

“Okay.” went Anna, popping open the first aid kit on her kitchen island. “Spill.”

Barbara continued to examine her own arms as she turned to Anna. “It happened on the outskirts of the VONS’s parking lot. Wait…how much do you already know?”

“Changelings and trolls are a thing. There’s a million year war that’s been going on.” shrugged Anna. She motioned for Barbara to sit “I don’t know all the details, but Nomura there gave me a decent enough cliff-notes version last time.”

“Last time??” exclaimed Barbara with a wince. She wanted very badly to rub her eyebrow. “What do you mean last time??”

“One story at a time Barbara.”

“I can’t believe you kept this from me.”

“It happened before you started, remembering…”

“Oh.”

Anna grasped one of Barbara’s shaky hands. “I didn’t know how to bring it up, and…I’m sorry.”

“It’s a shit theme that’s been happening with me Anna…I’m not happy.”

“I can imagine.”

Barbara kissed Anna’s cheek. “Still not happy, but I’ll forgive you.”

Anna gave a sheepish smile, and nodded. Awkwardly Anna returned to the first aid kit. “He didn’t mention it?”

“We’ve been…slow catching up. I’ve been distant, if it wasn’t for Jim I’d probably be even more distant than I am now…”

“That’s understandable.” Nodded Anna as she sat a utensil down. “Shirt.”

Barbara obliged, and struggled with lifting her shirt as she continued, “And he’s been…hard to read, as always. One second looking like a wounded puppy following me, the next,” Barbara grunted and felt her eyes tear up as a searing pain shot through her side, “Shying away parts of himself..sometimes disappearing. But then I see him with Jim. Talking, explaining, and I feel myself relieved to sigh ‘Oh there’s Walter’. There’s my son’s favorite history teacher. The principal I dated. But he’s more than that now. I know he isn’t human…” a realization crept over Barbara. Slowly she vocalized it, “You know since remembering, Walter hasn’t been in his troll form around me..” her eyes grew broodier, “not if he can help it.”

Anna frowned as she helped Barbara lift her shirt up. Gently she pressed her fingers against the skin. “..I’m not liking what I’m seeing here Barb.”

Barbara sucked air through her teeth, her nose crinkling with a cringe “Your bedside manner sucks as always.”

“Quit squirming. My last patient didn’t complain.”

“Your last patient has a TOD.”

“The dead don’t have much to fidget over anymore.”

Barbara grew still, and looked down at Anna’s bloody work. “Jim told me about what happened to the other changelings…how they’re viewed..do you think-?”

Anna cursed under her breath and threw some blood speckled gauze on her floor. “I’m still waiting on your explanation as to what happened! That could have been you on my couch! Not some half stone near immortal person who can blast through molecular reconstruction with a single fucking magical thought!”

Barbara winced again, and wheezed a cough under Anna’s more passionate application of antiseptic. If Barbara’s nails weren’t as well groomed as they were, they’d be digging into her own palms.

“He’s not immortal.”

“And neither are you! Jesus, you look like someone dragged you down the road for fuck’s sake.”

“It was my fault.”

Anna gave Barbara a harsh disbelieving look.

“I was…Okay…Jim’s off doing some sort of scavenger hunt…and I haven’t heard from him in a while. Jim’s explained this can happen but, I was worried…like frustratingly worried. All the same I went to Vons, tried to get groceries, normal…mom things…and then the power went out.”

Anna looked up from her work. Watched as Barbara’s eyes looked around as she re-lived the play by play of what happened.

“I was in the car when it happened. At the edge of the parking lot I saw them, those…green Gumm-Gumm trolls? There were like…two of them. And thank goodness the parking lot was nearly empty for a Thursday. Cause, fuck, Anna. What if they attacked people? And so…so for the four other people in the parking lot. I..I tried to ram my car against one of them. To…do something. Slow them down I guess.”

“Barbara.” Anna stood up to get more gauze. “You’re the dumbest smart person I know. That must have been like driving your car into a wall.”

“My son is out there fighting these things all the time. I, I couldn’t just do nothing!”

“A. WALL.”

Barbara winced her eyes shut, her lips becoming a thin line. “Well..it didn’t work.”

“No shit.”

“Things…got dangerous…”

“Again. No shit Darkwing Duck.”

“Luckily Walter was shopping there too. He stepped in..and kept putting me out of harms way while taking on these two trolls. They’re like twice our size put together!” Barbara held back a sob. “But..but stubbornly I kept trying to help. I…I pulled a baseball bat from my trunk..and…all I did was put him in more danger than necessary. I mean it was kind of fun at first,” Barbara exhaled a strained bitter laugh into her hand, “It made me think about if Jim has as much fun with danger as we were having.

“There was even banter Anna! Christ, it was the most he talked to me since Merlin came back. And together we were able to take one troll down!…but..then when Walter wasn’t looking I..I tried to push him out of the way of a blow. I..my body acted on its own, and I, I didn’t want to see him hurt” Barbara shamefully covered her face, “If Walter didn’t bounce back and shield me when he did I’d be a pile of putty, never able to walk again, and stuck to a car with a Barbara shaped cartoon indent. It only got worse from there.” She shook her head, and her hands dropped away from her saddened face, “The other troll got back up, and, and Walter’s shoulder…” Doctor Barbara Lake winced. “Nomura said it’s a wound that has never fully healed.”

Anna nodded, “Guess we’ll see that callus soon.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to play hero without knowing what I was doing. Not like that. Not by risking his life and the lives of others.”

“And your own.” underlined Anna while she guided her pair of scissors to cut a stitch.

“If Nomura hadn’t called…if I hadn’t narrowly been able to answer that phone…”

Barbara winced again, though this time it wasn’t due because of any physical pain, but from remembering when Nomura arrived.

How hopeless the situation seemed. How ghastly Walter’s arm and shoulder looked. How his limp worsened with every step.

The sheer wave of relief when Nomura arrived. The way Nomura cursed after her initial surprise attack. The back and forth between Nomura and Strickler about poisoned blades.

Until Walter Strickler couldn’t speak anymore, and collapsed.

How in that moment of collapse Nomura became distracted. Looking so much like that lost young girl Barbara had seen in an old 1800’s photo displayed at the museum. And the backdraft of rage that followed.

“I don’t know what would have happened.” came Barbara’s voice, hoarse and hushed.

“I’d be cashing my service as Jim’s godmother is what.” roughly Anna pulled down Barbara’s shirt over her newly dressed side. “You’re going to need X-rays after this.”

Barbara’s hand floated to her side, gently pressing her fingers against Anna’s work. Slowly, she nodded. “Thanks Anna.”

Anna kissed into Barbara’s hair as she moved towards her sink.

Steadily, Barbara moved to join Anna to scrub their hands.

The water matched the static whirlwind of Barbara’s thoughts. Of how this was essentially all avoidable if it hadn’t been for her brashness to intervene.

“Hey.” went Anna after several glances into Barbara’s darkened face, “Just cause you’re a klutz of a hero one way, doesn’t mean you’re not a hero in other ways.” with a little hip check Anna smiled, “Doctor.”

Barbara managed a smile, her lip still swollen, “Doctor.”

“Now save the pity party for after we operate on your ex.”

Barbara snorted a chuckle and nodded, “Alright.”

The two doctors re-entered Anna’s living room to find Nomura sitting beside Walter. Her hand slid into his. Her face despondent, lost in another time that was similarly too close for comfort. If it wasn’t for the way Nomura’s eyes shifted with each new panicked thought, Barbara would have thought she was a statue.

Barbara gave herself a moment to breathe with one long exhale. Something she tended to do before any operation. Level heads were needed now.

“It’s going to be alright Nomura.”

Nomura didn’t seem to hear her.

Barbara crouched down beside the changeling, leaning to catch Nomura’s shifting eyes. “Hey, Nomura?”

The changeling’s eyes snapped predatorily.

Barbara had to gulp to re-find her bearings. “I need you to show me where you saw him bleeding again.”

Nomura silently nodded, and lifted Walter’s shirt. Seams from from his already torn turtle neck snagged on to a protruding bit of stone that stuck out of his abdomen. The remains of a broken off spear tip.

Barbara squinted. As bloody as the ghastly sight already was, she struggled to find any new openings or ways her impromptu stitches might have opened.

“Anna, can we get some more light in here?”

“Yeah, I can up the brightness.”

“Max it please.”

“Copy.”

Nomura winced at the sudden brightness. And Barbara was able to see the bleeding Nomura managed to see in such a dim light. It was minimal. Small beaded bulbs of blood that grew like poppies between the stitches.

“Thank you for bringing that up Nomura.”

Nomura didn’t answer, and stared as Anna placed a cloth over her coffee table. With the changeling’s help they were able to move Walter to lay on top of it.

That way both doctors could work on opposite sides, and not be obstructed by the limitations of just one side.

The air conditioning started to kick off, its setting now lower than the usual comfortable 75°F (24°C), and now a 43°F (7°C). It was the best they could do to imitate the cool air of a Hospital.

“Should..I go?” Nomura asked tentatively as Barbara started her first incision.

“We’re going to need your help still.” said Anna. “Incase we need to change out the water. Dab our foreheads now and then. You’ve seen Gray’s Anatomy. Maybe keep your eyes on the clock.”

“What for?”

“So we’ll have an accurate time of death.” said Anna with monotonous mirth.

Nomura stared for the longest time. Her chest started to rise and fall rapidly.

“She’s joking.” Barbara said finally. Distantly. “But we will need your help again. Anna? Suction.”

Nomura marveled at the improvised use of a turkey baster.

“Can you keep track of his pulse for us?”

Nomura nodded and sat on the floor, pulling her legs up and wrapping an arm around them. Trying to make herself as small as possible. Nomura placed a shaky hand at Walter’s neck, and counted with her eyes on the clock. “So far normal.”

Barbara nodded as she worked.

“Thank goodness for little miracles.” went Anna dryly, squeezing the turkey baster to spew blood into a basin.

Nomura watched holding her breath. Fearful any wrong breathing on her part might ruin the two doctors’s work.

The changeling expected the rest of the operation would pass on quietly. With the occasional, “Hold that.” or “Do you see what I see?” “Suction.”

The last time Walter and Nomura had to visit Anna (that time with the help of Jim), Anna was exceptionally talkative. She didn’t expect the same level of distant talkative-ness from Barbara as well. But it helped keep the doctors’s own pulses low.

“So the finale.”

“Don’t get me started.”

Barbara laughed. “Alright. We’ll save the passionate rant for later.”

“You guys are so lucky I have that on pre-record.”

“Otherwise you’d watch it while we operate?”

“Hell yeah.” snarked Anna.

Barbara glanced at Nomura, and noticed her serious furrowed brows. “She’s joking.” explained the doctor.

“Oh Nomura should know that by now.” smiled Anna.

“Well while we’re here…”

“What? We give him a vasectomy? Harvest a few organs?”

Barbara jokingly paused and pretend to consider the options. “Nah. My black market organ dealings are done.”

“Ah well.” shrugged Anna, using the turkey baster again. She grinned towards Walter’s unconscious face. “Better luck next time, bud.”

“I actually want to know about how you guys already know each other.”

Nomura tensed, pressing her forehead against her knees. “Strickler got hurt. Jim mentioned Anna. So we operated at the morgue.”

Barbara glanced between Nomura and Anna. Then frowned into her work.

“It was a difficult night.” Anna started to explain.

“And that’s that on that.” Snapped Nomura. Finalizing any further discussion. Fearful any deviation might distract the very well trained doctors.

Nomura hated feeling this helpless. But then, one couldn’t punch a wound better. Not realistically speaking.

The silence grew thick. Barbara took a long breath “Another time then.”

The silence continued for a short while. And to the surprise of no one, it was Anna who spoke again. “So is he still smoking?”

Barbara chuckled, “Oh boy.”

“No I’m serious.”

“Yes.” said Nomura, resting her chin on her knees.

“You can’t traumatize a, what, 800 year old man?”

“Older maybe.” shrugged Nomura, looking at Strickler’s face. She knew his age. But age was always something a changeling either generalized or poked fun of.

“Not with that attitude.” snarked Anna.

“Good gravy. You know what she did to my son?”

Nomura shook her head ‘no’. Then remembered neither of the doctors were looking at her, and said, “No, what?”

“At a tender young age of six, Anna showed my son pictures of smoker lungs, and lung cancer.”

“Has he ever thought of smoking?” leaned Anna with a smirk. She didn’t have to wait for Barbara’s answer to continue, “No. He hasn’t. And you’re welcome.”

Nomura found herself able to gently chuckle at that. But the smile didn’t last long when she noticed the beads of sweat on Strickler’s face. “I…uh…he’s sweating? His face is really warm.”

“Ice.” went Barbara with a detached medical calm. “Nomura go get ice. Stat.”

Anna lifted her eyes to see Barbara’s expressionless face, and Nomura still as death, staring. It was as if everything shut down around the changeling. Her irises thin cat like slits. Her lips a tense thin line.

“Nomura.”

“Why isn’t she moving?”

“Anna hold this. Clamp it tight.” Barbara turned and stared straight into Nomura’s face. “Hey. Hey…look at me. He’s going to be fine. You spotted the sweating, now we can do something about it right?”

Nomura’s eyes fluttered, jerkily the changeling nodded.

“Look, it’s not a battlefield, I know. But I know what I’m doing here.”

Nomura inhaled deeply, and slowly her legs became less stiff. Less rooted to the spot.

“Right now Walter needs ice before things get feverishly dangerous. You’re with me?”

“I..”

“Nomura. We can do this. It’s going to be okay. And it’ll be better with ice.”

“Ice…right.” Nomura gradually got to her feet, and forced her eyes to look away.

“There’s already a bucket by the freezer.” Anna said without looking up.

Barbara leaned back into Nomura’s line of sight, “He’s going to be okay.”

Nomura nodded, and headed towards the kitchen. When she retuned with a hefty load of ice the changeling was directed to place it on him. It would have been better with bags, but (like the turkey baster) they had to work with what they had with the time they had.

