#being nobles they can’t have piercings on their face aside from their ears

[caitlynmeow]

The piercings thing confuses Alcina to no end.

Her three daughters don’t like needles at all. She’d go as far as to say that their fear is unnatural because it’s only a small poke but her daughters act as if the world is about to end. They have various degrees of fear, some more than others, but it’s the same nonetheless.

She gets that Daniela had only three, although that’s a surprising number for someone who hates being near needles.

But what baffles her is Bela and Cassandra. For them to have that many piercings, and for them to be chill about it? She asked them about it, because she is confused. Her two older daughters confessed that every time they got their piercings they were drunk/high enough to go through with it.

Of course, they always went to get it with a trusted sober friend to get them home safely. So all is well and good.

[recurring-polynya]

For Stuff For Renji's Birthday Prompts: 1) time travel turn back the clock nonsense, bc I'm an enabler and Karakura teens plus shithead Renruki teens has *Byakuya voice* strong comedic potential OR 2) Hisana lives but due to wacky circumstances, nobody notices Rukia's existence at the Academy... until they've graduated and Renruki have joined Squad 11. Dealer's choice! (Honestly whichever you pick, I might try writing the one you don't. I am not a writer these 2 just live in my head rent free)

Why would you make me choose between these, whyyyyyyyyyy?

To be honest, I almost did them both, but this was the second one I did, and I figured that I should probably do some other people’s prompts, and then I ran out of time. I might do you some time travel shenanigans later. (This should in no way stop you from writing these, I would flip my chips if you wrote something, let alone something based on my horrible ideas)

In any case, I couldn’t resist the second options and I have spun it out into a delightful bit of Byakuya-torture. Please enjoy!!!

Special thanks to @kaicko for helping me come up with the clerical error, because you all know me, I can’t just say “a clerical error.” 😂

Read on ao3 or ff.net

💀   💀   💀  

“How is the tea?” Aizen Sousuke asked smoothly.

The tea was excellent, but Byakuya wasn’t in the mood for Aizen’s needy attempts to ingratiate himself. “Adequate,” he replied dryly. “You said you had something to discuss with me.”

“Ah, diligent as always, Byakuya,” Aizen sighed, “always eager to get back to work. I’ll get to the point: I happened to speak with your wife recently at a fundraising event. She’s very interested in the people of the deep Rukon, and said she travels to South Rukongai frequently.”

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. “What is your point?”

“Well, I thought it was a bit of a strange occupation for a woman of your wife’s noble standing, but then Gin reminded me that she was actually from there herself, that there had been a bit of a to-do when you two married. I don’t tend to follow gossip myself--”

“I repeat, what is your point?” Byakuya gritted your teeth.

Aizen made a pissy little throat clearing noise and fiddled with a folder on his desk. “The fact is, Byakuya, your wife reminds me a great deal of a young woman who served in my squad a few years ago, whom I recalled also hailing from the Rukon. I wondered if there might be a.... connection.”

Byakuya’s shoulders stiffened. Impossible. He had put watches on all immigrants to the Seireitei. He would have reviewed anyone who came from the South 78th.

“Inuzuri Rukia,” Aizen read from his file, and Byakuya’s blood ran cold. “Shin’ou class of 2066. Unseated. Petite, like your wife. Dark hair. Very striking eyes. Unfortunately, an unremarkable shinigami. Potential for a good kidou user, but didn’t take direction well. More interested in sword combat, although she had little aptitude for it. Ah, here it is. Hometown: District 48, South Rukongai.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Byakuya said flatly. “Inuzuri is the 78th district of South Rukongai. Why would she carry a surname from a different district?”

Aizen made an exaggerated frown. “Very strange! A clerical error perhaps? Hold on a moment.” He stuck his head out of his office door and said something to the shinigami on reception duty. “Fortunately, there’s an easy way to clear this up. It’ll just be a minute.”

Byakuya gripped his teacup, unsure of how to feel. A clerical error. Class of 2066… she would have enrolled in 2060, in the middle of Hisana’s worst turn, when she had been bedridden for nearly four years. Their attention would have lapsed. It made sense.

“She does not sound like your usual recruit,” Byakuya accused. Aizen was constantly finding ways to skim the highest performers from the Academy, all the gifted children.

Aizen looked sheepish. “Ah, well, you see, there was a young man of some talent that I was eager to recruit who was… attached to her. I thought she might have some potential if properly guided, but it never panned out.”

Aizen’s good deed was suddenly beginning to make sense. The girl had transferred out and taken Aizen’s prize with her. He wanted Byakuya to go fetch her away in hopes that the talented one would come home. Byakuya actually felt much better now that he’d identified Aizen’s ulterior motive, and further, that it had more to do with his own petty recruiting schemes than Byakuya’s family (specifically, Byakuya’s wife).

There was a knock at the office door, and upon being bid entry, a young woman walked in. Although indeed petite and dark-haired, she looked nothing like Hisana, and Byakuya remarked as much.

“Oh, no, this is my Seventh Seat!” Aizen chuckled. “Miss Hinamori, you were friends with Inuzuri Rukia, isn’t that correct?”

The young woman’s eyes had gone wide when she recognized Byakuya. “Er, yes, sir,” she said, her eyes darting between the two captains. “We shared a room while she served here.”

“Do you happen to remember what district she was from?” Aizen asked in an overly friendly manner.

“Oh, sure, it was South 78,” Hinamori replied. “Inuzuri, of course.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know all the outermost ones,” Aizen said in his goofy voice again. “Her paperwork says 48.”

Hinamori’s brow furrowed for a moment and then her face brightened. “She and Abarai had very heavy accents when they first came to the Academy, and used a lot of deep Rukongai language quirks. I don’t remember all of it, but they both used to use ‘shichi’ instead of ‘nana’ for seven, especially when referring to their district. They weren’t very fond of their home district. I wonder if the registrar misheard.”

“Well, there you go!” Aizen said, slapping his hands on his desk. “A very logical explanation!”

Hinamori beamed.

Byakuya found Aizen’s need to be liked by his subordinates very unprofessional and off-putting, but he tried to push it aside. He was trying not to be too eager, but this was probably the best lead he’d had on Hisana’s sister in all the years they had been searching. “Where is she now?” he grumbled.

Aizen turned his doe eyes on his fawning subordinate once more. “I don’t suppose you still keep in touch? She couldn’t have lasted very long there, they must have transferred again?”

Hinamori made a face like she didn’t want to say the answer. “I’m afraid that Kira and I had a bit of a falling out with Abarai and Inuzuri when they left. I haven’t talked to them in a few years, although we still have some mutual friends. As far as I know, though, they’re both still at Squad Eleven. I heard they were doing fairly well there, actually.”

The room seemed to retreat around Byakuya. All he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears and the reverberations of the most horrible words he could possibly think of: Squad Eleven.

---

Byakuya knew it was poor etiquette to visit another captain’s squad when the man was out, but he absolutely could not stomach the idea of discussing the matter of his wife’s sister with the Kenpachi, so he waited until Zaraki and his miniature lieutenant were sent out to go trample half of East Rukongai before visiting.

He also knew that he probably should have said something to Hisana, but he couldn’t bring himself to get his wife’s hopes up, only to dash them, should this turn out to be nothing, like so many leads before it. So, the secret sat in his stomach, heavy and acidic, jostling with the guilt of his breach of etiquette.

“Is there someone here,” he gingerly asked one of the gentlemen on gate duty, “who takes care of administrative matters for the squad?”

The man swiveled his head, which appeared to grow directly from his torso with no need for an intervening neck, to his fellow guardsman. “What?”

The other fellow had been busy trying to remove wax from his ear with a pinky. “WHAT?” he shouted back.

“Paperwork!” Byakuya said a little louder. “Is there an office of some sort? A person who knows what’s going on?”

He supposed he could have asked for the girl, Inuzuri, directly, but he didn’t feel… ready.

“I think he wants Ayasegawa,” the neckless guard hazarded.

“WHAT?”

“I’ll be right back.”

Eventually, the burly gentleman returned. With him was a strangely elegant person with a silky curtain of hair cut severely to chin length and piercing violet eyes. “It really is you,” the lovely man said with a level of disdain that Byakuya almost had to admire. Before he had a chance to get offended, the man dipped into a respectful bow. “Welcome to the Eleventh, Captain Kuchiki. Fifth Seat Ayasegawa at your service. What in Soul Society can I possibly do for you?”

“Apologies for visiting while your captain is abroad,” Byakuya replied, not meaning a word of it.

“Oh, he’ll be very sorry to have missed you,” Ayasegawa frowned. “But I’m sure you could make it up to him later.”

Byakuya’s eye twitched. “Perhaps. I have come to enquire about a young woman whom I am told transferred to your squad three years ago.”

“Does she have a name? That might make it a little easier.”

“Inuzuri Rukia.”

Both of Ayasegawa’s eyebrows shot up, and his mouth curved into a feline grin. “Ninth Seat Inuzuri, of course!”

Byakuya blinked. “Ninth Seat? Captain Aizen told me she was middling at best.”

Ayasegawa's face suddenly went stiff. “She was not well-served at the Fifth, but she has bloomed here most beautifully. Inuzuri is my personal protege, you know.” He stared at Byakuya under hooded eyes. “What is your interest in her? Captain?”

Byakuya took a deep breath through his nose. “My wife is also from Inuzuri. She is trying to locate someone she knew there. It is possible this Rukia is that someone.”

Ayasegawa frowned. “Well, I can introduce you, if you like. I should warn you, though, Rukia doesn’t have a lot of lost love for her hometown.”

“My understanding is that there isn’t much to love about it.”

“Mmm,” Ayasegawa agreed. “Well, come along, let’s go find her.” He concentrated for a moment, clearly trying to find her reiatsu. She must be a woman of some power, after all. “Ugh! She and Abarai are at it again! Every day!”

Byakuya swallowed stiffly.

“Well come on! She’s out at the training fields, clobbering our Tenth Seat, yet again.”

Oh. That kind of “going at it.”

Ayasegawa was shaking his head. “The two of them are literally an unstoppable force and an immovable object.”

“Abarai was also at the Fifth?,” Byakuya probed cautiously. “I was told they were close.”

“Of course they’re close!” Ayasegawa scoffed. “They’re partners!” He thought for a moment. “Abarai is from the 78th as well, you know. If Rukia turns out to not be your girl, perhaps one or the other of them knew the person you’re looking for. Abarai is one of those people who just… knows everyone. He’s the personable half of the pair.”

“‘Partners’?” Byakuya echoed. “What… kind of partners?”

Ayasegawa stared back at him like he was insane. “Partners.”

This path of inquiry clearly wasn’t going to get him anywhere, but wasn’t particularly relevant, either. “I did not think kidou-type zanpakutou were permitted in the Eleventh,” Byakuya sniffed. “Aizen’s records indicated Inuzuri wields an ice-and-snow type.”

Ayasegawa gave a little shrug. “Zanpakutou classifications are arbitrary. Obviously, if she had a bunch of showy blizzard attacks like Matsumoto’s little prodigy friend, it would be a no-go. Rukia can take the blade of her sword down to sub-zero temperatures. She has a weapon-shattering attack and she doesn’t feel pain when she’s fighting. It’s fundamentally no different than a zanpakutou so massive that only the wielder can lift it, or a whip sword that’s controlled with one’s reiatsu.”

This sounded like a quibble to Byakuya, but it’s not like he had come to the Eleventh looking for sound logic.

“She’s incredibly fast, probably the fastest person in the Eleventh, although no one’s really sure what Yachiru’s top speed is,” Ayasegawa continued on. He glanced at Byakuya slyly. “I hear you are very fast.”

“You have heard correctly.”

“That’s why Abarai can’t beat her. If he could land one really hard hit on her, she’d go down, but he’s not fast enough and she’s just too agile. He’s my partner’s protege, you see, so I have to take their little scraps very personally.”

How did this man talk so much?

“What did you say your wife’s relationship was to her again?”

“I did not.”

“Ah, right. Oops, look out!” Ayasegawa abruptly dove to one side as a giant mass of shihakushou and pink hair and what might be a sword came crashing through the split rail fence surrounding the training field.

Byakuya was not in the habit of ducking, so he merely plunged the force of his reiatsu down into the earth like a piton. It was almost, but not entirely sufficient. Byakuya gritted his teeth as he was driven back, dirt piling up behind his heels as he skidded backwards.

When they finally came to a halt, Byakuya looked down at the meaty youth lying at his feet. This must be the infamous Abarai, although he certainly didn’t look like one of Aizen’s usual simpering overachievers. The first thing Byakuya observed was the eye makeup. Most shinigami applied at least a little eyeliner, on grounds of tradition, but few bothered to blacken the entire eye socket, as in the skeletal facepaint of old. The second thing Byakuya noticed were the tattoos painted across his forehead and neck. They were black and spikey and horrible. The third thing was the hair, which was bright pink and spikey, and utterly at odds with the makeup and tattoos. The fourth thing was the big, sheepish grin, which honestly just tied the whole hideous tableau together.

Byakuya glared down at the lout, and in a moment of pettiness, flared his reiatsu to a level that should have sent blood spurting out of his ears.

“I’m afraid that’s not going to do much to someone who has a weekly sparring slot with the Kenpachi,” Ayasegawa commented dryly.

“Sorry ‘bout that!” the lummox cheerfully apologized as he sat up and brushed himself off. He had an Inuzuri accent so thick you could spread it on toast, an accent that Hisana tended to slip into only when she was extremely bent out of shape. Abarai snapped the sword hilt in his hand, and the tangled pile of steel on the ground neatly retracted into something that looked a little more like a weapon, if a weapon were designed by a creative and overly violent child.

“That’s a captain, you buffoon!” another voice rang out, and every muscle in Byakuya’s body locked. “Show your respects!”

The voice clearly affected Abarai as well, because he leapt to his feet, spun, and slammed into a bow. “My apologies, Captain…” his eyes glanced up and abruptly widened, “Kuchiki.”

“Greetings, Captain Kuchiki! Welcome to the Eleventh Division! I apologize very profusely for throwing Tenth Seat Abarai at you!” A second young person had come to join Abarai in his bow, and they both rose in unison, Abarai looking suddenly pale and nervous, his companion looking calm and confident.

So this was Inuzuri Rukia. She had Hisana’s voice. She had Hisana’s stature, and standing next to Abarai made her look positively childlike. She wore the same dreadful eyeblack, but the eyes that shone out of it were a variation on Hisana’s, harder and three shades more purple. The rest of the face was Hisana’s. Her hair was dark, shaved on the sides, arranged into porcupine spikes on top, although one lock hung down stubbornly between her eyes. Her ears glittered with silver piercings. At least she was free of awful tatt-- wait, no. Byakuya had missed them at first, because they were white. Abarai’s tattoos were spiky and sharp, but Inuzuri’s were graceful swirls, like ribbons wrapping lazily down her forearms. Even her reiatsu was like Hisana’s-- but instead of a cool, refreshing wintergreen, Inuzuri’s was the bone-deep cold of winter, a cold so harsh it burnt in the lungs.

There was no doubt.

This atrocious delinquent was his long-lost sister-in-law.

“Can we help you with something, sir?” Inuzuri prompted. “Abarai here’s a big fan of yours.”

“Shut up, Rukia,” Abarai managed through gritted molars.

“Inuzuri Rukia, you died as an infant thirty-six years ago and were sent to the 78th District of South Rukongai, is that correct?” Byakuya said stiffly.

Inuzuri and Abarai both bristled, a pair of mongrels raising their haunches. “That seems about right,” Inuzuri replied slowly. “My early years are a little hazy.”

“My wife, Hisana also died thirty-six years ago and was sent to Inuzuri with her infant sister,” Byakuya went on. “They were separated. My wife has been looking for her sister ever since. You… resemble her greatly.” Byakuya let the implication hang in the air. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

There was silence for a moment. Then there was the distinct noise of a laugh that, having been held in, had escaped through someone’s nose. “Sorry! Pardon me!” Ayasegawa wheezed, clapping one hand over his mouth and looking away. “Bit of. Dust. In my throat.”

“I told you! I told you, you looked like that picture of her in the Bulletin!” Abarai was hissing.

“I thought you were lying because you thought she was pretty!” Inuzuri hissed back.

“I thought she was pretty because she looks just like you!”

“Now is really not the time, Abarai!” She cleared her throat and tried to stand up a bit taller, a futile effort. “So, uh, so what? What does that mean, if I am her sister? Does that… does that make me noble?”

A higher pitched wheezing came out of Ayasegawa. The level of impudence was extraordinary.

“I would like you to come to my home to meet her, first,” Byakuya put off making any promises. “We can discuss what comes next. As a family.”

“I’m at work right now,” Inuzuri excused.

“Inuzuri, I need to know how this pans out, you can have the afternoon off,” Ayasegawa informed her.

Inuzuri’s confidence seemed to be draining out of her. She took a tiny step closer to Abarai and groped for his hand. “I’m bringing Renji,” she declared.

“Is he compulsory?” Byakuya asked. Inuzuri was absurd looking too, but at least she was small.

“He’s my family,” Inuzuri insisted.

Byakuya’s brows furrowed. This could prove problematic. “In any sort of legally binding sense?”

“We’re engaged!” Inuzuri announced.

“We are?” Abarai goggled.

“I told you I’d marry you if you could ever manage to beat me in a fight! What else would you call that?” Rukia hissed at him in a voice that was still, unfortunately, perfectly audible.

“I’ve been trying every day, and honestly, Rukia, it’s not looking good for me!”

“Can you just go with it for once, instead of arguing with me every time?”

“If you want to leave and never tell anyone you found her,” Ayasegawa put in, “I am very bribable.”

Byakuya was sorely tempted.

---

End note: To further explain the number mix-up, as I understand it “seven” in Japanese can either be said as “nana” or “shichi”. People usually say “nana” for two reasons-- 1) to avoid confusion with 4 (”shi”, although you can also say “yon”) and because “shi” is a homophone for death. Given how shitty the districts in the 70s are, I rather liked the idea that they residents use the “shichi” pronunciation as a bit of gallows humor. (And if you don’t have a rude nickname for the town you grew up in, well, congrats for not growing up somewhere shitty)

I don’t actually speak Japanese, tho, so forgive me if this is all nonsense. 😁

[bonjour-rainycity]

Cold Shoulder

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Rating: T 

Disclaimer: I am not making any money from this nor do I own anything recognizable. Also, I edited after a glass of wine. So. I think I shall blame any mistakes on that. 

Word count: 2317

Warnings: Mild descriptions of violence

Request: Aragorn x Reader where he protects the reader but she is mad at him because of that and gives him a silent shoulder. Much fluff please (Anon)

A/n Anon, thank you for the request!! I enjoyed writing this and love me some Aragorn content <3 Also, for context, I placed the reader in the Fellowship. Okay, read on!

The sharp cry pierces the peace of the early morning.

“Orcs!”

Legolas, who had been standing watch and discovered the threat, immediately begins firing arrows, keeping the pack at bay. The rest of us spring into action, drawing weapons and shouldering our bags, looking to Aragorn to determine our next move. Despite the jolt of fear that runs through me, I know that luck is on our side. For one, our group had planned to set out shortly, meaning our camp is packed and we run no risk of leaving anything behind. Second, it was Legolas on watch, and his keen eyesight gave us critical early warning.

I feel a rough hand wrap around mine, and I’m yanked into a sprint. I nearly stumble at the speed Aragorn sets, but force myself to keep pace. A quick look at my surroundings tells me why we’re running — our camp is secluded, but there are too many high spots around us for it to be favorable in a fight. I can assume that we are making for higher or more open ground, so that we will not be at a disadvantage when the orc pack inevitably catches us.

There’s a muffled yelp, and I whip my head around to see Frodo tripping and falling roughly to the ground.

“Aragorn—” His name has barely left my lips when I feel his hands on my back, spurring me on, and he leaves my side, running back to aid our hobbit friend. Closer than I would like, the wails of the orc grow louder, and, at my right, Boromir speeds up, hauling Merry along with him.

The three of us break through the tree-line first, and immediately, an arrow whizzes above my head.

Damn it, they cut us off!

I don’t have much time to dwell on how the monsters got around us unnoticed, because a tall, imposing orc lunges in my direction. I raise my dagger and put all my focus into not letting the orc’s razor-sharp sword pierce my skin.

The shrieks and grunts of battle, as well as the shrill clanking of metal hitting metal fill the air. The orc jabs his sword at me, and I jump to my left. As the orc takes another swing, an arrow soars mere millimeters from my ear and imbeds itself in my attacker’s eye. I don’t even have time to shoot Legolas a thankful glance, because another beast catches my arm and pulls me against his foul-smelling side. I swipe at his arm with my dagger, and with a howl of pain, he throws me to the ground, raising his sword. I roll to the side, narrowly dodging the slice of steel, and push myself back to my feet. The orc is distracted, struggling with his weapon which is embedded in the ground, leaving the side of his neck exposed. I lift my dagger, and step forward, intent on ending this fight—

An arm grips my waist and pulls me back, moving me out of the way and slaying the orc.

I gawk at Aragorn, who, with the focused eyes of battle, rips his sword free of the orc’s neck and spins, killing a beast to his right.

“I had it,” I shout over the noise, unable to contain my frustration.

Aragorn straightens to face me, eyes wide. “Your back!”

Immediately, I turn on my heel and raise my dagger, pushing against the knife meant to impale my unguarded back. The orc is stronger than me, but if I can hold him off for just a few seconds more, I can reach for my other dagger and stab him in the stomach. As my hand twitches towards my belt, a sword passes around my side, impaling the orc with a sickening squelch.

Once again, I fix Aragorn with disbelieving eyes.

What was the point of investing all that time training me if I don’t get to use any of said training?!

The sounds of battle begin to fade, and, with a final swing of Gimili’s axe, the fighting is done.

We take stock of our injuries which are, thankfully, minor, and pull the dead orc deep into the tree line, not wanting to draw attention to our path. After the quickest of rests and a wash-up in the stream, we continue, Aragorn insisting that we cannot take any unnecessary delays now that we have orc interested in us.

We begin our trek, mostly in tired silence.

At the front of the group, Aragorn and Legolas do a mixture of scouting and chatting, seeming more relaxed the farther we get from the site of the attack. Aragorn doesn’t usually walk with me, preferring instead to lead with Legolas and keep an eye out for danger. Usually, I wish he would stay by my side, but today, I am grateful for the distance, as I’m not feeling too kindly towards him at the moment. I can’t stop myself from glaring at his back, resenting him taking away my right to handle myself in battle. But after an hour of lonely overthinking, resentment gives way to insecurity. What if he only jumped in because he thinks I’m weak? He’s probably not the only one…compared to everyone else, what advantages do I have? They probably all, to some extent, see me as a burden.

Gimli jogs up next to me, fixing me with a mildly concerned look.

“You alright, lassie? Not hurt, are ya?”

Aragorn’s head tilts in our direction. He’s listening.

Unable to contain my annoyance at his continued monitoring, I huff. “I’m fine, Gimli, thanks. Just tired.”

Gimli looks at the ground, seemingly unable to reconcile my usual friendliness with this foul mood. “Aye, well, t’is to be expected, after the morning we had. You fought well.”

I cross my arms, cocking my head to the side. “Did I? Because, as I remember it, I was barely allowed to fight at all.”

At this, I hear light sniggering behind me, and whip my head around to see a quickly composed Merry and Pippin looking anywhere but me.

Gimli makes a sighing, almost grumbling noise, and walks off to join his friends at the front of the group. Aragorn hangs back a little, waiting for me to catch up before resuming a slower pace.

“What troubles you?”

Getting right to the chase, then.

I huff angrily, my annoyance from this morning only growing now that I’ve had hours to stew about it. Because really, I am well-trained, I am capable, and he had no business neglecting his own safety to help me when I wasn’t in any actual danger. I had it all under control! And rather than feeling like a warrior equal with my companions, I feel like a girl who just slows them down and needs babysitting.

Aragorn stops walking and grips my elbow lightly, pulling me to stop with him. “I cannot help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

I glare at him. Can I handle nothing on my own?! “Well, maybe I don’t want your help, Aragorn.”

He sighs, sounding frustrated, but lets me go.

Neither of us makes an attempt to talk to the other for the remainder of our hike.

{***}

We stop when it is well and properly dark, making hasty camp. I drop my bedroll and begin preparing for the night, cleaning my dagger and shoes as best I can. The others sit on rocks near the fire, eyeing me warily.

Pippin elbows Merry and hisses in a low voice,“go and talk to her, something’s obviously wrong with her.”

Merry’s eyes grow comically wide, and he fixes his friend with an indignant expression. “Why does it have to be me, then?! I don’t want to get yelled at.”

“Because I checked on Frodo last Thursday when he was in a mood, and now it’s your turn.”

“I didn’t realize we were taking turns,” Merry whisper-shouts, oblivious to the fact that everyone can hear their argument just fine.

Sam fixes them with a pleading look before glancing over to me. “Miss Y/n, do you not want supper?” He hesitantly holds a bowl in my general direction.

“No, thank you,” I respond, cooler than intended. He blinks at me for a moment, and then hands the bowl to an amused Boromir.

I feel the weight of everyone’s questioning stares, hear their hushed whispers, and cannot take it one moment longer.

“I’m going to get more firewood,” I declare, tucking my dagger back into my belt and trudging deeper into the forest.

The woods are dark, but there is sufficient light from the moon, and I pick my way through the trees, looking for fallen logs and branches. I don’t stray to where I can no longer hear the voices of my friends, though — I may be angry, but I’m not stupid.

Less than two minutes later, the sound of light footsteps creeps into my hearing.

Aragorn walks to my side, bending to grasp and examine a log that might make for good firewood. He doesn’t look at me when he speaks. “Sam put aside some soup for you, though I would not delay if you wish to eat it. I saw Pippin eyeing it with interest.”

