#not to mention the occassional rumor....

[shaotie]

Where Loyalties Lie

Chapter 2: Trained in Deception

X stood in the secret-from-humans yokai elevator of Big Mama’s above ground New York Grand Nexus hotel, on his way up to meet the lavishly wealthy and powerfully influential spider yokai in her office - who he was contracted out to by his owner for three matches a week in her brutal Battle Nexus, to further his training.

The young mutant turtle didn’t know much about the spider's personal life; except that she lived a double life as a yokai disguised as a human whenever necessary, so she could capitalize on both the human world with the front of her Grand Nexus hotel, while simultaneously earning riches from her own kind with the hidden back yokai side. This was in addition to her fabulously successful underground Battle Nexus, of course.

The one X fought in since he was eight, where yokai - both convicted criminals and slaves (which X was) - ripped each other apart limb from limb for the entertainment of blood-thirsty crowds.

(Not to mention the occassional human Big Mama acquired through illegal means)

Beyond that, X knew Big Mama as a benevolent, caring ‘Auntie’ who took a personal interest in him when he first showed fantastic potential to be named the youngest champion in Battle Nexus history (which he was, earning him the nickname he loved - 'Tampy' - for 'turtle champ', from his adoring Auntie Big Mama).

She spent time with him - doting on him whenever they were together, and generally making sure her insanely profitable ‘Lou Jitsu prodigy' fighter was very content, with what she hoped would be a lifetime career bringing in the betting crowds with his entertaining fights (if only that Draxy-poo wouldn’t stubbornly hold onto him for his own questionably unprofitable reasons).

Of course there were many rumors floating around about Big Mama on the mean, hard streets of the Hidden City that reached the slider’s ears. He figured there must be some ring of truth to the rumors of her ruthless dark side (after all she was the owner of the bloody Battle Nexus) but rumors were often wildly over-embellished so he never really gave it much thought.

Until today.

Because of his amicable relationship with her, X let his guard down as he rode the elevator up to Big Mama’s office. But that was a mistake he would soon regret.

The elevator doors dinged open and before he even had a chance to raise one foot off the floor, X was greeted by a swift punch to his already injured face, abruptly followed by five of Big Mama’s cronies jumping on top of him to hold him down, tie him up, and completely disarm him.

X was dragged out of the elevator with his wrists tightly tied behind his back, his thighs above the prosthetic likewise tied together, and a fresh cut on his face from the sharp end of the brass knuckle that made contact with his cheek. Then he was unceremoniously thrown face-down on the floor in Big Mama’s office. He pushed himself up to sit back on his knees and glared up at the spider yokai towering over him, with blood drizzling down his face from the cut.

X turned his head to the side to spit out the back tooth that had been knocked lose for the second time, before it had a chance to reset properly, before glaring daggers at Big Mama, realizing he had been betrayed by the one out of only two yokai he considered to be family.

“I trusted you!”

X spat out his words like venom before narrowing his eyes and adding in a cold, hateful tone: “I guess the rumors are true, you really are nothing but a traitorous bi…” "Language my little turtly-boo, weren't you taught better than that?” Big Mama interrupted in a faux-offended but polite tone. X put his head down instead of replying with the obscenities that were swirling around in his mind, because he was focusing his attention on subtly trying to figure a way out of this.

"This really is an unfortunate turn of events. Now kindly look at your Auntie when she talks to you deary, I have something of the utmost importance to share," Big Mama said in her usual polite tone. One that sounded almost as pleasant as the day he tasted ice cream for very first time, when she brought him to one of her Big Mama vendors in the Hidden City Market as a reward after spectacularly winning his first Battle Nexus fight.

Big Mama put her spider hand under his chin to make him raise his head to look at her. He aggressively yanked his head away and pointed his angry face at the floor again so she couldn’t see his eyes darting around, searching for a way out; but there was nothing. Even the yokai holding all his weapons stood at respectable distance behind Big Mama. She also knew him well - better than he realized - because every single last concealed weapon that could have helped him had been confiscated; including the blade he kept beneath his black ninja wrappings flush to his wrist, and the secret weapons built into the custom prosthetic leg Draxum built for him, that he was ordered to save for an emergency and wasn't aware she knew about.

When he continued staring at the floor, Big Mama said: "Now really, don't you think you're too old for this childish pouting? Kindly raise your head so Big Mama can explain this whole dreadful kerfuffle that was started when you rudely portalled out of your match without warning. I was worried out of my mind that something terrible happened to you! What do you have to say for leaving your poor Auntie behind without as much as an explanation?"

X raised his head alright; by shooting his angry eyes up at her and snapping: “It’s not my fault Draxum portalled me out, take this up with him!”

“Oh deary me this really is an unfortunate situation you've gotten yourself into; if only you hadn't kept your doting Auntie in the dark. But I'm afraid there's no way to undo the damage now."

X ignored her comment and aggressively yelled at the top of his voice: “When Draxum finds out about this…!” “My dear boy, Draxy already knows, which is the most unfortunate part of all,” Big Mama sweetly interrupted with a hint of (fake) sadness. “If only you had contacted me sooner I wouldn't have had to call your . . . Oh now what is that word he uses to refer to himself? It's certainly not father, despite the fact he's raised you from infancy."

X followed Big Mama with his eyes as she paced in front of him, looking like she was taking a moment to think; and then, while continuing to pace back and forth, she abruptly continued in her deviously kind-sounding voice: "Oh yes your owner. If you had come to your Auntie sooner to explain everything I could have overlooked this piddly little error with no more than an extra match to make up my loses, and your brutish owner would have been none the wiser. But now I'm afraid it's far too late for that."

Big Mama stopped her pacing to stand directly in front of X, facing him, when she continued.

"Why, I just got off the piddly phone with Draxy not more than two minutes ago. I really had to call him to make sure you were alright considering he refuses to allow you to share your number with your loving Auntie - for reasons I cannot fathom - and I hadn't heard from you once until now. He informed me he was unaware you were in the fighting ring when he required your services and blamed you for not informing him of your scheduled fight. Then he absolutely insisted Big Mama dish out your punishment as per his explicit instructions because he is 'far too busy to deal with you himself,' his words not mine deary. Nasty business, I won't bore you with the details your control-freak owner described over the phone."

The spider lady let out a disappointed-soundings sigh and continued in what seemed to be a sad tone of voice. "Naturally I objected but who is Big Mama to go against the great Baron Draxum, hmm? I'm simply a tizzy business owner trying to carve out a place for myself in this cold, hard world.”

“You’re lying,” X replied quietly. But judging by the way he hung his head and spoke in a hushed voice, Big Mama smiled to herself because she knew he wasn’t certain if he really, truly believed his own words.

“It's too bad you're the piddly slave of that brute of a scientist," she continued. "If you lived with your dear spider auntie things would be oh so different. But unfortunately my hands are tied-oops, excuse the pun."

"I'd never betray Draxum," the tied-up mutant turtle replied with firm conviction, leaving no room for doubt.

Next, Big Mama turned into her human form with her mystic broach, and leaned in so close she was almost face-to-face with the slider, who kept his head down and his eyes glued to the floor. Then she said in a sweet, kind tone of voice:

"Think about this my twiddly widdly Tampy bug, has Big Mama ever treated you in such a gastly manner before?" 

She kept her face inches away from his, looking at him with what appeared to be sympathy in her eyes when he glanced up for a split second; and she paused long enough for the silence to become uncomfortable for X. So he huffed out a sour-sounding: "No."

Big Mama patted his uninjured left cheek, stood up straight, and asked: "Now think about this, has Draxum ever treated you this harshly in his dealings with you?"

X didn't bother to answer; there was no need, they both already knew the answer was 'yes.' (Although Draxum was always careful never to cause permanent damage or lasting harm to his useful warrior creation; and he even steered clear of striking his face after doing so once, only for X to annoyingly complain he was going to 'ruin his good looks' for weeks on end).

