#King of impeding having a big mouth

[sixdegreesofbali]

I was rooting for you for a bit there, Sainz. It was short lived however. Hope Leclerc puts you back in your place. Hypocrite.

[abnomi]

EVERY REASON (that i can think of) AS TO WHY TURBO/KING CANDY IS NEURODIVERGENT 💥💥

i would like to make a disclaimer first and foremost about the obvious, being that Turbo/King Candy is heavily implied to have narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) and antisocial personality disorder (ASPD). Very often, characters with these disorders are portrayed as villains, and Turbo is no exception to this. There's nothing wrong with antagonistic characters having said disorders, per se, but when the only representation available for people with these conditions are found in characters you're not supposed to root for, it can be really disheartening. i won't be erasing these parts of him because i feel it would be in poor taste to gloss over those core elements of who he is, but plz keep in mind that having any kind of personality disorder doesn't make anyone inherently evil!!!🌞 your ACTIONS make you, not your brain

Also if anyone has any suggestions or other ideas for his neurodiversity, i would love to hear them! please do share!! I LOVE PSYCHOANALYZING CHARACTERS AND HEARING OTHER PEOPLE PSYCHOANALYZE THEM !!!! YAY🎉 if u agree or disagree with any of my points I'd love to discuss them further :-]

without further ado... click read more to find out…😈 be ready for a lot of reaches

💥 ADHD 💥

STIMMING

Turbo's constantly moving around in some way; he's a very expressive character! even as King Candy, he can't seem to conceal his frequent giggling. it's a big habit of his; he seems to do it involuntarily to regulate himself, including when he's nervous or uncomfortable.

he seems to display other repetitive behaviors as well, like doing his iconic thumbs-up pose, sticking out his tongue, or hopping around gleefully. he is but a jovial court jester..

i personally like to think that his phrases, "Turbo-tastic!" and "Have some candy!" are vocal stims of his, although i equally really love the interpretation that these (and the aforementioned stims) are tics :-]

another headcanon; i think it would make a lot of sense for him to have an oral fixation of some sort (ignoring the whole sigmund freud part of the term ermm...); just lots of biting, chewing, needing to have something in his mouth. It would align with the whole idea that he smokes, too

HYPERACTIVITY

we can clearly see throughout the film that Turbo has a lot of energy, made abundantly clear by his mannerisms and general behavior. he's constantly moving, using exaggerated expressions and gestures to communicate + express himself. He's one of the most animated and bouncy characters in the movie, next to Vanellope! it's silly how a character not very grounded in reality is such a threat, but i suppose that's what makes him so threatening in the first place...

another factor in this is how he is very adrenaline-seeking, craving activities that give him a rush (sugar rush...😂😂). more on that in a bit!!

HYPERFIXATION

Turbo's fixation with winning is all-consuming for him; it's an obsession. he doesn't appear to care about much else, if anything besides it. this could be interpreted as a hyperfixation for him (or special interest if ur all about that autism lifestyle), as it overtakes all of his focus and impedes every process of his mind.

it's clear that racing is much more than a passion for him, and while that fact is due to how he was programmed, it's a major character trait of his regardless that could be correlated to neurodivergence.

HYPERFOCUS

There seems to be a big theme of "all or nothing" when it comes to Turbo. he will either be fully dedicated to something or brush it aside without a second thought. it can't be denied that he fully wraps himself up in what he wants, whether it's a conflict he can't let go of or a new pursuit he's hungrily chasing after. 

ultimately, his dedication varies depending on if it is relevant to him and his interests or not, but this aspect of him still shares patterns with neurodivergent thought processes.

INSTANT GRATIFICATION

Seeing as he has a tendency to cheat in his use of code to spawn in whatever his heart desires, it can be assumed that this could do with Turbo wanting instant gratification to fill that bitter, empty void inside of him. while this could simply be brushed aside as greed and his belief that he is obligated to have access to whatever he wants, this trait is consistent with his generally dopamine-seeking behavior and wanting to be instantly rewarded by his actions. His obsession with needing to feel good directly relates to his need for another buzz, constantly after the next rush. (a sugar rush if you will☺☺☺)

ADRENALINE-SEEKING

Closely related to the previous speculation, Turbo always seems to be chasing his next high. he loves the thrill of action and being surrounded by crowds of people below him. it's why his big thing is racing! people cheer him on, he can do whatever he wants, he can go really fast and look cool..

it's possible that a big aspect of why he does this is to distract himself from any kind of pain, because pain = vulnerability. bro does NOT know how to independently cope with his own problems.. HE MAD AS HELLLLL!!! 😂😂

STRUGGLE WITH SELF CARE

(i know this is reaching but bear with me... 🐻) going off of his appearance and tendency to make poor decisions, it can be gathered that this man lacks skill in the self care department. his yellowing teeth and sunken eyes not only serve to complement his design, but also give way to the idea that he neglects himself in favor for whatever weird scheme he's up to.

of course, Turbo does prioritize himself above everyone else, but he doesn't strike me as the type to care much about how others think he smells. him being a bother to anyone isn't a concern of his. he cares about whatever gets him the most praise and attention from as many people as possible, which is winning and racing. Who cares about how clean he is when he's up on a podium holding a shiny, golden trophy, anyway?

It's likely that he had to step his game up when he went under disguise as king candy, which is why he looks well-groomed in comparison to his more corpse-like appearance. Ugly hoe. it can also be assumed that he's had more time to focus on himself because everyone loves him without question... Well, except for Vanellope, but who cares about her, right?

also, i know he makes a condescending comment to Ralph about how bad his breath smells, but it's made abundantly clear that Turbo is a massive hypocrite. his comment doesn't erase the possibility that he has suffered from such "halitosis" as well.

💥 ANXIETY 💥

GENERAL ANXIOUS BEHAVIOR

i know, i know, this could technically be chalked up to be "Turbo is nervously giggling and shit because he's scared of getting caught," but guys. g

even in the flashback scene, we can see how easily stressed he can become in an alarmingly short period of time. he is extremely insecure, therefore i am led to believe he is not only emotionally dysregulated, but also by extension, anxiety ridden.

yes, this is purely speculative, but who's to say that he wasn't like this before? being high-strung and intense are significant facets of his personality consistently portrayed throughout the film. as long as he is getting exactly what he wants, he is happy; the moment he loses even a blip of control, however, he immediately grows extremely tense.

if Turbo wasn't anxious about his disguise as King Candy before, he was anxious about how much attention he was receiving on a given day. if not that, then he'd be anxious over how he presents himself. He hates how he can't control how other people perceive him, which is why he is constantly trying to act like he's better than he is.

its why he justifies his behavior to himself, proudly making others refer to him as the "rightful ruler" of sugar rush and relishing in the attention of his countless underlings. Any secure and stable person would NOT ACT LIKE THIS!!!!😭😭😭

FIGHT OR FLIGHT

As we can see a handful of times on screen, Turbo's instinct to protect himself is very easily activated.

 his fear manifests in anger and aggression. we can see at multiple points how easy it is to upset him or fluster him; his anger is one side of the same coin, the opposite end being his fear and paranoia.

Going off of this point, have you noticed that Turbo is either satisfied or furious without much of an in-between? how the second something isn't under his manipulation, he lashes out and fights back? I'm led to believe that this is how he responds to fear (AAUAAYAUUUUGGHHH 🐡🐡🐡🐡🐡🐡🐡). This guy is so against the idea of being vulnerable, that even when afraid, he will utilize violence to regain his dominance over the situation at hand.

CONTROL + PARANOIA

Turbo's always trying to writhe or fight his way out of uncomfortable situations, unable to exist outside of his comfort zone for seconds at a time.

his defensive, paranoid, and controlling behavior are all reflections of how deeply insecure this man is. He feels such an intense need for everything to go exactly how he expects it to go that the moment he senses any kind of threat, he instantly jumps to defend himself and what he feels that he has "earned," regardless of whether there truly is a threat or not.

this could potentially be a coping mechanism for his anxiety and sense of stability; can't forget to mention how territorial he is!! he jumps to conclusions about what others' intentions are before they even get a chance to reply, as seen with his first encounter with Ralph in the movie. 

the racer is so internally discombobulated that he seeks any sense of stability on his environment, including on those around him. his sense of self is so warped that he copes with constant distraction; being under the spotlight, being actively racing, having to be showered with attention, having others make him feel good because he doesn't know how to do it for himself. he needs to feel like everything is under control, lest everything falls apart.

"...if there's ONE thing I can't abide, it's ANYTHING out of order!"

💥 NPD 💥

INFLATED SENSE OF SELF IMPORTANCE

Turbo's most in-your-face trait above all else. It's made more than crystal clear in every scene he's in that his arrogance is a determining factor in how he interacts with others. This is exactly what drives him to desperately crave admiration, to chase after others he's envious of because he thinks he is obligated to take what they have.

he seems to genuinely think he is entitled to get whatever he wants, just because he is inherently "special" or "better" than everyone else. Why else would he have made himself a king, a step above princess?

EXCESSIVE NEED FOR ADMIRATION

Turbo's self worth is COMPLETELY dependent on the opinions of children and teenagers. I think i don't need to say any more than that, but i will. (Evil).

As cartoonishly massive as his ego is, i think that it's fair to assume that Turbo has a very unstable sense of self, distorting his perception of his own worth down with it. his near-constant flaunting and need to be the best is a dead giveaway to his deeply-ridden self-doubt. The foundation of his stability is built around how "good" he is (at racing and winning), how powerful he is, whether or not he is being prioritized above everyone else, whether or not he is the absolute best, etc. etc.

The racer outright manipulates others to shower him with admiration and undeserved appreciation. He is incapable of forming a true sense of internal value, instead heavily and codependently relying on others to form it for him. if he isn't the best, he may as well just be nothing.

INTENSE JEALOUSY

He reacts so severely to what he perceives as others taking away what is rightfully his that it only goes to solidify my previous points even further. the second someone else is getting more attention than him, Turbo will bend over backwards to rip back the praise he believes he so rightly deserves.

being extremely competitive, he will one-up against anyone he thinks of as a threat, dedicating himself to taking them down to the best of his ability, and making sure they STAY down to top it all off.

INABILITY TO HANDLE CRITICISM

if we really dissect the entire one-off joke with Turbo insisting that his stolen pink castle is actually "salmon," along with all of his other domineering behaviors, we can garner that he is very persistent in how he wants others to view him. i wholeheartedly believe that this would translate into him not only being defensive over his supposed "ownership" of Sugar Rush, but also over himself and his own insecurities.

He needs to feel good about himself or else he will die and quite literally try to kill everyone.

LACK OF EMPATHY

He appears to have a fondness for making jokes in very poor taste. Turbo has a big sense of humor, but it's always at the expense of others. Be it a pun about a "fungeon," or jumping to protect himself with a joke about "hitting a guy with glasses," he has a tendency to take serious situations very lightly. It's not that he's unaware of the weight of it; he simply doesn't take it Seriously.

its admittedly impressive how he was able to feign empathy so well for Ralph; it goes to show how he is very capable of understanding that what he's doing is wrong, but ultimately does nothing to change his behavior because it doesn't impact him personally. 

i would like to honor this part of him, because even in the possible alternate path of a redemption arc, his struggle with empathy can be explored in a variety of interesting ways :-] he can understand complicated emotions and situations on an analytical level, but he doesn't feel for them unless it has to do with him specifically. (this obviously doesn't make him inherently evil, his ACTIONS make him evil)

💥 ASPD 💥

LACK OF REMORSE/GUILT

One of Turbo's core characteristics is just how far he is willing to go for his own self-interest with lack of regard for how it impacts everyone else. he has absolutely no concern for how anyone else feels besides himself, willing to go so far as to attempt to mutilate a 9-year-old to achieve his petty goals.

Turbo is shameless when it comes to how he goes about getting his way. While I'd like to believe he isn't fully incapable of feeling regret, he doesn't showcase feeling it in the movie itself. The most regret he'll feel is when he slips up and exposes himself. anything else is the fault of everyone else; he is untouchable in his eyes.

DECEITFUL TENDENCIES + LYING

Where do i even start with this one.

well, first of all, let's acknowledge the... erm, horse? in the room? 🐎😅(Please someone help me there is a horse in my room help helphel) being that Turbo went under disguise as King Candy for at least a decade. Even before this, there's a good chance that he's already had plenty of experience with lies and manipulation. i'd be willing to bet on this!!

one of his specialties is being proficient in manipulation, be it the code of games or the minds of people. theyre basically the same thing to him, anyway... I'm sure you all know the scene where he uses 16 manipulation tactics against Ralph and wins. this was Obviously not the first time he'd done this.

REPETITION OF HARMFUL BEHAVIORS

Time and time again, Turbo can't seem to help himself when it comes to poor decision-making. he never internalizes that his bad choices aren't JUST bad for others, but also for himself, continuing to escalate further and further into very dangerous behaviors until he literally dies.

Here's a list of bad decisions he has made! (at least, that we know of)

Pinning himself above his peers

Harassment + stalking

Carelessly charging through GCS with his car, endangering countless civilians

Attempting to take over a game that isn't his x2

Vehicular manslaughter

Implied mass murder + attempted murder, attempted mutilation

Mass endangerment

Breaking and entering, theft, usurpation, plagiarism

and more!!!!!!!

AND HE LEARNS FROM ABSOLUTELY NONE OF THIS!!! with some of the items listed here, he's attempted to do multiple times! Absolute buffoon.

RECKLESS DISREGARD FOR SAFETY OF SELF AND OTHERS

Considering how he was willing to charge into a game that wasn't his own with the awareness that it could permanently kill him, going as far as to recklessly crash into another car (albeit it's possible this was unintentional), it's easy to gather that he doesn't seem to consider anyone's safety at all in the spur of the moment.

IMPULSITIVITY

his impulsivity and disregard for safety both go hand-in-hand. When it gets to a certain point, Turbo's emotions will boil over and blow up in a cold rage, thus causing him to spiral and act on impulse, becoming a detrimental force to himself as well as everyone around him.

What's interesting is how much restraint he is capable of; he typically is very strategic in how he orchestrates his plans! but once he reaches his breaking point, he snaps and leaves all of his hard work behind in favor of something that calls for his immediate attention.

💥 ETC. 💥

extra tidbits i didnt have enough energy to fully delve into :-]

BPD

Fear of abandonment

Blurry sense of identity

Feelings of emptiness

Self destructive tendencies

Emotional instability

Explosive anger

ODD (oppositional defiant disorder)

He seems so infatuated with his own autonomy that he gets to the point of being resistant and defiant

Resisting against the rules of the world that he directly caused as a result of his own actions, being that one shouldn't "go Turbo."

Enjoys upsetting/getting a rise out of others. this is more speculative as i am going off of the assumption that he thinks pissing people off is funny, based on his other behavioral patterns. (cruel sense of humor, wanting to feel above others via control & manipulation, enjoyment of inflicting pain onto others)

Forcefully defends himself and refuses any kind of criticism

Lashes out when he feels slighted

Excessive persistence despite all odds, whether it's beneficial to him or not

ok bye!! thank you if you managed to read this far ^^ peace and love take care of yourself! all in all turbo is so neurodivergent ok please Okay <3 get this thing his meds

[ranticore]

How are kosa harpy beaks used? I believe you said it was for battle, but do they have any other uses? (to me they look like a possible way to open carcasses while holding them with their talons...) Oh! And how do the battles look? Do kings just... Bonk each other with their beaks like goats mid-air?

i actually wrote a fight between kings here it's near the end of this document i think maybe. they fight mostly using their talons but the beak is a face-protector and also a sexually selected trait (harpies find it attractive). the beak actually impedes the mouth in some cases if it's very hooked, and it continually grows throughout a king's life, and you know what people say about harpies with big beaks ;) that's right, it means they've survived many years as a king when the majority of kings die in their first year, so it's a visual marker of experience and strength too

i don't think it would be worthwhile to eat them, there's easier livestock around. carnivore meat also taste bad

their bodies are probably burned though feathers are taken for sentimental purposes as keepsakes and trinkets for the falconers who worked with them.

harpy funeral customs vary by culture but in the ama plains it's a sky burial. they don't want their dead flockmates to be eaten by crawling beasts so they take them to a stony plateau in the plains that has been used for this purpose for generations. the bodies are left there to the scavengers and their bones can be collected later. the skulls of beloved kings are taken home especially.

[local-diavolo-anon]

I read fanfictions recently that got me back into FNaF so have this

(Note that this includes personal appearence headcanons)

Springtrap Headcanons!

Biology...(?)

This guy is roughly 7'6" tall, or around 2.30 centimeters if you count his ears as well

Without he is 6 inches/30cm shorter

William died in his mid 30s so he can be considered around that age (the 30 years more in the room alone are discounted)

The suit is still partially fuzzy and to the touch he feels like those fluffy socks... but old. And used. And slightly damp. And a bit crusty where the plastic base got messed up.

Yeah he is not funny to touch, nor to smell since as we all know he has a rotting corpse inside so he kinda stinks, but the smell died down with time

The suit do has a tail, but he cannot move it, its just screwed in place

The endoskeleton has a base model but modifies are made to make it fit a rabbit suit, which means that the feeth are shaped like rabbit feet and the face is as well

The springlocks are like a primarly exoskeleton, made to make so that the costume would maintain its form even with the endoskeleton pressed and flattened against the springlock rings

The endoskeleton's head is made out of 3 different pieces that thanks to the springlock can be kept separate and pressed against the sides of the mask to make space for a human head

If those locks were to snap, your head would quite literally be crushed like a watermelon

The chest is also separated but in 2 pieces and those are pressed on the back and front of the torso, the springlock keep them there and will make them snap back together when unlocked

To fit inside you have to use a crank and wound those springlocks back, then you slip in the pieces starting with your torso, shoes and gloves are last.

Also the endoskeleton's feet have a cavity where you can fit your own and kinda look like shoes because of it

(I got a bit carries away, my apologies, all of this will be clearer when i will make a proper headcanon reference sheet for this guy)

Anyway, his ears are rather big and they can move, but their movement range is definitely limited, most of the time they are locked in place at the base up to a certain point

If he shakes his head they will wobble a bit tho

He has bunny teeth, and while he misses a good chunk of most of his lips and cheeks, which make his teeth visible, the rabbit incisors actually stay outside of his mouth

This does not impede speech since he has a voice box and just does lips synch for fun

Springtrap misses his suit's exoskeleton and part of the springlocks on his left hand and foot, leaving the endoskeleton bare, the other limbs have a mostly complete covering

This is also why he walks with a limp most of the time, its not to put too much weight in the uncovered foot and risk ruining the metal

the endoskeleton uses metal wires that resemble actual muscles to move, and like with muscles those wires are tensed/pulled to make the limb bend

He has the equivalent of chronic pains caused by the springlocks and can still feel the metal pieces inside of his own body

Sometimes pieces fall out but he doesn't feel that, at least

Despite this, his movements are fluid post death, and if it were not that you can see inside of the costume, anyone would likely swear its just some guy with a mask on

He has two voices he can speak in, via the voicebox of the suit, and via his actual voice

The voice is roughly the same, one sounds slightly more synthetic and the other sounds out of breath and wheezed (still because of the springlocks)

Also it is rather painful for him to speak outside of using his voicebox

Trivia:

He is tired and needs a break at all times, annoyed is his default state

Sassy and can be the king of meaness if he is pissed enough

He is sarcastic and cynical, and easily comes off as rude because of it, which is not entirely wrong, he can be an ass when he wants to

He is intelligent, like really intelligent, and is easily annoyied by people who do not understand things or worse, refuse to

Has a PhD in mechanical ingeneering and will show off his skills if given the right opportunity, but will refuse to properly teach others how to do the same things

both ebcause he does not like to share his ideas and techniques and because he sucks turbo ass at teaching

Even after death he can work with little to no problems, the only issue he has are his fingers being rather big and lacking the sense of touch for the most part

His job is among his biggest prides and loved things, creating robotic creatures is way more than just work for him, and seeing his creations come to live is the best feeling he ever felt

He is not 'evil' in the sense he will not cause violence for the sake of it, but he won't regret hurting someone even beyond the definition of "severely" if he deems it necessary to achieve his goal

This does not mean however, that he won't threaten people for the sake of it

He does it both to achieve his goals where needed up also really just because he finds scaring people fun (possibly because its a display of control over others, or something like that)

He was the CEO of a restaurant franchise afrer all, he can still do the 'boss voice' and have people scatter

Springtrap can either act like a normal person or be downright terrifying and he is fully aware of what he needs to do to cause that change

He absolutely despites seeing his work being plagiarized and/or modified by anyone, that's his work and no one's sandbox to play into

if he were to spend a day as a human again, the first thing he'd do is probably break into a fast food place and inhale a triple cheeseburger with a ton of crunchy bacon, and jokingly he says that not doing so before dying has been among his biggest mistakes

My take on his lore:

(I will be honest, i have no idea of what his motivations became to in canon, so the next part is me bullshitting my way in basing off some timelines video i saw, and personal interpretation)

He wasn't a cruel man before, he had a family and he loved them dearly, what broke him was the death of his youngest son by also partially the hands of his eldest (Michael)

He was devastated because of this and after an accident with his creation, (which may have even been a springlock failure which also forced him in the hospital for several months) Henry basically laid him off and told him he was not in the conditions to work at the moment, and so to stay home and get better first and foremost, which had William spiral down between anger, grief, and envy for Henry, who still had this family

at this point Henry finds out what he was doing and both worried for his sanity and disgusted by his actions, kicks him out of the company

Alternative: Evan dying brought William to try and bring his son back from death, which lead to him creating circus baby, which we all know ended with his second child dying, this time by the hands of circus baby herself

Charlotte's murder was entirely driven by William's insanity and desire for revenge

Thar was... the worst move. Because perhaps Henry cared for him and genuinely wanted him to get better at first, and later wanted to prevent more people from dying, but depriving William of yet another thing he loved had him from borderline insane with grief to being downright maniacal about it

Either way:

However, when he saw charlotte somehow survive in the body of the marionette, he came to the conclusion that he was right, and once the body was lost, a soul could remain in this world if given another body

Which meant he really could have his lost son back

Slowly this also lead him to a desire for immortality, since once the body could not die, the soul couldn't either (perhaps to have more time to achieve his goal of bringing his son back)

Which is not incorrect according to the actual lore but alias his way of testing said theory was to kidnap and murder more children to see how the weird possession thing worked and what were the needed factors

(If alternative 1 is correct then Cyrcus baby was created around this time, and Elizabeth's death just made everything worse since now he had also the guilt of it on him)

He had regrets for the violence and death he had caused, but those always came too late for him to do anything about it so when he was lucid enough to realize how horrible was what he had done, he made justifications for it

This lead him to be very cold and detatched from other people'a suffering, and all the pain he felt also manifested in feeling good at seeing other people in pain and struggling, almost as a form of compensation for how he felt

If you couldn't tell, William (so springtrap as well) lacks impulse control

This also brought him to ending up stuck inside of the springbonnie suit

And with this papyrus of a text i think i am done? Next might be Sun and Moon headcanons, perhaps, and then i might go on with talking a bit about the au i mentioned a few times on my blog ^^

Edit: thanks to the kind soul in the comments telling me how to add a read more :")

[thespoonisvictory]

“Ok, but,” Verity stabbed a pancake, spearing raspberries with precision, “what exactly is stopping Ophelia from dying?”