When I don’t laugh or give any indication that I heard him, he shifts on his feet, unsure. “I feel tension between us. I’ve upset you?”

I make a noncommittal noise and go a few yards deeper in the forest.

“Y/n?”

With a resigned sigh, I turn to face him, knowing that my silence is hurting him. “It’s stupid.”

Obviously pleased that I’m speaking to him now, Aragorn takes quick steps towards me, wearing an open expression. “If I have done something to hurt you, you have every right to be upset.”

I resist the urge to groan. Stop being so good and noble, it makes it hard to stay mad at you. I reign in my frustrations and sigh, forcing myself to look him in the eyes. “I feel like the weakest link. I’m the youngest, the only woman, I don’t possess any special abilities or extensive battle experience. I put a lot of work into being competent with my daggers, and still there are days when I question my right to be here with you all. So when you jump in to protect me, well-intentioned as you may be, I feel like a child that needs looking after rather than someone capable of standing her own ground.”

His face falls, and discomfort spreads in my stomach. But before I can apologize and take back my words, he offers his hands, and I take them gratefully.

“I did not consider how my actions would make you feel, though I understand now. Forgive me, Y/n?”

At his heartfelt words, my anger ebbs away. I use my grip on his hands to pull him closer and rest my forehead against his chest. “Of course.”

He pulls back slightly to bring my hands to his lips, pressing kisses on my knuckles. “I intervened during the fight not because I think you incapable, but because I wanted to keep you as much removed from the danger as possible. You are precious to me, Y/n. I won’t risk losing you.”

At this, he leans his forehead against mine, and I can’t help how I soften at his words. I didn’t think about it like that. “There is the slightest possibility that I may have accidentally overreacted a little.”

Aragorn rewards me with a deep chuckle, one I can feel vibrating through his chest, and shakes his head against mine. “Are you sure, my love? I think ignoring me all day was a completely proportionate response.”

I roll my eyes at the dripping sarcasm in his voice and raise a hand to smack his chest. Before I can get anywhere near him, his own hand shoots out and grabs my wrist —  an act that has me grumbling in irritation and him shaking with laughter. Once he regains composure, he brings my wrist to his lips and places the softest of kisses there, watching my face carefully for my reaction.

I look away, trying to distract myself from the fluttering in my stomach. He trails a line of kisses up my forearm, and I scramble for something to say before my brain gets scattered beyond help. “For the record, you mean the world to me and I would defend you in battle too, if the need were to arise.”

His lips pause against my skin. I turn my head back to him to see that he’s, much to my annoyance, trying to fight a smile. Unable to school his smirk, he raises his head, still holding my hand in his. “I thank you, dearest, but I hardly believe that will be necessary. I’ve been battling for decades, I can handle a few stray orc.”

I step back out of his embrace, crossing my arms and regarding him with raised eyebrows.

He realizes his mistake.

“Oh—um, I meant, I—”

I shake my head. “No, you know what? Not ‘should the need arise’, I’ll just do it anyway! Next fight, you better watch out buddy, I’m throwing myself in front of anything that comes at you!”

His eyes blow open and his voice takes on a strangled quality. “Y/n, please don’t, that’s just unnecessary—”

“Nope!” I stomp away from him, picking up branches at random. “You brought this upon yourself. Get ready to be defended!”

Before walking back to camp, I turn to give him a sickeningly sweet smile. “I love you.”

Aragorn dramatically drops his head into his hands. “I shall die from stress.”

Our companions, who obviously heard our argument, roar with laughter.

A/n Thank you for reading! If you have a moment, I’d love it if you could check out my masterlist! Thank you :)

[needcake]

day 4: cardverse

Arthur/Teo, PG-15 (for some violence), 2k.

@engportevents

Three times the Queen of Spades almost caught the Diamond Bandit, and one time he did (sort of)

.

.

.

There had been talk – rumors – of a band of bandits roaming the borders between the four kingdoms for months. Their usual targets were trains loaded with gold and silver and the occasional rich traveler going from one kingdom to the other.

Arthur, currently, was the latter.

“Can’t you make the horses go faster?!” he shouted at the conductor who yelled back something he didn’t quite catch over the noise of the fighting in the carriages behind them where the rest of his security detail was being held back instead of doing their job of protecting him!

He shut the small partition between him and the conductor with a violent shove and noticed the inside of the cabin now smelled of lavender.

When he turned back on his seat, the Diamond Bandit was smiling at him, sitting with far too familiarity with his arms spread open over the back of the cushions and his legs crossed.

“My, so you’re the next Queen of Spades?”

Arthur breathed deeply. His powers had not fully developed yet and the masked man he had seen in the wanted posters all over the towns in the Diamonds Kingdom was very much not a rumor.

“What of it?” he asked, trying to buy himself some time while summoning enough energy in his hand to blast the damn smile off the man’s face.

The bandit shrugged, that idiot smile still plastered on his partially covered face.

“Does your future husband know?” he asked and Arthur could feel the small ball of pure energy in his hand growing even smaller and denser. It needed to be as small as the head of a pin before he could cast it and cause any real damage.

“Know what?” He needed more time, just a little more time and concentration.

The bandit leaped onto his lap and pressed a dagger to his throat. His smile turned wicked. “That you’re no longer a virgin,” he whispered in his ear and Arthur’s concentration evaporated, the energy in his hand expanding until it blew up like a firecracker and blinding white smoke filled the cabin.

The pressure of another body over his was gone. Along with his engagement ring.

When the smoke cleared, the conductor announced the bandits had retreated and they were safe now. Arthur nodded and pressed a hand to his chest. How had he known…?

-

Next he saw him was during a ball in the Clubs Kingdom to celebrate the Queen’s birthday. Clubs was a Northern kingdom with a long and proud tradition of horseback fighting and hunting, and Arthur was trying very hard not to look directly at the animals’ heads hung on the walls around the room.

The music changed and his dancing partner – an older gentleman and high-ranking noble, probably belonging to the House of 8 – was shoved out of the way to make room for a younger and more vigorous partner who strode across the ballroom with Arthur in his arms, barely giving him time to keep up.

“Watch it!” he scolded when his feet almost stepped over his.

“Are you going to throw another feeble spark at me?” the man laughed and Arthur only had time to catch a glimpse of pale green eyes and a dark mole beneath the right eye before the entire room went dark and a myriad of gasps and faint exclamations of fright and surprise replaced the music.

“It’s you!” Arthur hissed and felt strong hands hold him tighter against a firm chest.

“Does anyone in this room know, dear Queen?” the bandit asked in a whisper and Arthur felt his entire body shiver with the proximity and the smell of lavender. “Have you told anyone that you used to be just another one of the butcher’s kids until you began manifesting the powers of a Queen?”

Arthur’s anger grew white and hot and powerful, and when he shoved him away and flicked his wrists the entire room exploded in searing light.

He had to blink several times before the room had regained color again, the servants hurrying to light the candles again. Nobles and monarchs were looking at each other with surprise and astonishment. A lady clutched at her neck only to find it bare.

Her scream pierced through the night, followed by many others like hers.

-

The situation had to be dealt with. The Diamond Bandit could not just steal from under their noses and be allowed to go unpunished. After what happened in the ball, the King of Clubs raised the reward on the Bandit’s head and the Queen of Hearts volunteered to bring the man and the rest of his band to justice.

Arthur approached Kiku afterwards and asked to be a part of the task force. Kiku only looked him over once before acquiescing silently.

It took them a month to gather the information that led them to the humble stone house where the bandits were hiding deep in the Diamond countryside near the border with Spades. Kiku and his men went after the larger group while Arthur was left alone to chase their leader into the forest.

He aimed a single arrow at him when he had him in his sight and the Diamond Bandit fell to the forest ground, clutching at his shoulder and crying out in pain.

Arthur approached him slowly and balled up magical energy in his hand. He had trained for this moment. He was now so much better at it than when they first met.

The bandit smiled through the pain, writhing on the ground beneath him. His mask was slipping; the shape of his nose oddly familiar.

“Is your mother still the best seamstress in Spades?” he asked, grinding his teeth as blood flowed down between his fingers. “Does she still bake the most awful scones?”

Arthur stepped on his hand and he screamed. The ball of energy in his palm shrunk to an impossible miniature size, no bigger than an ant, more lethal than any weapon.

“How do you know that?” he hissed.

Green eyes looked up at him. “Have you forgotten about her too?”

Kiku’s horse distracted him as it rode with its master into the space they were in, and when Arthur looked back at him there was only a small pool of blood seeping into the earth in his place. Kiku dismounted and came closer, inspecting the blood.

“He has some sort of magic,” Arthur tried to explain even if he himself didn’t entirely understand. “He disappears.”

“Not disappear,” Kiku corrected him lightly. “He changes. A tanuki.”

He pointed at a small trail of blood, droplets that went further into the forest. Arthur looked at his friend. “Only Diamond high nobility can shape shift.”

Kiku nodded. “You should pay Francis a visit.”

-

It was not hard to convince his husband to send a letter to the King of Diamonds. It was hard, however, to sit at his table and pretend to enjoy the dinner when all he wanted to do was to strangle Francis’ neck between his hands.

“I see you have a new Jack,” Alfred said politely, raising his glass at the man on the other side of the long table and Basch raised his own politely in return. “What happened to the last one?” he asked Francis beside him.

“He died,” Arthur supplied in a dry tone and Alfred looked between him and Francis, noticing Arthur’s glare and Francis’ cold demeanor.

“His ship sank during the war,” Francis said and took a sip of his wine. “What kind of a Jack would he be if he hadn’t been willing to sacrifice himself for King and country?”

Arthur got up. His hands shook beside him with uncontrolled energy that seeped light between his clenched fingers. He stormed out of the dinning hall before he lost control. He left and did not come back, forgoing what he had come all this way for.

“Did you know the guy that died in the war?” Alfred asked him late that night after Arthur had forced them to pack up their things and take their carriage back to their kingdom.

“I did,” he said, staring out at the dark through the carriage window. “He was my best friend.”

-

Arthur woke up with a draft coming into his room through the open windows.

“You’re not too heavily guarded for a Queen,” the Diamond Bandit said, smiling at him under the moonlight.

He sat up on the bed and clutched the sheets to his chest. “What do you want from me?”

The man took a step forward in his direction and froze on the spot. A circle of light with intricate runes glowed beneath his feet.

“I see you’ve gotten better at magic.”

Arthur threw the sheets aside to reveal himself fully clothed and stood in front of him. He could already hear the guards coming closer, alerted by his spell. “Who are you?”

“Do you still remember when we first kissed?” he asked, still smiling despite having been caught. “Behind the house while my mother tried on dresses in your living room?”

The guards came into the room and took him away. Arthur prided himself for not collapsing to the ground until he heard their steps on the far end of the corridor. It was where Alfred found him minutes later, when he held him until he stopped crying, not understanding why since they were safe now. The bad guy had been caught.

-

The rest of the group had been hanged in the early hours in a secluded location as not to distract the people from the main event. Only the Diamond Bandit was to be given a public execution under the eyes of the four monarchs and the people gathered at the central square in the Spades capital.

Arthur had to give out a few golden coins, but he did manage to have the room alone with the Bandit before they took him to the gallows. Teo had his head down, his shirt had been removed along with his mask and his long hair hung over his shoulders, barely concealing the fresh bruises and cuts the guards had given him since he had been brought to their care.

“Did your companions know that you cheat at cards and that you once spilled black tea on your mother’s new dress and blamed your little brother?” he asked and Teo laughed, coughed, spat out blood. Arthur came closer to the bars separating them. “How did you survive?”

“The sea didn’t want me,” he said, his shoulders rising and falling as he spoke. “I floated to the surface with the debris and the enemy ship rescued me.”

“Francis would have paid the ransom.”

Teo laughed again, wet and raspy. “They tried that.” He looked up at him, green eyes almost swollen shut and Arthur felt his chin tremble at the sight of his mangled face. “He said he didn’t negotiate with barbarians.”

He curled his hands around the bars, pressed his face between them. “Then why? Why come back?”

Teo smiled. “You know why.”

-

Arthur sat beside his King and they watched as the Diamond Bandit was brought out. The crowd watched in silence. No cheering, no murmurs.

They put a sack over his head and a noose around his neck.

When the trap door opened, Arthur shut his eyes and flicked his wrist. Something small, smaller than a grain of sand, shot out from his palm.

The crowd gasped, someone screamed. When he looked again, the Bandit had disappeared.

-

Arthur came into his room followed by a chambermaid who was frantically trying to undress him while he gave her no attention and went on talking to his secretary about the seating arrangements for the banquet next week. The other kingdoms’ delegations should be arriving soon and their rooms and accommodations had to be prepared ahead of time, there was no time to waste.

He stopped when he noticed the open window over his desk.

On top of his books, there was a single stalk of lavender.

He smiled.

.

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 49- The Underground

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Ecto belongs to @cooler-cactus-block (new computer and I still can’t fuckin at you)

Turns out the hermits aren’t the only ones who wish to get rid of Magistrate Dolios.

____________________________________

Etho drops into the canal below, water rippling without a single drop to disturb the silent cave. Heterochromatic eyes rove across the dark, dank tunnel, waving one hand for the others to follow. Scar comes next, much less gracefully as he misses the last rung and tumbles into the canal with a heavy splash. 

They were beneath the noble district of the city. Grown above the canals like most of Milliara, they built up beyond the lifeblood of Lairyon. Left it behind, to pass through in these underwater canals, until they lead to a fountain, messenger canal, or the rest of the city.

Once Xisuma’s boots are in the water, he sloshes forward without pause. He knows who he saw, he’s just not sure if he believes it. Ex never gets involved with anything. He always waits, watches from the sidelines. When X wanted to fight, it was Ex that stayed behind. When X wanted to be a guild, Ex went on his own. 

He continues on, following the distance sound of scraping and scuffling, harsh against the soft patter of water and trickle of running water. Xisuma rounds the corner, white light reflecting in the distance off the damp walls. He’s so focused on the light at the end he doesn’t notice the movement in the shadows. At least, not until it’s too late. 

A warm hand claps over Xisuma’s mouth, muffling any attempt for him to cry out. Another arm drags him into the darkness, and a wave of fear keeps Xisuma from trying to escape. A warm, low voice growls in his ear, full of menace. “You had your chance, now let the big kids play.” 

“Tris, we’re just supposed to stop the guard, not-” A second, similar voice fractures through the darkness, and Xisuma notices a lock of pink hair, bright against the stone wall. 

“I’m Nightshade!” The one holding Xisuma snaps, loosening his grip on him. “Do you want half the city to know who we are?”

Xisuma manages to wriggle free, and instead the twin faces wrestle each other into the water. Tackling and pulling hair, calling each other names that grow louder and louder. Loud enough for the other hermits to find them. 

Stress realizes who she’s looking at first. “King Sor?” 

“What am I, chopped liver?” one of the two growls, his blue scarf soaked.

“The king?” Tango splutters, snapping his fingers. A flame appears in his hand, and he raises it higher. Sure enough, wrestling in the muck and mud of the swampwater was the King of Lairyon and his twin brother. Yin and yang, dark and light. Their tan skin and rainbow hair- though the king’s much brighter- was instantly recognizable, even if the all white and black suits weren’t enough. 

Grand Advisor Tris, currently holding King Sor in a headlock, glares at the hermits. “Do you mind?” 

“We are in the middle of something.” Sor adds, looking at their audience as he grabs hold of Tris’s fingers and yanks. 

“What are you-” Xisuma starts, confusion clouding his prerogative. Why is the Twin King, monarch of Lairyon, in the canals beneath his own city, tackling his brother and arguing over codenames? Xisuma shakes his head, trying to avoid the fact that he’s standing in front of the king. “Where did he go? My brother?” 

“Where’s Doc?” BDubs adds, bouncing from foot to foot. They have to find their friend. Is he still alive? What do the kings want with a criminal? Why all this, when King Sor has more power than even Dolios? 

“Three lefts then a right, there’s a staircase carved into the wall. It’ll take you to-” Sor has gained the upper hand, sitting on top of Tris, but the advisor isn’t afraid to kick his brother into silence. 

“You are, by far, the worst spy ever.” Tris hisses, but the hermits leave the twins to their squabble in the sewer. Following Sor’s directions, they wind through the secret caves, Tango, Grian, Ren, and Iskall illuminating the darkness. Jevin can’t help but think about when they first began this journey, way back in Gildara. How they wandered dark, wet caves like this. Only to become enraptured into something so much bigger than they could ever have known. 

But rather than a corrupted crystal at the end of this dive, they find the carved steps Sor had mentioned. 

They also find the trail of blood up the rough hewn stairs. Every step up is slick with the ochre, a different size and shape from the one before. At the top of the stairs, a hatch remains closed. Xisuma presses up against the metal hatch, but finds it too heavy to lift. Looking up, he notices a symbol burnt into the metal. 

Ex still uses their shared mark. Even after their estrangement, the swirl and the star remain easily visible. Not like how Xisuma scratched it off everything he owned. “It’s blocked. Stress?” 

“Not a problem, dearie.” The ice mage squeezes her small, limber body between Xisuma and TFC, rolling up her sleeves. Without even breaking a sweat, she forces the hatch open. Light blinds them for a second time, though this much softer than before. Lamplight, enough to illuminate the wooden building, but still soft enough to cast shadow. A chest full of books has been tossed aside, the rug covering the hidden hatch flipped over. 

The hermits crawl out, like an army of ants from the seams in the wood, filling the small bookstore. Ex’s arrival surprises no one, and neither does the twenty something mages in his bookshop. The twin brother of Xisuma looks up, purple eyes meeting the hermits. A lock of pure white hair covers over one eye, and the red fabric of the cloak covers Ex from the nose down. But even with his face covered, the hermits can see the discontent in his expression. 

“He’s in the back. I’d… I’d be prepared.” Ex’s voice remains low and tempered, a bit deeper than Xisuma’s own. He turns away, running fingers across the shelves of books around him, before pulling free an encyclopedia of medicines. 

Scar doesn’t wait, bursting through the curtain into Ex’s living quarters. He follows the trail of ash and blood, until he stops dead. The other hermits crowd in behind him, desperate to see their friend. For a week, he’s been in jail. Just being able to be in the same room was a blessing.

Doc was rested on a cot, bandages covering his legs, his arms, his chest, his face. Blackened skin beneath white gauze. He lays still, eyes closed, clothes in burnt tatters. For a minute, everyone holds their breath, waiting to see Doc breathe his own. When a shallow rise of his chest, followed by whisper of an exhale, escapes from the puppeteer, relief floods the hermits. 

Doc is alive. Hanging on by a thread, but alive. Scar grabs Grian, yanking him to the front and shoving him into the room. “Fix him!” 

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” Grian may be rivals with Doc, but they’re still friends. Family. He walks across the silent room, each step a loud creak through the wooden building. The hermits follow in after, a concave audience watching, hoping for a miracle. 

Grian’s eyes begin to glow, and another set of wings appear from his back, and another. A halo rings above Grian’s blond hair, sharp shafts of light piercing the air around him. The archangel kneels beside Doc, lost in the overwhelming power of his magic. A mere pass of his hand over the unconscious criminal begins to heal him. An angelic miracle, Grian simply brushes a wing, and it eases the blackened burns across their friend. 

Doc’s breathing deepens, though he doesn’t wake. Brought back from the brink, from the precipice of death. Mumbo carefully sidles up beside Grian, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Grian, you can let go of your aura.” 

The soothing voice does the trick, as light fades and wings disappear. Grian’s exhausted but forces the glow and sleep from his eyes to see his success. Doc was alive. Doc was stable. 

Doc was safe, with his family again. 

Ex appears in the doorway, hands full of books, potions, herbs, and crystals. But when he sees his patient, no longer bleeding out and struggling to hang on for dear life. He looks at Doc, then Grian, then Xisuma. Dropping his armful of supplies, he waves his hand. “You really have one of everything, don’t you?” 

Xisuma takes a deep breath. He hasn’t spoken a word to Ex in years. What does he say, after so long? What does he tell him, or yell at him, or cry to him? But only one word manages to escape from X’s lips, through his mask. “Thanks.” 

The word surprises both twins, blinking back in surprise. Ex’s lips press into a thin line, and he turns his head away. A white ponytail of hair cascades over his shoulder. “Never say I didn’t do anything for you, brother.” 

“Xisuma, this is your brother?” Keralis questions. They were almost identical twins, in fact. From the structure of their face, the intensity in their eyes. The only difference between the two was Ex’s snow white hair. Hell, they even had them both in ponytails. 

“If he still considers me a brother.” Ex snips, picking up the mess on the floor and carefully placing the books in a stack. 

“I thought you said getting into things would only lead to trouble.” Xisuma looks down at his friend, then to Ex. 

“And by the looks of it, I was right.” 

“But you saved Doc. You used your magic in front of half the city, to save him from burning at the stake.” Xisuma shakes his head, still in disbelief. “Why?” 

Ex stops moving, going silent. His shoulder tense forward, until his head drops. “Because he means so much to you. You may not consider me a brother, but I still care about you. Whether or not this disaster could have been avoided, we’re all in on it now.” 

“We?” Cub picks up on Ex’s words, raising an eyebrow. Of course, there were the royals, but he also remembers the water magic appearing from nowhere, the cactus growing from the woodwork, the black wings in the smoke. 

Ex snorts. “What, you think you guys have been this lucky the whole time? That it was only you idiots taking on the magistrate?” 

He turns, walking out of the room. Assuming the hermits will follow. He assumed correctly. Only a few stay behind to keep watch over Doc, the others squeezing through the aged wooden shop, up the rickety stairs and into a dining room. 

They aren’t alone. Inside, three people are sitting. One with short brown hair, cropped to the side and laying on the top of the table, earthy colored clothes and scarves wrapped around her. Sitting crosslegged in the seat is a small kipling, rocking in place with curious eyes as he looks upon the large group entering into Ex’s study. Finned ears flick against black and orange locks, a slight glow appearing under the kipling’s clothes in the dark room. And in the corner, perched on the flat booth’s backrest, a blonde mane drapes around a serious face, and a pair of jet black wings rustle against the wooden walls. 

The last faces they expected to see were those of the Wanderers.

“Red? Ecto?” Zedaph tips his head to the side, surprised. The last time they saw the three of them, it was before the labyrinth challenge. When the hermits celebrated with Team Crafted, they had already left. Disappeared just as fast as they appeared. And now, they’ve reappeared. Sitting in the middle of Ex’s kitchen, sipping on tea. As comfortable there as they were in that ratty old inn. ‘How do you guys know Xisuma’s brother?”

“It was you three who rescued Doc.” Scar whispers, his voice soft and almost reverent. Water, desert, and dragon. 

“Ex approached us while you and Team Crafted were within the labyrinth. He told us about things we already had suspicion of, but no connected dots.” Avon tips her head back, looking down her nose at the hermits. “We decided the best way we could help Lairyon was to cause as much nuisance to the magistrate as possible, as well as handle certain missions.” 

“This entire time, you were helping us?” Xisuma turns, looking at his brother. They’re the exact same height, purple eyes locked in some years long argument.

Ex snorts. “What, you think you idiots did that all on your own? But it wasn’t just the wanderers that have been helping. Team Crafted has had their hand in this underground rebellion as well. Turns out, they make a lot of trouble all over the place for the arcane guard to deal with, as well as encourage people to tell their stories and speak out against the magistrate.” 

“But then that leaves…” Mumbo trails off, and he turns around at the sound of bickering behind them. Sure enough, the twin rulers are still arguing over their codenames. Mumbo bows, his hands shaking as he remembers all the rules he was taught when in presence of the king. 

King Sor presses one hand over his twin’s mouth to shut him up, and uses the other to wave off Mumbo’s bow. “Please, there’s no-” Sor’s interrupted when Tris retaliates, licking his hand. The king curses, rubbing the spit on his white outfit. “You’re disgusting, brother.” 

“Go on, finish the story. Don’t forget to tell them who’s idea it was to reach out to the mysterious white haired man with connections to Eremita.” Tris scoots in beside Red, and Ecto pours tea for the royal advisor. 

“It was Tris’s idea to contact Ex. I honestly don’t know how he found out about him, but he’s been the conductor of it all. We help fund in any way we can, and he does the research before sending the wanderers and Team Crafted to play support roles.” King Sor doesn’t look like the man the hermits are used to seeing. The king, the ruler of Lairyon. He’s thriving with people, just another person, another friend. 

“But...you’re the king. Why can’t you just depose of Dolios?” Beef questions, the confusion in his voice matched by all of the hermits. Only Ex and the wanderers act as if this was evident. 

They expected Sor to answer, being the king, but with a loud crash of a metal teacup against the wooden table, all attention is turned to Tris. “That monster, that....bastard has been using us all against Sor. Especially me.” Tris grits his teeth hard, jaw tight and set. “You’re too damn soft, Sor.” 

“Soft?! Tris, he was going to kill you!” Sor gasps, tears beginning to streak from teal eyes, across tanned cheeks. His breath hiccups and catches in his throat. “Dolios made sure he had control over everything, including me. In order to do that, he… he tortured Tris. My brother. Threatened both our families. Hurt our closest friends in the royal guard. Sometimes… I had no choice but to let it happen. The things he would have done to the kingdom were so much worse but...at what cost? Did I make the right decision, letting him do that to my own brother?” 

Sor’s knees fall out from under him, and in the aged wooden floor of a bookstore, the King of Lairyon is brought to kneel. Tears fall, all he’s been forced to endure breaking down. And the hermits, despite hardly knowing King Sor, understand and sympathize with him all the same. His family is at risk, the same way their own is. Dolios will stop at nothing to tear both families apart, all for his gain and rise to power. 