On the one hand, X always fully understood exactly why he was being punished and he was treated far better than his fellow Hidden City slave associates; but on the other hand, he often felt his owner's approach to training and discipline was disproportionate to the transgression he committed, and much harsher than necessary to adequately correct his 'undesirable' behavior. A sentiment his 'Auntie,' Big Mama, frequently claimed to whole-heartedly agree with over the years since she had known him.

The silence stretched on a moment longer and then Big Mama smiled to herself again when the tied-up turtle warrior kneeling on her floor let his shoulders drop with an exasperated sigh out through his mouth; because she knew that meant she had successfully watered the seeds of doubt in her Nexus Champion's mind.

There was no need to wait for an verbal answer anymore, so Big Mama clapped her hands twice while ordering her henchmen: “Come come Big Mama had an important business appointment and she shant be late.”

The big brute of a pink gorilla yokai who punched X had clearly already been instructed on what to do, and he grabbed X’s tied up arms to force him to his feet.

As he was being led away to his inevitable (apparently 'Draxum sanctioned') punishment, Big Mama told him: "Auntie does apologize for the harm this will cause, and it's at such a piddly bad time, too. I requested postponing your punishment until after this weekend but your unreasonable owner wouldn't hear of it. I am so dreadfully sorry but it looks like you'll be in no condition to join Big Mama at the annual Hidden City Masquerade Madness Magicon this weekend." She tutted three times with her mouth and finished with: "So unfortunate, it's always been the highlight of the year for us. But you know as well as I do that Draxy always gets what Draxy wants."

As he was led into the elevator, X looked behind his back at the powerful yokai in charge who (at the very least) was letting this happen to him. She saw the look of uncertainty in his eyes and merely smiled at him with a gentle, sympathetic-looking grin and raised her hand to wave ‘goodbye’ with her fingers, as was common for her, while promising: 

"Be certain to let that owner of yours know Big Mama will keep your weapons tucked away, safe and sound, until you return for your next scheduled fight."

Then, the last thing she heard before the elevator doors closed between them, was X yelling to her: "Can you at least tell them to stay away from my face!?"

*  *  *

~About Two Hours Later~

X stumbled over his own feet as he walked from the rear Grand Nexus entrance to the above ground Hidden City portal that would take him home. He was hunched over - almost bent double - with his left arm wrapped around his bloody plastron and the other hand out, grabbing onto whatever was nearby that could help steady him; feeling the sting of pain from a cracked shell for the first time in his life.

When they were done dishing out his punishment, X was tossed out into a nearby alley across from the Grand Nexus hotel without having any of his things returned to him. That included his wrist communicator that would’ve come in handy to contact his owner to portal him home; as well as his two cherished katanas, that had been the very first (rare) gift Draxum ever willingly bestowed upon him.

A short while later, the badly bruised, beaten, and bleeding mutant ninja turtle shuffled down a hallway and appeared in the entrance to his yokai owner’s lab. When he got there, he switched arms to wrap his injured right one around his gut so he could steady himself by grabbing the worktable beside the entrance, on his left. The goat alchemist was back-on to him, working on one of his experiments, and X glanced down at the blood he accidentally smeared on the table, (as well as the droplets on the floor) hoping his owner didn’t punish him in addition to all of this for dirtying his pristine lab.

“Where were you and why didn't you answer your com? You were gone for hours and I required your assistant,” the warrior alchemist curtly demanded, without turning around.

“I was out on a date but he didn’t like my puns any more than you do.”

“A date?” Draxum asked in confusion. He paused his work to look behind his back, only to see his turtle creation hunched over, beaten worse than ever before, and painted red with blood he hoped wasn’t all his.

X weakly smiled up at the shocked yokai and in his typical ‘using humor to cope’ approach to life, he joked: “Don’t go out with any gorilla yokai, they have a fierce temper.”

“What happened to you!? Don’t tell me this was from a Nexus fight!”

Draxum rushed over to assess the damage, but X was coated in so much blood, with swollen bruises upon bruises, there was no way to get an accurate assessment without first cleaning him up.

“Don’t you know? Big Mama told me she was following your orders.”

Draxum’s shocked expression changed to one of a calmness that X knew all too well hid intense anger inside.

Incidentally, if X was ever asked what was the most redeemable quality of the harsh warrior scientist - who was hyper-fixated on ‘freeing’ yokaikind from their ‘underground bondage’ by turning all humans into yokai-like mutants - he would say it was his blunt, no-nonsense honesty. So the mutant turtle thoroughly believed him when Draxum factually replied:

"No, I had no idea this was happening to you, I never would’ve allowed it and I would have stopped this senseless brutality if I knew. This degree of torturous punishment is typical of Big Mama’s style. No doubt she was sending me a clear message regarding my lapse on our deal by taking you out of the ring; and her obvious lie verifies my suspicions that she has been attempting to convince you to betray me and deflect to her.” Then he gestured to X’s bloody body and asked: “Is this all yours? Where are your katanas?”

“Yeah, and she took them. Promised to returned them when I show up for my next fight,” X replied. He groaned from the pain and Draxum told him: “There will not be a 'next fight' and don't concern yourself trying to retrieve them, I recently acquired superior weaponry. You are forbidden from participating in that gong show she calls a sporting arena and you are not to have any contact with her or any lackeys you know to be her so-called 'servants.' Stay as far away from her and them as you can get.”

“Awww, but she promised to take me to the magicon this weekend, I already made my mask and everything!” X whined as a sarcastic joke.

Draxum ignored his sarcasm to (finally) calmly ask: “Do you have any potentially life-threatening injuries?”

“There’s too many to know for sure, I can’t make out any one over the others. But they used some kind of giant nut cracker to give my shell a good going over. I thought they were gonna pop me right outta it like one of those springfizzle berries.”

“Even through the copious amounts of clotted blood I can clearly see your shell is fractured in numerous places, there may be internal injuries," Draxum commented.

A portal to the med bay opened up, and after following Draxum through, his owner gestured to a metal exam table and ordered: "Lay here, I’ll bring you disinfectant wipes to clean off your plastron and check you over for internal injuries first. Then we’ll deal with the deepest cuts and go from there, but I can tell you now, you’re shell is going to need to be reset in a couple of places.”

“Oh yaaah and I thought today couldn’t get any better,” X sarcastically replied, before slowly climbing on the table to lay down; with a few groans and a couple of curse words he learned from the Hidden City streets that Draxum normally didn't allow; but decided was understandable and could be overlooked this time, considering the state he was in.

The initial relief X felt at finally being able to get off his feet instantly fled away when he realized how painful it was to lay his cracked carapace on a hard surface; and he wished he was standing again but didn't think he had the strength to get up even if he was allowed. His eyes watered from the agony of it all, but he stifled the urge to whimper in front of his strict (and sometimes harsh) owner and also didn’t complain when a white disinfectant cloth was thrown at him so he could wipe off the caked-on blood smeared all over his plastron.

"They did a number to my face, do you think it'll leave any scars?" he asked while he did that. "There's too much blood to tell but I'll use the mystic stitches, that will reduce the chance of scarring," Draxum flatly replied, not surprised in the least that his badly injured mutant turtle would be concerned over such a trivial matter. However he was surprised when his potentially mortally wounded slave asked:

"Can I wipe off my face first so you can look at it?"

Draxum shot his head up to angrily glare at him and that was all the answer X needed, so he dropped the subject and quietly resumed wiping off his plastron.

When he was done cleaning his plastron, X dropped his hand to his side, still gripping the white-turned-red cloth because he was too tired to bother chucking it in the garbage, and Draxum began the process of using the stethoscope to listen for any internal bleeding.

“You didn’t happen to make a mutagen-based painkiller since nothing else works on my mutated body, did you?” X asked hopefully. “There’s no such thing,” Draxum dryly replied. “Figures,” the injured turtle mumbled under his breath.

He lay silent and quiet for a few seconds until a thought occurred to him and he asked: “What are you gonna do about that deal you made with Big Mama? Ain’t there two years left on my contract?”

Draxum immediately snapped in reply: “Don’t use that pseudo-word, I taught you better, stay away from whatever gutter trash you learned it from on the streets, and my deal with Big Mama is none of your concern.”