For the rest of the operation Nomura returned to her detached state. Speaking only when asked about Walter Strickler’s pulse.

Barbara and Anna returned to their detached conversations.

They worked well into the night.

With a final sigh, and a cut of a stitch, Barbara sat back on her legs. Anna groaned and rolled her arms.

“That’s it?” Nomura asked.

Barbara gave an exhausted smile. She adjusted her glasses with a nod, smudging them with blood in the process. “That’s it. All he needs is some sleep.”

“More than this?” snarked Anna. For Strickler was unconscious for the majority of the whole ordeal. “It’d be eternal.”

“Not yet I’m afraid.” went Barbara looking into Walter’s slacked face. Most of the ice were now puddles. “Come on. Lets dry him off and get him on the couch.” the air conditioner went off for the millionth time that night. Roaring in the silence in that intrusive buzzing sort of way. Tiredly Barbara rubbed her eyebrow. “Anna?”

“On it.”

Barbara moved for one of the clean hand towels, “I..Oh, I need to wash my hands.”

“That’d be great. Less blood on the furniture is, essentially, ideal.” went Anna from the thermostat.

Nomura quietly dabbed Strickler’s brow, neck and chin, as the doctors walked off to scrub the blood off and disinfect their tools.

By the time the doctors were done, Strickler was on the couch.

His return to consciousness was gradual. The first thing the changeling felt was pain in his shoulder, his head, and then his stomach. But what caught Strickler’s attention first, was the feeling of warmth around his hand. And the sensation of someone’s hair on his already hairy arm.

With slow blinking eyes he saw the source of warmth, and feebly squeezed Nomura’s hand.

Nomura, still sitting on the ground, gradually lifted her head from beside Walter. And exhaled a breath she felt like she was holding the whole night.

At Strickler’s attempt at a smile she clicked her tongue and punched a pillow, “Oi, Jiji!” (Hey you old geezer!) sternly Nomura wagged her finger. Her red eyes burning with the attempt to not cry, “Kowagarashinaide! Buchinomesu yo.” (scare me like that again and I’ll kill you.) With the smallest sniffle Nomura muttered, “Taku.” (damnit) though it was obstructed with the way Nomura rubbed her damp cheek.

Strickler’s shallow laugh turned into a shallow grunted cough. “Douzo, yatte minasai.” (I’d like to see you try.) he gave her hand a paternal squeeze, thumbing her bloody knuckles. His neck giving him a double chin like affect as he looked down at Nomura’s lowering head. Coyly Strickler continued,“Shiranai no? Gokiburi mitai. Ganbare yo.” (Don’t you know? I am like a cockroach. Good luck.)

Nomura clicked her tongue again with a little sniff. Rubbing her eyes before lifting her head again, “Baka.” (Idiot.)

“Dan da heddo.” (Dunderhead.) Strickler feebly attempted to flick Nomura’s forehead. She laughed at his pathetic attempt, and lowered his hand away.

Barbara entered on the tail end of their conversation, and breathed a sigh of relief seeing the two changelings interact. Even if she didn’t understand a word they were saying. Yet It was clear they saw each other as family.

Only for Barbara to realize, Walter being awake meant having to face Walter as well.

This time it was Barbara’s turn to freeze where she stood. She bit her lip then winced when she remembered how swollen it still was.

It caught Strickler’s eye, and slowly the changeling blinked his eyes her way.

“Hey Barb, Nomura, you want some wine?” Went Anna walking over from the kitchen, “Lord knows I need some. We can watch Game of- oh!” Anna stopped in her tracks lowering the bottle of red. “He’s up.”

“He is.” went Walter with a painful smirk.

An unsettling frozen silence set. No one really moved aside from Barbara who fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. Walter licked his lips, wincing as he pointed to Nomura, “Anna, can you see if you can get her to eat?”

“Uh…sure.”

Nomura clicked her tongue indignantly.

Strickler stared at her knowingly. And, as if on cue, Nomura’s stomach grumbled.

The changeling hissed and thumbed her nose. Strickler gave her hand a final squeeze before she got up to follow Anna.

Nomura nodded her head at Barbara, “Thank you.”

Feebly Barbara nodded back a lip swollen smile. She winced, and Nomura nudged her arm in a good natured way.

And then it was just Barbara and Walter alone.

Barbara never noticed just how loud Anna’s living room clock was. It was practically cacophonous in that shared silence.

“We found the rest of the spear. Three guesses as to where we found it.” blabbed Barbara like a bubble of nerves. Immediately cursing at herself for the poor attempt at a joke.

“Can I have a hint?”

“Look down.” went Barbara inching closer to the changeling.

Walter did so, and made a ghastly comical face.

“Not that far down.” smirked Barbara rolling her eyes.

“Can I still get that appendectomy?”

“It might be a bit harder for you now. Seeing as you,” Barbara started to frown as she spoke “don’t.. have an appendix.”

“Ah well. Who needs them anyways. Thank you for saving my life.”

Barbara removed her glasses and tried to wipe them on her shirt. Sniffling while doing so. “I wish you’d yell at me.”

Strickler, on instinct, tried to sit upright to earnestly say his rebuttal and winced with a groan. “What on earth for?”

“For..for this!” she gestured wildly at him, then around Anna’s living room, and herself “All of this! This is my fault!”

“You didn’t know those Gumm-Gumms would be there.”

“I kept getting in your way. You, you told me to hide-”

“You wanted to help. And in some moments you did.” Walter smiled.

“Aren’t you mad? I, I don’t understand.”

Walter closed his eyes tight and exhaled through his nose. Silently counting. When he was done, he motioned Barbara to sit a little closer. “I am mad. Yes. Furious at your lack of self perception for your own safety when it comes to moments of danger like this.”

“Oh God.” went Barbara lowering her head into her hands. Her hands didn’t hide the wince from her side as she leaned forward. “I know-”

“But much more than that, Barbara,” Walter stretched to meekly lower Barbara’s hands from her face, “I was afraid. I’m still afraid. Afraid what that selfless impulse you have could cost you.”

Barbara’s shoulders started to jerk. Her voice cracking as she voiced the horror that had been lingering heavily in her heart. “I could have gotten you killed.”

“Instead you saved my life.”

“You wouldn’t need your life saved if I’d just…just listened.”

“Perhaps. And if you did run when I told you to, and things still ended up as bad as it did, who would have answered my phone? How would Nomura know where to find us?”“I’m sure I would have tried to call her.”

Walter smiled again and nodded slowly, “I know you would have. This is just how the dice fell.”

“It’s not okay though.”

Walter sighed, but nodded yet again. “You’re right. It isn’t okay.” an encouraging warm grin spread over Walter’s face, “But how can I forget I’m dealing with Doctor Barbara ‘I’m going to hit an un-dead troll with a broom to save my son’ Lake?”

Barbara threw her head back with a groan, then doubled over with a painful wince grasping at her side. Forgetting her own stitches. “Uugh if I’d known about the freezing barrier thing.”

Cautiously Walter said “Barbara I think you’re missing the point.”

“Oh I get the point loud and clear!” she snapped with a small spark of anger. Futility staring back at her from the reflection of Anna’s television. “How can I help my son when I..I’m useless when fighting-”

Strickler groaned, and an arch of green electricity illuminated the couch and living room. “Barbara.” came a voice of low velveteen gravel. Calm like a hidden spring in a dark cave. “Look at me.”

Barbara held her breath, her eyes sliding towards him first before the rest of her body followed.

She wasn’t sure how, but the bandages carried over from his human to troll form. A troll form that manifested without the bladed cape. They were going to have to pay Anna for a new pillow set as one of Strickler’s horns pierced through it.

“Barbara, what am I made of? What do you see?”

Barbara lowered her hand. A finger hesitantly hovering over Walter’s stoney forearm. An urging curiosity to touch.

Though as Walter’s questions registered more in her head, her brows furrowed. And a defensive insecure response was born. “Don’t patronize me. Stone, Walt. You’re made of stone.”

“I’m not trying to patronize. I didn’t mean for it to come across that way.” The changeling pushed himself to sit up, ignoring the pain that carried over from form to form. It felt like tectonic plates raking against him inside. And before Barbara could pull her hand away completely, Walter caught it. “I’m sorry.” he rasped, “I’m trying, my best, to explain.”

“Explain what? You’re part stone? I’ve grasped that.”

“I’m part stone. Nomura is part stone. Yes. And we can take more damage because of it. We can anticipate heavier hits because of it. But you’re not Barbara. You’re..” Walter looked over his bloody friend. The nicks, the bruises to be, the bloodied lip. The cut above the brow that may or may not turn into a scar. How fidgety she could get. How, because of her side, she favored leaning and nursing it with an arm. His eyes looked wishful and forlorn.“Flesh, bone- carbon, blood. Incredibly breakable. With a will so fearfully strong I’m scared to learn what your iron levels are in your blood.

“But will isn’t everything Barbara. You could have the strongest will in all the land. But that doesn’t change the fact that,” Walter lifted her hand in his for her to draw attention to it. His eyes piercing and glowing just above the knuckles. “if I squeeze your hand hard enough like this, I could break your bones. Fracture them to say the least.”

Barbara gasped on instinct. Like an impulsive flinch when hearing a dog’s bark close enough that made someone blink. Even if that dog was one you knew would never hurt you. It struck at something primal. Life preserving.

Yet Walter continued to hold her hand like the brittlest of crystal. After resting her hand back down, he retracted his own clawed hand carefully away. Not wanting to risk so much as a scratch on her already scratched up hands.

“The point I’m…I’m struggling to make, Doctor Lake, is…you’re terrifying. Terrifying with how, when other people’s lives are on the line, you’re not even minimally self aware of your own mortality.”

“I’m not going to do nothing. Not when my son is facing those dangers every. single. day.” she steeled.

“I’m not asking you to do nothing. I’m begging you to be more self aware. And Barbara,” Walter leaned to the side with a wince of his own. His arm close enough to just barely graze hers. “I know you know better than to say healing others is doing nothing. Saving my life was certainly not nothing. If I didn’t know any better I’d think I was in a M*A*S*H tent.”

Barbara screwed her eyes shut, and nodded. Wringing her hands together, she continued to nod. “You’re right…” she sighed and released her hands, “you’re right. It’s just, in the face of everything else that’s been happening it feels so passive. I can patch Jim up for sure, but…I want to fight too.”

Suddenly she gasped as an idea struck her. She turned towards Walter who had a fearful look on his face. Struck speechless.

The changeling shook his head, already anticipating the question Barbara was about to ask. A low “no, no, no,” rumbling in his throat.

“You can teach me! You’ve been teaching Jim. Can’t you teach me?”

Walter looked into the good doctor’s eyes, how they twinkled hopefully. “Do you know what you’re asking me? The gravity-?”

“Jim’s been trying to keep me out of this for so long. But I want to be part of this. I want to help.”

“Why?”

“Why? Walt, that’s my son out there.”

“No, I mean…why would you want to learn how to fight?”

Barbara quirked her head to the side. Feeling her reason was obvious. Not understanding why the changeling looked so downtrodden. With a frown so heavy it was nearly sinking off his green face.

“Why?” he asked again almost on the verge of tears. Just unable to grasp Doctor Lake’s request. “Why would you want such healing hands to learn how to fight? After years of learning how to save lives. Why would you want to start learning how to take it?”

“Take..?” Barbara looked into the pained expression on Walter’s face.

“You’re under oath, Barbara.”

And finally, it hit her. She was talking with a trained assassin after all. An assassin who knew the best way to fight was until there was only one person standing. Gently she explained, “No. Walt. I want to be able to protect. To defend myself, and others.” She moved to push the hanging lock of hair from Strickler’s forehead, “I’m not asking you to help me break my oath. I’m not planning on breaking it anytime soon.”

Walter gazed at Barbara, and felt his lungs fill with air and relief. He exhaled a smile, which turned into a winced wheeze, and sniffed a few times before saying. “Right. Of course. Very,” he shook his head with a self scrutinizing smile, “very foolish of me.”

Barbara hummed her head side to side, thoughtfully.

“You have an orange belt in Krav Maga for Pete’s sake.” his voice sounded drawn. A mirth like rumble in his throat as he repeated, “Very foolish.”

Barbara cupped his stoney cheek. A show of tenderness so unexpected Walter nearly flinched. Instead he practically melted into the warmth of Barbara’s fleshy palm. “Maybe. Though, you are still recovering. But I’d say that’s, very kind of you to worry about.”

“I…have my moments.” Walter’s eyes fluttered. His face feeling very warm.

When did their faces get so close?

“Will you help me?”

“I’d move heaven and earth for you if I could.”

“A bit dramatic. But I’ll take it.” Barbara smiled.

When did the distance between their lips become so small? The changeling’s breath hitched at the feel of her other hand on him.

“If I didn’t know any better, Doctor. I’d say you’re trying to seduce me into helping you.”

“Is it working?” she asked sultrily. Playing off Walter’s mirth.

“It’d work better if your hand wasn’t on my stomach.”

“What?!” She looked down at the bandages wrapped over his green stoney body. Her blood pressure spiked. “I, oh, Walt I’m sorry.”

Walter exhaled a sound that was more rubber chicken than troll. Tried as he might to power through the pain just before a potential kiss. His wound was still incredibly tender. In a way, the changeling thought it was for the best. For now.

“Does it hurt? Even like that?”

“Well it’s no tickle I’ll tell you that.” Walter tried to undermine bravely over Barbara’s worried rambling.

“I mean you were going on about being made of stone. I didn’t think.”

“Stone. Yes. But still living stone. And recently cut into.”

Barbara leaned, and winced at her side as she tried to check under the bandages without fully undoing them “God, I can’t tell if the stitches opened.”

“Hang on.” Walter steadied himself and grasped the nearest pillow. Trying to think past the pain, and the anticipated pain to come. “You’ll want to close your eyes for this.” he offered before grunting into a shine of green electricity.

Steam billowed off him slightly as the human form of Walter Strickler slumped into the couch.

“Walter?” went Barbara waving her hand, “Geeze, if you didn’t have a fever before.”