Red clambers over Tris’s lap, breaking every taboo and rite to approach the king. She runs over, and hugs the king tight and close. A warm hug, like a mother’s embrace, just enough to calm down the monarch. Such a young man, forced to make so many horrible decisions. After a moment, the king recollects himself. Through puffy, tearstained eyes, he looks to the hermits. “Lairyon needs a hero. There are no chosen ones, there is no prophecy. No knights in shining armor, no kings and our awesome power. This time, the heroes need to be made. And you, the Order of Hermits, were the brave souls to choose to be heroes.” 

“Dolios is using his darkness to gain power. After what you dealt with, we were sure you’d give up.” Tris adds, standing and placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Now, the scars on the royal advisor’s body are clear as day. “But you really are the heroes that will bring back the Light of Lairyon.” 

Silence falls over the room. The hermits, heroes? Just for wanting to help, to do what no one else knew to do? They were caught up in all of this, and multiple times death waited to claim them- if Dolios had his way. They weren’t heroes, just people who chose to fight back. Who chose to make the stand. 

“Dark magic isn’t new.” Ex breaks the silence, hefting a massive, ancient book onto the table. The wood rocks, dumping Avon off it and into Ecto’s lap. “There have been insurgences all throughout history, though the past thousand years have been relatively quiet. Unfortunately about that, almost all information how the dark magic was defeated has been… lost to time. To make matters worse, no reported insurgence has ever been so prolific as this time around.” 

“Alright, how does this help with anything?” Xisuma rolls his eyes. His brother always has such a flair for the dramatics, always getting way too deep into history and his books. Next to the massive tome that Ex is flipping through, Avon stops pestering Ecto. She goes still, even when the desert wizard dumps her onto the floor. A look of fear spreads from her eyes, rippling like a drop of water across a lake. 

“Well, if this happened before with the ancient ones, then it’s likely the answer may lie with the history of Lairyon itself. Perhaps if you-” Ex is interrupted when a massive black pair of wings extends, one smacking him in the face. 

“The spirit dragons are in danger.”

[storyofmychoices]

Plan B: Once a thief...

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Masterlist] [Mal’s Orphanage Series]

Characters: Mal Volari, Daenarya (F!MC, human), Rayden (OC), Lydo (OC), Vayne (OC); Threep, Loola

Warnings: brief allusion to child endangerment; some violence (adult/adult)

Setting: Mal tried to rescue Lydo through negotiation; Vayne, the leader of the Thieves Guild said no. This is Plan B.

This follows Welcome Home

(This is the fifth part of Rayden & Lydo’s story.)

Synopsis: After failing to rescue Lydo, Mal regroups and comes up with a new plan. With the help of Daenarya, Threep, and Loola, can he succeed?

☆  ☆  ☆  ☆   ☆   ☆   

“Wait!” Threep scoffed, holding his paw over his chest, feigning offense. “You invited me as… a distraction… As if I were bait?”

Mal pretended to consider it a moment longer, his fingers stroking his beard. “Yup! You’re really only here because we need your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Threep puffed out his chest. “And, I’ll have you know I—”

Mal cut him off. “Your girlfriend has ice magic, Daenarya has light magic, and I’m a legendary outlaw and hero who knows that complex better than anyone else. Remind me again what you do beside deliver mail.” He chuckled to himself, “drink milk?”

“Why you!” Threep hissed, the fur on his back standing up, his claws extending, ready to pounce. 

“KITTY!” Rayden popped in the room, rushing toward the nesper. 

Threep tried to move away from the child, but Rayden scooped him up, pulling him closer. “Hey, watch it!”

The light glistened off of Rayden’s widened eyes as his mouth fell open. “You can talk?”

“Of course! I’m a nesper, an ancient being of noble ancestry that should be worshiped and—oh, that feels quite nice. Oh!” 

Rayden scratched between Threep’s ears as the nesper’s eyes closed stretching into the child’s warm embrace. “Cute magic kitty!”

“I am quite adorable!” Threep nestled further against Rayden enjoying his pets, blocking out the Rogue’s deep guffaw.

“Can we keep him?” The boy turned to Daenarya hugging Threep snuggly. 

She knelt beside him. “He’s not a pet, sweetheart. He is a special creature who deserves to be free.”

Rayden’s lip quivered slightly as he looked down at his new friend. “But I love him.” 

“I know.” She caressed his cheek. “I’m sure Threep will come to visit some times, won’t you?”

The nesper purred contentedly, “It would be my honor.” 

“Oh, great! You mean we have to see more of the mangy cat?” Mal scoffed. 

Daenarya shot him a look, before turning her attention back to the child. “Rayden, we need Threep to go rescue your brother. So, I’m going to need you to put him down.”

“Aww,” the boy and the nesper whined almost simultaneously. 

“Oh, Threep. Have a little respect for yourself,” Loola rubbed her paw over her eyes. 

“Let him stay,” Mal shrugged. “We can do without him. Besides, babysitting sounds far more his speed.”

“Threep, what do you want to do?” Daenarya questioned.

“I’ll go where I’m appreciated. Since that is not with you lot, I’ll stay with the boy!” Threep shifted under Rayden’s touch. “A little to the left. Right there. Ahhh.”  

“Be careful! And, don’t let him leave the house,” Daenarya instructed.

“I think we will manage just fine,” Threep purred, looking up to Rayden. “Got any cream cakes?”

“Loads!” Rayden nodded, carrying his new favorite friend off to the kitchen.

☆  ☆  ☆  ☆   ☆   ☆   

The dim light they carried flickered against the rough, stone walls of the underground tunnel. The path turned and curled deeper into darkness, the cold of the earth prickling at their skin. Daenarya shuddered, her heart beating faster with each step they took. It wasn’t as though this was their first adventure, but they had been so focused on fixing up the orphanage, that adventuring sort of fell away. Her stomach tightened, hoping this plan would be enough, she couldn’t bear the thought of going home without Lydo, Rayden would never understand. He had already set aside some of his things for his brother. A smile crept across her face, hidden by the shadows. She hadn’t known Rayden long, but she loved him dearly. 

“Okay, this is it.” Mal held up his hand.

Loola fluttered softly landing on his shoulder. 

“Remember the plan. You find Lydo and bring him back here. Loola and I will buy you as much time as we can. You got this, Kit,” he reassured her, before turning out their only source of light. “Meet back here in 10 minutes!”

“Mal?” Daenarya questioned, stopping him for a moment. Despite the darkness, her lips found his softly, her fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his neck. “Please, be careful.”

“Always,” he brushed a kiss on her forehead before turning away. The old latch on the door creaked and clanked, the noise echoing through the abandoned tunnel behind them. “Good luck!” 

The door opened into a small room, stuffed with what could only be described as junk. They had to shove it, pushing away a pile of broken furniture, to even make enough space for them to slip in.

As they reached the next door, Mal motioned Daenarya to the left, as he and Loola turned right. 

Daenarya took calculated steps, careful as she turned corners, staying close to the wall in the unfamiliar space. She had memorized the directions Mal had given her, now she just had to hope the kids still stayed in the same room they did ten years ago.

“Vayne! I know you’re here.” Mal called, as he made his way through the building. He opened any door he passed by giving him multiple escape routes for his retreat, or at least, letting them think he could be in any one of them. It would buy him a little time. There was actually only one room he needed to make a quick detour to.

His voice grew louder and more urgent. “VAYNE! Come out and fight, old man.”

Loola fluttered safely above the Rogue, near the high ceilings, keeping watch and ready for his signal.  

The heavy footsteps of guards from all over the compound headed in their direction, exactly where he wanted them. 

“Come and get me.” Mal challenged, his fingers already flirting with the hilt of his daggers, ready for whatever awaited him. 

Daenarya drew in a sharp breath ducking into an alcove as a guard rushed by. She counted to three, steadying herself. She was starting to wish she hadn’t agreed to let Threep stay behind. She wasn’t used to not having back up. 

Swiftly, she swept through the long corridor peering in each open room, to make sure it was safe before proceeding. She found the place she was looking for near the end. 

The large room revealed more than a dozen children sitting or lying around the room on scattered piles of dingy blankets and pillows. All of the children darkened with dirt, faces worn and tired, desperately needing more than they were getting. They quickly averted their gaze from the stranger, moving closer together for safety.

“Lydo. Lydo?”

A boy with the same shaggy dark hair as his brother caught her attention. From Rayden’s description, she expected the boy to be closer to twelve or thirteen, this child was less than ten, possibly only a year or two older than his brother. She knelt beside him. “Are you Lydo?”

He quivered, shifting away from her. “Yes.”

She held out her hand to him. “I’m here to get you out of here.” 

“I can’t,” he cried, his eyes welling up in fear. “They have my brother. They said if I left, they’d kill him.”

“Rayden? He’s safe. Come with me and I’ll take you to him.”

“They said you’d say that. They said they’d kill him,” he whimpered. “He’s all I have. I won’t let them hurt him.” 

Daenarya could easily grab the child and carry him out, but that would risk causing a scene. Her fingers tapped nervously at her side as she thought of a way to convince Lydo of the truth. “When it rains and there’s thunder, you sing a song to make it less scary for Rayden.”

“How do you know that?”

“He told me.” Daenarya held out her hand again. “I promise, if you come with me right now, I will take you to him.”

“Is he okay?” His face lightened, as he breathed fully probably for the first time since being taken all those weeks ago.

“Yeah.” She took his hand. “He just misses his brother.” 

“What about the rest of them?” Lydo questioned, his gaze shifting to the other children, who still turned away from them, knowing the punishment for trying to escape. 

A tear fell from her eye, knowing that the hard choice was the right choice. For now, they were safer there. It wasn’t a good life, but Mal had always said it was better than living and dying alone on the streets. “We’ll come back for them. I promise. We don’t have enough time or resources right now.”

She took his hand and guided him through the compound heading back to their meeting spot.

“Now then.” Mal quirked an eye and twirled his daggers, eyes trained on the two guards closest to him. 

With a flick of his wrist, the smaller one sailed through the air behind him, landing with a thwack in the guard’s leg, causing him to fall on the spot. He lashed out quickly in front of him, the larger dagger clutched tightly in his fist, pierced the guard’s side between his armor; Mal immediately kicked his weapon away. As more guards headed his way, he let a few further blades shoot through the air, each one easily finding its target.

“LISTEN TO ME!” He whistled loudly to get their attention. “You and I are no different. I was where you are once. I served Vayne every day as you do. And what do you get for it? Huh? Nothing. He promises you a better life, but he takes everything you have. Look around. Is this what you want? I am proof that you can leave this place. There is a world out there waiting for you. Why serve a self-appointed king. Take a stand today, and be a pawn no longer. What do you say?”

The men looked at each other, their weapons holding steady toward him, but none advancing.

A slow clap echoed behind the guards as Vayne moved closer. “Nice try, Volari, these men will not accept your lies. Unlike you, they have loyalties. Now, I believe I made you a promise?”

“A promise to return the gold you took the other day?” He countered, reaching behind him to grab a bag of coins from his belt. “Because, I already helped myself to your treasury. You really think you’d change the location after the last time.” 

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this.” The old man sneered. “Kill him.” 

“Wait! Just one moment.” Mal held up his finger. “It looks like this bag of gold does not belong to me. I guess you’ll be wanting it back. He threw the bag into the air above the guards’ heads, gold coins showering around them. Each thinking the same thing. “NOW!”

As the guards clamored around the fallen coins, Loola’s eyes brightened, flashing white as the floor beneath the guards turned to ice.

“He’s getting away!” Vanye yelled. “After him.” 

As Mal and Loola made their escape, they heard the cacophony of armor clashing against armor as the men slipped and fell over the ice. Loola left a few other patches of ice along the way, just in case any guards happened to make it off her skating rink. 

“I can’t believe you got rid of the gold,” Loola marveled.

“As if I only took one bag,” Mal smirked. 

☆  ☆  ☆  ☆   ☆   ☆   

Lydo barely got in the door before Rayden ran, jumping into his brother’s arms, almost knocking the frail boy over. 

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Rayden cried. His little arms wrapped tightly around his brother, refusing to let him go. “I was so scared.” 

Lydo held his brother equally as close, his eyes swelling with tears. “I’m sorry, Rayden. I shouldn’t have left you. I’m so sorry.” 

“Don’t ever leave me again,” Rayden sniffled into his brother’s shirt. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” Lydo breathed, burying his head in his brother’s hair. “I love you, Rayden. I’m so sorry.”

“I love you, too, Lydo!” Rayden smiled, happier than they had ever seen him.

Mal wrapped his arm around Daenarya as she held back tears of her own. She knew better than most the love of having a brother, and what being separated from them feels like. Luckily for both of them, they were reunited with their brothers.

☆  ☆  ☆  ☆   ☆   ☆  

Perma tags: @lilyoffandoms​​​​​ ; @raleighcarrera​​​​​ ; @mfackenthal​​​​​ ; @the-soot-sprite​​​​​ ; @virtuallytakenby​​​​​​ ; @zeniamiii​​​​​ ; @kaavyaethanramsey​​​​​; @choicesobsessed; @xjustin-ethansgirliex​​​​​ ; @caseyvalentineramsey​​​​​; @trappedinfandoms​​​​​; @anotherbeingsworld​​​​​ ;  @tyrils-star​​​​​​

Blades Tags: @princess-geek​​​ ; @brightpinkpeppercorn​​​ ; @missameliep​​​ ; @mvalentine​​​​; @walkerswhiskeygirl​​​ ; @nyastarlight​​

[akaluan]

For the ask meme 24 and 67 for Kisuke/Erich/Alexis

(24: Soulmate AU, 67: Character in Peril)

Erich is born with a thin band of indistinct leaves around his right wrist, a sign that his soulmate is older than him, though no one knows by how much. It causes a stir – he’s the Clan Heir and some things just aren’t usual – but the gossip fades before he’s even old enough to be aware of it.

(Three months after he’s born, a second band of leaves appears around his left wrist.)

(When he and Alexis are placed together a month later, his second band begins to grow and so does one of her marks. It’s all the confirmation their families need, and a contract is drawn up immediately.)

(The fact that both of them have a second soulmate is… quietly forgotten by everyone but them.)

(Not everyone meets all their soulmates, after all.)

***

Erich rubs a thumb over the band of leaves around his right wrist, feeling the tiny prickles of awareness coming and going. He can only sense anything when he focuses on the connection, on the person the deep green leaves represent, which is… probably for the best. He knows what the rest of the clan feels about him having an older soulmate, and it’s��� best to just not rock the boat.

“Figure anything else out?” Alexis asks as she drapes across his back and nuzzles into his neck.

“No.” He sighs and lets his hand drop away, leaning back into Alexis’ warmth. He should be content with what he has, with the soulmate right next to him, but…

He feels unbalanced.

There’s a tree growing up his left arm, a sapling oak that will one day reach his shoulder and spread across his back and chest. It’s warm and strong and solid, it’s everything that Alexis is to him–

And it leaves his right side feeling cold, feeling too light. It’s strange. Soulmate marks have no more physical weight than a tattoo, and don’t actually influence their spiritual powers, but he can’t help the feeling that there’s something missing.

He could reach out through the mark using his spiritual powers, could pull the other person towards them, but… what right does he have to influence someone he doesn’t even know?

(There are more stories of influence gone wrong than Erich can count.)

(He’d rather not add to that number.)

“We’ll meet them someday,” Alexis murmurs, wrapping her hand around his wrist, covering the mark. “We just have to keep our eyes open and our senses sharp.”

Erich hums in agreement.

He’s not so sure she’s right, but… maybe. Maybe someday she will be.

(If the world is kind…)

***

He joins the military when he comes of age.

It’s expected of him, being the heir of a noble lineage, a lineage steeped in war and loyal service to the Emperor. What’s more, he’s good at it. At the tactics, the strategy, the logistics… everything that makes a good officer, he either excels at or practices until he excels at. He has a long way to go before he reaches the sort of rank expected of him based on his lineage, but… he’s young and the current Generals are old. He has time.

(Maybe this is where he’ll meet their second.)

(Maybe they’re hidden somewhere in the ranks above him.)

(He’ll do his best to befriend those he can.)

***

War breaks out.

The Generals are demoted. New Generals promoted.

He gets promoted to an aide’s position.

(Young and outspoken and sharp, they all acknowledge.)

(And still they ignore his warnings about a certain, too-young mage…)

Erich knows that he can no longer protest Degurechaff’s rank or position. She’s won too many friends, proven herself too useful, and right now the Empire needs monsters like her in order to survive.

He’s not blind.

He just… wishes it didn’t have to be that way.

(He still hasn’t met his second soulmate.)

(Sometimes… sometimes he thinks they feel sad…)

(If only he could help…)

***

Everything seems so… hopeful. They’ve broken the Republic’s command structure, conquered their capital, and now… and now…

They’ve won, haven’t they?

Except Degurechaff doesn’t think so. She lays out her reasoning with cold, ruthless words that strike a chord in his soul.

(Man is an irrational beast.)

(Man is an emotional beast, with pride and spite and determination at their core.)

He takes a drag of his cigarette and scrambles for the words he knows he’ll never find in an attempt to reassure her that she’s wrong.

An aide interrupts them before he can try.

(He wonders if his soulmate would agree with the enemy.)

(He wonders if his soulmate is the enemy…)

(And then he sets his thoughts aside and soldiers on.)

***

The war continues without respite.

***

Erich ducks out of the command tent and strides away, temper strained to the breaking point and exhaustion weighing on his shoulders. He should go back, should continue to try and plan, but…

(They’re losing the war.)

(They’re losing the war and all anyone can do is argue about useless things.)

He undoes his sleeves enough to press his hand against Alexis’ mark, drawing strength from her presence, then runs a thumb over the band of leaves around his other wrist. A frission of sharp focus-determination-worry spikes through his senses as he touches it, and he frowns at the mark; their soulmate has been paying more attention to the mark than usual, emotions coming through clearer and more intent than ever before.

Whoever it is, they’re getting tired of waiting.

He… doesn’t know what to think about that.

A piercing, terrifying whistle reaches his ears–

He’s– they’re all– danger!

“Sir!”

Erich rips at his soulmates’ strength. Raises a barrier. Throws his arms across his face and braces–

The shockwave hurls him into a stack of crates.

Pain!

His ribs–

The barrier holds. Diverts the explosion around and over–

“Sir! Can you hear me?”

“I’ll live,” he forces out, batting aside Degurechaff’s small hands and pushing himself upright. He hisses as his ribs move, his entire left side sharp-bright-piercing agony, and tries to focus past the pain. The camp is in ruins, soldiers and staff running around like headless chickens–

The command tent is gone.

He stares at the crater, mind blank except for the hysterical that’s one way to stop the arguments that keeps cycling.

(He’ll regret it later.)

(When the shock has passed and he has time to process, he’ll regret with his entire soul and mourn and press on because what else is there for him to do?)

(He is now the irrational beast he once abhorred.)

“Keep telling yourself that, sir. Let me get you stable at least before you start trying to fix this mess,” Degurechaff announces as she rocks back on her heels and grabs hold of her computation orb. Arrays ripple into being around her, then fade away as power courses into his body.

He can feel his ribs snap back into place, feel the magic bracing them in position, and takes a careful, still-painful breath. It’s… better. Easier.

(He remembers a time when Degurechaff’s strength was only dedicated to destruction.)

(Sometimes he wishes that were still the case.)

“There. I’m not a medic, but that should keep you from puncturing a lung.” She stands up and turns to survey the destruction, giving him a chance to struggle to his feet without being watched. It’s the sort of absent kindness that she’s so good at, the willing blind eye to other people’s problems that can seem cruel but he’s learned to appreciate.

She’s still the monster he’s feared for years, but…

Maybe not as monstrous as he’d once thought.

(Poorly socialized, far too intelligent, and thrown into a war before she even hit double digits in age.)

(Maybe it’s no surprise she came across as monstrous.)

“Your orders, sir?” Degurechaff asks once he’s on his feet, partially turning back to him. She pauses then, ice blue eyes landing on his right arm and widening, and says, “Ah… and perhaps you should get a spare jacket soon.”

Erich frowns and glances down, wondering what had caught her attention. She’d seen his unbalanced soulmarks before and never commented on them, so what–

His sleeves are in tatters.

There’s a tree climbing up his right arm.

There is a tree climbing up his right arm.

He flexes his right hand. Watches the skin and the mark move. Tries to understand–

“It’s not mine, sir,” Degurechaff tells him immediately when he finally tears his gaze from the suddenly-grown mark. She unbuttons the cuffs of both sleeves and shows him her bare wrists; while certainly not the only place marks can appear, he’s read her file often enough to know she doesn’t have any marks and that this display is more for his peace of mind than anything.

Her lack of a mark is one more oddity about her in a pile of oddities but… certainly not the strangest. Not everyone has a soulmate.

“I didn’t think it was,” he answers absently, trying to make sense of everything that’s happened. “Whoever this is, they’re older than me.”

Something odd flickers in Degurechaff’s eyes, a glimmer of black humor that she doesn’t give voice to, before she coughs and pointedly looks away again. “Pretty sure what I’ve heard about those marks didn’t mention anything about them suddenly becoming gigantic like that, sir. So…”

“You’re right.” Erich rubs at his eyes then pulls his glasses from his face and untucks his shirt to find a clean patch he can polish the lenses on. There’s nothing really taboo about having the marks on display – hasn’t been for almost a century, really – but it’s still… uncomfortable. Especially with how suddenly his grew.

(How much strength had he pulled from his unknown soulmate?)

(How much danger had he put them in with his unthinking panic…?)

(And how much would they resent him for it…)

He settles his glasses back on his nose and straightens his posture, ignoring the spike of pain from his side and his ankle. There’s little he can do about his attire at the moment, less he can do about his health, nothing he can do about his soulmate, and right now–

“I want you and your battalion in the sky,” Erich orders as he scans the camp with a frown. “Find out where that came from and keep them from doing it again if you can.” He hesitates even as Degurechaff snaps a salute, her sharp gaze waiting-waiting-waiting and he– “Find us a way out. We can’t hold this point anymore.”

He gives in.

“Yes sir!”

It’s too little too late but…

Maybe he can save some of their men.

Maybe.

***

He wakes to hands on his chest and power flooding his body and warmth instead of pain and the wrist he grabs is large-strong-powerful, signature unlike any of his men and–

“Shh, shh, you’re okay, you’re safe. I’ve got you.”

He struggles against the compulsion to sleep, cracks his eyes open and stares up at a blurry figure kneeling over him in the dark–

“Rest. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

His soulmarks echo reassurance-love-protection and–

It’s too much for him to fight.

He falls back asleep to the steady murmur of an unknown but trusted voice.

(He sleeps better than he has in years.)

***

It feels like a strange dream when he next wakes, a desperate conjuration of his sleeping mind in search of comfort, but…

There are marks next to his bedroll where someone knelt and sitting up doesn’t make him cringe in agony.

(Someone healed him overnight and he really doubts it was any of their remaining medics.)

“Morning, sir,” Degurechaff says as she wanders over once he’s upright. Arrays are already lit around her, likely to bolster the patch-job she did on him the day before, and they fade as power settles across his body and sinks beneath his skin. “Let me just–” she pauses. Frowns. Shoots him a confused, concerned look. “Sir… my spell…”

“I know.” He tips his head towards the mark left by someone kneeling by his bedroll, then taps the fingers of his right hand against his thigh.

Degurechaff catches on immediately, gaze turning wary and lips pinching into a thin line. “Dangerous?”

“Almost certainly,” Erich agrees, remembering the hazy feeling of holding the man’s strong wrist. But there are rules about soulmates, outlined in treaties signed by all of Europe, and that makes the man’s actions legal no matter his nationality.

Whether the man decides to abide by all of those rules is another matter entirely.

(Not sticking around after he healed Erich is… troubling.)

(Why would he leave so soon after finding him?)

“I hate soulmate exceptions,” Degurechaff mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Apologies, sir, but they turn everything into a tangled mess.”

“Forgiven.“ He hesitates a moment, sweeping a look over their weary, almost-defeated men, and makes a decision he hopes he’s not going to regret. “Let’s keep this between us for now.”

“Understood, sir. Should I take a squad up to scout?”

“Do so. If you can see any anomalies, let me know.”

Degurechaff salutes and turns on her heel, already summoning

Serebryakov to her side and working to find another mage-pair to fill out the scouting squad.

He leaves her to it.

(He trusts her.)

***

“Fairy 01 to Salamander 01.”

Erich holds out a hand to the supply sergeant to pause their conversation and straightens up, tapping the comm-piece he is wearing to active. “Salamander 01, go ahead.”

“You’re going to want to see this, sir. It’s… bring a squad and meet me at the pass we crossed yesterday.”

He frowns, fingers hovering over the send button and words tangled in his throat. There’s a sick feeling in his stomach, an echo of ‘you’re safe now’ in his head, and a sudden desire to bury his head in the sand and ignore everything Degurechaff is trying to show him.

But they can’t afford for him to do that.

“Roger, on my way,” he tells her, then taps his comm to passive and turns back to the sergeant. “We’ll continue this when I return.”

“Yes sir!”

It’s the work of moments to gather a squad of mission-ready men, and only a half hour’s march back to the pass they crossed in haste the night before.

Degurechaff is waiting for him there, her lips thin and her shoulders tensed; whatever she’s found, she’s worried about it, Erich decides, and it makes the sick feeling in his stomach only grow.

“We found the enemy camp,” she announces once they’ve gathered around her. “Serebryakov is standing watch and the other two are scouting. It’s just a quick hike through the trees.”

Erich frowns down at Degurechaff, ignoring the questioning murmurs of the five men he brought in favor of parsing her real message. She’s not worried about their proximity to the enemy camp, but something about the camp itself.

There are… very few things that could be, and he likes the thought of none of them.

“Lead the way,” he settles on instead of demanding answers, willing to go along with the secrecy for a bit longer. He has his own suspicions, after all, and she’s not the sort to lead him into an ambush without warning.

Degurechaff nods, turns, and marches off into the forest, leading them through a round-about path that brings them out on a small, forested hill overlooking what’s clearly the enemy camp.

