#any day i go onto ao3 and see the ratios is a day i prepare for murder and i wish i wasnt this way

[moreclaypigeons]

Shout-out to everyone who writes femslash. There's not as many of you as one could wish but I'll be damned if you're not mighty and working your asses off 🙏

#sierra speaks #femslash #f/f #ao3 #its actually bonkers going thru tags and seeing the ratio of f/m to m/m to f/f #i looked at period sex tag and guys theres more m/m than f/f #shout-out to trans men forever n always etc but whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy #idk how it happens that mm has MORE than ff in that . like genuinely. i wouldnt ve surprised to find some. but MORE? #sorry maybe some of us were expecting kinky vampires to be homoerotic and i guess i found that but i was expecting lesbians if im being real #its ok im having a moment #any day i go onto ao3 and see the ratios is a day i prepare for murder and i wish i wasnt this way

[rainsonata]

Doppelgänger 11/15

Chapter 11: Echoes 

Fandom/Pairing: Elsword; none Rating: T Word Count: 7,958

Summary: It was like looking into a mirror. What happens when one’s reflection talks back and throws uncomfortable questions? El Search Party struggles to find entrance into the Demon Realm, but Dominator has a plan.   

Alternative Title: Dominator fucked up and now everyone meets their alternative selves   

AO3 Link / FF.NET Link

— [Chapter 01] [Chapter 02] [Chapter 03] [Chapter 04] [Chapter 05] [Chapter 06] [Chapter 07] [Chapter 08] [Chapter 09] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] —  

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Class Notes: 

Canon Path: Knight Emperor, Aether Sage, Daybreaker, Rage Hearts, Code: Esencia, Comet Crusader, Apsara, Empire Sword, Doom Bringer, Ishtar and Chevalier (Innocent), Bluhen   

Alternative Path: Rune Slayer, Oz Sorcerer, Anemos, Furious Blade, Code: Ultimate, Fatal Phantom, Devi, Flame Lord, Dominator, Timoria and Abysser (Catastrophe), Richter

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Oz Sorcerer

Dusk bordered at the horizon when Oz returned to camp. Dozens of tents rose in a mass of colors and arranged into smaller circles with a smaller campfire for each group. Oz saw tents of the close-ranged fighters placed closer to the edge of their resting site, the ones ready for combat to the sound of intruders. Those that relied more on magic or needed more time to prepare like Rune and Dominator placed their tents more inward from the edge of the area they resided in.

“Hey, ‘cuse me,” a male voice grunted. “Sorry, come through.” 

The smell of blood and dirt filled the air. Knight was hauling a wild boar that was easily twice his size. Blood was dripping down the carcass and onto Knight’s armor. His great sword was tucked into a scabbard strapped to his back, grating against the gravel as he dragged the ridiculous sized animal over his shoulder. A quiet gasp escaped from a lower tree branch whipping into his vicinity and swapped the young man. 

“Need help?” Oz leaned forward, “I can barely see your face from here.” 

“Yes,” Knight groaned under the weight of the boar. How could someone so short carry a monster of that size? She was impressed. 

With the help of Angkor (“I’m not here to do grunt work!” He huffed.), she helped him carry the dead animal across camp. It took all of Oz’s effort now to lower the boar over a pile of dried leaves. They placed the boar next to a campfire. She watched its beady eyes staring back at her, dead and fish-eyed in death. 

She didn’t know the Demon Realm had animals.

Then again, Angkor didn’t really tell her much about the realm that demons called home. Oz looked up to see the moons nestled among the clouds. Angkor and Timoria spoke of their old allies and enemies, but their narrative of the Demon Realm varied. She guessed that it was as big and diverse as Elrios was. It took her weeks to journey from Sander all the way to Ruben in search of the Ring of Mimir, so maybe it would take weeks to reach the other end of the Demon Realm?

“What are you doing?” Oz observed Knight taking out a dagger from his belt. Angkor scurried off in bat form when Knight started skinning the animal with precision.  

“Prepping for dinner,” Knight said. He let out a nervous chuckle. “Do you want to help?”

“Sure,” Oz placed her staff on her belt to make her hands free. “What do we do first?”

“Uh, right.” Knight looked happy? He moved aside to patted the ground to gesture at her into joining him, nodding his head, “I want you to grab a bucket or any containers you have. We’ll be draining its blood to make pig blood curd for soups and congee in the morning. Once we finish, we’ll be carving the meat and use half of it to make dried jerky for battle rations. I already cleaned it out before I started skinning it.”

“These? Do you make everyone you talk to do this?” Oz asked. Placing the bowls aside, she sat on the floor next to Knight. “What happened to your friends?”

“Most of them are still resting after the fights,” Knight chuckled. “And you looked like you weren’t busy. What’s so funny?” 

He stopped to give her a strange look. What? Was Knight already detecting her sad attempt to keep a poker face during his long lecture? He glanced over Oz before making note of Angkor, who was back to his bat form. Angkor settled on her lap as a bat and giggled when Oz tried to move it. Did Angkor gain weight? Oz placed her hand over her chest and pretended to blush. 

“See something you like?” She teased. 

“I’m surprised you’re helping me after some of my friends tried to hurt you,” Knight was not fazed. 

“This wouldn’t be the first time our enemies became our allies,” Oz mused. “Rune asked me to do the same when we first met.” 

“Oh… sorry about that.” He was embarrassed. 

“What are you apologizing for? It’s always good to have a refresher!” Oz exclaimed, “Your hands were full and you looked like you needed help.”  

Knight looked relieved and nodded to himself. It was subtle, but a distinct smile. The kind Rune had when he learned a new technique to manipulate his runes. He was taller than Rune, towering over her with sleeves rolled back while working. His hair was a short neat cut, matching his eyes and the rest of his armor.   

After they extracted blood from the boar, they let it sit in one of the metal bowls to solidify. They would then slide the curd into smaller pieces to be salted and heated in a pot. Knight handed her a dagger and they began dividing the meat into sections. Oz let the man take the lead and insert the sharp edge towards the spine, cleaning the meat off the bone in one swipe. Knight expertly placed the meat into a separate container for later use and hummed as he worked. For a moment, she caught serenity in his silence, taking pride in his hard work.  

“Is it always you who does this?” Oz asked. 

“Sometimes it’s Elesis or Raven,” Knight said. “The others have offered to help, but I’m doing it today. Are you okay with that?”

“You’re asking me now?” Oz let out a mellow laugh, “It’s gross, but you look so sad doing it by yourself.”

“I look sad?” Knight chuckled, “I’m used to doing it by myself. I had to do it when ‘sis was out of the picture.” 

Stupid, Aisha! She scolded herself. Now she made him remember a lonely part of his life. Oz took deep breaths and counted backwards from ten. He didn’t even look upset about it and laughed. 

“But thank you for offering to help,” Knight said. “Food will be ready sooner and we can focus on everyone recovering.” 

“When was the last time you visited Ruben?” Oz asked.  

“It’s been years,” he admitted. “Haven’t had much time to return with everything that’s been happening.” 

“Do you miss home?” 

“Sometimes,” Knight said. “But when I’m with my friends, it’s like I have a second home. You know what I mean? Don’t laugh, but I hope I can one day show them Ruben when things are peaceful again.” 

“No, that sounds like a wonderful dream,” Oz softened her expression and thought about the people she grew up with. She wondered if her teammates felt the same. 

Oz started setting the seasoned meats onto a dry metal tablet to be smoked when she heard Angkor squeak. She looked up to Aether stomping over to her. Dressed in a white skirt accented by purple, Aether wielded a staff and looked short out of breath. Did all of Knight’s friends wear white?  

“Aisha?” Knight didn’t notice the dark aura radiating from the sulking mage. 

“Elsword,” Aether stopped to catch her breath. The twin cowlicks sprouting from her roots drooped as she rested her hands over her knees before bringing her head up. Her face was flustered, “What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Helping Ciel prep for dinner. Oz is helping me.” Knight said and looked at her with pleading eyes. Did he just give Aether puppy eyes? He and Rune were cut from the same cloth. “Did Bluhen heal your arm?”     

“No one else can heal besides him, my arm is fine.” Aether huffed. “Did you just kill that boar by yourself? You should be resting. You’ve gone missing for two days!” 

“I’m not hurt!” Knight stood up for Aether to see. “Not a single cut! Ain healed most of my injuries!”  

“You can’t rely on him all the time for heals,” Aether glared. “I just talked to him and he said you should be resting. I bet you didn’t tell Ciel that, did you?” 

“I… no.” He said in a small voice. 

If looks could kill, Knight would have died twice fold from the intense looks the mage was sending to him. Oz held back her laughter as Aether scrutinized the red-haired man. Aether threw a side-eyed look to Oz as if debating if it was the dark mage’s fault for letting Knight do things by himself. 

“I helped him before no one else was,” Oz said before Aether could open her mouth. “We were almost done before you came here.”   

Glancing at the smoked meats and the pork blood curd finished steaming in the heated pot, Aether didn’t argue. She turned pink, embarrassed and offered an apology to both of them. Oz overheard Angkor chattering to her and hushed him to be quiet. 

“Do I look that awful?” Knight asked. 

“You look like a zombie,” Aether said. 

“Really? I was thinking more like a sad phoru.” Oz pointed to the bags under Knight’s eyes. Knight tilted his head to the side in confusion. 

“Go wash your hands and rest until dinner is ready,” Aether groaned before gesturing to Oz. “I’ll help her finish up the rest of what you already started.” 

“All right,” Knight walked past Aether. “Sorry for making you worry.” 

Oz wished he would stop taking blame for things in a feeble attempt to soothe anger from either side. It was grating on her nerves and didn’t suit him at all. It made her miss the slight flare of arrogance Rune had when thinking he found the perfect ratio of hot pepper flakes to apply to pork jerky, or when he set the entire demon army on fire. 

“Hey, worrying is our job.” Aether stopped him, “That’s what we’re here for.” 

Knight laughed.

There was silence between the two women when he left. Aether finished slicing the meat into thin pieces. Her slices were sloppier than Knight’s but cut close to the bone of the boar and marinated the meat in a metal bowl. Oz rotated the smoked meat for the other side to be cooked and checked on the pork blood curd. Their campsite smelled of smoked and seasoned meats.     

“So you do have a demon,” Aether looked at Angkor with the same fascination as one would with deadly forest fungi.

“Have?” Oz rolled her eyes, “He’s not a pet. More like a contract.” 

It was hard to believe Angkor was a demon god for the number of times he wouldn’t stop chattering demon gossip to her or demanding for more cookies. Oz wondered if looking like a child brought in the childish tendencies in the demon bat. His powers on the other hand were worth discussing and helped her in battles countless times. 

“How did that happen?” Aether asked. 

“Well, I was practicing dark magic when Angkor approached me.” Oz said, “He saw talent in me and offered a deal to me.” 

“And the clothes?” 

“That’s what you’re worried about the most?” Oz said, “I don’t mind. Maybe more ruffles than I wanted, but the gain in power was what mattered.” 

“You didn’t find the Ring of Mimir either?” 

“No,” Oz shook her head. The blood curd was done. She drained water from the pot and transferred them over to a container for storage. “Are you still looking for it?” 

“Yes,” Aether closed her eyes. “We were so close to catching the culprit. He ran off before I had the chance to get it back.”

“Do you think it will return your powers?” 

“I don’t know, maybe? I relearned the fundamentals of elemental magic, but there’s still more to be learned.” Aether said, “Hennon doesn’t have rights over that ring grandfather worked hard to uncover.” 

Oz tried to remember a time when she believed in having the ring restore her powers. After no leads to it, she turned to dark magic because she didn’t want to relearn something she had already lost. The Hennon of her world also had the Ring of Mimir, but that was the least of their concerns when there was an urgent matter of restoring the El. 

“So what’s with you and Elsword?” Aether asked. “I saw you two talking.”      

“Still obsessing over that boy?” Oz teased. 

“What?” Aether paused, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You keep looking at him.” Oz teased. “It’s like I’m not even here.” 

Aether sat still, frozen in time, and forgot that she had a knife in her hand. The knife remained suspended in a fist hold grip, losing its use in her hands. Her eyes widened, shocked by the statement and Oz’s impatience. Talking to Aether was coming into contact with a reflection of herself when she was eighteen years old, infatuated and hopeful in catching the attention of a red-haired boy. 

“It looked like you two were having fun,” Aether turned pink. “You two share nothing in common, but you made it look easy to talk to him about anything.” 

“I just let him talk about things he’s interested in,” Oz shrugged. “Didn’t you travel with him for five years?”  