James scoffed. “Her good health.”

Across the table, Brynn laughed into her drink. Verity shot a glare. 

“Besides the point. If Stella’s pact is unfixable in the what? Twelve days?” Brynn nodded. “Twelve days we have, then someone’s going to have to die. Better that it impede the war somehow.”

Stella shrunk into her chair. “I just don’t know what would happen. Last time it was my brother, this time…”

“It could be Ophelia?” Brynn said.

“Or me.” 

“Or any one of us.” Verity emphasized, eyes traveling over the party. 

Leilani drained the last bits of her orange juice. “So. She dies. We can’t blame the king, because that’s a lost cause. We can’t blame councilmembers, because we don’t have enough information, and they don’t have enough power in the first place.” She frowned. “Who’s left?”

Another raspberry stabbed. Jeffrey stared past the doors’ windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of his old coworkers. Brynn sighed into her coffee. 

In a rare moment, relative silence settled over the table. Pieces of toast, fruit, and soupy cream and syrup were pushed around on various plates. Ideas were pushed around with much the same enthusiasm, furrowed brows and pursed lips. No one wanted the councilwoman dead, but Stella’s death wasn’t particularly appealing either. It was a non-option. Yet, so was war, what with James’ family on the line, and Lani’s father, and millions of other innocent people. There were too many players, too many allies, enemies, too many pieces moving around. 

Knocking even one off the board could completely change the circumstances. 

Even one. Suddenly, Verity’s head shot up.

“Sileria.” She said. 

Stella raised a brow.

“We frame their ally. Sileria.” She continued, fork clattering downward.

Brynn stuck her knife at her, immediately catching on. “There’s an idea.” 

“Sileria looks war hungry, killing a beloved councilmember like that. They look desperate, anxious.” There was motion now, forward momentum in her tone. All eating had stopped as everyone turned to look at the mounting hope.

“And if, say, Lieutenant Broadwick caught wind that Sileria was only seeking to weaken the Republic, encouraging this conflict��” She turned to Jeffrey, a glitter in her eyes.

“From a trusted confidant, let’s say.” He said, cat’s grin growing. “Someone on the inside, someone who he would believe implicitly.”

Leilani laughed; it was so perfect. “A long-lost lover, at last returned, who would want only best for them, for the Republic.” 

“So he’s reporting to the masses that Sileria maybe doesn’t have the best intentions, right after they seem the obvious subject for such a public murder. It would be a drain on the Republic’s resources, this war, and for what real reason? The Halbits’ motivation is obvious, but Sileria’s is murky. Surely that buys some sort of suspicion.”

Brynn grinned. “Some sort of doubt.”

“From the people, from the king, who cares?” There was no stopping this idea now, not with the way Verity was grinning as she said it, the way Stella’s eyes were doing silent risk calculations, and coming up with nothing big enough to comment. “That’s it then. We kill Ophelia, frame Sileria.”

For a moment, everything was within reach.

At once, a clammer sounded outside, gasps of surprise, chairs squeaking outwards suddenly. For all the private room’s soundproofing, nothing could disguise the noise of unfortunately shocking news, the kind that never meant good things for the newly named Eyes of Jade. 

James pulled the door open and cautiously stepped out, quietly hoping this wasn’t something they’d somehow caused. The rest of the party stood, peering from behind. All the better, then, that he was the one to hear what came next, out of the mouth of some pale, prissy elf, blue skin flushing purple with the horror of it all. 

“She’s been murdered, in the biggest royal massacre in history. The Queen of Sovakia is dead.”

[chiwhorei]

a cigarette between friends

pairing: k. ukai x fem!reader

word count: 3.4k

genre: angst, implied smut, 18+ minors dni

warnings: implied smut, no actual sex scene; death of a parent; fwb; cursing; smoking; drinking; characters are 18 i do not, would not, and will not write minors

hymns: mover awayer by hobo johnson, it ends tonight by all-american rejects, and closing time by: semisonic

After the ceremony ends, even just a few hours removed, the reality of adulthood starts to settle uncomfortably in both of their chests. This would be the night that changes everything.  

“I have to say it.” They both think to themselves and brace for the impact this night is bound to bring.

Ukai Keishin and Sawamura y/n sit on the roof of y/n’s house and watch the sky melt  from pink to deep purple. They should be out with friends or family, rejoicing in the freedom that graduation has brought them, but neither have many friends anyway. Not ones worth more than this rooftop and the view above them. “Cheers, Kei. We’re celebrating.” She says grabbing a pack of cigarettes and lighter  from the windowsill behind her. She rolls her big, doey eyes and smacks the bottom of the box. She lights one and passes it to him after a few puffs. “Volleyball is over, one cigarette won’t fucking kill you.” She was wrong. That one cigarette would stop his fucking heart every time he watched her take a drag. The way she talks with it bobbing between her teeth was just as intoxicating as the six-pack of beer next to them.

Never has the tension between them been so thick. There are words hanging like nooses from her tongue, but for the first time in her life y/n couldn’t say what was on her mind. Ukai is always on the receiving end of the sharp comment shooting off of her lips, and he always dishes back what is served. The more they hurl verbal weapons, the closer they are pulled together. There was a magnet impeded in each respective skull and they always come crashing into one another. 

If anyone ever saw them together- or caught them together- during school or before Volleyball practice, they were fighting. The steam rising from both parties was palpable whenever they were within ten feet of each other. No one knew what it was like in these moments, though. No one knew what the pair was like behind a closed door or on top of a roof. They were truly inseparable. 

The only times y/n is quiet is when sucking on Ukai’s tongue. 

It goes one of a few ways with Ukai Keishin and Sawamura y/n. There are plenty of late-night booty calls or summoning each other out of pure boredom. Most often, however, their screaming matches end in hate fucking. That’s how this all started anyway.

“Maybe if you could take your head out of your ass, Ukai, we would be able to finish this project without ripping each other’s throats out.” She whispers at him in an even tone, glaring across the table they share at the library.

Being in the same classes was already grating on both of them. Whatever subject, they would be at odds. Constantly prolonging class discussions just to try to win the competition they created for themselves.

 Ukai didn’t actually care to debate the meaning of Cordelia's death in King Lear, but since Y/n had an opinion he surely wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to piss her off. This fighting came to a head when they were paired together for a literature project at the beginning of their third year. Everyone around them braced for impact when the pairs were assigned, realizing the cluster-fuck about to unfold.

“And maybe you could take the stick out of your ass.” He grumbles, but then a sadistic grin spreads across his face. He picks up his chair and drags it to the spot directly next to her. He leans right into her ear, “Unless that’s where you like it, Miss Perfect.” 

His comment was a gamble for sure, Ukai knows that the hot tempered girl next to him will probably hit him with her notebook, but if he shocks her, he wins.

“I usually don’t start with things up my ass. Plus, I’m into blondes.” A small shrug and bored look was all he got. Dammit. He should have known that he wouldn’t faze her that easily. Still… She doesn’t acquaint her hand with the back of his head, so he decides to push her a little further.

“How about we take a break and I can relieve some of your tension, y/n.” She stops writing in the sea of papers in front of them and looks at Ukai with unwavering eyes. Her stare is so intense he starts to prepare for the worst. At least in the position they’re currently sat in she can’t kick him in the balls. 

“Okay.” Y/n starts packing up her things and Ukai is reeling. Nothing shocked her, and even if he had propositioned her, Y/n always had control. 

Whichever way it starts, whether the tension threatens to boil over or just out of boredom, it ends in with him slamming her against the nearest surface while she pulls on the short brown hair at his nape. She has an amazing way of bringing out passion in people and Ukai is no exception. She challenges him at every turn. She elicits rage, anger, frustration- but he comes back for more like she’s holy communion. 

“What are we doing?” Ukai is agitated by the silence that has consumed the past few moments. Y/n scoffs at his quip and takes the cigarette from his hand, bringing it to her plush, disarming lips. “Come on, what’s some room temperature beer and a cigarette between friends?” Now it was his turn to scoff. 

“I’m not sure we would be considered friends, princess. We’re,” He pauses to contemplate, rubbing the bottle he’s holding between his palms “more like business associates.” The comment feels like poison in his mouth, even though it receives the intended chuckle from y/n. He takes a hearty sip from his beer to wash down the taste of his own words. 

He wasn’t lying, these two are not friends. Ukai, even if he was closer to a delinquent than a valedictorian, lives in a different world than y/n. He has athletic talent and a drive to compete, he has a group to belong to and a uniform to adorn. She mulls around with the crowd who directly opposes structured sports. Every time they’re shuffled into the gymnasium for a pep-rally, her friends jeer and taunt as various captains speak words of encouragement.

She hates her friends almost as much as she hates everyone else. She never thought liking vinyl and horrible black coffee were interesting traits, definitely not ones to develop a whole personality around. Y/n thinks it stupid to oppose society without a good reason. She has plenty of reasons, but the friends around her never made compelling points. Even so, she doesn’t have to like the people around her to understand the need for a place to belong. Until she found somewhere to truly be herself, they would have to work. Not that it matters now, even freshly out of graduation, she knows she isn’t going to see anyone from high school again.

“Business associates, huh? Is that what you call this-” She motions between them with the beer bottle in her hand, “thing that we do? Is Hate Fucking right under the NASDAQ when you check the stocks in the morning?” Her comment was sharp but her actions directly contrast. She moves to sit in between his legs and presses her back to his chest. Even if she’s not offended by his comment, she craves the intimacy of his arms wrapped around her. She craves to prove wrong a point she cannot argue. Every time she leans into him is a silent claim. She touches him in a way that no one else does. Y/n would never be seen at one his games donning his number or cheering him on, that was an action reserved for a girlfriend. She wasn’t there to jump into his arms after a win, but she was surely there to take his frustration out on after a loss. Her touch was not that of a romantic, but it served a purpose for both of them, and she revels in that control. 

It’s not like he minds, pushing his hands under the shirt that hangs so deliciously on her petite frame. His shirt. He rests his calloused palms on her stomach and she reaches up to run her hand over the back of his hair. 

Ukai is addicted to the feeling of her skin. Her soft, curvy body and the smell of strawberry lotion mixed with the faint trace of smoke clouds any rational thoughts. The feeling of her thighs wrapped around him could keep him up at night. At the beginning, sex was more than enough to quench his thirst. The fucked out look on her face in those moments was like methadone. However good that feeling was though, it quickly became insufficient. The real drug is this moment, with her in between his legs and his chin resting on the top of her head. If her sex was methadone, this is heroine. 

The comment she made was almost lost by the feeling of her flush against his hard chest. Where he was almost drunk on the feeling of her bare ass pressed into him, she wasn’t flustered in the slightest. 

Sawamura y/n was unmatched when she spoke. It seems like she employed a whole writers room to push out bitchy comments. How was she able to counter his dumb remark with a pointed jab and lay into his chest in a way that’s making him want to protect her? How are both possible at the same time? Fuck, he has to tell her before he chickens out again. He doesn’t know where to begin, but his words tumble out in a small voice. 

“We don’t always hate fuck, y/n.” He’s referring to the fact that they do spend time together with their clothes on, but his tone implies something different. The accusation is not lost on either of them. She doesn't show it, but his hushed confessional knocks the breath out of her lungs. He was right again.

She can’t deny the soft touches she places on his face after falling into bed together, studying his features as they let their breathing steady. She can’t deny the times she presses her small hands into the dips of his shoulder blades after a grueling practice. She can’t forget the night he came to her after being beaten to a pulp, and she will never forget the way he grabbed her thighs to ease the pain with each swipe of antiseptic on his beaten face.

“Ukai Keishin, why are you calling me at three in the morning. This better be important.” Y/n uses his full name as a sign of her frustration and it feels like a knife piercing his skull. 

“Your parents are gone this weekend, right?” He doesn't mean to sound like a prick, but the throbbing in his head is making him lose his senses. He coughs and blood spatters on his hand.

“Yes, but my brother’s asleep so if you’re coming over you have to be quiet. My window is open.” She whispers into the other end of the line and he hears her getting out of bed.

“I can’t come through the window. I’m at your front door.” The idea of climbing the tree in her backyard and jumping up to the roof seems impossible in his current state. He hopes that the tone of his voice is enough to stifle any argument from her. It seems to work as the door to her house is unlocked as quietly as possible. Upon opening it, she nearly screams at the sight in front of her. Ukai is leaning against the door frame with a beaten face and a small, apologetic smile. 

“I didn’t know where else to go.” He stumbles and y/n helps him inside. She puts her hands around his waist and hauls him clumsily into the bathroom. She sits him on the edge of the bathtub and grabs the first aid kit from the closet with shaking hands. “Is she shaking because she’s concerned for me? Or is she just pissed?” His inner-monologue is drowned out by the feeling of his own heartbeat in his swelling eye.

Y/n runs a washcloth under warm water and turns to face him. He looks up and is able to see her clearly for the first time- as clearly as he can with one good eye. Her bed head is the first thing Ukai notices, h/c locks wildly spilling over her shoulders. She looks exhausted. The bags under her eyes are deep and it looks like she’s been crying. “That wouldn’t be from me right? Surely not, if I ever did something worth crying over, she would just yell at me.” He watches the form in front of him, clad in nothing but an over-sized shirt from a band he doesn't recognize and- he lifts up the shirt slightly- yeah, a pair of underwear. 

If she notices him staring at her, she doesn’t say anything and approaches him with the washcloth. She looks so different standing above him like this, she looks like- 

“An angel.” He says out loud, only realizing it when the sound of his voice hits his ears. “Hardly Kei. Stop being weird.” She chuckles at his dizzy comment and lifts his chin up, at least her nickname for him is back on her lips, where it belongs. “This is going to sting but you have to stay quiet. If you wake up my brother I will kill you.” Y/n stands in between his parted legs and starts to dab lightly at the blood under his nose. He winces and grabs her thighs to anchor himself, biting his tongue to stifle a painful grunt. Her honey-sweet thighs keep him distracted, at least a little, from the sting of the rag making contact with his face.

“What happened?” Y/n asks so softly it is almost a hum. 

“The guys and I were just hanging out- ah, ouch- and some prick from the basketball team started messing with one of our first years. They called him a queer, so my fist attached itself to the douchbag’s jaw.” He says simply and digs his nails into the spot right below her ass.

“And I can guess that said basketball douchebag had friends.” Y/n puts a band aid on the gash under his blackening eye, and Ukai lets out a low chuckle.

“Yeah, but I’m the only one who really got hurt.” She sighs and cleans the dirt from his shaved hairline with feather-light touches.

“Don’t expect me to tell you that you’re a hero, Kei. I think what you did was stupid. There are better ways to support gay rights than getting your ass handed to you.” His desire to stand up to injustice was commendable, even if it was rough around the edges, but she wasn’t about to stroke his ego by voicing that opinion. She steps away slightly to clean up the small pile of wrappers and gauze, and Ukai immediately misses having his hands on her bare legs.

“I wouldn't expect a gold star from you, y/n.” He clears his throat in an awkward series of coughs and takes the aspirin and glass of water from her outstretched hands. ‘Can I ask you a question?” He swallows the pills thickly and sets the cup next to him. He plays with the hem of her sleep shirt and looks up at her, awaiting her acknowledgement. The way his fingers tug at the fabric makes him feel like a child.

“I’m not blowing you just because you got hurt.” That damn tongue of hers, so sharp no matter the situation. She puts the first aid kit back and wrings the blood out of the washcloth in her hands, skin tinted pink under the water before running clear.

“You can ask me whatever you want, but I’m going upstairs to sit on the roof.” He follows y/n like a lost puppy, he’s only ever been in her room so walking through these halls feels like an intrusion. Ukai winces as he climbs out of her bedroom window into the cool night’s air. 

“Were you crying?” He asks as she lays her head in his lap and blows cigarette smoke in his face, an action he usually finds annoying. He grimaces but lets it slide without complaint. Maybe it’s the late night, or the news that she received a few hours ago, but his presence is calming her racing mind. So as to not look too out of character though, she gives his earnest question a harsh scowl. 

“Maybe. Why do you care?” Y/n tries to quell her fastened heartbeat at the thought that he cares about if she’s been crying. The night’s events really must be taking a toll if she’s started caring about that. She takes another deep, cancerous inhale and ashes the cigarette in her fingers with a practiced flick.

“You’re an ugly crier, it’s weird seeing your face all sad instead of bitchy.” Maybe an asshole comment isn’t the best idea, but Ukai knows exactly what reaction he would receive. Even if he doesn’t know what upset her, he knew that the insincere insult would make her laugh. She did, she laughed loudly and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She needed that, and he knew it.

As her giggle subsides, she looks up at his bruising face, She reads his eyes like a book, they tell of fondness and concern where she usually sees anger or agitation. Ukai hesitates, but cards his fingers through her hair that has cascaded around his lap. The tender action feels foreign to them both, but she makes no move to stop him as he scratches gently at her scalp. The silence around them is ringing in both of their ears.

“It’s my dad. My mom took him into the city for an appointment yesterday, he was admitted on the spot. He’s not going to make it more than a few days.” Y/n blows a smoke ring into the crisp air and continues, “He’s been sick for a long time. Like, a really long time. I mean he was so frail when I helped him into the car yesterday, but I didn’t expect that call. I don’t think you can ever expect that call.” She doesn’t realize she had started crying again until his rough hand meets her cheek to thumb away the escaping tears. 

This shouldn’t be happening. Even if the circumstances are tragic, and his intent is genuine- it’s selfish to love the feeling of his comforting gesture. Y/n let’s Ukai do so much to her, but this moment feels like she is stealing from him. She’s a thief, but she indulges herself, resolving to make sure this never happens again. In this moment, this horrible night, she leans in shamelessly and memorizes the feeling of his sweet, strangers touch.

“My brother and I are going to see him tomorrow. I haven’t told him yet. He deserves one last night of sleep. His childhood ends tomorrow.” Ukai holds the shaking frame in his arms, tightening like she would disappear. 

His heart breaks for her and the nine-year-old boy in the next room. The boy Ukai has never met. Why would he know y/n’s brother? He only ever comes to this house to get off and sneaks away before the sun wakes in the morning. There’s no love here, there shouldn’t be, but his heart breaks all the same. 