Except…

Erich glances up. Spots the dot that’s likely Serebryakov out in the open, hovering in place without attracting any fire. Glances down at the camp below them, eerily silent and utterly still.

Slants a sideways look at Degurechaff in question.

She nods, once, then stands up from her crouch and hops down the hill and out into the open, gesturing for him to follow. “Best you see it up close, sir,” she murmurs as he drops to stand next to her.

“Is it as bad as I’m suspecting?” he asks quietly as they cross into the camp without a single bullet being fired at them or alarm beginning to ring. It’s like the place is deserted, instead of filled with an entire battalion of men.

Or, he acknowledges faintly as they reach the center of the camp and Degurechaff pulls him aside to a large tent, as if the entire battalion was murdered in their sleep.

“Everyone from the officers on down,” she says as Erich slips into the tent and kneels next to the first body. “The watchmen were taken out first, I suspect. At the very least, we haven’t found any sign of anyone being aware when they were taken out.”

Erich grimaces and reaches out to carefully tip the dead man’s head to one side, eyeing the deep, bloody slash that practically severed his head from his body.

The blade that did it was sharp, he decides as he rocks back on his heels and scans the area for any other clues. There’s nothing he can find, though, no clue as to what the killer wanted or where they’d come from; nothing disturbed, nothing taken, just a dead commander and his equally dead battalion.

(’You’re safe now.’)

(Fuck.)

“How–”

“Officers had their throats cut,” Degurechaff recites, her gaze fixed on the tent behind him. “Most of the men were stabbed. The watchmen appear to have been rendered unconscious somehow before they were killed. Sir…”

He takes a deep breath. Clenches his teeth. Presses a hand to his unknown soulmate’s mark and presses annoyance-frustration-thanks through the bond.

He has no doubt who took out an entire battalion overnight, and frankly he really doesn’t want to think on what it means.

“We’re raiding their supplies and moving on,” Erich decides as he shoves himself to his feet and moves to start rifling through the man’s papers for anything of value. The more information he can get on the current situation the safer they’ll all be.

“Yes sir, I’ll tell the men.”

Erich braces himself against the table the moment she leaves the tent, letting his head hang and shoulders slump. He doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know what he should do.

(He’s a general in command of this border and with the freedom to decide his own actions.)

(He’s down to scattered units and a broken chain of command, every unit fighting for themselves with no hope of reinforcements.)

(Even with a murderous soulmate on his side… what hope do they have?)

(His homeland is shattering and there’s nothing he can do…)

(There’s nothing any of them can do.)

(Except survive.)

[shardweavers]

Chapter Eight - Creative Thinking

Shoto and Angel got up from the table where they'd been sitting. The Scholar peeked into the room as she slowly opened the door…

And found the Ascian was sound asleep on the bed. He was still recovering from his injuries, after all. The female Miqo'te carefully stepped into the room, thought for a moment, then looked back to Angel; he'd followed her inside just as carefully.

"I wonder... Where did he get most of those injuries? I checked for external wounds, and I only found," she frowned as she paused, "...I only found the scar... from where I struck him through…" She trailed off. 

"Were there internal injuries?" Angel asked, frowning. "I-I mean, given--"

"Yes, both Eos and I could sense the internal wounds, but they didn't feel...connected to the last battle," Shoto mused. The two Miqo'te spent a long, silent moment in thought... 

"You're both aware that I am not deaf, correct?" came Emet-Selch's voice, cutting through to interrupt; he sounded more than a little annoyed. Angel gave a squeak of surprise, and Shoto jumped slightly.

"W-well, look, we thought you were asleep, and--!!"

"I might be, but there were two noisy felines just now, mewing on and on," the Paragon replied, opening one eye fully, studying her with it before glancing to Angel and heaving a loud sigh as he shut his eyes again. Shoto pouted and looked away.

"Fine, we apologize for the disturbance. Were we too loud for Your Radiance out on the terrace, too?"

"Perhaps, but the Emperor shall forgive that indiscretion," Hades said with faux imperiousness as he pushed himself up to a sitting position, waving his hand for extra effect. "I'll concede it's hardly fair to chase you out of your own living quarters, and I'm sure at least one of you doesn't trust wicked old me alone in here." He smirked.

"How generous," Shoto grumbled, crossing her arms as she went over to the edge of the bed. "So, you're going to stay awake?" "For the time being. The night you so generously returned to Norvrandt hasn't settled fully yet, and the evenings here are abominably bright." 

'From his tone, you'd never guess that he had any role in bringing the Flood of Light about,' Shoto thought, a little bitterly.

"If you intended to ply me with further questions," Emet-Selch continued, interrupting her train of thought, "why, that might help ease my boredom, just a tiny fraction." His amber eyes bored into Shoto, and she felt almost compelled to speak. "...What did you mean when you said…'eight times rejoined'?" The Ascian blinked and then gave another overwhelmed sigh, leaning back against the headboard of the bed and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Or, I suppose, you could attempt to ask me a question so stupid it permanently kills me." "Wh--You--!!"

"Or counts as a form of torture. Aren't heroes supposed to be against torture?"

"It's a legitimate question!" Shoto sputtered in embarrassed fury. "It's an incredibly disappointing question," Hades quipped back, his own expression disgruntled. "I was given to believe that you understood word one of what I said regarding Amaurot? The Final Days? The Great Sundering, and how our world was shattered into the Source and its thirteen reflections? Yes?" "Yes!" "Then ‘eight times rejoined' means exactly what it sounds like it means. There have been seven reunions, what you call the ‘Umbral Calamities', of shards unto the Source. Each time, the soul of those who lived in the time of Amaurot comes closer to wholeness. You are, like it or no, one such soul. Ergo…" He trailed off with a languid gesture.

Angel bit his lip. It couldn't be that simple, could it? 

...Hadn't the Seventh Umbral Calamity been when they first began to really experience the Echo…?

"This time is different," Shoto argued. "Or...it feels different, at any rate! Angel and I have been...causing...things to just, just appear out of thin air!"

"...What?" Now Emet-Selch had a turn at looking surprised. "How do you mean--wait, no--"

"I mean it like it sounds," Shoto growled petulantly, even if she found she didn't really enjoy the wince on the Ascian's face. "Alright, alright, I deserved that." The Ascian brought a hand to his chin, fingers partially covering his mouth, in thought. "...I wonder...These appearances, are they linked to intense periods of...concentration?" "Yes. In both our cases." "...Curious. Very curious." Amber eyes looked to the floor, then back up to track over both of the Miqo'te before him. "Tell me, when you were traveling...my Amaurot, did you chance to hear about…'Creation Magic', perhaps...?"

Angel almost leapt into the air as he listened to the answer the Ascian gave, and he felt his tail puff up, his ears flickering violently. 

"The...The Bureau of the Architect," he whispered, almost involuntarily…

What he was leading into matched almost perfectly to what the Amaroutine shade at the Bureau had told the Warriors and the Scions when they asked about that same term. 

"Picture a bouquet of fresh, fragrant flowers, all the colors of the rainbow. Now picture those selfsame flowers formed of delicate crystal, impossibly fragile and radiating hues beyond the visual spectrum."

That was, in fact, exactly what they had described to one another, wasn't it? 

A fish he hadn't seen before; but had thought about very clearly; had just appeared in his empty aquarium. A flower that wasn't there; that she could very clearly see in the vase; was then suddenly there. The Keeper of the Moon's eyes were wide as saucers, and his ears pinned back as he realized Emet-Selch was staring at him, had definitely heard his whisper.

"Crrreation Magics...? A-Are you trrrying to say... one soul sharrrrd can make... such... a difference...?"

He trailed off again, staring back at the Ascian, his mouth open slightly in shock.

"It's quite possible," Hades replied. "The Bureau existed because that sort of gift wasn't at all uncommon in Amaurot. Certainly, one needed quite the level of talent at manipulating aether, but we rather prided ourselves on our ability to forge it into a concrete form."

"But…" Angel shook his head, wanting to argue against this...this whole sequence of ideas, even without evidence. "Shouldn't it be the same for all of us, then? I mean, Ice only felt like his soul was...stronger…"

Emet-Selch smirked and arched an eyebrow...his expression was almost kind, or as kind as his smirk got. "Why would it be the exact same, pray? Despite our unity and the commonality of our dress, we Ancients were hardly all identical drones. If that came off as the case, perhaps my re-creation of Amaurot really did err." 

He shrugged. "More than likely, in his own way, your compatriot possesses something similar, but it manifests differently, the way a warrior differs from a magus. In his own way, he was quite observant. If this is, indeed, Creation Magic, it's not some alien power bestowed upon you, you know. You're re-learning it as a result of your soul becoming, well, stronger."

Angel looked down to the ring on his left hand, resting it on his chest. His mind felt like he was caught in a vortex of some kind; his thoughts swirled. He was shaking, he realized.

Amaurot, and the Final Days...The Bureau of the Architect…

His husband's words, and his cheerful smile...

"Aside from feeling a bit stronger, I don't really feel that different! Sorry to disappoint, Angel, heh."

His father's, Kohji's voice, harsh and cold…

"Mages are weak. Worthless. They can't do anything without a warrior to protect them. Are you saying you intend to be weak, boy…?!"

"...It's like the Echo," Shoto interjected, looking over at Emet-Selch with a bit of a cryptic stare. "Isn't it? The Echo feels like it's always been with us, but it only really awakened after the Seventh Umbral Calamity."

The first time he'd ever felt the Echo, Hydaelyn's voice reverberating in his mind like a crystalline orchestra…

He could almost hear it now…

Hades sighed and spread his arms, a wide-ranging, insincere "who can say???" evident in his gesture. "It's possible, certainly? I can't speak to it being the full truth, dear hero. Our understanding of the Echo is so much different from yours."

Hear...

Shoto's lip curled. "This is going to be like when Lahabrea went on about how we knew nothing about it and were worms before him, right?"

Feel...

Emet-Selch's eyes narrowed and his smirk became more devious. "Heavens, no. I meant more that we use it for its full and noble purpose, whereas your use of the Echo seems limited to prying into others' personal business."

Think…

"Now see here, you--"

Even as he stared at his ring, the room spun. His head hurt, suddenly, a violent, piercing pain; there was something like a sound, like a too-tinny bell at the edge of hearing. 

Speak not the name of the Voidsent, or it shall appear before thee; apparently this applied to the Echo, in truth.

And yet, as he gripped at his forehead, and saw Shoto similarly overcome...Was it his imagination, or was Emet-Selch also…??

There was no time to question. The room in the Pendants disappeared, everything instantly felt distant and muted as though they'd all been suddenly pulled underwater.

The quiet sound of gentle bells followed a young Amaurotine through the long hallway. The cowl of his robe pulled up, and positioned just so; his white mask precisely centered on his face. The boy's pace hurried to keep up with the far taller people that led him through the Words of Lahabrea, deep within the Bureau of the Architect...the very heart of Amaurot's magickal engineering program. 

The foremost users of Creation.

The only sounds in the wide marble halls were their footsteps, and the rhythmic, gentle bells behind them. The boy, who was distracted from these sounds by the thunder of his own nervous heartbeat, glanced back to the bells, briefly, to find a fluffy, three-tailed mammalian creature, with bright, golden eyes; the soft glow off of its fur indicated this was an arcane creation, no kind of natural beast. It casually hopped along, at pace, back and forth in a zig-zag pattern. 

At last, all of the Amaurotines stopped before a pair of large double doors; their leader, the tallest of the four surrounding the boy, turned to their young companion first, regarding him seriously.

"You are ready to assist, correct, Asopus?"

The boy felt his throat dry instantly, but he closed his mouth, then took a breath through his nose...releasing it, he managed a resolute, calm reply, despite still feeling shaky. "Yes, Chief Researcher Telemachos."

The tall man nodded and went over to the doors, placing his hand on a security mechanism; lines of light quickly flowed across the surface, and the doors opened wide.

The young man squared his shoulders and turned his masked face to look up at the woman closest to him, the one who had asked him here. He opened his mouth to ask her a question…

But no sooner had he done so then there was the sound of clicked teeth from a third member of the four.

"Really, Xene. This is the help we were promised? This is your ‘savant'?"

"Chrysanthos," she shook her head, then took a step forward, "don't start in, especially not now. This concept is very large and very intricate, thanks in no small part to you, and the Concordance reassigned Vaseilos to a pressing matter in the field. As much as you might not--"

"Don't try and make this about him! This is your failure! You said we would have someone of equal skill. This," Chrysanthos looked down to him. The white mask hid most of his face, but his tone dripped with contempt and his mouth was a sneer. "child still depends on a Familiar, Xene."

"As though that's proof he's incapable? Faidon, Aristotelis, and Eftychia all delegate a measure of their aether to their own Familiars," she crossed her arms over her chest, "Especially on large, intricate projects where we need the extra willpower. Like this one."

"They are peers of the Bureau, Xene! You haven't even brought us an Akademia graduate, you've brought us Prorektor Apollo's spare son!" Chrysanthos snarled. "Need I remind you the cost of errors in this Summoning? If there's even a minute flaw in the concept, it could--"

"That's enough," came Telemachos' calm, quiet voice, the leader sweeping his hand as if to swat Chrysanthos' words out of the air. "Our guest is here to assist, to learn, and to demonstrate why Master Lahabrea favors him, not to serve as linchpin of the summoning. If you must worry about something, Chrysanthos, worry about your own role."

The boy flinched. That was why he was really here, wasn't it? Lahabrea's favor. His father's role. Not his own talents.

Chrysanthos hissed through his teeth but seemed to drop the matter as they stepped into the summoning chamber, Telemachos striding into the center and removing a pair of crystals from his robe, which he slotted into pre-configured places on the altar.

Xene seemed to notice the young Amaurotine's distress, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. You're here because of your own capabilities, not High Speaker Lahabrea's preferences, I promise."

"...I…"

"She's right," another woman spoke up, removing the Conceptual Pattern and Matrix scrolls from a set of filing drawers. "Favor or not, Chief Researcher Telemachos would send you packing if he didn't think you could do it, youngster."

"Artemisia, I'm not sure that's helping him feel better," Xene chided. "It's a compliment!" Artemisia insisted, giving a small smile to the young man as she unfurled one of the scrolls. "I need him to believe in himself just as much as you do, or I won't get my early lunch." She stuck out her tongue and laughed good-natured even as Xene sighed in exasperation.

"Artemisia…! Augh, she's impossible sometimes. Pray, pay no mind to them. Show them your skill, and even Chrysanthos will be silenced."

He opened his mouth to reply, then stopped.  He nodded instead, then turned to the altar and its subsidiaries. Telemachos had unfurled the Matrix and now set it on the altar, adjusting the crystals...the pattern of the matrix began to write itself in aetheric light in the engraved magic circle of the summoning chamber. Artemisia unfurled the Plan with a flourish.

"This is the concept we're to create for testing, but the caveat is it has to be perfect upon creation. Can you tell why?" Xene explained, then gestured to the Plan. The boy read over the Concept Plan carefully, as the orange creature climbed up onto his shoulders.

He blinked then looked up to Xene and Telemachos in surprise.

"It's..."

* * * "An immortal bird?" Hades repeated as they made their way through the restricted area of the Bureau of the Architect.

Hythlodaeus nodded. "To be precise, it is not a living being, but magick woven in the likeness of a bird. One possessed of puissant healing powers. And as befits a masterwork of the Words of Lahabrea, it is a thing of beauty."

"I don't doubt it. So what, then, is the problem?"

"As I said, it is not a living being. The concept proposed was...well, to give a very basic outline, a magick in avian guise. With this in mind..."

* * * The doors opened soundlessly, but the change in light drew their attention. 

Artemisia knelt beside the boy who cowered in the corner. His mask broken into pieces, his cowl torn and around his shoulders. Pale, blue hair was tinged red with blood from visible injuries on his face. His orange Familiar stood defensively before him; it watched the flying bird above them, but it seemed a bit scared. 

The boy was holding his hands over his ears as the fiery bird screeched horribly, then rammed itself into the wall with a sickening sound; the young man flinched visibly each time. 

Artemisia was the one trying to comfort him, the others seemed to be missing. There was debris and destroyed furniture all over, which made it hard to tell who had entered. The woman strained to see around, but recognized the shape of the one Hythlodaeus had called, even as that shape changed and grew, warped to massive size. Her voice seemed relieved when she said his name.

"Hades! Oh, praise the Cycle." she turned to the boy in the corner, "You can breathe now," she reached up to his head, gently. He shook his head and whimpered.

"It's my fault. It's my fault. I...I did this, if I hadn't…"

"You did just fine," she softly reassured him. Hades' transformation completed, and Artemisia looked excited to see the sorcerer's full form, "Look now, and see something grand!"

But the injured boy was too frightened to look up, "The bird... H-He... He blames..." 

There was one last, terrible screech, which made the boy cry out in fear. His Familiar turned, and immediately leapt onto his lap. Then all was silent for a moment. 

Hades slowly returned to his normal form beside the highly impressed Hythlodaeus; who was quietly clapping.

"A wonderful first impression from the most eminent Emet-Selch," he teased.

Hades sighed at his friend, "Stop that." He turned to leave, but noticed Hythlodaeus had yet to move. "Is there aught else?"

"I say, dear friend, I think we may now be quite finished…!" 

"Another cre--?" Hades turned, as the dust and rubble finally settled. A softly glowing, orange creature drew his attention first. Then the smaller black-robed figure, being comforted by a taller woman, one of the researchers. For a moment, the High Councilor was confused as to Hythlodaeus' meaning, but then…he saw the dark, malformed creature beside them, the failed Concept that had been hidden by smoke and mist.

It was no bigger than a large canine, like a hound or wolf, but had three heads, and a thick, long tail. It was focused on the taller figure, as it bared its over-sharp fangs, and breathed steam. 

"You'll be alright. We should get you back to the medical ward in Anyder," Artemisia was saying--she put an arm gently around her young compatriot's shoulders. 

The boy jumped, and the canid creature pounced…!

Snap!

A sharp sound cracked through the room. Artemisia had turned in time to see the creature nearly take her head off... then vanish with a snap. Hythlodaeus calmly walked over to the boy, then Hades followed to check on the woman beside him.

"Calm, child, everything is as it should be," Hythlodaeus knelt down, then spied the broken mask nearby. He calmly picked it up, then put his free hand on the boy's head.

"Hades," Artemisia said, shakily, "Or, I suppose I should call you Emet-Selch now, hm?" She smiled a little, then stood up. "Thank you for all the help. This was--"

"An accident. I understand. They happen. Though," he looked over to the near-unconscious child, as his friend put his arms around him, "Pray tell, why is he here?"

"His innate skill at creating creatures," Artemisia replied, then looked to where the canine had been only a moment ago. She reached up to her neck, then looked back to Hades. "Since Vaseilos was reassigned, Xene thought we should bring him in to finalize the balance of the summoning. I agreed, because I thought if we could showcase his talent to the rest of the Bureau, they might let go of their prejudices, and Telemachos approved of it, even, so--"

"Does Lahabrea know he's here?"

"Of course he does, he was over-excited to hear that we'd recruited Asopus, he all but insisted we make him part of this particular concept-summoning." She sighed and bit her lip. "I must help with recovery efforts and trying to get the summoning chamber in less of a...state. I beg you, tell our Emissary that his brother performed perfectly well, the accident was not his fault. Master Lahabrea will be pleased with his progress...and I will attempt to calm the others' nonsensical ramblings about curses while he recovers."

"You were very brave, Ambrosia, I'm certain Asopus will give you a treat when he wakes," Hythlodaeus smiled at the little creature as he gathered the slumped, unfighting Asopus into his arms. 

Hades made a face at all the information he'd been given. He nodded in reply to Artemisia, then swept from the room, and followed his friend out to the streets in silence.

Once outside, Hades broke off, then headed back towards the park he'd come from.

"Hmm? Are you off to sleep again?" The question gained no response, to which Hythlodaeus grinned, "Should I inform her of your news on the way to Anyder?" 

Emet-Selch stopped, then glanced over his shoulder with an unreadable expression. 

Hythlodaeus turned to head off, "Go rest, my friend! I'll let Perseph--"

"You'll do no such thing, I can handle that myself," Hades responded with a very deep sigh. His friend had prodded him intentionally and it had worked. He'd go find her and tell her of today's events himself. 

Hythlodaeus chuckled, clearly pleased with himself, and away towards Anyder's medical wing he went, the boy in his arms drifting away from consciousness...and as he did, the vision, too, faded away, the room in the Pendants flowing back into sudden focus.

When it seemed like the room was stable again, Angel and Shoto opened their eyes, the grip of the Echo loosened. The female Miqo'te shook her head sharply, to clear the aftereffects from the Echo away, causing her teal-flecked hair to bounce in and out of her face. She spied the male Miqo'te, now kneeling on the floor. He shook his head much more carefully... 

Was he crying? The Keeper stopped, then reached up to wipe at his eyes, which confirmed that she hadn't been seeing things. She frowned. How hard had the Echo been on her friend…?

Wait! Emet-Selch!

They both immediately looked around the room, only to find that the Ascian was still right where they'd left him, his golden eyes staring sharply at them both, piercingly. Gone was any of his usual affect; the look he gave them was almost that of a lion staring at smaller animals.

"...What did you see?" The question was more or less a demand. 

Angel felt his stomach flip-flop. The Ascian must be furious. That scene had been torn from his memories, after all, hadn't it? 

He bit his lip before he quietly replied, "I...w-we...saw... a young boy," he trailed off a bit, then looked over to Shoto; he was after reassurance that she'd seen something similar. "It seemed like... he was a parrrt of... some sort of... summoning...? I-It was…" 

The White Mage gripped at his robes, up near his neck. He was at a loss of words on what it was they witnessed. The feelings of unease that had come from the boy felt too familiar, more so than just a simple Echo vision; his mind began to wander in the silence. 

《Hm~? When was the last time the Echo hit you this hard...?》

Angel stayed silent, but the voice's question was still accurate--when was the last time he felt completely exhausted just from a vision...?

"The Bureau summoned something...Not a Primal, some sort of bird…?" Shoto's words seemed to bring the male Miqo'te back to the present, though he still seemed slightly distracted. He nodded as she continued, "It was supposed to be pure magick, life given to aether, but...something went terribly wrong. It almost felt like Phoenix, and what went wrong...With..."

She trailed off. 

While he did his best to relax his expression, Hades couldn't help how tense he felt at her positive identification of the memory.... The day when young Asopus had first been brought into the Bureau, an attempt to uncover the full depths of his potential. Lahabrea's idea, of course; the Speaker had been practically obsessed with both of Prorektor Apollo's sons.

Poor Asopus. The boy had been talented, true, but he was timid, his skills imprecise, and he was a great ball of unrefined aether. The results had been predictably tragic. By Hythlodaeus' request, he had cleaned up the ugly aftermath of the experiment, and saved the other Bureau researcher from being savaged by a rogue concept summoned from the boy's terror and the still-active matrix. 

How curious that the Echo dredged up that particular memory? Perhaps it was simply an object lesson, he thought, relaxing a little at last. 

"Well, then, I believe I understand what you saw; one of the Bureau's mishaps with the very creation magic we were just discussing. Just as it was commonplace for concepts to be summoned forth, it goes without saying that creation magic is quite dangerous for those who don't properly understand it, hm?"

Shoto simply nodded mutely, and Angel didn't respond; the Ascian let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "Perhaps it'd be best if we dropped this particular subject, for now." He glanced curiously over to the nearby bag Angel had brought with him.

Angel followed the Ascian's gaze, 'Right! I brought that here to help!' he thought, as he carefully stood. His ears flicked as he hurried over to the desk, pushing aside some lightheadedness. The Keeper shifted the jumbled sandwiches around, and tried to put the previous topic; and the swirl of confused, violent emotions he was still feeling; out of his mind. He removed the sandwiches that were still edible from their packaging, then pulled out the slightly bruised fruit. Lastly, he pulled out a smaller; now crumpled; bag, and held it out to Shoto as he leaned on the desk.

"It's a few days worth of herbal medicine for a bird, but... it should be about two doses for a person. We could mix it with food or drink or," he looked to Emet-Selch before he continued, "...he could swallow the bitter medicine on its own." 

It was hard to tell if Angel had worded it intentionally or not, but Shoto, at least, knew how much Angel hated bitter things... so... maybe it was just a coincidence. 

The Ascian raised a brow at the mention of food and drink; he didn't know how he felt about the medicine. 

"I'm surprised," he drawled. "So far, that's two Warriors of Light willing to play at being my nursemaid, without anything asked in return. Has my wicked charm really become so devastatingly effective? Aren't you afraid I'll suddenly take the advantage, turn the tables on you?" 

Shoto glared at him with a somewhat serious expression as he said that, and stepped forward, pointing at Emet-Selch. "For one, we haven't said we trust you. For another, you were the one who offered ‘peace in our time', as I remember it, not a little while ago, due to your injuries! And for a third thing, you probably should've taken the time to go after us while we were crippled by the Echo just now, because--"

Emet-Selch laughed and put his hands up, though he seemed surprised, at least a little, at Shoto's vehemence. "Alright, alright, goodness me! You take my jests so poorly, Hero." His shoulders slumped a little and he gave a wry smile, spreading his arms into a shrug again. "I will note for you both that my goal, even now, has not changed. I wish to bring about the Rejoining. But," he added, noticing Shoto visibly tense up further as he spoke, "do calm down. I want to investigate...different approaches. After all, despite the lack of a Calamity and its attendant aether, your souls have been rejoined quite successfully. So I now wonder...what other options might be present, though I still desire Amaurot's resurrection? That's not so terrible, is it?"

"...Hmph. No, I suppose not," sighed Shoto. Hades allowed himself a small smile, which allowed him to hide the growl of his stomach, thankfully audible only to him thus far, though his amber-eyed gaze followed the food without him consciously willing it. Damn this mortality! He was above base urges like hunger!