“Yes, but I’m not sure if I know him as well as I thought I did.” She confessed, “When he went missing, I mistook Rune for him. It was so obvious. I feel like an idiot.”

“They’re pretty similar,” Oz said. “Both of them act like idiots, won’t stop talking about meat, insist they’re used to doing things alone...”

“That’s the thing!” Aether threw her arms in the air, “He always does all these things by himself, acting like everything is his fault. It’s so frustrating! How many times do we need to tell him we don’t mind?” 

“I think that’s why Knight hides things,” Oz leaned back. “He probably didn’t want to make you all worry, even if it’s a stupid idea and you all care about him either way.”  

Oz collected the remnants of the skinned and deboned animal. The bones were saved to be used as a base for soups and broths. She was impressed by Knight’s work ethic that expanded even outside of his training. Left to live by himself at a young age, Knight must have learned to never let food be wasted. He and Rune were masters in hunting and finishing chores, but worked twice as hard in training.     

“I wonder if I scared him away, yelling at him like that.” Aether thought aloud. “I can’t stand seeing him get hurt again.” 

“You still like him,” Oz commented. 

“Don’t you?” Aether asked.     

“Maybe not in the same sense as you do,” Oz said. “We tried to connect a few times but decided it wasn’t working for us. He’s now with Chung.” 

“What?” 

Aether dropped the metal container with the blood curd. Luckily, it was sealed shut. Oz retrieved the container from the mage with a kind expression. 

“Elsword and Chung are dating,” Oz said. “Or Rune and Phantom if you’re keeping track of nicknames.” 

“No wonder they kept looking at each other,” she overheard Aether mutter to herself. “Does that mean our Elsword and Chung are…” 

“I don’t know,” Oz said. “Not everything is set in stone. Your timeline is already different than ours, so I wouldn’t give up yet. Knight might like Crusader, you, a random village girl, or even Add.” 

“Ha!” Aether snorted. “Unlikely.” 

Oz grinned. She liked her. 

“Let’s deliver these to Ciel and Abysser.” Aether started collecting the containers, one under each arm. “They said they were going to cook something tonight.” 

Would this be enough to feed all of them? After washing her hands, Oz joined in helping her, taking the containers that were left to bring over to their teammates. She couldn’t imagine how Knight could have completed this task on his own. The next time she saw Rune attempting to do the same, she’ll have to make sure she or someone else would help him. 

“It’s always a pleasure talking to myself,” Oz tipped her hat and feigned a formal bow. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Aether rolled her eyes but softened his expression. “I think it’ll be easier to talk to Elsword now that I understand him a little better.” 

“I think you already do,” Oz said. “You’re already thinking like him and helping people.” 

“Is that a compliment I hear?” Aether’s grin mirrored hers, “Don’t expect less from the great Aisha!” 

“Do you talk like that to everyone?” 

“...shut up.”

Oz snickered.  

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

Apsara

“And then Elesis set the pole on fire,” Anemos said. 

“A pole?” Apsara repeated. 

“She got her tongue stuck on one and tried to free himself by setting it on fire,” the elf explained. “The city wasn’t happy and we had to pay for the damage. Luckily, we had enough from the major mission in Hamel.” 

W-wait, that didn’t sound good! Apsara panicked as Anemos let out a noble woman’s laugh. It was good that they had enough money to pay for the damage cost, but was it okay to cause a fire in the middle of a city? 

“B-but, Flame was okay, right?” Apsara stuttered. 

“Oh, she was perfectly fine,” Anemos added. “Can’t say the same about the rest of the city. That was rough.” 

“There’s more?” Apsara squeaked. 

“Trouble always seems to follow your team, it seems.” Daybreaker chuckled. “It sounds like your friends ran into a lot of strange adventures and close calls.” 

Apsara nodded in agreement. She gripped her cup, running her thumbs over the edge and watching the tea steam rise and fall. It was her own personal tea set from what was left over of her ruined home in Fluone's Northern Empire. Bamboo and cranes were painted in dark green onto the cups. The tea kettle was decorated in a similar theme with a giant crane spreading its wings in bamboo bedding. It was a gift from her late mother before she passed away.  

Anemos was just as she imagined the other Rena to be. Kind, funny, always ready to share stories of her travels and offering great advice, although Anemos had a more playful side. A smirk grew at the edge of Anemos’ lips, sipping from her cup of tea. 

“I can say the same to your team,” Anemos said. “Unconventionally breaking into the Demon Realm and angering Dark Elves sounds like a rough trip.” 

“We were lucky that Rena was here to talk it out and help us work together,” Apsara beamed. “Without her, we might still be enemies!”

“It’s a good thing we understood each other,” Daybreaker said. “I didn’t think we would meet Dark Elves so soon.” 

“What are they like?” Anemos asked.     

Both of them are correct, Eun yawned. Luck has saved you and your friends many times. How much longer will it carry you until it runs out?  

Apsara shivered at the meaning behind Eun’s words. The nine-tailed fox was not one for talk and preferred being a spectator from the safety of her mind, but occasionally left a piece of wisdom for her to think on.   

Eun was right. They were lucky that she accidentally fell into the labyrinth of ruin that connected Elrios to the Demon Realm. According to Daybreaker, the language the Dark Elves spoke was closer to the Ancient Elven tongue, a skill not many elves possessed. After struggling to rescue Knight from the El, things were beginning to line up for them.  However, as lucky as they were, there were just as many misfortunes that fell on them and stalled time for the enemy to get away. It was something Apsara couldn’t forgive. They had to do more than fall on lady luck to seek justice for the lives of those impacted by the enemy.   

“Apsara?” Anemos broke through the martial artist’s train of thought. She had a gentle expression, “Was the medicine too strong? You look out of it.” 

“I’m fine,” Apsara rubbed her forehead. It still hurt where she fell on her face.  She was going to let it heal naturally.  It was barely a scratch worth using healing magic. “Hey, Anemos? How do you plan to return back to Elrianode?” 

“Tired of us already?” Anemos teased, placing her finger over her lips. “With the teleportation device broken, we won’t be going home until it gets repaired. Why do you ask? Was your trip a one-way trip?”

“I’m afraid it was,” Daybreaker said. “We were planning to find an alternate way to get back once we found the Dark El.” 

“Your team didn’t look good when we fought you,” Anemos commented. “Was a demon giving you trouble?”

“Nephilim Lord,” Apsara said. “It looked like the one in Velder, but bigger. You saw one before, right? It warned us about a fiery aura.”  

The one they fought was several times the size, asbestos white and covered in bright rainbow-colored armor-like scales. It had horns protruding from its body and had no need to move to efficiently burn through their defense. The most powerful of all Nephilim, it was sentient and lost control of itself until it was taken down by the El Search Party.         

Anemos frowned and bit her lip in deep thought, mumbling to herself in Elven. At the mention of Nephilim Lord, the gears in the elf’s mind began to turn. Her eyes were calculating and darted up to where the sky was. Apsara looked up to see where the older woman was looking. 

Cloud swirled collectively around the portals appearing and closing, deviating from one another. Apsara became dizzy looking at them and returned her eyes to Anemos, whose complexion remained serious.

“Was Nehphilim Lord the cause of this?” Anemos asked. 

“I don’t think so,” Daybreaker shook her head. “It’s been like this since Paradox fought with us. He seems to have control over those portals.”

“Maybe we can use those portals to go back to Elrianode!” Apsara exclaimed. 

“Assuming we can control them ourselves,” Anemos sighed. “Unless you know anything about time and space.”  

Apsara felt her cheeks turn warm and pouted. Was it unrealistic in trying to secure a way back to Elrios? She already felt guilty leaving behind the world she and her friends worked hard to protect. On the other hand, the Dark Elves were relying on them to sort out the unstable spike of energy coming from the shadows of Varnimyr, a place where even Eun was uncertain about their safety. Ever since they have arrived at the Demon Realm, they have dug their feet into the dark with little guidance of where to go. It was worrying not knowing if there was a way back.  

“I’m not even sure if one of those portals even works,” Daybreaker said. “We don’t know what’s on the other side. What if we end up in another world like you and your friends did?” 

Apsara stared into the dense forest surrounding the cavern area. She didn’t even think about the possibility of coming out on one end of a portal into a world that bore little resemblance to Elrios or the Demon Realm. They would have to start all over again from scratch and adjust to a world with new laws and boundaries like they did when they first arrived in the Demon Realm.   

It would be difficult to find a way back to Elrionode, Eun said. There is little else that can be done without taking a risk.  

“We haven’t had the best luck in making things go according to plan,” Anemos added. “We still need to find the Dark El first before returning. Those portals will still be here when we find it.” 

“Finding the Dark El won’t be easy, but I believe we’ll find it soon.” Apsara finally said. “We have even more people now to make it work. We’ll all be coming home soon.”

“How touching,” a new voice drawled. Devi emerged from the shadows, letting the flame light flicker across her amber eyes. She looked down at Apsara’s smaller form. “I never thought of myself as a wide-eyed optimist.”  

Apsara turned around to see a round face covered by dark black locks. The long ripples from the ends of her dress made Devi appear taller and thinner. Next to Apsara, she was covered in black and orange, resembling a dark butterfly spreading its wings in her dress billowing in the gentle breeze. Devi smiled, but her eyes held an unsteady gaze.           

Careful, Ara. Urgency rose in Eun’s voice, She’s dangerous. 

“A-ara! I mean me! Devi, I mean, uh, what do you prefer being called?” Apsara cried and lowered her head in a ninety-degree bow, “I didn’t see you there, did you need something? Of course, you did, that’s why you’re here. Are you mad at us for hurting your friends? I’m so sorry. You must be furious with us, please forgive us. I-”

“You talk too much,” Devi silenced Apsara with a single motion of a raised hand. “I barely caught any of that. Are you a mouse? I hear a lot of squeaking.” 

“A mouse?” Apsara felt dizzy. She lifted her head, moving her hands behind her head in a daze. “You mean the animal?” 

“You’re scaring her,” Anemos chided. 

“I’m not scared!” Apsara protested. “She caught me by surprise, that’s all! ”

“Am I not allowed to join tea with you ladies?” Devi poured a cup for herself and nestled herself between Devi and Anemos. Like Apsara, she drank her tea from a cup carefully held between her delicate fingers. She ignored the milk and sugar provided for Anemos and Daybreaker, who were less accustomed to drinking tea without them.

“Careful, it’s still hot-” Apsara stopped when Devi chugged the rest of the tea and blew hot air from her mouth. How scary, she thought.  

“Your tea is all right,” Devi said. “Needs more herbs.” 

Apsara stopped breathing. Her head was still spinning from processing that they were the same person. The way Devi carried herself was something only Apsara could dream of when she let Eun take over. She couldn’t sense Eun’s presence being the dominant one from her alternate, so the confidence was all Devi. 

Devi and the rest of the alternate El Search Party reminded her of the old folk tales she had read as a child. Doppelgangers from another world that bore resemblance to the people she knew. The doppelgangers in the stories were often demons or evil spirits in disguise, but Devi and the others were neither of them.    

“We’re running low on tea,” Apsara said.  

“You were talking about the Dark El,” Devi narrowed her eyes. She glanced over her shoulder to scan their surroundings before lowering her voice, “I don’t think I need to explain what it is or why it’s important. Where is it?” 

“We don’t know,” Daybreaker said. “We’re still searching for it like you. We’re only a few weeks ahead of you.” 

Devi cursed. 

“But since you’re here, we can look for it together!” Apsara said. “Nephilim Lord said it would offer us information about it if we search for the source of aura that’s been unstabilizing its home.” 

“It’s our best shot at the moment,” Anemos agreed. “With this many people, we’ll find the source of the aura in no time.”   

“You don’t think you’re being used to take care of someone else’s problem?” Devi looked at Apsara with skepticism. “Your girlfriend told me it tried to kill you.” 

It was true that Nephillim Lord tried to kill the El Search Party, but it wasn’t the first time an enemy was restrained under mind control or agitation. How much did Empire tell Devi about their circumstances?  

“We’re doing this because we want to punish those that tried to take advantage of the people living here,” Apsara said. “I won’t stand for that.”  

“Nephillim Lord was influenced by the aura,” Daybreaker explained. “We made a promise to help it out. The Dark Elves revere it as a god and protector. We’re not leaving until everything is back to normal.” 

“They have a better lead than we do,” Anemos placed her hands over her lap. She kept her voice low. “This may be our only chance.” 

Devi folded her arms back and grasped the handle of her spear. Still smiling, it was unnerving to see red flash through Devi’s eyes before returning back to amber. It took Apsara a moment to remember that Devi must have Eun too. Those two must be close for Devi to maintain the same facial expression even when Eun had its brief moment of existence. 

