#my unpredictable criminal sons who love each other so much

[thenwhatthefukcisthis]

[kth1]

Get Jinxed [MYG]

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Get Jinxed  [Yoongi x Reader] ⟶ Credit: @kimtaehyunq​ ⟶ Genre: Angst | Smut | 21+ | Cyberpunk AU | One Shot ⟶ Warnings: pwp, sorta old lovers to enemies to lovers, cocky yoongi, mentions of weapons, criminal activities, hopeless romantic OC, rough sex, over simulation, multi-orgasms, public indecency, unprotected, creampie, etc,  ⟶ WC: 4.7k+ ⟶ Summary: A rouge ex officer of the law - Yoongi - has twisted his ways into causing mayhem across towns. You are the high and mighty officer who seeks revenge on Yoongi’s ways; considering that he not only turned against the city in which he grew up in, striping all chances of reforming himself, he also stole your heart. ⟶ Teaser: “He hushes you with a hand, his teeth nipping eagerly around your clavicles. “Shh,” he warns with a devilish glint, “We’re in public, Y/n.” He chuckles, mouth coming back to kiss against your jaw.” ⟶ Beta Reader: Thank you so so so very much for taking on this task very very very last minute @chillingtae​ I am so thankful for you to accept this role, and thank you for helping me through this fic! I owe you! ♡ ⟶ Author’s note: Written for @houseofddaeng​‘s Agust D Anniversary Event. Was my first time touching elements of a cyberpunk!au. 

Rain casts a veil over your sight as you stare deeply into the silhouette across the murky alleyway; the figure before you surveys the one-of-a-kind hextech rifle aiming right at their head. Glistening neon lights flood your peripherals, puddles reflecting fractions of radiance between the cracks of the split bricks under your very feet. The chill of cold water drenches your attire, even the cap resting on your head leaks streams down the sides of your face.

“How could you!” You choked out between your teeth; loud enough over the pounding rain, loud enough to cut the man in front of you as if your words are daggers.

The rifle that deemed you the best shot in the city has no comparison to your superior intellect. Your wits earned you the way through the rankings and nobody, no criminal or lawbreaker were foolish enough to cross your path. You are known as Vopamis City’s finest peacekeeper and your oath is embedded deep within your family roots.

You’re the sheriff of a thriving, escalating city where art, craftsmanship, trade, and metamorphosis were built and centered from. Vopamis is and forever will be a reinventing city where dreams are lived to the fullest extent and treasures are found around every corner. It sits on top of the distrusted city of Tapos, an undercity district – which used to be once united but now no more – buried deep within canyons weaved below.

You press your words and force the air to pass through your clutching windpipe, “Fuckin’ answer me you son of a bitch!”

The figure sighs with a step forward, rolling their head out of annoyance but once their eyes meet yours in the light you knew all breath escaped your chest.

“Hi, Y/n.”

The dangerous bright orange hair stands out like no other, just like the cocky grin that emits the same tone as his two-toned eyes does. One is dull brown with crystalized specks of white, the other a piercing topaz yellow; a hard contrast between his natural dark pupil – all of which made those eyes captivating.

You fear this moment every day ever since that terrible day. It haunts you; it scares you; it hurts you. Yet here you are, face to face with the man who solemnly swept the valuable, rich rug right out from under you and ran with it. With betrayal and pain coursing through your veins you sought out his existence every single day to get revenge on the one person you thought you truly once loved.

With your rifle adjusted point blank, with the help of the glowing red laser to the center of his forehead, you show no signs of backing down from your stance. The rain beats heavily though your heart pounds harder inside your chest.

He looks just how you remember him; black under-cut still very much unkempt, a piercing jabbed through one eyebrow and two into the cartilage on the same side of his nose. His oversized cryptic jacket hides his frame well, decorated in all sorts of patches, widgets, and spikes that have their own metallic shine to them. You swear you see the edgings of tattoos creeping up the sides of his neck, exactly how you recall them.

Those unforgiving thick soled boots kick up the water around his steps as he inches out of the shadows, “It’s been a while.”

You ignore him just like he ignores your first sentence, “How could you do this?!”

He shrugs with amusement dressing his face, “Why ask me questions you already have answers to, Y/n?”

With glares meeting another in a standoff stare he halts his walk five feet in front of you. Unphased by the downpour of smogged twilight rain, you twist your finger around the trigger of your trusty gun. “You stole for the black markets, betrayed your city and me, ran off to the unstable technologies and reckless constructions of the polluted and gangrenous Tapos. Why!?”

“You seem to be a bit vindictive.” He snickers, swiping a hand through his soaked locks. “I was bored.”

Bored.

Your grip tightens around your rifle, you can’t tell if you are shaking from the cold of the rain or the anger raging throughout your body. His words made your heart sink to the pit of your stomach.. “Yoongi!” You hiss with a harsh tone, blood boiling under your very skin.

He steps again, hand clutching the barrel of your gun and aligning the end against his forehead. Yoongi looks at you with teasing eyes and a wide, wirily smile. He is testing you - taunting you. “I know you won’t do it. You won’t pull the trigger.” That blunt topaz eye drills back into yours, enticing and enchanting all at once. “How many times have you seen me in the streets? Stealing from this filthy, pathetic excuse of a renowned city? How many times did you watch me walk by doing whatever I damn well please? Why are you stopping me now? What changed?”

To what you believe you are holding out strong, insisting you have the upper hand and all control. But you are frozen, unpredictably iced in place from where you stand. Only to stare back at the man that your heart swells and aches for. Yoongi doesn’t wait for you to answer as he already knows every single move and step you have going for you.

“It’s only been two months.” He states with a soft smile, lowering and pushing aside the gun in your grasp. “One of the most determined and skilled investigators of all Vopamis. Filled with ferocity and a strong sense of justice and resolution. Falls right into the footsteps of each and every one of your family members. They reinforced their ideals of right and wrong on you so much that it’s practically branded across your forehead.”

Yoongi spits to the side, tilting his head to watch your face with all his rambling. He has proven himself in such a small-time frame of how impulsive he can be, going from a trusted high ranked officer of the law to a merciful criminal who now wreaks havoc without care. Buildings burn in his name as he always made sure to leave a massive trail of mayhem and panic in his wake, never seized to end his rampage with the biggest explosions – which soon became his signature.

You loved him ever since the day you two joined the academy together. Yoongi excelled in everything from hextech inventions to architectural research. Vopamis has become a magnet for the most skilled craftsmen from all over the world and the more restricted and dangerous ones fell into the toxic runoff of Tapos. Now, Yoongi’s schemes have inspired copycat crimes among the chem-punks, a movement in which he predicted after labeling righteous wordings on structures throughout both cities. Some followers have blindly followed his persona named ‘X’.  In a crafty way each successful heist has a small piece left for the police to find; a personable note that always says, “get jinxed.”

Standing helplessly at the mercy of your own heart your head drops, eyes casting to the drenched road. Everything in your righteous mind tells you to take him in, lock him up – it is your job and duty to do this as you are one with the law. But your poor, fragile heart is gapping open from the piece that was ripped away by Yoongi.

“You’re right.” You whisper softly.

“I know.”

All the times you allowed him to do what he continues to do because you didn’t have it in you to send him to jail. As you watch him become the criminal he is now, refusing to stop his acts even though the justice and pride within you screams for you to act on your instincts. “Everything you’re saying is right.”

Yoongi raises his hand, palm facing up and holding a chemtech explosive bullet that swirls a cobalt blue liquid inside. Instantaneously you knew exactly what the bullet is – the meaning behind it, and all of the precious memories came flooding back all at once.

The bullet was no longer than two inches and has a hole drilled through the piece to lace a chain through it. Yoongi wears it as a charm to his bracelet and even in the dark of the rainy night with neon lights flashing around you, you can still see the small etchings of both of your initials on the tip of the bullet. It was his first ever fully functional bullet he crafted back at the academy and he had dedicated that piece of craftsmanship to you.

“I still love you, you know.” Yoongi’s voice stills your breath, deep and stern. With all seriousness he openly speaks with a stony face as you look up to him. “I never stopped.”

You avert your eyes away from the nostalgic piece which lies in Yoongi’s palm and the heat of your breath fans out into the open cool air in a puff of smoke. It hurts your heart, all your pent-up revenge brought out a disgusting angry monster from within you. You’re blinded by the law and blinded by the admiration of love for Yoongi.

“You don’t.” You counter with a hiss.

Raindrops hide away the streams of tears that break down the brims of your eyes and you refuse to keep your eyes open in the slim chance of giving Yoongi the satisfaction of your glistening orbs filling with hurt. As much as you secretly hope and want – need – Yoongi to say those words, they still simmer a splitting pain inside of your delicate heart.

Yoongi’s tatted, calloused hand aimlessly raises to your face, his knuckles brushing against the curve of your cheek. Surprisingly, you don’t flinch at the contrasting and unexpected warmth that’s responsible for heating up that side of your face. Instead you find yourself helplessly leaning into the contact, your shaking hand still holding your trusty gun at your side.

“It’s funny,” Yoongi scoffs, forcing your eyes to jolt in his direction of his action.

You burn a glare at him while he inspects your face, your blood boiling underneath all of your drenched clothes and cold skin. Yoongi sounds a quick ‘tsk’ as disapproval while his fingers glide down the column of your neck. “So funny that you question everything I say and do.”

The fact that he has your rendered frozen in place under the heavy weather and his intimidating presence only confirms his suspicions. He wasn’t lying to you and you knew that, right? You swallow thickly at the bright orange haired man in front of you, eyes casting down to shrink your frame.

You sneer back, “Can you blame me? You ruined your chances of being an officer – all that hard work you put in means nothing now. You destroyed all your chances of being a citizen of Vopamis. And all because you were bored.” In the back of your mind no matter how many hours you had pondered his reasonings to derail into a criminal, what hurt you the most wasn’t the fact he chose this path of being a high risk offender – it is the reality of him leaving you behind as if nothing about your relationship between another is important to him as it was to you.

Yoongi cocks an amused eyebrow, a smirk quick to follow. “Hm, yes. I wasn’t bored with you though, Y/n. Truthfully, knowing that you’ll be hot on my trail at all times – no matter where I went – made this new life even more fun. You enjoy chasing me?” He swipes his tongue through the small opening of his lips, two-toned eyes glare at the small line of tattoos up the back of your own ear. He tilts your jaw with his thumb, exposing more of your smooth damped skin.

Under Yoongi’s hand you feel like a marionette; damned against his ministrations and at how weak you feel towards him. You can see your vision blur around the edges, your sight honing on the glowing eye that stares at you with interest. Another puff of fog seeps out of your mouth from a released breath that you held in for far too long. You don’t acknowledge the way your limbs grew numb by the minute or the way your bottom lip trembles from your constant shivers. You are only focusing on the way the warmth of the pads of his fingers emits onto your skin and gives you a sliver of assurance.

“Have I ruined this too?” Yoongi questions in a whisper, eyes projecting down to your cold lips.

Everything in your mind tells you to scream at him, tell Yoongi ‘yes, you completely and utterly ruined every single aspect of my life,’ but the words cannot crawl their way up your throat and form the sounds you need. Instead your face reacts with pain, all of your walls and defenses breaking down around you and your rifle drops to the puddled ground underneath you.

He can read you like a book, study your features, and pull each intricate and thin string of your heart. He plays you like a fiddle with a crooked smile, a knowing look to his face where all his intuitions of you feeling something towards him are all riddled true. It’s dressed all over your face, your body leaning closer to his, the look to your eyes – glistening or not.

His thumb taps lightly against your bottom lip, popping it open from the stern line your mouth was creating. You gulp with anticipation, your surrounding areas become less and less in vision of your peripheral and your eyes can only bore straight back into Yoongi’s; pupils dilating rapidly.

“No…”

Your solo word shakes out with a heavy breath at the same time Yoongi’s other hand comes to grab your elbow and pull you closer to him. The heat radiating off of him is met between you with a strikingly fast kiss, but the kiss was tentative at best. Even reading all of your body gestures, the way your posture changes when it comes to his proximity invading your territories, Yoongi still approached with cocky confidence. He knows he has you around his finger, around his hand and more.

‘You weren’t ruined, yet,’ he thought. But Yoongi is all too excited to violate whatever purity of the law that is still laced within your morals.

He’s eager to shove his deadly tongue into the first parting of your mouth, a gasp of excitement releasing through a moan. You forget about the downpour of rain around the two of you, the chill of the air cutting through your clothes, even forgetting the blaring neon signs illuminating the paths around this alleyway. Your mind is intoxicated with the savvy orange haired, corrupted, and dangerous man who has swindled his way within the burrows of each city and the cavities of your heart.

A single tear traces down your cheek as your arms link around Yoongi’s neck, your body completely caving into the man before you. With the motion Yoongi backs the two of you up until you're hidden well enough in the darkness. His hand cocks your head to the side as he leaves wet open-mouthed kisses as he pushes you against the side of the building. His lips heat your skin up and send an involuntary chill of goosebumps down your body.

You breath out into the air while your senses adjust to the new sensations of want and need being applied to your form. “Yoongi –“

He hushes you with a hand, his teeth nipping eagerly around your clavicles. “Shh,” he warns with a devilish glint, “We’re in public, Y/n.” He chuckles, mouth coming back to kiss against your jaw.

You muffle a noise of acknowledgement, or a moan of pleasure from the sharp suck Yoongi plants against the sweet spot under your ear. Your arms grip him tighter, pulling him flush against your front to be as close as possible. Without hesitation your hands link up the back of his head, fingers carding through the disheveled drenched locks for a nice pull.

Both of your clothes stick to you like a second skin, suctioned to your own bodies and you desperately want them ripped off. Yoongi hisses at the yank of his head. Sensing your actions as an emergency he huffs a laugh your way, “Yeah? What do you want?” He removes the hand across your mouth only to shove his thumb into it, pressing down against your tongue. “Is this righteous mouth going to tell me something?”

You comply by action with the decision of closing your mouth around his finger and sucking it with delight. Yoongi praises you with words of assurance, biting down on the flesh of his own bottom lip. He leans into you, hips grinding instantly against your frontside. The uneven gyrating of wet fabrics causes a rough and uncomfortable friction, but it was something that helped direct attention toward your neglected core.

Yoongi lifts up your slicked shirt just enough to fondle around the waistband of your pants in search of unhinging your duty rig belt. “You’re going to be a good girl, right?” His eyes give you a knowing look as his thumb detaches from your trap. Nodding, you seek his mouth once more to savor the warmth between you two. “Vopamis’ finest,” he quotes in a mocked tone.

“I love you.”

Your confession halts Yoongi for a brief moment between kisses, his hand stalls as it breaches a few inches inside the front of your pants. He has you pinned against the rough brick of a building in the outskirts of the city with your freezing, aching body under his frame. Your mouth and legs so willing to open up for him.

This is the very first time he’s seen you so ‘not yourself’ in all the years he has known you, even when the fondness blossomed more between the two of you. Whichever relationship the two of you were in – it wasn’t exclusive but it surely is implied – has become completely manipulated to the public eye. Yoongi’s urgency falters for a moment, a flashback to a simpler time where the underlying love and sweetness emitting from the two of you has no boundaries. But as fast as that memory exposes itself, it was easily covered in his future thoughts. His enjoyment of being who he is now, what he wants to achieve, obtain, and take.

With your face plastering across all walls of his mind, he smirks excessively as if he is pleased with himself. He has everything he wants, and he’s greedy for more. No matter what Yoongi does with himself he knows he’ll have you regardless – and right now is proving that theory.

He leans forward to plant another kiss to your appetizing lips once more, “I know you do.”

Quickly, Yoongi flips you in your place in one quick motion, yanking down a portion of your pants once you catch yourself against the wall. Your eyes scan frantically to the opening of the alleyway, silently praying nobody stumbles upon the two of you in this indecency act – especially how your rifle lays still on the ground in the opening.

The air breezes across your now exposed cheeks, and with a firm hand Yoongi shoves against your lower back forcing you to bend forward enough to reveal your core. Gasping, you shudder under the sudden invasion of his cold clammy palm molding on top of your cunt. Your hands held you up against the wall, pants pulled only to your lower thighs preventing the spread your legs most desperately needed.

Slowly, Yoongi’s fingers prod along your slit, dipping directly between your folds the moment they come in contact with your dampness. He shushes you once again with the ruggedness of his voice while you hear the clinking of what you assume to be his belt buckle.

He wastes no time sinking a finger straight into your entrance, only after giving your clit a moments time of blissful pleasure – gone far too quick for your liking. His digit glides easily, enticing him with the next stroke to join a second. Your mouth hangs open with heated pants, your lower stomach jumping excitedly at the intimacy of your loved one, and your hips chase the stride of his fast pace.

“Shit, Yoongi!” you curse under your breath, feeling his free hand now snaking up your side under your shirt. His fingers alone create such friction that has your head lolling to the side and your inners clutching erratically. You don’t question your urgency, the impatient nature your body so willingly falls into, not when Yoongi is inches behind you lining up his engorged head to replace his fingers.

The two of you don’t care about the surrounding areas, too filled with lust. Too drunk on the idea of Yoongi coming back to you – and he is too excited knowing he has you in his clutches.

Heat courses throughout your core and abdomen, running down each of your limbs the moment his hips are pressed against your backside, dick submerged in one swift jolt forward. You lose your footing, falling further into the wall as your forearms plant into the building. A guttural moan leaks out of him the moment you yelp and squirm under him. His fingers desperately hold around your waist as he straightens his back, giving the next few experimental thrusts the slower motion your pussy needed from his harsh action.

Yoongi’s hip snaps back into you, bringing the flesh of your ass into the seat of his lap. He seethes through his teeth, “Fuckin’ hell!”

You’re restricted from widening your legs no thanks to your pants locking you in place, but this also gives a tighter sensation against his swollen cock. He doesn’t give you too much time to recuperate and catch your bearings, too honest with his mission and surging forward to bring the two of you to the brink.

“Stand,” he grunts with an arm circling around your waist. With his help you’re press flush against the wall and his chest, completely stuck between two hard places. Yoongi’s pace is rapid, the slaps of skin melt into the sounds of the fallen raindrops. It’s not long for his cock to jam pleasantly into the sweet spots within your silky walls, his thrusts determined to continue their gyrating motion deep inside you.

He chuckles at the lewd moans you release, head tilted back against his shoulder as you breath for air. “You really don’t care if someone hears you, huh? What do you think they’ll do, seeing the best shot in town being railed by a rogue criminal?”

Yoongi’s words course through your ear, his teeth coming to bite the flesh behind it. Your mind is too cloudy to think straight, not when he was inside of you both physically and emotionally. “T-they’ll hate me.”

“Is that so?”

You hum because that’s all you can do. The knot tightens in your stomach, the dull ache between your legs distorting itself into an electrifying spark has you cursing Yoongi’s name to go faster, harder. Yoongi feels you tightening around his prodding cock, only causing him to buck into you rougher.

Orange locks find their way between your fingers, tightening your grip on his hair the faster that band within you reaches towards its peak. “Yes! Yes, yes, please –“

The moment your body feels his inked fingers sneak their way to your clit, pinching it harshly, pulls a shriek of pleasure from your throat. Your body snaps under him – back arching as your walls clasp around his cock. “A-ah!” you shout while your orgasm rushes to all corners of your body, a tingly sensation vibrating through every fiber of your being.

Yoongi smirks as his pace doesn’t halt, now latching both of his hands to your hips he directs all movements. He enjoys your dispute of over-sensitivity, knowing how much you secretly like it from all the times in the past.

“One more, I know you have it in you. I’ve seen it before.” His voice is rough, any tang of sweetness swept away. “I’ll continue to fuck into this pussy until you cum again.”

Without stopping for a breather your body rushes into overdrive, it continues to squirm in his grasps and your legs shake dangerously underneath you. All thoughts of remaining quiet have gone out the window. Your second orgasm is set to fire, ready to be kicked off the edge into infinity, and with one quick shove of Yoongi’s cock that sinks all the way to ram into your cervix has you keening over and over.

Your pussy pulsates around his dick inconsistently, holding onto the appendage like a vice. It triggers his frenzy, his release spilling deep inside your well spent walls with dirty grunts. His arms hold around you tightly, helping you stand straight and to assist himself at the same time. Together both of your breathes are resounded, heated air escaping around the two of you in puffs of smoke.

You wince when his softening cock slips out of you, leaving gravity to aid in the way his cum drips casually out of your hole. Yoongi doesn’t allow you to turn and face him before he’s hoisting up your bottoms, the fabrics too annoyingly drenched to feel comfortable against your skin.

When you finally turn to speak to him he’s already readjusting his pants up along his hips, securing the button to his pants as he eyes you for a quick second. His hair is even more of a mess than before, no doubt you looked remotely better.

Dropping your mouth to talk, Yoongi averts his gaze to your rifle laying to the side. “Yoongi, I –“

“Don’t.”

His eyes narrow at the device that labels the reality of everything, where the two of you stand no matter how much you tango with another. A snort leaves him as he finishes off the buckle to his belt and you can tell by the way his facial features flicker than he’s having a complicated inner dialog going on inside his mind.

“Yoongi!” You press, grabbing hold of his shoulders to shake him slightly. “Yoongi please look at me, please don’t walk away from me.”

After a deep breath he exhales slowly, blank eyes now directed at you. There’s confusion painted over your face from the way you aren’t understanding why Yoongi suddenly steps even closer to place another kiss onto your lips, but it causes you to stop thinking momentarily. His lips, plump and plush, are the only things you can think about – until he’s pulling away too fast.

Back now facing you, he strides down the alley in which you found him. As if this heated interaction, and everything it consisted of, seized to exist anymore – the time has passed.

You take a wobbly step in his direction, hand reaching towards the figure that distances itself further from your grasp. “Yoongi, please!” You cry.

Behind you is your rifle, only feet away, and in front of you is the man you continuously chase. You’re torn between the two, the feeling of your mind splitting in half causing you to have a mental debacle with yourself. You scream with frustration; tears stream down your face at what your heart truly wants.

To stop the criminal at large or to join him?

You didn’t notice how Yoongi stops in his tracks, head tilted to look behind him with his piercing yellow eye standing out through the darkness. He watches you curiously, the environment around the two of you officially draws itself back into reality. Once he hears your scream of defeat he completely turns to face you with the widest grin smeared across his mouth.

“Hey, Y/n...” He pauses to wait until he knows you’re listening to him – and of course you immediately do so. Yoongi cocks his head to the side with a sense of arrogance radiating from the way his body stood. You desperately look at him with a plea, but your facial features harden at his next words. And they lace, deadly, within your mind.

Yoongi sighs, running one of his hands through his hair. Again, he knows he already has you, ruined you, and now he completely and absolutely owns you whether you like it or not. Yoongi playfully lifts his fingers to cross them together, a sign of a heart sent straight to you, “Get jinxed.”

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[medievalmonk]

The Power of Three

Summary: Loki is off doing his own thing after escaping from a bounty hunter. He left you behind, and neither of you knew that he’d left you with his child. Now you must raise Wyatt on your own.  Also on AO3 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24378466

“Ow, ow.”

You winced while trying to get comfortable in your chair on the bridge of your ship. Loki’s child was running out of real estate and let you know, frequently. A well timed, or lucky, kick would knock the breath from you so that you almost doubled over in reaction.

Your kidneys weren’t off limits either, making it so that you would have to leave the bridge, sometimes at a critical moment, forcing you to let Exxo take over. She kept urging you to rest in your stateroom, because she had no desire to help deliver the baby, especially not on the bridge.

Exxo had found two healers who were willing to stay on the Corsair, and you welcomed them. As the delivery date grew closer, you were grateful to have them there, even though you didn’t take their advice to rest when you could.

When you suffered from swollen ankles and sleeplessness, you ignored the first mate’s baleful stare. You were just getting the hang of this bounty-hunting business and didn’t want to lose any momentum.

You were also determined to ensure that your crew was paid properly, since the previous captain had made a habit of keeping most credits for himself. In the few months that you’d been captain, you had managed to give them back-pay, earning their loyalty.

Now that a steady flow of units was coming in, you didn’t want to leave Exxo with all the work of finding new bounties or tracking down the criminals. You trusted her implicitly, but didn’t want to overburden her.

“Kepptinn,” Exxo started, her face once again showing her frustration with you. “I beg you, please-

You started to brush her off, but the baby kicked again, and after you’d caught your breath, you realized that something was different this time. The small of your back started to hurt, so you stood slowly to take a few steps, hoping to walk it off.

She and the others on the bridge watched anxiously, ready to catch you if your legs buckled.

“Exxo,” you paused to grip the back of the captain’s chair. “I think-“

She started swearing in nine languages, causing you to laugh breathlessly at her, until you got another kick that made you nauseous.

“Back to your stateroom!”

— —

Childbirth in space was somewhat different than that on Earth, or so you thought, since you didn’t have any previous experience with it, just health courses in school or dramatizations on TV or movies. You knew that it could be incredibly painful if one didn’t have the right drugs, and by the time you got back to your stateroom, you were ready for those drugs.

Mareom and Lorry, the healers, had been forewarned and were ready for you. They helped you into a comfortable gown, then steered you away from the bed in order to keep you walking.

“I need to lay down,” you protested. “I’m going to fall.”

“We have you, Kepptinn,” Mareom assured you, her voice soothing. “It won’t be long now.”