"I-I can... make some tea... to go with the food," Angel offered, as he carefully handed the sandwiches and fruit to Shoto, then headed over to the little kitchen area of her quarters, still clearly troubled by...everything. 

As he removed the teapot and three cups from the cupboard, that familiar voice entered Angel's thoughts, as he started to prepare a quick, hot tea.

《Are you gonna try to ask Ice about this little Echo vision...?》

'Anubis,' Angel thought in reply, as he put the kettle on the stove to heat the water. 'I... I don't know yet.'

《Something felt different that time. I don't think you've had a reaction like someone kicked your kitten before...》

The voice trailed off, as Angel gripped the hot pad he had meant to set on the counter. 

'Perhaps... a different... metaphor,' Angel growled quietly, then released the hot pad and shook his head a bit.

《Oh, right~... Your 'Stray Problem'...》

The White Mage glared at the teapot in silence. He chose not to respond to what felt like a pure taunt. The lack of response didn't seem to stop the voice, though. He continued as Angel reached over to get the canister of tea leaves.

《...Y'know. The Paragon's right about you being too kind. Too trusting. You take in every stray you find, without ever questioning anything...》

'S-So...?' Angel fumbled with the lid of the canister. Anubis paused, then spoke a bit coldly, his question heavy with implication.

《...Isn't that how you always end up getting hurt...?》

"Shut up!" The White Mage hissed as he dropped the canister with a quiet clatter. The lid had stayed attached, but he didn't pay attention to that. Angel instantly covered his mouth as his eyes widened; he hadn't meant to respond out loud. 

Shoto had walked over to put a sandwich and one of the fruits on the nightstand for Emet-Selch; she turned her head to look at Angel. The Ascian was blinking and looking at him as well.

"Angel? Is everything okay?" She tilted her head a bit. The male Miqo'te blushed, then uncovered his mouth as he turned his head to reply with a slight nod. 

"Y-Yes. I-It's fine. I'm f-fine," he then turned back to the teapot, hurriedly stuffing tea leaves into the strainer...after a moment of watching this and looking between the two, Hades cleared his throat, deciding upon another change of topic.

"I do hate to pry, but given the current state of my clothes, might I bother you in particular, dear Keeper of the Moon, for any spare clothing beyond this?" He put his head on his palm rather dramatically, glancing to Shoto and affecting a theatrically put-upon tone, though he grinned as he spoke. "I'm aware, of course, that the lady of the house prefers my current attire, but it's so dreadfully exposed, don't you think?"

Shoto growled in her throat and pinched the bridge of her nose as her cheeks flushed red again; she had put out of her mind that the Ascian was still in the bathrobe from before. Ugh. Of course he'd choose to be a pain about it! She looked to Angel herself as Emet-Selch finished the question, the other Miqo'te catching her gaze even as he processed Hades' words.

"Well... I have a... sparrre," he flicked his ears, then shook his head to clear it a bit with a frustrated pout. "I have a spare traveling robe... I-I keep it here, in the Pendants, in case it's too cold," he frowned, "but it's in Ice's and my room... at the other end of the hall." He made a face as he looked to Emet-Selch for a moment, then realized how tall he was compared to him. "I-It's made to reach my ankles, so I think... it would still... be a little short... on you." The male Miqo'te tilted his head a little, "But it would probably cover you... more... than a bathrobe would?" He trailed off a bit.

《An Ascian, wearing your clothes, in Shoto's room...?》Anubis spoke up once more, as he pointed out the problem with this situation; albeit with a slightly mocking mental tone. Angel hadn't thought about that... but he'd already offered. 《By the Twelve, Angel... What will Ice think about this scandalous turn of events...?》

A heavy, guilty feeling sank into his stomach, and his throat tightened a bit. His heart pounded a bit faster as he suddenly wondered how he would even begin to explain any of this to his husband. 

The kettle started to boil and interrupted Angel's thoughts with a quiet whistle. He hurriedly turned to pour the water into the prepared teapot, looking away from Shoto and Emet-Selch again. The White Mage was grateful for the sudden distraction. 

After a few moments, Angel carefully brought the tray over to the desk, the three teacups, some sugar cubes, and a small container with cream all placed around the pot in the center. He spoke as he headed over.

"J-Just so you know... Sh-Shoto and I help, because th-that's just... how we arrre." He stopped to sit the tray on the desk to let the tea steep, "You... You knew that... back then... so... I-I think," he looked back to Emet-Selch and finished his sentence, "..th-that's why we'rrre... all in this mess... togetherrr." His tail flicked, to accentuate his point, even as he pushed aside quiet mental snickering from the voice of Anubis in his mind, and fervently wished he could better quiet his nervous purring habit in times like this. 

Shoto thought for a moment, looking over their Ascian guest herself, who seemed to be digesting Angel's speech.

"Wait. I have an idea." She once more walked over to the armoire from where she'd gotten the fresh linens earlier, and carefully dug around for a few moments before she exclaimed, "Aha! Here we go!"

Emet-Selch's attention drawn, he watched her closely as she returned to him with a folded set of dark-colored, silken clothing, which she held out to him rather proudly. Rolling his eyes for melodramatic effect, his smirk became a genuine wince as he moved to get up, instantly catching the headboard with one hand to steady himself. Without thinking, Shoto immediately moved over to help steady him. 

Her hand braced his arm, and the feeling of connection, that shared aether between her and the Ascian, lit up like a firework. She very suddenly felt his pain; the pain of the wound that radiated through his core. Her ears flattened as she mirrored his wincing expression, gasping with the sudden agony…

And then they had separated again, and the feeling was gone.

"Are you okay…?!" Angel had hurried to her side, all concern for Shoto's well-being; she simply nodded. Hades, too, looked worried...but then his eyes darted to the side, he took the clothes, and he hurried into the bathroom to change. Shoto stood there in a daze, willing the sensation to pass and the room to stop spinning, which it slowly did.

'There it is again...But I didn't feel this way when the Echo overtook us earlier…? What is this connection…?'

After a few minutes, Emet-Selch returned, now wearing a black dress shirt, the sleeves short with a bellow accompanied with a simple white vest, and a pair of dark gray dress slacks.

Shoto blinked and couldn't quite help herself from staring at him, her mouth a small ‘o' shape of surprise. She'd picked out the clothing, yes, but she hadn't expected him to look quite so...dashing in this outfit! It lacked the regal arrogance of his Garlean robes; instead it seemed to let him present an almost gentle...confidence...what was she thinking?! Her cheeks red as dragonfire, she quickly looked away.

Emet-Selch raised an eyebrow as he realized she'd been giving him the once-over, but shrugged nonchalantly, deciding to let her off the hook this time.

"It's not my normal attire, but it shall do." He headed back towards the bed, but had to pause once more, as pain shot through his body again after the quick movement. Shoto looked back to him, then shook her head, biting her lip.

"You should lay back down. We can bring your tea over to the bedside." 

Emet-Selch made a face at that; he'd always hated exposing weakness, and there were very few he wanted to show vulnerability to, let alone depend on the aid of. Stubbornly, he trudged back to the bed on his own, then laid back on the bed with visible reluctance as he watched them. 

Angel moved aside to let him pass, and then retrieved the tray of tea; it was well-steeped by now, and ready to serve. He picked up the teapot, and began to pour the tea into the cups before looking to their Ascian guest.

"H-How do you like it?" Angel blushed, then quickly added. "Th-The tea. Yourrr... tea." He sat the teapot down before he dropped it, he'd only gotten two cups poured. 

"I will take it as is." Emet-Selch waved his hand at the fuss. 

Shoto nodded to Angel, then picked up the first cup and saucer. She brought them over to the Ascian, and sat them beside the sandwich and fruit she'd placed on the nightstand while Angel was making the tea; to his credit, the Ascian quietly picked up the cup and sipped the tea. He seemed to appreciate it, wordlessly, then began to eat and drink in silence, allowing Shoto to walk back over to Angel. 

She stood with her back to Emet-Selch, and spoke to the male Miqo'te in a low whisper, "We can not let Ice know about this just yet. You know how he'll react," she frowned at the thought.

 Angel matched her hushed whisper as he responded with a shaky nod.

"I-I do... He'd be down here in a hearrrtbeat." He flicked an ear in annoyance at his purrs, but was focused on his concern for Shoto. He glanced to Emet-Selch, then back to Shoto, "But I--," 

Shoto shook her head slightly, and immediately interrupted his argument as she continued.

"It's getting late. You should head back." She looked over her shoulder towards the Ascian, "I can keep an eye on him." 

Angel again glanced to Emet-Selch, then back to Shoto; his expression was still worried. The White Mage bit his lip, then pinned his ears back. "...I don't really want to leave you alone with him either. I'd feel just as guilty if something happened to you than I would not telling my husband about what we just did." Angel heard the hissed snicker from the back of his mind, which didn't help the tightening knot in his stomach. 

"I understand," Shoto nodded, "but I should be fine. I'd rather not leave him alone." 

As they spoke, Emet-Selch finished his tea, sat the cup and saucer on the bedside table, then cleared his throat. "My thanks for the meal, but while you two conduct your...private business, I'm going to rest. I'll need my strength if I'm to keep up with you two." 

Both Miqo'te jumped at his response, ears perked as if they hadn't heard correctly, then looked directly at the Ascian. Shoto spoke first, a bit of panic in her tone.

"What do you mean 'keep up with us'?!" He lazily turned his back to them laying his head against the pillow.

"Hoh...? I mean what I say. Someone has to keep your decisions from becoming dangerously poor, no? Especially given what we've learned today. On the morrow, dear heroes.

The Ascian yawned and gave a lazy half-wave as he finished speaking, then closed his eyes with a small, triumphant smirk on his face... 

Shoto and Angel both took a moment to process his proclamation-- he clearly meant to follow along with the party in the morning. 

Shoto looked back at Angel, to see that the look on his face said he had realized it too.

"Well, I," she gestured to the door, "I guess we should... get some rest?"

Angel curled his tail as he nodded to Shoto, still worried.

"If... If that's," he trailed off and pinned his ears back, "N-Now I have to tell Ice... If only to warrrn him... It would be farrr worrrse if he's surrrprised by him in the morning." The White Mage frowned at the thought, then shook his head a little. He moved to leave, still visibly hesitant to leave her alone. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob, then made a face. "Shoto," he turned back to her, "If you need us, forrr anything, y-you know... wherrre ourrroom is... o-okay...?" He winced at the slurred purred words. The thought of trying to explain all of this to Ice without him barreling right back here in five minutes was wreaking havoc on his already frazzled nerves. 

Shoto simply nodded as she opened the door for the White Mage to head back. She gave him as reassuring a smile as she could so he'd feel okay leaving her alone for the night. 

Angel paused just outside the door, "Just please...be safe…" With that, the Keeper headed back to his room, his thought trying to parse far too much from just the last few hours... and still no clue where to start explaining any of it. 

The little voice in his head was not helpful at all in his silent trip up the darkened hallway.

Notes: Artwork this week was done by @angel-lockhart​. :3

[Emet-Selch joined your party without your consent.] Really leave the room? [Leave] [Cancel]

This week we referenced the 4th story of the Tales from the Shadows. If you haven't read the side-stories, and are interested in doing so, you can do so here: https://na.finalfantasyxiv.com/lodestone/special/tales_from_the_shadows/sidestory_04/#sidestory_04

[indecisiveroomtempcola]

The silence is a great friend

Chapter 1:Despair Upon One's Heart

His thigh burned with every step, drenched and tired. He was out of his mind his only goal was to reach the station, from the extraordinary golden gilded homes of the noble district to the run-down mills and houses of the lower class plebeians, townsfolk dressed in shabby outfits, rags and cloth nothing more over the top than sheep wool. The mundane colours of the plebaien’s homestead are uncomparable to the aristocrats’ distinguished estates. 

Going through a crowd, the Central Market. All the townsfolk sell their goods here but some sell more valuable merchandise in the darker corners of the Central Market. Today had more hustle and bustle than the others, a coming festival, an event? Miller could have not given a single hint of interest as he pushed through the hoards of people trading and haggling. An even larger crowd stood in his way. Stumbling while dragging his body through the crowd into the centre while he kept running pushing something aside as it crossed his path and he struggled through the other end, one more turn and he’ll reach the station. Adrenaline filled his veins and he made one last dash for it, a loud hiss could be heard yards away from the hunkering orange bricked building.The last locomotive, he could not afford to miss it, no he can’t miss it. The sound of the whistle made a nerve racking hiss, it stung Miller’s ear every single time. His hand instinctively went up to his ear, trying to block the irritating sound. Someone could be heard shouting at him, multiple steps of boots stomped against the stone brick floor.

 A few more seconds from the edge of the entrance, bursting through the brass coloured gate onto the locomotive platform, he searched frantically, the locomotive just started moving. Hope filled him as he was so close, forcing the last of his strength into his bare bone legs he jumped grabbing the pole on the back of the locomotive, his shoes skimming on the edge of the railroad, a troupe of guards could be seen at the corner of his eyes, edging near the end platform. They seemed confused but one of the guards pointed towards Miller as the locomotive sped off into the cold evening.

Using both of his hands he grabbed the metal pole and climbed on to the end of the locomotive, a small platform with red railings surrounding the edges with a small metal roof covering the top. He laid wasted against the backdoor, his chest heaving, breathing in mouths full of air. His body began to tremble but the sense of dread that hung onto the back of his mind was washed over by a wave of relief, the air seemed calm with a breeze that danced around Miller, while droplets of rain tapped the top of the roof, pitter pattering. The earthly scent filled his nose, his eye blinking wanting to be close, but that moment made him feel everything around him. The sweat that soaked his clothes, the wretched smell of raw fish and pig, his thick brown hair was a mess, strands splattered against his forehead and the grinding of each metal wheel when the train stopped. Today’s unlucky streak would come to an end when he reached the small cottage on the edge of a clearing, his cozy little home.

                                                                        ---------    

A ruined warehouse, half of its roof coming in on itself but the other still stayed intact, signs of cracking traced the building. Even some parts of it were covered by green ivy, an old dark oak tree looming above the warehouse, its leaves rustling against the soft wind while the branches sway lazily. 

The serene atmosphere’s melodious tune of nature is as though being orchestrated by a masterful conductor each wave of the baton creates another symphony interrupted only by a low hum coming from the warehouse, gradually becoming louder and louder. The inside of the warehouse was lit only by the translucent light bulbs that hung idly with a thin silver metal cord, each hung at different lengths giving the room its on esthetic, the middle, sat a monstrous machine. The hull made out of translucent Ceilium glass, its engine bare, showing the conductor booth that sat behind the hull, a grey box, enough to fit only one man, its was shape after a locomotive but its design’s stand out, with exhaust pipe lining the sides of the machine, its cool thin frame that curve down when it meets the hull and a large mechanical orb that was hung loosely from where the furnace would be, it was only a hole that fits the orb. 

The orb had an intricate design, lines and shape that was engraved into, a man walk into the booth, he took out a flask containing blue liquid, and poured it into one of the holes, closing the lid he grabbed the orb jamming it back, it clicked into place, the circular metal spun and stop on a dial. 

“That's the last of my supply, hope this baby works.” his hoarse voice echoed through the room. He patted the top of the machine and got to work, like clockwork he started pulling levers and pushing buttons on the frame.Each cathartic click,  deafen by the sound of the engine finally roaring to life,” Yeah!” He yelled in triumph. Jumping down with a clunk when his steel toe boots touched the grey concrete floor. “After decades of wor-” he stopped mid sentence as something felt wrong, he realized he forgot to turn on the stabilizer, the engine’s roar turned into a high pitch whistle, while the entire frame started to shake uncontrollably. He stared helplessly as the machine exploded into pieces, each individual part shot out in flames around the workshop.

He fell to his knees, with his mouth gaping wide. His head hung low and he let out a deep sigh. He rose slowly walking outside the ruin of a workshop and leaned against its brick wall, his palm rested on his greasy face, how could he be so careless. A vital instrument missing from a machine is as though one loses their own organs, a huge setback.The setting sun told the conductor it was about time to head on his way home, staring vacantly at the lavender field that range over the hills, “It never gets old doesn’t it Hannah” The conductor found his hand caressing the golden locket that hung around his neck, he gripped it tightly reminiscing how it all used to be… different. “Ahem.” someone cleared their throat ruining the moment the conductor had.” Was I interrupting something Agner?`` The high pitched voice imitated the whistle from before, giving Agner a headache. Agner recognised that distinct voice,” Leong, hasn’t it been too long since your last visit?” Leong pounder, then spoke “ Wasn’t it yesterday?” Agner rubbed his temples, clearly too exhausted. “Oh, i am just cracking a joke, Agner, did it really get on your nerves.”

“As a matter of fact your very existence gives me a fit every time you’re near me” still leaning against the wall Agner gestured to the Bishop asking him what he wanted this time? “ Oh c'mon Agner we’ve been going at it for weeks and the Pope isn’t at all happy”  The urgency in his voice caught Agner off guard for a bit,” How so, Leong?”  He was cautious now, eyeing around his surroundings. 

“He’ll send Hunters if you cease to cooperate with us.” Leong said smugly, he walked around Agner trying to intimidate him like a tiger circling its prey.” Death threats aren’t uncommon, when coming from you Leong,” Agner’s arms are crossed, his chin held high.”The two clergy you sent didn’t seem too threatening for me.” the air between them was tense, both of their composure remained unwavering, not willing to bend to one’s own accord. “FIne by me then.” Leong stopped dead in his tracks, he shrugged. A blurry image headed straight for Agner, he rolled to his side barely dodging the attack, red dust swirled around them, the lights on its headpiece pierce the dust, pouncing once again at Agner. He was too slow as the massive hunk of metal crashed straight into him, the metal beast now on top of Agner, tried clawing at his neck but Agner held it at bay with his burly arms, swiftly he unsheathe a knife tucked underneath his thigh and struck it’s exposed neck.

The beast struggled while gurgling blood, Agner tossed him aside as the beast stopped moving.” I built those exosuits, Leong, I know where their-” Agner was cut short as he was completely surrounded by different kinds of mechanical animals, each eye glowed bright.” I did say Hunter’s’ Agner, not one but a whole squadron.”. Leong stood there with one of his arms on his hips the other showing the Hunters, one of them attached to the wall, four of its claws digged into the red brick. Another hovering over them, its wingspan large and wide with razor sharp ends, another with tusk the size of an elephant.

“Ironic isn’t it, its creator being forced to face against the machines he made.” Leong stroded towards him, Agner who was still holding his blade backed away into the warehouse. 

:”Oh Agner this isn’t the last of your troubles, I sent someone to deal with the unruly wench you have for a wife.” Leong knew he struck home because he never saw a man with such fury in his eyes,”Come at me you bastards!” He roared charging at Leong but the Bishop flicked his wrist and Agner was tossed aside into a pile of coal,”Don’t ruin our plaything,We need him alive.” Leong walked away. Hunters jumped onto Agnar. The only sound that still remained was the shouting and clanking of metal suits.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 167:  The Good Doctor

The morning after Jefferson and his daughter arrived, they left. Just as the sun was coming up, he heard them stir from their rooms, pack the little they'd brought with them, and leave without saying good-bye to him and, apparently, to Belle as well. For when he sat down to breakfast that morning, and Belle brought their food, he noted four plates instead of her usual two.

"My, my, my…are we eating for two?" he questioned.

"I figured our guests would be hungry and might be joining us."

"They won't be," he informed her as she set his plate down in front of him. "They left early this morning, long before you rose. I'm afraid it's just the two of us again."

He watched carefully as she let out a breath that almost looked relieved. Not exactly what he would have expected to see on her face, especially now that she wasn't permitted to go back to the village to meet new strangers. But then she smiled and shrugged.

"It's not the worst thing in the world…" she muttered before taking her seat.

No, it wasn't, and that was exactly why he was leaving. He informed her then that he was planning on being out of town for a couple of days and would be back when his business concluded. She'd asked where he was going, he was helpless to joke with her about how she'd have to wait to find out with her next book. He couldn't leave soon enough. Because the truth was that he'd spent the night thinking about it, thinking about her, and he'd come to a conclusion. He had to do something. The way he saw it, he had two options. The first nearly brought him to tears. He could send her away. How many times had he been back to that option? How many times had he considered it? And how many times had it always fallen through because he didn't want to do it? Because he couldn't imagine his life in this castle now without her? He was losing count. And now he could add another tick to that tally. He couldn't do it. The idea of separating from her, of sending her away, never checking in on her…it was too painful to ever allow him to follow through, at least never completely.

And so there was one last option-Jefferson's idea. No, he hadn't named it in so many words, but he knew the man well enough to understand what he'd been hinting at the night they'd talked. Go to this place called "England", find the man, Dr. Jekyll, see if he'd perfected his serum. If he had, he'd use it. Control over his inner beast, that was what he needed. He needed to bring the Dark One closer to the surface. He felt strongly that whatever he felt for her was a human reaction, but the Dark One, if he could be given more control, wouldn't let himself be drawn to her as he was. The Dark One wouldn't feel such weakness as the human did. That was, of course, only a theory, one he hoped he'd get the opportunity to discuss with the doctor. So, after telling Belle he was leaving, he let a small amount of the liquid Jefferson had poured out for him hit the floor. A portal opened, and he jumped into a world that was quiet unlike what he was used to; streets lined with stone instead of dirt, black efficient carriages, men with tall hats and strange jackets and pants. At least the women wore clothes that looked familiar…more or less. Their dresses-

To his right, a woman screamed. He whipped around, trying to figure out what she might have been looking at, but when he turned, he found that it was him. He was the reason. Her eyes bulging as she stared at him, pointed, and then drew her hands back and let loose another ear-piercing scream like she'd just seen a ghost or a dragon or some monster from the depths of an ocean. He disappeared. It wasn't as easy as it always was, an indication that though magic existed in this realm it was weak, similar to what he'd encountered in the Land Without Color. He'd have to use what he had sparingly. Of course, the irony of it was that in order to do his hunting for Jekyll, he was about to use a great deal of it to hide his appearance and himself from the citizens of this world, at least until he found the doctor.

It took him two days. Two solid days of exploration, hiding, wandering, sneaking in and out of places to get his answers. In the end, he'd found him because someone he'd passed on the street muttered his name, the name Doctor Jekyll. If he'd heard him right, the man was working with him. He promptly followed the man to a place called "hospital," where he found people wandering the halls without clothes. Men were tied to beds in one wing with thick leather straps. Some of them were lost in a stupor; others thrashed about screaming obscenities as women and men dressed in white ignored them as if it happened every day! That was where the man on the street worked. It was also, apparently, where Doctor Jekyll worked. He wasn't what he expected.

After two days of searching only finding him with a little luck, he'd already put together that he wasn't well known, something that didn't bode well for the potion-serum. Jekyll was a doctor, it seemed, but not a paid one. He volunteered at the asylum. Following him around all day told him that he was no more or less talented than the other doctors around him. A scrawny thing, standing just a bit taller than he was, he was pale in a sickly way with a stench that made him think the only thing he excelled at was perspiration. If he were to touch him, he imagined his skin would be quite clammy. He had straight sandy hair too long to be short and too short to be long. He wore thin round glasses, had a face only a mother would love, and noted that the clothes he wore were hardly what the rich of this world were wearing.

He followed him home that night, sneaking in through the door behind him. He intended to sneak up on him in his home, but when he arrived he saw that "home" was more laboratory than dwelling. There was a small cot off to one side, and a rack of clothing mostly copies of what he wore now just in different shades, though he noted that when he arrived home, he pulled off a few of his "finer" things and began to dress, allowing him to explore his "home" a bit more. There was a fire in the grate and a couch on the far side, but those were the most "homey" accommodations he saw. It reminded him of his tower. Aside from those few comforts he was surrounded by flasks and baubles and beakers, holding liquids of various colors in numerous quantities. He'd meant to speak to him, talk to him about what Jefferson had told him about, but before he could, the door to his apartments opened. A woman strode in as if she was at home, and Jekyll barely blinked an eye. A wife? He saw no ring on her finger, though perhaps this was a world that didn't follow that tradition.

"Thank you for arranging this, Mary," he stuttered out as she fixed the odd-looking stock around his neck.

Bow tie. The Seer whispered.

What an odd thing to wear…and "bow tie"…he supposed he could see where the "bow" part came from, but the "tie" bit was a mystery.

"I-I can't tell you how much this means to me."

How had he been able to guess he'd be one to stutter? Still, their interaction at least gave him something useable. She wasn't a wife. His tone was too strained. He was more comfortable with Belle in the room than Jekyll was with…Mary, was it? However, the way Jekyll's heart raced as she touched him certainly suggested that she meant more than friend. But hers didn't. Her pulse was even and calm, there wasn't a hit of desire in her smell which suggested to him that she didn't feel the same way about him that he did about her. Unrequited love. It made this interesting, no matter how much it was threatening to ruin his own life.

"There's no need to be nervous," she responded to his pathetic stuttering. "Father's going to love your work!"

As if on cue, the door opened again and this time a man a few inches shorter than Jekyll entered.

He recognized him. He'd been lurking around this strange place for days, and he'd seen this man before. Very few individuals in this place stood out, but he did because of what he'd caught him doing. He'd seen him with a woman late last night in an ally outside of the Science Academy. He'd been with that woman in such a way that even he thought it was dirty. Fortunately, he'd arrived on the tail end of their dalliances and when they were done, they'd talked about going to a ball tonight. They'd joked about passing each other in the night and having another little tryst before it all began, when her husband got in and she could easily wander away from him and he could wander away from his wife. "There's another lovely little alleyway outside the Science Academy that should keep us in shadow. All the world shall see, and none shall know." As much as it had made him gag, the woman seemed interested. Exhibitionists…what a terrible little fetish and yet…it was something to keep in mind.