“For the monster’s sake, I hope it understands the consequences if it doesn’t follow through with its promise.” Devi mused.  

“Elesis told me you used different martial arts,” Aspara ignored the dark comment. “What are they?” 

“Is that what’s on your mind?” Devi rose a brow. “They’re secret arts from a book that specializes in dark energy. I’m curious about you as well. We’ll have to find out in a spar.” 

“Another time,” Anemos said. “There might be more fighting if we’re going to find the source of the aura.” 

“We thought the source of the aura was you and your friends,” Daybreaker admitted to Anemos. “But that wasn’t it. The aura is not from you, but somewhere else. We might be struggling to find it because it’s still dormant.” 

That meant they had more time to prepare for another battle, right? Apsara pulled the kettle to pour herself another cup of tea. Blowing the fumes away, she sipped as she gripped on her spear with her free hand. It was unclear what the source of the aura was, but she could feel its presence hovering over the region, a dull uncomfortable weight over her shoulders. It was going to get worse if it awakened. Their friends were still recovering from the last battle and they needed to regroup with a new plan.   

“Elesis mentioned your name when I talked to her,” Apsara looked at Devi, who was already on her third cup of tea. “What did you do to her?” 

Empire gave her a wide-eyed look when Apsara asked about her alternate. Her complexion was the same color as her hair before Apsara took her girlfriend’s hand and offered to change the topic.   

“Hm?” Devi giggled when Apsara gave her a questioning look, “Oh, I may have provoked her into fighting me, called her princess, and now she’s angry at me.”

“You need to go back and apologize to her!” Apsara shook Devi by the shoulders and cried when the other woman cackled. “Devi! That’s not funny!” 

“They’re so lively,” Anemos commented. 

“With two of them, I’m sure they were going to be.” Daybreaker chuckled. 

“Are you happy with your progress?” 

Huh? Devi’s question was one that haunted Apsara, an anxious voice whispering into her ear in the darkest of nights, taunting her with doubt that fed off of her uncertainty.  Apsara felt Eun tense, rising from her subconscious and voicing its opinion of her counterpart, none of them were kind or generous. She ignored the fox spirit and had a thoughtful expression. 

Devi was terse, asking biting questions and offering brisk answers in return. Despite being squished in between Apsara and the two Renas, she never relaxed. Legs crossed with one hand kept close to her spear, Devi’s smile failed to reach the rest of her face.   

“You keep following these people, nowhere close to your goal and walking in circles,” Devi said. “Are you satisfied?” 

“I am,” Apsara examined the woman with sadness. She reached for Devi and placed one hand over her alternate’s forearm. “Why are you always sad?” 

“I’m not sad,” Devi forced a laugh. 

She was lying. 

“It doesn’t bother me that we keep getting sidetracked,” Apsara said with earnest. “I’m not even sure if we’re doing the right thing, but I want to help my friends stabilize the El because I know they would do the same if I needed help. Do you ever feel like that?”   

“I do,” Devi said. For the first time, she relaxed and looked at Apsara with a pensive expression. “We’re lucky to have people like them.” 

“I think they would be happy if we let them know that,” Apsara smiled. “Tell me about your friends.” 

And Devi did.   

---------------------------- 

Timoria

Smoke filled the campsite as Timoria hopped over to put out the fire with a pan lid. Hot air hissed from the top and she jolted back. Her tail curled up and her eyes grew wide, panicking and rushing to put the lid back on. Puffing air into her palms, Timoria shrieked when she bumped into Abysser from behind.  

“Sorry!” Abysser put up her two hands. “Didn’t mean to scare you like that. I’m not sure what has gotten into you today, but I can take over now.” 

“You said you felt light-headed,” Timoria accused him. 

“I feel better, I promise!” Abysser laughed. “Not sure what the fuss is about.” 

“You passed out from an explosion,” Timoria said. 

“But I’m still alive and kicking,” he grinned. “You don’t need to sacrifice your time to cook for everyone.” 

An overreaction? Perhaps, especially when her partner in crime was no longer human but now a fully fledged demon, but Abysser wasn’t replaceable. He was more than that, a chimera between a butler and a close friend. People have mistaken them to be related and it didn’t bother Timoria as much as she would have expected. Their bonds were no longer linked as a single unit, but she could tell when the dummy showed his teeth and cocked his head to the side in an attempt to reassure her that he was fine. 

What was Abysser thinking getting up close to shield her from Bluhen? Humans called it heroic, but she called it foolish and impulsive. The man who called himself a priest was suppressing his energy to create an explosion that could have wiped out a demon army. There was nothing heroic about a nearly dying face planted into the dirt. 

“You said someone taught you how to bake and cook,” Timoria said. “Why don't you teach me too? I’m ready to graduate from, ‘Lu, go pick some herbs.’, ‘Lu, can you set up the table?’, and ‘Lu, where’s the spoon?’.”

She made faces and lowered her pitch when she did her Abysser impersonation, pacing around the campsite. 

“Do I really talk like that?” Abysser scratched his head but softened his expression. “I didn’t know you wanted to learn.” 

“You make it sound like I never help,” Timoria pouted and tucked her arms under her long sleeves, feeling the pain crisscrossing into her bandaged fingers like pin needles. “Did I do a good job of cutting the vegetables?” 

Who knew humans consumed so much of them. She didn’t realize how picky Abysser was in how he wanted things to be cut and presented. One would think he was about to serve a meal to the king of Velder.    

“Never said you didn’t.” Abysser said, “I think it’s great you want to help. You did good for a first-timer.”

There he goes again, Timoria placed her hand over her hip. Making that face again, borderlining on smug in catching her showing consideration for others, brimming with the kind of pride she associated with parents to their children. Any outsider would have mistaken them to be related, but she never protested because she saw how happy it made Abysser. People still mistook her as a child, but she was getting taller, she was sure of it!

“Now we wait until it boils, right?” Timoria asked. 

Abysser hummed and nodded his head for an affirmation. 

Timoria hovered over with her wings out for a better view of the stew. She knew there was a lot of stirring involved, but she would leave that to Abysser. The last time she attempted, the campsite was nearly burned down and she didn’t trust herself to know when their meal would be ready.    

She went back to the stream flowing at the edge of camp to wash her hands, carefully cleaning the dirt under her claws. The demon lord felt the cold water run between her claws and relished the familiarity of it. It wasn’t the dark quarters of her old realm, but she recognized the moons passing by when she returned to see a figure waiting for her.  

Sitting at the edge of a fallen log was a demon adorned in white and royal blue. Pale locks cascaded past her thighs and touched the back of her heels. Cyan colored horns similar to Timoria's protruded from the side of Ishtar’s head. Bright eyes the color of starlight gazed past the horizon to meet Timoria’s.    

“Do you always talk to him like that?” Ishtar asked. 

“Who?” Timoria tried not to stare. It was blinding to look at her other self, ethereal under the moonlight and projecting the very image Timoria once wished to reclaim. “Ciel?” 

“You look like you two were having fun,” she looked sad. Was Ishtar envious of them?  

“I don’t expect him to do everything when he needs time to recover from a fight,” Timoria said. “Does he not let you help out?” 

“He does, but insists he can do everything.” Ishtar rolled her eyes, “I don’t think Ciel knows what I can do.”  

“I find that hard to believe,” Timoria said.  

Chevalier was a quiet man. Exchanging a polite smile to Timoria, he waited for Ishtar to talk first before replying back with an equally amicable response. He maintained an air of dignity, but Timoria sensed a difference in his dynamic with Ishtar than her’s and Abysser’s. His hair was a light shade of blue, but it was clear that he was still partially human. 

Ishtar and Chevalier’s relationship wasn’t one of malevolence if she was to believe Richter’s account and from her own observations. Timoria recalled how he and Ishtar fought back at the edge of the forest, perfectly synchronized on the same wavelength of El resonance. Bounded together by powerful magic that turned their souls into one, Ishtar relied on Chevalier as much as the butler did to her. It was not unlike the bond Timoria used to share with Abysser before they parted to become equals. 

“I suppose you’re right,” Ishtar mumbled. “I sometimes wonder if it bothers him doing everything for me.” 

“I think you would be the first to know.” Timoria thought about the time Abysser was depressed after being rejected by a phoru. She bit her lips, “but I think he would appreciate it if you showed him your thanks.”  

Her counterpart rose, parting her lips and rounding them at the realization. Nodding her head, she accepted Timoria’s explanation and scrunched up her brows in deep thought. Much to her annoyance, Ishtar towered over her by almost a head. To outsiders, Timoria was a child while Ishtar had the appearance of an older teen or a young adult.  

“What would make him happy?” Ishtar wondered out loud. “He likes phorus, but I’m not very good with them. I tried baking cookies for him once, but he choked on it and I guess humans don’t like too much red pepper paste-” 

“You put what in cookies?” Timoria interrupted. She tried to imagine what those cookies looked like when they were finished and presented to the butler. Poor Chevalier...  

“I wanted to make them red because he once said he liked that color,” Ishtar protested. 

“I’m surprised he didn’t try to rescue them and make them edible,” Timoria said. 

“He did,” she said. “I’m not sure how he did it, but it was delicious. Humans are more adaptive than we demons give them credit for.” 

It suddenly made sense why Chevalier didn’t let Ishtar take up on cooking duty. 

“Is this why he still treats me like a child?” Ishtar sighed. “I made him do extra work he didn’t have to do.”

“My Ciel treats me like a kid too,” Timoria said. “It’s annoying, but he once told me it was because I reminded him of someone he knew. Did yours ever tell you that?”

Ishtar shook her head.  

“Aren’t you the one bounded to him?” Timoria asked. 

“That doesn’t mean I make him share everything. He doesn’t like talking about the past,” Ishtar said. “It isn’t fair for me to ask Ciel to tell me everything about himself if I’m not ready to talk about myself. There are many things I regretted doing as Luciela. I’m afraid of what he would think of me if he knew half of it.” 

A sad smile appeared on Ishtar’s features, her eyes wandered over to Chevalier, who was standing at the opposite side of the campsite and talking to his counterpart. Abysser laughed at something Chevalier said, occasionally stopping to skim bubbles from the stew.   

“Does yours know what you did?” Ishtar asked, “What we did.”

Timoria felt her limbs growing limp, unable to even lift them up to do something with them. Her silence answered Ishtar’s question, unsurprised by the revelation. Ishtar sat beside Timoria and kept her legs tightly together, contemplating on how much to ask. Demons were aware of multiple dimensions existing, but to meet oneself was something not many experienced. 

“Then both of us are cowards,” Ishtar laughed quietly to herself. 

“How is that funny?” Timoria asked. 

“You’re a little small to be a demon ruler,” Ishtar smirked. “I was wary about whether or not you and your friends were a trick set up by Henir cultists.” 

“How rude!” Timoria exclaimed, “I want nothing to do with those boorish deviants! I don’t think it’s necessary for him to know about my past, but I do want to tell him eventually when we aren’t being chased by Henir cultists.” 

“You have them too?” Ishtar asked. 

“Unfortunately, yes,” Timoria said. “They made a fuss about the Dark El and now we have to go fetch it before they do.”

It has been days since Timoria last saw the creeps in black hoods, but that could be a bad sign if the cultists found more allies in demons that may see the El Search Party as a threat. To demon residents, they were foreign invaders from another world and Timoria was a traitor. It wouldn’t be the first time the Demon Realm witnessed a powerful leader backstabbing them. She didn’t like to think about what that meant if word started spreading around about the former demon ruler returning to the Demon Realm.      

“How does it feel to be back home?” Ishtar asked. 

“This is hardly home,” Timoria laid down on her back. “Haven’t had one since the attempted assassination. I don’t think Ciel and I can rest until we find a way to take back power over the realm that was stolen from me.” 

“Your bonds feel different,” Ishtar noted. “What made you separate?” 

“Ciel and I had an understanding,” Timoria said. “I didn’t want Ciel to feel like he was forced to follow me. We don’t need a contract to stay together and I saw him as my equal. It was his idea to abandon his human side.” 

“As equals, huh?” Ishtar repeated her words. “I think I get it. When you were gone, Abysser wouldn’t stop talking about you. He kept saying your name, which is infuriating because it’s my name too!” 

Timoria snorted, “That sounds like him.” 

“But I can see you mean a lot to him,” Ishtar said. “You better be grateful you have him!” 

“You’re one to talk!” 

She couldn’t believe she was being lectured by herself. Timoria sat up to stretch her arms, going on her tiptoes and reaching for the skies. Dinner should be ready soon. She could smell the inviting aroma from the stew she helped Abysser with earlier. She overheard Abysser talking to Chevalier.  