It felt like an eternity later when they finally let you lie down. By that time, you felt exhausted even though you had quite a way to go until your part in this task was done.

Lorry brought you a glass with a cool liquid, which you drank without questioning her. After that, while you could still feel some pain, it wasn’t as bad as you expected. You suspected that Lorry had given you something, but also trusted that the baby wouldn’t be harmed.

Finally, hours later, the head count on the Corsair increased by one. You laid back on your pillows, catching your breath while Lorry attended to you and Mareom attended to the baby.

“A boy,” Mareom told you softly while she worked.

You wiped fresh tears while waiting for her to hand your son to you. It was several minutes before you suspected that something was wrong.

“He’s not crying! Why isn’t he-“

Lorry kept you from sitting up so that you could see what was happening. You shoved at her arms, reaching for the bundle that Mareom held.

“Give him here!”

Before you could truly panic, you heard the sweetest sound: your son let out a demanding wail while two tiny fists emerged from the warm blanket. Mareom handed him to you, tsking when you pulled the blanket open to inspect him.

“He has all ten fingers and toes, Kepptinn,” she assured you. “And strong lungs to go with them.”

You nodded while you laid him on your chest to allow your warmth and heartbeat to soothe him. He gave little whimpers before finally settling down.

“Have you considered a name yet?” Lorry asked.

“Wyatt.”

“That’s a fine name,” Mareom remarked, nodding.

“Thank you both,” you murmured.

“Rest now,” Mareom told you. “He will be hungry soon.”

— — —

A week passed before the two healers let you get out of bed for longer than a half hour. You recovered well, and adjusted quickly to the demands of your son. He cried only when hungry or needed changing, so you considered yourself lucky.

His hair was dark like his father’s, making you wonder how Loki would react if he knew he’d left you with his son. That thought always made you shrug slightly. Neither of you had ever made a commitment to the other, although you would have been content to stay with Loki for the rest of your life.

You grew to love the unpredictable prince during the year when you both were on the run from Tony Stark, Thor and SHIELD, after you had stolen him from Avengers Tower. Once you were strong enough to actually teleport off-planet with him, the pressure to keep moving was gone, letting you actually enjoy seeing new places and beings.

You also enjoyed each other. Now he was gone, and you would make sure that his son, no, your son, would lack for nothing.

— —

Three weeks later, you were anxious to get back to the bridge of your ship. You even went so far as to bring your infant with you, but Exxo had sternly pointed to the door and ordered you back to your stateroom.

By the time you got back to your bed, you were secretly glad that she’d done so, because you were exhausted. Once the baby was fed, you laid down beside him and slept until he woke and started squirming.  

It took several more weeks until you were able to go to the bridge for status reports and to confer with Exxo. Of course, you brought Wyatt with you, and let the crew take a peek at him while you made sure that the ship was running smoothly.

There wasn’t much that Exxo couldn’t handle, so you would only go to the bridge every few days, while Exxo would stop by the stateroom daily to give her report.

“Exxo, I want you to know that I greatly appreciate you,” you told her, when Wyatt was six months old. “I couldn’t do any of this without you, and the rest of the crew.”

“Thank you, Kepptinn,” she replied, softly. “I wish I could say that any of my former captains treated me, and us, half as well as you do.

You were both at the table, where there was a tray of food and sliced fruit. Wyatt was asleep in the crook of your arm, but you were loath to put him down. You were likely spoiling him, but that was alright with you.

“May I?” Exxo asked. “Then you can eat.”

“Sure.”

The transfer to her arms didn’t rouse him in the slightest, causing you to smile. You poured wine for you both, before beginning to eat.

“Do you think…” her voice trailed off.

“What?”

“I just wondered if he would have your gifts, or even Loki’s,” she commented. “If so, he would be powerful.”

You had thought about that very thing, almost daily. When you’d first met Loki in Alaska, you knew there was something about him that he kept deeply hidden. During the year you were outrunning Tony, he had used his magic, which surprised you somewhat. His magic, or seidr, was nothing like the illusionists you had seen on TV; this was real magic, the kind that fairytales were made of.

However, you sensed something else, seeing as the magic was no big deal to him. He used it sparingly, but otherwise it was not something that he tried to hide. There was something else, something more dangerous, and you knew instinctively that you shouldn’t pry into that or even try to read his mind.

“Yes, he would be,” you replied.

“It’s too bad that his father isn’t here, he could help you train Wyatt.”

“Let’s not talk about Loki, alright?” You asked.

“You do know that he will fall into your lap, whether by accident or design, right?” She continued. “When the time is right.”

“Yes, and I will make him pay for what he did.”

— —

As he grew, Wyatt was a constant presence on the bridge, sitting on your lap and watching the forward screen in fascination. No one minded, really, since he kept everyone entertained with his childish delight.

He was trying to walk, and grew frustrated when his legs wouldn’t cooperate. So he would hold onto furniture in order to make his way around, then would grin widely when you made a big deal of it.

He also had a few teeth, which he used to nip whoever happened to be holding him, especially when he wanted down. When it came to food, he wasn’t picky at all, although he leaned toward liking fruits and vegetables over other items. He took after his father though when it came to sweets: given the choice between food or a cookie, the cookie won out every time.

Before Wyatt reached his first birthday, Exxo found a babysitter for him, someone who could be trusted. You touched Emmi’s mind, somewhat startled that she didn’t fight the intrusion. After you’d given her a nod of approval, Exxo brought her onboard on a trial basis. If things didn’t work out, she would be taken back to her home, or wherever she wanted to go.

At first, Wyatt didn’t want you to leave, and cried after you, but Emmi distracted him, and soon he was happy with her. After a couple of weeks, he barely noticed when you left.

You checked in via the video screen, just to reassure yourself that he wasn’t unduly stressed. Emmi assured you that everything was fine; she had brought teaching games for him to play with, and he really liked them.

While he was small, you wouldn’t leave the ship at all when you had to dock for repairs or to buy foodstuffs. Other than the ones who were loading the ship, no one was allowed onboard, but even they were restricted to the cargo hold. Any doors or corridors leading away from the hold were locked and monitored closely.

There had been an incident once, just after Wyatt was born. One person from a loading crew decided to wander the ship, wanting to get a glimpse of “Kepptinn.” Exxo, who always stayed onboard with you, saw him on a security camera and wasted no time getting him back where he belonged, then lodged a complaint with the dockmaster.

While the trespasser didn’t get near your stateroom, you were concerned enough to appear on the dock, mask in place and visor glowing purple to make the point that the next intruder on your ship would never make it off alive. Your desire to protect Wyatt made you more aggressive than you normally would be.

The dockmaster assured you and Exxo that the issue would be dealt with, and that nothing like that would happen again. You’d left it at that, confident that no one else would risk trying to gain access to the Corsair again. It also didn’t hurt that it was widely known that the Ravagers and Stakar Ogord had a keen interest in you, and had put word out that any transgression toward you would be a transgression toward them. There weren’t many who would fly in the face of such protection.

— —

You were on the bridge when Emmi initiated a vid from your stateroom.

“Emmi? Is something wrong?”

“Wyatt-“

Before she could finish, you teleported to your son, thinking that something had happened. You weren’t expecting what Emmi and Wyatt had to show you.

“Mama!” Wyatt yelled excitedly, before tottering steadily toward you as fast as his little legs would carry him.

“My sweet pea,” you laughed and scooped him up to plant tickling kisses on his neck and ears.

He shrieked with laughter, then grabbed a double handful of your hair. His grip was so strong that it felt like he had yanked it out by the roots, so you carefully disengaged his hands.

Wyatt struggled to get down so that he could test his new mobility. After you put him back on the floor, you had to rub your head to soothe your scalp. This was the first time that he’d exhibited anything unusual, and you speculated that he would likely have Loki’s strength, at least partially.

Two firsts in one day: saying ‘mama’ while taking his first unaided steps. In the back of your mind, you wished that Loki would have been there. With the thought of him, doubt crept in. Would he acknowledge his son? Would he be proud of him?

You watched Wyatt while he continued to practice his walking, then when he turned toward you for reassurance, you clapped your hands, which encouraged him even more.

When you sat on the floor, he decided that he’d done enough and climbed into your lap. You hugged him close while gently kissing the top of his head.

“I love you,” you murmured, while nuzzling gently at his cheek.

“Wuv you,” he responded. “Mama.”

— 

[displacedhobbit]

Update: Greater Than Gold

AN: Whoop whoop; here’s part 3.

IDK who is still out here and reading this but I hope you enjoy!!

Also, the formatting keeps getting messed up when I try to post it on Tumblr so it’s probably better to actually read on FF.net or AO3. One day I’ll get it figured out.

Warnings: Some swearing, shoddy depictions of violence because that’s what I’m garbage at writing.

Also on FF.net and AO3

Chapter 27: Eighty-Three and Seventy-Seven - Part 3

Word Count (chapter): 9368

Thorin shifts farther back into his cell, intent on ignoring Balin’s lecture. He settles into the back wall, into the shadows, letting the din from the idotic elvish party reverberate around the stone to drown out his cousin’s rough whispering.

He knew what he was doing. At least, he thought he knew. Bilbo would come through; he was so sure of it, more sure than most anything else in his life these days. The hobbit owed him no loyalty, could have left a dozen times at least, but he never had. He had stuck with them through all of this mess - had stuck with him . Bilbo had won Thorin’s trust, and had shown the depths of his loyalty. He would wait a hundred years for Bilbo before he bent to trust Thranduil.

He could not say as much to Balin. Not here; not now. So he would let Balin rant himself out instead, here in these damp cells.

He picks a piece of dried mud from his boots, his ire renewing as he recalls how Thranduil’s guard had stripped them of all their belongings, down to their shirts and trousers, and locked them away like criminals. Angrily, he flicks the mud to the ground, then squashes it with the toe of his boot. They were so close . If only they hadn’t lost the road.

He sighs, Balin’s incessant whispering still reaching his ears, though it has become too jumbled for him to make out the words. He hoped the rest of the company fared well enough. Fíli sounded as though he had recovered from the spider’s  venom, and he could breathe easier knowing Kíli had returned from Thranduil’s interrogation unscathed.

The fire of his anger grew. How dare Thranduil? How dare he attempt to weasle a deal out of him by having his own son hold a knife to Kíli’s throat? Truly, he lacked all honor.

He releases a shuddering breath. For a moment, he was afraid that Thranduil would issue the order, that he would spill Kíli’s blood on his throne room floor. But, dishonorable as he was, Thranduil was not stupid. Lestwise, he was not stupid enough to kill an unarmed dwarf and incur the wrath of the Iron Hills in retalliation. Dain and Thranduil had a long-standing cease order between their two kingdoms - Dain would harm no elf and Thranduil would harm no dwarf - to violate it would wound Dain’s pride and invoke his wrath.

But still, he’d seen the glimmer of panic in Kíli’s eyes. And Thorin had felt it, too - the fear that he would be wrong . Though he was a king, Thranduil was still unpredictable. He’d been foolish to hedge his bets on the elven king fearing retaliation from Dain.

Once, when Kíli was still a tiny dwarfling, he’d had a horrifying night terror in which he’d gambled with Kíli’s life and lost . It had plagued him since, popping up in quiet moments, surprising him by squeezing the breath out of his lungs in unprecedented panic. The same image always leapt to his mind, of Kíli, pale as snow, his blood poured out around him. Like Frerin. Just like Frerin .

He’s found his thoughts drifting to his brother quite frequently on this journey. He wishes, beyond anything else in this world, that Frerin were at his side. He was so much better with Frerin. Would his brother’s presence have calmed him enough to negotiate a deal with Thranduil? Would his gentle, loving demeanor have tempered his ire?

But no, he had let Frein down ages ago. Let his blood spill on unholy dirt, until the light faded from his eyes.

He thinks of Dís, her sharp mind and quick wit. Had she been with him, she would have surely performed some sort of verbal gymnastics on Thranduil and charmed them out of their cells. She had always been so eloquent, so thoughtful. As children he had often envied her way with words; while he and Frerin stumbled over theirs, she had always sounded like a queen.

And he had let her down, too. Promised to care for her boys but led them on this damn quest, to these gods-forsaken cells.

He swallows thickly. He could not dwell on the past, or on horrors seen only in dreams that he would fight with every breath in his being to keep from coming to pass.

When they were free of this wretched place, he would explain it all to Kíli, explain why he had taken such an unfathomable risk, see to it that he understood that Thorin knew in his bones that Thranduil would not harm him. He would remind him that there was no treasure, no honor, nothing in this world that was worth more to him than Fíli and Kíli. Nothing .

He can only hope that Bilbo will be swift.

-----

He fiddles with his shirt hem, idly fingering along a tear, flicking the flap of it up and down as the sounds of the elven party drift through the corridor. It sounds downright raucous, much more so than the parties that Lord Elrond had hosted. Kíli admittedly didn’t know much about the different families of elves (which made him strangely grateful for the cells that separated them - Balin would chastise his ear off is he knew Kíli had forgotten his lessons), but he had to imagine that the Mirkwood elves were the most...un-elf-like of them all. Perhaps like how Kíli himself was decidedly un-dwarf-like.

He sighs, once again considering trying to fall asleep. He can hear snoring from somewhere, and he wonders who has already nodded off. Not Fíli, at least; he can hear his brother humming quietly. He wishes it were easier to talk with him, but he didn’t dare speak too loud and the music and laughter from the party would probably drown him out anyway.

The redheaded elf patrols by again, glancing into each of their cells as she walks by with quick, light steps. She had been the one who spared him from the spiders in the wood. It was probably proper to thank her, but that seemed senseless now that she was ensuring they stayed locked in their cells.

He also thought she looked quite sad, and he found himself wondering why. Perhaps because she was on patrol while the rest of the elves were celebrating. He tried not to dwell on it too much; for the moment, she was their enemy - an obstacle. Dwalin had warned him that his soft heart would be his undoing one day.

He pulls his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them as he scans the hallway once more. Candlelight flickers off the walls, casting strange shadows. He focuses on Fíli’s soft humming, and closes his eyes.

Fíli’s humming stops. “You still awake, nadadith?” he asks, and though his voice is quiet somehow Kíli manages to hear it clear as day.

“Yea,” he murmurs in reply, scooting closer to the door of his cell. “Don’t think I could sleep with all this anyhow.”

“Such a light sleeper,” Fíli comments, and he can hear the smile in his voice. “One positive of the spiders was that Oin’s drought knocked me right out for a while.”

Kíli snorts. “I know. You’re heavy.” Fíli chuckles outright, and they lapse back into silence.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” Fíli says after a while, his tone wistful. “Do you remember that autumn in Ered Luin when we snuck off from Dwalin? And built the fort?”

Kíli smiled. He did remember. They were young, much younger then, and they’d fancied themselves as fine explorers so they’d ‘snuck’ away (Dwalin had told him later that he’d known exactly where the lads were - they weren’t particularly stealthy in their youth), venturing to an outcropping of rocks with a large slate overhang, gathering sticks and stones to fashion their fire and other comforts, pretending they were regal princes of Ered Luin, sword fighting with the largest sticks they could find. They had played for hours, until the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, and Dwalin had come and feigned ire at their escape.

It was a good memory. He hadn’t thought on it in a long while.

“I came upon it on a patrol once,” Fíli says. “I went to look inside but there was a fox and her cubs. ‘Bout near scared me out of my skin.”

“I guess she’s the Lord of Ered Luin now,” Kíli says with a small laugh.

Fíli hums in agreement. Were they in different circumstances, he’d imagine his brother would be packing his pipe and settling in for the evening. Kíli finds himself longing for those simpler times, longing for the only home they’d ever known, wondering if he will ever be that content again. He tries instead to conjure up other happy memories of his childhood with his brother, willing away the loneliness he feels.

Fíli must sense his distress. Even though it was through a stone wall, he could still read Kíli like one of Balin’s books. “After this is all over, I want to go back some day,” he says, quietly. “And I suspect you do, too.”

Kíli swallows the lump in his throat. “Aye,” he manages. “I think I’d like that.”

His gaze focuses again on the flickering light of the hall, trying to make out shapes in the shadows that skirt along the wall. It must be his imagination, because the shadows suddenly move as if blown by the wind, a too-uniform wave passing through their movements. Kíli narrows his eyes, leaning forward to focus, wondering if there is some form of elvish magic at work, but the shadows resume their random dance as though nothing odd happened.

He relaxes, leaning back against the wall with a sigh.There’s the sound of a stone being kicked farther down the hall.

“Did you hear that?” Fíli asks, his voice a sharp whisper, and Kíli’s body snaps to alertness again.

“I thought I saw something move a second ago,” he confirms, hauling himself up to his knees and watching out his cell gate. He can make out voices down the hall, but nothing else.

“ Bilbo !” someone halfway shouts from down the hall, and he hears the sounds of a key opening a lock.

-----

“Come on, this way,” Bilbo whispers, sneaking down the corridor, looking around every corner to ensure they are unseen.

The dwarves follow, boots scraping along the stone floor. Since they’d been divested of their weapons and most of their affects they were much quieter than normal. Fortunate, that was.

“He’s leading us to the cellars!” Dwalin hisses, accusatory.

“You’re supposed to be leading us out, not farther down!” Bofur nearly shouts.

Bilbo whirls to face them. “Shh! I know what I’m doing. Trust me .” He leads them around a corner, where a number of large barrels sit empty. “Well?” Bilbo says, gesturing to the barrels. “Get in!”

“Are you mad?” Gloin replies. “They’ll find us!”

“No, they won’t. I promise ,” Bilbo assures them, turning pleading eyes to Thorin.

Fíli looks to his uncle, then to Kíli who stands uncertainly at his side. Bilbo has proven his worth many times over, and had already broken them free from their cells. What reason did they have not to trust him? Yet still...hiding in barrels in the elven wine cellar didn’t seem like the best of plans.

Thorin turns to the rest of the company. “Do as he says!”

At his command, they clamber into the barrels, the wound in his side stinging uncomfortably. Kíli casts him a worried glance. “I’m fine,” he assures him. Then, almost as an afterthought, he reaches forward, grasps the back of Kíli’s neck and presses their foreheads together. “I promise.”

“What do we do now?” Bofur asks, as all the dwarves turn to look at Bilbo.

The hobbit looks uncertain for a scant second. “Uh, hold your breath.”

The floor beneath them begins to creak, and suddenly their barrels are rolling, then falling, then splashing violently into the stream below. The shock of hitting water instead of solid ground forces the breath from his lungs and he sputters, trying to find balance as he bobs in the stream. Once he has his bearings he searches for his brother - frowning at the wide, terrified look in his brother’s eyes as he coughs some of the splashed water out of his lungs. After a deep, shuddering breath, Kíli’s face clears, and he catches Fíli’s gaze and gives him a reassuring nod.

There’s no shortage of shouting and coughing as the dwarves regain their composure. Ori and Bifur, caught off guard in their fall, had fallen out of their barrels, and it was no simple task to get them back inside as they bob about. From behind him, Fíli can hear Dwalin muttering something about useless hobbits and being drowned like criminals.

“Hold on!” Thorin shouts, reaching his arm out to grab Fíli’s barrel. “We must wait for Bilbo.” Taking his uncle’s cue, he reaches for the nearest barrel (Bofur’s, who for his part looks a bit like a drowned rat) and grasps it tightly. The dwarves work quickly to form a chain with their barrels, blocking the path forward in a makeshift dam, when the hobbit suddenly falls from the ceiling, plopping into the water, barrelless.

Once he comes up, sputtering for air, he swims to the nearest barrel, Nori’s, and hangs on for dear life.

“Well done Master Baggins,” Thorin laughs, sounding almost mirthful at this turn of events.

Bilbo waves them on, spitting water as he does. “They’re coming. Go .”

With that, they release their barrels and start paddling to gain speed. They careen down a waterfall, each of the dwarves (and poor Bilbo) clinging to their barrels, and they rise from the water to see that they’re now bathed in bright daylight. It’s a sharp contrast from the dark cells they’d resided in for who knows how long, and it takes Fíli’s eyes a moment to focus. He can see shapes rushing through the woods, when suddenly the elf-guard that had captured them in the woods springs forth, shouting something in elvish just before a horn sounds.

“No!” Thorin shouts from ahead, and he turns to see a gated bridge across the stream, and an elf standing atop it near a lever as a sluice begins to close.

Well, shit . He thinks. They’re weapons-less and, quite literally, sitting ducks. He desperately tries to form a plan, to come up with some way that they do not wind up back in the cells or dead . Thranduil didn’t strike him as a particularly merciful king.

“Watch out!” Bofur shouts, and he turns to see the elf that had stood atop the bridge falling into the water just in front of him, a jagged arrow lodged in his back.

Orcs . Of course the orcs have come.

Now that they have nowhere to go, the dwarves are seemingly forgotten by the elves as they shift their focus onto the orcs. The orcs, however, remain fixed on getting to Thorin, lunging onto their barrels with blades drawn. Fortunately, Bilbo produces a sword from somewhere , stabbing one, and Dwalin, brawny as ever, elbows another in the face, stealing it’s sword before it plops gracelessly into the water. Fíli manages to subdue another, grabbing its dagger.

He catches movement from the corner of his eye, and turns to see Kíli rushing up the ramp, completely unarmed, eyes fixed on the lever the elf had pulled before. Orcs rush toward him, and Fíli’s breath catches in his throat.

“Kíli!” Dwalin calls, lobbing the sword he’d snagged up to his brother. Kíli catches it easily, swinging it down to take out the orc in front of him, sending it splashing into the water below as Bofur reaches over to snag it’s weapon.

His brother continues up the stairs and across the bridge, slashing his way through. Another orc comes up behind him, spear poised to strike Kíli in the back, and Fíli hurls the dagger forward, sighing with relief when his aim rings true and the dagger lodges itself in the filth’s temple. The way is clear now, and Fíli feels a surge of adrenaline as Kíli nears the lever. They’re going to make it ; Kíli is going to open the gate and they’re going to get away -

Suddenly, Kíli lets out a strangled cry of pain and collapses to the ground, grasp coming just short of the lever, sword falling from his fingers and clattering to the ground beside him.. “Kíli!” he hears himself shout, fear welling up within him. From under the bridge, Thorin calls out his brother’s name as well, blind to the situation.

An orc leaps onto the bridge, sword drawn and prepared to bare down on Kíli, but an arrow abruptly skewers its head as more elves arrive. Distracted, the orcs switch their focus to the ambush, and Kíli manages to crawl up to his knees, gasping for breath. With a groan of pain, he throws his weight onto the level, pushing it down and opening the sluice, before collapsing once more.

“Kíli!” he shouts again, grabbing his brother’s empty barrel with one hand and trying to find purchase on the slippery rocks with the other. “Kíli, come on!” he calls again, voice breaking. “Please!” His hands are slipping on the rocks, his barrel is being pulled under the bridge by the rushing current, The other dwarves slip one by one down the small waterfall, into the rapids below.

Just as he’s certain he’s going to lose his grip on the rocks (and by extension, Kíli, because he knows without a doubt in his mind that if he’s left behind he’ll be captured and worse ), Kíli’s body falls from the bridge, landing roughly on top of his barrel, halfway into the water. He looks positively ashen, and Fíli’s heart sinks as he prays to any diety that will listen that the arrow wasn’t poisoned, that his brother will be okay .

“Hold on!” is all Fíli can say as his hand loses its grip on the rocks. Kíli manages to hoist himself back into his barrel, a rough shout of pain bursting from him, and they’re swept along the current with the rest of the dwarves, the orcs still in pursuit.

-----

“Mahal, Kíli,” Fíli breathes as he examines the wound, pulling the torn pieces of his trousers to get a better look. It was already so inflamed, and he couldn’t tell if the arrowhead was still inside or not. “Oin needs to take a look at this,” he says, immediately searching for their healer. “If it was poisoned, then -”

“Just bind it,” Kíli hisses, brow furrowed in pain. “We have to keep moving. You heard Thorin”

Fíli frowns at him, shaking his head. He cannot be serious ; there’s no way he would make it far with his leg wounded so badly.

“I’ll be fine,” Kíli says, looking him straight in the eye, which manages to reassure him, however smally. “We’re not safe here.” Fíli still hesitates, and his brother reaches for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Fíli tries to ignore how badly Kíli’s hand is shaking. “I promise to have Oin tend to it as soon as we can spare,” he adds.

Finally, Fíli nods and unceremoniously rips fabric from the hem of his shirt, dunking it into the river in a feeble attempt to clean it, before setting about tightly wrapping Kíli’s wound. His brother winces and grits his teeth as he works, driving Fíli’s own anxiety higher. He knows he will feel much better once Oin has a chance to properly tend to him. He can only hope, as he finishes up, that Kíli will be able to make it to safety. Frowning, he looks at his work. It’s a poor excuse for a bandage, even for a field dressing, but it will have to do. He doesn’t have another option.

“Come on,” he says, helping Kíli back to his feet. For the first few steps, his brother leans heavily on him, but after a moment he regains his footing well enough to walk on his own across the slippery rocks, with hardly a limp in his step as he goes to rejoin the others. Fíli frowns again; he knows how good Kíli is at hiding his hurts and knows that his brother is going to overdo it and wind up being in more agony farther down the line if he can’t get a proper dressing soon.

There’s a commotion from behind him, and Fíli whirls around to see a man, bow drawn and aimed at Ori and Dwalin, the latter brandishing a tree branch as a weapon.