“Yes Draxum,” X grumbled in reply, only because his rattled, exhausted mind was too foggy to think up an appropriate pun or quick witted comeback in the moment.

“Take in a deep breath,” Draxum ordered. “This is gonna be fun,” X muttered under his breath before sucking in a deep breath through his mouth.

An abrupt shot of pain when his lungs filled with air made him involuntarily wince his right eye; but when they watered for the second time he was careful not to let a tear roll down his face - considering he already learned his lesson not to cry from pain in front of Draxum when he was seven and miserably lost his very first match against two opponents instead of one.

When Draxum was done, X slowly released the breath he held in, and his yokai boss informed him: “There is blood in your right lung but not enough to be concerning. Judging by the damage to your shell, it was likely punctured by a rib. The bone should reset itself naturally when I reset the rest of your shell, and your superbly designed superior mutant body will heal the bulk of your injuries within three to five weeks. You are on strict bedrest for the next six days, minimum.”

X silently laughed to himself over the manner in which the prideful Draxum always seemed to find ways to subtly praise his own 'superbly designed' work. Then he hinted at something new he recently learned about humans when he playfully lamented with a snarky grin: “Six days. But I was all set to climb Mount Everest tomorrow.” 

“Mount . . . Everest?” Draxum asked in confusion. He threw another disinfectant cloth at X and removed his prosthetic before opening a sterilized suture kit to begin stitching the worst of the cuts.

X grunted from the pain when he sat up a little so he could reach down to wipe off the deep gash along his left thigh, and calmly replied: “Yeah, it’s a human thing. They like to throw away their lives on a fifty-fifty gamble they'll make it out alive, so they can earn bragging rights cuz they climbed to the top of the tallest mountain, or something like that.” “Humans are very adept at throwing their lives away on useless pursuits,” Draxum agreed wholeheartedly while threading the curved suture needle.

X finished wiping away the blood and leaned back with an oof, when his carapace made contact with the exam table again - surprised that his yokai owner who hated humans didn’t scold him for his ‘unhealthy interest’ in human affairs - as was the norm.

Despite his scoldings though, Draxum never forbade him from venturing above ground to the human city of New York in his free time; or for pursuing his interest in understanding humans better, even to the point of filling his room with human trinkets. The only exception to his view of humans was the Lou Jitsu line of movies he insisted his turtle creation watch, which sparked that interest in the first place. But that was for the one and only reason the scientist who created him with the use of Lou Jitsu dna felt it was prudent to allow his warrior to draw from his genetic strengths, by learning that particular fighting style. Something the young turtle tot ninja-in-training eagerly gobbled up.

X winced as his owner began the first stitch; but despite the pain he was in and the humiliation he felt at naively walking right into Big Mama’s trap, he couldn’t help but smile at this pleasant interchange between him and his owner/creator, who raised him from an egg and who he viewed as a father figure; in spite of the harsh punishments for any shortcomings and long hours of intense training he had been put through from a young age.

(But he didn’t dare make the mistake of referring to him as ‘dad’ again. He had learned his lesson the hard way on that one when he was younger, just like the harsh lesson he learned today that he would never forget)

But just like that, all the warm, fuzzy feelings he felt were wiped away like the blood on his cracked plastron when Draxum’s soft voice switched to his stern tone, that carried the all-too-familiar air of that disgust and disappointment that always cut X deeper than any two-edged sword ever could, when he said:

“This happened because you let your guard down around Big Mama. I expected better from you.”

In any other situation X wouldn’t dare even consider answering the way he did - but a combination of pain, blood loss, and mental/physical exhaustion left his mind too cloudy to consider consequences. So he angrily blurted out:

“This wouldn’t ‘ve happened if you ever once warned me about her!”

‘Oops,’ he immediately thought from the angry look Draxum shot at him, but it was too late for take-backsies now.

“If you weren’t in your current condition I’d portal you to the bottom of the lapta lake for your disrespectful attitude! And you’re a highly skilled ninja warrior, trained in the art of deception, a warning shouldn’t have been necessary!” Draxum harshly yelled in reply.

X turned his head to the side to averted his gaze with a solemn, respectful: “Yes boss, you’re right it won’t happen again,” because apologies were something 'weak-willed yokai used to excuse their bad behavior that they inevitable repeated anyway.’ (Draxum’s words, of course)

A memory came to mind of falling out through a portal directly above the middle of the cloudy, pale blue underground lake where hundreds of tiny eel-like ‘lapta yokai’ attacked him with their individually weak - but when combined incessant and painful - electrical pulses and tiny but sharp, needle-like teeth, as he hastily swam to the shore. All because of his disrespectful attitude when he was younger and yelled: “No! I’m not going back!” after he was ordered to return to the Battle Nexus for his first fight after his left leg had been chomped off in that very ring.

X kept his eyes averted as he let out a regretful sigh because he knew Draxum was right; that he was trained in deception and should have known better, but his owner wasn't done belittling him yet. As he stitched his gash, he sternly scolded:

"Why you consistently have to learn your lessons the hard way is beyond me. I created you with enough intelligence to counteract that, but you stubbornly insist on working against my flawless design."

And there it was. The reminder that X was Draxum’s creation - one of his experiments - and not a son.

Draxum hadn't even given him a name.

X.

A title.

Short for Experiment Alpha 002-2. 'Alpha' denoting he and his fellow turtle experiments were meant to be the first of many mutant warrior creations (before the fire that destroyed his lab and set him back in his work, shortly after their mutation). And the numerical designation logically referred to their hatching order.

Experiment Alpha 001 (the snapping turtle) hatched first, three and a half weeks before the next two. Being naturally large with the toughest shell, Draxum focused on putting most of his 'mutagenic points' (so to speak) into this turtle's brute strength and size - to be the tank and protector of the warrior ninja team.

Experiment Alpha 002-1 (the softshell turtle) and 002-2 (X - the red-eared slider) were each given a sub-classification because they were incubated together and hatched together - with the slider hatching twenty three seconds after the softshell. Draxum focused heavily on genius-level intelligence for the already genetically intelligent softshelled turtle, which was dually useful to compensate for his lack of natural armor, once he was old enough to design and build his own armor. And he focused his 'mutagenic points' on speed and stealth to enhance the natural abilities of the red-eared slider turtle.

Experiment Alpha 003 (the box turtle) hatched late - five weeks after the softshell and slider, when it was supposed to be three. Draxum figured something happened in early incubation before the egg came to be in his possession, so he put more 'mutagenic points' in enhancing this turtle's raw, natural talents to compensate for any potential genetic flaws in his intelligence; to ensure his ninja warrior training would progress at the same rate as the other three.

That was the end of their conversation, and even though Draxum didn’t hint at a future punishment for his attitude, X couldn’t help but notice that his boss and owner (but not father) was rougher than necessary for the remainder of his stitches and subsequent shell repair. With the entire lengthy process taking place in total silence on the part of both of them.

Save for the grunts, groans, and occasional quiet curses from the injured ninja warrior.

🔹🔹🔹

🐢 chapters list

🐢 masterpost for my rottmnt ao3 fanfics and art

[kotemf]

🍱 🍘 and 🍡 for the fic writer ask game, answer as many as you like :D

Thank you for the ask!

🍱 Do I read my own fics?

Yes I do! I always give each chapter a read before I publish it just to be sure there aren't any glaring mistakes, then I'll occassionally reread something when I feel like it. I usually go laughing at how stupid it all sounds and cringe internally but that's another thing.

🍘 Is there a fic or idea for a fic that I've abandoned?

Yes! There is plenty of those but the one that I regret the most is my fic idea about Korkie Kryze. That is to say, I can still write it but for some reason I never feel like writing it? I had the idea before I even started posting and I loved it but only wrote like first 100 words before the hype kinda went away.