He watched as pleasantries were exchanged between Mary, Jekyll, and her father who was called Dr. Lyndgate before he questioned "Now, what's so important I had to be pulled away from scotch and cards at the Academy?"

He snickered...it wasn't just scotch and cards he was missing, he was certain.

"Ah! Allow me to show you, right over here," Jekyll motioned. "This serum, once perfected, will be capable of separating a man's personality in two and dividing the higher, more noble aspects of his nature from the primitive beast of which every man is born."

"Intriguing."

Intriguing, indeed. It was perfect. A more perfect night to spy he could not have chosen. For now, he had no need to interrogate the man before him, just listen to his presentation on a serum, which, he noted, was still not done. Jefferson said it was missing something. He rather agreed. He was certain that he could provide that "little something" just as he'd given a "little something" to his other doctor-friend, the question was, what would he do if the serum worked?

"Imagine if man were in control of the beast within, rather than slave to it!"

"How can you be certain your serum wouldn't make things worse?"

"It can't get any worse for Henry's patients," Mary explained. "They have no hope at all."

"Dr. Lyndgate, if I had the Scientific Academy behind my work-"

"So that's what this is about, you want me to grant you membership to the academy!"

"Well-"

"I'm afraid I can't offer it. Your work is dangerous! Good evening, Dr. Jekyll! Come, Mary!"

Well…that had escalated quickly.

The girl looked back and forth between the doctor and her father before crying, "I'm sorry" and chasing after her father. And then…something interesting.

Jekyll's heart began to race, he watched as he began to huff and puff so hard he wondered if he might blow the fire out, but instead he picked up one of his beakers and threw it into the fire so that it exploded. It was then that he strode over to the window and peered out at it. Oh, that was very interesting. What had Jefferson said? He was a man at war with himself. Oh, he may say he wanted that serum for his patients, but he wondered if there wasn't someone else he wanted it for.

[anathemafiction]

Soiled Reputation

Commission made by the lovely @feather-x-crown

The Pitch: “I don’t care what anyone else thinks.” Featuring Alain.

Gender-undefined MC.

1.6k words

To call it decadent would be an understatement.

As you step through the marble archway into the secluded gardens of the winter keep, its graceful arc decorated with ivy and long, oval flowers of the reddest color, you can't stop your mouth from falling open at the sight presented before you.

From well-groomed trees, branches bare of any leaves, hang a thousand little lanterns. Silver twine connects them to one another, forming its own blanket of stars. They coat the night in a warm, orange glow that leads the way down a paved path from the gates behind you to the entrance of the large salon ahead. Above, the noble keep. Large, tall, looming and exploding with light.

You take a deep breath as slowly, you start walking along the illuminated path, your shoes barely making a noise against the polished stones. Guards line the way, standing motionless beside the fantastical trees, but as light bounces along their steel breastplate, they look less like humans and more like beasts from long-forgotten tales. Beings of light born from a dream. It almost makes you forget about the swords hanging from their encrusted sheaths.

Almost.

Your fingers itch for your own hidden weapon as you arrive at the bottom of the long stairway, and carefully start your ascend. The ball seems to be in full swing, now. Voices and music melt together in a soft, disjointed melody carried over by the chilly breeze. It gathers around you, seeming to warm your skin as you reach the entrance and face the servant by the glass stained double doors.

He looks you over for a brief moment, pausing on your face, and you hold in a breath as his blue eyes dart to your right ear. This is it. The prim servant's eyebrows twitch almost imperceptibly, but as your stomach drops to your feet, he scowls his features back to perfect polite neutrality, and steps aside. "Have the most wonderful of evenings."

You smile broadly as you walk inside, your chin lifting on its own accord. Your hand comes to touch the ridiculously seized earing that dangles from your earlobe, the tips of your fingers gently caressing its sleek stone. Seems like Tarek's props are convincing enough. You can only hope the rest of the night goes as smoothly.

If you thought the gardens were impressive, the ballroom proves to be unworldly. A long mahogany table filled with the most delicious smelling food stands on a dais to one corner, while servants dressed in perfect white hand out the deepest of wines. Three large candelabra loom from the dome-like ceiling, while columns painted with intrinsic murals shoot from the lustrous floor.

But no beauty comes close to the people themselves. Tall, elegant, and dressed in the most luxurious of fashions, they move about with the grounding confidence only extreme wealth can provide. Your smile slowly dies as your eyes sweep the room.

The high nobility. In all their splendor.

Standing in Tarek's best clothes, groomed to the best of your ability, you know you still stand out between them. Even the ridiculous earrings they wear, the theme of the night's ball, look elegant hanging from their noble ears. You resist the urge to tug on yours as you tell yourself to focus.

You have a job to do. And even if the disgusted glances thrown your way send a chill down your spine and warmth to be born on your cheeks, you force yourself to ignore it and walk to a dark corner. You need to stay out of sight, you have to-

A prickling sensation in the back of your neck has you freezing on the spot. Someone watches you, you can feel their eyes piercing your back. Slowly, you turn around. And a pair of brown, twinkling eyes wink at you from across the room.

Your heart halts. Alain.

(…)

Here is a sneak peek!  The full commission is available on Ko-fi for one-time supporters (this includes those who have requested a commission or donated!) or monthly subscribers!

The Commission.

Thank you for the request, darling. 🖤

[lombax-lombardi]

Marking~

Summary: When lighting crashes, it means a coming storm. When a creature of the night is without her food source, she will truly lose herself to the blood lust.

Genre: Character building, slight steamy content???? maybe??. Hehehe.

Character: Madilyn Ambrosia.

The loud evil cackle filled the halls of the empty cathedral. 

A fight had ensued here, corpses piled upon corpses. Blood pools everywhere, littering the cracked cobblestone.

“Ahahahahahahaha!” Our heroes stared upon their enemy. An Ancient Dragon by the name of Diera.

Diear.

The Blood Dragon.

Progenitor of the Diera Crest.

Along with its curse.

“Fools! You cannot stop my quest for vengence!’ She cackled, tossing Hilda across the room her body slamming against the cool marble.

“Mother why?” The one called Desiree cried out, the woman turned her head as if to actually look as to where that sound was coming from.

“Oh? You have lost the right to call me Mother child.” Her eyes were cold.

Uninnviting.

“Why art thou using thine children to exact thy revenge? Oh whom? On whom Mother has mine dear Lady suffer for you?” She asked, dagger in hand.

That’s who they came here for.

Byleth got a distressing message from the Ambrosia household, that their daughter was kidnapped by hodded figures and taken to this place.

This place was the nest of the Blood Dragon.

Diear, hair ratty and eyes turned to slits, like the reptile she is. “Seiros. SEIROS! I EXACT MY VENGENCE UPON THAT WHORE! SHE CAST ME OUT FOR WHAT I WAS!” Her voice boomed across the giant hall. 

“Ambrosia is the FIRST if my new SPAWN to truly become what she was meant to be!” Her clawed hand seemed to reach for said noble who was across the room.

Trying to fight off the call of her hunger.

The call for blood.

The call for feeding.

“You Desiree, are a failure! You could never become a pure blooded creature of the night.” She declared as a sluggish Hilda returned to the rest of the group.

Two blondes, who are Madilyn’s dearest friends, Minette and Sae were staring at the brunette at her place from across the room.

Minette knows the feeling of being cursed. Her arm itself is a curse. As for Sae she was the one who knew about Madilyn’s condition the longest and it crushed her soul seeing her, back into a dark, dank corner.

Like some wounded animal.

The two women weren’t the only ones who are staring at the scurrying noble.

Two others.

Two men of different backgrounds, while being both nobles, it seems this little dainty creature had caught their hearts.

They were aware of each other yes. 

But only one could claim her heart for their own.

Diera, leaning against her delapidated throne, scoffing, nails tapping against the cool stone. It seems the Professor and their students were disturbing her.

She points a long nailed finger towards the brunette who was now aware of the Ancient Dragons presence. “By my Crest, I turn you-”

Her speech was interrupted by a dagger being thrown near her neck, her eyes went from the dagger to the one who threw it.

“Desiree!” The exasperated voice of Flayn breathed out, the white haired female stareddaggers at the one she called her Mother.

“Do NOT finish the write! DO NOT! I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!” The female dragon lunged at the other, pulling her off her throne and into the crumbling floor.

And she threw a punch at her face, fangs bared. “Thou shan’t recite the write! I will take your tongue for mine own!”

Diear just laughed. “Oh now THATS the daughter I know! Fight me daughter! Prove you are stronger!”

In an explosion of light and dust, two large dragons appeared in the ladies places. Diera was large, covered in whote and red scales to excentuate her status of a Blood Dragon.

Her daughter was different. Despite her white hair, her scales were a deep blue/purple colour, blending together to make her look like a mystical creature.

Well she was one.

The Professor moved their students away from the two dragons fighting as so no one could get injured. But the group had another problem on their hands.

“hey ummm....did anyone see where Maddi went?” Hilda quiered loudly, hooing to get an answer. The group has lost sight of the damsel they were supposed to be rescuing.

The large group of students, former students, slowly sukled around the large cathedral.

Ingrid noticed something. As she was standing next to Sylvain, a dear and close friend but a damn flirt and skirtchaser, he seemed. Stoic.

Uneasy.

Yes war in uneasy but this was a different unease.

As the two dragons continued to fight, a scream pierced the darkness. Blood curling.

Bone chilling.

In the darkness they could  see a pair of glowing yellow irises, staring right at them. Byleth stood ready to defend the students when Minette stood in front of them.

She had seen this before.

As did Sae.

As did Sylvain. 

As did Balthus.

Byleth only heard the rumors of Madilyn’s predicament.

According to Hanamen and Madilyn herself plus Desiree, the Crest of Diera demands blood every three months, to keep the curse at bay. Without feeding, the curse will begin to take control.

That’s what was happening now.

The darkness lunged at the cursed one, sounds of muffled cries and hissing filled the air, until the Aevis was thrown across the room at superhuman speed.

There was a loud crack against the stone.

The shadows dispersed revealing Lady Ambrosia, hands clawed, wings protruding from her back, the glowing Crest in the middle of her back.

Glowing dark red.

The two dragons who were fighting paused.

As if time itself stopped.

“No! Lady Madilyn! No!” the sea dragon cried out. Her Mother did get the last laugh after all.

The woman she spent years protecting had become what she dreaded.

----------

Darkness. All there was was darkness.

An inner carnal desire.

The hunger for blood.

but there was something.

Something else.

Filling the ringing in her ears.

She could see what she was doing, throwing her comrades aside but she could not stop herself! She didn’t want to hurt her friends.

Didn;t matter what house they used to belong too.

They were food for her now.

The ground rumbled as the two dragons continued to fight, the vampire threw more of her comrades to the floor, arrows pierced her sking but that did not matter.

She healed quickly.

In the back of her mind she was fighting with herself.

The one who wanted to feed and the one who didn’t want to hurt the people she loved.

The voice back in her mind was Diera, talling her to Feed on the Fell Star.

Fell...Star....

Byleth....Sothis.....

If she couldn’t find Serios. She’d take the next best thing.

The Professor realised that the brunette’s gaze fell upon them, they knew what to expect next. Sword at the ready, they would cut her down if need be.

But it seems that was not the case as a blur of red and armor dashed past on horseback to knock the vampire across the floor.

Buried under rubble.

The flapping of Pegasus wings filled the air. It was Ingrid. “Sylvain!”

It was Sylvain, who was on that horse who sent Ambrosia flying.

The rubble wouldn’t hold her long. “Ingrid. You and the Professor and the others need to help Desiree. I can do this myself”

The blonde was tempted to hit him in the face. What an idiot. “That sounds stupid! You could die!”

“What she needs is blood....” The raspy voice of Minette called out, being supported by the ever lovely Yuri, who kept whispering to her.

“Blood? Minette what do you know?” Ingrid asked the Aevis, the white haired blue eyed female ran her hand through her hair.

“She’s....not fully a vampire....” she expained through raspy breaths as the pile of rubble began to stir.

“She’s fighting with herself. On the inside I believe. If she just...just had enough blood she’d go back to normal.....”

“That’s your theory!?” Ingrid snapped. “She could kill one of us! Who do you think is going to offer themselves to her?”

The group fell quiet.

That’s when the sound of a horse filled the quiet and headed away.

“I guess that answered your question...Ingrid....Owch...Maddi did a number on me....” Minette grumbled as the sound of hooves faded away.

----------

Hands gripped the rubble throwing old stones away. As if he was looking for something he lost.

Well he kind of did.

Sylvain wouldn’t admit it but since those days in the Acadamey, while he was indeed chasing other women, when Madilyn arrived, he was kind of shocked.

He knew the Ambrosia house was a small house in the Kingdom, he didn’t expect such a beauty inside that house.

He wanted the girl whow would yell at him but laugh at him.

He wanted her back.

Not this snarling creature he is now face to face with.

She was clawing at his skin. Trying to maim him or blind him!

This isn’t the girl he remembered.

The one he secretly yearned for.

All those years.

Sure there was another for her heart.

He didn’t care. He was going to do this for her.

“Madilyn listen to me! This isn’t who you are!” his voice was like the point of a knife, digging into the skin.

He got a loud snarl in response.

He knew in those golden dark eyes the one he cared about was in there, so he had to get her attention some how before she either killed him or else. He lost a piece of his armor in the fight with the dragon Diera, exposing some skin.

That caught the vampires attention, fangs beared.

Until she froze in place.

Froze for a long time.

The golden amber hues in her eyes faded, returning to the earth brown that was warm and inviting.

her hands shook. Who knew how long she’d be left like this before the snarling hungry beast came back out?

“W-Where am I...?? What’s going on?” her eyes wandered nervously,feeling armored hands cup her cheeks, here earth toned eyes meeting the eyes of the infamous skirt chaser.

“Madilyn. Listen to me. You’re about to turn into a full vampire and if you don’t drink human blood you’ll be lost forever!”

This information was new to her. But she knew the hunger inside of her was rising. A loud ringing pain rang through her head which only worried the male more.

“B-But...I can’t...I don’t want to hurt humans anymore...I don’t want anymore blood....” she whimpered.

She looks so small. So fragile there. Which crushed his heart.

Cupping her chin, he lifted her head for her teary eyes to face him. 

“Why? You could die....”

Those words cut deep. very deep. “There is a chance I could kill my prey which is why I rendered them unconcious before I fed...Live victims struggle and that makes me scared, I’d hurt them...Drinking blood is a.....”

Her face turned bright pink.

“Is a.......what?”

“It’s an...intimate process” she mumbled out.

Intimate?

Is that why she fed on common thugs and hoodlums?

She couldn’t do this to someone she loved. But at this point she had no choice.

Madilyn was staring at her bloodied hands, from the blood pools she was sitting in, not even aware of the shifting of armor and body weight. When she lifted her head, she was shocked.

Shocked by lips against hers.

Her eyes squeezed shut, allowing herself to sink herself deeper into his body, lips molding together. His tongue prodded her lips as if asking for enterance, she obliged roaming around her mouth, dipping around her fangs.

She could have bit him there but she didn’t.

Her body felt warm, for the first time in a long while, fingers curled into those loose red locks.

A fire started low in her belly, she couldn’t act on it no. Not now.

Breaking apart, shallowed breaths between the pair, eyes glazed over. 

“S-Sylvain...I-I can’t! Please don’t make me!” She breathed out. She didn’t want to hurt him. What if she killed him?!?!?!

Her eye widened when she saw his exposed neck before her, she swallowed hard.

“Don’t.....please” Tears filled her eyes, he gave her a soft hearted smile. Oh his boyish charm shines through despite the hard 5 years.

“I trust you. You won’t hurt me. I know it.” He voiced dripped with confidence, warmth and love.

“You need to do it....I’d rather die then lose you to your curse” He said it with such vigor that’s when her eyes turned back into that golden black.

She pulled him close, breath fanning against the skin. It caused his breath to hitch. This was going to be painful.

“I’m sorry....” She whispered before her fangs sunk deep into his neck, quickly. Blood slowly dripped from the wound, more then she anticipated.

His haand was in her hair, curling tightly at the searing pain flowing through his burning body he kept her close however. He tugged on her locks slightly as if to pull her back to reality.

Her lips hungryily sucked, drawing more blood from the small punctures. 

“Easy there...easy...easy...” his voice was ragged, breathless as if this was some pre-initmate encounter making out.

her eyes flickered, the golden flecks slowly turning back into those earthy brown hues, her hunger gradually slowed.

“There....There we go...that’s my girl....”

Her face flushed, retracting her fangs from his neck. He was pale. Paler then normal.

But...he didn’t die!

“A-A-Are you alright...Are you alright?” She fell into his arms, holding his face with her hands.

He gave her a small smile, thumb rubbing the front of her hand.

“yeah....yeah I’m fine....You...you think you’re strong enough to fight?” he quiered, motioning to the two dragons still fighting each other.

“I think so.But you’re too weak....Feeding...makes prey weak”

“Oh nah I’m fine” he said confidently, only when he stood up he fell down. Madilyn sighed.

“You stay here and recover, I’ll go fight.” She said, placcing a hand on his shoulder as she whistled for her horse.

To take her into the fight.

Sykvain watched her ride off to the others, running his fingers over the punctures in his neck. They seemed to be healing quickly.

Wow.

It seems she’s amazing. As always.

He’s gonna have to tell her that.

He also doesn’t mind being marked for the time being. It saved her life.

[complicatedandstained]

The Other Day  at Hot Topic: The Lion, the Witch, and Marluxia

The Claire’s employees Marluxia had said were looking forward to meeting Xion look like they would much rather be watching beige paint dry. 

They remind her of back-up dancers that just stepped off the set of a punk rock music video, all tall, tat’d, and pierced, with lean muscle, barely concealed by skintight clothes. Blasé attitudes and dead tired. 

Xion had thought that flower crowns and purple aprons would make anybody look approachable, but she had been dead wrong. 

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop or anything,” Xion continues quickly, waving her hands in front of her, “I promise!”

“Of course you didn’t,” the woman says in a falsely sweet voice. Her eyes return to examining her manicure. She’s gorgeous—looks like an Amazon who accidentally got a cute pixie cut. 

The other one doesn’t say much of anything, his eyes flitting out the store altogether like he has better places to be. He looks like a lion turned into a man, clad in metallic gold jeans and sporting a literal mane of untamed scarlet hair. Even his eyes are feline, lined with sharp, neat strokes of black. 

He sighs and slips his phone out of his apron pocket. “Why would she?” he mutters and whether he doesn’t believe Xion either or he’s challenging the Amazon is difficult to tell. 

Xion’s not sure which of them makes her more uncomfortable. She knows deep down she should be giving them the benefit of the doubt. She’s probably going to be spending a lot of time with them. 

They’re probably super nice once you get to know them. 

But it’s a little hard to convince herself when they look so miserable.

Marluxia seems to agree. He clears his throat again.

“So…” The Amazon perks up, running her hand back to adjust her lavender flower crown and giving Xion a once over like an unsatisfied military general picking out imperfections in her uniform. “You’re Kairi 3.0.” 

Xion doesn’t understand what she’s saying, and even if she did, she doesn’t think she can make her mouth do the talking thing. 

The lion man rolls his eyes. One hand lands on the hip of his eye-catching jeans and the other gestures to Xion with his phone. “She means to say that you look a bit like a couple of our coworkers,” Lion corrects in this smooth, almost gratingly lyrical voice.

Xion’s cheeks get so red they could probably glow in the dark. 

Oh. So they think I’m the stereotypical bubble-headed Claire’s employee, is that it? 

That stings a bit. I was hoping being pleasant and liking cute things would be a-okay here...

Having two more of me might be nicer than this. 

Marluxia groans then offers Xion an apologetic smile. “They mean to say it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He levels a hard glare at the pair of them, and it’s mildly reassuring that this at least isn’t the impression he was going for. “Really, you two...” 

He gives both of them another shoulder squeeze, and they scowl in unison. Realizing that they have, they smirk at each other, earlier tension apparently set aside for the time being. 

Marluxia lets them go and nods at Xion, pushing heavy bubble-gum pink hair off his shoulder wearily. “Sorry, darling. I only wish I could say they’re usually better behaved.” 

He can’t be much older than either of them, but his face is the dictionary definition of beleaguered dad, and Xion can’t help but giggle, even if it sounds bell-like and nervous to her own ears. 

Marluxia primly swishes his hand before her like a noble introducing a princess. “Larxene, Axel, I would like you to meet our newest associate, Zion.”

Xion smiles. If she had a dollar for every time someone accidentally called her the kingdom of heaven, she could start some kind of small, hood-wearing cult of her own. “Xion,” she corrects. 

“She-on?” he clarifies with raised eyebrows. 

Seriously, how is it that all of them have such good eyebrows?

Xion nods in encouragement.  

“Xion,” he corrects smoothly, drawing neatly manicured nails out toward the blonde Amazon, “Xion, this is Larxene.”

Larxene gives Xion a quick, businesslike handshake, and a purred, “Charmed, I’m sure,” that Xion can’t tell whether she means to be sarcastic, flirtatious, or just hella scary, but kind of comes off as all three. 

“Pleased to meet you,” Xion says anyway, smiling, telling herself maybe Larxene’s just having a bad day. 

Marluxia clears his throat emphatically again, though Larxene does not look particularly apologetic. Marluxia swishes his fingers toward the lion man. 

“And this is...” Marluxia pauses for the other man to introduce himself.

The lion’s arms are crossed and he doesn’t reach out a hand or even react until Marluxia repeats his name. He texts another few words and lowers his phone, half smiling. “Good news. Demyx says crisis averted.”

Larxene laughs sharply. “And you believe him?”

“Excellent,” Marluxia replies dryly. “Now you can put it away and introduce yourself.”

“Really was a crisis, Mars,” Axel insists, slipping the phone back into his pocket and peering down at Xion like he’s a little surprised to see she’s still there. He nods. “Hey there.”

Maybe he’s...also having a bad day?

“Axel,” Marluxia concludes for him, just a note of irritation, “your name is Axel.” 

The lion’s eyes narrow, his lips quirk. “Thanks for the info, Marly.”

“Axel,” Xion repeats, and she can feel her brows bouncing up. Why does that sound so familiar?

“That’s it,” the lion man—Axel—has a grin like he’s planning to eat somebody. “Get it memorized. You’re gonna need it.”

“She doesn’t need to memorize it,” Larxene objects, poking the little metal name plate clipped to the man’s purple apron. “You’re wearing a nametag, dipshit.”

“Oh,” Axel glances down to confirm, straightens up, “Huh. So I am.” But he’s paying more attention to Xion now, which is not an entirely welcome sensation. His eyes kind of narrow in and burn. 

Marluxia seems anxious to keep the ball rolling, “Axel’s our resident piercing artist. He’s very good at what he does, but he has trouble with the concept of ‘dress code.’” He turns to Xion, nodding at her wardrobe choice in approval. “You may want to think of him as a counter-example. If Axel’s wearing it, you probably shouldn’t be. Today being an exception, although from the sound of it,” he smirks ever-so-slightly, like he can’t help but find nagging Axel a little bit amusing, “that was largely an accident.”

Axel’s tight black tee literally has Let’s Fucking Dance printed across the chest of it in slate gray cursive, but Marluxia doesn’t seem to have noticed, and Xion’s not sure now is the right time to bring it up.

“Yeah, yeah, I scare the children, I’ve heard it before…” Axel’s hands gesture dismissively. Free of his phone he seems livelier. One hand pats Xion’s shoulder. “I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about that with My Little Care Bear here.” 

That feels a little uncalled for and a lot condescending.

Xion can feel the burn in her cheeks travelling to her ears. He’s officially her least favorite. 

Marluxia adjusts a bending display sign, beside Axel’s shoulder. “I just want her to realize that we do have standards.”

Xion feels a little burnt on Axel’s behalf, but he just smirks lazily. “I hope you’re also going to tell her that Larxene is our customer service counter-example.” 

Sign corrected, Marluxia pockets his hands. “That goes without saying.” 

Larxene doesn’t look up from her manicure. “You’re both assholes.” 

“Case in point,” Marluxia replies glancing around to ensure no customers heard this latest remark and looking relieved to find no one nearby. “Anyway, Xion, one of these fine, upstanding employees has volunteered to train you this morning.”

Xion’s mouth tries to shape an objection, her lips opening and closing like a goldfish. She kind of hoped Marluxia would be taking the reins on this one.

 “Volunteered.” Larxene snorts. “That’s cute.”

Axel tilts his head, sparing Xion another glance, grinning. “Marly, you’re really cracking the whip here.”

“I’m sorry!” Xion says immediately, eyes feeling hot, wishing she could train herself. Her boot scuffs uselessly along the carpet. “I don’t mean to be a burden!”

“Hey, hey,” Axel’s saying before Xion’s even done apologizing, smile evaporating. He steps up to her side, hands spreading in the air as if to physically smooth things over. “Not to worry, Newbie, I’ve got you covered.”

“Really?” Xion blinks up at him, trying not to cringe. 

He elbows her arm, winks at her, stage whispers, “Least until someone nicer arrives.”

“Uh… Thank you, Axel. I’m… I’m sure you’re perfectly nice.”

Axel gives her a brief flash of teeth that it wouldn’t be fair to call a smile. “I’m basically Prince Charming.”

Marluxia gets a little divot between his brows and shakes his head slightly. “Behave.”

“Right, right. So.” Axel steps past Larxene, hopping up into the adult sized chair at the piercing station. He plucks a sharp looking piece of equipment from the depths of his apron pockets. “How squeamish are you?”

Xion takes an involuntary step back. 

“Axel.” Marluxia palms his forehead. “Maybe start with something else?”

“Oh.” Axel glances at Xion, brows bouncing in concern that Xion has trouble believing. “Sure thing, boss.”