Dwalin raises the branch, ready to fight, and an arrow strikes directly into it, right between his hands, in warning. “Do it again and you’re dead,” the man snaps, another arrow already drawn.

“Excuse me,” Balin calls, using his ‘diplomatic voice’ that Fíli has heard countless times before. He approaches the man with his arms raised. “You’re, uh, from Laketown, if I’m not mistaken?”

The man lowers his blow, casting a sidelong glance at Balin.

“That barge over there,” he continues, gesturing behind the man, where Fíli now sees the very tip of a boat, mostly hidden from their sight by the thick underbrush that lines the river. “It wouldn’t be available for hire , by any chance?”

-----

Dwalin keeps his eyes on the lads as they sail.

Fíli and Kíli are pressed shoulder to shoulder, their backs against the damaged barrels. He’d been worried about the lad since he saw the arrow pierce his leg - orc arrows were rarely free of poisons or filth that could take even the hardiest dwarf down in a matter of hours. Once they’d safely boarded the barge, Oin had tended to the wound and gave it a proper dressing. The arrowhead had still been lodged in his leg, but with steady hands and a sharp knife borrowed from the bowman, Oin had been able to remove it. The old healer had stated that he’d need a poultice to draw out any infection and to help with the pain, but the man - Bard , he remembers from Bilbo’s chastising - had none, so Kíli would have to make due until they were smuggled into Laketown.

Kíli was too pale, so much so that the darkness of his hair and the red smear of blood on his lip (he’d bitten it so hard to keep himself from screaming as Oin had removed the arrow) stood out in stark contrast. It made the dark circles under his eyes look worse. It made it look like he could slip from this world at any moment, despite Oin’s assurances that he would make it to Laketown.

It’s the cold, Dwalin tells himself, it’s just the cold that makes him look so pale.

The small blessing was that Kíli was asleep, that he was able to take this brief respite while his brother watched over him.

They’d come too close to losing him too many times on this quest. Dwalin had sworn to protect him, knew without a doubt that he would gladly die if it kept either of the lads safe, but every time he had been too far away or otherwise unable to help, unable to do anything other than watch . He wouldn’t be able to bear it if they lost one of them and Dwalin had done nothing .

He chews the inside of his cheek, keeping the lads in his periphery as he watches the lakeman. He doesn't trust him, doesn’t like that they’re stuck on a boat in the middle of frigid, foggy waters with him, doesn’t like that their survival may very well depend on him being true to his word. Something sits ill within him, like they’re walking into a trap, but with the other option being trying to beat orcs on the road, unarmed and without supplies, he knows they had no other choice.

Someone comes to his side, shoulder brushing his as they lean along the railing beside him. He doesn’t have to look to know that it is Thorin.

“How is he?” he asks, barely concealed concern in his voice.

Dwalin shrugs. “Not well, by any means,” he says, gaze shifting back to Kíli. “But, not getting worse.”

Thorin makes a small noise in the back of his throat in acknowledgement. “Do you think it knew?”

He does look at him then, eyebrow raised in confusion.

“Azog’s spawn,” Thorin clarifies. “Do you think it knew who he was? That he was my kin?” he adds in a whisper.

Dwalin shakes his head. “Think he was just trying to take out anyone that would’ve helped us escape,” he says. “Wouldn’ta mattered who it was.” He knows this fear, this old, horrible fear that Thorin had carried with him ever since Frerin had died. He couldn’t bear to lose anyone else for being associated with his line. It would almost certainly spiral Thorin into madness, and if it were Azog’s own spawn (for how else could the other pale orc have come to be?) that ended one of the lads...he could not fathom how Thorin would go on.

With a sigh, he looks for his brother, catches him with a gaggle of the company, counting coins to pay their way as Bard navigates them through the waters.

“How do we know he won’t betray us?” he finds himself asking, putting words to his fears in the confidence of his best friend.

Thorin frowns, a misted look in his eyes. “We don’t.”

Dwalin settles back with a huff, hating the answer but knowing Thorin is right all the same. There’s some squabbling between Gloin and his brother that he considers intervening on, but the fog thins ahead, and he finds himself awestruck instead. “Look,” he says softly, nudging Thorin’s arm. His eyes water on their own accord.

The Lonely Mountain sits on the horizon, closer than he’s seen it in an age.

-----

“You look like shit,” he says fondly as he tucks Kíli’s hair behind his ear.

Kíli scoffs in indignation at him, but he doesn’t argue. “I feel like shit.”

Fíli just smiles and wraps a blanket around his brother’s shoulders, sitting beside him on the settee, eyes fixed on the Lonely Mountain out the window. Kíli leans back into the plush cushion, turning himself the tiniest bit into his brother, just a tiny bit too close, as always. His leg is propped up on a footstool, at Oin’s request. Fíli lets his cheek rest on the top of his brother’s head, content.

They’d been welcomed into the home of the Master of Laketown (who, in Fíli’s humble opinion, looked more like a louse than the lord of a town, but men were much different than dwarves), and while the man had thrown them a rather uproarious party, Fíli and Kíli had taken their leave to rest. Oin had instructed Kíli to do so (and Thorin, too, though he need not say the words aloud) to give the poultice he’d packed the arrow wound with time to work. He’d worried that they’d perhaps taken too long, and that after being doused with river water, covered in fish guts, and crawling through a toilet the wound had likely become infected. So off he’d sent them, just after the party started, with a plate full of food and a mug of ale ( for Fíli only he had stressed) - and Fíli had felt Thorin’s eyes on them the entire time he’d helped his brother up the stairs to the rooms they’d been lent.

When Kíli had fallen in the armory, Fíli’s heart had stopped. He knew , the second he’d heard the loud clattering of weapons that it had been Kíli, the ache in his leg finally overcoming him. He had pushed it too far, given too much without resting, just as Fíli knew he would. He loops his arm around his brother’s shoulders, tugging him a bit closer still.

“How’s your side?” Kíli asks softly, sleepiness evident in his voice. He turns to press a kiss against his brother’s hair. Of course Kíli was still worried about him. Even with everything that had happened, even with the wound that Fíli knew was causing him pain. Kíli’s kindness never wavered

“Better,” he says, and Kíli hums in acknowledgement. His head seems to sink further into Fíli’s shoulder, blessedly cool forehead pressed against his neck.

From below, he can hear music, shouts and cheers. The merriment at the return of the Lord of Silver Fountains seems as though it will last long through the night, though Thorin had told the company that they would be leaving at first light.

“Tomorrow, we’ll be there,” Fíli murmurs softly as he gazes at the mountain, but Kíli doesn’t reply. He listens for a moment, pleased to hear his brother’s breathing deep and even with sleep. He presses another kiss to the crown of Kíli’s head. “Tomorrow we will finally see Erebor, nadadith.”

From his right, the door to the guest room they’d been lent for the night creaks open, sounds of the party spilling in, causing Kíli to stir slightly. He cranes his neck around to see Thorin sheepishly enter, closing the door behind himself with a quiet snick . He walks over to them, sitting gingerly on the edge of the settee before reaching out to card his hand through Kíli’s hair.

Fíli sees the fondness there, the raw emotion. It warms his heart - Thorin had been so focused on the quest, so in control for fear that their enemies would discover them as his heirs - he cannot remember the last time he had seen such tenderness from their uncle. He’d known to expect distance; Thorin had warned them that it was important to keep their relation to him a secret. He just hadn’t expected it to bother him as much as it did. Hadn’t expected it to hurt .

“How is he?” Thorin asks, his thumb tracing reverently over Kíli’s high cheekbone, as if committing his face to memory. Fíli frowns; what does Thorin know that he isn’t saying?

“He seems better,” Fíli admits. “I think the medicine is starting to take.”

Thorin smiles at him before reaching over to cup Fíli’s cheek, before dropping his hand to squeeze the nape of his neck.

“Talk to me, Uncle,” Fíli says quietly. “What troubles you?”

Thorin sighs, drawing away from the lads to stand by the window, eyes on the mountain. Fíli hates it a little because he can no longer see Thorin’s face, but he knows good and well that that’s probably the reason he stood in the first place. He almost wants to join him, just so he can see his face and read him better, but he doesn’t dare leave from where Kíli is tucked safely into his side.

“I’ve not been this close since...since we fled,” he says softly. “It’s made me sentimental, I suppose.” Thorin runs a hand through his beard. “I fear what we will encounter when we reach the mountain. I fear what will happen if we awaken Smaug. I fear...everything all at once, I suppose.”

Fíli can hear the barely restrained emotion in his voice. “So do I,” he admits just as quietly. “But I’m also…” he frowns, trying to decide on the right word. “Excited? Anxious? I don’t know. You’ve told us about Erebor our whole lives. It feels surreal that tomorrow...that we’ll be there.”

Thorin stiffins, almost imperceptibly, but he catches it nonetheless. “I hope it does not disappoint you,” he says after a long stretch of silence.

“I doubt it could,” Fíli says quietly. “Even after years of Smaug’s squatting, I’m certain it will be grander than anything we’ve seen before.”

Thorin turns back to him and smiles softly. “I cannot wait to show it to you.” He hears so much in his voice - pride, worry, fear, love - and it fills Fíli with an emotion he cannot quite identify. “But you should rest,” he says as he comes back toward him, bending down to press their foreheads together.

Fíli nods. “You should, too,” he says, an amused smile coming to his lips. “Can’t stay up partying all night.”

“Know that I love you,” Thorin says softly, not playing into his joke. “The both of you. More than anything in this world.” There are tears in his eyes when he pulls away, and Fíli has to swallow the lump in his throat, blinking back his own tears.

“We know, Uncle,” he asserts with a shaking voice. “Kíli adores you. I love you. Always.”

The corner of Thorin’s mouth quirps upward, in the barest hint of a smile. “It is more than I deserve.”

-----

He’s wrestled with this decision for days, though it felt like years.

Ever since his youngest nephew had been struck by the orc filth’s arrow, he’s wondered if he should send him home, or have him wait here, with these wretched men in Laketown. He doesn’t want to. Kíli is, for all intents and purposes and lineage aside, his son . They both are. He’s been with them since they were babes, he’s promised them Erebor since before they even knew what it meant.

They still didn’t know what it meant.

It meant no more rumbling stomachs, no more scrimping and saving, no more threadbare clothes, no more disdain from elves and men. It meant the end of the suffering of their people, the dawn of a new age. It meant peace and happiness in their lives for all the rest of their days. It meant everything to him because it meant he could finally, finally give everything to them . Everything they’d craved, everything they’d deserved…everything .

And they’ve come so far, they’ve conquered so much, and it seems such a shame to send him away when they are but in the shadow of the mountain.

But time is not on his side. If he is to give them all he desires, he must be swift.

And when Kíli makes to step onto the boat, horrible limp still evident in his step, his decision is made. He had hoped Oin’s cures would have had more of an effect, that the solid night’s rest would somehow make him strong enough to complete this last, precious leg of the journey.

But it hadn’t, in his heart he’d always known it wouldn’t. It had been a foolish hope.

“Not you,” he murmurs as he reaches out an arm to stop him. Kíli’s face twists into something that is a terrible cross of hurt and shame and fear, and Thorin knows he must school his features and stay impassive. He cannot let these men see him break. He cannot let them know what his nephews mean to him. They could use it as a weapon against him, and he will not have it.

“We must travel at speed,” he elaborates when he feels many eyes fall to him. “You will slow us down.”

Kíli looks up at him, disbelief clouding his face as he tries to manage a smile, to pretend that this is just a joke.. “What?” he murmurs, gaze flickering just quickly to where Fíli stands behind his uncle. “What are you talking about? I’m��I’m coming with you.”

Thorin can see the pallor in his face, the dark circles under his eyes. Kíli is still clearly not well. It would be reckless to bring him, he reasons with himself.

Thorin gives the barest shake of his head and resolutely ignores the tiny whimper of desperation that escapes Kíli’s throat. He has to do this. He has to keep him safe and win back the mountain. He has to do this. For them .

“I’m going to be there when that door is opened, when we first look upon the halls of our fathers,” he implores. “Thorin…”

He knows Kíli cannot possibly understand why he is doing this, knows he should have done this earlier, should have prepared him, should have explained . But he didn’t. He was a coward, had seen Kíli asleep the night before when he went to speak his mind, and had lost his nerve. With a sigh, he reaches to cup the back of Kíli’s head, pulling their foreheads as close as he dares.

He cannot let them know how much Kíli means to him.

“Kíli,” he murmurs, fixing him with a gaze that he hopes will explain everything. “Stay here. Rest . Join us when you are healed.” Kíli has always been better at reading him than anyone.

Kíli’s eyes search him again, desperate. Thorin’s heart breaks; he doesn’t understand.

Kíli shakes his head, breath coming out in a staggering huff, and a barely whispered ‘Uncle…’ reaches his ears. For a moment he’s terrified that he’ll cave, that he won’t let Kíli go , but Óin comes to his rescue, saying that he’ll stay with the lad. It eases his heart greatly to know that Kíli will not be alone here, that he will be in good hands between Óin and Bofur, if he ever chooses to come round again. He watches as his cousin leads his nephew away, heart feeling leaden in his chest.

When he turns back to the company, he’s met with Fíli’s furious face, nearly cringes when he sees the betrayal shining in the depths of his cerulean eyes. “Uncle,” he murmurs the damning word, but thankfully none of the men seem to hear it. “We grew up on tales of the mountain. Tales you told us. You cannot take that away from him!”

He is hurt, his tone accusing, and Thorin has to focus to keep his face neutral and impassive. “Fíli,” he starts, trying to find the right words to explain himself, but his nephew doesn’t give him the chance.

“I will carry him if I must!” he declares, and in it Thorin hears the silent ‘Uncle, please!’ , but he resolutely ignores it. They’ll be angry at him now, hurt because of him now, but he’ll make it up to them. He’ll win back the mountain. He’ll give them everything that he couldn’t for the entirety of their lives.

“One day you will be King and you will understand,” he says.

You will understand why I have to do this. It’s for both you , he means.

“I cannot risk the fate of this quest for the sake of one dwarf – not even my own kin,” he explains, in nothing more than a hushed whisper.

I cannot risk losing him, losing the mountain, not when I’ve come this far to reclaim it for you…for all of us , he means.

Fíli’s face is filled with disbelief and fierce determination, and Thorin knows what he means to do before he even moves his feet. He reaches out quickly, grabs his arm.

“Fíli, don’t be a fool,” he half-begs. “You belong with the company.”

You belong with me. I am doing this for you . I need you by my side , he means.

“I belong with my brother ,” his heir all but snarls as he wrenches his arm free.

With a heavy sigh, Thorin watches him leave the boat. He cannot blame him. He wants Fíli to stay with him, knows that he will feel better and stronger if he has at least one of them by his side, but he can’t stop him. He won’t stop him.

He turns back to the company, desperately ignores with worried glances, particularly the one Dwalin aims at him, and gives the nod for them to depart. He doesn’t look back, cannot look back, because if he does he will break. Time is not on their side, and if he is to do this, if he is to do this for them , then he must be swift.

Dwalin slides close enough to him so that their shoulders are pressed closely together to give him strength. He knows he needs it. He has to see this through, and when he does everything will be alright in the end. He will be able to give them everything.

He can do this.

He’ll do it for them.

-----

This is how it ends for him, he thinks. He cannot see a way that his brother survives this day.

They are back at Bard’s home, having been turned away everywhere else when Kíli took a turn for the worse. He’d practically fainted, then spiked a deliriously high temperature that had startled even Oin. When he’d peeled away the bandage the healer hadn’t been able to hide his gasp of surprise. In a matter of hours the wound had festered, turning black around the edges.

“It was poison,” Oin had hissed under his breath as Bofur and Fíli had supported Kíli’s deadweight. “Slow acting, very deadly... damn those creatures.”

Deadly . When Oin had uttered that word Fíli felt as if part of his soul had left his body. It took every ounce of his strength to remain calm ( for Kíli , he would constantly remind himself - in his fleeting moments of lucidity he was completely terrified, and Fíli vowed that he would not make his terror worse). It helps that Oin has taken control, that he is barking orders at him, giving him something to do , a task to focus on.

“Get him up on the table,” Oin commands. Bard makes a sound as if to protest, but he clears the table nonetheless, sending dishes and bowls clattering to the floor, making space for Kíli. Fíli stays by his head, knelt on the ground, trying to talk his brother through what is happening, though he has no idea if Kíli can hear him or not. One of Bard’s girls brings in a cloth and a basin of cool water.

“Can you not do something?” Fíli asks frantically as Kíli’s form seizes once again. He is burning hot; even pressing the cool rag to his forehead seems to do nothing.

“I need something to bring down his fever,” Oin calls over his shoulder, to Bard, as he cuts Kíli’s pant leg off and removes the latest bandage, face stricken. Fíli can’t make out what the bowman says in reply. “No, no; those are no use to me. They won’t stop the poison. Do you have any kingsfoil?”

“No; it’s a weed,” Bard says as he presents Oin with his own bowl of hot water and some cloths. The healer immediately starts clearing out the wound,  causing Kíli to groan in agony once more. “We feed it to the pigs.”

“Pigs?” Bofur says, jumping up from Kíli’s other side. “I’ll find it,” he says. He fixes Fíli with a comforting look. “I’ll find it, laddie.” He reaches for Kíli’s hand and squeezes it. “Hold on for me, yea?”

Bard’s daughter comes to kneel beside him, placing another basin of cool water beside him, then wetting her own rag and wiping it along Kíli’s face. Sigrid , her name pops into his mind again. He nods at her in gratitude. Sigrid gives him a soft, small smile, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

Kíli lets out a pitiful, gasping wail as he arches his back against the pain. Fíli can’t take it; the tears spill freely from his eyes now as he presses his forehead to Kíli’s too-hot temple. “Hold on, nadadith,” he whispers, voice tight. “Just hold on for me, yea? Bofur will be back. We’re going to fix this. I just need you to hold on. Please,” he adds, his voice breaking on the last word as he hopes beyond hope that Kíli can hear him.

Suddenly, the ground around them shakes violently. Fíli’s stomach sinks into his boots.

“It’s coming from the mountain,” Bard’s son says, just as the room rumbles once more.

Fíli’s eyes find Bard’s. “You should leave us. Take your children and go; get out of here!”

“And go where?” Bard says, clearly distraught as he takes in each of his children.

“Are we going to die, Da?” the littlest one asks, and Fíli fears that they will . “Is the dragon going to kill us?”

“No darling,” Bard says, quickly striding over to their kitchen and yanking something free from a hanging rack. Fíli bites back a gasp of surprise; a black arrow. Ammunition for a wind-lance. “I’m going to kill it first.”

-----

“What about Bilbo?” Ori asks, a slightly panicked tone in his voice. It seemed like everything was going well enough, but then the ground had trembled beneath them.

Smaug was awake. There was no denying it. Any hope that Thorin had held that the blasted worm had perished and died within the mountain wafted away like smoke.

“Give him more time,” he says finally, eyes anxiously watching the door. He trusted Bilbo; he knew the hobbit would not let him down, knew that he would find the Arkenstone and return it to him.

“Time for what?” Balin scoffs. “To be killed?”

“You’re afraid,” Thorin acuses, crossing his arms over his chest and staring his old friend down. They need the Arkenstone; Balin needs to trust him.

“Yes, I’m afraid,” Balin retorts. “I’m afraid for you .”

Thorin takes a step back, leveling Balin with a glare.

“A sickness lies upon that treasure horde, Thorin,” he needlessly reminds him. “A sickness that drove your grandfather mad .”

“I am not my grandfather,” Thorin hisses, ire rising up within him. He knows , he knows the tragedy that had befallen his grandfather because he had watched it happen, helplessly on the sidelines. Stuck to do nothing while Thror withered into a shell of himself. He would not go down the same path. He would fight, tooth and nail, to keep that from happening.

“You are not yourself!” Balin continues. “The Thorin I know would not hesitate to go in there and -”

“I cannot risk the fate of this quest for one burgular,” Thorin interrupts, hoping that he sounds practical.

“ Bilbo ,” Balin hisses. “His name is Bilbo. Or have you forgotten?”

Thorin frowns, eyes drifting to Laketown, to Fíli and Kíli. The ground rumbles lightly beneath them once more. “What would you have me do?” he says quietly. “What would you have me do to stand against this worm who has taken everything from me.? I cannot hope to triumph against Smaug.”

Balin’s face softens. “It seems that you are also afraid, my dear friend.”

Thorin says nothing, but his gaze shifts back to the stone door. He knows that Balin is right , he cannot leave Bilbo to fend for himself. But still, he cannot make himself move to venture into the halls. He cannot face Smaug again, not without a plan to defeat him. But if Bilbo can get the Arkenstone, he can rally the dwarf kingdoms, they could form an army and stand a chance at killing that beast…

“We have to do something , Thorin,” Balin says again. “We would not have made it this far without him. We cannot leave him to face the dragon alone.”

It shakes him to his core, but Thorin nods.

-----

Kíli has gone positively ashen. His cries have weakened; he has started murmuring nonsense. Fíli can do little more than stroke his brother’s hair from his sweaty face, than whisper empty reassurances. There’s nothing they can do unless Bofur can find the kingsfoil. Nothing.

Kíli will die here, and he probably will too, judging by the ever increasing rumbles coming from the mountain.

A cold resignation settles over him. He presses a kiss to his brother’s sweaty temple, suddenly grateful for the evening they’d had the night prior, when everything had seemed so simple, so much like when they were children. He’d felt safe. Happy. He’d felt like they were going to make it to Erebor, to live out their destiny, but it had all gone wrong.

How had it all gone so wrong so quickly?

There’s a clunk on the roof, drawing Sigrid’s attention. “Da?” she calls, peeking out the door. When she receives no response, she shrugs and turns back into the house, when an orc suddenly lands on the balcony behind her. With a scream, she tries to slam the door shut, but the orc stops the door with his sword.

Sigrid’s scream snaps them all to attention, even Kíli, who struggles to get to his feet, bleary eyes trying to focus on the situation at hand. “Kíli, get down ,” he hisses, pushing his brother behind him onto a nearby settee as the orc forces its way in.

A second orc crashes through the ceiling. Oin is grabbing anything within reach and chucking them at the orcs  - starting with the plates. Bain gets his sisters under the table, blocking them from the orcs with the bench as Fíli grabs the pike hook Bard had fashioned for them and throws it with a snarl, finding a sick sort of satisfaction as it finds its mark in the orc’s throat.

More orcs crash through the ceiling, and he hears Kíli cry out in pain behind him. One of the orcs has him by his wounded leg, dragging him off of the settee, and Fíli sees red. He spies a knife on the floor and grabs it, hurling it with deadly accuracy, freeing his brother, who crashes to the ground with a whimper. Fíli has enough sense about him to grab the sword from the creature before turning to face the onslaught.

Just as suddenly, two elves come crashing through the roof, quickly getting to work on the orcs. He recognizes them from Thraduil’s halls - the blond he thinks was the elven king’s son, and the redhead had been the one patrolling the hall with their cells. The orcs must have continued following them, seeking Thorin, and the elves were clearly still hunting the orcs.

Fíli grabs Bain, shoving him down as another one of the orcs rushes at him, giving him space to slay the beast. It only takes a few moments for them to dispel the orcs - the elves are deadly accurate with their blows. There’s shouting in black speech from outside, and the remaining orcs flee from the house, leaving it a chaotic wreck. Fíli pants heavily, eyes scanning the small abode once again to make sure they are safe.

“Are you alright?” the redheaded elf asks the children as she helps them to their feet.

“You killed them all,” Bain murmurs in amazement.

Oin pushes past him, rushing back to Kíli’s side. His brother is struggling to breathe, his whole body hitching as he tries to take in air. “We’re losing him!” the healer shouts.

“What happened?” he hears the elf ask from behind him, but he can barely make it out over the blood rushing in his ears. They’re losing him.

“Please, Kee,” he begs, sinking to his knees beside his brother, a sob forming in his throat. “Please don’t leave me here alone. Please .”

“I found it!” Bofur shouts, bursting back into the home. “What in the blazes happened here?”

Fíli turns to look at him, tears streaking his face. “You found it?” he asks, numbly. Bofur holds up his hand, the plant clutched in it.

“He’s too far gone,” Oin says sadly. “I don’t know what to do.” Fíli chokes on a sob.

“I do,” the redheaded elf says, eyes switching between Kíli and the kingsfoil in Bofur’s hand.

“Tauriel,” the prince says. “We must go. We’re losing the pack.”

She shakes her head. “I’m going to save him,” she says. “Get him up on the table. I need hot water,” she says, looking at Sigrid and Tilda.

Fíli feels something akin to hope blossoming in his chest as they gather Kíli’s limp form and settle him back onto the table. He has heard the stories of elvish healing magic; he prays to Mahal that it will be enough to save Kíli. His brother is mumbling deliriously again, skin so pale that, were he not drawing in breath, Fíli would think he was dead.

He watches as the elf washes the herbs, hands deftly shredding the leaves and creating a poultice. “Hold him down,” she says, eyes fixing onto Fíli with something akin to sympathy. Fíli grabs his brother’s shoulders and Bofur takes his ankles, pressing them to the table as he tries to ignore the whimper of protest that slips past his brother’s lips.