The fic was supposed to be about Korkie, as I already mentioned. To put it simply, Korkie, after the rise of the empire, joins his aunt Bo-Katan in doing whatever she is doing, probably something to do with the resistance and he keeps asking her about his parents. Bo-Katan reveals that Satine actually wasn't his aunt but his mother and that his father was Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. Obi-Wan is supposedly dead but Korkie refuses to believe that without seeing evidence so he goes after him. He hears rumors about him being alive and that only makes him look harder. The fic starts when he tracks commander Cody drinking away his regret and persuades the soldier to at least go to Utapau with him to find evidence. Cody only agrees because he feels like it's his duty to protect his general's son but he eventually warms up to Korkie. Do they find Obi-Wan? I haven't decided. But I sure did picture a whole ass story as a movie while I am incapable to write any of it down.

🍡 Which of my fics was the most emotionally difficult to write?

Cody Learns to Love. I'm usually not receptive to what's not happening in real life, I don't cry during movies or when reading something sad and I believe that applies to writing too but... with this story, while it's not even all that dark, I sometimes found myself shaking as I type and I cried on Fox's behalf. Read at your own risk.

[radioiaci]

Relative recovery, Alastor thought. He did enjoy talking about himself, make no mistake. But only when it was subjects which he could control. Such was his nature. Lack of control meant too much vulnerability - and Michael had already taken quite a few of his walls and leapt over them in astounding fashion. A fact which Alastor still was uncertain as to how it happened.

"I do," he replied, soon after taking the onion, bell peppers, garlic, and sausage which he'd obtained and began to chop them. Much quicker in his pace than any novice might be. He was well-practiced with a knife. For a multitude of reasons.

"I run any number of segments day in and day out. They are not always the same schedule - I enjoy keeping people guessing what they will be tuning in for. News is one, yes. Then short stories. I make an effort to include ambiance and background music in those as well. Poetry, too. Weather, occassionally, if there is anything worth mentioning. And music is the majority of the time - playing even when I am not actively in the booth. If you were to turn on the station right now, even, I'm sure you would hear a selection. Jazz, bluegrass, classical, instrumental. A few slightly modern pieces, but not very frequent."

Before he answered the question, he decided to put Michael to work. Reaching over, he grabbed the small bowl he'd placed six eggs into, setting it down in front of Michael, offering a whisk to the other.

"Crack these into the bowl and stir them. It shouldn't be hard."

Alastor had no way of knowing if the angel was well versed in any sort of cooking, but this was an easy way to find out, continuing to prattle while he waited for the other to perform the task.

"The screaming that I am known for-" he began. "-is not quite the priority anymore. As the rumors go, it is what I used to do to overlords and sinners who crossed my path in a poor way. Never for one who made themselves more useful alive than as a wailing symphony." His knife continued to chop smoothly through the ingredients, going so far as to pop a small slice of bell pepper into his mouth for a quick munch before he carried on.

"The hotel is what I do now. The voices in the broadcast do not matter as much."

And they were hardly audible anymore, anyway. Tinny things that drifted in between the crackling of static, but not much more.

Seven years of withering in his absence would do that.

   “You like to write, don’t you? You mentioned it during our game.” He did click the app off and slid the phone back into his pocket, watching Alastor happily as he continued to try to feed into what he was interested in. This was a safer conversation and he was entirely eager to hear what he thought about the radio anyway. Michael didn’t want to upset Alastor with his view of the mortals, a negative one, and his view of sinners born from those mortals. A difference of opinion on that was natural, given what he was and what Alastor was. Though learning different perspectives on that was the entire reason he was down here. He’d rather figure that out on his own than upset Alastor attempting to learn.

   He likes him and he respects him enough to not want to push what was upsetting him. So this conversation he opened was far more enjoyable for him and less likely to upset Alastor. It was unfair of him to push his beliefs on others anyway. Angel of Faith or not, he knows that the way his mouth opens and preaches can irritate people. He has enough self-awareness to notice when he is doing it too. 

   Understanding is the first step to correcting. 

   What he wants to do right now then is ease the conversation into safe territory and enjoy the moment with Alastor. “Your show then, if I can speculate, is you reading what you write or other interesting works you enjoy? Maybe talking about things that are going on in Hell? The weather of course. All Radio Shows have a weather section. Then music. Probably, given your period of life, is it mainly jazz?” These are the things that he would expect but also the things that would make sense for him to do. 

   He would enjoy this too if he listened in.

   “Do you do anything else on it? Well, other than the whole murder section if you still do that.” Broadcasting screams for everyone to hear. He hasn’t seen Alastor do that since he’s been down here, but he wouldn’t put it past him either. A reputation is built in truth in some parts, and he hasn’t lost that reputation. Even with his seven years disappearance. 

   He’s almost tempted to ask about that rumor, but he was attempting to brighten Alastor’s mood, not bring it down more. If this line of conversation doesn’t work, he might trying to sneakily ask the shadow how to fix this. He really hadn’t meant to upset him with the questions he was asking.

[cinlat]

Whiskey and Tihaar: Taris

Chapter One  |  Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

You can read it by following the above links (for better formatting), or below the cut (for lazy formatting).

This AU is purely self-indulgent. Most chapters will feature a mutual’s OC that they have graciously trusted me with. Everything about this universe is my excuse to play with Fynta and Aric in different roles and have them interact with all the original characters in this fandom that I’ve come to love. Thanks everyone!

Chapter Summary: Aric still can't get a moment's peace from Fynta's perverse humor. They trust a little more, and learn how rumors start. There's some cursing, some fighting, and a lot of blacking out. Word Count: 11,749 Special guest: Ucevi, who belongs to the lovely @tishinada​

Nar Shaddaa The Shershoy

Aric sealed the airlock while Fynta went to the pilot’s seat. She seemed different. Instead of the whirlwind of chaos that normally surrounded Fynta, a thin shell of serenity wrapped her thoughts. Aric wondered how long until the veneer cracked, and she overwhelmed him again.

Shaking those thoughts away, Aric positioned himself behind the pilot’s seat while Fynta guided them into a long line of ships waiting to exit Nar Shaddaa. Neither had spoken since leaving Ucevi’s refuge. As much as Aric didn’t want to be the one to break the silence, he’d reached the end of his limited patience. “How did it go?”

“Good,” Fynta answered. Her attention to the traffic ahead was unwavering, the fingers of one hand curled loosely around the steering apparatus while the other draped over her raised knee. When Aric didn’t speak again, Fynta leaned back so that she could see him. “Curiosity is killing you, isn’t it?” A feral grin slid into place, looking more sinister because of the angle.

Aric snorted in what he hoped was a believable dismissal of Fynta’s accusation. She shrugged and returned to watching traffic until Aric gave up with a sigh. “It’s none of my business, but, what is your relationship with Ucevi?”

“Jealous?” Fynta teased, affecting that upside-down grin again as she looked up at Aric. He huffed and glanced away, already regretting his inability to keep his mouth shut. Fynta chuckled and righted herself in the chair. “Ucevi and I go way back. I’m not entirely sure there is a word to describe our relationship, but I trust her with my life.”

And mine, Aric thought, but he voiced a different opinion. “I didn’t think Sith knew how to trust. Too many unexplained deaths within the ranks, or so the rumor goes.”

“You rely too heavily on Jedi archives.” A notification appeared on the naviscreen, and Fynta eased the  Shershoy out of line. Her shoulders tipped as she guided the ship away from traffic and towards the limitless black of space. Once they were free of the false atmosphere, she continued. “Most Sith aren’t lunatics, just the ones who make the news. Those exist, sure, but most run businesses and corporations. They live, drink, fuck, and sometimes fall in love and start families. Then, you get little Sithlets, and the cycle starts over.”

The last comment caught Aric’s attention, and he frowned. “So...conjugal visit?” It was meant to be a joke, but a part of him was genuinely curious. Did Fynta have a lover? After what she’d said about her strained relationship with other Mandalorians, he doubted it would be one of them, but another Sith, someone who radiated warmth and strength in the same breath…Aric could imagine the Fynta he knew being seduced by that combination.

A wicked grin pulled at Fynta’s lips, and her eyes gleamed with that strange, internal light that made them such an unnatural shade of blue. When she turned, Aric’s throat tightened with the heady scent of her arousal. At least, until Fynta laughed. “ That’s what you took from what I said?”