“Oh, so that’s how you do it.” Abysser rubbed his chin, “Why didn’t I think of that?” 

The demon lord showed his teeth, slapping one arm over Chevalier’s shoulder and twirling about to reach over for the ladle to try the stew. His hand was slapped away by his counterpart and whined. Chevalier tasted the stew, glaring at the bubbling water before tossing in a garnish of green onion and a pinch of salt. 

“I didn’t even know you existed until yesterday,” Chevalier said. 

“Ouch, that’s cold.” Abysser feigned a hurt expression. “You don’t even have questions about me or Lu?”

“I do, but isn’t it rude to ask these types of questions when we just met?” Chevalier said, “I think it’s more appropriate to ask how it’s even possible for you to be here.” 

“Blunt and to the point, I get it.” Abysser waved his hands, “I thought your Add would explain all of this to you.” 

“He would, but ours passed out.” Chevalier said. 

Fair enough. 

It was hard to have an impression of someone they fought once and only stopped long enough to deliver provoking taunts and snarky comments. Staggering over with his back hunched and a crazed look; if it wasn’t for the mechanical eye and flying plates (“They’re called Dynamo!” Dominator protested.), Timoria would have mistaken Bringer as someone else.    

“We jumped over here to find the Dark El by opening a portal with a device Add made,” Abysser explained. “You already know the rest.”  

“You’re not an illusion or a manifestation of the El.” Chevalier said. There was a sharpness in Chevalier’s expression when he examined Abysser with a critical eye.  

“From the Hall of El?” Abysser had a sly smile. “Yes, I was wondering the same about you and your friends too, but you are a chattier bunch and more fun to talk to.”

“Fun?” One could hear the blood vein threatening to burst from the side of Chevalier’s head. 

“For one thing, you and your friends weren’t threatening to kill us or attempting to absorb us into the El.” Abysser didn’t seem to notice the irked brows from his counterpart and chuckled, “Isn’t that right, Lu?”

Timoria tried not to laugh when Chevalier was taken back when looking ahead, only to lower his gaze to finally notice her. His eyes averted over to Ishtar pulling out a set of silverware and utensils to set up the table, then back to Timoria, who was patiently waiting for the half-demon to talk. She could see the gears turning as Chevalier processed that there were two Lus. 

Placing her hands over her hips and puffing out her chest, Timoria wore a grin identical to Abysser. This was going to be fun.     

“I’m not sure what I should be more insulted by,” Timoria cackled. “Being compared to Henir cultists by Ishtar or being mistaken as a false illusion.”

“Our enemies are always a few steps ahead of us. This isn’t the first time we had to fight people with the same abilities as us,” Chevalier was defensive. “You’re the first to join our side.” 

“Sounds a little like us, don’t you think?” Abysser asked.  

“They are us,” Timoria pointed out. 

“Not everything is the same,” Chevalier disagreed. 

“It’s the hair, right?” Abysser asked eagerly as if he had been waiting for Chevalier to ask. He beamed, “Doesn’t it make me look cool?” 

“No, you’re stupider.” Chevalier deadpanned.

Abysser dropped his smile and cried crocodile tears, “How could you say something so cruel to yourself? You hear that Ishtar? He doesn’t like himself!”

Timoria covered her face. Abysser really said that in front of Ishtar and Chevalier with no irony in his words. Placing the last bowl down, Ishtar turned to giggle when Abysser continued going on about how cold his alternate was. Chevalier ignored the rambling demon as he silently walked over to the side to chop more green onion for garnish. 

“I like him,” Ishtar said. “He’s funny.” 

Chevalier stared at Abysser and mumbled, “How are we the same person?”

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

Author Notes: There was a lot I wanted to get in, but cut out in the end because it wasn’t relevant to what I wanted to address in this chapter. It was challenging to write certain characters I never wrote before, but rewarding because I discovered them as a person in the process. Everyone’s comments were encouraging to read and helped me see that every character will be someone’s favorite. We still have a few characters left in terms of having them talk to their counterpart.

#eltag #elsword #mywriting #my writing #elsword fanfiction #doppelganger #Elboy (Elsword) #Aisha (Elsword) #Rena (Elsword) #Raven (Elsword) #Eve (Elsword) #chung (elsword #Ara (Elsword) #Elesis (Elsword) #Add (Elsword) #Lu (Elsword) #Ciel (Elsword) #Ain (Elsword)

[ladynestaarcheron]

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Eight

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti ​ @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos@sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical)

so here’s chapter eight! I hope you all enjoy! if you do, I'd really appreciate you reblogging this in addition to liking (only if you like it obvi!) because my like to reblog ratio is between 10-30% (like 80 notes and only 12 are reblogs). likes are wonderful and I appreciate them but weblogs get me more readers and traction. but as always, thank you so much for your support, I really do appreciate it!!

also, I'm still looking for a beta! so here’s some more info on that.

November 9- Year of

The day after Nesta's proposal for dinner became Emerie's treat at the eatery, the two females greeted each other with a tentative nod. The next day it it was a Good morning and a You as well, and then the next day there was an-almost smile from Emerie.

They still worked mostly in silence, but it was far more comfortable than the tense couple of days behind them.

"Why have you ordered so many coats?" Nesta asked her.

"I...didn't think I did."

"Well, you've written in here more than we need. Look," Nesta said, showing her the book. "We've not sold these yet. So why do we need a dozen of these?"

"Other shops..."

"Forget the other shops. This is unnecessary. Especially if you downmark the ones we do have...and then wait a month...and then order these..."

"I don't understand," Emerie admitted.

"People will buy perfectly good coats for cheaper than the competition right at the start of winter, right? So they buy these coats that we have. Then they tell people they bought cheap coats at your shop. A month from now, in December, when all the clothiers will have ordered their coats already, all the leftovers will be marked down. We'll order then. And sell."

"Hmm," Emerie said.

Her tone was non-committal, but Nesta suppressed a grin. She knew she'd impressed her.

"So...how much do we mark them down by?"

"Thirty percent," Nesta replied, without hesitating.

"That's a little low."

"It'll pay off."

Emerie narrowed her eyes a bit. "All right," she said.

Now Nesta had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. It was good to be thought of as good again. To be trusted, respected.

She had not desired the feeling for so long...felt nothing at all for so long...and it was slowly coming back to her.

---

October 27 - 4 years later

Nesta does not mean for Cassian to be at her house when Amorette arrives, but he is.

He had come with her to bring the children home from nursery, and there had been whispering abound from her fellow townspeople. No one has yet asked her if he’s their father, but it’s quite obvious. If his wings did not give him away, his hair and his eyes, Nicky’s hair and Avery’s eyes, surely would.

She has not yet spoken to Zeyn, either. She tells herself that she isn’t being a coward, just that it’ll be easier after today. And that is partially true. She is always lighter, always more prepared to face whatever it is she has to do after her afternoon trip alone at the end of every month.

Cassian looks to her when Amorette knocks on the door and inwardly, Nesta swears. She realizes only know that unless she kicks Cassian out, the children will be left with the both of them. Him and Amorette. It’s too much of a clash for her between her two worlds, then and now, and makes her too anxious about the future, and she lets Amorette in with a muttured, “I’ll get him to leave.”

“You don’t have to,” Amorette says in an equally low tone. “If you don’t mind, I don’t mind.”

Nesta shrugs a little. She leads them into the kitchen, where the children are sitting with Cassian at the table, coloring.

He looks up, curious. He has not met any of her friends here, not properly, and she doesn’t want him to just yet. Although perhaps she’s just delaying the inevitable...and Amorette is a good person for him to meet first, she thinks. Civil, diplomatic, fair.

“I have to go for a few hours. Amorette’s here...to watch them.”

Cassian nods slowly. “I...can I stay?” His voice is soft. His hand clenches a little on Ollie’s shoulder. Subconscious, she thinks.

But it squeezes her heart a bit, as well. A whole mess of things had led to him missing out on the first few years of their lives and lately she’s been thinking more and more of her part in it, how maybe she is not entirely guiltless and he is not entirely to blame, maybe neither of them played by the rules and in the end, only their children really lost.

But she doesn’t particularly like to think about that. It’s far too complicated for now, right when she is about to leave, so she just says, “If you’d like.”

He smiles widely. His eyes crinkle for a moment, and she remembers that this smile was one of the  common ones that she would see all the time back in Illyria. Pure, unabashed joy, because that was who he was. The kind of person who felt that joy all the time.

She doesn’t smile back. Instead she looks away and crosses her arms.

“Amorette’s in charge,” she says to him.

“Yes, of course.”

“I’ll be not four hours.”

“Okay,” he says. He bites his lip, and she knows he is eager to ask where she is going.

But she doesn’t tell him.

“All right, angels,” she says, and her children look up from their coloring. “Mummy’s leaving now. Be good for Amorette and Appa, all right?”

“When are you coming back?” Avery says.

“After dinner.”

“Will you tuck us into bed?”

She smiles at Nicky and moves over to the table to tuck his hair behind his ears. “Do I ever not tuck you into bed?”

He laughs, a rolling sort of giggle that never fails to get a little laugh out of her as well. “I’ll be back soon,” she promises, and bends down to kiss each of them on their heads. Ollie reaches up and kisses her on her cheek, too.

“Dinner’s already in the fridge,” she says to Amorette.

“Go,” she says. “We’ll be fine.”

She nods at her and looks to Cassian, still sitting at the table. He meets her eyes.

“Well...see you later,” he says.

She swallows. Nods once. And turns to leave.

---

November 9 - Year of

He did not make a habit of watching her outside of the house. He was busy, after all. Rebellion was thick in the air of the neighboring camps, and even in his own he could feel it. That left him with more than enough to do, and that wasn’t even counting all Velaris had for him. So he did not need to spend any extra time worrying about and chasing after Nesta Archeron.

So he just checked to make sure she wasn’t getting into any trouble. Just stopping by her shop--not going in, just checking.

He wasn’t sure if what he saw could be classified as trouble.

What he saw...he thought...was that Nesta and Emerie were--there was no other way to say it--friends.

At least two nights in a row, Emerie walked Nesta to his house. And she lived above the shop! He would hear her laugh--Emerie, not Nesta--every now and again at something Nesta would say.

He supposed he should tell Feyre of her progress...but he didn’t want to leave; he’d just gotten back.. So he could just write it in a letter. The next letter he sent--it wasn’t really urgent, was it? And she was busy too....

Yes, he’d send it in his next letter. He would stay here for a while.

---

October 27 - 4 years later

Nesta tries her hardest to empty her mind as she walks. She finds it works best if her head is blank when she arrives at the lake.

She does this slowly, by dissecting everything that has happened to her over the past month, and then pushing it out of herself. This time is obviously harder than most, but she does so anyway: so there was the healer telling her Avery wasn’t getting enough calcium, and then taking them to their first flying lesson, and then the new load of books at the shop.

That was the first half of the month. Easy enough to mull over and then stop.

Then she thinks of Cassian arriving at her door. Meeting the children. Seeing her sisters again. Zeyn bumping into Cassian. Oh, all the forgotten gods, the competition in Chokecherry, how could she forget about that?

The walk is about an hour and a half. Normally more than enough time to clear her head, but now, standing in front of the lake, Nesta feels as though she’s more anxious than ever.

No matter, she tells herself. She has to do this.

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. She focuses just on breathing for a few minutes. In and out. She doesn’t need to worry about any of it. She’s just here and now. Herself and the lake. That’s all there is.

Well. Most of the time. This time Cassian is there, right behind her, asking her about the children. And Elain and Feyre, a little behind him, and Zeyn is there, and Emerie and Amren, and Amorette, and Adil and Miri and--

Deep breath, she thinks. She closes her eyes tighter and tries to ignore her restlessness, tries to push past in and reach deep inside herself and pull out that thing.

Power. Magic. Abomination. The Cauldron. Death. Whatever it was that festered inside her, that she stole and refused to give back and now desperately regretted it...she grabs onto it and pulls.

Pulls as hard as she can. From deep inside of her--her soul, her core, whatever. It puts up a fight as it always does, but she pulls harder because she knows she can win. She does it every month.

It reminds her of childbirth, in a way. A miserable tight pain, then like being ripped in two, and then...relief.

Only briefly, now. Because now she holds the pulsating, living thing in her hands...and without opening her eyes...she hurls it as far away as she can, into the lake.

She only opens her eyes when she hears the splash. She does this every time, to scared to see what it looks like. If it’s really there.

Nesta wipes her cheeks of her tears. She’s never sure when she starts crying, and she’s not entirely sure why, but she does.

She checks her watch. She’s been here for an hour and a half, the same time it took her to walk here.