The elf begins chanting in a language he does not recognize, before she presses the poultice into the wound, and Kíli screams. Fíli struggles to keep him still, even as Oin and Bard’s children come to help. Kíli thrashes, but the elf holds steady, keeping the poultice pressed to his wound as she recites the healing magic. After a moment, Kíli takes a heaving breath and his thrashing calms, glassy eyes staring sightlessly at the roof.

“Kíli,” he murmurs, relinquishing his hold on his brother’s shoulders and pushing his sweaty hair from his face.

The elf’s chanting ceases, and she pulls the poultice away from the wound. Fíli gasps aloud - the festering blackness of the wound has vanished, and it looks tremendously better already. He can hardly believe it.

“I’ve heard tell of the wonders of elvish medicine,” Oin says, sounding just as awed as Fíli feels. “That was a privilege to witness.”

“Burn this,” the elf says as she hands the poultice to Bofur, who obediently tosses it into the fire. “He needs rest, though I fear it will be a while before he can have it,” she says softly as she sets about binding Kíli’s leg with a clean bandage. “The poison is gone, but his body is weak.”

Fíli can hardly find the words to speak. He presses his forehead to Kíli’s temple, breathing a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he manages finally.

“He is precious to you,” the elf observes, a small smile on her face as she finishes Kíli’s binding.

“He’s my brother,” Fíli whispers. “My only family.”

She squeezes his shoulder as she stands. “I thought as much,” she admits. “You looked after one another in Mirkwood. With the spiders.”

The ground rumbles around them. Fíli closes his eyes. Have they saved him only to perish in dragonfire?

“You have to leave,” she says, speaking to all of them now. “There is no time!”

Bain hesitates. “We cannot leave without our Da,” he says, but even as he speaks the ground rumbles again, shaking debris loose from their damaged roof.

Tauriel frowns. “If you stay here, you and your sister will die. Is that what your father would want?” Bain blinks quickly, eyes shining when he finally shakes his head, looking to his sisters sadly.

Fíli and Bofur work to get Kíli to his feet. His brother is slowly coming back to himself, his eyes clearing, but he’s far too weak to walk on his own. “Fee,” he mumbles softly, his head lolling onto Fíli’s shoulder as they right him.

“Don’t worry; I’ve got you.” he promises, pressing a kiss to Kíli’s temple. Bofur helps Fíli get his brother onto his back, keeping the weight off of his leg.

Oin and Bard’s children gather some provisions as Fíli and Bofur make their way down the stairs to the dock. It is slow work; Fíli is careful not to jostle his brother and Bofur works to ensure he maintains his balance as they navigate the steps. He is just getting Kíli situated at the back of the boat, propping his wounded leg up on the side, when the others rejoin them.

A horrible tremor shakes the ground, sending waves sloshing through the lake. In the distance, they hear the shriek of a dragon. Fíli locks eyes with his brother.

Smaug is coming.

-----

No. No, no, no, no, no .

Bilbo stammers to his feet, chasing after where Smaug had fled, the other dwarves clambering behind him. He can hardly breathe. How had this happened? Thorin’s plan had been so good , he was so certain that it would work to subdue Smaug, but now ...now thousands of innocents were now in Smaug’s path. Because of them. Because of him .

They can do little more than watch when Smaug unleashes his flames upon Laketown.

-----

AN - So it looks like I’ll be rounding this bad boy out at 30 chapters. Next chapter will be pre-BOTFA focused, 29 will be BOTFA, and 30 will be the end. I’m sad and anxious and excited all at the same time.

Anyway, as always thank you so much for reading this little story that has occupied so much of my life at this point. It means the world.

[injusticeff]

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Dom

The prison orange that I was required to wear just symbolized everything about my freedom being taken away. I couldn’t even eat freely anymore; everything was on a timed schedule, every single day.

It was something I hated since usually, I had always been so unpredictable.

I got mean mugs from people I didn't even know and the food tasted like they just threw any old thing together and called it breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It only took a few days for me to stop pushing away the food and not eating it, seeing as I was most likely going to be in here for a while.

My trial had been held about a week ago and seeing everything that I had been charged with, the judge gave me the maximum of fifteen years for the attempted homicide alone. Once I heard that, I didn't even care to listen to the rest of the sentencing for my other charges. I most likely had a life sentence on my hands and I wasn't sure if I could do the full twenty with all of these criminals around me.

We had to be up at a certain time every day and although I tried to avoid going to get breakfast as much as I could, we couldn't just roam around whenever we wanted to since this was a maximum security prison. Only the worst criminals who couldn't be trusted were transferred here, and I just felt like I didn't belong here at all. Nearly half of the men here have murdered someone. The only person I've tried to kill ended up living so I didn't understand why the judge had me here.

What I've done wasn't even half as bad as what some of these other people have done.

My thoughts were abruptly interrupted when I felt a hard shoulder bump into mine as I walked towards the cafeteria for breakfast, nearly knocking me off balance since I wasn't really focused. Once I caught my footing, I almost broke my neck snapping it in his direction as a cold glare resided on my face.

"What, you got a problem?" He spoke in a teasing manner as two of his friends stood behind him, giving me the same mug that he was giving me.

I knew he was just trying to start shit with me because that's what most people did to fresh meat, attempting to see what they were all about. Whether or not they were pussy. "Yea, watch where the fuck you going. I know you seen me walking nigga." I retorted quickly with venom laced in my voice as the trio began to surround me but I couldn't back down now. Even if they beat my ass in this very spot, I couldn't go out without a fight.

My head was held high as we eyed each other with menacing looks, neither one of us backing down from the other. I wasn't even worried about the two followers behind me because I could tell this one was the one who called the shots.

"This nigga think he bold. Bitch boy, you ain't even with no crew. We could stab yo ass right now and the only people who won't look the other way is the guards. And that's only 'cause it's they job." The inmate in front of me spoke causing his two lackeys to laugh.

But my face remained straight as I looked at him, multiple other inmates eyeing us to watch the drama that was about to go down. It was like high school all over again. "Unlike you, I don't need two niggas up my ass all day to feel tough. I wouldn't even be surprised if they could tell me how yo shit tastes."

The male in front of me clenched his jaw, moving closer towards me before he suddenly stopped as he glared over my shoulder in annoyance. I subtly looked behind me and saw two guards standing there, trying to see what all of the commotion was about since there were literally inmates leaving their table to come into the hallway and watch the brawl that was bound to go down. He let out a deep exhale as his eyes refocused on me. "Don't think you safe now nigga."

He motioned the other two to follow him as he started backing away from me slowly, never taking his glare off of me and I did the same. All I was trying to do was go and eat breakfast but as always, there's got to be some bullshit.

Rolling my eyes, I turned around and continued my trek to the cafeteria, ignoring the multiple stares that came my way. I knew that I couldn't just say something to everybody because I'd end up dead by tomorrow so the best thing I could possibly do was ignore it.

Once I got my food, I sat at a table that only one man occupied. Most of the other tables were full and I didn't want to be surrounded by a bunch of men who seem to gossip like women since there wasn't much entertainment in here. After sitting down away from the other inmate, I began to eat my food quietly. Jail food was probably the most disgusting thing I've had to eat thus far in my life but I've found a few things that were okay to eat and I wasn't about to starve myself.

I heard the man across from me mumble something to me as he scooped a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth, not even looking my way. My head turned both ways to figure out if there was someone else he could have been talking to but no one was even remotely focused on what we had going on. I turned back to him. "What nigga?"

"I said you need to be careful. Sometimes the best thing in here isn't trying to prove yourself, it's staying off the radar." He spoke, not once making eye contact with me.

I smacked my lips. "Well, how am I supposed to do that when niggas like that go around looking for trouble? I'm not finna let nobody punk me. I don't care if it's my momma." I retorted back, being sure to give him the full attention that he wasn't giving me.

He finally turned my way and I almost gasped once I got to see him fully. The other side of his face held a long scar that started at his forehead and ended right below his left eye, which had a white cast to it indicating that he couldn't see out of that eye anymore. "Just listen to what I say nigga. Or don't say I didn't warn you." With that, he got up and left the table leaving me to ponder on what possibly could have happened to his face.

It also made me wonder if what happened to him happened while he was in here locked up.

***

I impatiently waited in line to use the phone, the person before me seeming to take forever to finish his conversation. There was a set time that we were able to use the phone and if we didn't get to call anyone because we were too far back in line, well oh well. We'd have to try again next time.

I had gotten here a bit earlier since I knew there would be a line wrapped around the corner by the time I got here if I didn't. I was the next one up but it sounded like the person in front of me was speaking to his mother. He was a white man that didn't look like he could even hurt a fly but I knew looks could be deceiving, especially in here. He could be someone who raped and murdered twenty people and I wouldn't even know.

My foot tapped loudly causing him to look down at it, then up at me before turning back around to finish up his conversation. He finally said his goodbyes and as soon as that phone was being placed down, I was picking it up and dialing a number quickly. We only had about six minutes left to make a call and I was hoping it would be enough time since it took the receiving caller a good two minutes to be able to accept the call.

But she never answered my calls. Hell, she probably had the number blocked for all I knew. I still called her every day though, hoping that at least one day she'd pick up the phone for me.

That day clearly wasn't today as I heard the beep signaling to create a voicemail message sound off on the other end causing me to sigh heavily. "Simone, baby, answer my calls. Please. I hate being in here and not being able to see you and Junior. Can you just bring him down to visit? At least once. I'm going crazy in here and I don't wanna end up—" Suddenly I heard another beep, letting me know that was all I could record for right now.

I closed my eyes and sighed, attempting to calm myself down before I threw the phone and messed things up for everyone. Each day, it was like I left the same message over and over. I just wanted to see my son.

I hung the phone back up and walked back in the direction of my cell, the message I had just left weighing heavy on my mind. It had been over a month and she was still ignoring me. Either that or she changed her number which was worse because I'd never be able to find out how to contact her while I sat in here for years.

Despite everything that happened, Simone was the love of my life and I still want to be able to see my son grow up. I don't want my last memory of him to be when he was four and I don't want him to end up forgetting about me either.

I stepped into my cell and let out a breath of relief that my cellmate wasn't there. He wasn't that bad, he just enjoyed talking a lot. Half of the time, I don't even think he knew what he was talking about himself, he just kept blurting out words.

Laying on my bed, I closed my eyes and threw my arm over my face, attempting to get the depressing thoughts of my son forgetting who I was out of my head. He was at the age where he wouldn't remember most of things that happened when he grew up. I didn't want him to also not remember me. I definitely didn't want him to end up calling another nigga his dad either. That would hurt me to my core.

I sighed once I heard my cell door close, not bothering to look that way since giving eye contact to my cell mate was like an invitation to converse in his eyes. "Aye yo, George, I really don't feel like talking right now man. Just give me a minute."

Once a few seconds had passed by and I didn't hear a response, I removed my arm from over my eyes and sat up immediately seeing that nigga from breakfast and his two puppy dogs standing right by the door. I quickly jumped up and attempted to reach into my little cabinet where I kept a shiv made from an old toothbrush I found, but the three men swiftly grabbed me and began throwing blows anywhere they could.

The only thing I could do was curl into a ball and shelter my face from the six hands that were trying to get at it. Suddenly I felt hands grab my wrists as I was somehow forced onto my stomach, the two followers holding me down as their knees dug into my shoulder so I wouldn't be able to move.

I instantly began thrashing and fighting hard against the two once their leader began tearing a hole down the back of my jumpsuit, followed by him nearly ripping my underwear off of my body. I moved violently in their hold but their grip on me only tightened more as I kicked behind me as best as I could.

A gut wrenching scream escaped my mouth once I felt a sharp object being shoved into my anus, the brutal force of the item tearing at the skin and instantly causing internal bleeding. The inmate from breakfast forced the object in and out of me repeatedly as one of his friends stuffed their sock in my mouth to keep my cries for help muffled, salty tears freely falling from my eyes as pain shot throughout my body.

"How that taste bitch."

Bree

I sullenly packed the boxes holding all of my belongings into the moving truck I had rented out for the day. The coldness in his eyes as he watched my every move only made the pain I felt inside so much worse.

Tears pooled in the brims of my eyes as I stared at all of the cardboard boxes filled with my things, finally causing me to realize that this was really happening to me. Xae was kicking me out of the house. He wasted no time in packing up my stuff once he got home from the ceremony.

He stood at the foot of the front doorway, watching with crossed arms as he made sure all of my things were gone so that I'd have no reason to come back, as he stated to me. I neared closer to him as I made my way to get the last of my boxes, his stone cold expression never faltering from his face.

"Xae," I reached out to touch his arm as the hot and salty liquid continued to leak from my eyes, "I'm so sorry baby but please... don't do this to me. I don't want things to end like this."

He responded by simply moving his arm out of my reach and stepping to the side so that I'd have better access inside to get the rest of my belongings. I sniffled quietly as I hung my head low, slowly allowing my hand to fall back down to my side.

"I think this is the last of it." My head rose again once I heard the sound of Simone's voice calling out to me as she appeared in the doorway with the last box in her hand. She had been helping me make sure that everything was packed into the U-Haul truck since Xavier was refusing to give me any type of assistance.

Simone carried the box out to the truck as I remained standing right in front of Xae. While my eyes were on him, his eyes were strictly focused on her and it made my heart fall to the pit of my stomach. I knew that what I was afraid was going to happen between the two had no obstacles holding them apart now.

"Xae," I called out to him one last time causing his eyes to slowly trail back over to me with annoyance written all over his face, "Can we please just talk about this? I made a mistake but that's no reason to throw away what we had together for almost three years."

A bitter chuckle escaped his lips as he shook his head. "I didn't throw shit away, Bree. You did. So now, shut the fuck up and deal with it."

My mouth fell agape as I stared at him in complete shock. He had never even fixed his mouth to say something so disrespectful to me before. I had to have really sent him over the edge for something like that to have left his lips. It had only caused more tears to frequent my eyes as I watched him stare down at me without an ounce of sympathy. "Xae... please don't—"

Before I could finish my sentence, Simone had jogged back over causing me to stop talking because I didn't want to embarrass myself by seeming too desperate. But my heart ended up falling to the pit of my stomach once I witnessed Xae immediately throw his arm around her waist and pull her body into his, almost protectively. My eyes couldn't even tear away from his hand that rested on her hip as my blood began to boil.

"So, y'all are together now?" The question came out in a barely audible whisper but I could tell the both of them heard me because Simone subconsciously took a step away from Xavier. Unlike him, she actually looked like she felt bad for me and didn't want to make things worse by being all touchy feely with the man I was supposed to marry a couple of days prior.

She looked like she wanted to say something too, but Xae quickly shook his head and motioned for me to leave. "That doesn't matter. You have all your shit so it's time to go." Simone quickly gave him a stern look that made it unnecessary to even open her mouth to lecture him and lightly squeezed his hand before leaning over to whisper something in his ear.

I attempted to subtly lean forward to hear what she was saying to him, but to no avail. Once she pulled away, Xae looked at me and sighed. "I'm sorry. I might be hurt but that doesn't give me the right to treat anyone like shit." He spoke lowly causing my mouth to fall agape once again.

My eyes swiftly darted between him and her, wondering what in the world she could have said to get him to apologize to me in a matter of seconds. "I—uh, it's okay. I probably deserve it." I hung my head low as it shook from side to side; disappointed in myself was an understatement.

An awkward silence soon took over between the three of us and I took that as my cue to finally leave. Xae clearly wasn't going to give me another chance and I was beginning to get tired of the look of pity on Simone's face. I knew she was just being nice but it wasn't making me feel any better at all.

My legs slowly carried me over to the driver's side of the large U-Haul truck and due to my short stature, I literally had to climb in. Once I was seated and closed the door, I took one last glance over at Xae who was now not even focused on me at all, but had a slight grin on his face as he spoke to Simone. His hands just couldn't stay away from her as he kept attempting to pull her into him and she kept a slight distance between them most likely since I was still there.

I allowed the remaining tears to fall freely down my cheeks as I started up the truck and drove away before my heart exploded in my chest from watching the two of them together. But I guess it wasn't all bad; at least he was happy...

***

I skillfully backed the truck into Antonio's driveway so that I wouldn't have to walk too far to grab my stuff and take it inside. My eyebrows furrowed once I realized the other unknown car parked in his driveway and I exited the truck to look inside of the empty vehicle. There was nothing even remotely distinguishable about the car. Nothing hanging from the rear view mirror nor any knickknacks on the dashboard.

I shrugged and headed inside to let Antonio know that I was here and I was going to need help with carrying some of the more heavy boxes. I figured he'd probably bought me a cheap car to drive since he was usually busy dealing with his restaurant and such and was going to be gone majority of the time. The car I used to drive around was Xae's so I couldn't keep that and Antonio knows how much I hate being stuck inside all of the time.

Knocking lightly on the door a few times, I rocked back and forth on my feet as I awaited an answer but it wasn't coming quick enough for me so I knocked again. It was as if the second knock triggered something inside and I suddenly heard loud yelling causing a look of confusion to wash over my face.

The screaming from inside became louder and before I knew it, the door had swung open revealing a fuming Serina who looked as red as a tomato. She instantly rolled her eyes at the sight of me and I held no hesitation in doing the same. I was tired of seeing this bitch.

"What do you want?" She asked as she leaned against the door frame, blocking the entryway as if this was her house.

My face immediately scrunched up. "What do I want? Girl, I'm not about to play with you." I retorted as I forcefully pushed passed her and began calling for Antonio once I was inside. He finally came out from what looked to be the direction of the kitchen, looking just as livid as she did. "I need help moving my stuff inside."

A low chuckle sounded off from behind me but when I turned around, Serina was staring straight at Antonio instead of me. "So, you're really letting this bitch move in with you? How long have y'all known each other again?"

"Mind your fucking business." Antonio mumbled as he moved passed the both of us to go outside to the truck.

Her eyes immediately fell back on me, a hateful look in her eye that I knew for a fact was jealousy which only caused me to smirk back at her. "You think you've won because you're here now but, newsflash sweetheart, you're only here because you might be carrying his child. He doesn't love or care about you." She spoke with nothing but pure venom laced in her voice.

"And you think he loves you?" I laughed out, honestly amused at her attempt to get under my skin. "Remember that you're only mad at me because I had the man you wanted. In front of you, no less. So don't come at me on that bullshit." I replied, completely fed up with holding my tongue for people. If she wanted to play that game, I could really hurt her feelings and I wouldn't mind doing so either because this bitch had it coming.

Serina rolled her eyes as her hands found their place on her hips. "I don't give a fuck what you think you had. You also had a fiancé up until a few days ago too but where's he at now? Oh yea, he doesn't love or care about you either."

My nostrils flared as soon as she brought up Xae and my blood instantly began to boil over. I couldn't believe that Antonio's been telling her all of my deep and personal business when he knew damn well that I didn't like this bitch at all. "You're nothing but a cheating, lying, hoe and frankly, I don't care what a cheating lying hoe has to say about me anyway. That's exactly why I fucked Antonio all up and down this house. Did you ever get the chance to even make it to the bed yet?" She added with a devious smirk painted all over her face.

I'm not sure what exactly took over me, but the next thing I knew, I was on top of her sending slaps and blows to her face as she scratched and pulled at my hair, occasionally landing a few hits of her own. My legs kicked and flailed once I felt myself being pulled off of her.

"LET GO OF ME! You fucking asshole, you told her everything!" Hot angry tears stained my cheeks as I tried my best to get out of Antonio's hold and take off on him as well.

Serina soon began to stand up, holding her nose due to it being busted and charged at me again. Antonio still hadn't let me go so she was able to grab a huge chunk of my hair and started throwing wild punches causing me to rapidly kick my feet out to defend myself. "Yo, what the fuck, stop!" I heard Antonio yell which instantly caused her to halt her movements and back away from me. It was as if she was his little puppy dog, following all of the orders he'd give her.

With a heaving chest, she stormed out of the house and was sure to slam the door behind her. Antonio and I both waited but we didn't hear a car start. Instead, glass began breaking from outside and loud thumps could be heard. My eyes immediately widened as I thrashed to get out of his hold once again. "Get off! My stuff is out there!" I just knew this broad wasn't damaging my property.

"Ok, calm down! I'll handle it." Antonio replied as he cautiously let me back down to my feet, waiting a few seconds to make sure I wouldn't go outside and run up on her again before he jogged out his front door causing the loud noises to stop altogether.

Shaking my head, I headed over to the bathroom to check on my face which had started burning a couple of minutes ago. I stared at my reflection to see my skin riddled with scratches and one of my eyes beginning to swell a bit, knowing it would leave a slight bruise once it went down.

If this was what was going to happen just because of me living here, I'd rather just be alone.

Ajanae

A shaky breath escaped my lips as I sat in my car, staring ahead of me at the police station I had been hesitating to go into for the last hour. I knew that once I went inside, my life was over and I just wanted a few more minutes of freedom before that happened. 

It just felt like my apology wasn’t enough. After all, they were only just words that meant absolutely nothing since my actions have been anything but apologetic. I hadn't told Simone yet because although I was doing it mainly for her, I was also doing it for myself; living with the guilt in aiding the end of someone else's life was something that was painfully hard to live with and I didn't want to anymore. I couldn't just keep thinking about myself and saving my own ass.

My hands anxiously gripped and un-gripped the steering wheel as my heart beat out of my chest. It felt so loud, the person in the car over could probably hear it. Allowing an anxious breath to escape my lips, I finally shut off my car and allowed the newfound silence from the engine cutting off to surround me as Antonio sat quietly beside me. I had to leave someone with my car and I didn't necessarily have as much trust for any of my other family members as I did for him.

As I reached for the handle of the car door, my phone's ringtone began to blare throughout the speakers of my car due to me having my phone hooked up to the bluetooth to play music. A shaky sigh of relief left my lips and I quickly reached for it before pressing the green button to answer the call. Subconsciously, I knew I was trying to do everything I could to procrastinate.

I had never been to any type of jail or prison before and I knew once I entered the building, I wasn't going to be leaving in a very long time. I had done my research beforehand to find out the maximum and minimum sentences for accessory to murder and I wasn't sure if I was ready to spend years with my freedom abruptly stripped from me. But for Simone, I was going to do it all anyway.

"Hello?" I answered a bit more anxiously as I watched the seconds on the call tick by.

The person on the other line held their silence for a few seconds longer, their slow breathing being the only thing that could be heard from the other end. My eyebrows furrowed together in confusion and I reached for my phone to hang up, but the voice that came through my speakers immediately halted me in my tracks. "I know what you're doing Ajanae... and I shouldn't have to tell you that it isn't smart."

My heartbeat unwillingly started to quicken as my brows only knitted closer together. "...Dom?"

"Nae, baby, I thought you were smarter than this. Just pull away from the police station and go home."

I slightly jumped in my seat as my eyes darted around the outside of the station and parking lot to see if anyone was around or watching but there was not a soul in sight. Antonio stared at me from the passenger seat in pure confusion. "How did you—"

"Why do y'all keep asking me that dumb shit and why do I keep telling y'all the same answer? Just 'cause I'm locked up don't mean I don't still have eyes and ears everywhere. I gotta say though... I didn't think you'd actually do it." His tone was eerily calm and nonchalant, almost as if he was just doing this to play with my mind.

And it was starting to work.

"Dom, why do you even care? It's not like you're getting out any time soon. What's a few more years added on? I'm tired of living with these secrets." My voice cracked slightly as I spoke and tears began to form in the brims of my eyes.

I was more haunted by the situation than it seemed but my fear of going to prison had been the only thing keeping my guilt in check.

"I'm only thinking 'bout you here, baby girl. Trust me, you're not built for this life... no one is." His voice had lowered as he trailed off, seeming a bit contemplated. It was a tone I never heard coming out of his mouth before, but he was sure to quickly dismiss it. "So, like I said, just go home, run yourself a warm bath, and enjoy your freedom while you have it."

More tears poured from my eyes as he spoke and I began shaking my head as if he could see me. "I can't. It's not right."

"You wasn't thinking 'bout what was right when you was helping me so stop bitching." He snapped. "Don't do it or I'm telling you right now, you'll regret ever meeting me." And with that, the call abruptly ended leaving nothing but silence to take over.

After a few seconds, I quickly wiped the tears away from my eyes with a new determination. I wasn't about to let this man keep controlling me and everyone else the way he had been for years. And the gag was, I already regretted ever meeting him. It was crazy because just a few months ago, he still had me head over heels in love with him. I thought he could do no wrong.

"Who was that?" Antonio's voice spoke up from beside me. He sounded cautious to even say anything, like he didn't want to bring it up but knew he had to.

I quickly shook my head, dismissing the subject entirely. I didn't want to have to explain the entire situation. He didn't even know the reason that I was turning myself in; just that he needed to keep my car safe and maintained during the meantime. It just made things way less complicated for me. And frankly, I didn't want to see the look of disappointment on my cousin's face when I told him what I'd done.

"Just an ex—"

He quickly shifted in his seat as if he was The Flash. "You mean that punk ass bitch that had you laid up in a hospital bed for two weeks because he thought you were cheating on him with me?!" I could literally feel the seething anger radiating off of him as he spoke.

The car fell silent and immediately, I knew that he knew the answer to that question. I had always tried to defend him, telling myself and others that he only did it because he didn't know Antonio was my cousin and not some random guy I picked up on the street. But now I know that, that was nowhere near true. This was just what he did to the women that fell in love with him.

"Yo, why the fuck is he calling your phone talking 'bout some he's gonna make you regret meeting him? I'm gonna make that nigga regret ever being born when I get my hands on him."