“I’m fine.” he tried to assure, despite looking far paler than before. “Changing, when wounded, can be, a, tiring affair.”

“THen wHY-”

“You wanted to check my stitches. I thought it’d be, easier, as a human.”

“At the cost of exhausting yourself!? You’re still recovering.” Barbara shook her head at him, and brushed back some of Walter’s spongy hair, “And then you say I don’t think. Honestly.”

Walter gave a haggard laugh, “I suppose we have quite a bit to learn from each other.”

Barbara snorted a laugh. She pressed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Only to sigh. “We’re going to have to re-do a few stitches.”

“Bugger.”

Barbara apologized with a quick, almost chaste, soft kiss against his cheek. A kiss that caused a goofy curly smile to grow on the changeling’s face. He rubbed it as he watched Barbara push herself off the couch to wash her hands and fetch the first aid kit again.

When she came back Barbara guided Walter to sit up, and untie the gauzy bandage that was wrapped around his stomach. Now speckled with beads of blood.

As Barbara tended to the changeling, yet another realization among many came over the doctor. It wasn’t as though they were working with morphine this whole time. And although conscious this time, the most Walter made as a sound was a grunt or a wince.

“Should I be worried about your high tolerance to pain?”

“Probably? But-” Walter exhaled slowly. He bit his lower lip as he felt the needle pass through his healing skin tissue, “-not today. Please. I wouldn’t mind a- ah- conversational distraction.”

A pause of silence followed. And then, in unison, they both spoke over the other.

“Do you want to continue our question game?” asked Barbara, referring to the long night when Jim, while away, found Merlin. To reconcile over not fully knowing all of Walter, the question game was invented.

“Have you ever learned how to fight with a bow staff?” asked Walter, referring to the moments he saw Barbara fight, rather well, with a broom.

They both laughed for a short while. The air filled with bubbly nerves. Until Barbara, with a deadpan, said, “No laughing while I’m stitching. Or you’ll lose your bellybutton.”

As much as the changeling wanted to, Walter knew better than to contradict Barbara. “Doctor’s orders.” he tried to say seriously.

In the end, with Walter’s stomach patched again and re-dressed, and Barbara’s hands cleaned with the aid-kit put away, the two shared the couch.

They were found by a glowing Nomura and Anna. But that’s another story, for another time.

Thank you so much for reading!!

#Nico Responds #Trollhunters #Tales of Arcadia #Stricklake #Walter Strickler #Dr Barbara Lake #Barbara Lake #Stricklander #Strickler #Nomura #Zelda Nomura #Nico Writes #drabble challenge

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princessamericachavez · 5 years

Text

Fjorester in Episode 46

We had some wonderful character development, tension, pining... listen, guys, this was such a good episode and I don’t understand how anyone could think this was a step back for these two when in reality this was a much-needed switch in the dynamic.

Like, okay, let’s review:

Fjord: “Where’s Jester?”

He’s already worried.

Good start. Fjord’s not blind and you could tell that he noticed her being upset the night before, so having him of all people ask for her was such a good detail that warmed my heart.

“How are you doing this morning, Jester?”

“Oh, I’m okay.”

“...yeah?”

HE’S SO WORRIED. LOOK AT THAT FACE. SOMEONE HOLD ME.

“You wanna... go out and explore a bit?”

“...sure.”

She’s not giving him a lot to go on, being distant and he looks so confused and nervous and unsure on how to proceed. Even with everything they’ve been through, Jester being distant towards him is uncharted territory.

But, Fjord, bless him, doesn’t back off, he tries again.

“A-Are you okay? I-I know the... the day’s escapade was a little much. A little close.”

“A lot. Yes. You disappeared, Fjord,” she says, and even in her soft voice, there’s a heaviness to the statement, the nucleus of the tension between them. And she smiles when she says it, but there’s an unusual seriousness in Jester as she says it, almost an accusation, saying a million things that she’s not voicing yet out loud.

Cue: Panic.

“Yeah, well, you did... too. Every time I poped wherever I was I could see you PFT in and PFT out. And I kept wanting to, like, make sure we were getting the fuck out.”

It’s like he’s trying to scream: I never meant to leave you behind. But this dumb boy doesn’t know how to say it. He just needs her to know she wouldn’t.

But Jester’s not talking about that.

“Oh, that too. I was talking about the library.”

Think about it for a moment, though. Jester, who was so utterly broken-hearted over being left alone, is actually lingering over the moment he got sucked into a window when he left and she had no way to follow, when she didn’t know if he was alright.

She’s more concerned about his impulsiveness putting him in danger than her own brush with near-death.

And you can see Fjord’s surprise over it, too.

“Oh, yeah, well it was the darnest thing. I just touched it, you know? Didn’t know if it was rough or smooth...”

It’s harder to make excuses for his own impulsiveness though.

“I didn’t expect it to AHHHH none of that shit?”

And this is classic Fjord and Jester. He’s trying to make her laugh, to ease the air, because he knows it’s what Jester does, search for a way to be happy and it works... for an instant only.

“Maybe I won’t do that so much,” he offers, still trying to find a fix.

“Sometimes you just need to touch things,” she offers back, in understanding, but there’s the lingering sadness in her voice.

And as they keep talking about what happened the day before and they start describing the room, Fjord asks:

“Wait a minute, so when I disappeared you didn’t immediately try to come out and find me?”

NOW NOW NOW I’ve seen some people online giving Fjord grief over this line, calling it self-centered or dickish, but you gotta think in context. This is Fjord who didn’t expect any of them to come after him when he was taken by the Shepherds. Fjord who has grown very attached to the group, who did everything in his power —including sleeping with Avantika— to keep them safe, who is never sure why they even follow his lead into the ocean... Fjord who landed himself accidentally in front of a big blue dragon and tried to talk his way out of it, unsure of whether the others would show up and expressed his relief when they did.

This line isn’t about Fjord believing he deserved an immediate rescue.

This line is Fjord’s doubts and vulnerability coming out in a slightly abrasive way because it’s easier to be defensive than admit the idea hurts.

“I did. Beau did,” Jester points out.

And they did, truly.

And this trio has been together from the start and they did run after him.

“Yeah, you know. It isn’t as if everybody left you,” Jester says, and you can feel the implicit like they did me.

“You left... us.”

That pause.

That pause right before she says us kills me.

Do you think she wanted to say me?

You left me.

And all he can offer back is “Yeah that’s true.”

And it’s so hard to see them act like this, to see the ice wall between them, the tension in every unspoken accusation.

And Fjord can tell, he feels that cold between them and is still trying to fix it.

Now, historically, what they do when the other is sad/upset is acts of service, try to offer help or attention that will cheer the other up.

“Jester, can I make you a plate?”

Look at this dude.

He’s trying.

He can barely look her in the eye.

And Jester blinks and pulls back and you can see the confusion written all over her face.

(can you imagine how she would’ve reacted to an offer like this early on in the campaign???????)

“Um, no. I think I’m okay, Fjord. Thank you.”

Her voice sounds so tiny, so distant, too polite like she’s talking to a stranger. She’s not being rude or snapping at him, but there’s maybe even more sting to that kind of ice between them.

“Okaycool... sh- should we bring Caleb some food?” He tries to recover quickly.

He pulls away and retracts back as if he’d touched burning iron.

“Do you want us to go to this temple?”

Jester is clearly not happy with the idea, but this is important to Fjord, and she nods along and doesn’t question him. Because they are a team, right? And even if things feel wrong between them, Jester always wants to help him be happy. She loves him, after all, anger and all.

Nott: He’s being very nice today.

Jeter: Yes, I think he feels guilty.

Nott: I know he feels guilty. He asked you to, like, accompany him off the boat. He offerd to make a plate of food for you. He is being nice to me. Oh! Is he hitting on you?.”

Jester: No.

Nott: I think he’s hitting on you.

Jester: No, he’s not.

Nott: Are you sure?

Jester: ...yeah.

SHE SOUNDS SO SAD, SO HEARTBROKEN, SO SURE THAT THERE IS NO WAY HE LIKES HER BACK.

Travis:

I SEE YOU. I SEE YOU TRYING TO HIDE THAT SMILE. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’VE DONE MISTER. I KNOW.

I’m Liam. Liam is me.

MOVING ON

Okay, so Fjord nearly pleads for the party to go to this temple, to see this through because he will otherwise live the rest of his life wondering what would’ve happened.

And Jester, anger and distance and heartbreak aside, is still concerned over his wants and happiness:

“Plus, we still haven’t found out about Vandren.”

And you can see the effect immediately in how Fjord melts a little, opens up.

“Right, but I- it could be fucking anywhere. I just wanna do this ‘cause we’re here. We can- we can worry about that later, it’s a wide wide world,” he says and there’s a particular softness in his voice that only comes when he’s talking to Jester. You can see he’s replying to her. Don’t worry about me. That will come. It’s fine.

Beau: So, we find the temple and then, what? I guess... go back to Nicodranas, first.

Fjord: We might have to go through Port Damali, actually. Nicodranas is a little hot for us- but we could. We could let your mom know you’re okay.

You can see the moment Fjord’s brain goes from ‘practical’ and trying to protect the party to ‘uh, Jester. Yep. That’s more important’.

LOOK AT THAT FACE!!!!

“I mean, I-I can message her. I’ve been messaging her.”

She says but she looks so sad.

And Fjord can’t take sad Jester.

So he goes SOFT

“Well, maybe see how you feel when we’re on our way back. We wouldn’t wanna go round the southern tip, that’s where the troops are heading. I feel like danger might be that way It might be best to go the way we came.”

LOOK AT THOSE PUPPY EYES.

And can I just say how I love that even when there’s tension and they are in the outs they still primarily care about each other’s happiness and want to help and this is both of them bringing up the other’s need to see their parental figure because they both know it’s important to each other, like, they are a team no matter what.

She brings up Vandren.

He brings up Marion.

They look after each other. Always.

“Okay.”

“So, maybe we get some supplies, something to buff us up a bit?”

“Some bees!”

“Some... bees, sure.”

At this point, this man would’ve gone head-on to a beehive if it meant Jester would forgive him. Whatever Jester wants she gets.

And then Fjord points out he wants to buy some healing potions and Jester shrugs it off and she says he has healers with them and Fjord —looking straight at her— says he’s had to use his potions in the party before.

Because if the healers go down, if she goes down, if she had gone down during the dragon fight... without a potion he wouldn’t be able to help her.

Fjord is feeling so protective of her

Which takes us to

“JESTER GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE.”

Travis Willingham came after my whole life with that shout.

He didn’t have to sound so desperate and worried.

In the middle of a storm like the one in which he drowned, watching Jester from afar getting in the midst of a giant lightning ball, getting herself in danger, while he needs to keep the ship going and can’t do anything to help.

But Jester doesn’t see this as worry, she sees it as anger directed towards her.

“I didn’t know, I was trying to help!” She calls back.

“Jester, what’s going on down there?!”

“Yasha fought a ball of lighting but everything is good, she’s good. We’re gonna get some tea, though. The mast looks like it maybe got burnt a little again.”

“Maybe see to the repairs first before you get your fucking tea!”

“Why don’t you stop being a dick?!”

Now, this is one of those exchanges that I’ve seen people talk about and complain about Fjord being rude, but listen the dude was stressed out, exhausted, in the middle of what’s probably a familiar storm, he had no idea what just happened and he just paid for this ship to get repaired.

I think he’s got a right to be pissy.

Plus, Jester’s reply is wonderful in that it gives us two things from her:

a. Anger (only a taste of what, when released, will surely be “a sight to behold”)

b. Less distance between them.

You don’t call your crush a dick if you idolize them, but you also don’t act angry like this towards someone you’re trying to be cold to. This moment of banter between friends —because that’s what it is— almost feels like the air is a little clearer.

I mean, the first 2 episodes Jester called The Traveler a dick a lot, too. You know, The Traveler? Her freaking deity? Her best friend? Her childhood crush???

To think this exchange would be somehow closing a door on the possibility of a relationship between these two would have to be based on misreading the way Jester interacts with people.

Overall, this episode gave us a very interesting shift in their dynamic. There’s a rift between them, sure, and it’s been building up steadily ever since they stepped into Avantika’s ship for the first time, and it will probably reach a breakage point as this arc comes to an end in January inside the temple.

I expect them to still stick by each other’s side and help each other as much as they can in there. Perhaps we’ll more of Fjord’s protective streak, hopefully, a callback to the first temple and the kiss between them, and most probably once Fjord gets the next sphere he will still find himself torn between the search for power and... everything else.

With a timer on their shoulders to go back to the Empire now, though, things will probably smooth over once they are back on land. I’m hoping we’ll get some more Jester backstory if they go back to visit her mother, but it will likely not be that big, considering they have their sights set on checking on Beau’s family soon.

Things between them might not be the exact same upon their return, too much has happened and shifted, but I do believe even these disagreements are a way for the two of them to move forward and grow. It will help them see each other in a different light, getting to know each other’s faults and darkness, which will definitely bring them closer together in the end.

At the very least, we got pining Fjord and distant Jester and that’s a fun new dynamic to explore.

Can it be 2019 already???

#fjorester #fjord #jester lavorre #critical role #cr spoilers #meta #sofia's nonsense

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 5 years

Text

Leaving The Ring

Baavira Week, Day 2: Euphoria. Summary: In an AU where Kuvira wasn’t adopted by Suyin early on, she joins a drug ring. Baatar takes her to his home and save her from addiction and the crime ring.

Euphoria tingled on the fringes of her mind. The high was fading, hopefully for the last time. Baatar weaved his fingers through her hair, if he was disappointed, it certainly didn’t show on his face.

It never did. He was patient with her. Kind.

He was from the start. From the moment he found her curled up, shivering and dirty on the side of the road. She was sputtering and delirious, clutching at something no one else could see. In present she couldn’t recall just what she had been clinging to but it had been important.