“All right,” she mumbles to herself.

There’s no reason to walk back. She cannot winnow, exactly, but she has her own method of traveling. It’s rather clumsy, but far easier right after her ritual at the lake. Her magic is more controllable after she rips most of it out.

She can feel it inside her, quieter. She’s never really learned how to deal with it, so she just...figured it out. It’s not graceful the way she’s seen High Fae use their magic, and not sleekly brutal like how Illyrians wield their power, but it works.

She has no one she’d trust enough who could be of any use with finding out the intricacies of...whatever it is. She did, once--but that relationship is dead, died long ago. Before she even arrived in Illyria.

Her travelling is easier by trees. She leans against one and closes her eyes again. Summons black whips from the ground--she can pretend they’re roots, that’s what makes it easier--and feels them curl up around her legs. They yank hard on her, and she opens her eyes, and stumbles a few feet into one of the parks in Sugar Valley.

She’s back. She rubs her chest and breathes deeply. She doesn’t like her winnow-alternative, but she needs to get back home.

“Good evening, dearie,” says someone behind her.

Nesta turns. Aysel, one of her neighbors. And the biggest gossip Sugar Valley has. “Hello, Aysel.”

“Out on your own, then?” she says, in a would-be casual tone.

“Yes,” she says. “Just for a bit.”

The people of Sugar Valley know she leaves at the end of each month to somewhere else, but none of them know exactly where, and only Amorette, Zeyn, and Adil know what she does.

“Good, good, dearie,” she says, cheerful. “A lady’s got to have some alone time. Makes you a better mother.”

Nesta smiles briefly. “I was just heading home, actually.”

“Oh, I’ll walk with you,” she says.

Nesta sighs inwardly. She normally likes Aysel. She didn’t when she first got here--didn’t like anything much, when she first got here. Aysel is always good for keeping people in the know, and Nesta once cared about the comings and goings of people in her human village, and it’s nice to have a cup of strawberry tea and hear who said what and so forth from Aysel.

But it’s not particularly nice when she knows that she and Cassian are the most popular topic of discussion lately.

Aysel’s miserable at being discreet. “So, I heard you’ve had some visitors lately.”

Nesta can’t help but laugh a little to herself. Years ago this would have irritated her beyond belief, but she’s too fond of Aysel to be properly angry. “A few,” she says.

“And?” she prods.

Nesta sighs aloud this time. “You know, Aysel, there are some people I need to discuss it with first. I don’t want to hurt them.”

“Oh, of course, dearie,” she says hurriedly. “No, I understand. I was just telling Madam Sabina, she was telling me about Jale--you know, Jamal’s waitress? Well, she was saying she had seen her at Samir’s....”

It’s easy to walk alongside Aysel. Nesta nods and chimes in where she’s needed. She keeps her mind focused on how she’s going to have to have a conversation with Zeyn and Cassian and Adil and probably her sisters, too.

And with her step lighter after her trip to the lake, the tasks still seem daunting but nothing she isn’t capable of.

---

November 9 - Year of

When Nesta arrived home, he was waiting for her in the living room.

As usual, she looked at him only for a moment before moving to push past him to go to her room.

“Wait,” he blurted out, before she could leave.

And she paused.

He froze, taken aback. He didn’t think it would be this easy; he thought he’d have to plead more.

Although, he mused, he had been pleading for months, really.

“I made stew,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow.

“You could eat with me. I...would like the company.”

There. That was a new tactic. And fitting, he thought. Since she was finally, willingly staying in the same room as he.

She pursed her lips. “I’m not hungry,” she said.

Oh, her voice. He had not heard her voice like this in so long. He felt whatever it was inside him--that thing that he would not name--curl up against it in his mind, try and latch onto it, keep it.

“Join me anyway?” he said, struggling to keep his voice casual. “I meant what I said about company.”

“I’m tired,” she said.

“Oh,” he said. He didn’t want to push her. And he wasn’t sure what pseudo-polite strangers game they were playing, but he was not going to be the one to break the act first, so he said, “Well, next time, then.”

“Sure,” she said.

“Off to bed?”

“Yes.”

“Good night.”

“You too.” And she left before he could say anything else.

He sat back down on the couch. It seemed...the job with Emerie was indeed doing her good. And he thought he had definitely made the right choice in not going straight to Feyre.

Progress with Nesta was slow, but it was real. He only hoped that when she came back to herself she wouldn’t be so angry as to cut him out completely again.

---

October 27 - 4 years after

The children are already bathed by the time she arrives and she gives Amorette a grateful smile, but she only shrugs.

“Cassian wanted to,” she says.

“How...was he?” she says, her voice low so only Amorette can hear.

“He was fine. Antsy. He loves them, you know.”

“I know.”

“He loves you, too.”

She flinches.

“Nesta?” Cassian says. She looks over at him, blood rushing to her face, worried that he heard them from across the room.

“Hi, Mummy!”

“Mummy, look at my drawing!”

“Hi, angels,” she says, and joins them at the kitchen table, next to Avery. She drops a kiss on her head. “Were you good for Amorette and Appa?”

“We were so good.”

“We were!”

“Did you have fun, Ollie?” she says, reaching over and brushing his cheek with her hand.

“Yes,” he says.

“Yes? What did you do?”

“I colored with Appa. And Amorette.”

“And me,” Nicky chimes in. “I also colored with Ollie.”

“I also did!”

“Wow,” Nesta says, smiling down at them. “That sounds very fun, then.”

“Are you going to color with us now, Mummy?”

“Actually,” Cassian says, before she can answer. “I was hoping if I could talk to Mummy for a bit.” He holds his breath as he turns to look at her.

Nesta shrugs a little. “Sure.”

“I meant...maybe outside. For a few minutes?”

Nesta frowns. She looks over at Amorette, who nods.

“All right, come on,” she says. “I want to color, too.”

“Mummy’s leaving again?” Ollie says.

Nesta bends down to hug him tightly. “Just for a bit, darling,” she says. “I’ll be right outside.”

She can see Cassian swallow in her periphery. She lets him lead them out of the house.

“So,” she says, sitting down on the bench she has on her front porch. “What did you want to talk about.”

Cassian sits down next to her. “I wanted...to ask you...if you had thought anymore about your sisters visiting.”

Nesta takes a deep breath.

“Because I have a long-term goal here,” he blurts out. “And--I wanted to discuss that with you. But also I think...I mean, you’ll have to--you’ll agree. You agree, don’t you?”

Nesta rolls her eyes. “Slow down,” she says. “You’ll find I’m...of a clearer mind, after my trips alone. So...relax. What are your...long term goals?”

Now Cassian takes a deep breath. He looks her in the eye and says, “I want us both to be seeing the children daily and for them to be in continuous contact with both of our families. All of our families,” he adds, correcting himself.

Nesta’s lips quirk upwards. “I’d expect a more detailed battle plan from the General Commander of the Night Court’s armies.”

But Cassian doesn’t laugh, doesn’t smile. Instead he says, softly, “I don’t want this to be a war.”

Nesta turns. “It’s not,” she says. “We’re...on the same side. Right?”

“Right,” he says immediately. “And...I think...I know...your sisters are too. I’m not saying that you should forget everything that happened. I’m saying...start here. Not with--Rhys, or...anyone. Just your sisters. Here. Under your supervision. I’ll come too. Or I won’t. Whichever you think is best. But...that’s the only place I know...to start.”

Nesta’s quiet for a minute. She takes a shaky breath. “I know,” she says, “that you love them. And you want what’s best for them.”

“And I am the first to admit that I don’t know what that is,” he says. “I--I didn’t have a childhood to look back on and take ideas from. I only know what absolutely not to do. But...this is the opposite, right? A big family. Two parents. Aunts...and uncles. And cousins. And I know you hate when I bring it up, Nesta, but...having Rhys on their side is a good thing.”

“I do hate when you bring that up.”

“I know. People are quiet here, but it’ll spread. Someone will find out they exist. Feyre’s niece and nephews. And Rhys’. And my children. And yours. We want the risk to be greater than the reward.”

Nesta flinches--the reward. Slaughtering her children. Taking them away from her for the Mother only knew what purposes.

“That’s the part I do know,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing all the time,” Nesta says automatically, without realizing it.

Now Cassian laughs. “Never thought I’d hear you say that,” he says. And it’s quite good to hear him sound...carefree. Teasing. A bit happy.

Because he’s the father of her children. If he’s happy, he’s a better parent.

“I don’t know what my long term goals are here,” she says. “And...what are yours?”

“I told you.”

“No, I mean, yours. Regarding you. Not the children.”

Cassian blinks. “Whatever you give me.”

“Well...what do you want?”

Cassian’s gaze shifts. “I’m not sure,” he says, and she knows he’s lying, but so is she, all the time, so she doesn’t push.

“My sisters...” she says slowly, “can come. For a short visit. Supervised by me. You can come.”

“Nesta--”

“It’s over when I say it’s over.”

“Yes, Nesta, of cou--”

“And they don’t talk about the Night Court.”

“Yes--”

“And they don’t mention anyone they know from there--”

“Yes, Nesta, I’ll let them know. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” she says, a bit sharp. “I’ve thought a lot about this. It’s not for you.”

“No, it’s for them. Ava and Nicky and Ollie. Of course.”

Nesta nods. She doesn’t like it, but she’s not who she used to be. She doesn’t avoid things she doesn’t like. Not where her children are involved.

She hates when he brings up how important a relationship with her sisters, with...his side of the family is, because he’s right. She knows he’s right. She’s not enough on her own.

She can take care of them in Sugar Valley, but she’s relearning the lesson she learned when she crossed into Prythian the first time, when she set sail for Montesere, when she found herself here: the world is a lot bigger than just her own home.

---

Chapter Nine

#acotar fanfiction #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #lizo writes #like pristine glass #wow I really hope I find a beta soon lol #also I hope I don't sound ungrateful by asking for reblogs #I really do appreciate the support I get from you guys!!! #and I love all my readers dearly!!! #I'm just. a greedy little writer who likes to hoard more and more readers and reviews:) #anyway @betas of acotar Tumblr hmu if you are in love with Nesta Archeron and are good at catching minor spelling and tense mistakes #(I switch tenses a lot for this fic) #and if you are good at figuring out plot!! #also if you're not a super big fan of this fic but you're still interested in being a beta that's okay too!! #even preferred!! because I want someone who is comfortable telling me 'no not that that's not good' #anyway I'll stop rambling now #hope you guys like this! I love writing scenes with Emerie

[generalkenobi22]

Fic: as iron sharpens iron (Burn Notice) - 4K words & counting

SUMMARY: Somewhere along the way, at one point or another, Madeline tells them, “The three of you need to stick together.”

And that, more or less, is what they do.

So I know Burn Notice Week isn’t for a few weeks, but my work schedule is insane, and while I had a rare day off and moment to post, I seized it. More chapters will follow (one for each season) eventually. But for now, please enjoy the first part of as iron sharpens iron.

Can also be found on AO3.

————————————

Though one may be overpowered, Two can easily defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

—Ecclesiastes 4:12, NIV

—————————————

Somewhere along the way, at one point or another, Madeline tells them, "The three of you need to stick together."

And that, more or less, is what they do.

—

Even before he opens his eyes, Michael just...knows he's in Miami. Besides the humidity (he can feel the sweat pooling at his lower back) and the brilliant sunlight pouring through...wherever it's pouring in from (caves set high in the mountains of Afghanistan don't usually get a lot of natural light), he can hear the faint trace of calypso music coming in from outside.

So he doesn't actually need Fi to kick him with what feels like an especially sharp boot, but she takes it upon herself to do so anyway. Not that he knows it's her immediately. No, that little realization doesn't occur until after he momentarily blacks out from the pain (she was always a great markswoman, so it only makes sense that her foot connects directly to every single one of his cracked ribs) and before his head promptly begins pounding.

When he does finally see her (and hear her—he'd recognize that Irish brogue anywhere), it's...a lot. Especially since he halfway thought he would never see her again. Besides cosmetics (her hair's lighter, no bangs—she's tanner, too), she looks the same as she did the last time they were...together. And now she's here, in the flesh, complaining that he still has her listed as his emergency contact (he knew there was something else he needed to submit to H.R. when he last updated his W-4). It's equal parts comforting and completely unnerving.

There are countless questions running through his mind as he struggles to sit upright (who burned him, how can he contact his handler, is Fi still mad that he left, etc.?), but at least one of them is answered when Fi cheerfully admits that she contacted his mother.

Welcome to Miami.

—

Soon after, she ditches the accent. Buys a whole new wardrobe.

From a tactical standpoint, it makes sense—using camouflage to blend into your surroundings makes you a harder target to spot.