Aric bristled at the taunting note in Fynta’s voice. “I’m simply—”

“Don’t worry about it, Master Jedi.” Fynta chuckled and returned to the task of setting them on the course for Taris. “I didn’t sleep with her, there wasn’t time. Ucevi shielded my mind so that Nox can’t dig his grubby fingers into it again.”

Aric opened his mouth to change the subject, but lost his words at the sultry laughter that followed. An image flashed through his mind, one that faded before his higher brain function could register it. His subconscious understood, though. Heat pooled in the pit of his stomach and his pulse quickened.

Snarling, Aric shoved away from Fynta’s chair and stalked into the main room. She called after him, and he rounded on the quickened footsteps at his back. Fynta stumbled to a stop, twisting out of the reach of his claws. Aric's fingers curled into fists at his side while one finger jabbed at the air between them. “Stay out of my fucking mind.”

Fynta’s hands lifted in a placating manner. “That was an accident, I swear.” Aric curled his lips back enough to show his teeth, but Fynta ignored his threat. “You stirred up an old memory. Shab, I didn’t even know that you’d seen it until you stormed out. So, who was in whose head?”

“I didn’t—” Aric paused to consider. To his knowledge, he hadn’t formed a connection with Fynta. He’d tested her mood, but that had been it. Some of the anger left him, and Aric lowered his lips into a more comfortable scowl. “I wasn’t actively seeking your thoughts.”

Sensing that the danger had passed, Fynta lowered her hands and studied him. Her jaw worked twice, like she was chewing something vile, then she sighed. “I’m about to say something that you’re not going to like.”

Aric rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Fynta took that as a sign to continue and rubbed her forehead with her thumb and forefinger. “Listen, I was trained to sneak into people’s minds.”

Aric growled, and Fynta ignored him again. “But, I’ve never seen anyone accomplish it with the ease that you do. Sure, I let you slide all over my shields, but I  always sense you, even when I know you’re not poking. Like, a piece of you got stuck when I let you in at the safe house.”

Aric’s retort never made it past his teeth. Though he hadn’t framed it in the same way, Aric understood what Fynta meant. When their minds had converged on Rishi. He’d been pulled towards oblivion so quickly that there had been no way to protect himself. The relief when Fynta ejected him had been instantaneous, but since then, Aric had been acutely aware of her position in the room. It sounded like something he’d read about as a boy, an impossibility that he wouldn’t name for fear of making it true.

“Just,” Aric turned away and waved one hand at Fynta. “Try to control your thoughts. I have no interest in the depravities of your past.”

“Hey, that was a sweet moment, thank you very much.” Fynta chuckled, low and throaty. The sound raised chills beneath Aric’s fur. She let out a soft huff of laughter. “Damn, Jedi, how long has it been since you offloaded all that stress?”

Too long, Aric’s traitorous mind reminded him. He took shallow breaths to avoid Fynta’s scent, but it was no good. She surrounded him, probing at his weaknesses through the Force while using her body to keep him off balance. He banished the agitation with a shake of his head and changed the subject as his last line of defense. “Why Taris?”

“Why—” Fynta blinked, then looked back at the view screen where the stars stretched through hyperspace. To Aric’s relief, she didn’t press the issue of his sexual exploits, but the slight curve at the corner of her lips warned that the conversation wasn’t finished. “Nox sent me there once to deal with a problem in one of his labs. I’m hoping we’ll find a clue as to where he’s holed up.”

Aric nodded, grateful for the segway in topics. Tracking and killing Sith was something he was good at. “Makes sense, start somewhere you know and find the trail.” He paused, teetering on the edge of revealing too much about himself, then deciding it was worth the risk. “There’s a Cathar village on Taris. Some people I’d like to see.”

“I’m sure we can make time.” Fynta walked to her workstation and lifted one of her leg plates from the stand. Aric had noticed that she hadn’t worn it to meet Ucevi, opting for plain black pants and a comfortable shirt. She didn’t look at him while she began buffing out a dent. “You spent time on Taris?”

Now that Fynta was occupied by something other than sex, Aric felt like a fool fuming in the middle of the room. He went to the table, for lack of anything better to do, and sat to watch her work. “I visited the Cathar villages when I was young to learn my people’s customs. It was...enlightening.” The planet stank, carrying the constant odor of fetid swamps and decay. Though the Republic claimed to be rebuilding, Aric knew that it was a lost cause. The planet had been slagged into ruin, and no amount of PR would restore it to its former glory.

Fynta nodded, concentrating on her work instead of him. Aric took the privacy to remove the heavier pieces of his armor since they would be in transit for several hours. He'd just removed his outer robe when Fynta spoke. "How was it?"

“The people were welcoming,” Aric continued while he tried to discern if he felt comfortable enough in Fynta's presence to change completely. Now that they weren’t at each other’s throats, Fynta and Aric had slipped back into the confusing comradery from before. He found the woman easy to talk to, and probably said too much in the process.

Aric decided that he'd shed enough armor for the time being and settled back in the chair next to Fynta's work table. “They treated me like one of their own. When my master and I left a year later, I understood my heritage and was proud to call myself Cathar.”

“Do you know who your parents are or where you're from?” Aric followed the line of Fynta’s reasoning easily enough. He’d thought it himself when he was younger. Maybe his master had taken him to that village because his parents lived there. Aric had spent the first week searching for traces of himself in every face until he gathered the courage to ask his master where he was born.

Shaking his head, Aric smiled at fond memories of his master's gentle explanation. “Rendili. My parents worked in the shipyards.” Fynta lifted one shoulder, and Aric expected her to say something about how odd it must be not remembering where he was from, but she didn’t. For once, the feisty Sith showed an ounce of decorum.

After fidgeting in silence, Fynta sighed. “My clan is on Taris. Well, parts of it.” Her declaration sucked the warmth from the room. Aric’s skin flushed with anger at the thought of a Mandalorian clan being so close to his people. Fynta’s eyes widened, likely catching the shift in Aric’s temperament, and held up both hands. “They aren’t hunting. Well, they are, but not Cathar. It’s some errand for the Empire and a touch of personal business of the Mand’alor’s, that’s all I know.”

Aric forced his voice to remain calm when he spoke. “Is that what your brother wanted you there for?” Fynta nodded and returned to poking at the items on her work table. Aric wasn’t prepared to let the topic drop. “Why tell me?”

“From what I could tell, it’s important to Verin.” Fynta’s lower lip caught between her teeth, an endearing image that Aric refused to be swayed by. “Since we’re going there anyway…” Her explanation trailed off with no hint that she planned to resume.

Then, without warning, Fynta turned to Aric. “Look, I can’t leave you on my ship, and I can’t take you with me. Not unless we can conceal your identity somehow. They aren’t  hunting  Cathar, but I don’t know how some of the old soldiers would react. It’s bad enough that  I’m  going.”

Aric folded his arms and studied his Sith companion. “What did you have in mind?” While he didn’t savor the idea of walking into a Mandalorian camp, the amount of intel he could glean would be priceless once he returned to the Order.

The twitch at the corner of Fynta’s lips settled like a rock in Aric’s stomach. “A helmet.”

It took a solid five seconds for Aric to understand what Fynta meant. This time, Aric didn’t bother to calm his agitation before speaking. “No fucking way.” The idea of sliding that T-shaped visor over his head made Aric sick to his stomach. His lips curled back to expose his teeth again to make sure that Fynta understood where he stood. He’d walk bare-faced into the camp of his enemy in full Jedi regalia before donning the ornamentation of a Mandalorian.

Rolling her eyes, Fynta threw both hands into the air. “Look, Clan Ordo has good people, but they crawled back to the Empire after the Wars. I can’t guarantee your safety if you walk in there snarling at everyone you see. Not many Cathar run with our side, so you’d be under instant suspicion unless you crushed a few throats, and—”

“I could do that,” Aric offered absently. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, hadn’t even realized that he did until Fynta replied with a deadpan stare. After a moment of consideration, Aric nodded. “Your clan was destroyed by that mad man you call a leader, so why not?”