Baatar was on a vacation, it was his first time in Republic City and no one had thought to warn him not to venture into the fringes of the city. No one thought to inform him of the dirty, drug-infested parts of the city. Of the women who stood on street corners wearing faux furs, heels, and clothing much to revealing. No one thought to inform him of the people like her.

Perhaps that was why he had approached her with such little caution. Her hair was straggly and dirty, her clothes tattered. Maybe she might have made it out of that life if she hadn’t let her ex coax her into taking and selling lotus leaves. But the fact of it was that he had. And she did.

She’d sold and used until she knew all of the street names; lotus leaves, breath of the green dragon, green dragon, the breath, green breath, lotus green, and an endless stream used to evade the Republic City police force. She’d sold and used until her mind unraveled and she had no qualms about sending sharpened chunks of metal into whoever her former boyfriend had put on his list. Most of the were rival sellars. They couldn’t afford competition.

Soon the lotus leaves’ hold became too strong. It reaped her competence and speed. And her ex had no use for her. She had been abandoned twice over. At least that time, she had the breath. At least that time she wasn’t fully alone. If she took enough of the lotus leaves, she could pretend that she had a family. They felt so real. So real that it hurt when the euphoria faded.

She couldn’t say exactly how long she’d wandered in a drugged daze. But her shoes had worn to the point she’d discarded them altogether, allowing for shards of glass and sharp rocks to shred her feet. But she had taken no notice. The breath took away the pain. She hadn’t even realized she was bleeding at all.

Kuvira could only faintly recall meals. She didn’t like to think of where she had found them. She imagined that they were only edible because the lotus leaves had turned them to something else in her mind. Baatar had found her when she was certain that was on the brink of death.

She was sickly; gaunt and pale, skin tinged with patches of yellow and spots of purplish bruising. Her hair had grown matted. The hue of her eyes had dulled into a muted and hollow green. They were void and vacant. Absent.

Her mind was absent. She had looked at Baatar, but she hadn’t seen him. He had told her that a light froth dripped from the corner of her mouth and that he’d almost left her to die. He had left, she remembered that much. He’d returned with help though. But not before she could wander. In her drugged stupor she had gone chasing dragonfly-mantis. They were made of gold and she was going to sell them. She was going to have new shoes.

Her feet pulsed with infection. They were swollen and oozing, but she hadn’t noticed, she was so close to the golden dragonfly-mantis. So close. All she had to do was walk out onto the beams and reach out. She was so dizzy and the height wasn’t doing her any favors. She watched the traffic below, the buzzing city streets. Her body had pitched, a deeper sense of detachment setting in. From a distant place, she felt a tug.

She couldn’t recall anything after than. But Baatar had told her that she’d had a seizure. One brought on by an overdose. That she’d almost plunged from a lethal height.

Kuvira fell back into the chair. She should be dead. Yet she was given a chance and here she was, wasting it. She still wanted more. She craved more, cried out for it. But Baatar was as unmoving as he promised her that he would be.

She was crying and begging. She needed the lotus leaves, the hit he’d given her was too small to provide anymore than a short high. She dug her nails into her hair. “Baatar, please…”

He untangled her fingers from her locks and squeeze her hands. “You don’t need them anymore. I promise.”

He was making so many promises, ones that were out of his control. He could dress her in silks and velvets as fine and deep green as he’d like. He could put exotic foods in her belly and exquisite gems on her fingers but she was still a mess. The sort that could only be made by being tossed to the streets to raise herself.And it wasn’t for him to fix.

Kuvira had to fix herself. Kuvira didn’t know if she had it in her.If she even wanted to fix herself.

She didn’t have much of a choice anymore. She’d run out of her stash of lotus leaves and she coudn’t see Suyin funding more. The woman barely tolerated her as it were. “We don’t need a whore living under our roof!” It was an exchange she’d had often with Baatar. The woman didn’t even bother to wait until Kuvira was out of earshot.

The cop, Lin, liked her even less. The woman constantly looked at her as though she was a free paycheck. Constantly questioning her about her ex. What his name was, where he hid out. Kuvira couldn’t recall, had she ever known? It took some time for Lin to realize that, in the long term, the lotus leaves affected memory.

“She’s a wreck and she’s going to lead you to the back of my satomobile.” Lin scoffed at Baatar. Suyin lingered close by, nodding rather smugly. According to Baatar, the sisters didn’t agree on much, but they agreed that she was a lost cause.

Baatar didn’t realize it until she had taken off.Back to the streets where she’d belonged. Away from Suyin and her harsh words. She didn’t make it very far at all.

Months had came and gone. He held her. He loved her. He cherished her as if she was capable of reciprocating. He did everything in his power to keep her from the lotus leaves. Just when he thought that she was getting clean, that her withdrawal had climaxed he’d come home to find her with a patch under her tongue. A patch she earned through slipping out of the gowns he bought for her. Months came and went and Kuvira could see in his eyes what he was going to do.

Lin was more than thrilled to escort her in a cop-grade satomobile. Perhaps it wasn’t to the prison she had hoped, but to an institution. One the forced the lotus leaves out of her bloodstream. They watched her writhe and whimper with such apathy. She missed the care Baatar gave her.

.oOo.

Kuvira stared at her feet. Scarred from the infection that had almost taken them. They were sore, but not from the roughness of the streets. No, they were sore from hours of dancing. Dancing was the first hobby she had picked up after leaving the institution. It was a hobby she’d stuck with. It kept her mind from pining for lotus tears and from wandering to all of the vile names thrown at her in the past.

She watched the rest of the dance team carry on with their routines. It was nothing short of frustrating to still feel the effects of the lotus leaves even after a year without them. Her body cramped and tired out much faster than it ought to. The rest of the team insisted that it was fine, that they were just glad that she was on the right track. But it wasn’t fine to her.

She felt arms wrap around her middle and lips press to the crook of her neck. At least Baatar had stuck around. She admired the man for his silent patience. She had distanced herself from him for the longest time, deciding that he deserved better.

He didn’t push things, accepting things for what they were. She’d seen him with quite a few pretty and delicate girls, the kind he ought to be with. Three of them to be exact. He vented to her about all of them. About how Mi-Lao was too judgemental and hated his glasses, even though he insisted that he needed them to see. He vented about how Soyan hated everyone in his family. And he vented about how Yi-Ling was too controlling. For once he was the one to break things off.

“I just don’t have much luck with women do I, Kuvira?” And that had been that. She let him get things off of his chest.

Finally, in a rare moment of self-respect and pride, she allowed herself a tinge of happiness. A chance to hope. After such a long time had gone by, she finally mustered up the courage to ask the Baatar if he still wanted to love her.

And so she had grown used to days like the one she was having presently. With her fingers woven between his. “How was dance practice?”

“I suppose it could have gone worse.” She hadn’t fallen that time. Perhaps in time she’d be able to make it through a full session. She let him ramble on about his day and about how his father was proud of the blueprints he had crafted. She admired his sharp mind.

He led her to the circle of pines, sat down, and beckoned her into his lap. She took him up on his offer and leaned into him. She let him weave flowers and pine needles into her hair. He wasn’t very good at it, but the attempt was charming in its own way. His care, his touch. It provided a sort of euphoria that the lotus leaves couldn’t.A kinder one. A safer one, without the horrid fall.

She was glad that he waited for her to get herself together.

#Kuvira #Baatar Jr #Baavira #Legend Of Korra #Fanfiction

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twitchesandstitches · 5 years

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How Tsuyu Got Big

Some time after they had become proper adult heroes, Izuku had figured out a way to imbue the power of One For All into others, and he’d found that it had an… unusual effect on the heroines.

They didn’t just get powered up. They got big.

His mother had grown bigger than their entire street. Uraraka could hold their old academy in her hands. Jiro made skyscrapers look small. Mina was even bigger than that. And all of them, by some process Izuku didn’t understand but suspected had something to do with One For All giving them a body capable of sustaining its granted power indefinitely, became outrageously, impossibly curvaceous. Inexplicably hyper-milky breasts growing bigger than a huge portion of their bodies, hips wider than several feet across (proportionately, at least), and monstrously big backsides.

And they had the same amount of power One For All could manifest at its peak, available all the time and expressed in their massive bodies, merging with their Quirks. He felt it was his duty to make all his friends the very best they could be.

Tsuyu, Froppy, deserved that.

Izuku very gently held Tsuyu’s hands, gazing up into her inhuman eyes; big, adapted for the dark and the depths, heavy black hair hanging long over her face and with the slightly unreal sheen of unique hydrophobic strands.

She was hunched over, her spine curved in such a way that her shoulders were just pushed out like that, her chest thrust down and her head tilted up. Her body seemed built to be at least try to be quadrupedal all the time. And factor in the inhuman projection of her face, the toxic smell of the slime upon her skin, the webbing between her fingers or the way a tongue as wide across as her arm had a habit of poking from her lips…

The deck was stacked against heteromorphs like her. There was a reason that so many villains were people whose Quirks marked them as other to the rest of the world, even in this beautiful new age of uniqueness. Tsuyu was a frog woman, and she didn’t look conventionally human, or entirely photogenic. The modern camera lingered on heroic bodies not so different from the humans of the past, and shied away from those with bodies even more unique than their Quirks were.

There was an assumption that villain equaled heteromorph.

Izuku swallowed, his hands gently cradling Tsuyu’s much larger hands. No, perhaps not the right image, he thought. Her hands were wider than his, the fingers longer, but they were also slimmer. They didn’t have that much mass, and when she squeezed back, it was genuinely surprising how strong her grip was.

How did he even say it, he wondered? How to get across how much he admired her, even idolized her, for never giving up no matter how badly she was treated as a heroine for being a heteromorph? How to say something like that, without implying he thought her Quirk counted as a disadvantage? Without offending her, or being cruel…?

He had no idea how to say it, and he was too scared to try.

He was also a little bit distracted by how pretty Tsuyu was – or at least, seemed to him. Familiarity, it is said, breeds contempt, but it also breeds love; affection; and every feature blossoms into perfect loveliness. The heart can be like its own magnifying glass.

“It’s okay,” Tsuyu said softly.

He swallowed. How did she know what he was thinking…?

Gently, softly, she leaned upwards, taller than him even hunched over and built for crouching and four legs, and kissed him on the forehead.

Her lips made his skin tingle. Faint traces of poison sunk into his skin, not painful but, electrifying, like his blood was several degrees warmer. He felt a little bit woozy, not just from Tsuyu kissing him.

Focus! He told himself.

“I...” he started. He shook his head and started again. “I don’t know anyone who deserves this more than you. But… are you sure?” he hesitated. “I haven’t done this with someone whose Quirk is built in, like yours. I don’t really know what will happen.”

Tsuyu’s expressions could be hard to read, but she seemed unsurprised. “I always wanted to be the biggest hero I could be, do everything I could to help other people.” She looked at her hands. Broad, webbed, shining slightly with her bodily secretions. She’d always loved herself, even when it marked her as other in this day and age. A freak, a villain to be. And, if she had been born in older days, an inhuman monster.

They were, all the same, hands that could swim fast to people drowning. Her leg muscles could propel her farther, her body breath underwater. She could do things no one else could, and she would never be ashamed of what she was.

“It amplifies Quirks,” she said thoughtfully. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Izuku said. He let go of her hands, and he thought of the crystalline network of power stretching back from him, to the first user of his own Quirk. “My Quirk stockpiles power and while the basic use is to boost my strength, it can do the same to Quirks. And when I share it with others, it boosts their Quirks.” And, for reasons he wasn’t entirely clear on, when he did it to women, they always became extremely big. A latent gigantification Quirk that became active when he powered them up, perhaps? “To about the same level that it does for my own abilities, but, uh, I haven’t done it with anyone with powers like you, Tsuyu.”

The implication was clear: it might super mutate you. You get treated bad enough as you are now. Are you okay with this?

Tsuyu nodded grimly. “I want to be the best heroine I can be. Don’t care if I look like a villain, or what people think a villain looks like. I want...” she looked at her mutant hands again. “...I want to make a world where being a villain is always about what you do, not because you look different from everyone else.”

She is the best heroine, Izuku thought faintly, his heart fluttering. “Then, if you’re sure…?”

Tsuyu nodded. “I am.”

He swallowed, taking her hands once more. “Then, um. All I have to do is touch you, or if you’re touching me, so, I suppose this is fine...”

Tsuyu tilted her head. Her eyes were fixed upon him and he had a vague feeling of a what a fly might feel like. “May I kiss you.”

The question was so unexpected he blurted out, “Um, okay!”

Her mouth closed around his own. Not a kiss to the forehead or cheek, something chaste and platonic. This was… very much not platonic at all. Her arms at the moment were bare, her cheek and neck slid against his skin, and she gripped him in a light hug, and her skin made his body sing in a sweet, painless burn.

Her poisons, as gentle and loving as Tsuyu herself, seeped into his body, digging in and anchoring there, and he felt his body relax as her kiss deepened. A passionate kiss, an intense kiss; her hands squeezed around him even though her fingers didn’t move, the same sticky pad modifications that she could use to cling to walls anchoring onto his arms. She could squeeze without even gripping!

Her body was cooler than normal, strong and sliding against him like she intended on simply keeping him there forever; her breasts pressed heavily against his torso, his skin locking against them and sealed to her, and her lips oozed a frothy, delightful substance that made his head light, his tongue fizzle.

He relaxed against her, into her, and as Tsuyu straightened up, allowing her body to hold him up with her sticking-to-things ability, he let the power of One For All flow into her.

Nine generations of power, including his own refinement of the generational flame, went from him, and the flames of it flowed into her. A sun-power, a blazing engine of heroic ability with the resolve of heroes on the same level of goodness as All Might himself, their determination and will alive in these embers-

For a moment, Tsuyu thought she felt nine minds regarding her. One, very close at hand, still kissing her and she felt the worshipful and naked admiration that shook her, in a pleasant way. Another was distant, burning but not yet there, and yet familiar, and doing the spiritual equivalent of giving her a thumbs up.