From a personal standpoint, it's still—well, she's—the whole thing is...it's a lot.

—

Sam Axe is what would happen if Magnum, P.I. ever did a reunion special where Magnum—a few decades older and well into retirement—started mooching off every widow and bored housewife in Oahu. And yet, unlike Magnum, with Sam it's a whole lot less grating and more...well, endearing.

With the exception of Fi (though even that might be stretching it at this point), he no longer has a secure network of people he trusts. Most of them, he assumes, went up in smoke alongside his job and identity the moment his burn notice was issued. That said, it's nice to see the familiar face of an old friend in the midst of it all.

Even if that friend sticks him with the bar tab when all he ordered was water.

—

It's practically an ambush, all things considered.

When Sam mentions his money laundering contact, Barry, and follows it up with, "We have to bring you up to speed, brother," Michael assumes he means an in-person introduction.

And it is, for all intents and purposes, an in-person introduction when Michael meets up with the two at Carlito's the next day...

But mostly, it's an ambush.

"So you're tellin' me Mike was absent for the whole dot-com boom?" Barry asks, as if Michael isn't sitting right there next to him. He's staring at Michael like he's the most fascinating installation at the Peréz Art Museum.

Sam, on the other hand, keeps looking at him with an almost insulting amount of pity. "'fraid so," he admits miserably, draining the last of his mojito. "Although he wasn't really absent, per se, just swamped with the whole covert black ops—"

"Sam," Michael cuts in, smile strained. "How about we avoid divulging classified intel to the stranger with the movie villain goatee I just met?" He looks Barry over once and holds up his hands placatingly. "No—well, some offense."

Barry frowns. "Some taken."

"Listen, Mikey, Barry's practically family," Sam says as he signals for the waitress to bring him a refill.

"Well," Barry clarifies, "estranged at best."

"Sure, fine." Sam redirects his attention back to Michael. "The point is: now that you're back in Miami, you have to be able to talk about non-job related topics. And that's pretty tough when you're not up to date on the last decade of popular culture."

Michael shifts uncomfortably. "I'm cultured," he insists, looking between both Sam and Barry. "For instance, the 2000 election? Here in Florida, there were hanging chads and—" Off their pained expressions, he switches tactics, having to dig deeper. "What about...?" He brightens. "J-Lo! She's still considered popular, right?"

Sam chuckles. "Not for the same reason you're thinking, Mike."

The waitress comes by with their drinks. Sam thanks her—his concluding wink almost subtle—but Barry looks like he might be sick.

"So, like...no American Idol?" he wants to know, his tone taking on an edge of urgency. "No Brangelina?" Michael shakes his head, wondering idly if Barry has started speaking Spanish somehow. "What about the Hilton twins? Or, even, Tom Cruise?"

"Wait, yes! He's the, uh, Top Gun guy."

"He was the Top Gun guy," Sam corrects. "Now he's just crazy."

Barry scrubs a hand over his face before downing his cocktail in one go. "I don't know, Sam. This is a much bigger job than you let on. I mean, I'm gonna have to clear my appointments for the day," he points out wearily, "and then I'm gonna have to deal with pissed off clients—wealthy and powerful pissed off clients."

Sam brushes him off. "Barry, this is for a worthy cause." He gestures over to Michael. "I mean, look at him!"

"I'm sitting right here," Michael reminds them through gritted teeth.

Ignoring him, Barry sighs and pulls his Blackberry out. Within seconds, he's shot out a half dozen texts containing haphazard apologies for the cancellations. "Fine," he relents. "Let's start with the basics."

"And make sure we touch on the 'Phins," Sam insists. "The last player Mike could name was Marino, and he hasn't been with the team since he retired in '99. It's embarrassing."

Michael emits a strangled sound of protest before he lets his head drop to the table with a soft, defeated thud.

—

No one is more surprised than Fi when Madeline, of all people, calls to invite her to play poker with her and some of the ladies from the neighborhood only a few short weeks after she makes the move to Miami permanent. With the exception of her sister, Claire, Fi has never really had many female friends. Not for lack of interest or trying, certainly, but the job does tend to have a frustratingly imbalanced male-to-female ratio.

So, obviously, she says yes. After all, it's not as though she could possibly decline. Not when Madeline had ended their phone call with an incredibly touching: "Fiona, honey, you're welcome over any time." And especially not when she can provide such crucial insight into Michael's early years.

In preparation, she finds the least threatening sundress she owns (A-line skirt, a floral pattern of goldenrods and peonies), and brings along a variety of snacks (surely these types of get-togethers operate like more civilized, less mind-numbingly boring stakeouts?).

When she arrives, Madeline greets her warmly with a hug (a bit of a surprise considering they've only ever spoken on the phone and haven't actually met in person before), places her snacks on the counter, and introduces her to the rest of the group. It's...nice. They're a friendly bunch: adorable retirees with a penchant for gossip and neighborhood intel that would put any spy to shame. A couple hours later, though, when she's down by nearly two hundred dollars, she has the sneaking suspicion it all may be a ruse designed to lull her into a false sense of security.

Oh, they are very good.

"So, Fiona," Evelyn asks her. She raises and throws a couple chips onto the growing pile at the center of the table. "How do you know Madeline's son?"

Fi takes in Evelyn's shockingly bright orange dye job as she thinks about how best to answer that question. Ex-girlfriend? Colleagues? Both invite their own share of difficult and obtrusive questions. She could go with "wife" (Michael would positively burst, she's sure of it), but Madeline would see right through that.

"He's my boyfriend." It's not...not true.

"How wonderful!" Madeline's other friend, Phyllis, exclaims. She has been knocking back Corona Extras like she hasn't had a spot to drink in months. "How long have the two of you been together?"

In addition to Madeline's affinity for nicotine, Evelyn seems to share her love of taking all of Fi's money. Fi folds and tosses her cards on the table.

"Oh!" she says suddenly playing at bashful and giggling. "It's—well, it's still kind of new—" Again, not...not true. "—but it feels like we've known each other forever."

She almost feels guilty at the way Madeline's face lights up, how her smile warms at her little fib. But she barely has time to dwell on it before the front door opens. When she turns around, she's met with the sight of Michael—in tan chinos and a light blue oxford—slack-jawed and cradling a casserole dish. She playfully waggles her fingers at him.

"Ma," he says carefully, only glancing at her briefly, his smile too forced to be genuine. "I thought you, me, and Fi were having dinner tonight. You said seven, right?"

Madeline brightens as she directs him and the casserole to the kitchen. "We are. Me and the girls are just finishing up." To the rest of the group, she says, "Ladies, this is my son, Michael!"

"Hey...Hi." He waves at them all awkwardly before taking the empty seat across from Fi, next to Evelyn. She shouldn't laugh, truly, but his discomfort in the face of the group's sudden enthusiasm over his distinctly male presence is palpable. She tries to hide her amusement by draining the contents of her beer bottle, but judging by the way Michael's brow darkens and his mouth practically thins into nonexistence, she is nowhere near successful.

Madeline is the last one to fold before Evelyn takes the pot. As she rakes in her winnings, Phyllis leans over toward Fi and makes it a point to say not at all quietly, "He's very handsome."

This time when she looks at Michael, unable to hide her amused grin, he smiles at Phyllis appreciatively before fixing Fi with a look of quiet desperation.

"Oh, he is!" She sighs dreamily and winks at him, relishing his discomfort only a little. He frowns back. "I'm the luckiest girl in all Miami."

—

It starts out innocently enough. Fi merely offers Sam a simple suggestion for how to properly apologize to Veronica—that unfortunate woman—yet somehow that evolves into him wanting to talk about all his "lady problems" with her.

(Seriously, that poor woman! She must be positively unwell. Perhaps she's deaf or blind? Best case scenario: she's deaf and blind, and this relationship is simply court-ordered community service outreach to the elderly.)

At first, Fi relished the thought that he picked her over Michael (who has all the emotional sensitivity of an unstable IED) to confide his most vulnerable secrets to, but it soon becomes too much. Phone calls, text messages, then phone calls and text messages. Eventually, she has to draw a line, demonstrate at least a little pride.

Plus, she's still pissed about the whole "him-costing-her-a-lot-of-money-because-he-interfered-with-her-legitimate-business-deal-with-the-Libyan-arms-dealer" thing, y'know? No one has ever accused her of letting go of a grudge too soon.

"I don't know what to tell you, Sam." She sighs dramatically as if talking to him is positively exhausting (which, it is) before she slams the trunk of her car closed, yoga mat in hand.

He blocks her path forward before she even has a chance to turn around. "Fi, you don't understand," he says desperately, and a small (fine, large) part of her finds a simple delight in his suffering. "This could be it for Veronica and me. She still hasn't forgiven me for the last job we pulled, and I—"

"Sam." Even saying his name is taking a lot of self-control at the moment. She manages to slip past him and dart across the street. To his credit, he keeps up and corners her in front of the studio. "I'm just too busy right now, and I'm going to be late." She holds up her mat pointedly and pushes past him to the front door. "So unless you want to join my Bikram yoga class, I—"

"Fine."

The little bell at the top of the door rings a second time as he follows her inside. As he not-at-all-subtly rakes his gaze over a couple of women in yoga pants on their way out, she gapes at him.

"What?" He shrugs when he catches her staring. "I told you: this is serious."

So that's how she finds herself some fifteen minutes later watching Sam—drenched through his linen slacks and hideous Hawaiian print shirt—struggling with downward facing dog on the mat right next to hers.

"Geez, Fi," he huffs, his gold chain now dangling over his chin, "you do this for fun?"

She watches as beads of sweat roll down his bright red face in rapid succession. It takes everything in her to keep a straight face.

"Why do you even pay for this?" he continues as if interrupting her meditation isn't enough. "If I wanted to exert myself in this much humidity, I'd ask my old CO to ship me back out to Kuwait, or hell, I could just as easily go outside.

It takes an immense amount of concentration for her to regain her balance (physically and spiritually) and counteract the irritation she's feeling, but she finally asks, short of snapping, "Wasn't there some...Veronica issue you wanted to discuss?"

"Fi," he says, breath haggard, "she's pissed about the car again."

She blinks as a bead of sweat hits her eye. "Well, of course she's pissed about the car." A little quieter, she hisses, "You practically blew it up!"

"I—" The instructor tells the class to transition to triangle pose just as the ventilation system switches back on, pumping more hot air into the confined space. Sam has to account for the increased sound, and the fact that her back is now to him when he clarifies, "That was for the job, and you know it, sister! It was either that, or a Czech assassin would have made mincemeat outta you, me, and Mikey."

She twists, fingers stretched out toward the ceiling. "Well, it's not about any of that for Veronica, Sam. It's...it's more like if you can't cherish her car, how could you possibly cherish her?" she explains as if it's the most obvious thing in the world (which, it is).

Sam's quiet for a moment—the instructor has them shift into chair pose—before he glances over at her. He swipes his soaked through hair out of his face. "Cherish, huh?"

She turns to him and nods, somewhat impressed that he has both made it this far in life being dense and that he hasn't passed out quite yet.

—

"So, neither of you will help me with this?"

Sam and Fi exchange a lazy glance before looking back at Michael from behind their respective sunglasses. Fi sighs dramatically. "It's not that we won't help, Michael. It's more like we..." She looks over at Sam for back up. "I want to say...can't?"

Sam laces his fingers behind his head and shrugs. "Sure, 'can't' works."

Michael throws both of them an unimpressed (and admittedly, envious) look from over his shoulder as he pauses his work on the Charger's carburetor. They're both set up in slightly rusted out poolside chairs with their feet soaking in a plastic kiddie pool that doesn't look a day younger than the early '70s. Probably some artifact from when he and Nate were younger.

He sets his 3/8" combo wrench on top of the engine. "Right, and you both can't," he probes, now leaning against the Charger, facing his two friends, as he gestures for them to continue, "because...?"

"What do you want from us, Michael?" Fi demands listlessly. He watches as she slides her bikini strap (she and Sam are both wearing bathing suits) off her right shoulder, so she can evenly apply more sunscreen. He swallows, possibly lingering longer than necessary (she's...well, it's...still a lot) before redirecting his attention anywhere else.

"Yeah," Sam agrees, snagging the tube of sunscreen out of Fi's hands, despite her protests. "You're the one that called for a debrief on the hottest day of the whole damn calendar year."

Michael pointedly ignores the rivulets of sweat soaking into his beater and, worse, the waistband of his jeans. "It's not the hottest—"

Sam cuts him off. "Historically high temperatures, Mike. I overheard your mom talking about it."

"Overheard me talking about what?"