My head snapped in my cousin's direction in irritation. "Just let it go, alright? Forget this ever happened. Besides, the only way you'd be able to 'get your hands on him' was if you were sitting in a jail cell."

"Shit, we in front of a police station right now. Say I won't go and smash the windows on one of them squad cars—"

"Just stop!" I quickly interrupted before he actually managed to work up the courage to put some action behind his words. "I don't want anything to do with Dominick and I don't want you or anyone else to get involved with him either. Everything he touches becomes toxic." By now, my tears had all but dried up and I was a bit more agitated that Ant was really trying to risk his freedom for something that happened years ago.

He glared over at me, clearly still livid about the whole situation before looking out of the window with a frustrated sigh. "Whatever, man."

"I'm serious, Antonio! I'm not saying that to be dramatic because when I walk through those doors," I yelled as I swiftly pointed towards the double doors of the police station, "I'm being charged with accessory to murder and he's being charged with murder." His eyes widened a bit at my revelation, his lips not even daring to part themselves and say something. "So when I say everything he touches becomes toxic... I mean that shit." My voice had softened up a bit as I attempted to read his facial expression but I couldn't quite tell what he was thinking.

"So, you—you helped him kill someone. Like someone is six feet under right now because of you two?" He asked as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was surreal even hearing it come out of my own mouth.

A low sigh escaped my lips as I shrugged slightly. "I mean, it's a bit more complicated than just that but yea. Someone's dead and I played a part in that. So yea..."

The car was overcome with silence once again as neither of us knew exactly what to say to each other. There was nothing to really say at a moment like this. Antonio sat back in his seat, staring ahead of himself in what I knew to be pure thought. It wasn't everyday your cousin told you they helped commit a murder. I know I didn't help in the physical sense, but the guilt still feels all the same.

"Just... don't tell ma or tía, please. I don't want them to have to live with knowing that. And you know if you tell one, the other is gonna find out like that." I snapped lightly to add emphasis to how quick information got around with the two. They were always like two peas in a pod since they were younger; which was why Antonio and I were so close. We basically grew up together too. "If they ask, just tell them I wouldn't say. And that goes for all our other nosey ass family members too. I don't want anyone knowing why... at least not out of our mouths."

He nodded and let out another sigh as he just looked at me. I knew that he was disappointed in me too, but still wanted to support me doing the right thing. He'd always have my back when I needed it the most. "I hope you know you're fucking crazy. And dumb as hell for letting that nigga talk you into ruining your life." My eyes lowered as they stung a bit, feeling the water works already coming over me. I knew I was stupid from what I did but hearing it from someone so close to me just hit different. "But... I really admire you for running towards your problems instead of away from them. I don't know if I'd be able to turn myself in knowing I'd get years."

"You wouldn't, pussy. You couldn't even tell your friend that you fucked his bitch." I retorted, earning a stern glare from my cousin. I knew the subject was still a bit fresh but I couldn't help it. It was just so funny seeing how worked up he got over just the mention of it. "Kidding, kidding. But I—uh, I think I better do this before I really do chicken out."

He nodded and we were soon both hopping out of the car and making our way up to the front of the station. I stopped directly in front of the doors and let out a nervous breath that I didn't even know I was holding in. It was now or never.

Reaching to my side, I tightly embraced Antonio as a couple of stray tears crept down my cheeks. "I love you big bro."

"I love you little sis, you be safe in there and make sure I'm the first person you put on your visitation list." He replied causing me to let out a light laugh as I pulled out of the hug and swiped my tears away.

"I will." And with that, I turned towards the haunting police station, the feeling of my freedom stripping away just as I stepped through the double doors.

[seyaryminamoto]

Do you have any Sokkla family head-canon? I'm craving some Mum Azula :)

Hmm, well, I have several, but I’d rather not be too spoilery so… under the cut!

In most my stories, Azula finds balance in her own life and peace in her role in the world. Said role varies depending on the story, but she generally grows, develops, becomes a better person without losing her edge, all those things we Azula fans adore about her character.

Naturally, Sokka has a great deal to do with all this, and it’s relevant because he helps her feel better about her vulnerabilities, helps her feel safe even when she’s defenseless in front of him. With this, Azula slowly but surely becomes more open and understandable of what love is, and she experiences it properly for the first time in her life through the man who shall be her husband and father of her children :D

This, then, translates to how she’ll relate to said children once they’re born. I’m not going to explain in full detail how certain things will unfold in the story I’m obviously talking about, but I’ve always planned for Azula to be very attached, to the point of paranoia, of her firstborn, a daughter. Azula takes care of her from the moment she finds out she’s pregnant and through every moment later because… well, I’m not going to explain the main reason why xD but in short, she doesn’t even think it through, she just has to protect her daughter no matter the cost. 

When the baby is born, her life changes. Motherly instincts she never knew she had in her pour through, and the eagerness to protect the child only increases. So she’s careful with the baby, constantly making sure she’s okay, only trusts a handful of people with her and never is far away from her for too long. This doesn’t really mean she’s suffocating the baby… I like to imagine her talking to Hotaru even about serious things, when the kid is very young still. She’d also like to listen to her daughter, to try to understand what she needs and wants, whether it’s something simple like needing a new diaper, or something else, like being afraid of bad dreams. I think Azula’s only lesson learned from Ozai will be to treat her daughter as an ally, but Azula does that without treating her as a tool. As in, they’re in the same boat together and have to support each other through and through. And as Hotaru is still a baby, Azula needs to take the best care she can of her, since babies are pretty hopeless xD so Azula establishes a bond with the little girl pretty quickly, looks after her with surprising devotion and indeed makes difficult decisions to protect her if need be. Needless to say, Hotaru is seldom happy when she’s away from her mom’s comforting presence.

… I hope none of that was spoilery xD but either way, another headcanon: Azula sings this song to her children!

Admittedly, I borrowed this headcanon from someone else… but the voice is even similar to Azula’s in a few points of the song, so I said “DAMN RIGHT SHE SINGS THIS!”

Also, if anyone’s curious and thinking the song rings a bell… this is what she sings with Xin Long back in Gladiator’s 67th chapter :’D the ridiculous scene where Xin Long looks through her childhood memories, finds this song and TRIES to sing it despite being a dragon… well, it’s this one xD I planted that seed THAT long ago :’D

“Well, I wasn’t judging your weird song on sunsets and stars and whatever it was you were singing about!” Sokka said, proudly,

Anyways xD there’s a headcanon I am adamant about too, and it’s that once Hotaru is older she starts playing with dolls, of course! Which, as we know, is NOT Azula’s forte.

… But I suspect Sokka is pretty good at it, thanks to the unaired pilot episode xD

So one day Azula walks into their room to find Sokka happily playing with their daughter, and she’s blown away xD Sokka is flustered but defends his right to play with dolls, and eventually Hotaru herself convinces Azula to join them. Azula is very awkward about it because she doesn’t really know how to do this… but after a while she understands the rhythm of the game, creates a personality for her chosen doll and things just go bonkers from there xD for the first time in her life, a fully-grown Azula discovers dolls maybe aren’t so boring if you have someone worth playing with.

As for the other kids, Shun is a firebending fanboy who adores his mom on principle because she’s awesome and amazing (and he’s right to think so xD). Sokka would say it’s only natural that she’d charm their son that way, seeing how she charmed him too xD but anyways, their bond is quite positive and Azula helps him with training sometimes (Hotaru too, but as Shun is more devoted to firebending he usually asks for her opinion more often). He’s also pretty nerdy, loves history and learning about past events that no one even remembers, so both Azula and Sokka tend to get him books on history that he can eat up and later tell them heaps of things about.

I think Azula’s second pregnancy (Shun) is much smoother than Hotaru’s, she’ll have less reasons to be on edge this time. She’ll forge a similar bond with Shun since he’s a kid, trying to foster genuine trust between them both, trying to be in tune with whatever he needs, and that way she establishes since he’s very young that he can count on her. Ergo, he does when he’s older, all the time xD

Yuuna is the last, and as she was an apparent non-bender who then turned out to be a waterbender, things are pretty different here. Azula does her best to establish the same bond as with the two previous kids, but she worries that she can’t help Yuuna with developing her bending skills the way she can with her two older children. Yuuna is also a little more unpredictable and takes after her dad A LOT… but that resemblance to her father just makes Azula love her lots xD any sign of Sokka traits in their children is always something Azula loves dearly.

Yuuna is also the scientist, and she’s unpredictable in regards of the way her brain works. She is curious about EVERYTHING, asks unexpected questions like “what’s inside an eyeball? Is it gooey? How do we SEE through it? Why doesn’t Toph see even if she has eyeballs like us?” and so on and so forth xD she’s inquisitive, persistent, lacks common sense in most regards and disregards most of societal norms (that artwork I did recently with them and the babies? Well, Yuuna’s hair probably only stayed like that for like… 5 minutes and then she took off the hair tie and ran around investigating things in the Palace xD).

Azula of course has some trouble figuring out what to do with Yuuna because, on one hand, she wants the girl to cause little trouble, but on the other, she realizes some things are important to her daughter the same way some things are important to her. And she doesn’t want to shut down her interests, unless they’re genuinely dangerous interests. So Azula struggles at times with how to take care of Yuuna, but never to a point where Yuuna feels unloved or unwanted by her mother, not over her waterbending or anything else. They’re more prone to having conflicts than Azula is with the other two, especially if Azula sets limits that Yuuna fails to understand, but ultimately Azula respects her daughter, all her children, and that teaches them how to respect her too.

Azula is convinced she’s not their children’s favorite parent xD that they prefer Sokka, and she’s happy for it if anything. She loves seeing him with the kids because he has a way with them, always makes them laugh, goofs about and they love him for it. For once, she doesn’t care to be the best, the #1 at something, and ironically, that she’s not competing with Sokka over who’s the favorite parent makes her even better as a mother than she knows xD in the end, I can’t really tell you who’d win in a popularity contest with the kids xD

Pretty much all her children admire her, and if anyone messes with their mom they’re ready to throw down because of it. I think Hotaru will eventually hear stuff about her parents’ past at school and be very confused about what she’s being told, her school friends all have inappropriate crushes on Sokka because he’s sooo heroic and to her it’s just weird because he’s her loveable dorky dad? xD Either way, Shun definitely would get into a fist fight with anyone who badmouths his mom or dad xD Yuuna would probably just start asking insidiously WHY the other person is saying all these things before dismounting their entire insult via nothing but empirical evidence xD arguing with Yuuna is a bad idea for anyone, really.

As for their parents’ past, yes, I don’t think Sokka and Azula would tell their story to the children so quickly, and I also doubt the kids would expect much from the story to begin with. As far as they can tell, these are their parents, that’s their role in life and that’s all there is to it, right? It would take time for them to realize that woah, a Fire Nation royal married a Water Tribesman, that’s not exactly common in their world… how did that happen?

Of course, the questions begin eventually and by then Azula and Sokka end up agreeing to tell their story to the kids. They will of course skip a lot of things that are not appropriate for children to hear xD but theirs is quite the love story, and they take pride in it… so the day comes when they share it with their little ones, and after the MANY storytelling sessions, because as we know this story can’t be told so quickly xD the kids only admire their parents more.

So yep, happy family indeed! I have other ideas, more story-oriented, one where Sokka gets caught by a gang of criminals who don’t realize who he is, his guard is down, Azula has to go save him and, in pure The Incredibles fashion, Shun and Yuuna sneak aboard her ship while Hotaru is left at home to panic over what’s going on xD obviously, Azula and her two stowaways save Sokka, who’s fine and has every finger and toe still in place, Azula will give him the scolding of a lifetime before kissing him and being grateful he’s okay. Shun of course is grossed out by the kissing and amused by the scolding xD Yuuna is just happy her dad is safe now.

And I guess that’s more or less what I can think of right now. Hope that was a nice doseage of Sokkla family headcanons and Mum!Azula :D

[homuras]

hi jessica! i'm wondering who your fave character(s) + villain(s) are in hxh? and why? and also your fave arc(s)!

Hey Mariam! Oof, coming at me with the hard questions, eh?

I really like most of the characters tbh. Everyone has their own set of moral and ambitions and it’s so interesting watching how that plays out and influences the story. 

Well, I absolutely love Killua (wow, shocking, i know). Seeing him develop his sense of self-worth and purpose as he grew as a person was so satisfying to watch. His relationship with Gon was also one of the highlights of the series and just thinking about how much they mean to each other wrecks me every time. I love both of my sons. Their separation at the end was heartbreaking, but necessary and I look forward to their reunion!

Kurapika is also one of my faves. Watching him struggle between finding happiness and his self-destructive path to revenge just makes you want to give him a hug and make him get some good rest for once. 

Leorio is probably the most underrated of the main four. He’s probably the most ernest and pure-hearted character in the whole cast and is all around just a really good guy. I hope he gets his time to shine in the current arc.

Hxh also has some of the most intriguing villains. Honestly, I wouldn’t even really consider them “villians” so much as simply being antagonists because the stories great at presenting the morals and views of both sides. The only arc with a kinda lame villain was probably the GI arc.

Hisoka’s one of my faves in the series and probably fave villain. His mere presence adds this element of unpredictability to a scene. He’s a nice balance of fun and creepy. 

Chrollo and the rest of the Phantom Troupe are really cool as well. I really liked how they were presented as having their own morals and cared for each other, despite being thugs and criminals.

Meruem is probably one of the most developed antagonists I’ve seen. You could probably argue that he’s the true protagonist of the CA arc. I loved watching him gradually grow to appreciate the value of other lives and the worth of his opponents. His final scenes with Komugi were beautiful.

As for favorite arcs, I’d probably have to say Yorknew. I love Kurapika and the Phantom Troupe and seeing them all in action was so satisfying. I really like the Chimera Ant arc too, and I’d say it’s better thematically, but admittedly, some parts are stronger than others and pacing could have been better at places. 

[bigskydreaming]

You know what I need more of in the X-franchise, Marvel? Above all else?

Official adoption narratives. Especially of older kids.

The X-Men’s greatest strength as a franchise is that they’re one of the ultimate examples of the found family trope. Practically every single one of them is all about finding bonds within the X-Men that they couldn’t in their biological family, if they even had one they’d ever known at all. 

And because of the weird nature of time in comic books and how they want to keep characters relatively young forever, they tend to shy away from storylines that would provide an easy comparison for exactly how old certain characters are supposed to be, such as having kids. It’s not easy, narratively speaking, to keep kids young forever, and its a lot easier to be vague on whether an older X-character is meant to be early thirties or closer to forty than it is to be vague on whether their child is meant to be seven or thirteen. Which is why even when they do baby storylines, inevitably they use time travel or accelerated aging or something like that to turn the baby into a grown character like with Cable and then with Hope Summers and assorted other instances.

So even though most of the X-Men are now assumed to be in their late twenties to late thirties age wise, and with this reflected in their teacher-student dynamics with current teen characters, none of the X-Men have really ever started families of their own, outside of the occasional storyline where evil scientists or supervillains result in an X-character getting a teenage clone or already adult child. And of course not having children is a perfectly valid choice for any adult, be they single, a couple, and regardless of how family oriented they are or not. But it bugs when you know the only reason none of the X-Men are parents by this point is just because Marvel doesn’t like dealing with the issue of young kids skewing their timeline.

And it especially bugs when you consider that there’s an extremely viable, simple and obvious way to fill this void with a narrative that’s 100% in character for all the X-Men, and that could use waaaaaay more representation in media anyway.

LET. THE. X-MEN. ADOPT. KIDS.

Especially older ones, the ones too often written off as problem children and trouble makers or ‘too old to really help’. The ones so often treated in media as though they’re basically glorified houseguests, just there to be materially provided for until they’re eighteen. Like there’s a cut off point after which older kids can’t possibly still want not just a guardian but a PARENT, not just a mother or father figure, but someone who wants to BE their mom or dad.  Like adults can’t possibly form a parent child bond as strong as any biological one if the child doesn’t come into their life before they’re a teenager, when they’re still a cute little adorable tyke.

Give me Bobby Drake encountering a gay trans mutant teenager whose parents kicked them out of the house. Bobby Drake, with his own experiences growing up in an emotionally abusive and neglectful home, who knows that this particular child needs more than just being brought to the school and getting lost in the crowd, that this child needs someone who says you deserve a parent who loves you and I want to be that parent. Because hell, every kid needs and deserves that of course, but something about the way Bobby connects with this kid right off the bat, like he just knows that what this kid needs, he can be and hey, maybe this kid is what he needs too. His love life has always been a disaster, but kids? He knows kids, hey everyone says he basically is a kid, but that’s never meant he doesn’t know how to be an adult when someone needs him to be. And hey, he’s spent the last fifteen years mastering the art of the embarrassing dad joke, no sense in letting that go to waste.

Give me Ororo Munroe adopting a STEM-loving black teenager with thick glasses and a habit of babbling when she’s nervous. Which is often at first, but gradually fades as she outright BLOSSOMS under the attention Storm showers her with, her insecurities nothing in the face of the knowledge that this legendary superhero, a woman who has been both a goddess and a queen, chose HER, looked at her when nobody else ever had and said this is her, this is the child of my heart. Whose excited ramblings about math and physics might seem an odd match for Storm at first, but really is just another way of connecting with and understanding the world around them. And Storm in turn, who never really liked being called either a goddess or a queen, but who basks in the memory of the first time her daughter called her ‘Mom.’ Who is so used to be treated reverently, but from a distance, by so many people who don’t get that nobody really wants to be considered majestic all the time, that the first time her daughter musters the confidence to tell her that for all her many talents, Storm is apparently terrible at making pancakes, all she can do is throw back her head and laugh in delight.

Give me Kurt meeting his daughter when he evacuates a burning building one teleport at a time, too exhausted by the end of it to be anything more than utterly unsurprised by the crowd keeping their usual distance thanks to his appearance. All except for one girl, standing apart from the rest, pointing at him almost reverently. “You have a tail, like me,” she says, awed.

Give me Rogue and Remy, who have always wanted a big family free of expectations or agendas, everything they wanted for themselves but never really got to have. Who’ve been nervous about starting a family for a long time, Rogue uncertain about having and raising a baby given how unpredictable her control over her powers can be, Remy uncertain about how good a father he’d be....until the day they take down what they thought was a new mutant crime ring. Turned out really to be a couple of older criminals exploiting a bunch of teen and younger mutant kids with a variety of obvious mutations that make it an unfortunately safe bet the foster system isn’t too invested in figuring out why they slipped through the cracks. There’s one who seems to be the oldest, despite the fact that he’s barely five feet of foul-mouthed, defiant fury, and he’s still more than willing to pit his malnourished frame against the two older intruders trying to mess with his ‘family’. Rogue and Remy look at each other and just know, and when the whole group arrives back at the school, various foster families the X-Men reached out to are all ready and eager to make sure each of the children has someone they feel comfortable around to go home with....no one all that surprised when the only ones the scowling young pipsqueak deems acceptable are Rogue and Remy themselves. Who are more than happy to comply.

Honestly, they’d have taken the whole group in if they could, but its one thing to want a big family and its another thing to....start off with a big family right off the bat with zero actual parenting experience. Still, they’re more than willing to host any of the others whenever their newly adopted son asks if one or two can come over. It’s obvious seeing for himself that they’re doing okay helps settle him, after feeling responsible for them for so long. And who could blame him....Rogue and Remy are more than a little attached to all the little scamps by this point, they certainly see enough of them, and there swiftly comes the day that they realize they’re more reluctant to see them go back home than even the kids themselves. Remy heads to the living room where his son is camped out in front of the TV, stands between the two until he’s forced to look up at the X-Man crossing his arms, eyes narrowed. “You’re a little con artist,” Remy accuses admiringly. The scoundrel smirks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was still here first though. I’m not sharing a room.”

Give me a LeBeau household that’s crowded and cramped and chaotic and messy and so full of love it’s like a physical punch to the face the second you open the door to the sound of several kids screaming at each other, full Defcon 5. It’s not always easy, and its not always nice. Sometimes older kids do have behavioral issues, because that’s what happens when someone’s been nothing but screwed over for most of their life. But the kind of choice Rogue and Remy made that first day isn’t really a choice, and its definitely not one they’d ever take back, so they weather the ups and downs and the good and the bad, anchoring themselves with the memory of themselves at those ages, and what they would’ve given for someone who didn’t want or need anything from them and would never give up on them, no matter how much they pushed them away.

And Remy, who for all he’s seen and done in his life, never got around to joining in most of the X-Men’s baseball games. Or, well, learning to play it, really. But dads should be able to play catch with their kids, he figures. Oh, he doesn’t think they’ll be like, horribly scarred or anything if they don’t, but, y’know. Might be nice. So he seeks out Bobby and Sam and Jean and various others for what should be a quick tutorial, except for the fact that Remy seems to be bizarrely untalented at this one specific thing. Meanwhile, one of the girls is very into pink dresses and French braids and all the things Rogue most decidedly is not, but if her daughter wants to be a pretty princess, Rogue is not going to be the reason her daughter can’t be a goddamn princess. So she rolls up the sleeves of her bomber jacket and marches off to Janet van Dyne’s, because if you gotta learn how to braid hair, where else would you go, she figures.

Except two weeks later and they’re up after midnight at the kitchen table, Rogue practicing on a damn doll and about to pull out her own hair while Remy scowls at the glove he’s trying to break in, finding the whole process to be utterly stupid. He looks over at Rogue, about to melt the doll’s head off with the power of her ire. “Trade ya?” He asks hopefully. “God yes,” Rogue groans. “Why didn’t we think of this weeks ago?”

Which results in the other girls joining their mother in terrorizing the other X-Men families at baseball, with yodeling battle cries and a complete and utter disdain for any of the actual rules of the game, while most of the boys flock to learning to braid hair from Remy and their sister. Their own hair tends to be too short to do much more than tie it off in the back with a short little pony tail. “I like that shade of pink,” Rogue says to one, of the ribbon used. He rolls his eyes. “It’s fuchsia, Mom.”

“Of course it is, sweetheart,” she says flatly, shooting Remy an exasperated look. He smirks, unrepentant.

Give me a legacy generation of adopted X-Men children who want nothing more than to grow up to be just like their parents, because they’re secure in the knowledge their parents want nothing more of them than to be happy. Who grow up not safe, because the mansion or school or wherever the X-Men are based will never truly be safe, but none of them were really safe to begin with, and at least now they’re happy and loved and they’ll take that over safe any day. Give me a next generation of X-Men who are as diverse and varied as the X-Men should’ve all been from the start, if not for an industry and audience mired in racism, homophobia, transphobia, etc....but a next generation of diverse new characters who benefit from close personal ties to the most iconic X-Men, giving them a potential profile and staying power most other newly created characters can never hope to match. Except in the cases of new characters who capitalize on exactly those kinds of close personal ties, like X-23.

You’ve been using the X-Men to provide narratives about surrogate parent figures for decades now, with Wolverine and Kitty and then Wolverine and Jubilee, with various other characters in a number of dynamics. But with rare exceptions of stories that ultimately only last for a short arc or two or else never get mentioned again, like with Dani and Elixir or Northstar and his daughter, there’s hardly ever any instances of actual adoption or X-characters not just establishing a close mentor or guardian bond, but an actual familial relationship. The only one I can really think of is Cable and Hope, and like....spoilers, so....yeah.

Anyway.

Marvel looooooves to play up the tragic home life backstory for most of its teen or new mutants, with their being a huge number of characters over the years who’ve either been orphaned or disowned or rejected by their families because they’re mutants. 

And you expect me to believe that in all this time, not a single one of these X-Men has ever looked at one of these kids and said “you know what? You need a home, I can give you a home, let’s make this happen”?

Nope. Fake. Unrealistic. OOC. 

[novantinuum]

A Tale of Two Trollhunters (Ch. 2)

AO3

Fandoms: Gravity Falls, Trollhunters

Rating: T

Words: ~2500

Summary: Glass Shard Beach, 1967. When the trollhunter Kanjigar perishes years before he was supposed to, the amulet of daylight finds its next champion in a seventeen year old Stanley Pines. Now essential in the destiny of both the trolls’ subterranean world and the human one above, Stan, along with his twin brother and girlfriend, must fight to protect both worlds from the dark forces creeping in at the edges.

But destiny has a way of being unpredictable.

A Gravity Falls/Trollhunters fusion AU. Kind of a drabble series?

Note: Little to no knowledge of Trollhunters is required to understand this, I think, since Stan is going to discover this world for himself.