“Because Ordo was one of the few clans willing to take in the orphaned children of traitors,” Fynta answered in a calm that belied the turmoil Aric felt inside of her. Waves of bitter resentment rolled off of her, black against the brightness that normally surrounded the woman.

“Right,” Aric answered. “Then, they sold you to the Sith.”

Aric should have expected violence, but the solid weight against his left cheek, and the sudden ringing in his ears, came as a surprise. When he blinked away the tears, rage boiled from Fynta, and she stood so close that he could see darker hints of blue behind the unnatural brightness in her eyes. “At least my family struggled with the choice. Did yours?”

The familiar, hollow weight of uncertainty tightened Aric’s chest. He had wondered, from time to time, if his parents thought of him. Did he have brothers or sisters, and had they been born with the ability to touch the living Force as well? Though Aric was practiced in schooling his features, some of his emotions must have leaked through. Fynta took a step back and heaved a shuddering breath. “I think that’s enough bonding for one evening.”

“Agreed,” Aric managed in a gruff answer that sounded normal enough. He let out a slow breath. “I’ll visit the local Cathar village while you tend to your family responsibilities. We’ll meet on neutral ground with any pertinent information.”

“Fine.” Fynta spun on her heel and stalked away, the air cooling with her departure.

Running a hand down his face, Aric went to his bunk to meditate. Though he had enjoyed his time on Taris as a Padawan, it had been destroyed by the malice that still clung to the surface. If Ucevi and Fynta were right about Darth Nox’s power, Taris would be the perfect place to draw from the Dark Side. Closing his eyes, Aric focused inward and tried to find peace.

The Shershoy Orbit around Taris Two Hours Later

Fynta scrubbed at a stain on her leg plate that had been there for years. It was less of a need to remove the spot, than an exercise in not strangling her companion. What Master Jorgan lacked in subterfuge, he made up for in righteous fury and biased truth. He was a Jedi, like all the other pompous do-gooders in the galaxy; except when he wasn’t.

There had been moments on this journey where Fynta genuinely enjoyed the grumpy shabuir’s company. Aric made her laugh and entertained her humor in turn, though less willingly at times. Still, the man had a knack for pressing the wrong buttons. If Master Jorgan had a single gift in the Force, it was to annoy the osik out of her.

Fynta dropped the soiled rag onto her pile of armor and closed her eyes. She could always sense Aric now. He was a constant in the corner of her mind, tucked away where she couldn’t reach him unless he wanted, but present nonetheless. Aric sat in his bunk, a cool serenity that draped anxiety and honor like a blanket.

For all her poking, Fynta had yet to unleash the Cathar’s rage. He’d been more frightened by the appearance of the buy’ce, lashing out before anyone else could. Fynta knew that fury simmered beneath the surface. He didn’t banish it, but somehow, Aric managed not to feed off it. Fynta’s mind turned towards how she could use that untapped power to her advantage. If she could find a way to control it, they might be able to—

Hissing, Fynta tossed away the leg plate so that it joined the other pieces. That was Nox’s way of thinking. Even after all these years out of his service, Fynta couldn’t shake the chakaar’s teachings. Find a tool, use it until it is no longer useful, then find another until the job was done. How many lives had Fynta destroyed by twisting them with honeyed words and subtle manipulations? Not just those who died, but the ones who had to live with the consequences of choices  she’d forced them to make.

“That’s why you work for Grandmother, now,” Fynta muttered to the still air of her ship. Ucevi was Fynta’s penance, a way to pay back to the galaxy a little of what she’d taken from it.

With hands on her hips, Fynta blew out a breath and imagined all her sins going with it. She was Mando’ade, they did not seek retribution for the actions taken during war. That didn’t mean that she couldn’t do some good with what was left of her life, though. Having reached the same conclusion that she always did during these quiet moments, Fynta started the caf maker.

“We don’t dwell on the past,” Fynta told the machine, then added another scoop so that there would be enough for two cups. It burbled in agreement, and Fynta left the device to its task. If she could just kill Nox, that would make her feel a lot better about herself.

Calmer, Fynta walked into the room where Aric sat on his bed, legs folded and eyes closed. He'd changed into the military fatigues from earlier, and Fynta eased onto her bed to watch the rise and fall of his chest. He looked at peace, which is probably why she’d never been good at the meditation part of wielding the Force.

The caf maker chimed, and Aric’s ears twitched. Fynta watched the Cathar inhale deeply, then sniff the air. Finally, his eyes opened. “Caf?”

Fynta chuckled. “I assume you want some?”

Aric answered in a yawn, then rubbed his face with one hand. “How long until Taris?”

“Just waiting on landing permissions.” Fynta didn’t move from her spot, watching the way Aric’s muscles relaxed into his posture, how the stress from their earlier disagreement had faded. “Does meditation actually work?”

The Cathar blinked at Fynta, then down at the hands resting in his lap. “I guess. Never thought about it. Meditation is something all Jedi are expected to master as Padawans.” When his gaze drifted up, Fynta felt the weight of it. “Sith don't meditate?”

“Of course.” Fynta waved a hand and found a reason to look somewhere other than at Aric. “I believe I’ve already explained that I was a terrible student. Never could get the hang of sitting still that long.”

The low rumble sent a chill up Fynta’s spine, and she cut her eyes back to Aric. It had almost sounded like a laugh, but the man’s mouth never opened. Pulling her legs into a position to match Aric’s, Fynta offered a bemused stare. “Tell me your secret, Jedi. What makes meditation so important?”

“It calms the mind,” Aric answered with the immediacy of indoctrination. Then, his lips quirked into a smile. “Something you might benefit from.”

Fynta knew that Aric was referring to their brief encounter on Rishi, where she’d dropped her defenses with enough speed that he toppled into her thoughts. It had been a childish thing to do, a way to scare him away. The damn Cathar had only become more determined to join her on the quest to kill Nox. Now that they were well into the journey, Fynta was glad that he had.

“Okay, so what do you think about when you meditate?” Fynta straightened her spine and propped her hands in her lap. “Teach me your ways, oh wise one.”

Aric’s scowl didn’t budge, but he did answer Fynta’s question. “The goal is to clear the mind. Don’t  think of anything, but reach for peace in the moment.”

“Peace is a lie,” Fynta quoted, though her joke only earned an eye roll from the Jedi. She cleared her throat and beat down her urge to poke fun at him. “Sorry, what do you do with this peace once you find it?”

Instead of answering Fynta, Aric closed his eyes. “Do as I do and listen to my breathing.”

Fynta obeyed, schooling her features to match Aric’s and expanding her senses to reach him. Each breath drew longer, and Fynta felt her muscles relaxing. The galaxy gradually drifted away, leaving Fynta weightless with only Aric’s presence as an anchor. She felt the air in his lungs as if it was her own, the stretch and relaxation of each muscle with the effort. Cool serenity surrounded Fynta, and it sparked a memory of the pool she and Theron had discovered on Rishi. They’d decided to bathe and wash their clothes, then one thing had led to another and—

Aric snarled. “Damn it, woman.”

Fynta realized her mistake too late and peeked one eye open to find the Cathar glaring at her. “My bad.”

Unfolding himself, Aric shoved from his bunk. “I can see why you never mastered the art of meditation. Your thoughts are like a herd of manka cats.”

“Yeah,” Fynta agreed. There was no denying the truth, but at least she'd tried. Slapping her hands on her thighs, Fynta pushed herself upright and headed for the other room. “It was worth a shot, how about that caf?”

Aric followed, but Fynta felt his discontent rippling through the Force. He wasn’t going to let it drop, she could tell. “You really have no shame, do you?”

Fynta stopped at the caf maker and glanced over her shoulder while she collected two metal mugs from the locking cabinet. “Why does it bother you so much?” If she’d been a Jedi, perhaps his aggravation would be warranted. But, Fynta was a Sith; her behavior was expected.

Aric’s mouth fell open wide enough to display the tips of his teeth, then it snapped shut with a scowl. “You’re kidding, right?”

Shrugging, Fynta poured a mug of caf. “It was the right time and place.” She added sugar, then turned to face Aric with her mug pressed between her palms. “Are you saying that you’ve never slept with someone you shouldn’t have?”