Seven others were there. Old. Bright and strange, regarding her with a cool intensity honed over many years of being heroes in some of the darkest times of recent history. She felt their power, felt that they were real, and they pressed upon her mind, examining her minutely, passing their judgment

And she thought she saw shadowy figures, burning with great light from within, and they raised their hands in affirmative salute. “You got this,” said the voice of a woman.

Power flooded into Tsuyu like a dam abruptly filled to maximum capacity; light – no, fire – not that either, a sun bursting inside her, she didn’t have words for what it felt like but all her muscles swelled up and were glowing, she felt plugged into the grid of the entire world, she was gazing right into the secret mind of the cosmos and it gave her a high five, her mind blazed and her heart beat fast and something in her grew.

Tsuyu gasped, breaking the kiss and stepping back on her webbed, flipper-like feet. Her body glowed a brilliant green, the power settling down.

There was a slight sense of pressure within her. It wasn’t insistent or painful, a delightful flow around her, like a big blanket slowly being peeled away so she could flex herself.

“What is this...” Tsuyu took a breath, sighing in wonder. “Oh, Izuku… is this how you feel all the time, it feels so… nice...”

And the pressure broke, and she became… herself.

Tsuyu felt the world pull away from her. Her bones, her muscles, her skin tingled and shimmered as she glowed a brighter green, and then she grew upwards!

Up Tsuyu grew, going from a fairly average height (not counting how she had to hunch) to a far greater size, her new power amplifying her body’s stature to one that could properly contain what had been given to her. In moments she became taller than the buildings around her, homes and businesses and skyscrapers very quickly below her face – no, her shoulders. She ascended past them, her sides and hips soaring above them, her body growing bigger and bigger and BIGGER and showing no signs of stopping, glowing so brightly she was like a gentle secondary sun, closer to hand.

Izuku had already taken many steps back, familiar with what the change would do (his mother, Uraraka and several heroines had already gotten very big, very fast), but he wasn’t prepared for her going almost instantly from her original size to this spectacle. The area went dark: ‘where did the day go?! Why is everything dark!? Oh, oh!

How big is she getting now!?’

Tsuyu hit her full size fast, ballooning almost instantly to a new size that cast a shadow over much of Japan, shrouding mountains and cities behind her. It was beyond any biological possibility, her power so great she was making the square-cube law a joke. Even the biggest skyscraper in all Japan was shorter than her knee, and seemed no bigger than a stick toy to her. Izuku, carried up on her expanding foot and now resting on a webbed toe bigger across than several street, looked up and saw nothing of the sky but Tsuyu.

She had been averaged sized. Now she was at least a mile tall. Five thousand, two hundred and eighty feet of Froppy.

Beneath her, the city was unharmed, her body pressing against it so softly that though it should have been annihilated by her growth, her skin simply sank around every building and person and the smallest animals to even the ants, making quite sure it wasn’t doing any harm. Izuku, later, would wonder if it was a function of One For All to limit the collateral damage potential or Tsuyu’s own subconscious forcing her body to do no harm, or perhaps both mixing up in a shield against their own potential effect on the world.

Traffic stopped cold as people halted and stared up at the monumental sight above them and around them; her thighs filled up the sky, her hips blocked out the sun, her hair was a monstrously vast curtain above. Izuku couldn’t even make out most of her now, just a general sense of her outline and an impression of bigness, but he knew it wasn’t done yet.

The height was just one growth stage.

Those powerful legs, capable of delivering wall-shattering kicks or propelling her across a street, began to swell. The power granted to her settled down and now that her body was at the right scale to express it, One For All went to work finishing up the renovation. Her legs expanded, with a faint tearing noise as her clothes rode up! Her legs were already pretty big, and they went from just big to smacking together as they swelled outwards. Thigh muscles grew heavy and thicker around than her arms, the soft fat of her legs making them look like a deceptively solid chunk.

Out they went, and up rode her pants; the legs shredded off entirely, leaving only a slim section of new shorts now riding up really high, and stretched to the limit. Tsuyu shifted slightly as her hips, widening just as much as her thighs, finished growing out to their full size, and she wobbled in a brief stagger as one side stabilized, and then the other. Her hands came down, and rested against hips broader across than four whole Tsuyus! Her whole body became significantly thicker, even at the waist, so that she was enormously curvy, but her hips were the biggest part of her.

There was a faint sound; Tsuyu’s calm face still betrayed a hint of her embarrassment as her butt expanded to the same obscene degrees as her hips, swelling out into two gigantic globes rising as high as her elbows, consuming most of her thighs. The huge shelf wobbled behind her, and her shorts vanished into a kind of improbable thong. It was a miracle it even survived.

Izuku, from his view below, saw her body growing and blotting out more of the sky, and her pants just… disappearing, for the most part, and more Tsuyu wobbling into view. He was extremely red and in no position to comment on anything.

She wasn’t done yet, either. While her hips had finished growing, legs disproportionately slim below the knee compared to her huge thighs and hips but still very strong, her bust wobbled. Her breasts swelled too, overtaking her shirt and growing several dozen cup sizes in seconds… and then three dozen after that, beyond the limit of any conventional bra size; they flopped out, so heavy she almost fell forwards, their massive swells curving from chest to belly, covering that part of her body completely, and projecting out almost four feet from her point of view, and perhaps six feet around each.

Below, two additional shadows, not quite so huge as the mountain-spanning one behind her, grew at the front of her shadow. The people gaped; no giant heroine had ever been this big! Some were more proportionately buxom, yes, but… this tall, with this much combined curves? It was just unheard of!

Now her Quirk was harmonizing with the power given to her, and her throat bulged. Her mouth opened impossibly wide as her lips thickened, expanding so large they dominated most of her face but for her flattened nostrils, and the bulge in her throat got bigger; Tsuyu panted, slime dripping out in huge globs that rained down and captured whole streets in a crystallizing ooze that left the people quite woozy and happy. And a hint of tongue rolled out of her mouth, a lot bigger than usual, and slid it. It looked bigger than before, larger than her arm. It kept extending out, and the bulge in her throat just got bigger.

It flopped out of her mouth. Thicker than her arm… bigger than her head, no. Wider than her whole body. No, bigger than that, a massive and prehensile slab of tongue curling with inhuman dexterity, and she unfurled it to its full length, and it stretched out over a full mile into the sky. She then slurped it back up, just a little edge poking out into her huge lips, and somehow she managed to pack it all away.

The rest of her froggy traits got amplified as well; her skin turned a faintly shimmering tone that suggested sliminess, or at least a moist touch; her jaws flexed more easily as she adjusted it around her tongue, briefly stretching wide enough that she could have swallowed something as big as she was. A set of feathery gills like an axolotl, unnecessary but perhaps for show or something from One For All, appeared on her sides. And her body continued to change, mostly internal; it would be sometime, for example, before anyone learned that her stomach had been converted into a kind of extra dimensional storage space, bigger on the inside, or that her poisons were now strong enough to affect a whole continent with a single droplet and overwhelm them with soothing euphoria.

Her breasts swelled again, heavy with something that wasn’t exactly milk but was close enough. Wet spots appeared at the front of her shirt, but she wasn’t entirely aware of it, nor just how productive she’d abruptly become. Her body wobbled again, as if for emphasis, and then the green glow faded.

And like that, it was done.

Tsuyu took a moment or two as the sensations of change stopped and she looked down at herself, and how much more of her there was. Wonderingly, she touched a massive breast, yelping at how sensitive it felt, and the liquid packed inside. She turned and made a soft, curious rumble at how far back her butt extended, taking up so much mass!

Then she looked down, and down, and further down. She squinted, trying to make out the city below.

Izuku, getting an idea of what was going through her mind, called out, “Think small! Like, like an egg in a microwave! Spread it out and imagine the power being turned down, as much as you can!”

She shouldn’t have been able to hear him, but it seemed One For All accounted for that as well. Tsuyu slowly dwindled, and gradually the sky was revealed once more. Over the span of several minutes, she shrank down to a more manageable size, descended past skyscrapers and apartment buildings, back down to street level, until she was about twelve feet tall or so. Incredibly big, but manageable. The same couldn’t be said of her outrageous curves.

Tsuyu glanced down, looking very disoriented by the experience. She absently put a hand on one oversized breast, and it sloshed at her touch. “Hrm,” she said. “Uh, that didn’t get any smaller.” Her power-engorged curves had gotten smaller, in all honesty, but from her point of view it may not have been apparent. Her backside was still a shelf dominating the street, and her breasts wouldn’t have been able to fit into even the roomiest doorway designed for the Quirkless. Her clothes were marginally roomier, though.

“Eep,” Izuku squeaked.

“Thank you for this,” Tsuyu said, leaning over – providing a huge view of her cleavage in the process – and gently picking him up. She kissed him again.

It took not long after that to make the news; the giant heroines, all whom were known to be acquaintances of the hero Deku, had been something of a mystery for a while, expanding from nowhere to become absolutely massive buxom giants unrelated to their Quirks at all. Their huge personalities and engorged assets had made them highly popular, but until this point…

Absolutely none of them were as big as Tsuyu, and it was a revolution in thought when she rose up from her full size, rising from the ocean, and cradled in her hands was an entire fleet, sunk and feared lost.

The world’s biggest, strongest heroine was here. Froppy had already made her debut, but the sight of her striding across the horizon, one mile tall and gently swallowing the ships whole only to spit them back out ashore, their passengers ecstatic to thank their heroine…

Well, it was a small wonder she hit Number One Hero in the global rankings, almost instantly.

#/#//#///#////#/////#queued #my writing #fics #crossthicc!izuku #crossthicc!tsuyu #crossthicc!bnha #bnha growth AU

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kentuckywrites · 5 years

Text

To Be Alive

A commission for @deltheor ! Pongo and Sydney go out for a night on the town, but their time together is riddled with insecurities and obstacles.

The argument could be made that mimeosomes weren’t actually alive. Sure, there were human consciousnesses controlling them, but that wasn’t the same as being in them. Too many people believed in the idea that these bodies were disposable, that these bodies weren’t real, simply empty husks blessed with human intelligence.

Sydney knew that his mimeosome would never compare to his real body. It felt close to the original, but there was always this sense that lingered in the back of his mind, always there, prominent but not all powerful. This body wasn’t alive. It was a machine that he could control.

Despite this train of thought, Sydney had to admit that there were times he thought he was truly alive. Sometimes he’d get it after a successful bounty mission. Sometimes he’d get it after drinking too much booze.

And sometimes, Sydney would feel alive thinking about Pongo.

It was hard not to think about him now, hard not to feel so alive. Sydney hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in that night, yet following after Pongo, watching how his eyes became mirrors for the midnight sky...he was hooked. Intoxicated, drunk off of what Pongo was doing to him. It was messing with his brain, this feeling, but Sydney wasn’t about to complain. They had the whole night to kill, the whole night to be alive.

He wasn’t the only one alive tonight. The whole of NLA was bursting at the seams with life, bright city lights and evening ventures. Pongo seemed in his element, walking on the sidewalk next to Sydney. If he had been anyone else, his voice would’ve been overtaken by the night life. But Sydney could hear him talking, clear as day, a soothing and calming presence that made him forget about how unsettling the commercial district could be. At least they wouldn’t be out on the street for long. Pongo’s plan for their date - fuck, that still felt so strange to Sydney, this was a date - was to go to the diner, get something nice to eat. And he’d mentioned something about dancing? Sydney couldn’t remember the last time he’d danced, but he knew Pongo was passionate about it, and so the prospect warmed his heart.

“...and so Danniel and I were able to give Luciel his cold medicine!” Pongo was in the middle of an elaborate tale, “It was a fun outing, though I always feel I could have made a better impression. I was something of a mess back when I was still figuring myself out.”

Sydney chuckled. “You probably made a better impression than you think. You’re...well, kind and friendly, fun to be around.”

He suddenly became aware of a hand wrapping around his own. Pongo gave him a wide grin, topped off with a faint line of blush.

“Something tells me your opinion is biased, but I have definitely grown since then. A year ago I do not think you could have tolerated me.”

“You underestimate me. I still would’ve thought you were cute.”

And Pongo’s blush grew stronger, amplified further when they passed by one of the many street lamps.

They prepared to cross the street. Pongo watched the crosswalk light as cars raced past. The wind they generated pushed back Sydney’s braid; he inhaled sharply as he caught the faint scent of baked bread. Made sense, they were close to the bakery. He peered past Pongo, seeing that yes, the bakery was open, even at this late hour.

But he also saw people. Lots and lots of people, walking along, minding their own business and enjoying their time away from work. Their images flickered in the light of the street lamps, then slowly, surely, heads began to turn. Eyes began to stare at him, through him. They began to tear Sydney apart through sheer judgement, ripping at his lungs and heart and brain and -

“Sydney?”

Sydney blinked. Pongo was a few steps ahead of him now, on the street. The crosswalk light had turned green.

Their hands were still entwined.

“Y-Yeah, I’m coming.” He stammered, and together they crossed the street. Once his feet hit the sidewalk again Pongo squeezed his hand. It sent a sudden shock through his systems, combating the eyes and all they were making him feel.

“Hey...are you okay?” Pongo asked, his voice gentle and unseeming.

“I’m fine!” Sydney responded quickly.

“...”

Sydney didn’t notice Pongo had stopped walking until he felt the tug on his hand, a pull backwards. He turned to face the light of his life, whose brow was furrowed.

“You know you mean the world to me, right?”

The eyes that were tearing into him suddenly retreated into the night.

Pongo noticed the effect that had on him and smiled. “I want you to be happy! And if anything or anyone bothers you tonight, I will not hesitate to - as humans say - give them the aged numbers.”

Sydney raised a pierced eyebrow.

“Wha - do you mean give them the ol’ one two? And why do you keep saying that?”

“Saying what?”

“That thing - as humans say. You’re human.”

Pongo blinked once. “...I suppose that is a topic for dinner then.”

Before Sydney could say anything more, Pongo took the lead, and the gentle pull of his hand pushed him onwards. “Now come on! The night is still an infant and there is much to do before it matures!”