First chapter | Next chapter

Chapter 2: Daylight

Stan awoke to a soggy pillow, soaked in drool. His nose and mouth scrunched up in disgust as he wiped the slime off of his cheek. Already sensing from the dull throb behind his eyes that today would be more exhausting than usual, he dragged himself out from under the covers. He yawned, taking inventory of his surroundings. Ford was already halfway down the road to alertness and readying himself for the day, rummaging through his drawer for a clean pair of socks. Outside their window, he heard his dad shouting, the reason already explicitly clear to him. His brows threaded together, fingers fidgeting at the hem of his boxers. Aw shit, the man sounded pretty pissed off... “You okay?” “What? Uh-“ He flinched at the sudden address, Ford’s concerned expression focusing into view. Good grief, it was just his brother, just good ol’ Ford, nothing to bolt out of the room like Carla’s neurotic dachshund over. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, grabbing a pair of jeans off the top of a pile of clothes he’d scattered on the carpet by his bed. He gave them a sniff, and satisfied that they couldn’t stand up on their own, slipped them on. “Just had a really weird dream...” Images flowed through his still-waking mind, of iridescent blue and runic shapes. His journey to the beach at dawn, reading the text on the side of the amulet... the armor, the sword. It all seemed so unimaginable in hindsight, but the longer he was awake the more details he realized lined up pristinely with those foggy memories. He recalled hiding the amulet under his pillow when he finally returned to his room, and lo and behold it was still there. Granules of sand dusted his sheets, tracked in from the beach. Normally he’d wash his feet off before entering the apartment but this morning he failed to do so. And his father’s obvious anger this morning was proof that he indeed- as feared- impulsively shattered one of the pawn shop windows with a rock to make it appear as if a thief had entered in the early hours. None of it was a dream after all. However, he’d only know for sure once he got time alone to read those magic words again. “Good weird or bad weird?” Ford asked, tugging on his sneakers.

“Eh, I dunno. It’s all too fuzzy,” he said with a shrug, and slipped the amulet into his backpack when his brother was turned. “But probably no weirder than anythin’ your brain comes up with, yeah?” 

He grinned, playfully elbowing him. Ford gave him that look he was so often at the receiving end of, complete with a single tilted eyebrow. Obviously he was not awake enough yet to enjoy some innocent brotherly pestering. A shame, really. He had a lot of quality material piling up. “Actually,” his twin said, pulling his bloated knapsack over his shoulders, “I haven’t remembered any of my dreams in much detail for a few years. So I can neither confirm or deny how weird my dreams may or may not be.” “Or what if- oh my god, what if all you dream about is boring everyday stuff, like reading, or eating a sandwich or taking a test?” he laughed. “But you’d never know because you can’t remember!” “Well, at least the subject of my dreams is actually mysterious, and I don’t talk in my sleep,” he quipped back, glancing pointedly at a spot somewhere behind him. Stan followed the path of his eyes to the polaroid of Carla pinned to the wall, and flushed a deep red. “S- shut up!” Ford grinned deviously. “Tell that to yourself.” ____

Stan exited through the pawn shop, locking the door behind him. Not that it helped much, with one of the front windows shattered to fragments. He cringed at the sight of glass scattered across the sidewalk, his father standing above the mess as he spoke with the local police. Uh-oh. Police becoming involved in this mess couldn’t pan out well. Damn, he wished he had more time to think through a plan before doing the first idiotic, impulsive thing his dumb mind could come up with. All he knew at the time was that he needed a way to keep the amulet without his dad knowing, which meant he couldn’t merely take it. If it went missing without a ruckus, he was sure he’d be suspect numero uno. But if it looked like an unrelated criminal broke in and stole it... he might have a chance to get away scot-free. So yes, he threw the rock. So sue him. The only trick to the plan now was convincing his father that he knew nothing about this. He yanked his worn backpack straps further up his shoulders, and walked towards him. “I see you’re finally up,” his dad greeted, as the police officer returned to their car. “Ford left for school fifteen minutes ago.” “Yeah, uh- what happened here?” he asked, feigning (what he hoped could be taken as) shock. “Some cretin threw a rock through the window while we were sleeping and stole that piece I showed you,” his dad huffed, crossing his arms. “There’s no sign of it, or any potential suspects.” “Geeze, that really sucks ass.” “Indeed it does,” he muttered, lightly kicking at a pile of glass with the toe of his shoe. “And it’s gonna ‘suck ass,’ as you so delicately put it, for all of us- repairs like this aren’t within our month’s budget. Hope you like rice, beans, and canned soup, son, because seems we’ll be having a lot of it.” “Aw, man. Is there anything I can help with?” Stan asked, scratching at his neck. His father crossed his arms and turned to appraise the damage once more. “I could use your eyes,” he admitted softly. “You’re the only person besides me who actually saw what it looks like. If you see that amulet, or anything suspicious around town, you let me know.” “I can do that,” Stan said with a nod. And it wasn’t entirely a lie, either- he’d definitely be keeping watch for any more strange occurrences after what happened early this morning. The catch was, he didn’t plan on ever telling Dad. He clasped his hands together. “Welp, I’m off to school. See you tonight.” The man merely hummed in response, and returned to scowling at the damage suffered by the pawn shop. ____

“For the glory of Merlin, daylight is mine to command,” he recited in a whisper, concealed from bystanders’ sight in the shadows of a back alley. With a pulse of light from the amulet, his feet lifted off the ground exactly like they had before. The armor materialized around him, and the grooves glowed blue for a second as he unceremoniously dropped to the ground, stumbling a little with the sudden added weight. He grinned, flexing his fingers. Very much not a dream. ____

“Are you okay?” Carla asked, leaning against the wall. She combed her fingers through her long curly hair, body language spiked with worry. “Yeah, ‘m fine,” he said as he unceremoniously dumped his notebooks in his locker. He fished through the crumpled papers in his backpack in search of his half-finished math homework, sneaking a glance at the amulet secured in one of the inner pockets. “Why does everyone keep askin’ me that today?” “Oh, I dunno, maybe ‘cause you look like you haven’t slept a wink in days?” she pointed out with a playful smile, and brushed the side of his face with the back of her knuckles. He eagerly leaned into her touch. They hadn’t seen each other since Friday, an unfathomable length of separation which in the world of teen romance might as well be a lifetime.

“Just had a rough night. I’ll be okay, babe.”

Her face dawned with realization. “Oh, is this about your family’s shop?” she said under her breath, carefully watching those passing by. “I saw it when I walked here. God, I’m so sorry that happened to all of you!”

“Naw, it’ll be fine,” he said, and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “It’s just a busted window, an’ hey, at least they barely even stole anythin’!” The final bell rang, gracefully interrupting his train of thought. Teens still loitering in the halls broke into sprint. Poor suckers, vying to reach their classes before teachers marked them tardy. As much as he’d love to avoid sitting in class for another excruciatingly long period, he knew far too well that he better follow their lead and dash as well. After all his offenses this term, Ms. Morgan had become annoyingly adept at catching him in the act of sneaking to his desk late.

“Go run, I’ll see ya’ at lunch,” he said with fondness, and kissed her cheek.

A wide smile blossomed across Carla’s face and she grabbed his hand, pulling him back to gift him with an additional kiss on the lips. “See ya’!” She retrieved her own bag from the ground and joined the flow of other students running down the hall.

Stan smiled dreamily, kiss still on his mind as he closed his locker and began the long march to Room 198, in the other wing of the school. He slowed down as he passed the first water fountain. Eh, procrastination at his locker already doomed him as tragically late- why bother running? It’s not like he cared about school that much. And so as the time passed ten o’ five he found himself entirely alone in the halls, excluding the hypnotizing ticking of the clocks.

Before he knew it the tempo of his march lined up with the timepiece’s.

The teen passed an empty classroom, and screeched to a stop faster than a crash test dummy flung mercilessly against a barricade. The hairs at the nape of his neck prickled with fiery intensity. He could swear he felt someone’s eyes locked onto him from within, from deep in the shadows. Feet propelled him at a crawl, and he slid flush against the door frame, wishing more than anything the amulet was in his hand now and not buried in between crumpled week old assignments. He closed his eyes, focusing on the rhythm pounding in his chest, focusing on what was real… what was tangible. Biting down restraint, he peered through the open doorway…

And saw absolutely no one.

Nothing but empty desks and half-erased blackboards. Not a soul stood in here. God, no one was spying on him. It was nothing but his overstimulated imagination, working overtime ever since he found that weird magical amulet.

“You dolt,” he scolded himself. “Gettin’ worse then your own twin.”

Go to class, his subconscious nudged him, and suddenly nothing else in the world sounded better. Go to class and forget about all this nonsense for a moment, Stan. It’s nothing.

It’s nothing.

____

He kicked a stray rock on the beach as he crossed the wind swept sand later that evening, wearing shoes for once. Ma would be proud, he thought, stifling laughter. His destination- the Stan O’ War- stood regally a few miles down shore, sail stretched tall and proud but tied off on the mast so the wind couldn’t catch it. Ford planned to meet him there soon, and then he’d whisk him into the caves to show the amulet in secret. That was his full plan, at least. First, one particular spot by the docks called intensely for a visit.

The mound of rubble acted as a significant enough landmark that he spotted it a fair distance away. His pace quickened, no longer paying any heed to avoiding piles of broken glass. Breath heavy as he came alongside it, he sat down next to the shattered stone. When his brother showed him this yesterday, feeding him theories about rock monsters, he’d scoffed at him. Back then he’d seen it as Ford bein’ Ford: comin’ up with wild conspiracy theories and desperately vying to find something out of the ordinary to prove he had a place in this world. He always understood why his bro felt so attracted to theories like that, but all the same he feared encouraging them, because what if others judged him even more for it? Ford was bullied enough already, he didn’t need a larger target on his back. Now, however- he slipped the amulet from his back pocket, holding it tightly in his palm- he imagined it’d be silly not to listen to him at least a little.

With the recent confirmation of the existence of magic, Stan couldn’t shake the theory that these two things were connected, amulet and stone. He wasn’t sure why, as being found on the same day was a harmless enough coincidence. It was more of a gut feeling, rising up swiftly within his core, vying to boil over with answers he wasn’t sure he was prepared for. Not for the first time his search for the truth left him lost, yearning with feverish intensity to understand his role in fate’s turning, if fate did in fact exist. Ma, despite being a fake phone psychic, wholly believed in fanciful stuff like that. When he and Ford were kids she used to tell them how she ‘sensed they were fated to bring balance to this world.’ Stan always thought it was one of those confusing adult metaphors then, and years later brushed it aside as empty parental encouragement.

But nevertheless, playing devil’s advocate, what if? What if destiny did play a role in directing people’s actions? What if there was a reason why this amulet ended up in his possession, how it called by name? The amulet’s crystal pulsed blue, and he gripped it ever tighter. He stood at the edge of a precipice, he could sense it. If only he were as clever as his brother, maybe then he’d know how to connect these cogs together.

Ford would join him in a few minutes, though. Best then to begin his walk towards the ship.

He traversed the shore, for once not able to find comfort in the gentle breeze of sea air or the sight of endless ocean horizon his heart ached for. What if something went wrong? What if the amulet wouldn’t work around other people, and Ford thought he was making fun of him? Or what if he snitched on him for stealing it from Dad? With so many negative outcomes to consider, should he risk telling his brother in the first place?

And yet… what would happen if he chose to keep it secret? He’d never kept secrets from his twin before, never. Where Ford went he followed, and vice versa.

It was written in their DNA.

____

I’m nearly finished writing the next chapter for this, excitingly- which will be the twins’ first meeting with Blinky and Aaarrrgghh. Such a fun bunch to write for, haha! Since this is a kinda... niche AU, if you enjoyed this I’d appreciate any comments on AO3 or reblogs you could give as support <3

Thank you for reading my madcap AU nonsense lol

[daledoesdrafts-blog]

Batman: Usurper Cast of Characters (WIP)

After a long period of deliberation, I’ve finally come up with the list of characters I want to use in my fanfic. It took a while because I needed to figure out which characters were around at the time of Knightfall, and if they weren’t around, would it be feasible that they’d show up during the events of my fanfic? I’ve separated them into Heroes, Villains, and Anti-heroes.

Heroes Tim Drake/Cal Corcoran/Redbird -- The story centers around Tim as Jean Paul Valley continues to disgrace the name of Batman. Bruce once described Tim as the world’s greatest strategist, and my intent is to show him beginning to develop that strategist’s mind. In many of the comics throughout his career, Tim also displays a lack of confidence, believing he has to prove himself to Bruce. Above all else, this is a story about Tim confronting his failures and beginning to realize what he can learn from them.

Bruce Wayne -- I really want to show Bruce struggling to adjust to a life where he can no longer be Batman due to his broken back. The original Knightfall trilogy did this to some extent, but not enough for us to get a feel for how difficult that might be for him, particularly when the people he cares about are still in the fight.

Dick Grayson/Nightwing -- some of my favorite Tim Drake comics are those that have him teaming up with Nightwing. They have a beautiful brotherly relationship that Chuck Dixon repeatedly made better and better. Dick trusted Tim to be Robin long before Bruce did, which is a compliment I imagine Tim didn’t soon forget. Dick also went through a bit of an identity crisis during the events of Knightfall where he began to question whether or not he was mentally fit to be Nightwing or to lead the Teen Titans. Like Tim, I think there’s a lot of opportunity for Dick to confront his demons.

Helena Bertinelli/Huntress -- Tim Drake had developed a partnership with Huntress during the events of the first few Robin comics, helping him take down King Snake and other villains. While Batman didn’t trust her due to her connection to one of Gotham’s crime families, Tim saw her as someone whose knowledge of organized crime would prove invaluable time and again.

Stephanie Brown/Spoiler -- The relationship between Tim Drake and Stephanie Brown is one I’ve come to love, despite Bruce’s initial disapproval of Stephanie. As Tim and Stephanie grew older, their witty banter back and forth as they took down Gotham’s thugs became one of the things I loved best about Robin comics. And like Tim, Stephanie felt the need to prove herself as a crime fighter. Though I enjoyed her time as both Robin and Batgirl, I always loved Stephanie best as Spoiler. Particularly in some of the newer comics, she’s realized she doesn’t need Batman’s approval to fight crime, and I think it’s important that her hero persona reflect that independence.

James Gordon, Harvey Bullock, and Renee Montoya -- For my fanfic, Mayor Krol has stripped Gordon of his job as police commissioner. Justice in Gotham is handled solely by Jean Paul Valley/Batman, which is to say there is no true justice in Gotham anymore. Bullock and Montoya are unwilling to serve under such excessive force, so they turn in their badges to follow Gordon in a vain attempt to restore order to the city.

Alfred Pennyworth -- Alfred doesn’t make much of an appearance in my fanfic. While I don’t think his absence his permanent, he’s become more than a little frustrated with Bruce’s decisions during the events of Knightfall and has decided a break is in order. As much as he cares for Bruce, Dick, and Tim, however, I can’t imagine he’ll be completely out of the picture. I’ve also always liked the Earth One version of Alfred a bit more than the typical depictions of him. Earth One depicts him as not only Bruce’s caretaker, but one of his mentors as well--a man who has seen war and can just as easily kill a man as save his life.

Barbara Gordon/Oracle -- Babs is another one of my favorites. I especially wanted to have her in this story because I’ve always felt like Bruce and Barbara were never very close in the comics. I think Barbara would be an obvious person for Bruce to turn to as he adjusts to his life without the cowl. She’d be someone who could teach him how to continue the war on crime without being an active participant.

Dinah Drake/Black Canary -- Dinah has a small cameo in the story, since I wanted her, Oracle, and Huntress to be in the initial stages of forming the Birds of Prey.

Cassandra Cain/Batgirl -- Although Cassandra wasn’t around during the events of Knightfall, my fanfic takes place a few years after Jean Paul Valley takes up the cowl, so it’s feasible that she would have appeared by then. Each of the Batgirls has a special place in my heart, but Cassandra always struck me as intriguing because she was raised by an assassin, yet of all the Batgirls she seems to have the biggest heart.

Clark Kent/Superman -- I had to do some research on this because the Knightfall and Death/Return of Superman comics take place around the same time. I wasn’t sure if Superman would have returned by the time my story takes place, but multiple sources claim that there was a comic in which Superman checked in with Jean Paul after his return. Jean Paul, however, had lined his cowl with lead so Superman couldn’t see who was wearing the Batsuit. This obviously raised some suspicions for Clark, but apparently not enough for him to investigate further. “Usurper” would have Superman taking a more active role in deposing Jean Paul. I’ve also mentally replaced Superman’s black-and-white, mullet-wearing Return costume with the blue, red, and black costume of Kingdom Come. 

Villains

Jean Paul Valley/Azrael/Batman -- The idea of Batman as a villain excites me to no end, and while Jean Paul isn’t the true Batman (however much he might wish it were so), he represents what Bruce might become if he ever breaks his rule not to kill. It’s also going to be interesting to explore Batman from the perspective of those he hunts--how terrifying that would be, especially knowing that this Batman kills. Jean Paul strikes me as somewhat of a tragic villain--he’s a man who believes he’s doing good, but ultimately is no better than the criminals he kills. He fears that without the brainwashing of the Order of St. Dumas, he’ll be nothing, which sadly is what he ultimately becomes.

The Order of St. Dumas -- The Order is responsible for Jean Paul’s brainwashing into becoming Azrael, and their influence on him is always present as he continues to have hallucinations of his father and St. Dumas throughout the Knightfall trilogy. The purpose of this brainwashing, however, is never quite explained. Presumably, the Order wanted Azrael to become an avenging angel of Gotham--one who would deal with its criminal element in a permanent fashion as opposed to Batman’s temporary one. “Usurper” takes it a step further, with the Order revealing themselves to be a fascist organization bent on placing Gotham under their martial law.

Victor Zsasz -- From the time I first read the Knightfall trilogy, I always loved how creepily realistic Zsasz seemed compared to a lot of Batman’s other villains. The concept of a man who carves tallies of the number of people he’s killed into his skin fits into the grittiness of Gotham perfectly. Even the fact that his eyes in Knightfall were merely dark slits from which two white specs stared hungrily drew me towards wanting to write a Batman story with Zsasz in it.

Joker -- Like Alfred, I don’t think Joker will show up very much. If anything, I feel like Joker is better in small doses, rather than in long story arcs. Part of what makes his character so good is the mystery behind him, and the longer he’s around, the less mystery there is and the less creepy and unpredictable he becomes. That being said, I’m interested in showing a darker Joker here than what appears in the Knightfall comics. In Batman and Son, Grant Morrison suggests that Joker goes through periods in which his personality changes, making him even more unpredictable, and currently I’m thinking we’ll get to see Joker go from a campier character to the grittier villain we see in comics by Brian Azzarello and Scott Snyder.

The Court of Owls -- This secret society appeared in the first two volumes of Scott Snyder’s run of Batman comics in 2011, yet Snyder suggests that the Court has existed in Gotham since its creation. Again, I don’t intend for the Court to show up much (or, perhaps, at all), but Tim and the rest of the Bat-family will start to hear hints and rumors of their existence.

Anti-heroes Bane -- Bane has little more than a cameo appearance in my story. Rather than turning Bane over to police custody, Jean Paul gives him an almost lethal dose of the super-steroid called Venom. He’s rushed to the hospital where he remains in a comatose state. His gang, however, remains active in both Gotham and Santa Prisca. Tim contacts them to learn more about how Bane managed to defeat Batman and take over Gotham.

Edward Nigma/Riddler -- For a brief period, some of the Batman comics featured Riddler as a detective who solved Gotham’s most puzzling crimes. The idea intrigued me, so I’ve revitalized it for “Usurper.”

Harvey Dent/Two-Face -- This rendition of Harvey is greatly inspired by Scott Snyder’s All Star Batman 1: My Own Worst Enemy, in which Batman is forced to work with Harvey while his Two-Face persona works against them. For “Usurper,” I imagined Harvey’s deep desire to save Gotham from corruption, which might lead him towards working with Tim and the rest of the Bat-family. Two-Face, however, still holds a deep hatred for everything Bat related, and would simultaneously seek to foil Tim’s plans.

Selina Kyle/Catwoman -- Selina had a fairly large role in Knightfall, partly due to the fact that she was one of the few people who immediately knew that Bruce was no longer wearing the mantle of the Bat. Jean Paul also had a disgustingly crude lust for Catwoman that Selina was able to exploit in order to escape his grasp. As much as Selina cares for Bruce, I can only imagine she’d want to aid in removing Jean Paul from the role of Batman.

Shiva -- Shiva was one of Tim’s biggest mentors while he was learning to be Robin, but was frequently disappointed by his refusal to kill. Although their relationship started as one of mutual respect, Tim’s regard for her soured after she convinced King Snake to hold a personal vendetta against him. Shiva is also one of the martial artists Bruce turned to while he learned how to be Batman again.

Pamela Isley/Poison Ivy -- While Poison Ivy was still very much a villain during the events of Knightfall, ultimately her character has always had Gotham’s best interests in mind (even in those interests meant the genocide of humanity). She’s gradually become less of an eco-terrorist and more of an anti-hero, working with Harley Quinn and Catwoman as the Sirens. “Usurper” introduces her to the idea that, while she’s not wrong in wanting Gotham to be a more eco-friendly city, her methods are unjust.

Victor Fries/Mr. Freeze -- Freeze is by far one of my favorite anti-heroes. He’s a man who will do anything if it means saving his wife, Nora. “Usurper” has him teaming with Tim after the Cataclysm leaves him desperate to fix the machines which keep his wife in cryostasis.

Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow -- This is probably one of the characters I’m most excited to work with. “Usurper” has Crane rethinking his ways after a recent pummeling by Bruce/Batman. He begins to see that his obsession with fear was born out of his own personal demons, which he hopes to overcome in order to become the true Master of Fear. During this process of rediscovering himself, Tim approaches Crane under the alias Cal Corcoran with the idea of employing his toxins as a new weapon in the Bat-arsenal. While working together, Tim introduces Crane to the concept of using fear for a good purpose rather than for one’s own pleasure. While Crane’s psychosis isn’t entirely cured, his life is given new purpose as he begins a life preying on Gotham’s criminals.

Ra’s al Ghul and the League of Assassins -- Ever since I read Red Robin 2: Collision by Chris Yost, I’ve loved the idea of Tim Drake and Ra’s al Ghul teaming up/fighting against each other. Both are incredible strategists who utilize all of their assets in order to win the fight. “Usurper” has Ra’s realizing Bruce is no longer Batman and making a move on Gotham while he believes it to be weakened. When he discovers that Tim is attempting to depose Jean Paul, however, he proposes an alliance that he hopes will lead towards Gotham’s destruction. Talia al Ghul and Damian Wayne also make appearances. 

[yvghv]

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[malaysiankpopfans]

8 UNLIKELY K-DRAMA ROMANCES THAT CAPTURED OUR HEARTS

Love can be unpredictable and sometimes drama characters fall in love with someone they never imagined in their wildest dreams. Unconventional romances are that much more special and alluring as characters overcome barriers and find true love despite their differences. Check out some unlikely love stories cherished by many below!

Image Courtesy of Netflix

It’s Okay to Not Be Okay

A testy children’s book author with an anti-social disposition plus a kind but weary caregiver doesn’t necessarily sound like a match made in heaven. One character is egotistical and selfish while the other character is solemn and caring. Although Ko Mun-yeong (Seo Yea-ji) and Moon Gang-tae (Kim Soo-hyun) are opposites, they share an understanding of each other through their traumatic childhood experiences. The way they help one another cope with their wounds in It's Okay to Not Be Okay is deeply heartwarming.  

The King: Eternal Monarch

The King: Eternal Monarch features a romance that is out of this world, literally! Detective Jeong Tae-eul (Kim Go-eun) ends up meeting Emperor Lee Gon (Lee Min-ho) from a parallel universe for a love story that defies reality. Despite living in different worlds, the pair don’t give up on finding each other even with the difficulties accompanying parallel universe travel. Beyond the separate world issue, the couple are also quite different in personalities with Jeong Tae-eul being more of a literary thinker while Lee Gon has a scientific mind. Nevertheless, they never give up on each other.

Extracurricular

At first glance, Extracurricular characters Jisoo (Kim Dong-hee) and Gyuri (Park Ju-hyun) don’t have much in common except for being model students. Jisoo is a poor outsider whereas Gyuri is rich and popular. Their classmates are shocked when Gyuri claims they’re dating. However, their homeroom teacher sees that they have something in common, they both endure burdens without asking for help. They’re both very lonely and struggling with parents who inflict harm instead of nurture. While working on criminal activities together, Jisoo and Gyuri develop a special relationship and come to rely on each other.

Itaewon Class

Growing up, Jo Yi-seo (Kim Da-mi) was very competitive and showed sociopathic tendencies. She’s an interesting character from Itaewon Class who wishes for the end of the world. While Jo Yi-seo thinks of bad and good as morally gray, underdog Park Sae-ro-yi (Park Seo-jun) has a more black-and-white sense of morality. Park Sae-ro-yi is also considerably warmer and more mature than Jo Yi-seo. The unlikely duo are very different, but ultimately learn from each other and develop feelings in the process. With her high IQ, Yi-seo is able to help Sae-ro-yi turn his business around. In turn, Sae-ro-yi teaches Yi-seo to appreciate people and overcome prejudice.

Crash Landing On You

A South Korean heiress (Son Ye-jin) and a North Korean soldier (Hyun Bin) just meeting, not to mention falling in love, sounds highly implausible. Lucky for us, that’s exactly what happens in Crash Landing on You! Their love story involves both fate and chance as they crash into each other’s lives. The highly popular drama also features a second unlikely pairing between North Korean department store heiress/aspiring cellist Seo Dan (Seo Ji-hye) and South Korean conman Gu Seung-joon (Kim Jung-hyun). Both relationships are pretty high-stakes with life and death hanging in the balance. You can’t help but get emotionally invested!

My Holo Love

Most people love technology, but to fall in love with an artificially intelligent hologram? Definitely not an everyday occurrence! In My Holo Love, Han So-yeon (Ko Sung-hee) falls in love with AI hologram Holo (Yoon Hyun-min) and Holo falls in love with her as well. Interestingly enough, Holo is modelled after and created by Go Nan-do who also falls in love with Han So-yeon. The drama features what might be the most unconventional love triangle in the history of K-dramas, but somehow it works as we see the once lonely characters experience love.