“Kei,” she exhales a cloud of smoke from her nose and sits up to face him. “I need to tell you something.” His hands start sweating frantically and he knows it is now or never. He has to say the thoughts that are burning a hole in his tongue. Y/n and Ukai spoke at the same time. Both said one sentence that would hang off of this fucking rooftop for the next eight years.

“Y/n, I think I’m in love with you.”

“Kei, I’m moving to California for college.”

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[tloujm]

Part XXIV: Teeth and All

Author’s Notes: This one’s a lengthy one at 3232 words. I was very happy with this one and its following chapters; I was on a roll  when typing ‘em all out which, with WIP’s, is a very successful feeling. I hope you guys enjoy reading as much as I did writing it! This is part one if you will of the aforementioned canon inspired chapters. 

Genre: A six piece bucket of fluff with a side of angst

Summary: You and Joel convince the new kid to break out her comfort zone by going on a scavenging trip. You want it to be at the science museum because of it’s agriculture collection and because it’s kid friendly. The car that the three of you ride in breaks down, but that doesn’t stop you guys. The museum is a surprise for the kid and needless to say, she opens up more from the fun of it all. 

Ship: Joel Miller x Fem!reader “It’s gettin’ late.” Joel huffed as he looked down at the deflated tire on the passenger side. “Our destination is only a block out; we have just enough daylight to make it. I say we head there on foot,” He sighed again. “and make camp, then we can scavenge tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.” You nodded before slamming your door shut. Kiddo did the same as she left the back seat. 

“Hopefully the place got a tool box somewhere. Maybe in the maintenance closet or somethin’. Matter-a-fact, I’ll walk back while y’all start scavengin’ and change the tire out, then I’ll drive up and meet y’all.” All three of you took your gear from the trunk and set out.

One day, Joel had the idea of taking Kiddo on a little scavenging trip to see what she was comfortable with. While all of the other kids played and learned skills, she still seemed withdrawn. He figured after a few months of her settling into Jackson, she would be okay with going back out into the world again. The two of you were going to be by her side the whole time and you reminded her of that every so often.

Joel arranged for the three of you to ride in a pick up truck just in case any one of you found something big to scavenge. The destination was a museum of science and natural history. He didn’t see the point of going to a museum, but you recommended the spot because of its possible collection of agricultural resources as well as the fact that Kiddo might find it interesting. 

You were in the passenger seat reading the map for him while she was in the back reading a comic book when all of a sudden the car swerved on its own. He was able to quickly gain back control of it, but he was just as confused as you were as to why it happened. He pulled over and slowed the vehicle to a stop before asking if the two of you were ok. He looked back to watch Kiddo nod. During the following silence, the two of you figured out what was wrong. Air hissed from the back passenger side and if you stayed still long enough, you could feel the car dipping as well. Joel got out and walked around until he found the culprit. It was nearing the end of summer, but it was still hot, so you swung the door open to let in some air and watched as he assessed the damage.

His fists were placed steady on his hips. “Good news is that this is the only tire with a leak. Also good news is that we have a spare and a jack in the bed.”

“You can fix it so we can get there, right? I swear, this couldn’t have happened in like 5 more minutes ‘cause the place is like a half a mile down the road.”

“I know, I know it is. The bad news, though, is that I ain’t got any tools. Now, how am I supposed to get these lugnuts off?”

“Oh, you can’t just twist them off?” You offered, already knowing the answer.

He shook his head with a gentle smile. “It don’t quite work like that, darlin’.” 

******

“Hey, darlin’, come look at this,” Joel whispered in a deep yet soft voice. “Where’s Kiddo?” He crouched down before looking back to find you two. Quietly he beckoned you forward. She followed suit and crouched down right next to him. “See it? Just through there. Look.” He pointed to a particularly lush section of the wooded area that the three of you were walking on the outskirts of. “Ya see it?” He looked down and asked her. He watched as Kiddo’s face transform from confusion to astonishment. He knew that she had finally seen it. “You ever seen a whole family of deer like that before?” She shook her head, eyes still focused on them. There were 3 baby deer, 2 does and 2 bucks. They were all lazily grazing. 

 “Let’s cut through here,” You began in a hushed tone with the map unfolded in your hands. “It’ll take us to the back end of the property, but we’ll get there a little quicker.”

Joel looked up at the sun growing closer to the horizon. “Alright.”

******

According to the map, the three of you were going to be approaching the museum’s garden any minute now. You assumed it was going to be hiding in plain sight given the garden’s overgrowth and its proximity to the woods. Your eyes were glued to the outstretched paper when you heard a loud gasp. You immediately knew it was from Kiddo. You followed her gaze only for your eyes to meet a life size rendition of a tyrannosaurus rex.

“Well I’ll be. Won’t you look at that.” Joel exclaimed.

You folded your map and put it away. “We’re here.”

A smile broke across Kiddo’s face as she ran up to the statue. It was hauntingly beautiful. Vines of leaves grew along the legs and wrapped itself up around its body. It stood in the middle of a large, deep fountain of water. The statue was nearly as tall as the trees surrounding it. A giggle even escaped her mouth as she ran up to get a closer look. Joel yelled out for her to be careful. His gaze scouted the area to make sure they were alone. You walked up to the information plaque next to the dinosaur.

“King of the tyrant lizards.” You read. 

Joel walked up behind you. “That’s a big boy alright.” You continued to read more when Kiddo started to casually climb the T-Rex from its tail. “Hey now, what are you gettin’ up to?” She didn’t respond to him. “Kiddo, be careful! It’s gettin’ darker out. I need you to watch your step!” He shouted up at her as she quickly reached it’s neck. He was hoping that this verbal realization would compel her to turn around and get off, but she continued to walk closer to the head. You heard your husband let out an exasperated sigh. “Can you talk to her?”

“She’s already up there. I trust that she’ll be careful. Besides, what am I gonna say that you haven’t already?” You reasoned. Joel was beginning to get annoyed with your lack of worry and still wished that you’d say something. Maybe she’d listen to you. He looked back up at the girl with a backdrop of an orange and purple sky behind her. “Just don’t die up there, ok?” Was all he could think to say. He had meant for it to come out casual and lighthearted, but his voice broke at the beginning. He sensed a cloud of melancholy impeding as his chest began to tighten.

“Joel?” He looked back down and saw you place your hand on his chest.

“I’m alright.” He meant it, or at least he wanted to. He tried his best to push away the sad memories but he knew it was easier said than done. A childish bellow snatched his attention away from you as he looked back up to find Kiddo now standing on the dino’s head. She was smiling, teeth and all. You could only imagine how liberated she felt in that moment.

“She’s a courageous one, I’ll give you that.” You said proudly of her.

“You better not be thinkin’ about jumping. Just climb back down. I’ll meet you at the tail.” He requested. Even from that distance, the two held each other’s gaze. He was pleading and anxious; she was testing and teasing. 

“Rooooaaaarrrrr!” She screamed out as she jumped from the T-Rex’s head.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Joel yelled out. The two of you could do nothing but watch and wait. Admittedly, you did not think she would go so far as to jump. Suddenly, her head popped up over the surface of the vaguely green water. She gulped in a deep breath before smiling. Joel finally let out a breath that he hadn’t known he was holding. She climbed out the fountain dripping wet and laughing to which he just shook his head and walked away toward the entrance. 

“I give that dive a 10 out of 10, love.” You said to her in a hushed tone. He still heard you as you condoned the behaviour. 

The three of you entered through the busted glass doors of the back entrance. The area was dilapidated and almost bare. To your left, however, you found a rack with a single hat on it. It was a wide brimmed, brown hat similar to what Indiana Jones wore. You doubted she knew who that was. Still, you called her over and dusted the hat off before placing it on her head. She gifted you with another smile. Joel took a look at her with it on and grunted before walking on by. You watched as she ran off into a certain direction before going up to him.

“Are you jealous?” You questioned lightheartedly.

“Hmm?”

“Of the hat? If you ask nice enough, I’m sure she’ll let you try it on.”

“I don’t want to try on the hat.” He responded matter of factly. He turned to you. “We need to sweep the place before we can lay our heads down anywhere tonight.”

“I agree.”

There was a bout of silence before he continued again. “What was that back there?” Joel asked.

“What do you mean?” You brows furrowed.

“Her climbing and jumping, you being so...nonchalant about it. We’re lucky she didn’t break anything, (Y/N).”

“I didn’t think she was going to jump, so yes we are lucky with that.”

“She could have slipped, (Y/N)! What would you have done if she died, huh? Her body just...just laying there in your arms.” He looked down at his own arms as the memories replayed in his head. It was too late for him to stop them. His adams apple moved as he gulped. “You gave me such a hard time about going camping because you were so fearful of the outside world---”

“That was not fear, that was caution!” You firmly asserted.

“Well, where was that caution a few moments ago? She was yelling at the top of her lungs. That could have attracted hunters and infected and Lord knows what else.”

“You were yelling too!” You brought up.

“For her to get off!” He countered. He took a moment to inhale and exhale. “The difference between the camping trip and here is that I planned it out. I chose the area, I checked the area, I prepped the area. I did it all not only to be safe, but to give you peace of mind. This area is new to us. We need to treat it as such.” He reprimanded you and, while logically you knew he was justified, you hated it. You decided to hold your tongue, however, until you got back home. You didn’t want to hash it out in a potentially triggering environment for him, especially with the kid around.

He shook his head while avoiding eye contact with you. “Maybe you were right, maybe you’re not ready.”

“Ready for what?” Your brows furrowed even deeper. You suspected what he had meant. “Ready for what, Joel?”

“Ready to be a parent.” He responded simply. You were taken aback at this point. 

“You didn’t seem to think I wasn’t ready all those times you came inside me. You knew what you were doing!” Your voice raised slightly causing Joel to scan the room and see if Kiddo was of earshot. 

“Where is she?” He heard you take in a breath to say more, but he cut you off.

“I saw her go that way a few minutes ago.” You began walking in said direction. You rounded the corner only to find two doorways and a dead end.

A scuffling sound emitted out of one of them. The two of you exchanged glances and silently agreed to respectively sweep each room. Your hand hovered over the gun tucked in the waist of your pants as you entered. They fell limp to your side when you saw that she was the source of the sounds. As soon as Joel was done with his sweep, he met up with you in the other room only to pause behind you. The two of you watched on as she made faces in the mirror with the hat on. He leaned against the threshold and watched on with a small smile on his face. He thought back to the times when he would beg Sarah to get out the bathroom so he could use it just because she wanted to make faces at herself in the mirror above the sink. It was at that point, he invested in a wall mirror to go on the back of her bedroom door for which both of them were grateful. 

Joel beckoned them to leave the restroom. At this point, the sun was hanging very low in the sky allowing for a minimal amount of light to enter through the windows. The three of you broke out your flashlights and continued to sweep the building together. While you and Joel stealthily scoured the large exhibition room, Kiddo stopped to admire another rendition of a dinosaur. She flashed her light over its name displayed on the wall behind it: ‘Stegosaurus’. She walked up to the fenced display and placed her hat on its head. She stood back to proudly admire what she had done.

“What’s that there?” Joel flashed his light on her and the dinosaur. You followed suit.

“It’s exactly what it looks like.” You said flatly.

“Well, it looks like a hat on a dinosaur.” 

“It’s a hat-o-saur obviously.” You responded just as flatly despite feeding into Kiddo’s playfulness. She smiled as she hopped up to retrieve her hat. His light followed her as she moved on to a triceratops. The stature of the animal was larger, so she climbed the short fence and placed her hat on its head as well. 

“Hey, is this gonna be a thing?” He asked her, knowing she wouldn’t respond. “Please don’t let it be a thing…” He mumbled to himself. He watched as she began to climb the fence again and raced to meet her at the display. Being much taller, he simply reached over and slid the hat off the dino’s head. “Whoa, don’t wanna be on the business end of those horns.” She reached up to him to take it, but he laid it on top of his head instead. He gave her a smug smirk. “Mine now, Kiddo.” The three of you walked on into an adjoining exhibition room that displayed nothing but dinosaur skulls.

“My God, look how thick this one’s skull is.” You said under your breath. Still, Joel heard you.

He walked up next to you and shined his light on it at different angles. “Catch it in the right light and…boom! Tommy!” You stifled a laugh.

“I’m telling him you said that too.” You teased, trying to maintain a flat tone. 

“Please don’t.”

“You’re his big brother, what is he gonna do?” You teased again.

“Exactly, he’s my younger brother, so he has more energy to beat me up over it.” 

You decided to sweep a small room off to the side. It looked administrative. As soon as you gave it the all clear, a light bulb went off in your head. If he wanted to all of a sudden be playful and act like he didn’t just insult your maturity a few minutes ago, so could you. Silently, you beckoned Kiddo to sit on your lap as you sat at the desk. It didn’t take long for Joel to follow. As soon as his head peaked past the doorway, you picked up the long dead phone.

“Oh, hello. Sorry, the dinosaurs are busy right now.” You feigned a conversation.

“What are you doing?” He crossed his arms.

“Oh, wait! One of the dinosaurs just arrived.” You took the phone away from your ear and laid it against your chest. “Joel, it’s for you.” You smiled smugly. 

“Very funny.” He said flatly. You couldn’t tell if it was his normal dry humor or if he really didn’t like the joke. 

You giggled. “It was pretty funny, actually.” He watched as Kiddo doubled over in laughter before leaving the room. “Did you get it?” You asked him. “I know you got it.” You said to her. 

“Oh, I get it.” His voice echoed in a playful tone that gave your mind a little bit of ease. The two of you moved on to the next room looking for him only to find a set of stairs. At the top, you saw him in the distance gazing at something beyond the fence he was standing by. You walked closer to reveal his line of sight. It was a part of the brachiosaurus display. The dinosaur was so tall that its head reached the second floor. Without looking back at you, he spoke. “Kinda looks like a giraffe, don’t it?”

“It does.” You agreed softly. In that moment, you found it incredibly hard to be mad at him. 

The two of you were in Utah, just miles away from the hospital, from the Fireflies. You guys were inside this building, you couldn’t remember why anymore, but all of a sudden, you saw a giraffe staring at you through a window. A giraffe! You had to do a double take. What you did remember was Joel being upset that you didn’t respond to him when he asked if you were alright. You couldn’t help but be entranced by the colossal beast chewing on the leaves that grew alongside the building. You finally came to and asked him if he saw what you had. His eyes were full of astonishment the same way Kiddo’s were when she saw the T-Rex. He bravely approached the edge of the building, where the wall was no longer there, to pet it. He promised you that he would not scare it away and he kept his word. You remembered him telling you that it was alright as he motioned for you to join him. His large hand ghosted yours and guided it onto the giraffe's neck. It was the most intimate you had been with him. Your back was damn near pressed up against his chest as he continued to pet as well. Your eyes glanced at the sharp teeth of the dino and it made you think back to when the giraffe stuck out it’s tongue; it was so long. You laughed and looked back at him. He was smiling too, smiling at you, teeth and all. 

He finally looked back at you to read your face. He could tell you were reliving the same memory as he. Kiddo’s approaching footsteps attracted his attention to her. He took the hat off and placed it back on her head. She let it sit there for a moment before giving it back to him with a friendly smile. Without words, he thanked her. He let his hands roam over the material for a moment before gently tossing it onto the Brachiosaurus’ head. It landed perfectly. 

“I see the appeal.” His deep voice muttered.

[ownworldresident]

We Are Our Own Heroes. Chapter 1: Saturday Game

Finally I bring you Liam and Cassie! I’ve been waiting for this moment. Enjoy! And stay safe xx

Book: The Royal Romance, seven years post-TRR

Premise:Six years after a tragic loss, Liam and his adopted daughter meet Cassandra, an artist with her own troubled past, and the three find in each other the friend they never knew they needed.

Disclaimer: Setting and some characters belong to Pixelberry studios. I am just borrowing them and will return them when they are feeling better.

Themes: found family, (power of) friendship, healing

The Master Masterlist (link) Our Own Heroes Masterlist (link)

Liam

Cheers echoed around him but drowned out with Liam’s focus on the game. Once strange, the din of the hall and the shouts and whistles from the court were now familiar and welcoming. The smallest shape on the court held his attention. A smile spread ear to ear as he watched her weave, duck and spin, darting under the taller girls’ arms. Near the edge of the court she caught the ball, and immediately came face to face with the tallest defender, who spread her arms wide.

“Come on, Emily!” Liam called. The nine-year-old winked at him, mischievous smirk across her red face, and Liam snorted. Her opponent reached to intercept, Emily bounced it past to her teammate, who turned and tucked it into the goal. Renewed cheers rose around him. Liam stretched out two thumbs-up to Emily as she caught the ball and returned to the centre of the court.

Emily’s coach, an energetic young woman, came to exchange a few words with her before the game resumed. Liam wondered what she was saying, but Emily’s smile grew, so he trusted it to be positive. Backing off the court, the coach -Cassandra- caught Liam’s eye and smiled, and he quickly turned back to Emily.

“Dad!” Emily squeaked, puffing as she came over immediately after the game. Those around them cast those familiar curious glances as he knelt to squeeze her hands. No one said anything anymore, but seeing their monarch at a netball game still seemed an odd sight.

“You were brilliant out there, Panda. Congratulations.” He tucked a pale blonde curl behind her ear. Emily grinned, still breathing heavily, and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

“Cassie said we can get ice cream after. Can we? Please?” Emily watched his for an answer and he pretended to consider. 

“Should we trust Cassie?” he asked, one eyebrow raised high. Emily frowned, then nodded.

“We can.” She glanced back to see her teammates gathering around Cassandra, pulling velcroed positions from their uniforms. Liam squeezed Emily’s hands to bring her back. 

“After that game, you can get whichever ice cream you like.” Liam released her hands, standing as she immediately raced off to her team.

Despite how red her pale face was, Emily sprinted across the court, pulling the ‘C’ from the front and back of her uniform. Liam watched her, smiling, but looked away when Cassandra caught his eye again. Lucky for him, a text alert came through to give him a reason. Two messages – Drake and Olivia. 

His best friend was commenting on hearing Liam had the weekend free. Liam knew how that conversation would go. Drake would ask him to come to that bar near the docks he raved about, and drink there for a while. Like old times, but avoiding the wedge still between them.

Olivia’s message was more direct. Don’t spend the whole weekend alone again, do something, like a human being. Olivia didn’t have a firm grasp on what constituted ‘alone’, which was adequate for her, but not for him. He didn’t answer either message.

As he put his phone away, Emily and Cassandra approached, chatting animatedly. Emily was still bright red, but it hardly impeded her limitless energy. They broke their conversation when she rushed forward.

“Cassie says you should come with us.” Emily hit him with her pleading eyes. He shook his head, grinning, then forced himself to look up. Liam would liken Cassandra to a resting summer sun, with bright dyed red hair and a smile that reached her eyes. 

“I’m sure your father has lots of important things to do,” Cassandra said, her voice deeper than he expected. When Emily looked at him like that, there was nothing he would say no to; a fact she knew very, very well.

“I have some time away,” he said. “I would be happy to to join you.”

The spectators filtered from the hall as the court was reset for the next game. Liam followed Emily and the rest of her team out as well. Several parents also came, and he was happy to be swept more by the crowd than Cassandra’s company.

The first several months of caring for Emily had drawn a lot of attention. He had second guessed his decision several times. It took a while, but the media eventually accepted the new normal, and moved on to the next interesting thing. Every big development had been the same: initial attention, then eventual acceptance.

Liam dropped her off at school most days, brought her to swimming lessons and netball games, and to dinner or a movie on special occasions. It would have been so easy to let his staff care for her, like his father had done for him. But he had made a promise, and would not reduce that to a roof over her head.

Besides, from the day he brought her to the palace Emily had been the most important person in his life. He wanted to be there for every important moment of hers.

They reached the ice cream van outside the courts and Liam hung back as the group of girls got their treats and Emily chatted with her friends. He wondered if her mother had been as social when she was younger. If she had smiled like that.

For the first time in months, the thought dredged up their last moments together; her last smile... the musty room... the heavy, metallic smell of blood... Liam grimaced, closing his eyes and acutely aware of being in public. The knowledge didn't help, and he sucked in laboured breaths as he tried to return to the present.

“Dad?” A tentative voice sounded beside him, small hand tugging on his jumper, and he blinked back to focus on her. She had a half finished ice cream cone in one hand, and a smear of it on her cheek. He smiled.

“Yes, Panda?”

“Are you okay?” Emily’s eyes were full of concern, and it pained Liam to see so much understanding in someone so young. He squeezed her shoulder, and nodded.

“I am, thank you,” he answered, then looked up at her teammates. “Go on, finish your ice cream with your friends. I’m okay. I promise.”

Emily watched him for a moment longer, then smiled wider, and returned to her team. Liam sighed, straightened his clothes, and hoped no one had noticed the brief exchange.

“King Liam?” Cassandra’s voice approached and he looked up, smiling. 

“Cassandra.” He held out a hand. “Good to meet you.”