Larxene gives Xion a sympathetic grimace and a brief flutter of her fingers. “Good luck with that, 3.0.” She struts off to man the register, where the Christmas shopping mom has wrangled her kids. 

“Right, well, Xion, I’ll clock you in. I’ll be in the back for a bit if you need me.” Marluxia glances down at an elegant wristwatch, and observes, “Aurora should be here to relieve Axel by noon. That is, if she hasn’t overslept again…”

Xion’s not sure if this comment is meant to reassure her, Marluxia, or Axel, so she just hums. 

Axel smirks, says, “Roger that, Captain.” Axel’s tone and the tiny, cheeky salute he pairs with it, feel almost… flirtatious?

Xion blushes. 

Marluxia stiffens for a half second, like he’s second guessing several life choices that have led him to this moment, but then he gives his head another little shake, chuckles, and starts to walk off.

Xion wonders how Roxas would feel to know this mall has so many flirty red heads on the loose. What are the odds? Two doors down and...

Wait… What are the odds?

Axel. His name had sounded so familiar. Axel. 

Axel gives an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Alright, he’s gone. Just got to check on somebody…” He’s already spinning in the piercing seat, phone set on the table, so Xion doesn’t feel too bad slipping hers out as well. Scrolling through the notifications from the contact nicknamed “Twin” and skimming until she finds the right messages, hoping to read another name typed there instead. 

The three(!) text messages about one man. Apart from calling him ‘ridiculously attractive’, they hadn’t even been that romantic. But there had been three(!) of them. From Roxas. Roxas who never wants to talk about boys, never gets crushes—I basically don’t have a heart, I didn’t even love my ex, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong—Roxas. 

But. There it is. Plain as day.

Axel. Axel. Axel.

[jasperlion]

[ This drabble is based on the iteration of Anthiese by @indumasname and is a novelized version of an RP with them ]

The Zofian capital hums with activity and color, cheers ringing out with the fierce energy the people are renown for once the Queen calls for the opening of the festivities. With the hustle and bustle, the calls of the vendors, the vibrant decor and the crowds of excitement, Albein briefly finds himself torn between regretting his acceptance of Anthiese’s personal invitation for him and being very thankful that he had not contained himself to his quarters to mope yet another failed courting attempt instead. Still, it’s clear as day to know which is the better, finding himself among such a ruckus that he can’t even focus on his woes… nor does he want to. Good riddance to that woman, good riddance to his duties! The thought brings a smile to his face and a scoff.

Waving off Berkut and his family (it’d be very awkward to just follow them around like a lost dog; he’s an adult and his cousin has a wife and child, thank you very much), he wanders off instead by himself, eyes roving for the sight of someone familiar. Mathilda, perhaps? Or even Conrad, Anthiese, Lukas or Clive…

After all, there had been another reason for his acceptance, but he wasn’t about to finally have his first recreational taste of alcohol all by himself! … Nor was he too keen to have his first try of the drink in front of Rinea or her child! Zofians knew their way around alcohol better than any Rigelian ever would, anyway, and it is with this in mind that he sets off on his quest. A harmless shot or two… the very idea of what alcohol did was simply very alluring to him at the moment.

He finds the private drinking tables before he manages to find himself a drinking partner, a little ways from the main event are several tarps serving, but his attention is drawn immediately to the most crowded of all. Chants of ‘CHUG!’ resound, among the raucous yells and stomping at what seems to be a competition. Eyes lit with curiosity, the Emperor finds himself drawn to see exactly what’s going on. Even just observing was fine—

A burly man collapses upon the floor after he drags his pint as the crowd goes wild, a loud voice rising among the rest that has his attention snapping from the unfortunate victim to the table he fell from, calling out,  “CAN NO ONE DRINK HER ROYAL EMINENCE UNDER THE TABLE?!”

… What?! Oh Gods, Anthiese— was she alright? Did she even have supervision? With a start, he pushes his way closer to actually have a good look at the table. The poor sod gets carted off, and as the crowd of seedy individuals and even some nobles alike cheers and hollers, Albein’s roving eyes finally make contact with Her Royal Highness herself, face almost as red as her hair. With absolutely no one seemingly besides her to make sure she’s alright. The voice calls out again, bellowing with the power of a general amongst his men: “BELLIES UP TO THE BAR!! WHO'S NEXT T'FILL THEIR MUGS AND LAY THEIR COIN DOWN 'GAINST HER MAJESTY?!!”

He’s not sure where the sinking feeling of horror came from or how it gripped at him so fiercely, but it spurs him into action and strides quickly to Anthiese’s side with concern. Well, sure, he came here to drink, but wasn’t this dangerous? 

Opting to not take a seat beside her, he instead leans forward to speak with her once he arrives. “Queen Anthiese! Are you holding up alright?”

“Whuh...? Ohh, 'f it issn't His Imperial Majessty…!” The slap on his back from his friend is the last thing he expects, barely managing to stay in place as she pulls herself to try and stand. “Looky here...!” A ‘hic’ interrupts her slurred words, and all he can do is turn to look at her. “Th' royal opp'sition's finally arrived!!” Oh no. “What'ssay one 'nd all t' a round of drinks... a bout 'tween rival nations?!!”

As he breaks into a cold sweat, and the Queen's words are met with a raucous roar of approval, it's clear his sentiments aren't shared by anyone under the tarp. Gods, he’s an Emperor, a General, he ought to have more dignity than this! Trying to help her stay steady in some sad attempt at solidarity, he tries to instead talk his way out of it. “...I’m afraid it wouldn't be much of one, Your Highness. I've not had much alcohol in my life.” He pauses, brows knitting in concern. She definitely looked like she was about to fall over at any given moment. “Shouldn't you have some water...?”

… It doesn’t have the desired effect. The woman’s smile turns sly with a knowing glint in her eye. “When'ss a number ever stopped you...?” And Gods, he wants to prove her wrong and— “Ser Sshaber, pour him some juice'nd start th' betting pools...h!”

Hands grasp at his arms, pulling him to the other end of the table, and while he tenses and almost buckles down to stay in place, it is the knowledge of where he’s being taken that keeps him docile, competitive fire blazing in his chest. There is no need to sit him down— he shrugs them off and sits himself, pounding his left fist onto the table with a widening grin on his lips. The sheer excitement in him is hardly contained at the thought of a competition, despite the nagging feeling that he should probably not be doing this. “... Very well.” Well, he had practice ignoring it.

Cheers and the clink of coins deafen his ears as the owner of the loud voice, a large, red-haired man with an eyepatch over his right eye, sets a mug before him. It’s an oddly purple(? The lights were dim) drink with a bitter stench that was definitely some sort of alcohol… his nose scrunched in distaste (Gods, it smelled awful), and he almost doesn’t catch the man’s words. “Good luck, lad.”

Anthiese grabs her own mug then, and he spots the fire in the woman’s eyes that mirrored his own as she raises her mug in the air. She is quickly mirrored by their fellows with drink, and he feels compelled to follow suit— he has little time to ponder upon the other’s words.

“... To Valentia!” She calls.

             “““TO VALENTIA!!!!!”””

They're words he cheers in kind despite drawing so many questions to mind; questions he has half a mind to save for later. The other half instead makes him take a hardy swig from the mug, sputtering a cough once half is down his gullet and setting it back down onto the table with a wheeze, left eye twitching in distaste. “Gods above, this is awful.”

… Why was the room spinning?

Anthiese’s mug slams down near his own with a BANG, pristine and empty, and she calls out bravely, “Another!!”, among the even louder cheer of the crowd around them.

He wasn’t about to be left behind—! Albein’s hand grips the mug tighter, swiftly bringing the drink to his lips to finish it up; flavor and nausea be damned, he was winning this! Banging his mug back onto the table as he finishes, his eyes hold a challenging gaze towards the redhead serving them. If this was a test, then bring it on!

… Yet, somehow, she’s still going strong, no matter how hard he tries to match her drink to drink. The second leaves her unfazed and cheering for more as he struggles to keep himself on his seat, and, by the time he’s done with the third, he has no choice but to admit defeat. 

With a spinning head and an urge to heave, Albein finally lets himself slump against the table, head smacking the wood slightly with a groan. Slowly, he raises his left hand after releasing the mug. “I yield… h…” He slurs, even if the act makes him feel worse. The piercing roar of the crowd feels like a punch to his head, and there’s a hardly distinguishable ‘congratulations’ among the noise before gentle hands grasp at him, lift him from the stool.

“...lright,Your Highn…” The alcohol and nausea delay his reaction, weak growl at his throat as he tries, almost pathetically, to squirm out of the grasp as his vision spins and spins. It’s the last he remembers before his world fades to black.

…

…

Nice as the plush covers and pillows feel, Albein groans as he awakens entangled with a pounding head, an awful lot of nausea, and more thirst than he ever felt in the Zofian desert with a rancid, awful taste on his tongue.  Gods, what happened…?

“There's a bucket on your side of the bed.” 

The voice is familiar and awfully close by, but he doesn’t even allow himself to think about who it was before he finds himself rolling to the edge, fumbling to grab the bucket as he continued to lie on his stomach and—

          “Hrrgh….” Drinks… cheers… oh right… he had a drinking contest with…

“Gotta never…” he chokes out between coughs, “—do that...” a wheeze interrupts him, followed by more coughs and a groan. “—Again.” Oh, Gods, his throat… — and it seems that he’s lost most of his garments at torso level aside from his gloves—

“Probably,” Anthiese says as she enters his line of vision to sit on a stool nearby, mug of water in her hands. Pulling himself to sit with shaking hands after several dry heaves, he waits until he feels steady enough to grasp the offered mug, cradling it in his hands with the realization that, well, Anthiese has likely been looking after him after that… stint. There’s a scent of soup in the air, yet try as he might the more he looks around, Albein can’t quite discern where, exactly, he is. “Then again, no one drinks it straight as much as you did,” she adds, expression as collected as always.

‘As much as he did’…? Wasn’t she drinking too…? He takes a sip of water and then nurses the mug to his chest, scowling at the aftertaste of his own bile, and directs a questioning gaze in her direction. “So you're saying you had something else?” He asks, befuddled, then shakes his head— (oh, ow! He shouldn’t have done that). “Ugh…”

Regardless… “Sorry about that. I… I got in over my head. At your festival, no less.” At the very least, Albein manages an apologetic look. Knowing she’s here, she likely missed a lot of it. Because of him. “Uh… how long have I been…?”

“I’d say about five hours, give or take,” she replies, and it doesn’t help him feel any better. “The festival is over, and your family has accepted the offer to stay at my estate until the healers say you're well enough to travel back without incident.” 

She then chuckles, shaking her head slightly. “There’s no need to be sorry— you... didn't know. Drunkards like that always pay good coin to see if someone can topple me... instead of seeing to the future of our people. So Sir Saber— the, uhm, gentleman who gave you the drink— and I occasionally... set up pools where that money is certain to go to better places. Poor-lit areas and a goblet you can't see through makes it easier for me to sneak in a glass of water or juice every so often.”

Maybe it’s because he’s accustomed to it by now, having been used by her ever since they met, but Albein can’t even muster anger at the knowledge that he had been deceived. It was almost what he expected by now from her, and so he exhales with a chuckle, as what fills him for the most part is relief. “I suppose I didn’t need to worry, after all.” He says, amiable, and nudges her leg with his own before drinking a little more water, trying to just get rid of that awful taste in his mouth. “Well, if I had to be one of the sorry sods downed for a little more funds, then... ”

It’s frightening how easy it was to accept what had happened. Even so...

“I doubt you intended to spend your night here, though— did you at least have a good time?” At the very least, Albein hoped she did. You know. After he passed out while being carted off unconscious— he was lucky he had been too drunk to accidentally hurt someone. He was going to hear it from Berkut. He was going to hear so much of it from Rinea.

Perhaps she spotted the sudden distress on his face as he thinks of his family, or maybe she didn’t. “Outside the requirements as a healer, I shall spend my night here if you'd like me to…” she says as she stands up and heads to a nearby table, where there are bowls and various other items of medical aid. “Your appearance at the drinking tables was certainly— unexpected. But clearly not unwelcome, given the money we earned. I will ensure that Sir Saber transfers the funds to the maintenance of the trade routes— or wherever you wish the funds to be used, My Lord.”

She pauses. “Lord Berkut and Lady Rinea think you had a bout with a drunkard who had ‘dishonored me’ and barely won, if it... helps your case.”

“Ah! Well... thank you for your care, and I apologize for the inconvenience. You… you don’t have to stay.” Albein replies hastily, bowing his head a little with a slight flush on his cheeks. Well he... didn't really think she’d have spent her festive time at his bedside, and he certainly didn’t expect her to continue to do it, even with the festival already over. 

Of the other matters, however, “... Direct the funds where you wish. I did lose, after all.” He tells her. Even if she had cheated, it is still a loss, and one he would honor. He slowly lifts himself from his bow to instead exhale dramatically. “I only thought to give it a try— and got dragged off after three kegs instead.” He then sighs. “It does help, though, the… story. I... sorry for the trouble, My Lady.” She’s done him far too many favors. Favors he doesn’t think he can really return. “And, well, thank you for the invite, even if I seem to have… misused my time and yours. It was most kind.”

Albein cannot keep himself from asking any longer, however, and once more his eyes rove around the place, curiosity gleaming stronger now that he doesn’t feel quite as… nauseated. “And, ah... these are nice accomodations, but... may I ask where I am...?”

“This… used to be the safehouse where Sir Mycen kept Conrad and I. When we were younger.” She explains with pensive pause, taking a sprig of herbs into a bowl and shuffling to the cauldron at the hearth to sprinkle them in, stirring gently after the fact.  He takes this time to look around, really take the place in, now that he knows what it’s for (it’s quite homely, if he’s honest, although the plush covers and pillows are rather extravagant). It is a short time after that a ladle is poured into the cauldron, and she brings this to him along with a pitcher of water, drawing his attention back to her.

“Not to worry for the trouble or inconvenience, My Lord,” Anthiese says, placing it down on the stool where she sat previously with a gentle huff. “...... Consider it a debt repaid, if you'd like.”

“... I see.” Albein’s words are colored with his surprise; a weight had been lifted, a weight he had carried ever since the abrupt termination of their courting in what felt like a lifetime ago. His cheeks tint with color as the surprise turns to relief, and it lifts a bright smile onto his face “... Then I shall.” He feels, perhaps, even his joyful tone can’t truly express how much better he suddenly feels.

Honestly, had he not been so weighed by his antics five hours prior, he might have had a far more physical reaction— an embrace, or perhaps even grasping her hands in excitement. Maybe, just maybe, they can finally move forward. “I can still say thank you, can I not?” He asks with an enthusiastic gaze, and it certainly feels like his smile is not going away anytime soon.

“You may, My Lord,” she says, her own smile soft. “Now... unless you require me for anything else, I shall be in the other room there.” The Queen gestures to the door adjacent to the hearth wall. Oh… he hadn’t quite noticed that.

“Thank you.” Perhaps she will understand that he means for far more than just this— even if it is a massive favor in itself to look after someone so diligently. 

Even so, he’s taken enough of her time.

“...Rest well, My Lady. I will be fine with the care provided.” Albein says as he shifts in the bed he sits on, then moves to eat the food offered with a final thanks.

Wordlessly, Anthiese leaves the room.

Unwilling to call for help for simple tasks, when Albein finishes his meal in a pensive silence, he stumbles to wash the dishes and his face himself, then forces himself to return to the bed with what little strength he has left.

He does not remember his head hitting the pillows.

…

…

The next time he wakes, she’s at his bedside again. The air still smells of soup and it seems to be the morning… although which day it is, he has no idea. She notices he’s awake and speaks as she always does, unflinching. “Morning. ...If you’d like breakfast, you can help yourself to the soup in the cauldron.”

It sounds like a simple enough instruction.

“Good morning.” With a brief nod, he pulls himself to sit without complaint, despite the difficulties and onset of nausea, then slowly forces himself onto his feet, stumbling forward just as he had the night before.

However, unlike the night before, her hands drag him back to bed stubbornly after the first two stumbles, and there’s little he can do to stop them (embarrassing as it is, he feels awfully weak still) aside from an undignified noise that sounded a little more like a squawk. Giving up the struggle before it truly begins, Albein merely sighs, allowing Anthiese to help him back onto the bedding. Had he failed something…?

“It’s alright to ask me to help you, My Lord.”

Words that confuse him, considering what she had just asked him to do. Still, he can’t help but let out a soft laugh (and Gods above, it hurts his stomach more), and perhaps air out his conception of the matter so it may be clarified. “I assumed it was a task to aid in my recovery, My Lady.”

Her response serves to confuse him all the more, spoken in a tone that he can’t quite tell if she’s being overly haughty or joking. “And you would make that task more difficult on me? For shame.” Enough that despite the nausea, Albein tilts his head a little in confusion at her words. She gives herself pause, then… softens her tone. “... You may speak frankly, if you wish. No one else is here.”

His confusion doubles, both for her starting the formal talk yet telling him it was alright not to, and for the earlier incident. Albein is quiet for a few moments, trying to figure out how exactly the pieces fit together, before coming to the conclusion that it was yet another Zofian mannerism he didn’t quite comprehend.

 “...Sorry, Anthiese.” He says, adhering to her request for less formal speech. “We just do things differently at home, I suppose. You know... ‘if you can talk you can walk, so do it yourself’... that kind of thing. It didn’t occur to me to… ask for help.”

“I understand, Albein.” She says, wiping at his forehead with a cloth. He closes his eyes, and while his hands twitch, he lets her do as she pleases. “I merely jest.” … Oh. “You know, Conrad used to be the same whenever he was sick. ... Suppose even that young, your people tried to build up that tough skin.”

He gazes at her now that the cloth leaves his forehead, finding in her tale an oddly nostalgic feeling. “... Yes.” Albein answers distantly, thoughts drifting from her and her brother, to him and his... “And even if Father tried to act different... well, I suppose some things are harder to escape and unlearn.”

… He missed his father still. With an exhale, he shakes himself from his thoughts and smiles for her. “Apologies for being a trouble patient.”

She seemed to have been observing in pensive silence, a contemplative look in her eyes. With an exhale, the spell is broken, and she speaks once more. “You're forgiven,” she says, “so long as you get better. You wouldn't want to worry your niece, after all.”

Her bemused expression brings one of his own to his face, mind wandering to the child, his adorable little niece, and sticks out his tongue playfully. “That little gremlin's already asking where her uncle is, huh?” He asks with amusement in his tone, then huffs with a determined flair. “Very well, I am up to the challenge.”

Rollling his shoulders as if about to partake in a fight, he then pauses and… shifts slightly where he sits in mild discomfort at what he’s about to say.             “May I, uh... get help with retrieving my meal?” … he’s still not used to that.

His request is met with a pleased smile, and the Queen of Zofia stands to do just that.

…

…

It’s been days.

He still doesn’t feel much better.

With a groan after yet another pseudo-foiled attempt to eat, he immediately lays down onto his back, only for Anthiese to prop him to sit up. “Lie down like that and you'll choke on your own bile.” She scolds with her usual biting tone.

All he can do is groan in complaint, taking deep breaths and trying so hard for this to not be yet another failure to keep his food down. “I-is the goal simply to not... hurl?” As Albein asks, a feeling in his torso informed him he would most likely be failing today as well.

“If you feel you still need to heave, then do so.” Anthiese says, surprisingly patient with him, all things considered. “But I’d rather you didn't accidentally swallow it back while you're at it.”

… Well, she was the healer, here. “... Alright. Just…” Inhale. Exhale. Maybe he would defeat his body once and for all— 

Once more the bucket receives its offering; another loss for the Emperor.

Tentative hands place themselves onto his back, and she rubs in circular motions with what he’s sure is a salve on hand. Breathing in felt like the cold air in a Rigelian mountain, it was… it was almost enough to make him feel homesick. 

Inhale… Exhale… it was surprising how much relief came with those actions now. “It isn’t good to keep it down. It would keep the poison in, so to speak,” she explains. “You'll need to expel as much of it as possible if your body can’t break it down.”

Well… that made sense. Somewhat. “I... alright.” Nodding, Albein closes his eyes and breathes in and out again. “I do not have much experience in... this.” He admits to her. Most of his time in the sickbed had been from injury rather than sickness — he had always been quite hardy. “Whenever I fell ill…” He paused after a few moments, recalling Anthiese’s words about Conrad and the fact that she had a Rigelian step mother. Surely, she already knew. “Well, you can guess.”

She smiles sadly, and he’s certain there’s a story there she will not tell him. “I can… Sometimes your body can fight it off without aid, but other times, it will do anything to push it out wherever it can... It's usually not pleasant.”

… He doesn’t want to know, actually.

Momentarily, she leaves his side to fetch more water. “I recall the first time I had wine... It was made in the village I took you to. Liked the flavor... At first. My body…” she quietly chuckles. “Not so much.”

Despite how miserable he feels, Albein nods as amiable as he can, even if he certainly cannot relate. Still, he is curious… “The flavor... was it bitter like that, uh... other drink...?” Brows raised in curiosity, he looks to her, genuinely curious if Anthiese found the flavor pleasant. He hated it, personally, just as much as most wines he had sampled in Rigel.

“Sir Saber told me that it was from Rigel,” she said while handing him some water. “No, the wine from Ram was... Much sweeter than this. Palatable.”

He takes the water gratefully, but makes sure to drink it slowly, if anything to avoid… another disaster. “Sweet, is it...?” He asks, then chuckles softly. “I am not too fond of sweets either, maybe I should just send any sweet treats your way instead.” He’s… joking for the most part, his own family was just indifferent or disliked sweet food, so he frankly had no one to give those to aside from her. “Perhaps I'd try it... just once.” For her, and very carefully. He was, after all, curious to taste an alcohol that Anthiese genuinely liked.

Anthiese’s eyes seemed to have lit up at the thought— “If you feel inclined to, I'd be happy to...! — Indulge in whatever sweet treats you'd like to send me.”, —only for her to turn and cough away from Albein. “If... It isn't intrusive to ask, Albein... But what sorts of things do you like to eat, if neither sweet nor bitter?”

The enthusiastic reaction widens his eyes in surprise as he observes her curiously, but it is quickly replaced with a fond sort of smile as he nudges her shoulder with his own, a small smile on his face. A weakness, huh? Well… he didn’t see why not. “Then it shall be, by my power as Emperor.” He says with as much pump as his miserable state can muster, and while that last bit was clearly an exaggeration, there was sheer honesty in Albein's tone. She chuckles at his exaggeration, and he can see amusement in her eyes so clearly.

“As for the food I like...? Well, I'm a little fond of spicy things myself.” He says after few pensive moments. “And meaty dishes…” He nods to himself, even if the very thought of any meal right now was making his stomach flipflop in horror. “I quite enjoy those. Are there any other flavors you enjoy, Anthiese?” … It was easy to talk about food, wasn’t it?

“Only if you wish to send something to me, all right?” She tells him, but he has a feeling she might be looking forward to it. Still, she turns pensive, likely thinking on what food she prefers. “Meaty dishes are ok... and spicy ones aren't too bad... There are a few fancy dishes or two I really like, but most of Zofian cuisine is, admittedly... a little rough. A-admittedly, I much prefer Rigelian dishes…”

Albein feels a little surprised at the revelation, although he should have expected it, knowing the Queen had a stepparent from his land. If he remembered correctly, one of the more prominent ones in her life before she passed. “I see.” He says with a nod. “Rich and refined foods are alright with me, and I suppose I can handle rough if necessary, but it's not exactly my favorite…” He trails off, then chuckles a little as a thought comes to mind. 

“Whence did Conrad's mother come from? I wonder if she made for you both dishes from outside her region.” He was curious, of course, and not at all malicious. “I fear most of my experience with Zofian food has been within your property and in Ram.” Of course, he was certain neither of them counted the food they ate during the war as anything but a mixture of cuisines and whatever else they could prepare— they weren’t exactly proper dishes.

“I... can't remember,” she says after a few moments of her nose scrunched in thought. “I’m sure Conrad would be able to tell you, though...!”

“I shall ask him, then.”

She lets out a breath before glancing at her hands, still coated in some salve residue, and moves to wash them in a nearby basin before motioning towards the bucket. “Do you... feel a little better, Albein?”

He offers a wry sort of smile. After all, he still feels absolutely miserable and exhausted, but…

“Aside from disliking the taste on my throat…” He starts, rubbing at his throat gently and trying to not think of the raw feeling he has. “I do feel better. Your treatment has been... most helpful.” At the very least, he’s fairly certain that, without it, he would not have been healing so well. Nor keeping down half of his meals. 

Besides, it was always nice to… be with a friend in times like these.

…

…

It is when Anthiese finally deems him fit enough for travel that Albein departs, family and entourage in tow, with firm instructions for his recovery. Gods, he’s never drinking again in his life.

Still, his mood is high — a bridge he had thought long since burned with a friend had been mended. He almost does not mind his family’s fierce questioning on the way home, nor how much he has to manage his diet for the oncoming weeks upon his arrival.

(He minds a little bit).

It’s not long before he sends his first of many gifts to Zofia of sweets.

[laityashes]

The Adventures of Batgirl and Supergirl

Chapter 3

Leaning on the crystal rail of the balcony, Kara is transfixed upward into the darkness of the night sky. The stars glisten in a bright luxuriance. The inhospitable arctic of the Fortress of Solitude preserves a sky undesecrated by the lights of human civilization.

The kryptonian's gaze is enraptured by LHS 2520, a star in the Corvus Constellation. A red dwarf star so meaningless to scientists it's simply denoted by letters and numbers. Not worthy of being given an earthly name, only nominal enough to categorized and cataloged in some obscure astronomical journal. LHS 2520 located 27.1 light years away from Earth. A star that once held her whole world, but is now no more than small star that unaided human eye can not even see. Even with the vision granted to her by the yellow radiance of Sol, her own vision only sees a small glistening speck in the black abyss.