Beauty Inside

Kang Sa-ra (Lee Da-hee) is a cold, sophisticated airline executive and Ryu Eun-ho (Ahn Jae-hyun) is preparing to become a priest in Beauty Inside. You wouldn’t expect their paths to cross, but they do! Both have to deal with their previous plans as they grapple with their sudden attraction to one another. Sa-ra needs to reconsider her engagement and Eun-ho has to think about his planned priesthood.

My Love From The Star

Could there be a more unlikely romance than one between an alien and a top actress? My Love From the Star is a classic drama that captures the exciting and heart-wrenching aspects of a very unconventional pairing. Cheon Song-yi (Jun Ji-hyun) is a hilariously blunt diva while Do Min-joon (Kim Soo-hyun) is a stoic professor. Furthermore, Do Min-joon is trying to figure out how he can return to his home planet. All of the differences and obstacles make for a truly epic love story.

 Having somewhat unrealistic pairings definitely brings up the romance factor a notch. There’s more suspense and intrigue which gets you rooting for the unlikely couples to beat the odds. These unconventional romances prove that what matters most is the ability to connect and love each other despite any differences or barriers. As cliché as it sounds, love truly does conquer all!

[pandaemoniusarchive-blog]

( alexander vlahos, 26, he/him) silence! can you not see his majesty, anton louis augustus luxemburg, has arrived? It seems the prince of germany is willing to compromise for peace, which is surprising when everyone calls them the lost soul. have you tried approaching them? i heard they can be rather superficial + impetuous, but their staff say that they’re energetic + compassionate. 

we interrupt this broadcast to bring you courage the cowardly dog show, starring courage, the cowardly - okay, no. 

hiya, i’m bella, and i’ve been lowkey stalking the tag for ages, but i was too chicken to actually apply. i live in the gmt zone, but i’m on holiday in india, so i’m currently five and a half hours ahead. my posting times might be insane bc of that, but i can’t wait to plot with all of you!!!

also, you can always contact me on my personal or skype, so call me beep me if you wanna reach me - i swear that’s the last cartoon reference i make promise ( i am probs lying ).

here’s a lil more ‘bout my bean:

you can call him whatever you like tbh

anton or louis or you bastard

he is the youngest german prince, and since their mother died birthing him, he was completely overlooked by the king who preferred franz over his other sons

basically his dad hated him

a. he wasn’t franz

b. he “killed” his mum

so daddy no like

cue dramatic teenage angst 

so instead, he was raised by alexandra and friedrich - two people he loves v much

( i could have made a fairly odd godparents joke, but i promised )

i mean he likes franz too but y’know

give me love, franz by ed sheeran feat. anton - a new single, coming soon to bern

anyway, so anton was never the favourite anything

he wasn’t the golden boy like franz, never destined to be king

but he also wasn’t the beloved daughter of the late king like alexandra

or militarily supported like friedrich

or even missed like maximilian, who may not have been liked in life but was remembered in death enough times 

( also okay he never really knew maximilian so he gets a lil salty when someone talks about him )

( lookin at u friedrich )

basically, he’s the political equivalent of one of queen elizabeth’s corgis

he’s got an in with the palace, but he’s kinda decorative at this point

that’s why he’s called the lost soul

plus his dad would accuse him of killing his mother every now and then so he doesn’t exactly think the best of himself

< / 3

i mean, he functions as a prince: he can secure an alliance through marriage, but like. 

that’s about it tbh, he doesn’t have a PURPOSE, which has driven him up the wall

so he’s become a bit of a brat

he does what the others can’t openly do - basically he’s a royal mess

he just has a bunch of fun tbh; he likes to drink and sleep around and shit like that

he takes full advantage of the fact that he’s a prince but has no ~ duties 

though he’s a party boy with some restraint 

also he’s gay and biromantic because i am just gonna go with it

( he’d rather not with labels but for the sake of explanation )

mostly prefers men but it’s not an issue 

give me a german advisor or some diplomat or servant or anything because forbidden relationships are the best 

can i make a romeo and juliet joke

except romeo and jules too because #gay

he’s a casual emo ( a part-time emo, if you like ) who likes to read and paint and go on long rides and hang around by himself with his dog otto 

but he’s also a very sociable person at times, and there’s scarcely a person he doesn’t get on with so all the friends

unless someone is an asshole. then he doesn’t. 

all anton really wants is for all the family shit to end ‘cause he’s sick of it 

like please stop fighting i’m getting a headache

why can’t you all just love each other

he may be the 17th Century equivalent of the LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE kid

........

okay so he’s got his own lil dynamics with his siblings, but i imagine he has his opinions about their significant others etc etc ??? 

give me relationships with that too pls i beg

also he probs gets along with franz’ kids ????

um um okay so what else i am horrid at these

he’s in a full-time relationship with his hair

he really doesn’t ever want to get married, and i suspect he’ll act like a goddamn brat to keep it from happening

all he really wants is love but he’s prickly af about it 

you can probably find him in the library or outside

may or may not treat a wine glass like an appendage

he is 100% loyal to the people he cares about

but he’s a lil bit broken from all the childhood drama

literally any kind of connection would work; come at him

people his age he might have met at court??? ( he’s 26 so )

people who hate him? people he hates? 

old friends? new friends? fun friends? anything?

can you tell i just woke up from a nap

also his theme song is probably either candy by aaron carter (wow remember him?)

or arsonist’s lullabye by hozier

or teen idle by marina and the diamonds

...teen arsonist’s candy ?????

i don’t make the rules that’s what it is

anyway, HIT ME UP OR LIKE THIS POST TO PLOT!!!!!!! i’m up for anything!!!

and also! here’s some more general info: 

BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: Anton Louis Augustus Luxemburg Nickname(s): Ana, Ant, you idiot Age: 26 Date of Birth: March 29th, 1638 Gender: Male Pronouns: He/Him Orientation: No thanks Religion: Protestant Political Affiliation: Uninterested Occupation: None Language(s) Spoken: German, English, French and Latin Accent: German/French

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Face Claim: Alexander Vlahos Hair Colour: Black Eye Colour: Light Blue Height: 1.78 m Build: Lean Clothing Style: Intricate and fashionable Usual Expression: Lazy smile Distinguishing Characteristics: Has a scar on his shoulder from a childhood accident

FAMILY

Father: † King Ferdinand Luxemburg Mother: † Marie Liesel Luxemburg Sibling(s):

Franz Karl Luxemburg

Alexandra Liesel Luxemburg

Friedrich Konrad Luxemburg

† Maximilian Hans Luxemburg

Spouse: None Children: None Pet(s):

A black Spaniel named Otto

A mare named Dafne

FAVOURITES

Weather: Summer Colour: Gold - he wears it as often as he can, usually on the cuffs of his shirts or the lining of his coats Music: Antonio Cesti’s opera Sport: Riding Beverage: Red wine - and lots of it Food: Roast duck and potatoes of any sort Animal: Dogs 

CHARACTER FLAWS.

absent-minded / abusive / addicted / aimless / alcoholic / aloof / anxious / arrogant / audacious / has bad habits / bigmouthed / bigoted / blunt / bold / callous / childish / cruel / cursed / dependent / dishonest / disloyal / disturbed / dubious / egotistical / envious / erratic / fanatical / fickle / fierce / finicky / flirty / gluttonous / gruff / gullible / hedonistic / humourless / hypocritical / idiotic / ignorant / illiterate / immature / impatient / impious / impish / impulsive / incompetent / indecisive / indifferent / infamous / intolerant / judgemental / lazy / lewd / liar / lustful / masochistic / meddlesome / meek / megalomanic / naïve / nosey /obsessive / oppressive / overambitious / overemotional / overprotective / overzealous / paranoid / peevish / perfectionist / pessimistic / phobic / rebellious / reckless / remorseless / rigorous / sadistic / sarcastic / sceptic / seducer / selfish / self-martyr / self-righteous / senile / shallow / smart ass / solemn / spineless / spiteful / spoiled / squeamish / stubborn / superstitious / tactless / temperamental / theatrical / timid / tongue-tied / unlucky (with love) / unpredictable / untrustworthy / vain / weak-willed / withdrawn

PLACE IN SOCIETY

financial: wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty medical: fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged class or caste: upper / middle / working / slave / unsure education: qualified / unqualified / studying criminal record: yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes / no

FAMILY

married - happily / married - unhappily / engaged or betrothed / partnered / single / divorced / separated has a child or children / has no children / wants children close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings / sibling(s) is deceased. orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by birth parent(s) / it's complicated

TRAITS + TENDENCIES

extroverted / introverted / in between disorganized / organized / in between close minded / open-minded  / in between calm / anxious / in between disagreeable / agreeable / in between cautious / reckless / in between patient / impatient / in between outspoken / reserved / in between leader / follower / in between empathetic / unemphatic / in between optimistic / pessimistic / in between traditional / modern / in between hard-working / lazy / in between cultured / un-cultured / in between loyal / disloyal / in between faithful / unfaithful / unknown

SEXUALITY + ROMANTIC INCLINATION

heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual / unsure sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favourable romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favourable sexually: adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious. potential sexual partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all potential romantic partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all

ABILITIES

combat skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none literacy skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none artistic skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none technical skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none.

HABITS

drinking alcohol: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess smoking: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess other narcotics: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess medicinal drugs: never / sometimes  / frequently / to excess indulgent food: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess splurge spending: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess gambling: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

HIT ME UP OR LIKE THIS IF YOU’D LIKE TO PLOT!!!! 

[embaasan-blog]

Walk on Water (Kei/Kouhai Fanfic)

Fandom: Notice Me Senpai Rating: Mature Summary: In the mountains amongst the evergreens, a boy is raised to become a silent assassin. In order for him to prove himself to the father who schooled him, he is sent to an elite academy in the city to dismantle the criminal hierarchy that reigns supreme in the shadows of its classrooms. Then he meets the school’s first and only female student, who has a sinister secret of her own... Notes: I have like zero artistic skill and have always been super jealous of anyone who gets to be involved in the fan works contests, so I decided enough was enough: it’s time to celebrate these birthdays my own way! Here we have a dark but uplifting one-shot for Ninja-senpai, who was my favourite back in the day when he was still giving out gems outside the café. As always you can find the fic here on AO3 if, like me, you prefer the format.

Son of fire. Son of water. Son of air. Son of earth. Kei was a child of all these elements; as bold as day and as elusive as the night.

He was almost eighteen, just shy of graduating high school.

At this point in his life, Kei was not like other high-schoolers. Instead of spending the long, arduous nights with his peers, stealing beer and smoking cigarettes, he sat in meditative silence in the center of his empty apartment, sharpening shurikens to the tune of the howling wind. He studied faded blueprints and the faces of the other students like they were scripture before slotting them back into an inconspicuous red folder, standing amongst his schoolbooks. Apart from these objects, this room only contained a lamp, a futon, a kettle, a slow cooker, and an over-sized gym bag, stuffed to the brim with an assortment of darts, spikes, knives and discs.

He had arrived alone in the city with nothing but the tools of his trade and his mission. Once he was done, he would return home to his father in the mountains. He thought of the snow monkeys, ambling behind him like children and napping in the evergreen trees. He thought about his dark-haired, hawk-eyed siblings, riding the horses through the frost-bitten forest with the lower half of their faces obscured. They rode on, dark and noble, as the future of his clan. Kei was the first to leave home. He needed to prove himself for their sake.

Kei was a member of the gardening club so that he could parade lethal weapons as ordinary gardening tools, but he later discovered that gardening was a practical skill.

Many times he and his siblings had been driven out to the middle of the woods and abandoned for training purposes. They had slept on the frost-bitten ground and foraged in the wilderness for something substantial to eat on their way back home, where their mother would smother their faces, still wet with dew, in adoring kisses. He could never bring himself to kill the wild rabbits that strayed into his path, regardless of necessity and survived solely off the land, even in the throes of winter. The sight of the budding strawberries, blooming in white and gold and speckled red, out in the school greenhouse made him content because it was proof to him that he could still survive by creating beautiful things instead of murdering the innocent creatures that roamed in the wild. He was a provider, not only for himself, but for his unconventional albeit loving family as well.

During his lunch break, he would scour the school's vast garden in a state of tranquility, his face half obscured by a scarf on which the school's logo was emblazoned. He hid his own face out of habit and ducked behind trees when students passed, even though he was merely watering the flowerbeds. The other boys accepted his strange behavior as eighth-grade syndrome and he went along with it. His only friend was the school mascot, who hid behind his own mask, half-boy, half-goat. The mask was known as Baa, but the boy was known as Akira.

One day Akira brought him to the third year café.

It was there that Kei felt his body pulsating as if he was recoiling from a series of warning shots. It was the first time he had set eyes on the barista of the third year café in person. He had been prepared for it. And yet when she emerged, beaming, to greet them, with coffee splatters across her pale pink apron, the sense of purpose that had washed over him became tinged in melancholy. She emanated sweetness. Even her eyes smiled along with her mouth.

What was most strange about her presence in the café was not that she was a first year but that she was a student there at all. The setting of Kei's mission was an elite academy for boys, and she was the first female to join its ranks since its formation.

This is how the school emerged on the radar as a place of interest for those who had hired Kei. The story that the school sold about her circumstances, so easily bought by the student body, did not sit right with them. Something had changed or was beginning to change. The foundations of the academy were churning with movement. It was time to act.

Thankfully, she was not his target.

She would merely be left to rot in the crossfire.

Curl up into a ball. Remain motionless, as if a stone. Let the world crawl over you and trample you into the ground. Even when it manipulates your circumstances, remain resolute, firm, hardy.

Time passed and Kei fell in love.

It was the passionate, desperate love of adolescent; a torrent of doubt, desire and unpredictability. It changed the core that had been so staunch within Kei. It robbed him of his individuality. Up until this point in his life, he had assumed the aura of someone cold and ruthless: his one and only true identity was that of a killer for hire. Now his personality was becoming warped under the weight of unexpected emotions.

For a brief period, erratic winds and violent rainfall disrupted the gardening club's normal activity, and when Kei was not in the greenhouse, nurturing his strawberries, he would be in the third year café, while rain pummeled the window panes.

She spoke to him gently but her eyes sometimes betrayed her. They revealed an expansive knowledge of Kei's origins: his family history, his upbringing and his training, and yet she was too cautious to poison him outright; too careful to speak a word.

He realized he loved her when, for the second night in a row, he had climbed into his futon to lie awake in deep thought. What concerned him was not his next step, but how to remove her from the equation. He dazzled himself with waking dreams of heroism and chivalry.

It was empathy that lead him to fall for her. Their interactions were dyed in the colors of compassion and understanding. Although they barely acknowledged the fact that they were enemies, they watched each other cautiously from across the café from time to time, as a reminder to the other that they were always watching in wait for the first move to be made. The language written on their faces was one only they could understand.

Daughter of fire. Daughter of water. Daughter of air. Daughter of earth. Kei knew that his beloved was all of these things: he knew that and so much more.

His target was her biological father; the very father that had shunned her.

This would be his first kill and it acted as the final assignment which would bring his unorthodox schooling to a close. Under his father's tutelage, he had blossomed. His body became hard and flexible. His mind became vast and open. His sense of morality became dubious and swayed by the acquisition of money. Now he just had to prove these things to the man who had schooled him and the siblings who admired him.

She was the only obstacle.

The schoolgirl assassin known as Kouhai-chan was the daughter who did not exist. Borne of an illegitimate union that threatened to upset her father's burgeoning career in the criminal underworld, she could not remember the night her grandmother, slipped into the run down apartment to slit the throat of the tattle-tail mother. Her grandmother adored her; spoiled her rotten and raised her to be a cold-blooded killer. Nobody thought it was strange that a teenage girl was now manning the counter at the third year café. No one would have guessed that she was there to infiltrate school politics, seduce persons of interest, dismantle the alliances that had been built and kill those who did not obey. Nobody knew that she was the offspring of the man who reigned supreme, pumping money into the elite school in order to manipulate those in power. Idols, actors, champions, AI's and future leaders walked the corridors, not realizing that they were being subtly manipulated.

Kei's origins were humble by comparison. He didn't want to know how many people she had killed. Through the grapevine he discovered that when her father had unveiled the schoolgirl assassin as his bodyguard, the news had been met with derision until the moment heads began rolling. Rumors had begun to circulate that she was his biological daughter and the fear of her had only heightened. Her father's genes and the training she had endured had produced a young woman who blended into the background of society so ceaselessly that it was hard to believe that she was equipped to unhinge it altogether. Kei was grudgingly impressed.

Stand amongst the foliage; become a tree. Though you may dance in the wind, only a godlike force will uproot you. Until then, grow gnarled and wise. Let the innocent sleep on your arms. Let them rest at your feet.

She was in the process of locking the café one evening when he entered through the door. There was a rope tied around his belt and a kunai hidden up his sleeve. To warn himself of impending failure, he pressed the blade of the kunai into his skin at intervals, lightly enough to not draw blood.

"I want you to leave," he told her resolutely from the doorway.

She looked up at him with a sad smile.

"Leave? What do you mean?" she asked. Her voice, as always, seemed to twinkle in his ears.

"Leave the school," he demanded gruffly, "go into hiding. Your father's reign is coming to an end and it would be the wisest thing for you to do. Regardless of what lies your grandmother feeds you, that man is never going to acknowledge you as his daughter. If you leave now, you still have a chance to be a normal girl."

The cash register sprung open with a thwack and before Kei could react, she was aiming a handgun, equipped with a silencer, in his direction. She seemed incredibly weary but his words had obviously rattled her. When he had mentioned her father, she had begun to sneer.

"Aren't you the biggest hypocrite I've ever met?" the girl growled in frustration. "You and I are exactly the same and you damn well know that!"

"My clan kill for the benefit of the society, not at its cost."

"Killing is still killing!" she shrieked.

Enraged, the girl pulled the trigger. Kei had cautiously watched her emotions mount and ducked at precisely the right moment. Rolling forward, out of the bullet's path, and up to the counter, he leaped across the wooden counter top and took her by the shoulders. By forcing her into a wall, his intention was to limit her temperamental movements but she was far stronger than her slight frame indicated. He felt the cold steel of the gun in his jaw and countered with his kunai, placing the blade on her slender neck. No movement was too subtle for Kei. He would cut her throat if he even saw her finger twitch on the trigger.

She smelt faintly of roasted coffee beans and her fingers of gunpowder tinged with the metallic scent of the handgun. He searched her face desperately. Although it was a mask of nonchalance, her eyes were wide and glistening with fear. Her body was arched away from his. He peeled the blade away from her throats in surrender and after a moment of hesitation, she lowered the gun, placing it next to the espresso machine.

"I don't want to kill you," she said quietly.

"I don't want to kill you," he responded.

The affection he felt for her smothered him, like being immersed in a warm bath. Somehow the violent scuffle had driven his feelings even deeper. He placed an affectionate hand on her trembling cheek.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked her softly.

She nodded, her eyes averted.

He bent down and brought their lips together. He was timid at first, languishing in the innocence of their kiss, but as it deepened, he grew voracious and desperate. He parted her lips with his tongue and took her hands so there was no longer anything between them, placing them above her head. He barely noticed the silence that had enveloped the dimly lit café. Blood was rushing in his ears. He was always a part of his surroundings; could detect the slightest movement or alteration instantaneously, but neither of them noticed when a bag of coffee beans toppled from the counter top, spilling its innards across the tiles like blood.

When they parted, his lips felt unnatural without hers. They had grown numb. And yet, he turned away, sliding the kunai back up his sleeve, leaving her breathless against the wall, watching him with a tormented expression.

"Leave," he advised her, one last time.

"Don't leave," she begged him in response.

Conceal yourself beneath the surface of the water. Separate yourself from that land dwelling existence. Stand rooted like sea-grass, waiting for the moment to emerge.

The first time they saw each other as their true selves, she was still wearing her school uniform. To cover her face, she wore a white surgical mask, and as she patrolled the corridors, her unsheathed katana scraped along the floorboards. Kei, by comparison, was clad entirely in black. He was weighed down with weapons, but as he clambered up onto the roof, he was silent and as lithe as a cat. She had glimpsed the shadow that he had momentarily cast across the corridor on his way past the window, and ran up to corner him on the roof. But Kei was already gone.

Stealth and patience were paramount to his success, whereas the girl had been trained to act as a tank. She was far more proficient than he was in some aspects, but their training had been alarmingly different. She was taught to kill brutally, immodestly and excessively in order to create fear in those around her; to take the damage intended for her father and not breathe a single complaint. If she caught him, he knew he would be dead in seconds, but the way she had been taught was artless and permeated with all the ideologies that he and his family had shunned. As long as Kei could keep his distance, he was always going to win.

Her father's body lay lifeless in the headmaster's office. His throat had been slit.

Control the elements. Decipher the stars. Change your shape. Walk on water.

He chose an impoverished area of the city and abandoned all his belongings there. He was to be picked up by his father's chauffeur that afternoon so he kept the license plate number and make of the car on a scrap of paper in his back pocket. By the canal, he doused his schoolbooks in vodka and set them alight, watching the flames die over and and over again. Inside the books were pictures of his classmates, blueprints and coded notes. Passersby looked at him in bemusement, disapproval or grave understanding.

His last stop was in the same district, in an inconspicuous looking apartment block.

It was already being said that the grandmother, having lost a beloved son, was grieving so much that she had become psychotic, hearing voices as if they came from a loudspeaker in her brain. Her engineered assassin was a failure - no granddaughter to her - and so when the girl contacted him, it was out of desperation. The whole criminal underworld was on its feet waiting for her to stroll by. No place was too public for an execution; no crevice too difficult to find. She may have been mere hours away from death and without a father to protect, she was left tormented by her own mortality.

Children of fire. Children of water. Children of air. Children of earth. The pawns of the grown-ups, flourishing in blood. No right way, no wrong way, only the things left in between.

He stole her away to the mountains and left her in his mother's care. His father had disapproved but as the months passed, the family became assured of her newfound loyalty. No one ever found out what had really happened to the girl who ran the third year café. She became a ghost; a legend that haunted the school - a myth that would pervade tests of courage for decades to come. The headmaster lied profusely, to faculty members and students alike, claiming that she had been pulled out of the school due to sexual harassment. As for Kei, no one really questioned his disappearance at all.

On his eighteenth birthday, he was watching the snow monkeys bathe in the balmy springs when she approached, clambering up the rocky path to take a seat beside him.

"I never thanked you, did I?" she began, folding her hands in her lap. "And now you're going away next week."

He nodded sullenly. He didn't want to leave her. His feelings had grown disproportionately by being in such close proximity to her, but with his parents or siblings always a hair away, he could no longer act on them as freely as he had that night in the café. He reached out shyly and took one of her hands, squeezing it gently.

"I'll be back soon enough," he said, as confidentially as possible. "I just need to steal a few files and then I'm done."

"Now don't be too hasty," she warned derisively before her face broke out into a warm smile. "I'm going to be a great ninja; far better than you are. And one day you're going to be waiting for me to come home."

He was stunned by her declaration and then laughed in delight. "Well then, good luck to you."

"And you."

She nuzzled her head into his shoulder, letting her long chestnut-colored locks drape over him, and he found himself stroking her hair. The February air was biting, but her warmth overwhelmed him. She was so capable, yet so vulnerable, like a bomb ready to explode at the slightest disturbance.

"Happy birthday, senpai," she said quietly, and then closed her eyes.

[brokenwandsrpg]

Welcome to Broken Wands Roleplay, Elva! The way you’ve fleshed-out Ted’s background in a way that meshes with canon while twisting him around to the opposite side of that coin is exquisite and we look forward to seeing where you take him. Check out this page for what to do next and let us know if you have any questions. We’re elated to have you join us!

OOC INFORMATION:

NAME & PRONOUNS: Elva, she/her or they/them

AGE: 27

LANGUAGE: English

EXPERIENCE: [redacted upon request]

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I aim to be online and reply to plots/messages daily, however I am currently at uni and assessments take precedence. In the event that I have a looming deadline, replies will be done hastily, for which I would like to apologise in advance.  

ANYTHING ELSE YOU WANT TO TELL US: Thank you for reading my application. You have put so much care and attention into creating this rp, and whether I am a part of it or not I wish you the best with it.

DESIRED CHANGES: none

CHARACTER BASICS:

NAME: Edward Tonks, better known as Ted. The only people who use his full first name are those high up in the Ministry for Magical Investigation who know him only by his file. In training, he is addressed as Ted. Only his mother and sisters have Ted’s consent to call him Teddy. Used by anyone else and the nickname feels like a dig, a purposeful deviation from Ted’s stated preferences rather than a show of affection. Teddy is used to mock and belittle: “No worries, Teddy,” one of his colleagues might say with a sneer, when he offers to lend a hand with a particular task, “we’ve got it covered. Haven’t we, men?” There are Junior Agents his age who aren’t belittled in the same fashion, but their skin is white; it affords them a certain immunity in the training program.

BIRTHDATE/AGE: If the year is 1975, Ted is 19, nearly 20. Birthdate tbd.

BLOOD-STATUS: Muggle-born. Despite being born to a muggle family, Ted is a wix; magic runs through his veins, though he and his parents have gone to great lengths to conceal it and so far their efforts have been successful.