Michael looks up, while Sam and Fi turn—almost in unison—as Madeline exits through the back door, a tray of iced tea in her hands. When neither Sam nor Fi rushes to help her (at least they're consistent, Michael thinks to himself bitterly), he walks over and helps her place the glasses on the small fold out table set up between the other two.

"Thanks, Maddie." Sam noticeably has no issue exerting himself to pick up his drink. Before he can take a single sip, however, Madeline snatches it out of his hands and replaces it with a beer. It may just be the widest Michael has ever seen Sam smile. "We were just saying how insanely hot it is today—"

"—and how only a certified sociopath would expect his dearest and most loyal friends to perform manual labor in this kind of weather," Fi finishes for him. She flashes a seemingly innocent smile at Michael from over the rim of her own glass. He responds in kind with something between a frown and a grimace.

Meanwhile, Madeline takes in his disheveled appearance. "And what happened to you?" she demands, handing him the iced tea that had previously been Sam's. He takes it, grateful. "You're soaked!"

"Yeah, I know, Ma," he says calmly, trying to restrain himself. "I've been out here fixing the Charger, but it would go a lot faster if I had some help..."

She follows his accusatory gaze back to Sam and Fiona and gasps. "Well, don't look at them, Michael!" she blanches as if he were asking them to help him bury a body, which...would not be an unreasonable scenario in his line of work. "It's hot outside!"

Michael stares up at the sky as if willing God to grant him the patience he is so quickly losing.

—

Virgil and...his mom.

—

Virgil and...his mother.

—

His own mom and...Virgil.

—

He's gonna kill him.

—

...Right after he drains a quart of bleach.

—

"He's here."

Maricruz doesn't bother looking up from her register. Their manager gave them a strict deadline for completing their cash counts today. "Who's here?

"The guy I was telling you about, the one who's in here all the time?"

Suddenly, Maricruz remembers. "Oh, yeah! The dude with all the yogurt, right?"

Her co-worker, Olivia, nods, cracking her gum in the process. "He only ever buys weird stuff, like screws and duct tape, never food—well, except for the yogurt. And, occasionally, beer." She pauses, then: "I think he might be a serial killer."

Maricruz finally looks up and watches as the man examines a box of 45-watt lightbulbs. She frowns, then turns to Olivia. "This guy?" she wants to know. "The one who dresses like some rich kid's hot, investment banker dad, who sometimes attends a lot of backyard barbecues?”

"Yes."

They pause in their conversation as Olivia rings up an elderly woman purchasing a bag of spinach and last week's People magazine. She waves goodbye to her and then once she leaves through the store's front doors, she zeroes in on her friend. "Hold up—are you saying hot people can't be serial killers?"

Maricruz rolls her eyes. "No. Duh, of course not. We both watched the same Ted Bundy documentary.

"True. Wait...are we saying Ted Bundy was hot?"

"I am not having this conversation with you."

Maricruz rings up her own customer (single mom with two toddlers, tons of sugary cereals) before looking back at Olivia. "There's no way this guy's a killer. Didn't you say he sometimes shows up with his supermodel wife?"

"Well, yeah," Olivia admits, "but, hello, ever heard of Scott and Laci Peterson?" She blows a bubble with her gum than pops it with an audible crack. "Also, for the record, I've never actually seen hot-might-be-a-serial-killer dude with a ring, so I think the supermodel's just his girlfriend.

Maricruz watches him grab a different pack of lightbulbs off the top shelf for an elderly woman behind him and sighs wistfully. "It totally figures he has a girlfriend." She stares a little longer. "I mean, serial killer or not, look at his arms."

Suddenly, Olivia clears her throat super loudly, snapping her out of her reverie. "Oh, my God, Maricruz, shutupshutup. He's coming to my lane!"

She looks over, and sure enough, the guy walks over to Olivia's lane and empties the contents of his basket onto the belt: a pack of lightbulbs, zip ties, rope, and two packs of blueberry yogurt. Olivia shoots Maricruz a look over his shoulder that seems to say, See? I told you so!

"Hi," he says with a bright, exaggerated smile, oblivious to their non-verbal conversation. It takes a moment for Olivia to recover while he digs in his pocket for his wallet and to respond back like a normal, human person.

"Welcome to Milam's Market," she says, totally using her Customer Service Voice as she rings up his items. "Did you find everything you need today?"

"Hmm?" He looks up from his phone, and the frown he was momentarily wearing transforms easily back to the smile from earlier. He snaps the phone shut and looks back up at her, somewhat sheepish. "Oh, uh, yeah. Even got a great deal on yogurt, so..."

Olivia gives him his total, and before he grabs his bags, he thanks both of them and tells them to have a great day.

As they watch him leave, Maricruz turns to Olivia. "Are we sure the supermodel is his girlfriend and not just his, like, insanely hot sister?" she asks desperately as she cranes her head to follow his exit beyond the store's double sliding doors.

Olivia nods sadly. "Yeah."

—

She tells him it's not good enough, but he doesn't know what else to say. He's never been good at this. He even has the scars from Dublin and Germany to prove it.

He feels slightly self-conscious, standing there shirtless, reminding her that they were profoundly unhappy together, nearly a decade ago. Ten years is a long time, and he's not exactly getting any younger—neither is his physique, frankly. He hasn't let himself go, by any means, but there's definitely a softness to his lower stomach that wasn't there the last time they were, uh...they last time they were...together. Fi doesn't mention it, or even really seem to mind much, however, when her foot connects with it just a few moments later.

He knows he's in trouble when his first punch accidentally lands, and she looks up at him afterward with that familiar fire in her eyes, the one that's equal parts terrifying and enticing.

He knows he's a goner when that same peculiar mix sends a jolt way down past his (grudgingly soft) gut while she deftly traces her lips along the lines of his palm.

And he definitely knows he's in way over his head when she lets him pin her to the mattress—when their eyes lock, and he anchors her face in his hand, while her hips cant slightly to meet his own. Admittedly, his self-control grounds to dust long before then, but it's only when his lips capture hers that he finally does the one thing he has wanted to do since the CIA dumped him in that trashy hotel with her all those months ago—

He finally gives in.

#burnnoticeedit #burn notice week #my writing #my fic #burn notice fic #michael westen #fiona glenanne #sam axe #madeline westen #fiona x michael

[whelvenwings]

✭ Girl Like You ✭

Pairing: Michelle Jones/Shuri Word Count: 13.8k Thank you so much to @lesbiansassemble for letting me take part in her 10k femslash challenge, with the prompt “We’re Trapped”!!

MJ doesn't do opening up to people. She doesn't do dancing at lame parties. She doesn't do singing in public. She doesn't do losing control in any way that she could possibly help, ever. She also definitely does not do being trapped in an elevator - not after what happened at the Washington Monument.

And then she meets Shuri.

((I wrote this for a challenge with a 500-word minimum, and ended up writing so much more. I totally fell in love with these characters and how I imagined their relationship might grow. I hope you enjoy it if you check it out!!))

Read the first chapter below or check it out here on AO3!!

***

“- and she’s coming to our school? Our school?”

“Ned. I’m not kidding.”

“Tell me this isn’t like the time in eighth grade when -”

“No, I swear to God, it’s not like the time you ate your own eraser.”

“You said that you’d switched out one of my things for candy and it just looked so -”

MJ folded her arms, sank down in her seat on the bus, and tried to tune out the conversation Peter and Ned were having in front of her.

“I said that because I thought you’d guess , not just pick something up and chew on it…”

She closed her eyes, and pictured her desk back at home: and there they were - her headphones, sitting on top of her laptop. Exactly where she’d left them, trudging past in an early-morning haze on her way out of the door; their wire curled up in an enticing beckon, promising bass thick enough to drown out whatever was going on in front of her.

“No, no, seriously,” Peter was saying. “I swear, she’s actually coming to our school.”

MJ’s head was aching. Last night had held an accidental Wikipedia binge, hopping from article to article, reading all the new tech pages that were springing up like weeds on the sidewalk; Kimoyo Beads. Ring Blades. Vibranium Strike Gauntlets. The details were sparse and there wasn’t a lot to go on - but over the course of the six hours MJ had spent lost down the rabbit hole, at least two of the articles had already grown extra subsections. New information was flooding in.

It had made MJ’s heart thud as she sat bathed in the blueish light of her laptop at three in the morning, on the night before the first day of junior year.

And it was only now, as she sat on the bus and tried desperately to convince her body that closing her eyes constituted more sleep, that she felt even the slightest twinge of regret. Watching this stuff happen was once-in-a-lifetime.

“Hey, MJ.” Ned’s voice, loud enough to be heard clearly over the roar of the bus, made MJ frown. “MJ.”

“Mmm.” She did her best impression of a person who was extremely asleep.

“EM JAY.”

She slit her eyes open, making sure that her stare encompassed the exact right ratio of tiredness, irritation, lack of investment, and sheer dead-eyed scariness as possible. Ned hitched on a grin in the face of it, clearly not appreciating the artistry that went into the expression’s careful emotional makeup.

“Did you know about this?” he said, gesturing with one hand towards Peter. The bus rattled onto the school grounds, stop-starting to avoid the students running across the path. MJ glanced from Ned to Peter’s profile and back again, making sure to look completely disinterested.

“Know about what,” she said flatly.

“Who’s joining the school this year?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Really?” Peter spun completely in his seat to look at her. MJ’s eyes flicked over to him - his brown hair a slight mess, as usual, though she could see that there had been some attempts to school it into a definite style. He, too, looked tired, though MJ could concede in the privacy of her own head that he wore it with better humour than she did herself. “How’d you know?”

“Because we’re best friends already,” MJ said.

“You what?”

“Oh, yeah. Me and my dear friend Please Shut Up go way back.” She glared at the pair of them, and then shut her eyes.

“What’s up with you?” she heard Ned say. “Late night?”

“You really wanna know?”

“Uh… yeah, I gue-”

“I was hanging out with Please Shut Up. Having a ton of good times.”

“You’re mean.”

MJ snorted. The bus came to a complete stop, and the doors sighed open; MJ kept her eyes tightly closed for a few seconds longer, trying to enjoy the feeling as much as she possibly could while everyone around her scrambled for their bags and began to pile out into the parking lot.

“Ding ding,” she heard Ned say. “This is our stop.”

“Ugh.”

Rolling her eyes behind closed lids, she grabbed for her backpack on the empty seat beside her, and slouched off the bus behind Ned and Peter. She winced against the sunlight, sleeplessness watering everything around her down to a kind of liquid surreality. She yawned - but even as she did so, even as most of her mind was dedicated to wishing that she was back in her bed with her head on a soft pillow and her comforter pulled all the way up to her chin, even as she blinked slowly and sleepily - she realised that there was some kind of commotion happening across on the other side of the parking lot.

“Oh my god,” Ned said, punching Peter - surprisingly hard, MJ thought, but Peter didn’t seem to really feel it. “Oh, my god, it’s happening. It is happening.”

The words what’s happening were on the tip of MJ’s tongue; an image of Ned’s smug face rose up in front of her, how happy he’d be at knowing something she didn’t after she’d been rude on the bus, and she bit back her questions. Instead, she started to head quickly towards the school - directly away from the crowd. There were a few odd looks thrown her way by all the people heading in the opposite direction, but she paid them no attention whatsoever.

The growing melee surged behind her as she walked through the school gates, not meeting anyone’s eye. Instead of going inside, though, she took a quick right, heading for a conveniently placed wall that started low and slowly sloped upwards; climbing up, she walked her way to higher ground, peering over the heads of the crowd in the parking lot.

She was too far away to see what was really happening, except that there were four sleek black cars all parked side by side, and some women in red standing absolutely still and eyeing the general ruckus of students. They seemed to be keeping some kind of peace just by looking vaguely ready to kill anyone who looked at them.

MJ stared, wishing she could so effortlessly channel that kind of energy.

The clothes they were wearing… she narrowed her eyes. She knew that armour, she knew those patterns. They all had shaved heads, too - no hair for anyone to grab onto in a fight.

She blinked. Surely, it wasn’t possible. She’d just spent all night reading about these exact women and their country and their weapons and their technology, and now she was sleep deprived, and seeing things. These could not be the Dora Milaje.

MJ wasn’t even completely clear on how that was pronounced, let alone being prepared to see them in her school’s parking lot.

And then, out of one of the cars, stepped a girl.

MJ felt her breathe leave her, before she’d even fully registered who she was looking at. Dressed in lowkey, casual clothes - just jeans, a t-shirt, and a black and white jacket, with her hair tied up at the back of her head - was a person MJ knew by sight, instantly. Someone she’d read about; someone she followed on Twitter; someone she’d seen on the news, announcing the arrival of new outreach buildings across the country. Someone she’d actually considered getting Snapchat for, just to see her stories and selfies.