She tried to hide a smile as she looked at his hand, then shook it.

“Call me Cassie,” she said, standing beside him and folding her arms.

“Liam,” he replied in kind. Cassie smiled and nodded, then a silence extended between them.

“You daughter is quite a rocket.” Cassie continued after a few moments,  raising an eyebrow as she glanced at him, then back to the group. Liam chuckled, seeing Emily almost lose her ice cream as she talked.

“She is,” he said, swallowing and ensuring he made at least periodic eye contact. Cassie’s eyes were a clear hazel, a distinguishing feature.

“I haven’t coached her before,” she continued as if there were no pauses, “I’m looking forward to seeing what she can do.”

Liam nodded, reminding himself to maintain a tall, open posture. He opened his mouth to reply, but faltered. What was he supposed to say to her? Encouraging a closer acquaintance wasn’t a goal of his except on Emily’s behalf.

“Have you worked as a coach for a few years then?” he managed. Cassie smiled. They fell into light conversation. Liam discovered Cassie was an artist and a blogger, and revealed only the most inconsequential details about his own life. Cassie was easy to talk to, and that concerned him. They were reaching the end of his surface topics when Emily ran over, wiping ice cream across her face with the back of her hand.

“Messy,” he said to her, frowning and shaking his head in feigned disapproval. “Tut-tut.”

Emily grinned. “That’s what ice creams are for!”

“Touché,” Liam agreed. Cassie glanced between them.

“See you next week, Em.” She saluted to her, receiving the same, and moved off.

“Can we watch a movie?” Emily asked. Her face was still a little red, accentuated by how pale her features were, even in the Cordonian sun.

“Maybe later.” Liam lifted a hand away from the crowd and toward their car. The girl didn’t move.

“You said we could.”

“Later.”

Emily frowned, tried not to think of how much she looked like her mother when she made that face. Rooted to the spot with folded arms, she lifted her chin and attempted a look of authority. And came very close.

“Later,” he repeated , challenging her pose from twice her height. They were silent, then the smiles grew, and Liam laughed first. Emily cracked up a moment later, then bounced ahead to the car.

“I pick the movie!” she called over her shoulder, as if there was even the slightest chance he wouldn’t allow that. Liam shook his head, still grinning, and followed.

—

Later that night, when Emily was sleeping, Liam reclined in the living room of his apartments and reflected on the day. He heaved a sigh and leaned back in his armchair, exhausted and alone after a whole day with his daughter. Sometimes he fell asleep here, but those nights were always restless.

A knock on the door roused him from a light doze.

Liam blinked several times and looked around, wondering why his bedroom looked so strange before realising he wasn’t in it. Perhaps he imagined the knock, but in confirmation of it’s being real, the person knocked again.

He greeted his friend with a wide yawn and stepped back to let him in.

“You thought sleeping in here was a better use of your time than catching up with a friend?” Drake said as he reached his favourite chair and collapsed in it. Liam closed the door, leant against it, and watched him, amusement playing on his own face.

“I only just got…” He looked at his watch. 10pm. Emily had gone to bed at 8.30, and there had been plenty of time to spend with a friend. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Long day.” Liam returned to his own chair.

“Of course.” Drake pulled a flask from inside his jacket and twisted off the cap. “You realise I’m friends with Bastien.”

Liam frowned. “I am aware of this.” He was also aware that his bodyguard saw everything and everyone, and that Drake leveraged that to keep tabs on him. Maybe he should find more time for his friends. Or ask his bodyguard for more discretion. Again.

“So I figured you’d be spending some time with that red-haired woman from the courts. She looked nice, apparently.” Drake almost smiled – a rare expression. Liam knew he meant well, but his intentions were sometimes skewed by his own reactions to what happened six years ago. Guilt, shame, regret. He felt it, too.

“You figured wrong,” Liam stated, a little harsher than intended. Drake sighed.

“I know.”

Quiet settled and stretched. Unlike earlier, there wasn’t the excited chatter of a dozen nine-year-old girls to fill it. One of the benefits of his relationship with Drake was they could do this –spend hours together and barely exchange a word. The dynamic suited Drake’s introversion, and Liam’s tiredness.

“Li…” Drake said after an indeterminate time, “you know we’re here for you, right?”

Liam looked up. “Thanks, but you also know that I’m well, really. It was just a long day.” With minimal intrusive thoughts. “Em won her game.”

“That’s great!” Drake replied immediately. Another response to his role with Emily’s mother was consistent enthusiasm with her daughter’s achievements.

Much to his delight, Drake sat attentively while Liam recounted the game. The conversation turned to more peer related topics after that as Drake talked about the others. By the time he left it was past midnight and Liam felt like himself again. He promised to try make time for his friends – Drake waved off the comment – and went to bed feeling fulfilled.

What happened when he closed his eyes was rarely so comforting.

------

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[mariamermaid]

The Heir of Silberstein; schwarzes Schicksal (ch. 4)

“Black Fate”

Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: As a new school year approaches in Hogwarts, the students are surprised when Dumbledore introduces a group of German siblings joining the school. The royal family of fortress Silberstein is now sent to Hogwarts to learn the matters of a normal teenager life. …

Words: 5.6k

A/N: There will be one more chapter/ some kind of epilogue coming on next Thursday! In this chapter are a few more mentions of blood and violence. Also, it´s explaining a lot more regarding the war.

Masterlist

10th of May, 1933; the local library of Baden-Baden. Queen Clara the second, drifted through the rows in the back of the library on the hunt about another book about specific herbs to heal magical creatures. Among the muggles, she was just another resident coming to visit. Obviously, they were unaware of her origin and especially of the wand pressing against her hip underneath the long coat. Time had flown and evening was coming, it was already dark outside. A little startled, she shivered before packing the two books under her arm and leaving the library. As she stepped out, she pulled the headscarf deeper down to her face, her Pegasus was waiting a few streets down on the roof of the Stiftskirche, the local church. She had to hurry to come home as the nights were still cold, but loud screams made her stop. Quickly, she hid in an alley while lurking towards the yard in front of the library. A couple of men in military uniforms, she counted at least 30 of them, made their way towards the library. Only few people tried to stop them before they eventually entered the library. The men who did try, were thrown to the side, even beaten and punched to make sure they wouldn´t impede again. Clara gasped, pushing her hand over her mouth. The group separated and within only a few minutes, they had created a small pyre and the other half, came outside carrying boxes of books. She peered a little closer until she was able to decipher a few of the titles; all books written by Jewish authors.

Tears started forming in her eyes and she stumbled a little backwards, further into the alley, taken back by the heartbreaking scene. She almost let out a scream, when her back suddenly bumped into someone. Luckily, it was Mr. Landauer, a fellow wizard living in Baden-Baden, and, a Jew.

He nodded with his head as a sign of courtesy, before his eyes wandered towards the fire as well.

“We have to be careful, my Queen. Protect your subjects and warn the king. War is coming.”

His voice was low and barely a whisper, an unusual sight of the polite Mr. Landauer. Goosebumps crawled down her spine and Clara could barely form a nod.

“You should come to the Castle with your family, we can protect you.” The worries in her eyes were clearly written, but Mr. Landauer barely shrugged.

“I thank you for the offer, my Queen. But you have to keep going now.” Biting her lip, Clara nodded before hurrying into the darks of the city towards the church. While she climbed up the bell tower with her heart beating in all of her limbs, a man in uniform stepped outside the library. His short cut hair was pulled back under a cap. In his arms a box of books, which looked awfully boring and innocent. But he knew that at a second glance, they had hidden messages. Messages only wizards could read and his hatred burned bright as he starred into the pile of books on the pyre…

 The Night of broken glass had been the starting point in 1938. The annihilation of Jews began and with that, came the slowly but surely assault towards the German wizards. No history books or humans had experienced anything similar.

Oberst (german for colonel) Richter was a highly qualified military leader, but deep beneath the weapons he shouldered in the sight of the coming war, laid something else. Something dark and very surreptitious, no one was aware of what would follow after the 9th of November in 1938. Synagogues and shopping malls were burning. Graveyards, schools and residences of Jews, all burning and being destroyed. It was Hitler´s antisemitism that led to the catastrophe of the minority of the Jews. But Richter, who technically stood beneath Hitler´s commando, followed his very personal goals; the annihilation of wizards.

Driven by deep rooted racism, he declared the wizards as harbingers of the devil. Satan himself sent out his adjutants to bring an end to the world. A world the Nazis fought very hard to make their own. So, the clear conclusion was to exterminate the wizards to make room for the antisemitic ways of new Germany.

  March 1944

“We shouldn’t have gotten involved”, Karl sighed, his hand running through his messed up and slightly sweaty hair.

“What does it matter now?” He paused, but then nodded agreeing. It was all useless.

“You´re right, Clara. They´re safe and that´s all that matters now.”

They starred at the blank wall in front of them, the room was completely empty.

They were alone, but their thoughts remained with the train that left the station in the very mean-time, the wagons were filled by Jews or wizards, who feared the Nazis. Kind Karl and Queen Clara had united their powers to bring together a full train for them to flee in.

The cost; their own life.

The royal couple was captured in order to protect and cover more refugees, so they could reach the train in time. A few tears fell from their cheeks as they remembered their own children, who would grow up without parents. But they remained safely within the new protected realm of Silberstein; no muggle was ever to find the castle again.

A loud slam of the door let them shiver and Oberst Richter entered the room. It wasn´t a prison cell, but offered the same purpose. Both of their wands had been destroyed and Clara was shot in the side, where blood stained her clothes. Oberst Richter hair was still pulled back and Clara remembered how she had first seen him in front of the library years ago. He looked even more cold and cruel now. The room was filled with deadly gas, not enough to entirely kill them, but enough to weaken them and more so their magical abilities. They were left defenseless. Richter wore a gas mask, hiding half of his face but his eyes were still showing and they reflected all the hatred that burned on his inside…

King Karl and Queen Clara were killed on that day in march, but they left behind two young children. Those two siblings later had a child each, and the first born; Michael, then became the father of four children…

 Silberstein was only minutes away now; you could almost smell the scent of horses and pinecones. Fred and George flew a few feet behind you, letting you lead the way. The forest laid beneath them and high firs offered them cover. Suddenly, the two Weasley brothers felt like flying through a spiderweb, like a veil brushing against their skin and then they saw it;

The fortress of Silberstein.

The high tower was the first thing to make out, even in the dark of the night, it looked light and almost shimmering under the starlight. With a wave of your hand, you signalized them to fly closer to the ground, until you landed at the edge of the forest. The castle sat on a hill and the river separated half of the property from the woodland. “If we fly further, they´ll see us coming”, you explained quietly as the three of you snuck through the thicket.

“You´re the princess, shouldn´t they be on your side?” George asked curiously and you shrugged sadly.

“We don´t know on which side the employees are, they´re muggles, some house elves. Many of them are squibs, descendants of once wizard families but with no ability to control or perform magic.”

You nodded towards the stone wall, which faced towards the river side. “There is a secret passage to enter through the tunnels and dungeons.”

“Great, so we´ll just apparate-“

“You can´t apparate within our realm.”

The twins starred at you; shock clearly written on their faces. “The protection spells were created to keep unknown magic out, I don´t make the rules. Now take my hands.”

Fred eyed you carefully, while his brother grabbed your hand without hesitation. “Are you sure that you can handle this?” You huffed, but a glint of nervousness was seen in your eyes.

“Yes.”

The familiar feeling of your stomach turning and twisting took out your breath, and you stumbled a little backwards, when landing on the ground again. Fred was behind you, his hands grabbing your waist and keeping you from further falling. You shook your head, ignoring his continuous worried stare. “I´m fine.”

The twins eyed the stone tunnel they found themselves in. It was dark, the exit of the tunnel laid to their right and even though a metal grid separated the hallway to the cliffs and the underlying river, they heard the loud rushing and the water crashing against the stone. George had his wand ready in his hand; “Lumos.”

You led the group deeper into the tunnel system, several paths and junctions passing. “Do you remember the way?” George asked whispering. Tension was clearly hanging in the air. None of you knew what to expect. The stone was cold and the air was moist from the river water. But to you, it brought back a nostalgic feeling from your childhood.

“My siblings and I used to play hide and seek in these tunnels. I can tell them apart, even if you´d blindfold me.”

“Where does the tunnel end?” Fred asked, his eyes wandering back and forth in paranoia, making sure no one was following you.

“This one leads the closest into the castle; into the storage room behind the kitchens to be exact. There is also one ending at the well, at the armory and a few others.”

A nervous laughter escaped the twin´s mouth. “Love the emphasis on fortress; it´s not even that big!” You chuckled at their comment, but then you reached the end of the tunnel and silence settled again. With your wand, you tapped against the stone wall, the pattern was memorized in your head. Then the individual stones started turning, until a passage was revealed. The room you entered was equally dark as the tunnel, but you could quickly made out shelves with food and bags of wheat, the smell of fresh bread and pumpkins as big as heads.

“We´ll go through the kitchens and use the back hallways leading up to-.”

The sound of steps approaching made you abruptly stop. “Quick, hide!” You advised the twins, who disappeared behind large shelves on their own. They had snuck through Hogwarts enough, well past curfew, to know how to vanish into nothing but air.

“Nox!”

The steps stopped right in front of the storage room, lingering. You found your hideout closest to the door and watched how a mere light shone from the slot beneath. The door opened, slowly and carefully, you held your breath, the wand steady in your hand. The light fled the room and you lunged out, but stopped in your tracks as you came face to face with an old friend.

“Theresa”, you breathed barely audible. The twins lurked out from their hideouts, not sure if they should show their presence just yet. Your wand was pointed right at her and the lamp in her hand was shaking.

“Ich habe gehofft, dass du kommen würdest”, she admitted quietly and ignored the wand. (I hoped that you would come.)

Your eyebrows furrowed and you felt your jaw tensing.

“Auf welcher Seite stehst du?“ (On which side are you on?)

“Wenn du das fragst, weißt du genug um den Ernst der Lage zu verstehen.“ (If you ask that question, you know how serious the situation is.)

„Das war nicht meine Frage.“  (That wasn´t my question.)

She sighed and lowered the lamp a little to her hip height.

“Ich war immer auf deiner Seite, wir sind aufgewachsen wie Schwestern.“ (I´ve always been on your side, we grew up like sisters.)

Finally, you lowered your wand as well. She was right, she and her mother had been serving the royal family even before your birth and so often, you two had played with dolls together. A sigh of relief escaped your lips and you pushed yourself a step forward, your arms quickly embracing her.

“Merlin sei Dank, bist du endlich hier!” She whispered, hugging you tightly back. (Merlin bless, you´re finally here!)

“Wie schlimm steht es?” (How bad is it?)

„Gerade noch genügend Zeit.“ (Just enough time left.)

The twins slowly stepped out and Theresa gasped in surprise. “I brought reinforcements.” You grinned at her and she nodded at the brothers.

“This is Fred and George, they´re friends from Hogwarts.”

“I´m Theresa, I grew up with Y/N and served her as a maid my entire life”, Theresa introduced herself. Even though she was older, she was small and petite. Mouse-gray hair neatly put together and her maid uniform sitting perfectly. The twins noticed her thick German accent, you barely showed signs of an accent and only few words sounded off, when you spoke. They often forgot that English wasn´t your native language.

“Theresa, I have to see my father.” You turned back towards the girl, a hand on her shoulder.

“I know, but it won´t be easy.”

 In the mean-time…

“Why didn´t you tell me earlier?”

August sighed, his brother, five beds across the room was awake and the curtain was pulled back.

“I wasn´t sure at first, like you always say; let´s not act stupid.”

“Does anyone else know? Did someone see him with the ring?”

August shrugged, he found the explanation process tiring and useless. “I don´t know about Paul or Ruben, but I guess that Albrecht doesn´t want anyone to know.”

Paul was head of the guards and Ruben was riding master, both well accomplished and highly ranked at Silberstein. Hendrik groaned slightly as he sat up further, he realized that it was useless asking more questions.

“When will Y/N be back?”

Just as August was about to repeat your words and answer his brother´s questions, the door to the infirmary opened and the youngest of the siblings came running.

“Ruth, what-“, Hendrik worriedly eyed his sister, who was clearly flustered.

“Y/n, she´s gone!”

“WHAT?” All previous pain and warnings to take it slow from Madame Pomfrey, were thrown overboard and both brothers hurried to their sister.

“What do you mean she´s gone?” August asked nervously.

“When did she leave?” Hendrik questioned further.

“Last night after visiting you”, Ruth explained towards August, still a little breathless.

“Did you follow her?” Hendrik wondered, but the youngest shrugged ignoring the stress in his voice. “I first thought that she would play some kind of prank with the twins when they snuck out! She didn´t come back though!”

The brother´s exchanged knowing looks.

“She went home, she went back to Silberstein.” Hendrik voiced what they all already knew.

A short break settled between them until August spoke up again.

“What now?”

Before Hendrik could answer, Ruth cut him off.

“We don´t have a choice, but to go back as well!”

For the first time in a long time, none of them objected.

  “So, let´s make it clear again; I sneak past the guards within the royal wing and you go with Theresa to free Paul and Ruben.” You repeated the plan and the twins nodded carefully. With Theresa´s insight view on the current situation, they had quickly figured out a plan.

“I don´t think you should go alone”, Fred finally admitted and George nodded agreeing. You shrugged acknowledging their worries, but at the same time, there was no better option.

“The guards are wearing silver armors, your wands are useless against them, but you can free Paul and Ruben from the dungeon!”

“I really come to hate your protection methods against magic, you know Y/N?” George added rolling his eyes and you offered him an apologetic smile.

“But I agree with Fred, you shouldn´t go alone nevertheless.”

“I´ll come with you”, Fred announced and his brother nodded. You let out a sigh, there was no time to argue.

“Fine, but stay behind me.”

Fred smiled, feeling a lot more comfortable not letting you go on your own and saluted. “Yes, my princess!”

You watched as Theresa disappeared into darkness, followed by George. In order to free the head of the guards, well the old guard order, they had to distract the sentinels, who were ordered by Albrecht.

He completely took over, the guards are following his commando only and he´s starving the horses, so they´re too weak. You shivered even recalling Theresa´s words in your mind. It was much worse than you expected. Quickly, you shook off your worries and nodded towards the hallways leading up to the right wing of the castle; the wing of the royal family.

An old broomstick was held tight by Fred, the fact that his wand was mostly useless, was not only foreign to him, but it scared him deeply.

“We have to be careful; we don´t want any attention on us. No one knows I´m here, it should stay this way for as long as possible.” You explained whispering. Almost inaudible, you moved through the castle, barely any light was left and only the stars and the moon through the windows offered silhouettes to make out. Up to the second floor, where the royal wing was located, you didn´t even saw any guards. But then, in front of the door that led into the wing and the private section of the castle, three guards moved up and down. Two torches were hung next to the door and alarmed by the light, you stopped behind a corner.

“How do we take them out?” Fred asked. He lingered only inches behind you, the two of your lurking from the corner and observing how the three guards, wearing shiny armor, paced up and down. You felt Fred´s breath on the skin of your neck as he spoke and goosebumps crawled down your spin. You swallowed and ignored the increasing heart rhythm. Then your eyes wandered across the gangway to the windows…

“We don´t, we let them believe no one entered the wing! We just need to take their focus off, then we snuck to the other side of the adjoining hallway. We´ll enter the wing from outside!”

Fred didn´t like the idea of climbing from one to another window, at the height of probably 300 feet or so with nothing but a small edge of stone to hold on. But he knew that it was a matter of life or dead.

“Accio mouse!” You took your wand and pointed it towards a wall and within seconds, a small mouse ran out of a small, barely visible hole. The high shrieking alarmed the guards and they all turned to see what exactly caused the sound. It was just enough for Fred and you to rush right across the vantage point of the guards and disappear in the opposite hallway.

You pressed your back against the wall, the guards couldn´t see you now, but they remained close. You had to be quiet.

A small reassuring nod later, you had opened the window and climbed out. The brim to stand on was narrow, barely enough for your feet, but a few holes in the exterior allowed you to use them as handles. You stepped slowly to the side until Fred climbed next to you. His eyes travelled down for a second, nothing but stone, not even a lug to stop you from sliding further.

His hand was holding onto the handle, and carefully, you placed yours onto his.

“Hey, we can do this, I know it.” His eyes found yours and Fred calmed a little.

“I trust you; you know this right?” He answered and you smiled softly.

“I know, anyway we wouldn´t be here.” A chuckle escaped his lips. “This is what you do with the people you trust? I don´t want to know what you do with people you hate!”

Your smile vanished, he´d soon find out.

Step for step, slowly and making sure you had enough grip, you made your way to the window.

“Alohomora!”

The window swung open and you hissed surprised, but luckily, it didn´t crash against the wall. From there on, you found yourself in the private wing and continued to hurry. The interior wasn´t as posh and rather simple, still you noticed the differences. Family portraits gone, paintings missing, plants and flowers left to die and the air was cold.