“Of course not,” Aric snapped, then growled. “I mean—that’s none of your business.”

Fynta chuckled and nudged the other mug towards the Cathar. It might be a peace offering, or simply a way to divert his disapproving gaze somewhere other than at her. She slid down the table and waited for Aric to give in to his desire for caffeine. Once he was distracted, Fynta lifted the mug to her lips and spoke over the rim. “Assuming that you’re not still a virgin, what  is your type, Master Jedi?”

“We’re  not having this conversation.” Aric poured the caf, then lifted it without additives. For some reason, it didn’t surprise her that the Cathar drank it black. She preferred the sweetness to mask the bitter taste, something that Ucevi often declared to be a travesty.

“I’m thinking a nice girl,” Fynta answered for Aric. His face took on the droll expression that he wore any time she teased him, and Fynta continued. “Someone with a boring desk job, but a bit wild behind closed doors. Maybe a damsel in need of a hero, am I close?”

Aric snorted, and Fynta’s brow twitched upward. He tried to cover the slip by examining the caf, as if it were the cause of his distaste. Fynta grinned and the blatant rebuff and pressed harder. “Okay, so not a good girl. Maybe you like a woman who can throw you on the bed and have her way with you. What about—”

“Enough,” Aric snarled, his mug slamming against the counter hard enough to slosh hot liquid onto his hand. He didn’t seem to notice, and Fynta was amazed that the tin wasn’t bent.

Unable to leave well enough alone, Fynta slid closer, her hip propped against the counter while she looked up through her lashes into pale eyes that flashed with annoyance. “What about me, Jedi. What do you think my type is?”

“SIS agents,” Aric answered with more venom than Fynta expected. He stalked close enough that his breath ruffled her bangs when he spoke. “Dishonest rogues who fuck their way across the galaxy because they are incapable of deeper commitment.”

Fynta snorted a laugh and felt the rumble of Aric’s anger in the scant space between them. “You’d preach to me about commitment? A Jedi of the Order who believes that personal attachment is the way to the Dark Side?” She set her mug down with more care than he had and pressed a finger into the thin fabric of his shirt. There was a moment’s distraction when the flesh beneath didn’t give to her prodding, but Fynta recovered. “By your Order’s standard, I’m more Jedi than you.”

A strange expression pulled at the markings on Aric’s face. The tightness in his features relaxed, and he stepped away from Fynta to clean up the mess from his spilled caf. “This is a pointless conversation.”

Fynta felt the tug of resentment, but she wasn’t sure if it originated with her or Aric. Something about her statement struck a long-buried chord with one of them, and given that Fynta felt no shame for her choice of bed partners, it had to be from Aric. Maybe he had wanted a family. What was it like for a Cathar to be told that he’d never find his life mate or produce the offspring that his species needed for survival?

Sighing, Fynta placed a hand on Aric’s arm. He tensed, but didn’t pull away. “Sorry, Jedi. My mouth runs away with me, sometimes. I was only teasing.” Aric nodded, but he didn’t look at her. Fynta wanted to clear the air, but he’d shut her out. The cold between them felt different than before.

The navigation system chirped, and Fynta gave up on mending nonexistent fences with her Jedi companion. She activated the comm with directions to a landing pad. “Received. Thanks Ground Control, we’ll see you soon.”

Taris Spaceport Cantina

The air smelled of mildew and piss when Fynta stepped off the ship. Wrinkling her nose, she glanced at Aric to see if the fetid stench affected him at all. The Cathar remained stoic, refusing to meet her gaze. He hadn’t spoken since their last argument, and Fynta sighed inwardly at how frustratingly common those had become. They were either at each other's throats or enjoying companionable conversation with no room in between.

“See you in a few hours,” Fynta called as she turned towards the cantina. They’d exchanged comm frequencies before Nar Shaddaa, and she’d briefly considered giving Aric access to her ship before discarding the thought. He was an honest man as far as Fynta could tell, but she wouldn’t be the fool who trusted first.

Aric rumbled an unintelligible response, and Fynta didn’t ask him to clarify. She felt him moving away, taking the crisp clarity of patriotism with him. Master Jorgan was one of the rare creatures in this galaxy who knew why he fought. The rest of them were just trying to survive.

Once Fynta was sure that Aric hadn’t doubled back to follow her, she ducked into the cantina and was immediately assaulted by familiar adoration. “Fyn’ika!” Verin’s arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling Fynta into a fierce hug that would have hurt if not for the ability to offset his brute strength with her own. Verin spun Fynta around to face him and held her by the shoulders with a wide grin. “Glad you made it.”

“Yeah, me too.” Fynta mimed supporting her bruised ribs, but Verin slapped her on the back and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. He chattered about his youngest's latest antics, which involved degreaser and shaving her twin's head.

Torian waited at a table in the corner. A set of Twi’leks danced next to the alcove, but he ignored them. Verin winked and slipped the women a few cred sticks to move their party elsewhere. He sighed while Fynta slid into the booth. “I keep trying to get the man laid, but he refuses.”

“I don’t pay,” Torian deadpanned, then propped his elbows on the table and looked at Fynta. “Thanks for coming, means a lot.”

“You don’t have to do this.” Fynta knew by the wave of resentment rolling off Torian that it was a useless argument, but she couldn’t help herself.

Both of Torian’s brows lifted in Verin’s direction, and he held up his hands. “Not me, vod. All I said was that we needed help on a hunt.”

“And, that it would help your status in the clan.” Fynta typed her order into the system, lamenting the lack of proper booze, and settling for a tumbler of whiskey. “My employer has access to all sorts of interesting lists. It didn’t take much digging to figure out why you’re here.”

“He needs to pay for what he did,” Torian argued, a hint of a growl sliding into his voice. Fynta had always known the man to be even-tempered, even with the hazing they put up with as kids. Torian was always the first to call for peace before fighting amongst themselves. Unfortunately for him, his closest allies were the Wolfe siblings, who were belligerent on their best days.

Fynta accepted her drink from the server droid and motioned to put it on Verin’s tab. Her brother snorted, but Torian interrupted any attempts to argue. “He got everyone killed. If he’d just—”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Fynta added while she sipped her drink. It wasn’t bad, impressive given the state that the Empire had left Taris in. She set it down and pinned Torian with a sinister glare. “I was there that night, remember? Verin and I barely got out. All I’m saying is that wanting to kill your buir, and actually pulling the trigger, are two different things.”

“Can you find him or not?” Torian returned Fynta’s challenge with a ferocity that she’d never seen in him. Anger aged her old friend, making Torian look more than the single year he had on Fynta. She brushed his thoughts and found them roiling like a storm on the Kaminoan seas.

Sighing, Fynta took another swig of her drink. “I’ve got something to handle first, but if you can be patient, I’m sure that I can—” Fynta’s comm buzzed, and all three turned their attention to where it sat on her hip.

Fynta unhooked the device and set it on the table. “I’m a bit busy right now, what’s—”

“The village was overrun,” Aric interrupted, then cursed. Fynta heard the ionic sizzle of his lightsaber as it cut through flesh, followed by inhuman screeches that turned her blood cold. “I could use some backup. Shit. I’m at the Endar Spire.”

The call ended, and for the space of two heartbeats, no one spoke. Finally, Verin broke the silence. “Who was that?”

“My partner,” Fynta answered, already shoving her brother off his end of the circular booth. “I need to get there.”

Verin stumbled out of Fynta’s way, only speaking after he’d righted himself. “I hate to break it to you, vod’ika, but those were rakghouls. I’d stake my oldest child on it.”

“He’s right.” Torian grabbed his helmet from the table and slipped it over his head. “You’ll need help finding him, and treatment if he’s been bitten.”

Fynta glanced at the man out of the corner of her eye, and his helmet dipped once. “Clan Fett stole a shipment of experimental vaccines from some Republic scientists last month. If administered fast enough, it negates the transformation. What do you say, me'dinuir?”

“You help me find Aric, and in return, I help you kill your dad?” Fynta waited for Torian to answer with another nod before gripping his forearm. “Damn you, Cadera.”