"Rao, Mighty and Eternal, I pray you earnestly cast your light upon the steps of Aunt Astra. Let your light illuminate the path of the righteous." Kara spoke aloud, her native tongue sounding foreign to her ears.

With a dejected sigh, the faux-millennial turns her gaze to the rough waters of the arctic sea. Before she goes back inside, she breathes in of the unique scent of the air outside the Fortress of Solitude. Once back inside the fortress, she goes through her bedtime routine, before finally taking the sleeping pills she and Kalex had concocted to assist her with falling asleep.

With her blonde tresses splaying across her pillow, Kara aches in her sleep. Her legs vigorously kicking the blanket from her body. She tosses and turns in the midst of a nightmare.

Upon her arrival to planet earth, feeling lost alone, and so afraid, she clung to her memories of Krypton. She clung to memories of their traditions. However, as the years passed, little details about her culture, and her parents, would slowly disappear. She couldn’t remember if her dad had an upturned nose, or if he would get dimples when he smiled. Little things would be devoured by this new planet she was forced to live on. New faces obstructing her recollection from memorizing her parent’s features.

With the loss always at the forefront of her mind, an image of her parents decorates the crystal wall above her bed. The image is reassuring. It captures her parents features where her memory starts to fail. Her room is similar to the one she had on krypton. It was round in shape, and even had similar steps that descended down towards the floor.

Kara, staying true to who was, manufactured a way to access images of her relatives. These images could be accessed through a hologram projector she and Kalex had built. She could even access Jor-El's Memory Hologram from Kal-EL's pod. Currently, while she slumbered, the hologram projector displayed an image of Rao. The projector had the capabilities to even mimic the red star’s rays if Kara desire it.

The little robot servant, Kalex, contained in his programming scores of recorded Kryptonian music. And, he would joyfully play different songs for her. He even celebrates Kryptonian holidays with her, and guides her through prayers she may have forgotten. The fortress was Kara’s only solace from the confusion that surrounded her on planet earth. The sanctuary for where she could be who she was, or at least what she use to be.

Following in Clark's footsteps, Kara pursued Journalism in college. She graduated college with a degree in Marketing and Journalism. And with her connection to Clark Kent, Kara landed a job CatCo. Clark had simply flashed his sheepish grin at Cat Grant, and, viola, Kara had been given a chance by Cat Grant. A one week chance, to be precise, and if she did not perform, Cat Grant vowed to fire her. By he end of the week, Cat Grant was smitten with her docile, and people-pleaser, of an assistant.

Unfortunately, Cat Grant, and her keen sense, was the reason for why Kara required an apartment in National City. She was why Kara kept up the appearance of living in National City. The Queen of Media would no doubt be suspicious if Kara had a P.O. box address on her drivers license or as her home address in her employment paperwork.The loft in National city was spacious, had abundant natural lightning, but it never felt like home. Never felt even remotely like to krypton compared to the Fortress.

Recently, the herone has learned when her pod had crash to Earth so had Fort Rozz. She had somehow led them out of the phantom zone with her and onto this planet. To add to her abd hand, all those prisoners were sentenced there by her mother. It was part of why Kal-El had set her up in a nearby orphanage when he found out, instead of keeping her with him. He wanted to keep her safe from the prisoners at Fort Rozz. Unfortunately, one of the prisoners on Fort Rozz was none other than her aunt. Secrets spilled from her aunts lips that pierced Supergirl`s already tattered heart. Now, Kara couldn't even bring herself to look at her mother's memory crystal. Her family was not the noble house she was led to believe it was. on top of that, her Aunt was set on taking over plant earth in some misguided ecological righteousness.

~~

Aliens.

Bruce was right, they`re a wild card.

Maniacs are one thing. Flying aliens bent on mind control, definitely not the way Alex thought the week was going to go. Drug lords, crazy murderers, Eco-terrorist, and all the other filth in Gothem, that was a given. Rarely have they ever encountered an alien predicament in Gothem. It just wasn't a thing.

After Narrowly dodging a pair of heat vision beams, Alex is once again that day thankful for Bruce's insistence upon the rigorous training. Training to be prepared for scenarios like this. As Batman predicted, She couldn't always rely on her stealth to be her winning hand, not when her enemy could see through walls or even smell her from miles away. Let alone, fly faster than a speeding bullet...

After ducking again, and strands of her hair being singed, the red-head rolled behind a pillar. A red and blue blur in her puerperal vision caught Batgirl's attention.

"Astra, please, stop this," Came a familiar voice. Superman's Protegee coming to the rescue. Alex would've been lying if she said she wasn`t relieved to see the super.

"Little one, stand aside. I don't want to hurt you," the Kryptonian general replied. Her eyes glowing red hot at Supergirl.

Ignoring the plea, Kara edged forward to her aunt. "Aunt Astra, please. This is wrong."

With the solar enegry fading from her eyes, Astra meets her niece halfway. Gently caresses Supergirl's cheek and tucks a blonde lock behind her ear. All the while, her eyes are cold with resolve, only softening minutely at Kara, her only surviving relative of her bloodline.

"Can't you see these humans are going to destroy their planet, much like how our people destroyed ours. I let one planet die, I will not do so again," Astra declared. "Why do you side with Kal-El? With the Humans? You deserve better." Turrning her hand over, Astra trails the back of her fingers down Kara's cheek. Her eyes searching the blonde's for some understanding. "He has no meaning of the value of blood. If he did then---"

--brightly colored balls rolled across their feet, interrupting their conversation. Rolling to a stop, the bright orbs commence in deluging the vicinity in gas.

Green gas.

Supergirl grasps at her throat. She can hardly breathe. Her form curls over in pain, the sclera of her eyes burns, and her vision blurs. As she processes what has transpired, the blonde stumbles forward latching an arm around Astra's similar arched frame. Kara strains her eyes peering for a way out. The gaseous substance is like a ghostly fog blanketing the interior of the warehouse.

"It's...thinner...this way," Kara gasps between strained breaths and points in the direction of where Alex is located.

Astra is the first to step forward, seemingly hauling Supergirl with her despite the earlier intention of the younger alien coming to the aid of the elder. Shivers similar to weak convulsions rack the blonde's frame as they stumbled toward a portion of the Wayne Enterprises facility less saturated with the aerosol.Like dry leaves falling off a tree, they inevitability fall. Kara slips from Astra's hold first, collapsing to warehouse floor with a thud. Unable to stay upright without the other, Astra falls to her knees beside her niece's prone form. Before giving into oxygen deprivation, Astra wraps her form protectively around the Girl of Steel. She slips into unconsciousness with more ease knowing she has Kara in her arms.

A bone chilling laugh echoes. Bouncing from wall to wall. A manic laugh. One which would make any in the bat-family stiffen. Images of Barbara Gordon and Jason Todd flash through Batgirl's mind. A severed spine and a beaten corpse. The hairs on her neck stand on end and unbidden chill runs down her spine.

The Joker.

This whole thing was a trap.

Suddenly, Alex's head wretched backward, and a pair of blue eyes meets her.

"Puddin', look who I found!" Harley Queen exclaims. The blonde clown wears a sickening smile of glee.

"Look at that, I got a three for two special," comes a deeper voice from behind her. Emerging from the green mist behind her in bold and brazen attire is none other than the Joker. "Batman doesn't like it when I kill his pets. Tch, tch tch, seems he hasn't learned his lesson."

Breaking out of her stupor, Alex flips Harley over her shoulder, slamming the blonde into the floor. She turns to face the psychotic man, her eyes gleam with anger. She rushes forward, a remote taser patch in hand, eager to plant it on monster before her. Only, in her dash, the Joker waves at her with a beaming smile, next thing she knows she's staring up at the ceiling, lights are spinning, and the tail end of a body hitting the floor hits her ears. Her head feels moist with something, before everything goes black.

[the-darkness-does-not-bargain]

Gay Sailors Are Gay AU?  Yes?  No?

“Do you ever think about getting out of here?”

“Hmm?”

“Off this old tub, I mean.  Do you ever just… think of leaving?”

“Mm, sometimes, I guess.  You?”

“I…” A sigh. “I want to be captain of my own ship. I want to sail under my own flag, as far as I want, wherever I want.  I don’t want to be a deckhand for the rest of my life.”

She smiles at Catra in the dim light of the moon.  “And what will the illustrious Captain Catra do on a ship of her own?” She says it teasingly, but she’s genuinely curious.

She sees her cot mate’s face and ears perk up as she flashes bright white fangs.  “I’d become the best pirate that’s ever sailed!  I’d rake in enough loot to buy an island from the Crown and make it a home. I’d have the best and fiercest crew and together we’d have the most feared and respected rig on these seas.”  She wiggles closer to Adora, as much as she can without jostling their small cot too much.  “And you’d be there with me,” she whispers, her mismatched eyes glowing in the dark.

“As your first mate?”

“As my co-captain,” Catra corrects, her fingers playing with Adora’s under their thin blanket.  “It’ll be you and I in charge for a change.  Making decisions, leading a crew.”  She presses their foreheads together.  “Fighting side by side, with all the wealth and glory in this world ours for the taking.”

“I’d like that a lot,” Adora whispers against Catra’s mouth, so close to her own.  She is grateful for the night when their lips meet. The privacy and intimacy of this moment is a greater treasure to her than a dozen chests of gold.

The kiss is sweet and slow, and she can’t seem to get enough of it.  Catra’s tongue against her own is so tantalizing that she can only deepen the contact.  It’s only when she feels the need for oxygen that she breaks away.  She tries to breath, but her mouth is filled with blood and saltwater.  She coughs, gasps, but she can’t seem to get any air, only succeeding in spluttering out more salt and copper and bile onto the deck as Catra looks on in horror. Her side is burning.  She looks down and watches red gush from her stomach and ruin her linen shirt and jerkin.  She’s freezing, all the warmth in her bones leaking out of the place where the lead shot pierced her skin.  She holds her wound with one hand and reaches out to Catra with the other. Catra just stands there, stock still, mouth agape.  There’s the percussion of a flintlock, and she gasps as the second shot punctures her chest, right between her ribs.  The force knocks her back, and she’s falling, falling, falling forever until she feels the unforgiving bite of the ocean all around her.  She sinks beneath the waves that beat against the side of the ship, down and down and down.  A tendril of inky darkness is pulling her further below, until she can’t even see the refracted light of the moon.  There’s nothing but darkness now, darkness and a pain that lessens as the cold gets worse.

There’s nothing, nothing…  Except she feels her body shaking.  There’s nothing at all.  “Captain! Yo, Adora!”

She jerks awake, her eyes snapping open.  She’s met with a wooden ceiling, with sunlight streaming through round windows, and with the face of Bow, her first mate.

“What is it?” She asks him, shaking her head to ease her disorientation.  “Is something wrong?”

Bow shrugs.  “Dunno about wrong, but interesting would cover it.  We need you up on deck.”

“Alright, I’ll be up in a minute.  Go keep a handle on whatever it is until I get there.”

“Aye, Captain!” He says brightly as he exits her quarters. Adora sits up in bed, rubbing her eyes and stretching.  Messy locks of blonde hair fall in her face, and she hastens to pull them back into a ponytail with a sturdy piece of twine.  Old wounds twinge as she climbs from her bed, and she rubs them absently, trying to put the dream out of her mind.  She changes her shirt and tightens up the laces on her breeches.  She exits her quarters and climbs the stairs up to the deck of her ship, and resolves not to dwell one moment on the past today.

On deck her crew is already hard at work preparing for their voyage.  They had docked in Bright Moon three days ago to deliver a shipment of sugar from way down south in Half-Moon.  Adora had spent most of those three days securing another job for them, and had finally gotten an offer last night, to ship lumber as well as valuable black powder down to the islands of Salineas far to the Southwest.  A long trip that would pay well; Adora’s favorite kind of job.  She surveys her crew loading on fat piles of wood and large barrels of gunpowder before she turns to address what is so “interesting”, as Bow puts it.

Standing in the middle of her deck is the Queen of Bright Moon and an entire retinue of guards, servants, and other nobility.  The Queen, Angella, is an impressively tall and slender woman---a beanpole, if you listened to the rabble---who commands attention like being noticed is her natural state.  Maybe it is.  She is dressed elegantly, but more importantly, expensively, and her translucent wings fold behind her with effortless grace.  She watches the sailors at work with a stoic expression that betrays just a hint of suspicion, or perhaps appraisal.  Next to her is a significantly shorter and younger girl, who, unlike the Queen, is wingless, full-figured, and cute.  Her sparkling hair is short and poofy, and while her clothes are just as expensive and well-crafted, she doesn’t seem as comfortable in them as the Queen. Adora takes this girl to be the ever-mysterious Princess Glimmer, who is rarely seen but frequently discussed in the streets and taverns of Bright Moon.  Beside mother and daughter are a gaggle of people Adora doesn’t care to worry about right now.  She’s wary of the Royal Guard, armed with spears and pistols, but they don’t make a move against her as she approaches.

Bow is already there speaking to the Queen, who doesn’t look especially impressed but is nevertheless conversing politely.

“Ah, here’s our captain!”  Bow says as he turns around to see her.  “Captain Adora, this is---”

“Her Royal Majesty, Queen Angella of the kingdom of Bright Moon. As well as her Royal Highness, Princess Glimmer of Bright Moon,” a mousy little man on the right side of the Queen spouts.  Bow, while his back is turned to the royal party, rolls his eyes ever so slightly at Adora before stepping back to let her handle things.

Adora dips into a bow, just low enough to be respectful.  “Your Majesty, Your Highness, to what do I owe the honor of your presence?”  Even though she generally detests them, she can play nice with the noble types when she has to, mostly when it’s going to get her paid.

“Captain Adora,” says the Queen, in her smooth voice and high society accent.  “You are held in high regard amongst my people and my court.  Your services and conduct have been deemed exceptional by many a merchant in my capital.”

“I am pleased to hear it, Your Majesty.  We here on the Swift Wind strive for efficiency and excellence.”

“That being said, what I am here to ask of you today is not a matter of transporting goods.”  She indicates her daughter.  “This is my daughter, Princess Glimmer.  She has recently turned 18 years of age.”  A big thing, that, when the heir to the throne comes of age.  Adora remembers that they had docked on the same night as the grand ball held for the occasion.  Being a bunch of lowly seafarers, they hadn’t been invited, but they’d made due in the taverns that were celebrating the event with women and ale.  “As a foreign-born woman, you might not be aware of the customs in Bright Moon when a royal child comes of age.”  There’s no obvious judgement or distaste when the queen calls her foreign-born, which earns her a point in Adora’s book.  She gets called foreign-born (and other less pleasant synonyms) no matter where she docks, so she’s used to the descriptor.  “When a Prince of Princess of Bright Moon turns 18, they are granted a particularly special request, which must be answered. My daughter,” and she says that with a touch of irritation.  The Princess frowns but hold her head high.  “Has requested to travel aboard a mariner’s vessel.  In order to… broaden her horizons.”

Adora holds back a smirk.  She’s sure her pretty, oh-so-refined Royal Majesty has much less courtly words she could use, judging by the lime-licker expression on her lovely face. That she doesn’t use them seems a great testament to her willpower.

“And you would like her to travel aboard the Swift Wind?”

“I have vetted you, your crew, and your vessel extensively. I will only accept the best for Glimmer.”  She picks up her many skirts and steps directly in front of Adora.  Now, Adora isn’t short by any stretch of the imagination, but still the Queen towers over her when she stands this close.  Her dark eyes are deadly serious.  “My daughter wishes to travel for one year.  In exchange for her safety and good health, I am willing to pay you a sum of 200,000 gold pieces, 50,000 now and the rest upon her return.”

Adora controls her expression, but she can’t stop her eyes from widening. 200,000?  200 fucking thousand gold pieces?  Just for ferrying some royal lass around the South Sea for a year? She hears Bow whistle softly in the background.  “However,” the Queen says, her eyes narrowing.  “You will only receive the second part of your fee IF my daughter returns safe and happy.  Do you understand what I am offering you, Captain Adora?”  Every syllable is sharp and pronounced, adding extra bite to each word.

“It seems right clear to me, your Majesty,” Adora says, holding her ground.  “Aye, we’ll take the Princess, and she’ll sail with us for a year.”  She finally steps aside to gesture courteously towards her quarters.  “If you would prefer, we can discuss the finer details in my study.”

“There will be no need,” says the Queen imperiously.  “I would prefer that you instead guide my daughter and I in inspecting your vessel.  I must be satisfied with her accommodations before we can finalize our arrangement.”

“As you wish, my Queen,” Adora says neutrally with another quick bow.  “Bow, with me,” she says to her first mate, and he falls in step behind her, the Queen, and the Princess.  She leads them on a tour of the Swift Wind.  There isn’t much to see, but the Queen is meticulous, checking everything for the slightest sign of potential risk.  She pesters Adora with questions that she and Bow tag-team to answer.

When they reach the crew sleeping quarters, Adora is left somewhat awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck.  It wasn’t that the quarters were bad, per se.  They were plenty good enough for sailors, but she didn’t have to check to know that the Queen was displeased.  “These are the crew’s quarters.  The Princess will sleep down here while we are at sea.”

“This is highly unseemly, Captain Adora.  How can I trust that my daughter will be safe amongst your crew while she is sleeping?”

“Ugh, Mom!”  The Princess groans.  “It’s fine, stop worrying!”

“It will not be fine until I receive a satisfactory answer, Glimmer,” the Queen says crossly.

Adora hides her gulp and tries not to think of the heavily armed guards still on her deck.  “With all due respect, Your Majesty, you’ve looked into me and my crew.  You’ve heard what our associates say about our conduct. If you didn’t already trust that we would keep your daughter safe and well-treated, you wouldn’t have made the offer to begin with.”  She gestures at the bunks and hammocks.  “These beds are good for sleepin’ and mendin’, and whatever else.  We keep ‘em clean and tidy.  My crew are all of an honorable sort, who would only treat Princess Glimmer with the utmost respect.”  Sensing that she wasn’t quite there yet, she adds, “You have my word that on my honor Princess Glimmer will be perfectly protected and cared for during her time with us.”  She meets the Queen’s gaze steadfastly, allowing her honesty to come through clearly.

The Queen stares at her for a long, tense moment.  Then her shoulders relax, and she sighs.  “Very well.  I am satisfied with the Swift Wind and with you, Captain Adora.”  She wastes no time turning around and exiting the belly of the ship, with Adora, Bow, and Glimmer following behind.  Back on the deck, the Queen rejoins her entourage.  “I have been informed that you disembark for Salineas tomorrow morning, correct?”

Adora nods.  “We’ll be settin’ sail round 10 o’clock.”

“That is acceptable.  Tomorrow at 9 o’clock I will be here with my daughter and the first part of your fee.  Until then, Captain Adora.”

“Until then, Your Majesty, Princess.”  The Queens and walks primly down the boarding ramp, but the Princess turns around before she goes and smiles tentatively at Adora and Bow. Adora grins politely back at her, and she knows without looking that Bow is beaming.  After she disappears after her mother, she feels her first mate’s burly arms clap down around her shoulders.

“200,000 gold!  200,000 gold, Cap, can you believe it?”

“Pfft, not really no.  But that was the real Queen presenting it to us, so I’m inclined to take her word.”  She steps out of Bow’s arms and turns around to face him.  “Listen up, Bow,” she says, using her authoritative captain voice.  “Here’s what’s going to happen.  We get the 50,000 tomorrow and take the lass on board. We’ll add into the crew’s pay as a bonus, but we are not saying where it came from.”

“Why not?” Bow asks, scratching her head.

“Too much of a liability.  People will do a lot for money if they want it or need it badly enough, and the fat heap of money the Queen is promising will tempt even the best of them. We won’t get a copper if some idiot gets it into their head that they can force an advanced payment by, say, takin’ the girl hostage and running off to the slave markets, or worse, tryin’ to mutiny and then demanding a ransom.”

“Ooo, yeah, I get your point,” Bow says, wincing.

Adora nods.  “So, your lips and mine are sealed.  I’ll talk to the lass too once she’s on board.  If anyone asks, downplay the sum.  We’ll divvy up the whole fee fairly once the princess is back in her tower.”

“Aye, Captain!” Bow says with a jaunty salute.

 The rest of that day goes without issue.  Her crew, hard workers that they are, finish loading up their cargo just before sunset.  And when the sun rises again the next morning, Adora is already up and waiting by the rail for the Queen and the Princess.  They are remarkably punctual, stepping onto the docks just as the church bells ring for 9 o’clock.  The Princess is less elaborately dressed this morning, but Adora would still wager that her coat cost more than the Swift Wind.  The Queen, of course, is still dressed to the nines.

Adora watches from the deck as mother and daughter make their goodbyes, sharing a long and tight hug as the Queen whispers into the Princess’s ears.  The sight is… unsettling to Adora.  It makes her chest feel somewhat tight.  She knows why, even though it’s silly.  She’s long past wondering who her real mother is or where she might be now, but seeing such fervent parental affection makes her wish, just for a moment, that she had had at least one chance to meet her.  The closest she’d ever had to a maternal figure was Shadow Weaver, the sea witch, back when…

The old scar between her ribs twinges again, and she takes it as a warning.  She sighs. There’s no need to go down that path, unless you want more nightmares tonight.  Her Sword, strapped to her hip, offers comfort, the peculiar thing. She hears It whispers in her mind’s ear as it attempts to soothe her.  She isn’t sure what It thinks to accomplishes because she is most certainly not soothed by hearing disembodied voices.  She pats the hilt lamely to shut it up, especially now that the Princess is marching up the ramp toward her.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” she greets cordially, offering her hand.  That’s something you do for princesses, right?  Glimmer takes her hand delicately and lets Adora guide over the last bump in the walkway and onto the deck.  

Glimmer lets go of her hand and turns, dropping into a curtsey that looks uncomfortable.  “Good morning, Captain Adora.  Thank you ever so much for allowing me to sail with you.”  What’s that sour little twist on her mouth for?  A chest carried by two servants comes up behind her, their pay no doubt.  Bow, quick lad that he is, hastens to direct them to stow the gold out of sight before any of the rest of the crew see it.

The Princess turns to wave goodbye to her mother while those same castle servants come back to bring up a heavy-looking trunk, no doubt full of things a princess of Bright Moon can’t live without.  Adora wants to roll her eyes, but doesn’t.  Once the servants are off the ramp, they draw it up, and her deckhands undo the ropes mooring the Swift Wind.  Bow takes the helm, and he guides the ship carefully off the dock and into the larger harbor.  Glimmer waves to her mother once more as she gets further and further away, and then she turns to Adora with a bold and businesslike expression on her face.

“Okay, so, Captain,” she starts, crossing her arms over her chest. “I know my mom gave you a hard time about your ship and about keeping me safe, but honestly, it’s fine.  I mean it, you don’t have to give me any special treatment.”

Adora grins because she can’t help it.  This girl is cute and poofy and powdered, wearing a silver-trimmed velvet coat no less, and she’s asking for “no special treatment”.  “With all due respect, my Princess, your mother made it… quite clear that you must only receive our best.  I’m not inclined to test her temper.”

“Ugh, don’t listen to her, she was just trying to scare you,” Glimmer says.  She grunts in annoyance.  “She’s so overprotective, but I’m not made of glass and I can handle sleeping on a cot with some sailors for a year.”  She places both her well-manicured hands on her shapely hips.  “And, I’ll have you know, Captain, that I can pull my weight around here.  Don’t expect me to just sit around like some layabout.  I can work, and I will work, if you give me a job to do.”

Adora snorts, another involuntary reaction.  “What’s so funny?!” Glimmer barks, eyes narrowing.  Suddenly, the resemblance between Princess and Queen is very prominent.

“Ah, you’ll have’ta forgive me, lass,” she says, still giggling. “It’s just, ahem, with all due respect, you’re a princess.  Have you ever done work in your life?  And I mean real work, not whatever tricky games you lot play in your fancy palaces.”

“W-well,” Glimmer sputters.  “Not as such, but don’t think me incapable!  I’m a fast learner, and I work hard.  I excelled in all my studies.  And I was the best rider on the royal polo team, so I can do physical things too.”

The best rider on the royal polo team, Gods preserve them.  But she takes a moment to consider this unusual princess seriously. “So of all the things you could have asked for on your 18th birthday, you asked to work on a trading ship?”

“Uh, well, Mom doesn’t really know about the working part, but, essentially yes.  I need something like this.  To go out and see the world, not just look at paintings of it in my room.  To meet people like you who actually have real work to do. One day I’m going to be Queen, and when that day comes, I want to be prepared.  I want to know what it is to really labor on something, I want to know what normal people do with their lives, so I can rule from a place of experience with those things and better know what’s best for my people.  Does… does any of that makes sense?”  The Princess is blushing, rosy pink suffusing tan cheeks, and it’s a fair distraction to Adora.  But she does answer.

“That’s quite a noble quest you’ve gone and set yourself, Your Highness.  I can respect drive and honorable ambition.  As you will’t then.  You’ll work, earn your keep with the rest of my crew, and do so without complaint like they do.  Understood, Princess?”

“Understood, Captain.  And, please, call me Glimmer.  It would be a little weird if my boss called me princess all the time.”

“Alright, have it your way.  You’ll start with going over the ledgers.  Follow me.”

“What?  Ledgers?”

“Aye,” Adora says turning back around.  “They’ve been needing a look-through now that we’ve finished our old job and got two new ones.”  She raises an eyebrow.  “Unless that’s not the kind of real work you’re interested in?”

“N-no!” The Princess quickly protests.  “I’ll do it, and better than anyone you’ve had before! I just… was expecting something more exc… ah, involved.”

Adora softens her smirk into a pleasant smile.  “You’ll start with that.  Show me you can do it, and then we’ll see about more involved work.  Deal?”

Glimmer sighs, but then grins confidently.  “It’s a deal.”

“Then follow me, Glimmer.”