You grew sad, seeing your home basically abandoned and lifeless. If you had only known sooner.

“The king´s chambers are right across the corner.”

Theresa had mentioned two more guards right in front of the king´s bedroom, but you came face to face with four of them.

“Eindringlinge!” (Intruders!)

Luckily, the royal wing was fairly soundproof, but you sighed as the four guards came running into your direction. It would take more of the anyway precious time you had left.

“For Merlin´s sake!” You muttered sounding surprisingly calm to Fred, who gripped onto the broomstick like his life depended on it. Two of the guards had actual weapons, spears to be exact. The other two only held a shield. On the shield was a blank spot, where once the emblem of Silberstein had remained. It only made you angrier.

You spun the wand in your hand between your fingers and Fred watched, how a silver sheen briefly enlightened like a flash bolt. Then you suddenly held a sword.

You knocked down the first guard by very simple running towards him and using his shield as a landing spot from your lunge. Then you spun to the side, the second guard groaned as the sword slid across an unprotected spot on his leg. With a kick, you maneuvered him to the side onto the floor as well.

Fred was barely able to keep up, he realized what you meant by training now more than ever.

The two remaining guards shielded themselves with their spears. The left one attacked first, but you dodged and rolled across the floor, finding yourself right in between the two guards. A series of attacks and evasion movements followed, until you were able to disarm one of them.

While he stumbled back, you blocked the other one with the spear. Fred decided to step in and with a hard throw, the disarmed guard trembled backwards. The broomstick had harshly slapped against his head, and he fell over unconsciously. The guard with the spear kept you at a distance, due to the length of the spear, but as he spun to reach back, you slid across the floor. When he faced you again, you were only inches away from him and you pushed the sword through his body. The magical weapon was stronger than the armor, and as you pulled the sword back, spinning it again to reveal your wand, the last guard fell down.

Fred was stunned by your fighting abilities and he recalled for future purposes, not to ever mess with you. He knew now, that being a princess meant a lot more than just having good table manners. With your wand back between your fingers, you nodded towards the twin.

“Let´s go!” Your breathing was quicker and the adrenaline from the fight rushed through your veins. Then you laid your hand on the doorhandle, for a split second, you held back. But Fred´s reassuring presence gave you enough strength to pull down the handle.

“Father!” The look of the once strong king looking more ill than ever, broke you down. You hurried to his side, softly grabbing his hand, while Fred stayed a little back. He wanted to give you some privacy as well as watch out for more guards approaching.

He looked thin, not in a healthy way and his skin seemed collapsed down to his bone structure, pale and dehydrated. In the large bed, he was nothing more than a shadow of what he once used to be. A small groan escaped King Michaels lips; the sudden loud sounds had awoken him from a dreamless sleep. It was painful to watch, how slowly his eyes opened.

“Y/N?” His voice was barely a whisper and you felt tears rolling down your cheeks. The entire scene was heartbreaking to even watch.

“What are you doing here? You can´t be here”, your father explained, his voice quiet but also alarming. You furrowed your brows. “I had to come here, father, Albrecht he-“

“I send you away, so he couldn´t hurt you.”

You stumbled back, you thought you had it all figured out, but you hadn´t seen it coming. It wasn´t at all how you expected this go…

A loud shot shattered through the air; Fred spun around to see a man, who had appeared out of nowhere, holding a gun. He had appeared like a shadow and while Fred tried to attack him with magic, you felt hot burning liquid running down your skin.

“Stupor!”

Fred was thrown against a wall, after his spell simple drifted off, a loud crash followed and the nearby furniture broke into pieces. Everything inside his head was spinning, he watched from his laying position, how the man stepped out of the shadows into your direction. Something about the man seemed not only mean, but purely evil. He really hoped that his twin brother was more successful.

“Oh, if it isn´t princess Y/N.”

“Albrecht”, you pressed out between your lips, your hand was already pushing against the wound on your side. You felt a pulsing going through your entire body and a weakening stroke. You could only guess, that the bullet was poisoned.

Albrecht wasn´t as you remembered him, yes technically he had the same features, but it wasn´t the same person at all. His facial features harsher and his eyes glowing in greed. He didn´t wear his uniform, he wore a royal attire with posh details. Your father had managed to sit up on the bed.

“Albrecht, leave her alone!” His voice was still weak, but at least steady now. You leaned against the bed as your strength was draining by the second.

“Oh, I wish I could Michael, but little Y/n was stupid enough to come back on her own. Now she will follow her father´s fate! I need to follow my destiny”, he paused for a dramatic second.  “All wizards and witches must die!”

Even though your perceptibility wasn´t at its best, you were sure, that something was off about him. You felt a weird, almost mystical power lingering around his aura.

“Why? Do you want the throne?” Your voice was bitter and your eyes remained on him, you had to be careful, not knowing what he was capable of.

“It could´ve been so much easier, if it wasn´t for you all, but no! Karl and Clara had to make sure their descendants survived without my knowledge.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, what he said didn´t make any sense. “King Karl and Queen Clara were killed by Oberst Richter, but they still lost the war! The commando was extinguished!”

Albrecht chuckled, a sound you didn´t like it at all. “Are you sure of that?”

  George had Paul, who was severely injured, thrown over his side and braced him to walk. Luckily, Ruben had only few bruises and he cleared the way together with Theresa.

“Albrecht knows Y/n is here, he´ll kill her with the king altogether!” Paul groaned.

“What about the guards?” George questioned as they reached the entering hall from the staircase that had led down to the dungeons. The guards that had once watched over the head of the guards and the riding master, would soon catch up to the four of them.

“We have to save the princess and the king!” Ruben agreed and Theresa nodded as well. George let out a sigh, the situation seemed more complicated to him, since he wouldn´t risk their lives as well. He wanted to win this fight with as many survivors as possible, hoping not to sacrifice the employees of the royal crown. However, he was sure that Theresa, Paul and Ruben wouldn´t hesitate to do so.

Loud voices coming from the front yard let the group freeze. Were even more guards sent in order to stop them? A loud bang echoed and George felt as the heavy doors trembled beneath the eruption. Then the doors opened, all they could do was watch in fear as the fog lifted.

Hendrik, August and Ruth entered, all of them having their wands or even swords in their hands.

Hendrik was first to approach them, he held the sword steady in his hand and stepped to them with swift motions. He truly looked like a young king leading his kingdom. Ruth was quick to hurry to Paul, inspecting his wound.

“By Merlin´s beard, you all came!” Ruben breathed surprised, but relieved as well.

“Episkey!” Ruth didn´t waste any time and was able to heal a large portion of Paul´s wound. August was able to fetch two further swords for both Paul and Ruben, Hendrik turned towards Theresa and George.

“Where is Y/N?”

“She went with Fred to see your father, but Albrecht knows about her stay here!” George hastily explained.

“I don´t think the king will survive a confrontation with him. He´s not, who he pretends to be!” Theresa added and fear swallowed her voice.

“Let´s not waste more time!”

  “Are you sure of that? Are you sure that truly the entire commando was extinguished?” Albrecht repeated and the spite in his voice felt like a thick piton wrapping around your neck.

“No one could´ve survived”, you trailed off, knowing that it was useless at this point. Your calculations had been wrong.

“Are you a descendant of Richter?” Your father, king Michael, spoke up again and he exchanged a precarious look with you. Your eyes searched the room for Fred, he was behind Albrecht and you saw, how he slowly gained back consciousness. Albrecht´s bitter and evil laugh filled the room once again.

“A descendant? I thought you´d be smarter!”

You eyed your opponent closer, remembering the stories about your great-grandparents…

While she climbed up the bell tower with her heart beating in all of her limbs, a man in uniform stepped outside the library. His short cut hair was pulled back under a cap.

“How is it possible? You must easily be over 90 years!”

It had taken you too long to figure it all out; Oberst Richter and Albrecht weren´t relatives, it was the exact same person.

“Actually 102 to be exact”, he grinned and loathing crawled down your spin.

“But how?”

Winning time was number one priority, Fred was almost completely back and he watched the scene unravel, while you tried to figure out a plan.

“You had them all believe that wizards are evil and Satan´s adjutants, didn´t you? But in reality, you´re just like us.” Your eyes wandered back to your father, his explanation was so simple and logical. Yet, it was the first time it crossed your mind and the image imprinted in your mind, had blinded you before.

“You´re just like him, you´re like Voldemort”, you spit out, but immediate regret followed. The sudden movement brought even more pain from your wound and you hissed. Albrecht on the other hand, only chuckled lowly.

“A big name for such a little girl, but as you can tell; I prefer it to operate in a much more considered manner. I like to stay in the shadows. No one should know my name, until it is too late for them!”

For several seconds, all hoped seemed lost. Strength was draining from your body, your father wasn´t even strong enough to hold a sword and Fred´s magic was useless inside the walls.

Oh, Fred.

Your eyes found his, tears rolling down your cheeks. Why did you bring them with you? What if he died, just because of you? He saw the repentance shinning in the dark´s of your orbs. Without any words he shook his head. No, he didn´t regret coming with you at all. If you fate laid here in the fortress or if it was on the other end of the world, he´d always follow you.

“Any last words? Even though they won´t be printed in any books?”

“Let´s not act stupid!” Hendrik´s loud voice echoed through the room and you felt your stomach drop in relieved. Together with August he attacked Albrecht, a battle between swords and magic escaped.

George fell to his knees, helping his brother get up. Ruth slide across the room, ducking away from the fight and finding your side. But you stubbornly shook your head at your sister, gesturing towards the king. “Him first!” You urged.

Ruth nodded, not arguing and inspecting your father´s condition.

Albrecht was taken back by the sudden appearance of the Silberstein siblings and both of your brother´s were excellent fighter. As Albrecht tried to strike forward, luckily you had a good view on his movement pattern.

“Expelliarmus!” You yelled from across the room and disarmed Albrecht, who was then thrown to the ground by Hendrik. August had previous cut him on his leg, which made him wobble to one side.

Ruth had taken a healing potion out of Madame Pomfrey infirmary, and it seemed to be working rather quickly, King Michael lifted himself out of the bed. Paul hurried to his side; the king was still weakened after months of poisoning.

“This time, I´ll make sure you won´t survive Richter!”

Hendrik exchanged looks with his brother, this would take some more explaining at a later point.

King Michael grabbed Richter and fetched his wand from his coat, apparently, he had the wand with him at all times. Then he spun it in his hand just like you had used to, until the king´s sword appeared. Richter let out nothing but a small, pitiful groan, as blood started dripping from his mouth.

The sword had gone right through his torso.

First cheers sounded from Theresa and Ruben, but you barely comprehended them.

Darkness grew in your vision, which became blurrier and you felt your limbs falling asleep. Only seconds after Richter´s dead body fell to the side, you felt yourself fainting.

“Y/n!” At last, it was Fred´s voice, that you heard and his soft eyes staring down to you, before blackness swallowed you whole.

----------

tags: @ britishspidey @ perfectlysane24  @ acoolnight

[confused-android]

Day 15 - Dirk Youth

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

The first time Svlad gets two activities right in a row, Colonel Riggins gives him a square of chocolate. He knows what chocolate is – his mother had brought it home sometimes, when he still lived with her – and he feels so excited to have earned it that he thanks the colonel repeatedly. It's already softening in his fingers, the edges smudging against his skin, but he waits to be told that he can eat before raising it to his lips. It's so sweet and startling that his eyes tear up, even though he is nine years old and doesn't cry.

That last part is a lie. Svlad cries at night, most nights. But it's under his blanket, so the cameras and guards can't see, and he tells himself that means it doesn't count.

He doesn't have a calendar ("we don't want to impede your progress with worrying about anything else, Svlad"), but he thinks it's been almost a year since Colonel Riggins brought him to Blackwing, to learn how to fix all of the things that are wrong with him. He bid his mother goodbye, endured her fixing his hair one last time, when it was spring; from the narrow windows above the recreation area, Svlad's watched it turn to summer and fall and winter, and now it's been several weeks since the snow melted.

He knows he's doing really well. Colonel Riggins tells him so, sometimes, and so do his teachers.

His teachers are… strange. Or maybe it's his classes that are strange. He's the only one in most of his classes, and he's not learning facts about history or English or maths. It seem more like they're experimenting on him than teaching him, but Colonel Riggins says that isn't true, that's silly, and that he has to respect his teachers, so Svlad does. Svlad will do anything Colonel Riggins says, if it means that he'll learn how to fix all of the things that are wrong with him and that he can go back to his mother and they won't get kicked out any council housing for stealing cats he didn't steal, or kicked out of school for cheating on tests he didn't cheat on.

Svlad is really hopeful that it will work. Colonel Riggins promised him that it will, though, so he sits through his strange classes and learns all of the weird ways to think and behave that his teachers tell him to.

For the last few weeks, he's been trying extra hard in the activity where he's supposed to sort cards into the right order without looking at their faces. Not that he wasn't trying extra hard before that! He was, he really was. He'd closed his eyes and scrunched up his forehead and thought really hard about them ending up in the right order, just like the teacher told him to. But now he's trying differently hard. Scrunching up his face and thinking about the cards in the right order hasn't been working, so now he's trying it his way.

He's not supposed to do anything his way, Colonel Riggins says. His way got him lost cats and answer cards he shouldn't have and jewelry that his mother says she didn't know she's lost. His way is trouble. But what if his way also means he does the classroom activity successful? Does that mean it's bad?

So he scrunches up his forehead and pretends to be thinking really hard about the correct order of a deck of cards while he's shuffling them. But instead, he thinks about the cat that he saw sitting on the narrow windowsill, high above the recreation room. He thinks about its dirty paws, and how it had closed its eyes in the sun and licked one paw for a very, very long time, until it was clean. Then the cat had taken that clean paw and cleaned one of its ears for a long time. By the time Svlad was finished with his thirty minutes on the stationary bike, the cat had one clean paw and one clean ear, and was beginning to work on the other ear. Svlad thinks about that cat, and how the soft grey color had emerged from beneath the dingy grey color, and lets his hands do whatever they want to do with the cards. He's so focused on thinking about the cat that when the buzzer goes off, marking the end of his five minutes, it's startling, and he jumps.

"Deck," says Lt. Andrews, sounding as bored as ever, and Svlad hands it over, blinking his way back into awareness, the cat already fading from his memory. Lt. Andrews turns the deck over, pen in his other hand, ready to mark it down as another failed test, but then he freezes. His eyes widen and he puts the pen down and spreads the deck out on the table, and Svlad is as astonished as Lt. Andrews is.

The deck isn't in order-order, but all of the aces are together, and then all of the twos and the threes and so on, all the way up to the kings. The jokers book end the deck, laughing at the fifty-two cards in between. Svlad says "oh."

Lt. Andrews gathers up the deck and spreads it out a second time, as if the order of the cards will change if he looks again, but they're still in the same places when he fans them out. "Stay there, Project Icarus," Lt. Andrews says, and Svlad does, lacing his fingers together and swinging his feet as patiently as he can. He can't wait until his feet touch the floor in the classroom chairs. Lt. Andrews walks to the door and hits the intercom button and says, "Gupta."

The intercom crackles for a moment, and then Lt. Gupta (who walks Svlad to and from classes and meals and recreation) says, "issue, Andrews?"

"Radio for the Colonel. Tell him we've got a successful trial, room A12."

"I know what room you're in," Lt. Gupta says, annoyed, but Svlad can hear the shriek of the radio before he takes his finger off the intercom.

Lt. Andrews comes back to the table, gathers up the cards one more time, and sets the deck carefully to one side. To show Colonel Riggins, Svlad supposes. He pulls out a second deck, shuffles it quickly (his hands are shaking. Svlad wonders why), and hands it to Svlad. "Again," he says, more brusque than usual. "Exactly the same as you just did. Concentrate."

Svlad knows that Lt. Andrews thinks he did it like he was told. To visualize each card in the order it belongs, and to will the cards to match his perception of reality. But he doesn't do that this time either. Instead, he thinks about the groove under his bed, the one that he's carved slowly over the last many months with his dinner fork each night. It's long and straight-ish, and doesn't actually mean anything, but it's a small change that Svlad can make in his room, all by himself. It's something he's chosen to do, that no one else told him to do. It dulls the edges of the forks a bit, but not enough that anyone has ever said anything to him. Sometimes, he gets one of the forks he's already used once, and he can't carve into the groove that night, worried that two uses will ruin the fork enough that someone will say something, and he won't be allowed to do it anymore. But it's his mark, his groove, and he likes working on it. He thinks about the sensation of dragging the fork further and further each night, extending the mark by millimeters at a time.

While he's shuffling, moving the cards around randomly, he hears the door click softly open and then closed, and he knows that Colonel Riggins is in the room. But he doesn't say anything, so Svlad keeps shuffling and thinking about the feeling of a fork in his hands, and the groove in his bed, until the buzzer goes.

Svlad opens his eyes. "Deck," says Lt. Andrews, and he doesn't sound bored at all. Svlad hands over the deck and rubs his thumbs against his index fingers. He hopes that it worked this time, too.

It did. Lt. Andrews spreads the deck out on the table. This time, the cards are organized by suite, and from kings down to aces. The jokers are right in the middle of the deck, between the spades and the diamonds.

Colonel Riggins whistles, and Lt. Andrews shows him the first deck. He whistles again, and then looks at Svlad. "Well," he says, after a long moment of contemplation. "I see someone's finally started to try."

"I was trying before," Svlad protests, and Colonel Riggins' hand lands on his shoulder, heavy and too-warm.

"And now you're doing it the right way. See, Svlad? I told you that you just need to listen to your teachers." Svlad opens his mouth to protest again, but the colonel's fingers squeeze his shoulder, and it's just a bit too tight. Svlad closes his mouth.

"Come with me," Colonel Riggins says to Svlad, and then he looks at Lt. Andrews. "I'll be taking Icarus now. Mark him off as handed into my care." He carelessly scrawls his initials onto the log-book that Lt. Andrews holds out to him, and pulls Svlad out of the chair and out the door.

Lt. Gupta is slouching against the wall, and snaps to attention when Svlad and Colonel Riggins step into the hall. "Sir," he says.

"Come fetch Icarus from my office at fourteen hundred hours," Colonel Riggins says. "I'll handle transport from here. He'll be back on schedule when you get him."

"Yes, sir." Now Lt. Gupta will have half an hour free. Svlad is a little bit jealous. He only has free time for one hour after lunch, and then after dinner in his room.

Colonel Riggins doesn't take his hand off Svlad's shoulder, and he has to trot to keep up with his strides. It's not that the colonel is a very tall man, but Svlad is a very short boy. His mother told him that he'd grow eventually, that he'd be as tall as she is, or maybe even as tall as his father was, but he's still quite small. By the time they make it to Colonel Riggins' office, Svlad is a bit out of breath, and his armpits are kind of sweaty. He sinks into the chair in front of the desk in relief.

Colonel Riggins sits in his big chair and he looks at Svlad. He looks at him for a while, and it's long enough that Svlad starts to squirm, but he tries his very best to stay still, because Colonel Riggins doesn't like it when he squirms. Finally, though, he stops staring at Svlad, and opens one of the drawers in his desk. He pulls out an opened bar of Hershey's chocolate and breaks off two squares, then hands them to Svlad.

"That was very well done of you, Svlad," he says. His voice is deep and he isn't smiling, but he sounds very happy. Svlad is happy that Colonel Riggins is happy, and he's happy with the small pieces of chocolate that he's holding in his fingers. "I hope you enjoy these, because I want you to know that you've done very well today." Svlad glows, and tries not to squish the chocolate between his fingers, and the colonel says "eat up, m'boy, and so Svlad does. He eats the first one very quickly, and savors the second one, and Colonel Riggins watches him. He looks satisfied, and Svlad is really glad that he did a good job. He hopes he can keep doing a good job, and learn how to fix everything that's wrong with him, and to go home.

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

Link to: day one, Farah - Youth day two, Farah - Dance day three, Farah - Gore day four, Farah - GNC fashion day five, Farah - AU day six, Farah - Family (to be written) day seven, Farah - Pride (to be written) day eight, Todd - Youth (to be written) day nine, Todd - Dance (to be written) day ten, Todd - Gore day eleven, Todd - GNC Fashion day twelve, Todd - AU day thirteen, Todd - Family day fourteen, Todd - Pride (to be written)

prompt list

[certifiedceraunophile]

KLAROLINE DRABBLE

GLORIA SANGUIS

Sneak Peek

Again FAIR DISCLAIMER

This is a completely self-indulgent wish fulfilment fic, the writing style here just picks a tangent and runs with it, switches when it wishes to and takes a u-turn when it feels like it, I’ve allowed myself a lot of leeway and decided to forgo my usual pretentious way of writing and basically this is just one big “Ah fuck it who the hell cares I’m just here for the Klaro-love” kind of fic. So proceed on your own volition

And as for the plot, to quote my previous post your stepping into a

*deep breath*

Fanatsy AU meets Alien AU meets Royalty AU meets Future AU meets Time Travel AU meets Inapropriate dirty talk in front of family members AU meets World War 3 AU meets Colonized Mars AU meets Family Sitcom AU meets SMUT 

*releases breath*

*Catches lost fucking breath*

And Honestly at this point I’m basically the author version of that one John Mulaney meme where he goes

“No one knows what the horse is going to do next, least of all the HORSE”

So yeah,

Proceed with Caution

You have been Warned

——————————————————————————

Earth, New Orleans, 2014

Let it be on record, in her own voice, for all of her subjects to know, that she loathes this, she loathes this with a passion.