And without further conversation, Sydney was led to the Repenta Diner. Neon lights and drunken bastards greeted his view, an ode to an unspoken celebration. No eyes clawed their way through his skin now, but the rancid stench of alcohol and bad decisions clouded his mind, made him tense up. Pongo squeezed his hand again - he must have felt it too, or was trying to reassure Sydney. Whatever it was, it was akin to a drug, his own special dosage. Sydney found himself grinning even when they stepped inside, when he realized how calm it was.

A server stood at the podium in front, and Pongo entered quick conversation with her. She was a pretty thing, hair cut in a short bob and freckles lining her cheeks. She led them to a table near a window, a small two-person booth. Sydney took notice of where they were, just how visible they were. Sure, the window seats weren’t in the center of the diner, but here, everyone could look their way. Here, everyone would stare at them - at him.

Pongo sat down, and Sydney joined him, though his reaction was slower, more distant. The server didn’t linger, placing the menus on the table and wishing them a nice meal before going back to her post - had she cast a side eye at Sydney then? He shivered, his hand clutching his lower arm underneath the table. Pongo slid one of the menus his way before taking the other for himself. Sydney remembered the days where menus were paper, protected by aged sleeves of plastics. The diner tried to replicate the effect, though the plastic was too new, it didn’t have the same charm.

“So…” Sydney said, trailing off. Damn, why couldn’t he think of anything to say? His mouth remained partially opened as his lips struggled to communicate a topic of interest.

Pongo came to the rescue, his head popping up over the menu. “See anything good? I adore the roast coaletri, I usually get it with a side of mashed potatoes and seasoned with sona herbs - OOH, and sometimes I get the golden sardine rice bowl, those are good before a long day of BLADE missions because they are so quick to make -”

Sydney chuckled. “I’ll have the same thing you’re having. I trust your judgement.”

“Roast coaletri it is!” Pongo chirped, “And then afterwards we can talk desserts, if you are not full after dinner that is - I always get a caramel macchiato with some small vanilla cookies to dunk in it, it is super yummy and simple -”

Sydney didn’t want to tune out, but he did. Pongo was excited, he felt bad for letting his mind wander, but the diner was quieter than outside. That had benefits, sure, but it also had its downsides. He could hear people talking from a few feet away, the people in the booths behind Pongo, behind Sydney, the small discussions as people walked past. The eyes began to glue themselves back on to him, but this time they attached to Pongo too. Weird looks, glares and glances, accusing and full of false superiority. His grip on his arm tightened.

His hand remained buried there even when their waiter came around, got their orders. And almost as soon as their waiter departed, a piece of conversation broke through from behind him.

“...the bastard that Brainjacked the entire fucking city…”

Sydney heard it, but Pongo was the one to perk up. His eyes darted back and forth, between Sydney and the voice that had been coming from behind him. Two men, two friends. Two voices lined with bitterness.

“That’s him?”

“Yeah, you can smell the entitled sense of pride from a mile away.”

“What kind of sick fuck would even do that to us?”

“Dunno, guess craving power can do that to ya.”

“Hey, who’s he with anyways? Looks like...no way, that’s Pongo, the kid Elma picked up two years ago.”

“Really? I’ve heard so many good things about him. Interceptor, right?”

“Yeah, a good one at that. Can’t believe he’d stoop to that fucker’s level.”

Sydney started to die.

The entire night, he’d felt alive. Now, his heart was shattering, his limbs refused to move another muscle - in fear? In acceptance? He felt something prick at the corners of his eyes, and in the moment he wiped away the tears, Pongo had disappeared from his seat. Sydney’s eyes widened, looked forward, looked behind for him -

“Good evening, gentlemen!”

Oh no.

Pongo was smiling, but something was off about it. Sydney saw it, the underlying emotion contained within it. Rage.

“Uh, hey,” One of the men started, but Pongo was quick to continue.

“Forgive me for dropping the eaves, but I could not help but overhear that conversation you were having. I wanted to clarify something for you. The man I am having dinner with did not Brainjack the city.”

“Wh - you gotta be joking, you sure those eyes o’ yours work?”

“Why, yes, they work perfectly fine, and I can say with full faith that the man I am having dinner with is incredibly sweet. He is sometimes scared about letting people get close to him, because he thinks he will hurt them, but I know he would never hurt me.”

The other man laughed. “Oh, that’s real naive. He might be fooling ya, but we all know he’s a fuck-up. Assholes like him never change.”

Sydney expected Pongo to crack then - hell, Sydney was cracking now, the shards of his heart scattering across the tile floor. But instead of lashing out, Pongo’s smile grew wider. That would’ve been good, but this smile…

It was dangerous.

“Well,” Pongo said, “By that logic, I should walk away. Because that means no matter what I say, I could not convince you of the truth. As you said, assholes never change. Have a good evening.”

And Pongo joined Sydney at the table again, folding his hands together on the table, not giving either man a chance to respond. Sydney’s lips had parted, words escaping, thoughts consuming. The tears kept overflowing, but they’d picked up some happiness along the way, washing away the old sad trails. With any luck these new tears would work as adhesives, gluing the broken pieces of his heart back together.

“Th-Thanks for that...you really didn’t have to -” Sydney began, but was soon interrupted.

“I did. People get so hung up on the past that they blind themselves when it comes to change.” Pongo told him, “No one knows how to move on and let go. It is one of the parts about humanity that I despise.”

Sydney blinked at the reference to humanity again, a topic promised but not discussed. “It’s hard, I guess. I know I haven’t really moved on, but I guess it’s because...because it won’t stop haunting me.”

Pongo’s gaze softened, the caged anger retreating back into his subconscious, back enough that his innocent and beautiful features were restored. “I can be your...goodness, what was the film - I can be your Ghostbuster then! If your past comes back, I can chase it away.”

“You’re already doing a great job,” Sydney admitted with a sad grin, “Keep up the good work.”

Above the voices, above all the late night gossip and heels clicking on tile floors and televisions broadcasting the news for the night, Sydney heard a song. A chorus of voices, then lyrics, soft and blending with the acoustics. It was an old Earth classic, but he couldn’t place a name to the song -

“Kiss From A Rose.”

Pongo’s cheeks flushed up as he spoke the name. “A good slow song to dance to.”

Sydney took the hint. “The dance floor’s pretty empty, and our food may not be here for a bit.”

Pongo offered out his hand and Sydney was quick to take it, pure and light skin meshed together with darkened and scarred. He let Pongo lead him to the dance floor, a considerable open space uncluttered by tables and people. There was even a stage built into the right wall, a spot Pongo frequented on nights he didn’t have work. Sydney hadn’t been able to see him in action, but he was told Pongo had a great voice.

...When had Pongo wrapped his arm around Sydney’s waist, and when had they gotten this close?

Pongo used the sudden lack of space between them to his advantage. His nose booped Sydney’s, a small show of affection, a small show of reassurance. The dance floor wasn’t empty, but it was theirs now, theirs to dominate and theirs to control.

The fact that they were slow dancing didn’t stop Pongo from adding his own flourishes. Sydney let go of his insecurities, dropping them gently, nothing shattering, nothing breaking. His body moved in sync with Pongo’s, a gentle but guiding force that the music had inspired. When the chorus, Pongo mouthed the words, a dramatic reenactment complete with eyebrow wiggles and winks. Sydney laughed, actually laughed, and that was when Pongo’s mouth found a dance floor of its own.

He couldn’t easily compare it to anything they’d done before. Their past kisses had been raw energy, sparks flying and bodies colliding. But this one...it was so raw, so passionate, it held some semblance of their first kiss, the one from above the West Gate. Sydney leaned into it, let the music drown out everything, everyone.

This was it. The past was dead, a harmless ghost. That night, with Pongo...Sydney, the real Sydney, was alive.

#xenoblade x #To Be Alive: Short Story #Sydney #writing commission #this was SO MUCH FUN #and I'm sorry it took a bit longer than I thought it would ;~;#but i still hope u like it!!#also kiss from a rose is a GOOD SONG OKAY

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elane-in-the-shadows · 6 years

Text

Red Queen Fan Fiction - Dark Heart Bright Lightning Chapter 4

Attention! Contains War Storm spoilers. Attention!!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Find this on wattpad and on AO3

Bones

Maven POV

They dragged me out of my cell into some kind of locker room and let me sleep for a day. Next thing I knew, I woke and was urged to clean and shave – shaking, I insisted to do this by myself – and then was dressed up and styled and fettered. I could hardly focus on my face in the small mirror, a massive migraine combined with nausea and tiredness drowning me in place of the silent stone. Those weren’t new sensations, but more intense than before. So strange to feel worse without silent stone, and although I wasn’t sure if my face betrayed that, I looked horrible still.

Like in the cell, there was sweat on my skin, unusual for a burner. But I pulled myself together, trying my best to stop the shivering at least. I glanced over my shoulder, as haughty as possible. Ives leaned against the wall, eyeing the other jailers in a blend of threat and boredom. She cocked her head. “Done?” she asked.

I smiled, noticing how odd that looked from the corners of my eyes. I took a meaningful step away, the cue for the Arven jailer to shove me aside with a deceivingly soft insistence.

It had to be only a few minutes with the manacles and they already chafed me. They didn’t contain silent stone, only heavy metals I could melt down if I summoned enough heat. But I figured that would be futile, that I’d fail. My ability was mediocre at best, and the lingering weight of silence continued to press the power out of me. It was like a memory I could never erase. Maybe it would war with Mother’s voice in my head while I waited for the heavy, lead-like white noise to shift into the whispered words I’d grown familiar to.

It had been too much to hope for from the start, hadn’t it?

All I could wish for was for her voice to become indecipherable with time, although that was likely to only drive me closer to insanity.

On the threshold to the corridor, the Arven man pulled harshly on my manacles, making me flinch. Ives glared at him but I laughed. I just realized: the flamemaker bracelets I’d craved to get back were now replaced by fetters, and in this moment, I yearned for them even more. I almost hoped to catch a random spark – maybe by drumming the manacles against each other? – so I would feel the fire chase way the silent ache in my bones.

Cassie Ives was a traitor. I’d been aware of it, and accepted how she took insolent pride in that, for the sake of having her company instead of no one’s. But now she betrayed that paltry gift as well, when she told me goodbye on the airfield.

“I belong in the capital,” she said, her mismatched eyes adamant as she waited for me to enter the plane.

“Unlike me, you mean?” I snorted.

“Unlike you and the rest of your family,” she countered.

I almost smiled, although I didn’t feel amused at all. She was still abandoning me, like all of them, and I was still nauseous and weak, my mood dim. But I returned to what I always did and prepared myself for dealing with the new set of jailers and enemies and the brother I hadn’t seen yet. With as much posture I could muster, I spun on my heel. They couldn’t take faux pride from me.

I’d never particularly enjoyed flying and of course, this trip wasn’t improved by my current state. The hum of the plane roared as loud in my ears as the ocean beneath would, the sight of the sea not making this any less uncomfortable or scary, and thus a whole choir trio of torment was formed.

Sunk into my seat, the white noise soon became the worst of them, since every other minute, I believed to hear words among the hum, words whose meanings were impossible to grasp but dangerously tempting to guess.

The relief I’d experienced in the Bowl of Bones became short-lived. Maybe I was getting paranoid, never able to trust my own mind again, with or without whispers and silent stone. But I knew that already, didn’t I? No one could fix me, but I’d have to find a way to deal with that, as always.

The Maven from two months ago would’ve started to analyze, to scheme, to machinate already: I would’ve found out as much as possible about those around me and used it to my advantage. Mother had taught me, and I’d done my best to internalize her instructions. But it was never enough. How could it? She was a whisper, compared to her I remained a mere human, barely above a Red in ability, and she’d remind me frequently the difference between Red and Silver lied as much in attitude as ability, so I had to make the best of it and excel at the former.

I did what I was taught: I watched. Three guards surrounded me, an Arven silencer, a Newblood nymph from the Scarlet Guard, and a burner, distant Calore cousin. The flaws of this set-up were obvious – these three had been chosen for their abilities which were able to neutralize mine. But this way, my other strengths – if I might say so at the moment – were underestimated. It was too easy to figure out what to say, how to prod and tempt them.

Was the nymph truly Monfortan, or her uniform a fraud to confuse me? Did her country and the Scarlet Guard know about me, and could they accept the deceptions and sour compromises enabling my survival?

Did the silencer resent me, blaming me and not Mare or the Samos, for the deaths of his relatives?

And was my cousin Cornelia really supporting Cal’s abdication? Or would she be more than happy to conspire to reclaim the throne with me?

And why did they, whoever they who kept me alive were, even risk that – bringing in more people? They could’ve put Cal and me alone in the cabin, letting us confront each other so our flames would meet, neutralizing each other.

But on the other hand, the heat of that discussion might’ve carried too much risk, so much the Calore brothers might’ve taken this plane off the sky to drop us into the dark sea. Maybe for once, Cal had been bright enough to figure that out from the start, unlike me, or he simply procrastinated facing me as long as possible.

I would be ready for all of that options. Fearless. But not now. Now, I was too tired for any of that, and all I could do deal with myself was to rest, hoping to sleep off the week in the Bowl of Bones.

The humidity soaked everything on the island of Tuck. It dwelled in the wet ground, muddying every path, it saturated the air with heavy, cold fog, and the noise of the violent sea just topped the dread of this place. I buried my chin in my shawl and coat and hugged myself, as good as possible with manacles. I stepped into the soppy sand, although I hated the way it sullied my shoes. All of it was disgusting and I’d never planned to come here again. But despite its ugly weather, the island had a draw. Not only for the courtesy call to Mother’s grave I was to make. I stood on the despicable beach and stared at the relentless waves of the sea, mighty surges that could swallow me easily. I didn’t want that, but I liked to imagine – to tell myself how close the end might be, to play with the danger. Like a warning to myself. I often did this, yet I knew a part of me just liked staring into an abyss, as if that helped me understand the abyss I called “myself”.

The guards shuffled behind me, growing impatient. A small joy, one I gladly prolonged. Soon they started to cough, as if I was too stupid to get a hint when I only enjoyed playing petty games, one of the few joys I’d left.