Shuri, Princess of Wakanda.

The crowd around Shuri were going wild, yelling and waving. The Dora Milaje were looking, somehow, even more stern as they kept the tide of teenage enthusiasm at bay. Shuri offered them all a grin, and MJ felt her heart flip in her chest.

With a little nod of her head, Shuri began to walk towards the school. Like a flock of seagulls, the students all around her shuffled and squawked at each other, following along; Shuri seemed unfazed, not ignoring them, but just smiling around and occasionally laughing.

She must be used to this by now, MJ thought.

“I told my brother,” she heard the Princess say as she headed through the gates. “I told him, I wanted to take the bus! The big cars will only make it worse! Tomorrow I’m taking the bus here and there’s nothing he can do about it…”

MJ shifted, almost falling off the wall. Shuri was going to be here - not just for one day, but for two?

The suddenness of her movement must have caught Shuri’s eye. Down below, the Princess jerked her head up - frowning, her eyes drifted upwards too - and quite suddenly, MJ found herself meeting the gaze of the Princess of Wakanda.

MJ froze.

Shuri’s eyebrows raised slightly, and her mouth crooked into a smile - a small one, genuine, not for show - as she took in MJ standing atop the wall. MJ swallowed. Before there was time to smile politely, or wave, or do anything at all, the moment was over. Shuri had walked into the school, her eyes sliding away.

When the swirling wave of students chasing after her had washed inside with her, MJ hopped down off the wall. She leaned back against it; she could still feel her heart pounding.

Shuri had smiled.

And MJ hadn’t even tried to tame her hair this morning, beyond shoving it into a bun at the back of her head. Not that she expected someone as smart as Shuri to be making judgements about someone based on how many flyaways they had going on, hair-wise, or how beat-up their shoes looked, or how probably vacant and awestruck their expression was…

MJ breathed out. But Shuri had smiled.

She found herself half-smiling down at the ground, just thinking about it.

“So, how did you enjoy meeting Princess Please Shut Up ?”she heard a voice say. She looked up, blinking away her mind’s looped replaying of the moment that had just happened.

Ned was smiling at her smugly, while Peter stared up the steps after Shuri.

MJ considered using words to reply, and then decided a simple gesture would do the trick.

“Aw, come on. That’s not nice.”

They headed inside as a reluctant, ragged trio.

“So… she’s here because…” MJ said, unable to resist fishing for information any longer.

“To go to school,” Ned finished for her. “Something about community outreach or whatever.” MJ tried to keep walking normally, tried to keep breathing. Shuri. The Princess of Wakanda - a title so grandiose that it sounded ridiculous even to think it - that Shuri. Was going to be here every day? Was going to take classes? Was going to join band or the cheer squad, was going to go to parties, was going to - to go to high school?

“But she’s, like… a genius,” MJ said, sounding stupid to herself. “Like… she doesn’t need high school.”

Ned shrugged, while Peter looked thoughtful.

“Peter, does she even know about -” Ned began.

“Don’t know,” Peter said shortly, with a pointed look, before seeming to sink back into his thoughts. MJ narrowed her eyes at the pair of them, before shrugging it off.

Whatever. Those guys were losers.

And Shuri had smiled.

***

Read the rest here on AO3!!

#whelvenwingsfic #nessies10kchallenge #shuri x mj #mj x shuri #trapped in an elevator #fluff and feels

[ahumanintraining]

confirmation bias

she never asked (if she could sit with her). —erlu.

also read on: ao3

notes: with apologies for being excruciatingly late, i present this erlu oneshot to you for ft femslash vday exchange! and oh what a surprise that it’s you, @lucylaneeffect, haha! at any rate, i hope you find this fic to your liking :)

Lucy takes the first available seat she sees in the cafeteria — and she swears this isn’t just because Erza Scarlet is sitting right across from it.

Lucy’s trying to get to know her product design classmate a little better anyway, and today — with a sheer burst of rare confidence — instead of watching Erza eat alone and wondering why she chose not to eat in company, Lucy’s decided that she would have lunch with the redhead and perhaps even figure out why she usually ate by herself.

“I’ll eat lunch with you today,” Lucy announces as she swings her leg over the cafeteria bench, dropping her lunchbag onto the table. “You don’t mind, right?”

She’s a little forceful with her request, but she knows that Erza wouldn’t decline.

“Apparently not,” Erza replies, with a hint of a wry laugh.

Lucy can’t help but look up to meet the other woman’s eyes. Even after an entire two months into the semester of being in the same small group for their product design class, Lucy still finds Erza’s voice surprising.

Erza’s voice is husky, a little rough around the edges but somehow soothing all the same. Lucy wonders why Erza doesn’t speak up more during small group discussion — she seemed to know a lot more than all the other know-it-all men in class and would probably articulate it a lot better. Lucy would 11 times out of 10 prefer to hear Erza’s reasoning through a short answer question than any of the attempts at theory the guys tried to take a shot at.

“Sorry,” Lucy apologizes, out of reflex.

“Oh, no, I really don’t mind,” Erza clarifies. “Why would I turn down the opportunity to get to know the only other female in our product design class?”

Lucy laughs as if she hadn’t thought the same thing just a few seconds before. “The gender-ratio is quite disturbing,” she admits.

“I’m pretty sure there’s more girls in our class,” Erza says. “They’re just smart enough to realize that lecture isn’t worth their time and that they’d rather be checking their email than sitting through an hour and a half of that man’s rambling.”

Lucy perks up. “You go to lecture?”

“In spirit.”

“Oh,” Lucy replies, blushing. She looks down. “I guess I’m not very smart.”

Erza vigorously shakes her head. “No, I think you’re smarter than everyone else because you’re probably able to actually follow along and understand what’s going on in lecture,” she counters. “And I think you realize that even as terrible of a teacher the professor is, his classes are also what we’re all taking college loans out for.”

Lucy can’t help the shy smile that’s formed across her lips. “Not really.”

“Definitely smarter than me, who thought that it was a good idea to spend money on the cafeteria strawberry shortcake rather than take the time to prepare a homemade meal,” Erza remarks, nodding at Lucy’s arrangement of tupperware. She pushes aside the square container and spoon in front of her — telltale signs of whipped cream and red strawberry syrup left on the plastic.

Lucy blows on the bit of hot pasta on her fork. “Just premade lasagna that I nuked in the microwaved. I’m not that fancy.”

She doesn’t think about figuring out when Erza’s birthday is the next time she’s on social media. She doesn’t think about researching the best strawberry shortcake near campus, and she definitely doesn’t think about buying a slice and gifting it to Erza whenever that day is, saying a witty line that she hasn’t thought of yet referring back this moment.

She eats her lasagna instead, nevertheless aware that Erza is watching her silently.

“So why do you usually eat alone anyway?” she asks, thinking that maybe Erza would take the cue to fill in the silence.

She doesn’t.

“I just prefer to,” Erza answers briefly.

Not expecting the awkward silence to return so quickly, Lucy swallows her bite of piping hot lasagna too quickly. She reaches for her water to take a swig to help cool her scorched throat — quickly, so that she can carry the conversation forward sooner than later.

“I mean, not like I’m saying it’s bad — I’m just curious,” Lucy sputters, screwing the top back on her canteen.

“I like to people-watch,” Erza replies.

Lucy gulps down her water. She forces a couple of laughs, and she’s not sure if the redhead is being serious. “But actually?”

Erza nods, then starts pointing out the various faces around them with her eyes. “She always gets a vegetable pizza but picks out the olives and folds them neatly into a napkin before she throws them away,” she says, looking over at a brunette. “And then the person that always sits next to her is probably her lab partner for organic chemistry. I see him passing goggles to her and lab notes. They’re always half-eating, half doing an assignment so I’m pretty sure that they have that class right after lunch.”

Lucy can’t help but look up — and indeed the two people Erza’s talking about are doing exactly as she said: the brunette is eating an olive-less pizza with her left hand and scribbling with a pencil in her right hand, and the guy next to her looks like he’s working on a spreadsheet, typing furiously away.

Erza waits for Lucy’s eyes to come back to hers before she points to another group with her eyes. “This crew is the one I’m trying to figure out. I can’t figure out if the tall girl is part of their inner circle or not. She seems close to like two of them, but the other three never sit next to her,” Erza muses. “Or maybe they just always take the same seats for lunch. But that’s not entirely true because everyone else switches around, but the tall girl and those three aren’t ever next to each other.”

Lucy tries not to look too long at the group of six to see if she can answer Erza’s questions, but she can’t admit that now she’s a tad interested. She turns her head back to Erza.

“You’re creepy,” Lucy finally says.

Erza only smiles. Then she leans in and looks a little accusingly at Lucy. “I mean, only someone else that also people-watches would know I eat alone.”

“Anyone can notice that,” Lucy defends.

“Anyone that watches me at least.”

Lucy challenges Erza’s gaze, staring back at her eyes for as long as she can. Lucy eventually defers when her cheeks get a little hot.

“Well, you don’t always eat alone,” Lucy says, as if confessing that Erza’s caught her attention more times than not. She picks at clump of cooked tomato in the lasagna sauce. “Every now and then there’s this guy that drops by.”

“Jellal,” Erza affirms, smile never leaving her face.

“Sure,” Lucy replies. It’s not like she knows the blue-haired other person anyway. He’s probably just as mysterious and unassuming as Erza, by the looks of it. Lucy’s tried figuring out who the guy is, without much luck. “He seems close to you.”

“He is. We’ve known each other since we were children.”

Lucy nods, continuing to eat.

“We’re not together.”

Lucy’s fork freezes before her lips. “I mean… I wasn’t assuming anything,” she replies slowly.

“I just wanted you to know,” Erza simply says.

“I see.” Lucy chews slowly, her lunch now no longer as hot as it was when she first removed it from the microwave. She’s not really sure what else to say, or what to make of what Erza says, but she feels like it’s important to respond.

“I notice that you usually sit with that blue-haired girl,” Erza tells her. “But only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so she probably has class or something.”

“Yeah, Juvia,” Lucy replies.

“I guess we both sit with mysterious blue-haired people.”

Lucy laughs. “Yeah… actually, Juvia and I are childhood friends too. We’re very close. Especially this year since our schedules are almost the same, we spend almost all our time together except Monday, Wednesday, and Friday lunches because she has fluid dynamics,” she explains. There’s a brief pause, and then Lucy clarifies, “I mean, we’re not like…together though, you know.”

Erza smirks. “I never asked,” she says, turning Lucy’s comment back around.

“I guess with all your people-watching you would have figured it out already.”

Erza shrugs, tilting her head to the side. It’s only now that Lucy notices that she’s wearing earrings, a single crystal dangling from a silver ring. “It’s nice to hear if my theories are right or not.”

“Were you?”

And for the first time, Erza’s caught off guard. Her eyebrows raise slightly. “Was I what?”

“Right or wrong —” Lucy says, a grin growing over her face. “—about what you hypothesized about me.”

Erza thinks for a moment. “You mean you want to know what I thought of you before you came over to sit down to eat lunch with me?”

“Yes.”

Erza laughs softly. “I mean, I don’t know,” she says. “All I knew was that you were the only other girl in my discussion section for product design and that you usually bring in your own food to eat from home. It’s healthy because at least from a distance I usually saw some green — and your skin is pretty clear so you have to be doing something.”

Lucy snorts. “Well I’m not being too healthy today.”

The other girl smiles gently. “I just noticed that you spend Tuesdays and Thursdays eating alone and people-watching,” Erza continues. She pauses briefly, then adds, “And I wondered if you would ever come over and join me — especially because I know that you know I sit here by myself.”

Lucy twirls her fork in her food. “So now what?”

“Well now this cute blonde girl is sitting in front of me eating her lunch and keeping me company and I feel like a slob because I wasn’t ready for her to sit across from me on a day I decided not to put on makeup or wear proper clothes or buy a healthy lunch.”

Lucy bites her bottom lip, trying not to laugh too hard. She pretends the heat in her cheeks is from the rising steam from her food even though she knows it’s been fifteen minutes in and her food is more cold than warm now.

Lucy practices the words in her head before she says it out loud. “Maybe next time I’ll ask if you mind if I have lunch with you this Thursday before I sit down.”

Erza smiles. “Maybe next time I won’t stop you.”

#erlu #erza scarlet #lucy heartfilia #erza x lucy #fairy tail #written for #ft femslash #vday exchange #for the fabulous #lucylaneeffect #who i discovered is actually following me on tumblr and twitter ahaha #how embarassing #:3 #—erlu