An if that’s too ambiguous of a statement, she loathes it with a passion she may or may not employ debating the merits of her skin’s fluorescence in water colours as opposed to oil paints in her husband’s studio, a studio that is as vast as the ‘fiefdom’—which is putting it generously—she walks the streets of at this very moment.

Let it also be known that the anarchy of this city, which is basically an inter-faction wrestling ring for the supernatural, that her husband tried to rule will forever be a staining moment of his past.

She has tried to ignore this tiny smear of history that has turned translucent as time rubs against her memories each day eternity demurely follows behind her, she really has, but she’s found that she simply can’t let him off gently, she’s found she can’t let him forget and she has always found she has to drag him through the mud every time she’s reminded of Klaus’s less than complimentary interlude with Kingship to obscure that one disrespectfully dirty stain with camouflage, she’s never let him forget Klaus Mikaelson at amateur hour calling three streets and one marsh his ‘Kingdom.’

Oh he loathes it more when she reminds him it took him 12 years to hold said ‘Kingdom’ with the power that is a jesting parody with which she rules the entire world.

Those conversations do escalate very quickly, usually ends up with her pinned beneath him being reminded of the fact that never mind the pantomime of power he constructed and deluded himself with in New Orleans, he instead directs her attention to the fact that it may have taken him two entire centuries love, but nonetheless he is after all the one and only man in all the seven realms of Gaia who can make His Queen, His Empress beg on her knees for mercy every night, naked and needy, with tears in her eyes and a moan on her lips.

That remains his biggest accomplishment sweetheart, conquering you who has conquered all,

He silences her with a bruising kiss when she reminds him she is nothing so inert as to be conquered, and then proceeds to exalt his Empress.

She of course has told him fucking her to oblivion every time the topic comes up does not erase the decades of ignominy that was his ‘King of New Orleans’ venture, but usually at this point he just clamps a hand on her mouth and proceeds to pound into her in earnest. But if he thinks leaving her deliciously sore and sated the next morning is going to impede her in any way from bringing up his version of an embarrassing childhood memory every opportunity she gets, well he has to know by this point it’s always he who enables her.

But on a more prudent note, she concedes it’s been centuries since she’s been this under-prepared, doesn't matter that she’s in New Orleans in her husband’s—No at this point in time Future Husband’s home turf, doesn’t matter that she was sent 700 years into the past three days ahead of schedule, and most definitely does it not matter that the day the universe chose to send Grand Empress Caroline, Sovereign of the Seven Realms, Goddess of the Undead and Keeper of the Gates of Gaia was on the day of Gratia Cantantes.

The day of Gratitude, when her people flood the gates of her Aerial Gardenia chattering heartbeats on their sleeve, bated breath and craning necks, to stand in her presence. To thank their saviour, to touch their foreheads to the ground in remembrance of her favour and grace, for her devoted Vampires to celebrate the Quarter Quell’s Harvest, for Bonnie’s witches to accept the Elder’s Blessing, for the Wolves to have their venom sanctified by her Husband, and for Her World to celebrate it’s existence.

TBC

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die (Chapter 3)

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 3)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Roman is now king--and not in full control of his actions. Being kept alive by Logan's magic alone, he heads into the dungeons to see the necromancer for the first time in ten years.

Logan, a little out of control himself, uses his magic to bring the Green Man to his cell, not realizing he's compelling the new king of the Kingdoms. He discovers a strange, unknow power is still actively trying to kill him, uses his powers to try and regain some control over the situation...

And discovers something impossible.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), future Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: lots of death because necromancy, slash, and more to come as I figure it out ‘cause it’s late and I’m tired. CW in this chapter for some disturbing, vaguely graphic imagery involving blood, fluids (nothing sexual, YET), and a stylized version of a panic attack as well as touch starvation. I experience some mild symptoms myself, but I will admit I haven't done much in the way of research for more extreme samples, but this chapter does feature someone that has literally never experienced human contact doing so for the first time. Ergo, their reaction is a little extreme. Just be safe, mindful, and know that I am eager to learn anything that can help me treat issues like this with the respect and accuracy they deserve.

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

“Your Majesty! You have to stop!”

Roman remained silent as the guards trailing him called out, relentless as he stalked through the palace halls. Even as the words made him visibly flinch, cutting into him like a knife, he pressed onwards.

Your Majesty.

Because he was the king now. King Thomas Roman II—with his father (his body, he's just a body now) laying in his rooms to prepare for internment.

He could still see Remus's face...

“Remus—I can't--”

“Roman? Roman, look at me.”

“Father is...he's...”

“Dead. Our father is dead, big brother—and this is why the gods invented necromancers. Go.”

He hadn't trusted it, when his first impulse sent him bolting from the guards that dragged him away from his father's body and into the palace, everything in him screaming to find the dungeon, straining towards the necromancer. It probably wasn't his own thought, he still wasn't in control of his own body, lungs full of cool fog, mind thick and clear and so soft, so light. It seemed wrong to feel that way, heavy morning mist and the air above the clouds, atop the mountain, where not a single speck of dust or vapor could impede his vision.

He needed that, Remus to tell him, to hear someone else that wasn't in the Necromata's thrall having the same idea.

Remus pushed him further into the palace. Roman hardly needed the prompting.

“Stand aside.” he instructed as he reached the gate leading down into the dungeons. Two fully armed guards flanked the relatively small door, and neither of them moved at his command.

“With all due respect, Highness--”

“It's--” Roman's throat clogged around the words, unable to let them out despite the fact that his hands still shook from the chill of his father's skin.

“Let him pass.”

Roman glanced over his shoulder, startled by the sight of the man approaching them. He was dressed in a gentleman's bowler hat, and the black and gold cloak of an assassin, its gleaming clasp a perfect compliment to the scales that graced his otherwise handsome features.

“Lord Janus, you know--”

“How dearly I adore being flouted? Yes, of course, nothing makes me happier than having my subordinates disobey a direct order in front of the king.” Janus managed to purr through the sibilance of every word. Distractedly, Roman swore he could hear the crack of ice forming in the wake of the assassin's frigid demeanor.

The word 'king,' however, seemed to do the job. The moment it was spoken, both guards flinched, shared a look, and the one on the left moved to open the gate.

Roman descended the stairs, slowing down for the first time since he'd left the balcony. As a boy, he'd been in the cell nearest to the stairs, and in the dreams it was the same...

He was nearly to the bottom when he saw him.

He was standing in front of the bars, hands wrapped around them...and totally absent. Behind his glasses, the eyes that Roman remembered being glittering chips of ice had been swallowed up by a soft blue light that reminded him of every terrifying story he'd ever heard about the Animator with his sightless eyes, white as bone and crackling with the fury of lightning.

There was no crackle to this glow—more like the sinuous curl of flame at the edges, sweeping back against his temples, barely tinted blue and pale as moonlight.

Stopping dead, he was so consumed by the otherworldly beauty of the image he cut that he almost didn't notice the much younger man beside him—only just reaching the necromancer's shoulder with a mop of brown curls and an expression fraught with worry as he focused entirely on the...

...on Logan.

Roman forced himself to take those last few steps down, drawing the attention of the younger man. When he turned to Roman, he saw that his eyes were blue as well—but dark, vivid as the first crop of wild blueberries at the edges of the village that sat in the valley just beneath the palace.

He squinted into the shadows that blanketed the area around the stairs, the same one Roman had hidden in so long ago—and gasped, choking audibly on his own breath.

“Oh...oh, it's—it's you.”

Taken aback, Roman stilled again. “You...know me?”

“The Green Man—well, sure! Logan's told me all about you! But...what are you doing here, kiddo?”

Taking a deep breath—deep as he could manage with magic still forcing his chest to expand and contract, Roman stepped forward into the light. Almost immediately, the boy's eyes widened.

“...oh, ohhhhh, sweet baby, he didn't tell me you were the...the...”

The boy looked half ready to cry as he realized who he was speaking to, catching Roman just a little off guard with the display of empathy. A sudden, irrational urge to reach through the bars and hug the poor kid gripped him so powerfully it hurt—to hide his face in Roman's chest and protect him, to hide his face in those curls so no one could see Roman's tears in turn.

The boy's overly shining eyes hardened just as abruptly as they filled. Turning away from Roman, he laid a solid hand on Logan's shoulder.

“Logan.”

Roman opened his mouth to ask what was happening, what he was doing to Roman...

Then Logan's hand lifted, fingers unwrapping from around the bars, arm extending, and only then did Roman realize he'd closed the distance and walked straight up to the bars with no memory or awareness of even moving.

Everything in him was well past straining, was now screaming for him to take that offered hand, to plow straight through the bars and into something--

“Go on, kiddo.”

“Patton.”

“It's okay, Janny...it's okay, Your Majesty. He won't hurt you.”

The voices—Lord Janus, the boy, Patton—they sounded like they were coming from the end of a long hall, underwater.

The world was growing so quiet. Early morning dawn, cold mist, thick as soup and light as cotton.

Hold on.

He watched, from the heart of the fog bank, as his hand drifted up to mesh with Logan's—just like the dreams. That hand, those fingers, long and lean and surprisingly powerful...as familiar to him as his own name.

Do not let go.

I never have. I never will.

Roman looked from their joined hands to stare into Logan's face—no longer that of a frightened boy in pain, but lean and angular and marked by his imprisonment. Skin just too pale, cheekbones just too prominent, eyes just too shadowed.

Roman decided, with the last of his free will, that it was the most beautiful face he'd ever seen.

He breathed in, clear and deep, a breath of his own volition.

This time, the world only went dark when he closed his eyes and let go his final breath.

**********

Logan was in agony, and he didn't understand why.

It happened suddenly as the Green Man approached, followed the compulsion he'd been pushing since the moment his power had taken over. Logan had only been able to regain his senses once he'd found it and grabbed on, caught the thread of power buried deep in the Green Man's blood and marrow and replaced it with his own magic.

He'd never done this before, not really—but his magic seemed to know the way, seemed to know that this one, this death, belonged to Logan alone.

There wasn't time to wonder before everything began to burn and scream within him, demanding that he turn and run for safety.

Logan didn't listen. He pushed through it, pushed towards the sound of Patton's voice, towards the Green Man, and leaned forward just in time to draw his last gasp deep into his own lungs.

Immediately, it burned. The power in there was foreign, alien and other, too hot and too bright. It was straining towards its target, terrified of its new prison within Logan's body. He could taste lightning on the back of his tongue, lightning and knives and thick, sweet-savory blood.

...and underneath, honey mead. Fresh grass and sweet roses, sunlight and the clash of swords. Loamy earth and the clean grit of damp stone. The Green Man.

He was in so much pain, he barely felt it as he bit the inside of his own cheek and sucked, replacing the savory-sweet of the alien magic with old pennies and sour larvae. Rolling the flavor of those three across his tongue, Logan breathed through his nose...and opened his mouth.

The blue-white light spilled from his lips and slithered past the Green Man's, returning his final breath to him with a fresh thread of power to combat the one that was trying to leech away his very essence. With an icy knot in his chest to clash against the fire ravaging his nerves, he blinked his vision clear, banishing the last of the spirit-blindness from his eyes and begged the gods for aid.

The Green Man stood, eyes shut, still as the grave—then tensed and came alive, greedily sucking air into his lungs.

Something inside Logan's chest relaxed...but everything, everything still hurt like hell.

Only then, dimly, did it register that the Green Man stood before him in the red, white, and gold of the royal family's military dress.

The Green Man...oh, Shadow's Balls, the Green Man was the king's son.

“Logan? Say something, please Logan...” Patton's voice, thin and vaguely panicked.

“Easy.”

The prince—the new king—gasping and coughing, those green eyes riveted to Logan's face.

“Berry.”

Janus—that was definitely Janus, somewhere beyond Logan's vision, which was starting to narrow. It hurt, it hurt, why did it hurt? He was in pain, he was dying...he was on fire. He was being consumed and crushed--

“Logan, stop pulling.”

Blinking, Logan's vision blurred and cleared. Tears? He was...

Was he weeping? He had to be, he was struggling to breathe.

Looking around, Logan realized Patton was crying (his fault, his fault he knew somehow it was his fault) and, standing beside the new king, Janus had a hand on each of their wrists.

The prince still held Logan's hand. Janus's fingers around Logan's wrist were a barely there buzzing awareness, not even that ghost of pressure because Logan couldn't feel anything beyond the fire consuming him, concentrated...

The prince tried to take his hand back. Logan's fingers convulsed around it.

“Don't let go.”

It took Logan a full minute to realize the broken sounding whine had come from his own throat.

“Logan!”

“Patton, easy. It's fine...Your Majesty, are you all right?”

“I...yes. I am unharmed, I'm...I'm back in control.”

“Back in control?”

“Whatever killed my f—whatever killed the king, it nearly killed me, too. I have reason to believe this man saved my life.”

“This man is Necromata, and he's clearly found a way to use magic on you.”

“Which, I repeat, he used to save my life, and if we're very lucky, may yet be able to use to save F...the rightful king. Logan.”

“Don't let go...please.” Logan's breath was coming in short, shallow gasps now. He was trying to take back his hand and begging to be restrained...

Logan was dying. Logan was electrified.

“Young man—Patton--what's wrong with him?”

“I don't know, Your Majesty...Logan? Can you take a breath for me, kiddo?”

Breath. Breathing. Logan could breathe. He shut his eyes...

...two...three...four...

...hold...

...three...five...six...

Logan drew in a breath.

Held it.

Let it out.

Again.

Logan drew in a breath. At some point, he stopped fighting the grip on his hand, drifted somewhere between the present and elsewhere, the core of his power...

Breath. Berry. Breath, br...other. Berry.

He opened his eyes when it started to hurt again. The Green Man was right there, both of his hands wrapped around Logan's one. He felt boneless, but when he looked to the side, he saw Patton pressed against him, one arm around his waist, the other holding Logan's arm across his shoulders so he could support his weight.

“Hey, kiddo. You back?”

Logan could only nod, turning back to stare at the hands engulfing his. Hesitantly, he tried to plant his feet, take his arm back from Patton, and reached out to touch one of the prince's hands.

His fingertips barely grazed his knuckle, and the pain intensified.

“Lo?”

Logan drew a shaky breath.

“Your Majesty...your hands are callused.”

The Green Man blinked, visibly confused. “I...thank...you?...”

“Your hands...are callused.”

“I don't understand...” The Green Man trailed off, then after a moment his eyes widened.

“Wait. You...”

Logan felt his hands tighten around his. It hurt worse, and somehow it was all that was stopping him from shattering into a million glittering pieces.

“Your hands are callused.” Logan repeated. “I can feel them...I can feel it. Your touch...I can feel it.”

[secret-engima]

Can we get Nyx’s POV of the Axis’ meeting? Someone outside the immediate emotional clash, anyway.

Hmmmm I’ll try?

Nyx is just as shocked as everyone else when a younger, Hunter-garbed Axis appears in a flash of light after their Axis cut himself on an old ruin, because seriously, that’s the kind of thing that happens in the Old Stories, not modern times.

He’s not the only one paranoid that the younger Axis might be some kind of shapeshifter, a creature of the Old Days hoping to steal their souls, but a few cautious questions puts that fear to rest. The kid (because this Axis IS a kid compared to them and Astrals were they really that small after the Burning, that skinny and wary? It looks way worse from the outside than it did back then) immediately starts looking around in agitation, no doubt looking for his Tredd and Luche since the three area almost always glued to the hip, and the glaives help look. No one appears, probably because only C!Axis got cut up on that stone, and after some grumbling from the younger Axis, the kid comes with them to the glaive outpost. They’ll sort out what to do with him in the morning.

Nyx doesn’t notice at first the way N!Axis looks at his counterparts, the worry and tight line in his shoulders, the kid is jus nervous and yea it’s weird seeing yourself and your friends older and decked out in military gear. N!Axis also gives Nyx a long, baffled stare that he refuses to explain, but Nyx doesn’t mind. Maybe the other Nyx has long hair or something and it’s weird seeing it short.

Things don’t start going wrong until they’re at the glaive outpost, passing out the (illegal) drinks Captain pretended not to notice them smuggling (the man might be hard and rigid on all the other regulations, but at least he let them have their small vices so long as they didn’t let it impede their work). Tredd drinks more than he should have, and sure enough, he starts badmouthing. It’s his venting mechanic, and at first they all ignore him as he complains about the outpost, about the Nifs (which they can all agree on at least). Then ... then he starts tearing up the nobles and they get uncomfortable. Tredd doesn’t mean anything by it, Nyx knows that, but Tredd is edging dangerously close to badmouthing the royal family and that could get him in serious trouble. Not to mention the king, for all his faults, HAD taken them in, had given them magic and always made sure that at least their families had enough to live on.

Crowe, who has little patience for Tredd’s mouthing off on a good day, tells him to knock it off but he doesn’t, because Tredd. and Nyx is just thinking of baiting Luche into reining in his Furia (Nyx is a little surprised Luche hasn’t done it already, but Luche’s in a bad mood too) when someone shoves him roughly aside and strides right into their group.

By the time Nyx identifies the newcomer as the young N!Axis, who had been brooding in a corner rather than drink with them, Tredd is already on the floor with a broken, bleeding nose. N!Axis’s fist is cocked back, dripping Tredd’s blood and already prepped to strike again and Nyx feels himself take an inner step back when the boy growls, low and dangerous, “You take that back.” The glaives freeze, because the Arra temper is legendary and Axis is scary when he loses his last restraint sure, but they have never, EVER seen him lash out at Tredd like this. Couldn’t conceive any Axis breaking Tredd’s nose like this. Nyx can see N!Axis’s face as he breathes in and sees the teenager struggling to rein himself in.

“You. Take. That. Back.” He repeats and Nyx’s skin prickles at the feral snarl coating the words, the bared teeth that flash as he speaks. N!Axis is furious, for reasons frankly lost on Nyx, and one wrong move will result in them having to try to pin down an Arra set on a bloodbath and that will not be a good time. The kid takes another deep breath and growls “How dare you. How dare you pretend to know what it’s like. How dare you wish our fate on anyone, let alone the Chief who took you in. Maybe our conditions could be better, and maybe he doesn’t do enough but at least he tries. You hold his magic in your skin and you think that gives you the right to curse his entire Clan and say none of them ever suffered?”

Tredd bristles on the floor but doesn’t move, and Nyx is grateful when C!Axis steps up and rests a hand on his younger self’s shoulder, “All he means is-”

N!Axis swats aside the hand and shifts to stare at his older self. Nyx sees his expression flicker, something like grief and anger in his eyes, some kind of ... realization that seems to break a tiny piece of the younger Arra before he bares his teeth again in renewed anger, “I know what he means,” snarls N!Axis, “and I know he’s full of pyre-ash. If you had any idea what it’s like to have been born with their full weight of magic, the full touch of the Draconian’s Blessing rather than the pittance you think makes you impressive-.”

Tredd opens his big mouth again, “What, and you do?” and the growl N!Axis gives hits a pitch that makes all of Nyx’s hair stand on end and he steps in with Lib at his side to try and keep a genuine fight from breaking out.

Nyx is mildly surprised when N!Axis grudgingly allows him to nudge the young Arra back, Nyx talking soothingly the entire time about how Tredd is just drunk and they all need to cool their heads.

It might, MIGHT have worked if Tredd hadn’t opened his big, dumb mouth again. Taunted N!Axis and told him that he might think the king is kind now, but that was naive, give it a few years and he’d think just like Tredd, and now the Furia is DEFINITELY in court martial territory. Several glaives hiss at him because too far is too far even for Tredd.

Nyx feels the vibrating tension of N!Axis against his arm suddenly relax and something in his head, the little primal instincts that have kept him alive for years, starts screaming.

N!Axis gently nudges Nyx’s arm down (he lets him only because he’s genuinely starting to fear if he doesn’t his arm will get broken), looks his counterpart and the counterpart of his two friends dead in the eyes with an eerie calm that belies the burning HATE in his eyes-.