GENDER & SEXUALITY: Ted is cis-gendered and assumed straight. He is attracted to women, and that - along with his inexperience in matters of love and sex - means he has never had cause to question his sexuality. Ted believes in love without judgement or shame. He doesn’t view gender as a boundary or obstacle; you love who you love, with very little choice in the matter. Ted is pansexual, although he is unfamiliar with the term or concept. Ted doesn’t speak openly about this, or act on his attraction for people who aren’t cis women very often. He presents himself as an ally.

WAND/ETC: Unbeknownst to Ted, there is a wand in the Ministry for Magical Investigation allied to him and him alone. In one of his first hunts, he struck the blow which caused a wix to relinquish his wand. It was Ted who plucked the wand from the ground and bagged it for transportation. In the brief seconds that he held it, Ted felt a tingling in his arm, which he credited to the C.E.W. he had fired only moments ago. Ted hasn’t touched a wand since. Sure, he can rationalise the sensation in his arm, but not the thoughts that coursed though his mind as a consequence, the surge of curiosity those few seconds in contact with the weapon sparked. Ted might not carry a wand, but he is not short of other weapons and tools. He is authorised by the Ministry to carry a C.E.W., as well as a hand gun, and Ted also keeps a dagger on his person should the situation require a silent weapon. Thankfully for Ted, he’s yet had reason to use it.

APPEARANCE: Ted doesn’t apologise for who he is. He exerts enough effort trying to control his magic; there simply isn’t enough left for anything else. A wiser man might keep his hair short, but Ted can’t be bothered with any of that. He keeps his hair grown out, despite it being seen by his white colleagues as unprofessional. He is well-groomed and though he doesn’t put much thought into what he wears, he takes care of all his possessions, clothing included.

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

FAMILY: Ted is the youngest of William and Cheryl Tonks’ children. He has two sisters, Joyce and Patricia, six and eight years older than Ted. William and Cheryl had gone through the motions of parenting twice with few hiccups besides a fever, contracted by Joyce when she was only four months old. Ted was the first and only of their children to arouse their suspicions that he was a wix. They took precautions. Joyce and Patricia were discouraged from playing with their brother, given chores to keep them busy or urged to do their homework. If Ted spoke openly to his sisters about the things that happened beyond his control, acts of magic, his parents chided him for his silliness. Good boys don’t make up stories. Those were words he heard often during the years to follow. Good boys don’t tell lies. Good boys eat their vegetables. Good boys keep their heads down, they listen to their mamas and papas. Good boys become Witch Hunters. Joyce and Patricia remain none the wiser about Ted’s magic, and as a consequence he doesn’t feel the connection to his sisters that he knows he ought to. Even as an adult, they look upon him as their baby brother. Though he and his sisters show all the outward signs of being close and affectionate, Ted knows a secret lies between them. His sisters are oblivious to this fact, which makes the distance feel all the more prominent for Ted. His parents each hold positions in the Ministry: a scientist, his mother is part of a team of people researching wands, while his father is a Witch Hunter like Ted. Patricia is an archivist. Only Joyce strayed from the family’s line of work, instead opting for a career on the radio.

ASSOCIATES: Recently, Ted has been trying to keep his work and social life separate. This is partly down to the fact he can’t bear to talk or think about his official dealings with the wix any longer than he has to. He has friends in training and acquaintances elsewhere in the Ministry, but Ted doesn’t see these relationships as particularly close or lasting. When Ted is looking to blow off steam, he turns to his three flatmates, one of whom is a childhood friend of Ted’s. At the end of a full day’s training, it’s a comfort to know the odds of having company when he returns home are high. Many a late night have been spent drinking wine around the table in a kitchen filled with friends and laughter, or out dancing. Ted is known for being one of the quieter of the crew, which speaks more of his friends’ outgoing natures than anything else. Lucius Malfoy: Ted will know about Lucius, maybe he’s even gotten to know him a little bit in the past, before the Ministry uncovered the Malfoys’ lies. Lucius is on the the Ministry’s radar. If Ted ever crosses his path, he has orders to kill, if all other methods fail. That’s not what Ted has planned however. Lucius, like the rest of the Malfoys, used to be one of them - not a witch hunter, but an important presence at the Ministry nonetheless. Ted has to believe a better fate awaits those like Lucius who keep their status as a wix secret; people like himself. Sybill Trelawney: They are both running on borrowed time. It’s only a matter of time until Ted’s secrets are exposed, given that he can’t carry on like this, inflicting cruelty on people for no reason other than the fact they used magic. Sybill’s predictions are unpredictable and lately they have a tendency to lead to dead ends. Maybe they can help each other out. Andromeda Black: Any interactions between Andromeda and Ted would be delightful. Their roles are reversed; in this game, it is Ted who would be betraying his family by falling in love with a wix. I am curious to see what Ted will do when he meets the force of nature that is Andromeda Black standing beside her sisters instead of against them, without the reputation of a traitor or muggle-lover. I imagine he is wholly unprepared for the savage, spiteful woman portrayed in her bio. Be it canon or AU, I imagine the relationship between Ted and Andromeda is challenging and full-on, whatever form it takes, be it romantic or otherwise. (I would just like to add Ted is well-positioned to plot with absolutely everyone, so I will be hitting up every roleplayer in this game first chance I get. Plotting makes me very happy indeed.)

LIFESTYLE: After three months on a trainee Witch Hunter’s salary, he left his parents’ home in Hackney London and moved into a shared house with three friends. His room is on the third floor, just high enough from street level that he can open the window without feeling as if he’s just opened a floodgate to London’s traffic. Being settled is not the same as being safe; Ted has a false sense of security. He has yet to realise how dangerous being a wix actually is. As the stresses of his job mount, Ted will find it increasingly difficult to control his magic, namely because he will spend so much time dwelling on it. As he learns more about wix, how human they are, the desperate conditions they live in, Ted’s discomfort with his profession grows. Had his life gone differently, he would be the one sitting in the interrogation room, not as trainee interrogator but as the criminal. Ted survives through constant denial.

PERSONALITY: William and Cheryl placed a mold around their son and as he grew, he grew to fit that mold. Ted is unquestionably loyal to his family. His parents protected him when they could have abandoned him without any shame or remorse. He’s heard of people doing it before, turning on family and friends when they discovered they were a wix all along. People say love is unconditional. Ted knows love is unconditional. His parents love him, despite what he has the potential to be, and for that he owes them a world of gratitude. Or at least he did, until he saw first-hand what it meant to be a Witch Hunter. Ted never imagined wix as people, strange considering in another life he might have been one of them. He has found a thousand and one ways to shape them into criminals in his mind, but they look more like victims to him, scared, afraid, dirty, sometimes even half-starved. Unconditional. Everything he thought that word meant is beginning to dissolve. It’s turning sour. What would his parents do if he quit, packed it all in; stopped trying to keep it all locked inside; stopped humming the magic away. What would they say if he admitted it aloud, I am wix. Their love isn’t unconditional at all, but Ted will watch a thousand wix fall before he admits it. Ted is an earnest witch hunter, holding firmly to the beliefs that were taught to him growing up. Earnest is one word for it. Stubborn is another. Ted is frequently confronted with reasons to question his conviction, which he determinedly ignores. He doesn’t want to ask himself too many questions, because in his gut he knows he won’t like the answers. Ted is more than happy to suffer in silence if it means he can carry on the status quo for just a little while longer. Nobody wants to be monitored by the government. No one wants to be on the receiving end of hate. What does he do to protect himself from such threats? He joins the very organisation which inflicts hate on others. Needless to say, Ted sees the hypocrisy and he is conflicted. He joined the Witch Hunters thinking it would further distance him from the magic inside him, but it’s having the opposite effect. It hurts to watch wix suffer. He was an ignorant fool to think it wouldn’t. Ted strives to be kind, to himself and to others, however there’s little room for kindness in his training at the Ministry. It’s a ruthless job. Ted entered training fully aware of the protocols, but imagining it and living it are two different things. When he imagined being a Witch Hunter, he thought only of the pride of getting a job done, another dangerous wix caught. Since entering training and dealing with wix himself, the job has lost all appeal. There’s nothing noble about hunting wix. It’s an ugly task, and yet Ted hasn’t walked away, partly out of stubbornness, and partly because he is curious about the wix and their magic. For Ted, magic is like a weight in his chest; it has grown heavier with the years. Like pain or love, it demands to be felt. Despite believing in self-care, Ted doesn’t treat himself with the same care he would treat his friends. His self-image is poor, a consequence of being the only wix in his family. Subconsciously, Ted carries the shame of that with him everywhere he goes. His shoulders are just slightly slumped when he walks. He is reticent, even cold, when in the company of those he dislikes. Though he rarely voices his discontent, Ted has a tendency to hold a grudge. He collects information about people; in his head, he builds profiles of his colleagues, friends of friends, anyone whose ignorance has made itself known to Ted. It is fair to say Ted is untrusting. Being a wix - having that secret - sets Ted at a distance. In his adult years, he is becoming increasingly independent, even self-serving; it is slowly dawning on him that he can rely on himself and himself alone. He doesn’t expect anything from anyone anymore - a pre-emptive attempt to save himself from disappointment. Soon he will realise he doesn’t owe anyone anything either.

SKILLS: Ted has a remarkable ability to offload stress. When he leaves training, he doesn’t take his work home with him. It was the same at school; if there was a class he didn’t like, he put it out of his mind as soon as the bell rang, signaling time to go home. It has taken Ted years to affect this skill, and he wouldn’t be able to keep his magic pent up without it. Ted had to find a way to keep his magic contained. To do so, he needed to channel the emotions that provoked his magic. It only ever came out in bursts, when he was angry, or as a reflexive response to fear. Ted found solace in music. When angry or afraid, he sings a song in his head. When he’s really angry or afraid, under his breath. He loses himself in his records, closes his eyes and imagines the music washing over him, erasing vaporous tendrils of magic with it. Ted also has a knack for defusing a situation. It’s a useful skill in training, where he and other Witch Hunters in training are pushed to breaking point. It’s even more useful when dealing with wix. Ted doesn’t enjoy violence. He takes no pleasure in using his C.E.W., only ever firing it when words fail. Ted is a team-player, a skill which has proved highly beneficial since he began training. Whether other Witch Hunters-in-training like him or not, they want him on their team. He is reliable and mindful of those he is working with. No one gets left behind, which is crucial against the wix. Despite this, Ted is regarded by his peers as soft or weak. In the Ministry, strength is measured in how readily you will strike down your opponent. Ted’s tactics often frustrate his fellow agents, many of whom joined the Ministry looking for a fight. There are some at the office who believe Ted lacks the nerve to get the job done, which is nonsense. Ted doesn’t fire his weapon at every wix that moves, but that’s not to say he doesn’t achieve the same results.

HISTORY: Ted was eight years old the first time he was caught using magic. He doesn’t remember most of the details, only the look on his parents’ faces. One minute he was carrying an over-filled bowl of cereal into the living room. He tripped, and the next minute he was faced with his parent’s wide eyes. His mother looked at him with the same fear she showed when they passed the homeless man down the street who constantly shouted racist slurs. She snatched the bowl from his hands, not caring that she was spilling milk and soggy cornflakes on the tiles; threw it into the bin, bowl and all. Ted never wanted his mother, or any of his family, to look at him like that again. When the school was destroyed, Ted was relieved. It meant no more wix coming to the door under the guise of kindness, trying to take him away. They were exposed for what they were; magic-users, depraved and dangerous. He was proud of his parents. They had helped achieve this. The wix were weakened during the year of 1965 and it was largely thanks to the information his parents had learned from the wix delivering Ted’s acceptance letter, the information they passed to the Ministry. Ted didn’t want to be wix; his parents had set him free from that fate. His body accepted this lie less willingly than his mind. Ted had to learn to control his magic, but he refused to use it; he didn’t want to control it by understanding it. He wanted nothing to do with it. Instead, he tied a tourniquet around it in his mind, denied what he was over and over again, hoping to sever any curiosity about what he could do. It didn’t turn out how he intended. Ted’s magic didn’t make itself known often, only when he was angry or afraid. Ted stopped exposing himself to risk and danger. If his friends suggested something reckless, stupid, exhilarating, Ted sat it out. Ted learned the art of acceptance. It’s difficult to wound Ted with words. Most jibes and taunts slide off him. He doesn’t waste time on things that don’t matter. Everything depends on Ted being mellow, on being the steady rhythm of the tide. It’s the only way Ted has survived all these years as a wix undetected. Ted made one exception; his long-held ambition to become a Witch Hunter would require him to take on more dangerous and stressful tasks than ever before. Ted began Witch Hunter training at 18, however shortly before completing his first year, he broke the shinbone of his left leg on a field mission. He was forced to suspend training for the five months it took to for his leg to heal. During that time, he facilitated the Ministry for Magical Investigation in a non-physical capacity. It has been six months since he re-entered training. Since then, he has passed his physical examination. It is his ambition that shortly after he turns 20, he will graduate from training with this year’s cohort of agents.

GOALS: For most of Ted’s teenage years, his main ambition has been to be accepted into Witch Hunter training at the Ministry for Magical Investigation. When he was eleven years old, his attitudes towards wix were motivated purely by fear. He didn’t want to be different to his family. He didn’t want to be one of them. He saw how they were treated, heard the ill words spoken against them; that was all the information he needed to know he didn’t want to be one of them - wouldn’t be one of them. Over the years, the visceral disgust turned into a blind prejudice which went unchallenged. William and Cheryl talked openly about their disgust of those wix who broke the law by using magic and Ted soaked in every word. He aspired to become a Witch Hunter, not merely to please his parents but to sever that part of him that was wrong once and for all. Since entering training however, Ted’s wants have changed. They are beginning to align with his needs; Ted needs to ask who is really the agitator in the situation, the wix, chased into a corner, robbed of their free will, or the Witch Hunters. Ted wants things he can never have. He wants his family to love him unconditionally, but he’s beginning to realise they never have and never will. Their love is conditional upon him repressing his magic. They don’t see what it’s costing their son. He is increasingly unhappy, and the more unhappy he becomes the more difficult it is for Ted to control the magic. It’s in his biology, his magic was meant to be used, he can feel it. Ted cannot accept what he is until his parents do which will never happen. That’s what he tells himself. He clings to the hope that something will change, that they will love him whatever he does, but he knows it isn’t true. They have poured the last decade into their work; to show any sympathy for the wix, to admit what he is, would be a betrayal, pure and simple. If asked today why he is a Witch Hunter, Ted would tell you it is because he wants to build a safer country, where people don’t have to fear for their lives. He wouldn’t mention that he wants people to live without shame. That’s something most at the Ministry don’t understand, and certainly haven’t experienced for themselves. They don’t understand that everything changed for Ted’s parents when they joined the Ministry. Racism began to take a new form; being wix was so much worse than being black or mixed race, worse tan interacial marriage. Ted’s parents created a world in which Ted didn’t have to live with the hate directed at his skin, but deny it all they like, it doesn’t change anything - Ted is wixen. Hate is a mere breath away. One mistake. That’s all it would take to bring his world crashing down.

WHERE ARE THEY NOW AND WHERE ARE THEY GOING?

PLANS: For the most part, Ted survives by avoiding risky situations. This is impossible to do as a Witch Hunter in training, and yet it’s his chosen profession. He has worked hard to get where he is today and he’s not going to throw it away because of a little risk. I would like to see his magic come out in little ways on the field; the forest catching fire unexpectedly, cornering a wix and nearly enabling Ted to capture them; a spell blocked by a crate in a London backalley, saving Ted from the magic directed at him. I plan for Ted to realise there are benefits of magic - both practical as well as psychological; denying he is a wix isn’t healthy for Ted, and it certainly doesn’t make for a happy life. In canon, I have always imagined Ted as someone torn between two worlds. Ted is part of a community to which his parents and any siblings didn’t belong; as a consequence, I think his relationship with them suffered to some degree. Half the words he used were jibberish to them and no matter how much he explained them, they simply weren’t a part of his parents’ vocabulary. This game offers a similar outlook of Ted’s life, except instead of learning about magic to help their son, Ted’s family learn what they can with the aim of destroying it. I would love to see Ted’s relationship with his family crumble, and what family he will form elsewhere. I would like to see Ted use his position as Witch Hunter to make the world a better place for wix. He has access to files and artifacts, information on future attacks and protocols - by putting this information in the right hands he could strengthen the resistance considerably. This would take place further down the line, as a stepping stone to outright betrayal of the Ministry, accepting himself as a wix and allying himself with the resistance. His parents’ involvement in the destruction of Hogwarts might not be common knowledge, but Ted knows they played their part. He used to be grateful that the school was destroyed, saving him from making a decision or wondering what could have been. He thought it was easier that way, not having an alternative. But the more he learns about the wix, the greater his doubt becomes. With no one to teach them to control their magic, what hope is there for these kids? Ted might not be any better at controlling it than they are. Just luckier, he supposes; the Ministry isn’t watching his every move like they are known wix, or waiting with baited breath for any signs of anything out of the ordinary. As Ted learns how to control his magic, possibly alone but preferably with the help of a more experienced wix, he will want to help those that have been wronged. Ted lacks the knowledge and skill to be a teacher himself, but what he can do - again, further down the line, once he has gone too deeply into the world of magic to continue as a witch hunter - is organise lessons for wix children (and adults like himself).

INTEREST: I was drawn to the game for its exceptional worldbuilding and unique premise. As much as I love Harry Potter, AUs are always more satisfying, giving roleplayers the freedom to explore aspects of the character they don’t necessarily get the opportunity to explore in canon games. In canon games, Ted is firmly played on the defense - he must learn to navigate a world in which he is persecuted. This game offers the opposite, with a twist. Ted is still a wizard, but he has lived a different pathway, firmly fixed in the muggle world. I would love to see him switch sides and lead an attack against the people he has grown up with and loved for all the years of his life; a traitor to his roots.

[locochronic-blog]

1.

Cue the helicopters.

Federal agents soar high above California’s northern coast like eagles with a bird’s eye view of this multi-billion dollar black market marijuana industry. They see a symmetrically beautiful Yin Yang of rough blue sea and rolling green hills. Rhythmic waves crash like percussions on the shore ‘n rugged, mountainous terrains mimic the ups and downs of hill life for weed growers and trimmers, locals and transplants alike.

The task force chopper in the air slightly descends, losing sight of its moving target as a line of cars disappears under a Redwood forest canopy that is too dense.

Launch the drones.

Agents rely on monitoring live stream footage from their remote controlled drones as the little fed cameras swoop closer to the ground, able to finagle through trees with ease. Able to stalk this criminal brigade mobbin through the woods.

Humboldt, Mendocino and Trinity Counties are collectively known as the Emerald Triangle for ranking highest in Cannabis production throughout the United States for all of time… Don’t quote nothin tho. These counties have been putting in work since before getting high was this cool… and with all the recent advancements of this underground industry, getting high has never felt so sensational. 

This that LoCo Chronic, sucka.

Majestic rays of love and light filter through giant, ancient trees as the dusty mountain road begins to narrow on a summer’s eve. From the sun, rays of light travel a hundred million miles in under ten minutes and still must reposition around these mystical Redwood beings. 

Beings wider than the SUVs that maneuver amongst them through roads ’n coves. 

Fallen beings crafted into big castles.

It’s the green Wild West, baby.

Primitive ferns carpet the forest floor and rattle as the ground rumbles out of nowhere. Ballerinas of Godly mist percolate above vines and mossy rocks, dancing with mountain lions, bobcats, bald eagles and bears. One might imagine Louis Armstrong’s “What A Wonderful World” playing merrily in the background.

Shit ain’t sweet out here tho, so Tupac’s “High Til I Die” gets progressively louder with its deep bass and quick pace. People are really out here mobbin in the middle of nowhere.

“Smokin chronic muthafuckas, causing ruckus”, Tupac’s distinctly sexy voice stabs at the tranquility of surrounding nature. “It’s the last of the drank pull over, can’t hear a damn thing sober. High til I die, loced til they smoke me, the shit don’t stop til my casket drop… I’m high til I die…”

Oversized wheels race by, one set of beefy black rims after the other as five or six off-road capable trucks and SUVs cruise swiftly through the woods. The racket approaches Wyatt and Chaska's ranch rapidly, reverberating sounds of music throughout the hills, causing critters to scatter at once, with chills.

Rabbits and deer steer clear.

For growers and trapstars, summer in Humboldt is when all goes well, or, well, you’re fucked. And the drought ain’t over. Won’t be anytime soon. All this heat and wildfire smoke is a bitch, it’s making some hill workers go crazy.

“I know the feds watchin!” Chaska shouts above the music playing in the car, “Why else they circlin round here on a Sunday? Can't be no dang electric company!”

Chaska is co-owner of the grow-op and acts as both the armed guard and the DJ in the passenger seat. His buzz cut glistens with sweat on this hot August day and he wears a couple gold chains that contradict his country boy demeanor yet reinstate his unpredictable priorities. He also wears his machine gun like a seatbelt.

A gorgeous, soft spoken Alicia Keys look-a-like named Aura drives with one hand, adjusting the rearview mirror with the other to be sure of what she sees.

“We’ve got visitors!” Aura warns.

She feels alert and refreshed, refusing to put the A/C on anything other than high while she is behind the wheel. Curls poppin, dancing with the air that blows in their direction. Her beaded charm bracelets jingle over bumps and potholes as she transports a load of workers to the farm. Her favorite and most unique charm on her wrist was decorated by her son Carmelo after his last day of Kindergarten a couple months ago. He painted a beautiful rendition of her head and hair’s silhouette onto a plain wooden coin and she looks even more like a Goddess through the eyes of her child.

Aura is a mother, a college student and a bartender who hosts karaoke every Thursday night. With a demeanor so sweet, nobody would believe the lifestyle she truly lives… Not that she talks much about herself to strangers anyways.

Aura and Chaska teamed up to drive and guard the last car in the criminal convoy today. The goal of this backup squad is to deter cops and crooks, by any means necessary, from following the rest of the gangsta fleet of guards and workers up to Chaska and his brother Wyatt’s weed farm. 

Rose turns around from the middle row of the overly lifted SUV and peaks through the tinted back window. She finds herself at eye level with a couple steadily approaching drones and instantly snaps around to face front, paranoid about having her face on camera. She pulls her long, wavy hair into a sloppy bun and throws on a black hoodie to cover the distinct tattoos painted preciously on her arms.

The drones stream footage up to agents in the helicopter, revealing a line of pimped out trucks and SUVs all painted forest matte green so deep they look black at night. Each whip is equipped with massive all-terrain tires, heavily tinted windows, spotlights ’n grille guards.

Incidentally, all the doors and windows of this brigade are also bulletproof. Some markings decorate the exterior of a couple cars like souvenirs from upset shooters whose bullets never made it to the person riding shotgun.

Ironic.

Drivers, armed guards and over a dozen blindfolded passengers bump up the mountain on the hottest day in years. A sunny Humboldt summer that’s hot with the cops, too.

“Yeeee”, Chaska haws as he pops a magazine into his modified gun and loads the chamber, “I’m sher glad I done chose to git in your vehicle today, Miss Aura. Now open that sunroof for me, if you be so kind”.

Aura is Chaska’s sister-in-law, though she and his brother Wyatt split up a year ago. Wyatt waits at the ranch for the convoy of cars to pull up, caring for Carmelo along with other little kids and making lunch for the guards who stayed with them for the day.

Chaska and Wyatt look similar but act totally different. They are muscular and healthy, half Portuguese half Native American with a natural tan to their skin year round. They could pass as twins despite their different personalities and hairstyles. Wyatt is younger yet wiser and he flaunts his Native roots with long, silky black hair he keeps tied back while working. Chaska is a couple years older and keeps his hair short as if he’s about to deploy with the militia. 

Chaska acts so savage and redneck it’s comical, considering his familial upbringing surrounded by countless tribal elders guiding him in the right direction. Soon as him and Wyatt’s folks died Chaska quit attending ceremonies, quit showing respect to food he hunts and quit following advice from his tribe. As much as Wyatt becomes enlightened, Chaska becomes equally as dark and twisted. Instead of going to group gatherings, dances and prayers, a young Chaska would disappear for days at a time to camp in the woods. He can drive every single back road that stretches north, south, east and west in the Emerald Triangle blindfolded. He can survive for months alone in the wilderness. 

And he can kill anything that moves without feeling a drop of remorse.

Aura presses a button on the dash and the sunroof slides back like a door to an action packed movie. Chaska takes off his shirt, ties it around his face and throws on a baseball cap leaving only a slither of his eyes as evidence in a potential case. In one fluid, almost rehearsed movement he places a hand on the roof of the car and thrusts himself upwards til he is standing on the passenger seat with his gun toting in the breeze. He switches the safety off and steadies his aim amidst such dusty, rugged curves in the road. 

Agents in the air monitor the cameras that lag only a second or two behind real time. They see a masked figure pop up out of nowhere and call through their radios that there is what appears to be an M4 aimed directly at their pricey cop toys. Orders from base are given to hold the drones back a few yards and begin swerving them from left to right on this winding mountain cut through.

Turn those fuckers off.

Distance and swerves are no match for Chaska’s tactical moves as he holds down the trigger and sprays in one sweeping motion. With a shot to the brain of each robot, footage is immediately ceased, leaving nothing but fuzzy gray connections up on the helicopters split screen.