Before I could give in and turn around, Cornelia came for me, luring me with a faint warm breeze I couldn’t withstand. But as I shifted my stance, the air had cleared and I saw more of the island and its airfield and hangar. It stopped my silly notion of distracting myself from the reality: I was a prisoner of the Scarlet Guard and its Monfortan allies who had claimed this island for themselves before ever I came here, and they were back at showing their flags.

Bile rose in my throat and desperation won me over. It urged me to turn this into a scene. I hissed and cursed, stepping away from the guards who only side-stepped into a new formation to surround me. Suddenly, the maw of the ocean became tempting again, the wet death preferable to the humiliation and taunts of a public trial and execution staged by Red rats. The nymph bitches of the Lakelands would be glad, although they’d never learn of it.

The guards were hesitating to touch me, but they didn’t leave me the option of fatal escape via drowning – the Newblood nymph was in her element and Arven lowered his silence over me, though hardly with an intensity I couldn’t suffer; I just gritted my teeth. Cornelia, finally, made a move at me, despite being the least effective in subduing me.

I stared at the flamemaker bracelets on her wrists, wishing to catch one of its sparks, to start a fire, even when that was hardly possible with an Arven present. I cackled, imaging he would plunge into the sea, like Mare had gotten rid of Rane Arven in the Bowl of Bones. Even with barely two months of training, she’d been a better fighter than I ever was –

I shivered, despite the new heat wave Cornelia sent my way. I heard a crack, and too late I noticed it wasn’t shiver at all, but a shock of sparks. I spun, aimlessly hoping I could use them when they’d already found their way into the ground.

Before I could look up, I was grabbed by the shoulder. The touch startled me, but its shock was gone when I recognized the man who caused it, the white-haired electricon, Tyton.

“What’s going on here?” he growled, sourly as ever. I didn’t listen to the incompetent stutter of my guards, my eyes fixed on Tyton. Not Mare, then. But if he, a Monfortan, knew about me, I was as good as dead. His eyes met mine, and he didn’t need to say more, not for my sake: The time for hesitation was over, and we’d soon start another show.

The nymph led the way. As a Scarlet guard member, she knew the place best. Arven was the rear, the electricon walked next to me. I watched him unabashedly, in a way that would make looking away more suspicious. But I also wanted to watch him, for another reason than mere caution. The wind lifted his bleached bangs, revealing his dark eyes that sparkled whenever the dim light fell on his face.

Despite the danger and gloom he exuded, he reminded me of Thomas. It wasn’t his looks, although there was a kind of resemblance. But Thomas’s skin had been a few shades darker, his features rather south than east Asian, as Tyton’s were. Tyton was athletic and lean where Thomas had been chubby. No, the resemblance was subtler, there was something about his demeanour and expression that woke foggy memories buried beneath Mother’s manipulations. I’d thought them lost, those ephemeral images of Thomas’s smile and the seconds before and after it, when his dread returned, a fear I hadn’t been able to erase nor even understand, combined with a sense for injustice. Thomas might’ve become a rebel one day, a man ready to destroy someone like me, and I wouldn’t have been able to stop him. And yet he’d seen hope – in me.

When I met Mare, she’d reminded me of him, of the same blend of resignation and dreams. And I encountered, or believed so, the same in Tyton. They weren’t brave for the sake of it but because they were unable to forget what a cesspit this world was. But unlike them, Tyton would never make the mistake of trusting me, and I liked that as well. Because it enabled me to hide one less layer of my fractured self.

Candour. Another thing I cherished in Thomas.

“Are you trying to set me on fire with those stares?” Tyton scowled.

I looked aside as if it meant nothing, catching the sight of a lone person standing in a courtyard cemetery. “That’d hardly work, don’t worry,” I said, shaking my manacles. He hmphed, his gaze gliding from the cemetery back towards our destination.

“But what about you?” asked I. “Can I be certain you won’t electrocute me before we’ve met my brother?”

He stopped, glaring at me with a dark eye. I stared back, almost waiting for another gust to reveal his other eye and his complete expression. It didn’t come. “No need,” said he, “Calore’s already arrived.”

As if I wasn’t a Calore as well, how charming. But indeed, Cal stood recognizable in the shadow of a building, wearing a simple coat like mine, having shed his regalia. The corners of my mouths went up. He might be content with a commoner’s garb, but I missed my old wardrobe. It’d done so much for my image. Now I could only straighten my posture and walk with my head held high as I devoured every twitch in my brother’s stunned face.

The mausoleum stood in the dim path between two buildings, only seeing the light – if it ever found the way to misty Tuck – on certain days, at limited times. I had a Haven calculate the dates for me, and he’d demonstrated how it’d look then. I’d nodded and I had the statue shipped and installed in this spot, chosen carefully. I avoided this place, her grave. She had it all to her own, as a queen’s due, although not as one expected.

Since I’d had the secret service clear and claim Tuck in my name a year before, I’d visited the place only once to pay my respect to Mother’s body, but today was my first time to see her grave in completion. Light marble inlaid with lapis lazuli rose from the high pedestal that stored her bones. A statue was enthroned on it, the Lady Justice with the sword and the scale. Mother had liked the allegory, always laughing at her blindfold. Of course, one would hardly impede her. Elara Merandus owned the truth and she made the law and I had to commission something for her grave while her death had filled me with a void. I’d had no idea how else to describe her life apart from a myth she’d mentioned a few times. But I did my duty, as a year before. I fell on my knees in front of her.

Cal ogled me, disbelieving. “What … ” he stuttered. “What is this … monstrosity?”

I rose and turned to him. “Have you never heard? I conquered the island, and built Mother an appropriate grave. Or,” I sneered, “do you mean me?”

He swallowed and went a step backwards. “I didn’t – “

“Didn’t want me dead?” I said. “Or alive?”

He shook his head and it was exactly like on that other island, or on his throne in Harbor Bay. He had no idea what to do with me. I waited, gave him a chance.

But he did the same. I sighed. “If you have nothing to say, Cal, then this has no point. If you excuse me, I have something better to do.” I walked past him, almost colliding into the guards, and thus implied them to lead me away. They had to have order, didn’t they? They had to know –

“Stop,” Cal commanded and although my guards formed a wall I couldn’t cross, although all of this was merely symbolic, Tyton grabbed my arm and pulled me around. He didn’t let go and I thought I could smell his electricity as Cal approached me. Heat clouded him as always, and while his temperature increased, my bravado waned. This was it, then? He’d finish what Iris, Mare, Julian – so many – had failed to do?

His bronze eyes seemed sad, if he was willing to give me that. I didn’t know what to do with his “compassion”. I wanted to see his hate when he killed me, not his fake pity that was more likely disappointment, over the brother he wished for that I wasn’t. I wouldn’t never give him that, wouldn’t care about him –

“Tyton,” he said, nothing else. Yet the electricon had to know what he meant; I saw sparks in confirmation. Not by Mare’s hand, but I’d still die like my mother, and be buried next to her if I did nothing.

“So Julian had lied,” I whispered.

Cal frowned. “One thing, Maven,” said he. “Why is there no space for you?”

I laughed. Despite the morbidity, I had to. “Finally you understand, Cal? That I’m always lying?”

He winced and waved a hand and Tyton’s sparks and current vanished back into his body before he let go of me, obviously not very willing.

Cal cleared his throat and suddenly patted my shoulder, in the most strange, intimate manner. “Then, Maven, I’ll wait for you to tell us the truth.”

I cackled again, as if I knew anything about the truth when I didn’t know myself.

A/N: Let me be honest, I don’t know whether I’ll continue this. This story is extremely hard for me to write and it eats up the time I’d like to spent with other projects. I know I said this would work in tandem with Paradise Refracted, the Evane story. but exactly this combination only slows down my writing process, since Dark and Bright, despite my interest in Maven, lacks the kind of inspiration I have for other stories. I hope you’ve enjoyed this chapter though and maybe, I’ll get back to it one day.

@moikorolrezni @christineflame @flameandshadowx @znanyjany @runexandra @mcvencallore @caven---malore @i-tried-mare @warstoned @wrenskonos @samanthaslytherin @hannaharies @mareshmallow @redqueenfandom @redqueenforever @artbooks-trash @inopinion @lilyharvord @selenbean-beany @marecalrandomstuff @greenfeldbramlouis @scarletguardsource

#red queen #maven calore #cal calore #war storm spoilers #the therapy club #war storm #tyton the electricon #thomaven #dark heart bright lightning #dhbl ch 4 #red queen fanfiction

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graceverse · 7 years

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Work In Progress (2/?)

Still untitled and still a rough draft but I’m currently on vacation and have very limited access/time to a computer.

I uhh, I only have an account in ff.net and that had not been used in a long, long time. When I’m finally done with my vacation I will get this organized and hopefully turn it into something halfway decent. Maybe. Apologies in advance for all the errors, also still unbeta-ed. I’m going to have to consolidate this with ‘Work In Progress 1’, which means that will also have to be heavily edited/chaged.

So uhm, here it is. This will probably be the first chapter actually. Or just that this will come before this

Summary: It had been so long since he had last seen her and he wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around her and give her the fiercest hug; he remembered the last time she had jumped into his arms, how terribly, frightfully small she had been back then. He needed to be able to wrap his arms around her and allow himself to believe that she was really here, alive and well.

It had been so long since he had last seen her and he wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around her and give her the fiercest hug; he remembered the last time she had jumped into his arms, how terribly, frightfully small she had been back then. He needed to be able to wrap his arms around her and allow himself to believe that she was really here, alive and well.

Arya.

But she stood a few paces behind Lady Mormont, her face completely unreadable, her head held high, reminiscent of Lady Catelyn Stark, proud, cool and distant.

They had come unannounced and had taken them all by surprise Jon had assumed that some Lordling or soldier from the Vale will welcome them to Moat Cailin. He had in fact hoped for that, it would have given him more time to prepare Dany for how the North would probably receive them. He did not expect to be greeted by the black, white and green flags of House Mormont and he was especially taken aback by the Stark sigil, flying high over the banners. There were about fifty men wearing the Stark colors and another fifteen with the rampant black bear sewn on their armor. Not at all threatening, at least.

A tent had been set up for them and Jon was shaken by the immediacy of the meeting between Lady Mormont, Sansa and Dany – such a volatile combination! – only to be thrown into a storm of emotions as soon as he saw Arya.

Jon could not stop his heart from slowly dropping into the cold earth. He could feel a mild panic rising in his chest and he had to use all of his willpower to calm himself down.

Arya will never bend the knee to any Southerner, with or without dragons. He knew that. But he hoped Sansa had at least explained his reason behind giving up his title. Sansa had believed him about the horrors beyond the wall and Arya would have taken Sansa seriously had she told her about.

Had Sana not told Arya about the army of the dead?

Jon tamped down the irrational fear creeping up his spine. But if Arya was aware of the danger heading towards them, surely she would’ve understood why he had to bend the knee?

Perhaps Sansa had been swayed, yet again by that filthy snake Baelish to turn against him. But Sansa could not have been so easily influenced, not after what they have been through. And yet, there was something dreadfully wrong with the way Arya was refusing to even look at him.

Peeking a quick glance at Daenerys, Jon almost breathed a sigh of relief. She had her eyebrows raised, friendly smile on her face and to her credit, looked both slightly impressed and curios at the chosen welcoming emissary of the North: two girls, dark and somber, swaddled in heavy furs and quilted leather. This might be a sight and refreshing sight for her. She had always dealt with grown men, fearsome warriors, men of power in their own rights, but never with Northern girls with steel on their eyes.

But Jon knew Northern girls better. They were not chosen to put Dany and her retinue at ease. Far, far from it. Nothing represented the North better than Lady Mormont and Lady Stark. They were neither soft nor dainty, have no use and no love for the long winding, flowery words of the South. They will more likely be wary and so utterly indifferent with whatever Dany or worst, Tyrion, will have to say to them.

He decided that it was best he opened up the conversation, “Lady Mormont, Ladya Stark.” He gave a small nod towards them, his glance lingering over at Arya. She tilted her head, but her face remained impassive. Jon swallowed hard. This will be a very tricky situation. At least Sansa had not sent Petyr to welcome them. He wasn’t sure how he would’ve reacted.

Somewhere behind him, he distinctly heard Jorah Mormont clearing his throat.

The young Lady Lyanna turned her cold eyes towards him, briefly passing through Ser Jorah, who Jon could imagine was guiltily fidgeting. This was the girl leading his house now. His first cousin. Jon wanted to look at Jorah and (proudly) tell him that his cousin was a force to be reckoned with, but he didn’t have to. Lady Lyanna gave a convincing display of her stern, no non-sense manner when she raised her eyebrows and in an all too clear, all too forceful voice, greeted him with a simple, “Snow.”

A ripple passed through every one inside the room. Glances were made. He could feel eyes boring in the back and sides of his head.

Ah. So.

The fickle minded Lords of the North had decided to take the title that they have given him so many moons ago. After everything that he had gone through in Dragonstone and Eastwatch, he was now back to being the Bastard of Winterfell. It would not have hurt as much, had Arya not been there, silently looking at him, her face unchanged.

Jon did not expect to taste ashes at the back of his mouth as he vividly remembered Lady Lyanna standing up for him, giving him a kind nod, a ghost of a smile as she declared for him. She had been the first one to give him the title King in the North and now he understood why she was here with Arya. Jon’s heart twisted painfully at the contempt and regret clearly shining in her eyes.

Daenerys remained seated, but already Jon could feel her displeasure, it was clear with the way Tyrion had suddenly wobbled up next to him, clearing his voice, “Lord Snow,” the emphasis on the now useless title couldn’t be missed, “has not told us that you will be arriving to welcome us. We have not received any ravens.”

“None were sent.” Lady Mormont answered without a waver in her voice. She looked so thoroughly unimpressed with the Dothraki guards, who admittedly, did not look as menacing, not when they were covered with furs to protect them from the cold that they were so unaccustomed to. “We knew you were coming and if your intention is to march towards Winterfell, there are certain conditions that need to be met before that is allowed. We’re here to make sure that you agree before we let you pass.”