Spits on the ground at their feet, “Storm-Father as my witness,” he intones in a too-calm, utterly serious voice, “I’ll gut myself with my mother’s blades and feed my entrails to the Voretooths before I become a filthy little Pink-Tongue like you.”

Nyx can no more stop the fight that breaks out than he could stop the tides. He’s too stunned, frozen in place in HORROR at hearing Axis (any Axis, any version of him) call Tredd a slur like that. It isn’t until Tredd has gotten his head pounded against the floor several times and Tredd has kicked N!Axis away from him and sent him crashing through a table that Nyx and the others snap out of their horror and lunge to break it up. N!Axis has gone feral, he bucks in Nyx’s arms, fighting to get free despite his bloody cheek and split lip and probably bruised ribs, screaming more and more slurs and hate at his counterpart and the counterparts of what should be his two best friends and Nyx’s mind almost blanks from the horror of it (this younger Axis is declaring a blood feud in all but name, he’s using all the words that NO Galahdian is supposed to use at another unless they mean to spill entrails onto the sand and he doesn’t UNDERSTAND why N!Axis is doing this, saying this. Tredd shouldn’t have said that stuff about the king but this is too far-)

They drag him to the far side of the Outpost and Nyx and Lib keep guard on the kid all night, both to ensure he doesn’t pick anymore fights and also to ensure no one tries to slit his throat in the night.

The moment Tredd, Axis, and Luche are out of sight, N!Axis stops fighting their grip, just goes limp and then curls in the corner and broods with fury-darkened eyes. He refuses the potion Libertus offers past his own righteous indignation (because a war declared on one glaive is war declared on all the glaive, surely, but this is a hurting teenager from another world and Lib won’t raise a hand against him) and the night is long and cold and uneasy.

The next morning, a shout goes up, a stranger approaching the base. Nyx leaves Lib in charge of guarding their guest while he goes to see.

Astrals above it’s a kid. He can’t be older than fourteen, thin and scraggly and unmistakably a refugee, with black hair in a ponytail and blue-blue eyes that watch them calmly as he explains he’s here to find a friend. They were exploring the nearby Solheim ruins together when they got separated and he followed the trail to the outpost.

No way. No WAY.

Except when they let the kid in, he makes a beeline right for N!Axis, like he has a beacon leading him right to the young adult despite N!Axis being on the other side of the outpost.“Hey, Axis,” the kid says easily, as if he’s out for a walk and not apparently FROM ANOTHER WORLD.

Nyx watches N!Axis stare, then sigh, and wonders at the way all the tension bleeds out of the Arra’s frame at the sight of the younger boy, “What are you doing here, idiot,” he asks, but there is no bite or venom to the words, only relief.

The kid has gone stiff at the sight of N!Axis’s injuries and pushes a potion on his friend as he says something about calling in a favor and how they need to get going.

Something about the way the kid watches N!Axis niggles at Nyx. Something about the way the kid moves, the way he looks in the light of rising sun as they begin marching out of the outpost, glaives whispering on their heels. Something … something Nyx can’t … can’t place.

Until Tredd comes out of the barracks, Luche and Axis on his heels and yells out a vile curse, fist already cocked back to punch N!Axis one more time, and Nyx starts to step forward to try to keep the bloodshed at bay-.

Freezes with all the others when the scrawny teen is suddenly there, between N!Axis and Tredd, a lethal, furious pressure rippling through the air as a host of ghostly weapons point right at Tredd’s heart, “Are we going to have a problem?” The teen asks and there is something eerie underlying his voice, some kind of echo of voices, old and cold and cruel that makes him seem suddenly not a teen at all but something entirely ancient and inhuman.

Lucis Caelum, wheezes something in Nyx’s mind as he struggles to breathe, angry, ANGRY Lucis Caelum.

N!Axis calls him off, which surprises Nyx until he sees the look in the younger Arra’s eyes. Loyalty. Fervent, utter loyalty. A devotion given only to the best of Chief’s and closest of family.

And oh. OH. That … that explains the rage, the fury, the slurs and the screaming. N!Axis wasn’t defending a foreign king who distantly aided refugee’s.

He’d been defending the father of his Chief. The father of family, for all the boy doesn’t wear an Arra braid (yet. If N!Axis doesn’t put a braid in that boy’s hair by the end of the month Nyx will eat his shoes).

No one moves to stop them as they leave, hands linked together, straight backed and thin, worn down but proud.

Nyx eyes the expressions on he faces of Tredd, Luche, and Axis and feels uneasy for reasons he can’t name.

[yukiwrites]

His Two Most Precious

For Corrianderweek, Day 3: Bonding Moment. LONG TIME NO KATERINA!! My baby girl!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

__________________

There was always a larger influx of work and reports to read during the weeks preceding any of the Royals’ birthdays, most of all the King’s.

Thus, Xander spent more time than usual cooped up in his study, going over piles and piles of documents each and every day. Of course, so did Kamui, but she was one to know when to take her proper breaks so the people saw the Queen around the castle much more often than they did the King.

Throughout their years (over a decade!) of marriage, Xander had grown resistant to Kamui’s invitations to take breaks, be they family rated or not, so the Queen had to resort to her trump card…

“Toc, toc, toctocTooc!” A youthful, almost baby-like voice sounded at the same time a chubby hand did the set of knocks specially devised for her. The guard on duty outside fidgeted, wanting to open the door as it was his role, but being told not to.

From the inside, Xander tilted his head to the side in confusion. “Katerina?” He asked the empty room, being answered by the youngest princess of Nohr right outside.

“Caan Katie come inn, Papa?” She asked adorably, in a way that Xander could already picture how she was standing on the tips of her toes and swaying her fluffy dress around.

“Of course, my precious princess. Come on in.” The King immediately let go of his pen to welcome his youngest child midway to the room, opening his arms to pick her up.

Before he could, however, Katerina hopped inside and opened a rolled up sheet of paper, yelling a, “ta-dAH! Happy birthdee, Papa!”

“Oh?” Xander chuckled, wearing the warmest and fondest expression only found on a parent who deeply loved their children. “What priceless piece of art! Is that me?” He kneeled in front of the little girl, prompting her to sit on his knee and let him take the drawing so she could point to each of the hairy stick figures she had drawn with crayon.

“Here is Papa, me, Mama, bibig bro and big bro! I made Papa’s crown reaaally big here!” She kicked her chubby legs, making her curly, golden hair bounce around her pointy ears.

“Indeed, you have managed to capture me perfectly, my precious princess. May I keep this with me here?” He rolled the paper back, gesturing to his desk, intending on keeping the drawing in the drawer closest to his arm so it could be within his reach anytime he wanted to look at it.

“Mhm!” Katerina nodded as she wrapped both short arms around her father’s neck, squeezing him in a warm and loving hug. Xander reciprocated the gesture immediately, getting up as he held the little girl with one arm, safely holding her drawing with the other. He walked back to his desk, sitting upon the comfy chair by it so he could safely place the wonderful piece of art inside the drawer.

As he bent sideways to do so, Katerina made herself comfortable on top of his desk -- specifically making of the many important documents of the kingdom as her seat of honor. Usually, the one who would sit on his desk to distract him from work would be-

Wait just a moment…

From the corner of Xander’s eyes, he saw that the door to his study remained ajar, despite him knowing full well that was supposed to be a guard on duty standing right outside. As a rule, it was the soldier’s job to open the door for the guests and close it behind them, so there was no understandable reason for him not to do this single task of his job, unless there was someone of a higher rank than him standing right there to impede him from doing it.

“Say, Katerina?” That line of thought took less than half a second to conconte, so the young princess had barely set her fluffy dress atop his documents when he opened his mouth.

The little girl’s bright, red eyes that looked so much like her mother’s darted straight to Xander, being accompanied by a large, missing-a-tooth grin that somehow managed to melt the King’s heart even further. “Papa?”

“Did someone tell you to come here to do this? My birthday is only two days from now, after all.” He glanced from the princess to the door, wondering if he could catch a glimpse of what was behind that slight crack.

As matter-of-factly a 3-year-old could be, Katerina simply pointed to the door and said, “Mama!”

“C-cough!” Something behind the door moved, making Xander’s gaze catch a glimpse of a blue dress.

Pressing his lips so as to hide a smirk that fought to grow on his lips, Xander cleared his throat, managing to ask with a semi-sarcastic, mostly-fond tone: “Would you care to join us, Kamui?”

Xander could feel the tension coming from beyond the door, which made his hard-fought smirk win half of the battle, giving him an annoyed look to the normal onlooker. To his family, however? They could see that he was fighting back the urge to laugh the moment any of them laid eyes on him.

Kamui awkwardly popped her head inside the study, smiling as though caught red-handed. “Heehee, you caught me!”

“Mama!” Katerina bounced on her seat of documents. “Mama, Mama!”

The couple exchanged glances that carried the words of a man and woman who had been together for the largest part of their lives. See that? She’s calling me so I’m going over now, Kamui giggled innocently, knowing that her husband would see through her ruse right away. We will need to talk later, was the only message Xander’s gaze sent through, but Kamui simply smiled as though to ignore it and quickly headed towards the bouncing little girl.

“Katie heard everyone say it’s Papa’s birthdee, but it’s not! Did Mama say wrong?”

Kamui coughed once again, caught in her ruse by their too-smart 3-year-old. “M-Mama only meant that Papa was too busy with the preparations for this birthday party, my little pumpkin. Thank you for coming here and reminding him to take a break, okay?”

“Mhm!” The little girl nodded vehemently, but stopped it just as fast, “AH!”

Startled out of their skins, the parents each placed one hand on either of Katerina’s shoulders to assess how she was, but the princess simply widened her sparkling eyes as she looked at her mother.

“Bumpkin!” She waved energetically, “Nanny said there was bumpkin snack today!”

Xander and Kamui both breathed out in relief, the Queen placing one hand over her chest as the King stroked his thumb on Katerina’s arm in an act of fondness.

“Are you going to eat lots of pumpkins, my little pumpkin?” Kamui squeezed the little girl’s chubby cheeks, receiving a loud giggle and happy kicks in response.

“Mhm!” She nodded to Kamui, then immediately turned to Xander, opening her arms as though asking for upsies. “Papa, take me!”

Blinking, Xander was stunned for half a second before narrowing his eyes to his wife.

It wasn’t my idea, her eyes said, though her mouth let out a gurgling snort as her hands did a thumbs-up for her daughter’s wit. Noticing how her husband was about to give in, she joined the act by hugging Katerina and showing Xander the exact same look the little girl was giving him. “Take me too, Xander?” She pouted adorably, knowing that she would answer for this later.

“Take meeee, Papa!” Katerina insisted, pushing Kamui away so as to open her arms once again for her father.

Xander further narrowed his eyes as he reached for Katerina, promptly putting her on his arms and getting up from his seat. “I’m afraid I will not be able to take you, my Queen, as my arms are occupied with one princess already.”

Kamui grinned widely. “I suppose I must concede defeat, then. But I must ask for a fee for this travesty.” She tapped on his free arm, asking him to bend down to her short height so she could place a kiss upon his lips.

Not being able to hide his smile anymore, Xander simply did as his wife said and welcomed her kiss with open lips and closed eyes.

“Chuu, chuu, chuu!” Katerina imitated kissy sounds, wanting her to be the next receiver of smooches.

Gurgling a giggle under Xander’s lips, Kamui smiled as their kiss turned into smaller ones until she was able to speak. “Muah, muah, muah for Katie too!” The Queen pulled her little girl’s cheeks closer to her, covering her with loud and wet kisses.

Xander placed a patient peck on Katerina’s forehead after Kamui was done disheveling the princess’ hairdo, slicking the curly hair back with his free hand. After he was done, his Queen took the arm within her own, wanting to be escorted to the tea room alongside their daughter.

“Bumpkin, bumpkin!” Katerina chanted, kicking her tiny feet as Xander made his way out of the room with Kamui in tow. The guard that was supposed to be there had been probably relieved of his duties for the day by Kamui, but that was a matter for him to talk to her another time.

For now, he would enjoy this moment to bond with the most important women of his life, two days before his birthday. 

[delimeful]

the shapes in the silence (4)

warnings: guilt, panic, arguing, general tension

Chapter 4

One movie later, Virgil somehow found himself curled up on the couch between Roman and Patton, slipping in and out of sleep to the bright tunes of the Lion King.

He woke fully, briefly freaking out because everyone was big and why was he sleeping out here like this, as Roman turned the TV off and bid them goodnight. Logan must have left earlier, probably keeping to his typical strict curfew. He gave himself a moment to breathe deeply, and then lifted himself up into a stretch, hearing a few pops as he arched his back like a cat. Patton giggled softly from next to him.

“You tired, kiddo?” he asked, lifting a hand and running a thumb over the sloping horns by his ears. Virgil, still half-asleep, let out a soft coo not unlike a contented dove. Before he could be embarrassed, Patton cooed back, offering his hands again. 

“You wanna come sleep in my room for tonight?” he offered earnestly, and Virgil groaned internally. He couldn’t say no to that face, but in this form… he didn’t really have to. No reputation to uphold, other than his own pride. 

If it was any other side, he’d feel too guilty to take advantage when he wasn’t who they thought he was, but whenever Patton found him in the common area at an ungodly hour of the morning, he made the same offer. Always denied, obviously, but this was similar enough to be okay… right? 

Too tired to think on it any further, he crawled into Patton’s arms and struggled to keep his eyes open as they trekked down the hall to Patton’s room. 

Patton had clearly memorized the inside of his room, because he didn’t even turn on the lights before plopping down on the bed. It was ludicrously soft, and Virgil waited until Patton had pulled the covers over himself to burrow into a corner of the bed and curl up.

Now all he had to do was wait for Patton to- He looked up at the loud snore. Patton was already asleep. Deeply, going by his breathing. He shook his head, amused despite himself. 

Pulling himself up from the unfairly comfortable bed, he tried not to let Patton’s sleepiness affect him. He had to get back to his room. He’d been in this form for three days straight, and it was starting to make his head feel fuzzy. 

Hopping down from the bed on padded feet, he carefully made his way past any furniture, thankful that his night vision seemed to be intact. The door was cracked open, and he managed to slip through without Patton stirring. 

Everyone else was asleep, so he let himself break into a run as he bolted back towards his hall, his door, his room. He’d never spent so much consecutive time with the others before, generally choosing to leave when it became clear that his presence would only make things worse. The videos took some time, but he always made himself scarce afterwards so he could mull over everything that he did wrong in the privacy of his own room.

He nearly ran face first into the familiar black door, before feeling around with a paw and finding the cat-flap to push through. The familiarity of his room felt like stepping into a comfortable bath after the day he’d had, and before he knew it, his dragon form slipped away from him like sand through his fingers, leaving him sitting on the floor with his normal human legs. He sighed in relief, and then immediately realized that the cuff had vanished, no sign of it on his wrist. 

On one hand, that meant there was no chance the others could tie him to the dragon through it, which was good because not even his hoodie would be loose enough to effectively cover that bulky band. 

On the other, completely worse hand, this meant he wouldn’t be able to try and remove it until he turned into a dragon again. Oh god, what if the tracker led to the last place he was a dragon? He shook his head rapidly, trying to ride out the impending panic attack, and threw himself in bed. He was too exhausted for this. 

In what was definitely some hours but felt like no time at all, Virgil woke to the sound of banging on his door. He grimaced into his pillow, but the noise continued until he hauled himself out of bed and cracked open the door. “What.” 

“Hey kiddo,” Patton said, eyes red-rimmed, and Virgil instantly felt terrible. He didn’t let himself ease up, though, because Roman was right at Patton’s shoulder, glaring. “It’s Sunday, so I thought I would ask if you wanted to come down and eat breakfast with us?” 

The weekly breakfasts were always an affair, the one meal Patton scheduled so they would be able to make it, no excuses. Virgil often skipped anyways, since sitting next to the other two sides who probably didn’t want him there with his stomach roiling too badly to eat wasn’t his idea of a great time. Patton kept knocking to invite him, though, every Sunday. 

He sighed. Patton already seemed upset about something, and that meant he’d be too worried about what it was to go back to sleep anyways. “Yeah…,” he said raspily, and cleared his throat, “Yeah, I’ll be down after I get ready.” 

Patton smiled brightly at him, cheered, and nodded. “I’ll go get started!” 

Virgil watched him head back downstairs, before going to close his door, but- 

“Not so fast, Doctor Gloom.”

Virgil took a second too long to process the shoe blocking his door from closing, and dragged his gaze up to Roman. “What do you want, Princey.” He was too tired for the nickname game right now.

“Oh, don’t play coy with me. I know you were in the Imagination yesterday, using your loathsome creations to target me.” Roman shoved the door open further, gaze furious. “What did you do to him?” 

“What are you- who?” Virgil said, feeling a headache coming on. He’d known that Roman would confront him about the shades sooner or later, but he’d been hoping for later. It wasn’t like he manifested them on purpose, they just… happened whenever he went to the creative side’s realm. Downside of having your creative thoughts all be about who’s out to get you and how, he guessed. 

Roman growled impatiently.

“The dragon I was with when you sent your minions to attack me, Villain!”

His thoughts screeched to a halt. Roman was worried about him? Well, dragon him, but still- what the hell? He was literally a monster. “Dragon? I-” wait, no lying, “Why the hell would I care about something like that? I was in the Imagination for my own reasons. Try not to get too big a head.”

“Lies! I know you have tormented the dragon before, for he has shown most clearly that he is afraid of you,” Roman insisted, pushing further into Virgil’s space.

He leaned his full weight against the door to keep it steady, sneering face inches from Roman’s. “Maybe he’s just got better survival instincts than you.” 

“Then would you like to explain how he vanished overnight from Patton’s room, a clear beacon of safety?” Roman’s eyes glinted dangerously. “Why are you so desperately concealing your room if you have nothing to hide?” 

Nope. That was enough of that. They were not looking in his room. 

“I didn’t touch a scale on your new little pet’s head,” he spat, releasing the door and moving to avoid Roman’s surprised stumble forwards. “Maybe he left because he was sick of dealing with your idiocy.” 

Without giving Roman time to recover, he shoved the prince back out the door hard enough to make him land on his ass with a shout of protest. “If you think I’m such a liar, why don’t you go ask Deceit if I messed with your lizard. Just keep me out of it.”

He slammed his door shut behind him, letting it lock firmly, and then strode past Roman with hunched shoulders. He couldn’t believe he’d knocked him over like that. His pace increased, steps hurried as he near skidded down the stairs. Roman wouldn’t do anything in front of Patton, right? 

He couldn’t help but check over his shoulder for pursuit as he got into the common area, which was probably why he nearly collided with Logan head-on.

“Shit!” he yelped, grabbing Logan by the shoulders to steady them both and then just as promptly tearing his hands away as though he’d been burned. He wasn’t a dragon anymore, they didn’t want him touching them. “Sorry, sorry. Wasn’t watching.”

“No harm done,” Logan responded, but he was watching Virgil with slightly narrowed eyes. “Anxiety, are you-“

“Fine,” he cut the logical side off brusquely, stepping to the side to walk around him. “Not impeding Thomas, don’t worry. That’s my job.” 

Logan turned to follow his movement, mouth open to say something else, but he was already bolting for the kitchen, berating himself internally. Don’t worry, that’s my job, he mocked himself. A joke. Really, Virgil? 

“Hey kiddo, you alright?” 

He looked over to where Patton was standing, hands working a waffle iron effortlessly. A beat late, he nodded, taking deeper breaths. 

“Y- eah, I’m good.” He winced at his own voice crack. Subject change time. “Uh… how about you?” 

Patton jerked his head up, surprised. Shit. Bad subject change. He forgot he was terrible at interacting without his asshole barrier up. “Nevermind, you don’t have to-”

“It’s okay!” He turned the waffle iron over, setting a timer before turning back to Virgil. “I’m just missing a new friend.”

Uh oh. “...Friend?” 

Patton smiled. “I think you would like him! He disappeared during the night though, so you can’t meet him right now.” 

His smile became a little watery. Goddamn it. 

“Uh, well. It’s only been a little bit, right? I’m sure he’ll come back,” he soothed, uncertainly. 

Patton perked up slightly. “You think so?” 

“...Yeah, I do,” he responded honestly, keeping the worst of the sigh from his voice. “Need help setting out breakfast?” 

“Aw, sure kiddo!” 

When he walked out of the kitchen, a plate in each hand, Roman was already there, speaking in exaggerated whispers to Logan. He shot a scathing glare at Virgil, opening his mouth to say something stupid, and then closed it again sharply as Patton walked out behind him.

Virgil gave him a smug smirk, ignoring his elevated heart rate. Roman mouthed the word ‘cheater’ at him as Patton turned to set a plate down, and just for that, Virgil put one of the plates he was carrying in front of Roman with a saccharine smile. The prince stared at him with blatant suspicion as he carried his own plate to his spot. 

He proceeded to enjoy the show, watching as Roman inspected each piece of food, face pinched. Patton picked up on it, naturally, and asked if something was wrong. Roman was quick to assure him that his cooking was as wonderful as ever, and took a bite to prove it, face pale. 

Once enough time had passed that he could reasonably assume it wasn’t a fast acting poison, he glowered at Virgil and started eating in earnest, the conversation picking up again. Virgil picked at his food as they chattered, letting it all wash over him. 

Until the conversation turned to him.

“-is there anywhere you haven’t checked, Patton?” Logan was asking, a notebook in his lap.

“I can’t think of anywhere I haven’t already looked! On the fridge, under the bed, in the closet- and you know I don’t go in there lightly.”

“I can think of somewhere,” Roman growled, glaring at Virgil. He returned the look twofold. 

“Oh, you can think? Color me surprised,” he snarked back, and then Logan chimed in.

“Ah, that’s right. We searched our rooms, but not Anxiety’s.” 

Virgil couldn’t help but tense, and Patton hurried to intervene, “Well, we don’t want to invade his privacy, do we now?” 

Logan blinked. “Of course not. I was simply implying that we should ask Anxiety if he had seen anything strange that would indicate a small dragon’s passage or presence.”

He pretended to consider for a moment. “Nope,” he responded, popping the P, “can’t say that I have.” 

“Darn!” Patton said.

“Back to the drawing board, then.” Logan nodded, turning back to his notebook. 

For a moment, Virgil and Roman stared at him with equal amounts of incredulity. 

“What, you’re just gonna take his word for it?” Roman protested, a beat late. 

“... Yes? Why wouldn’t we?” The logical side looked up, a bit annoyed.

“Because he’s an untrustworthy scoundrel?” 

“Roman!” Patton scolded, frowning in a way that made Roman wilt.

“That is not the case, though I understand that you believe as much due to Anxiety’s many negative effects on Thomas.” Logan chimed in as well. 

“Ouch.” Virgil muttered under his breath. Still, it wasn’t like he was wrong. 

“Still, Roman, there’s no reason for Anxiety to lie to us. It’s not in his nature, and there are no logical reasons to draw a connection between the absence of the dragon and Anxiety, beyond your rather blatant dislike of him.” 

“And with that,” Virgil cut in, seeing his opportunity, “I’m leaving.” 

Patton reached out and Logan frowned for some reason, but he cut off their protests preemptively. “No, if all we’re going to do is talk about how much everyone doesn’t like me and what I do, I’ll just wait until Thomas summons us for the next video.” 

Shit. That came out too… emotions-y. He threw his hood up and sunk out before they could say anything else, but it wasn’t quick enough to miss the triumphant expression Roman wore. A flare of anger rose up in his chest and was just as quickly extinguished. He deserved as much after interrupting Logan and probably upsetting Patton by leaving so abruptly. This was why he didn’t go to the goddamn breakfasts. 

He thought about Patton’s eyes rubbed red around the edges, and the stomach-churning fear he’d felt after even the smallest confrontation with Roman. The way Logan detachedly stated that he was hurting Thomas, like it was a fact. He tried to take a breath, but his lungs felt as though they were being compressed, and his head was ringing. His vision spotted black for a moment, and when it cleared up, everything was huge around him.

Oddly enough, though he still felt bad, a lot of the physical symptoms he normally felt were… faded, almost diminished in this form. Overwhelmed by the other set of instincts that overlapped with his own. Strange.

Too busy wallowing in his own misery to overthink for once, he padded out of his own room and straight to Patton’s, curling up on one of the plush pillows to wait for the moral side to get back. 

At least like this, he could offer something positive to someone. 

[7deadlycinderellas]

The Ghost of the Red Keep, ch1

Ao3 link

Arya is one and ten when she first hears the voice.

The cat Syrio had been having her chase had led her deep into the vaults and cellars of the Red Keep. Or perhaps she let it lead her there. An excuse to go exploring, if a weak one.

The dragon skulls had been a great find, the pale white figures staring down at her. She can scarcely imagine beasts that big even existing.

She whispers about these to Sansa and Bran when she returns back to the Tower of the Hand.

Sansa threatens to tell on her for wandering off, and Arya privately vows to never tell her fun things she discovers again.

Bran is interested, terribly, but balks when Arya offers to take him down to see them.

“I can’t sneak away as well as you can,” is his excuse, and Arya only feels a little bad when she accuses him of being scared. He’d been scared of the crypts in Winterfell so he’s quick to claim he’s not.

He is right though, since they’ve all come to King’s Landing, it’s been harder for Arya to shirk her lessons. She can only blame getting lost so many times, even if the Red Keep IS huge and unfamiliar and full of interesting hallways.

Thank all the gods for Syrio’s dancing lessons. The strange assignments he gives her are perfect for a getaway. The cats especially, she can blame for having a mind of their own.

The second time she sneaks down to see the dragon skulls, is when she hears the voice.

It’s not a scary voice, though the setting would expect it. It’s awfully dark down here, only with an occasional torch, no natural light whatsoever. It’s dark and quiet, and strangely warm. Arya dislikes that. True as a northerner she’s used to darkness, it’s the artificial nature of the darkness down here that she distrusts. It’s the sort of darkness that hides secrets.

The voice sounds young, and she can’t make out any actual words. She also doesn’t see who the voice is attached to.

When she returns to her lessons, she whispers to Sansa,

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Sansa looks at her with a withering gaze. They had supposed to be working on learning the proper depths of a curtsy based on the rank of the person they are meeting.

“You’ve heard Old Nan’s stories. Ghosts are left behind by people who die tragically and can’t move on.”

Arya ponders her words.The Red Keep has been the site of lots of violence, from the battles in the days of old to the execution of her own grandfather and uncle. It made perfect sense to her that it might have a ghost.

“I think there’s a ghost under the castle,” she tells Bran that night.

The two of them had snuck off into the Godswood after supper. Summer, Lady and Nymeria are supposed to stay there all day, so as not to frighten and upset the servants. Sometimes Bran and her sneak theirs up the stairs at night, for the most part, the wolves seem content among the trees.

They scavenged a pair of long branches to use as swords, and he’s trying to show her what he’s been learning during training. Once she offered to show Bran the moves that she learned from Syrio, he became more willing to show her what he learned in return.

“Like a person ghost, or a dragon ghost?”

Arya pauses a moment, in thought. Bran takes that moment to strike the stick from her hands. She only pouts for a moment before answering, because his question caught her off guard.

“Do dragons even have ghosts?”

“They must,” Bran tells her, “They bond with people. They understand words- that’s why the dragon riders all spoke Valyrian. They should be able to die and leave something behind.”

Arya suddenly wonders if their wolves have souls like them. Bran’s right, they must. But then she shakes her head, because it’s beside the point.

“No, it must have been a person ghost, I heard it talking.”

“What did it say?”

Arya frowns.

“I couldn’t hear it.”

Bran makes a face.

“Well it doesn’t sound like an interesting ghost.”

And then he knocks her stick from her hands again, so her focus shifts. She doesn’t think about her ghost again until later that night, lying in bed, trying to sleep.

What could the ghost have left keeping it to the world?

The next week is full of hustle and bustle, and so Arya doesn’t get any time to sneak away and try and catch her ghost.

One morning, someone comes and escorts Sansa away from the breakfast table.

“What’s going on?” Arya asks her mother.

Catelyn reaches underneath the table and squeezes Arya’s hand, both, she assumes, to provide comfort, and also to stop her from bolting.

“Your sister’s betrothal to Prince Joffrey has been made official. The Queen wishes to speak to her.”

“Sansa’s really going to get married?” Bran asks through a mouth of bacon.

Catelyn smiles, but her lips are tight.

“Not for a few years. I convinced Cersei that it would be more appropriate to wait until her moon’s blood comes reliably every moon, rather than when she first flowers.”

Arya notes the pucker on her mother’s lips, and feels a private joy that she seems to find Prince Joffrey as odious as she does.

And once that whole mess has passed through, the end of the week is Arya’s twelfth name-day.

Her gift that year is unexpectedly nice too, a brand new saddle. It’s made of shiny brown leather, and Arya spends the morning in the stable, oiling it until it shines. After breakfast, Myrcella invites her to go for a ride, so she even gets to try it out.

Myrcella’s twice as giggly as Sansa is, but she’s never been mean, so Arya decides to go.

When she buckles the straps, Arya wonders why the saddle has an extra stirrup on one side and the back is raised unusually high.

“Oh, that’s in case you want to ride sidesaddle like some southern ladies do,” Myrcella tells her, mounting her own horse.

Arya makes a face. Of course there’s a catch.

“Not that you have to,” Myrcella tells her, arranging her skirts atop her own mount. “Only the very most proper ladies do. The other couple sidesaddles I’ve seen are basically plush armchairs stuck to a horse’s back, you can’t even control the horse. Even Mother rides astride, on the rare occasion when she doesn’t take a litter or the wheelhouse of course.”

And Myrcella’s riding normally too, so Arya figures it’s okay. She looks back at the princess, who’s chosen to wear a dress with an extra voluminous skirt so that it doesn’t impede her at all. She suspects that might be her mother’s next move when she realizes she won’t be able to keep Arya off her horse. At least the other ladies here enjoyed riding too, Sansa never did.

The hump in the back of the saddle feels really strange pressed in Arya’s rump, but she’s still small enough that she fits over the front easily enough, with her legs astride, and it’s not like they’re riding very fast.

They don’t go very far, or very fast. They can’t really gallop until they go into the Kingswood proper, and Arya knows the guards who are riding with them would never allow it.

It is very nice to not be stuck sitting inside all day though.

About halfway through the ride, Arya asks her,

“Do you ever hear ghost voices down below the castle?”

Myrcella furrows her brow.

“I don’t think so. I think the castle probably has at least a few ghosts, but I’ve never heard them. I did hear some voices down in one of the cellars when my septa was teaching me the going ons of the castle proper. I think she must have thought they were ghosts too, because she sent me away. I wasn’t frightened, I think it was just Varys talking to some of his little birds. They need secret places to do that after all.”

Arya frowns, and lets Myrcella natter on and change the subject. She’s pretty sure she would have recognized Varys’s voice, and it didn’t sound like more than one person.

Her name-day supper with her family is nice. They even bring up lemoncakes for dessert, and Arya’s extra pleased that someone remembered it wasn’t just Sansa who liked them.

She lays in her bed that night and decides that as a now very grown girl of two and ten, that she should go and seek out her ghost.

She begs off Syrio’s lesson in the afternoon, claiming illness. He looks her up and down and declares, “the dance does not wait for good health,” before tapping her with the practice sword and declaring, “Though it would be good for you to develop bad habits so early on” and dismisses her.

She speeds away, excited. She would feel poorly about skipping out on his lessons were it for her justification that she was already using the skills he had taught her.

She’s glad for being small, and being able to make herself quiet now. Quiet as a mouse, that’s what she is, creeping in down below the castle cellars.

It’s quiet down here too, and she doesn’t hear any voices at all, ghost or otherwise. She does find a couple of interesting things though.

She goes by the stores of preserved meats and jams. It smells sort of nice, like spices and burlap. It is also, as far as Arya knows, supposed to be the last of the cellar rooms, but this was where she turned off and found the dragon skulls. Which means the next room she finds isn’t supposed to be there.

She doesn’t see much, a straw mattress with a ragged blanket on the ground and a small trunk at the end of it, before she feels movement behind her and lets out a yelp and pushes.

The figure that she’s pushed falls back against a box full of pickle jars and lands with an “Oof!”. Huh, that was strange, Arya didn’t think ghosts could feel pain.

“You’re not supposed to be down here. The kitchen girls only come down here right before and after breakfast,” he says. It’s the same voice she heard before, Arya’s sure of it.

“I’m not a kitchen girl,” she says with a touch of indignation. It normally wouldn’t bother her, but he was the one who snuck up on her.   “My father’s hand of the king.”

The figure chuckles. Arya can get a better look at him now, despite the low light. He’s a boy- well, close to a man maybe- he’s big even though his face is still youthful. Arya guesses he’s older than Sansa but maybe not as old as Jon or Robb. He has a shock of black hair- it’s messy so she guesses he’s been working- and strangely bright blue eyes. And now he’s begun to chuckle.

“Then you’re really not supposed to be down here, and you really shouldn’t have seen me.”

He looks her up and down, and Arya feels like she will need to defend her messy braid or her worn clothes that used to be Bran’s.

But all he does is look at his feet and add a “Milady.”

Arya feels her indignation grow into annoyance, and so she shoves him again.

He sputters, and Arya’s pretty sure she hears ‘not a very good lady though’, so she says.

“Don’t call me that. And what do you care, you’re a ghost?”

The boy stands up with a huff,

“I’m not a ghost, I’m a blacksmith.”

Well that makes no sense.

“If you’re a blacksmith how come you’re down in a cellar during the day instead of in the forge doing blacksmith-y things?”

“Ask myself that a lot. I used to be an apprentice in Flea Bottom. Wasn’t great but I got to see the sun at least. Then old Jon Arryn shows up asking me questions, next thing I know he’s dragging me off, and the queen shows up and she tells me I’m going to work in the castle smithy but I have to sleep down here and get up to the forge before the sun comes up and be back down here right after dinner, and- wait, why am I telling you this?”

Arya furrows her brow and shrugs. If he wants to tell her this, he can, he seems nice enough. Maybe he’s not a ghost, maybe he’s just lonely.

“Jon Arryn’s dead though,” she blurts out.

The boy looks alarmed.

“He is?”

She nods,

“Six moons ago. That’s why we came here, because my father’s King Robert’s new hand. “

His eyes become downcast.

“That must be why…”

“What?”

He sits on the end of the bed, his mouth set in a hard line.

“I’m not supposed to go anywhere but the smithy, or to use the privy around the corner. Master Mott brings us both dinner every midday, and when I first got here someone would leave a basket of food every few days. But for about six moons, it hasn’t happened, and the queen warned me that everything in these cellars are strictly inventoried”

Arya is horrified.

“You’ve been doing blacksmith work on one meal a day?”

She had used to watch Mikken in the forge at Winterfell, watched him pour the molten metal into molds and hammer at the results. The work had looked hot and sweaty and most of all, strenuous.

Arya jumps up,

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

She leaves the cellars, and makes for the castle gardens. Most of the plants in it are ornamental, only planted to look pretty. Useless for Arya’s goal. But against one wall, several trees from the walled-off kitchen gardens hang their branches over.

On the end of one of them is a huge, rosy pink, fuzzy cheeked peach. She can nearly reach it if she just stretches a little bit further-

“Arya!” she hears a voice admonish behind her. Arya jerks stiff, turning her back to face the wall, tucking her hands behind her back.

It’s just Sansa, dressed in an immaculate gown and not a hair out of place in her fancy Southern style.

Arya sticks out her bottom lip and looks at her sister through her eyelashes. That look used to get her out of quite a bit of trouble when she was younger, Jon in particular had a hard time saying no to it. As she’s gotten older, she’s done her best not to abuse it.

This isn’t abusing it, it isn’t even for her at all.

“I just wanted a peach,” she tells her sister, in her most pleading of voices.

Sansa looks exasperated for a moment, but then the face Arya’s seen her wear less and less often appears. The face of her sister.

Sansa reaches up and plucks the peach with ease. It’s not fair, Arya thinks, why does Sansa get to be so tall when she’s not even going to do anything with it? She hands it to Arya, and turns to leave with a,

“Don’t spoil your supper.”

Arya sneaks a cheese tart off a plate, left behind for a servant, before returning to the cellar.

She presents them to the boy with the blue eyes with a grin, and a,

“Sorry, I didn’t ask your name.”

The boy eyes the bits in her hands, before taking the tart, and chomping down on it in two bites. He wipes the crumbs from his chin before beginning to work on the peach.

“S’okay,” he says through the crumbs, “I didn’t ask yours either.

“I’m Arya, of House Stark,” she tells him with pride, her chest slightly puffed up.

“Seven hells,” he mutters through his full mouth, “What’s a fine lady doing running around in a cellar? Shouldn’t you be learning how to curtsy, or look down your nose at people like me?”

Arya wrinkles her nose.

“I’m not that kind of lady. And besides, I thought you were a ghost, that’s why I came down here.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you were looking for ghosts in cellars.”

Arya looks up and down at him guiltily.

“Because otherwise I’d be upstairs learning to curtsy. It’s not fair! My brother Bran gets to learn to swing a sword and shoot an arrow, but I’m not even allowed to watch anymore! He has to sneak out and show me what he learned at night. I’m stuck learning needlepoint and manners!”

“Isn’t that the sort of thing you need to learn to be a lady?”

Arya makes a face.

“If that’s all being a lady is, then I don’t want to be one.”

The boy snorts,

“Well you’re halfway there, sneaking around in a dirty cellar, dressed as a stable boy and sneaking food to a bastard blacksmith who’s kept hiding like a naughty dog.”

Arya frowns.

“You said that the queen saw Jon Arryn bringing you here and she was the one who makes you stay down here?”

He nods.

Arya did not like the queen. She didn’t like the way she fawned over Joffrey. She didn’t like how her face always looked like she was smelling something bad. And she really didn’t like how she had insisted that all the children’s direwolves be confined to the Godswood, just because Summer had tracked mud in one day.

But keeping a boy down in the cellars, hidden from nearly everyone…

“I should tell my father you’re down here,” Arya tells him with a firm voice.

“No!” he tells her standing up suddenly, his voice loud and firm. It surprises her, but does not frighten her, even with his size. Arya must have stiffened though, because his voice softens before he continues.

“I don’t think you should tell. The queen, when she saw me, she was...I’ve never seen someone so angry. “

Arya purses her lips,

“The queen doesn’t scare me.”

“She should. She scares me. I’d almost thought she’d have done something...worse to me if Jon Arryn hadn’t been there.”

“My father will protect you, he’s not scared of the queen.”

The boy’s face goes white.

“He should be too. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out she had something to do with how Jon Arryn died, especially since no one’s bringing me food anymore.”

Arya feels her chest go cold, the thought of losing her father a shock. She also feels anger, at the queen’s hypothetical role in Arryn’s death. And, a rush of pity, for how scared the boy seems to be.

But Arya is nothing if not defiant.

“Well someone’s going to need to bring you food again. You’ll get sick trying to do smith work on one meal a day.”

An idea sprouts in her mind.

“I could find a basket and start sneaking you things every few days. I’ve been down these cellars like four times and no one’s caught me!”

She expects him to push back, to tell her it’s too dangerous, or inappropriate. She doesn’t expect him to say what he does next.

“You would go out of your way to do that for a bastard blacksmith you just met?”

Arya blinks.

“Why wouldn’t I? I don’t want you to starve.”

The look on his face does its best to make her mad again.

“Just don’t get in trouble on my account.”

Arya rolls her eyes,

“I’m always in trouble anyway.”

She turns to run back up around the cellar stairs when she freezes,

“You still never told me your name!”

He looks up at her.

“Gendry Waters.”

“I’m Arya,” she half whispers while partially up the steps.

“You told me that already.”

“I know, but I wanted to make sure you would remember.”

She takes another step and turns back,

“And so you can quit calling me ‘milady.’”

Arya bounces up the cellar steps and back into the normal world of the Red Keep.

Before supper, she searches through her trunks trying to find the little cloth basket she had used on the road to gather nuts and berries. She tucks it into the top of her boot, and changes back into the old woolen dress she’s supposed to be wearing so that the skirt will hide it.

During supper, she keeps surveying the table for things she could nick and slip inside. The turnips in gravy were an obvious no go. The duck had a dry, crispy coating, but she didn’t think she could get a whole leg to herself without anyone noticing. She settles for a pair of bread rolls for this time.

She’s just dropped one into her lap when Ned says,

“It’s good to see you feeling better Arya, your dancing master was concerned.”

“What? Oh yeah, it was strange. I just came back up here and laid down for a few minutes, I’m fine now.”

Her mother reaches out and lays her hand across Arya’s forehead.

“You feel fine now, you must have tired yourself with all the excitement this week.”

Excitement, Arya thinks, that’s a good way of putting it.

In one swift movement, she slips the roll into the basket.

After supper, Bran quietly asks her if she wants to go to the Godswood.

“I told Mother I wanted to see Summer. We’ll stick to that if we get caught.”

Arya nods.

“Go first, I’ll come down in a few minutes.”

Instead, she leaves right behind him, dashing up corridors and down steps on little cat feet. Maybe it was good practice, she thought, though she can’t imagine Syrio had this in mind.

She slips into the cellars, just as dark now as they were in the day, and leaves the basket perched behind the box that Gendry had shown her earlier. She doesn’t see him, he must be sleeping if he has to wake so early.

She hopes the rolls make a decent breakfast.

She looks back over her shoulder as she leaves, wishing she could have said something when she left the basket. His eyes had looked so lonely.

Arya is two and ten when she decides that maybe the ghost could be a friend.