Jon felt bile rising from the pit of this stomach. Lyanna and Arya will not need an army to stop Dany and her army from passing through Moat Cailin, they would just quietly stand by and watch as the Dothraki and the Unsullied, awkwardly plow their way to inches deep of snow. He couldn’t help wincing as he imagines what the Northerners were thinking.

The Dothraki horde that has never even heard of winter, let alone seen snow, has come to save them. Warrior Eunuchs from god knows where, cockles bunch that had never crossed frozen lakes and icy waters, will fight against the army of dead from beyond the wall. They’d find that funny. And deeply insulting.

They haven’t seen the dragons yet, Jon reminded himself. He could still salvage this disastrous meeting.

“Allowed?” Tyrion asked, glancing first at him and then back at Daenerys who has yet to say anything. “It was my impression that you needed our help.”

“We do.” Lyanna answered coolly, as though that cleared everything up. “We have brought some grains and cloaks for your armies.” At this she let out the smallest of smiles, eyes roaming over the shivering Dothrakis huddled at the corner. “Please consider them as our gift of thanks for the Lady and her Dragons.”

It wasn’t a ripple this time, but an audible hiss that filled that room.

Missandei immediately walked towards them, “Lady? You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn,” but she had barely started her usual introduction, the long litany of Danery’s titles, when Arya started rolling her eyes and Lady Mormont, suddenly and effectively cut her off with her usual deadpanned voice, “I know no Queen, but the Queen in the North whose name is Stark.”

And there it was.

A roar erupted inside the tent. Swords were drawn, but Lyanna and Arya barely flinched.

Dany remained seated, but he heard her take a deep breath. Jon instinctively tightened his hands around the pommel of his sword, sure of only one thing: he will die protecting his sister.

“Your King has bent the knee.” It was spoken in an eerily calm voice, the anger simmering just below the surface.

“He is no longer our King.” Lyanna answered with a shrug. “If Jon Snow has decided to bend the knee, then that is his choice. But I have not bent the knee. House Mormont still answers to House Stark, as all the Northern houses do.”

Both Tyrion and Dany had opened to their mouths to say something, but Jon beat them to it, hastily trying to ease the tension. “They have made me their King, your Grace,” Jon said, addressing Dany, looking into her eyes, imploring to her to listen to him. He hoped his tone will be enough to calm her down, “they can and have unmade me King.” He paused, letting that sink in, thankful to not have fumbled at the words, to not have shown how deeply it hurt to have everyone in the North, everyone he had been fighting for, turn their backs on him.

Dany gave him the smallest of nods, which he returned. “Titles mean nothing to me,” he added, looking straight at Lady Lyanna, whose face remained as severe as he had remembered it. “We are all here to fight against the darkness that will soon devour not just the North, but the whole realm. This is neither the time nor the place to pledge allegiances.”

“Allegiances will be discussed once you reach Winterfell. But before we let you pass through Moat Cailin, we are here to kindly request, in behalf of Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell, Queen in the North, that your dragons remain here in Moat Cailin.”

Jon had become, over the many weeks spent together with the Dragon Queen, hyper aware of the many subtle changes in her mood. He had learned to read the tone of her voice, the way she clasped her hands in front of her, the way she would throw her shoulder back, the way her eyes would slowly narrow –he had them all catalogued and remember, it was important that he could read her. He had also learned that Tyrion was just as aware as he was and would react accordingly.

Before Dany could even say anything, Tyrion was quick to take hold of the conversation, “and why would we do that? We need the dragons to defeat the White Walkers.”

Arya gave a long suffering sigh, finally stepping forward so that she was just within arm’s reach. “The White Walkers are not in Winterfell. Not yet, at least. Soon maybe, since Eastwatch had already been breached. All thanks to the dragon wight that you have so generously provided the Night King with.”

Jon thought he misheard Arya. Eastwatch, breached? Dragon wight?

Lyanna gave all of them a withering glare, before stating their condition. “Have your dragons fly over Skagos or Bay of Seals but not over land where they can be targeted, brought down, brought back to life or whatever it is that the Night King does.”

Jon felt sick. He fought the urge to double over and clutch his stomach. He could envision The Night King astride Viserion, ice blue eyes looking down upon them, nostril flaring, and in one swoop of it’s wing, toppling down the towers at Winterfell, breathing blue fire that can freeze and kill and end everything that he held dear.

“How did you…I don’t…understand…” Tyrion looked to Jon and back to Dany who was clutching her chest. Jon could almost feel the sudden sorrow and anger consuming Dany. Her face had crumpled into an agonized grimace at the thought of her dead dragon – her child, being turned into a monster that can and will destroy her, if not stopped.

But how to stop a dragon wight?!

“Bran had seen it. Tormund had reported it. He barely survived when the wall at Eastwatch came crashing down. So you will understand why your dragons must be kept as far away in land as possible.”

“Seen?” Varys who had remained quiet the whole time, asked curiously. “Strange. I had thought Lord Stark is in Winterfell?”

No one paid him any mind. Dany still could not speak. This was a horrible blow to her. It was like losing Viserion all over again but more than anything, whatever advantage they might have had with the Army of the Dead had just significantly decreased.

“And also because you cannot guarantee that when your dragons go hungry, they will not feed upon what little livestock we have left. Winter is here. The dead are coming. So you can either talk amongst yourselves to decide whether our request makes sense or you would rather arrive in Winterfell upon dragons, who quite honestly, have become more of a liability than a weapon to help save us.”

Tyrion, looking quite defeated by two girls who were barely taller than him, helplessly turned to Dany, raising both his hand in an oddly placating way, a move which Jon had seen more than he would like to admit. Dany immediately dismissed whatever Tyrion was about say with a flick of her wrist. “I would like to a council with my Hand and my advisers.”

Arya and Lyanna gave each of them a long hard look, a look only a Northerner can give, conveying their absolute disbelief that a council needs to be held over something as simple as this. The North dealt with practical problems, it comes with trying to survive the harsh land which they have lived upon since the beginning of time. Dragons were dangerous. Dragons can be turned into weapons against them. What more does the Southern fools want to talk about?!

“We’ll leave you to it then,” Lyanna’s displeasure clearly showing with her weary sigh. “But we expect an answer soon. If we’re going to Winterfell, the more we delay, the harder it will be to pass through snow and biting cold.” They did not have to add that it would be harder for them, the Southern army that was promised to help them.

Jon hopelessly watched as Arya and Lyanna left, the howling wind briefly entering the tent, before their Dothraki guards quickly closed the flap. Whatever warmth that was inside disappeared, replaced by the chilling cold that would settle deep into muscles and bones.

Jon had bent the knee, had lost the North and his family, all for a desperately played gamble that was slowly turning out to be mistake.

----

Ok, maybe “mistake” is such a strong word. Hahaha. I hope that wasn’t so bad.

#got fanfic #jon snow #tyrion lannister #daniella tumbleweed #arya stark and lyanna mormont together kicking ass #game of thrones #Arya Stark #Lyanna Mormont

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mrmichaelchadler · 5 years

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Everybody Knows

Anyone familiar with the cinema of Iranian master Asghar Farhadi is well-aware of his tendency to place the inciting incident deep into a suspense yarn, long after we’ve grown accustomed to the characters’ routines. Too often filmmakers feel compelled to shock an audience from the get-go, yet Farhadi understands the importance of immersing us in the rhythms of normalcy before they are ruptured. How less effective would the shower scene in “Psycho” have been had it opened the film rather than occurred around the 40-minute mark? Farhadi’s eighth feature, “Everybody Knows,” is also his first in Spanish, and may be his most gorgeously lensed to date. Pedro Almodóvar’s longtime cinematographer, José Luis Alcaine, fills the opening act with sumptuous, sun-kissed imagery, as a family in Madrid reunites for a wedding. Especially entrancing is the oft-beaming face of Irene (Carla Campra), a teenager whose zest for life radiates through every frame. Possessing a beauty and magnetism evocative of Hailee Steinfeld, Campra commands our attention just long enough for us to worry about her. Whether she’s driving a motorbike with reckless abandon or swinging from the rope of a bell tower, disrupting her aunt’s nuptials, it is Irene who instills in us the gravest sense of unease. We find ourselves perched on the edge of our seat, waiting for something dire to happen, and yet when it does, it is unexpected.

Far stronger than its lackluster buzz from Cannes suggested, this film is yet another testament to Farhadi’s genius in mining immense power from silence and stillness. I’ll never forget the pivotal moment in his previous picture, “The Salesman,” when the camera lingered on an open door until the audience began squirming with dread. In “Everybody Knows,” I was struck more than ever by the director’s deft approach to sound design, subtly likening the thwack of a wiper blade with the throbbing pulse of his characters as they engage in a race against time. After a title sequence set amidst the grinding gears of the aforementioned tower, where every second tics down toward an inevitable clang of bells, the word “time” juts out at us like the heightened utterance of “knife” in Hitchcock’s “Blackmail” every time it resurfaces. Paco (Javier Bardem), the owner of a successful local vineyard, notes that wine is given character and personality courtesy of time, and there’s no question Farhadi would agree that the same could be said about cinema. Time also happens to be what Paco and his old friend, Laura (Penélope Cruz), ultimately seek to buy for themselves in a desperate attempt at staving off irrevocable tragedy. When Laura’s family sullenly watches footage of her sister’s wedding ceremony mere hours after it was recorded, they might as well be peering into the distant past, where unbridled joy was still within one’s grasp.

When Paco’s nephew, Felipe (Sergio Castellanos), climbs up the tower with Irene—Laura’s daughter—they ascend a circular staircase similar to the one in “Vertigo,” and like that immortal location, it has secrets etched in its walls. It’s also haunted by a nagging sense of history repeating itself, as Irene and Felipe become drawn to one another in a way that would appear inexplicable, had raging hormones not been a factor. In their ninth onscreen collaboration, offscreen couple Cruz and Bardem are cleverly cast as former lovers whose past has been repressed for a multitude of reasons, yet we can feel the tension simmering between them every time they’re circling each other’s orbit. The film’s title, which is perhaps stated aloud one time too many, takes on a newfound urgency as the plot thickens and the intimacy once shared between Paco and Laura threatens to upend all they have built. To what extent did the wedding guests know about the pair’s history, and can any of them truly be trusted, even the ones who are of flesh and blood relation? Just as “The Salesman” blurred the line between theatre and reality, we are continuously made to question whether characters are putting on an act. Certain wordless expressions, when recalled poignantly in hindsight, prove to speak volumes.

This is a film of towering emotion, yet rather than surging forth in cathartic outbursts, it consumes our protagonists nearly to the point of paralysis. I was reminded of Nicole Kidman’s claim that she cried for hours when preparing for a close-up in Kubrick’s “Eyes Wide Shut.” That is how Cruz appears throughout much of Farhadi’s film, as ravaged and fiercely protective as the grieving sibling she played in “The Assassination of Gianni Versace.” Bardem has rarely been more vulnerable on film, and his portrayal of a mountainous man in mid-crumble is quietly heartbreaking. Watching him drink in sudden and distressingly sad information is akin to observing melting glaciers dissolve into the ocean. The most life-altering revelations are either whispered or materialize in the form of an untraceable text, though Paco’s wife, Bea (a fiery Bárbara Lennie), provides a welcome counterpoint to the suffocating angst. Her grounded perspective may not be an informed one, yet Farhadi portrays it without judgment, illuminating how persuasive her words are from a certain angle. The filmmaker’s reverence for Arthur Miller continues to inform his intricately layered characters, who are neither lionized nor demonized. Though there are almost too many ensemble players to keep track of upon one’s initial viewing, none exude the sort of cardboard villainy that can be easily dismissed.

Some of Farhadi’s visual ideas don’t quite pay off, such as overhead footage of the partiers that hint at what a remake of Michael Haneke’s “Caché” might be like in the era of drones. Various potential twists raised throughout the picture are much more tantalizing than what is revealed in the final act, which is somewhat obvious and not as tied into the central narrative. Yet like all of Farhadi’s work, “Everybody Knows” is less about the mystery itself than what it unearths in each of the characters’ innermost souls, opening the floodgates to a reservoir of pent-up embitterment. Laura’s husband, Alejandro (Ricardo Darín of “The Secret in Their Eyes”), remains offscreen so long that he becomes a shoo-in for the prime suspect—until he actually arrives halfway through the picture. How he has gone about rationalizing his choices in life may be flat-out exasperating in its willful naiveté, yet Darín makes us understand Alejandro’s need for closure. His happiness relies on a foundation comprised of secrets that cannot be kept indefinitely. It all leads to a climatic sequence impeccably staged by Farhadi, where key moments occur out of view thanks to meticulously timed misdirection on the order of a magician. Our mind fills in the blanks in a way that allows the most frightening events to become branded more vividly in our imagination. As the director noted during our conversation at the Toronto International Film Festival, “Everything that you see within the frame helps you to envision what exists outside of it.”

“Everybody Knows” may not be an instant classic like “A Separation,” but only a rare breed of films ever are. It is superbly acted, richly provocative and never less than enthralling. Farhadi may be criticized in Iran much like Paweł Pawlikowski is in Poland for refusing to portray his home country in a wholly positive light, yet the themes of both filmmakers’ work can translate to any culture, since their chief preoccupation is the human condition. It’s no coincidence that when Farhadi travels around the world with his movies, he finds viewers having similar reactions regardless of where they happen to live. Few filmmakers have ever been as gifted at affirming the degree to which we are more alike than we may ever have thought possible.

from All Content http://bit.ly/2GfkFh3

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creativenicocorner · 5 years

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It’s Wednesday My Dudes!

One of the hardest days of the week. And with that I come bringing gifts! A Sneak Peek of a Drabble Challenge response I’ve been working on. See I told you I didn’t forget about them!! <3

These are coming out longer than I anticipated, but I’m having fun with them and I hope you guys will have as much fun reading them!

Rated Mature