Verin slipped his helmet on, then clapped both of them on the shoulder. “All right, now we’re talking. So, who is Aric?”

It took less than ten minutes to steal a speeder. All the while, Verin complained. “You’re serious. A fierfeking Cathar? And he’s a Sith? And, of course, you just  had to fall into bed with him.”

Fynta rolled her eyes and peeled off down a path worn by local traffic. The Endar Spire had once been an impressive ship. Now, it was spare parts and shanty homes for the displaced populaces trying to stake claim to a portion of the dying world. “You told me that I needed to find something more stable than hourly rates.”

Verin’s growl would have rivaled Aric’s if Torian hadn’t cut him off. “Talking the clan into treating him should be interesting.”

“We can’t take a Cathar back,” Verin protested. Fynta slowed her speeder and tried Aric’s frequency again. She’d had the forethought to retrieve her helmet from the ship so that she could multitask on the go. Again, the Cathar didn’t answer.

“Have to,” Torian answered. “We shook on it.”

Fynta left the discussion of clan politics to the disembodied voices of her brother and childhood friend while she reached for Aric. Breath slowing, Fynta closed her eyes and let the Force guide her. It was like when she'd sped through the dense underbrush of Rishi, missing trees trunks and gnarled vines by inches. This time, she searched for that calming balm that had become Aric's identification in the Force.

A breath of fresh air touched Fynta's mind a second before the comm icon flashed in her HUD. She answered it without warning the others that they’d be muted. “Where are you?”

“Holed up in a piece of the wreckage.” Aric hissed, and his breathing rattled in an unpleasant way. Fynta’s stomach shrank. She’d forgotten to ask Torian how quickly that serum needed to be administered in the case of infection. “I can feel you.”

Sighing with relief, Fynta brought her speeder to a stop and expanded her senses until even the smallest tadpole in the swamp tickled the back of her mind. Unwavering ice beckoned from the east, and Fynta smiled. “I’ve got you, are you wounded?” She kicked her speeder into gear and set a beacon for Verin to follow.

“Not sure how bad,” Aric coughed, then groaned. “I’m bleeding, but I can’t get to it. Feels like my body’s on fire.”

“Hang in there, I’m close.” Fynta didn’t close the line, but got confirmation from both Torian and Verin that they had her position and were moving to intercept. She listened to Aric’s breathing, concerned by the rasp that entered it. Every few seconds, it was punctuated by a shaky exhale that made her shiver. Fynta knew what she’d find when she got there, and she hoped that Torian was right about this miracle cure.

Aric’s presence shone like a star in Fynta’s mind when she reached his hideout. She kicked the speeder bike to a stop and hopped off before the brakes had fully engaged. He’d wedged himself into a gouge roughly four meters off the ground. Fynta pulled herself inside and found him slumped against the back wall.

“You still alive?” Fynta crawled to Aric and lifted his chin to take his pulse. The Cathar’s eyes snapped open, wide with terror. Fynta didn’t consider him a threat, so the sound of his claws raking down her faceplate made her fall back on her ass. Too late, she remembered his earlier reaction to her father’s buy’ce and yanked her helmet off. “It’s me, Aric.”

The Cathar sagged against the wall, but his breathing didn’t settle. Fynta inched closer, pressing her hand to his forehead. “Well, at least that’s one question answered. Where are you hurt?”

When Aric shifted to bare his side, a shiver wracked his body. Fynta felt the heat radiating off him from where she perched and silently willed Verin and Torian hurry. In the darkness, it was hard to tell the extent of his injury, but there was no mistaking the stench of dried blood and pain laced breath. “Can you move?”

Aric shook his head. “Took everything I had to get in here.” Fynta avoided asking him what had happened. That conversation could wait until later, if it ever came up. He’d said that the village was overrun, so what did that mean for the inhabitants? Had one of the elders who taught Aric the value of his culture been among the creatures who attacked him?

Fynta noted the angle of Aric’s head and popped his cheek. “Oh, no you don’t, Jedi.” She took Aric’s jaw in hand and lifted his chin until they stared into one another’s eyes. “You’ve got to stay awake, do you understand?”

Aric blinked, his focus faltering again. “Why?” When Fynta leaned back, his gaze turned hard “Wouldn’t a dead Jedi look better on your record?”

Sighing, Fynta wedged herself between Aric and the wall so that they braced one another upright. “Not if I’m not the one who did the deed.” She gestured to Aric’s huddled form as another shudder wracked his body. “Besides, Ucevi would never let me hear the end of it.”

Aric’s surprised laughter morphed into a hacking cough that ended in a groan. He struggled to catch his breath, eyes squeezed shut and fingers curled into fists around the torn fabric of his robe. Fynta remained at his side, quiet until the bout passed.

“Talk to me,” Fynta encouraged while stretching out her legs. Aric managed an unamused growl, so she changed tactics. “Right, how about I talk to you?”

“About what?” Each word sounded forced, like it was all Aric could do to press the air from his lungs. His back arched, knees raised off the floor as another spell overtook him. Fynta ignored the single tear that leaked from the corner of his eye as he curled in on himself.

Fynta lifted one shoulder. “Ask me anything. Free shot at a Sith.”

Aric’s body finally relaxed, and his head rolled in her direction. Fynta turned to meet his gaze and found him staring at her face, more particularly, the tattoo surrounding her right eye. “Why a target?”

This time, it was Fynta’s laughter that echoed through the small space. “Really?” The corner of Aric’s mouth twitched at her surprise, and she chuckled again. “All of Sith knowledge at your fingertips, and you ask about my cosmetic choices?”

Aric attempted a shrug, then winced and abandoned it. Fynta widened her grin “I’m half-tempted to leave you guessing. I’m sure whatever is going on in your mind is more entertaining than the truth.”

The Cathar leveled Fynta with his best glare, which she was startled to see had lost most of it’s fierceness. She checked the chrono on her comm and willed Verin to move faster. All the while, she painted on a smile for her companion. “Fine, I lost a bet at the Academy.”

“That’s it?” Aric managed to sound indignant before another coughing fit took him. His fists pressed into his thighs, then relaxed when it passed. Finally, his eyes opened to find Fynta. She hoped that he didn’t see pity in them. “A bet?”

Fynta nodded and shifted to find a more comfortable position until Aric groaned. She froze, trying not to jostle him further. “Who knew Sith Bloods could drink so damn much," she added to distract Aric. "Made a fool out of me. Care to share your theory?”

Shrinking deeper into his robe, Aric shook his head. “Not really.”

“Okay, my turn.” Aric’s eyes drifted shut, and Fynta gripped his arm. He startled awake with a curse, claws snagging in his robe. Fynta carried on like she hadn't noticed. “Okay, here’s an easy one, is it true that Jedi are celibate?”

“Come on, Sith. This again?” Fynta smiled at the familiar exasperation in Aric's tone. She waved for him to answer, hoping that this topic would rile him enough to keep him conscious. Aric managed to show his fangs before answering. “You need a new hobby.”

“That’s not a  no ,” Fynta teased. She heard the distant whine of engines, but stopped short of a relieved breath.

Aric rolled his eyes, which looked a little sloppy in Fynta’s opinion. His voice was stronger, but Aric’s hands now rested open in his lap. She thought that was probably a bad sign. “Sex is a natural part of life. We avoid unhealthy attachment. Avoid things like the jealousy or possessiveness that occurs through those relationships.”

Fynta took a moment, mulling over his answer and the specific way he'd worded it. Aric took a deep breath and surrendered more of his weight against Fynta’s shoulder. She kept talking, hoping that a familiar visor would pop up in the opening to their hideout soon. “So, unattached sex is fine so long as it doesn’t mean anything?”

Blinking, Aric opened and shut his mouth, then pressed his lips into a thin line. “That’s two questions, it’s my turn.” Fynta relented, tipping her head to see him better. Aric had started to slide down the wall. “Is it true that Sith are deviants?”

“Absolutely.” Fynta’s immediate answer sparked another coughing fit in the Cathar that she thought might have been intended as a laugh.

Sucking in shallow breaths, Aric bared his teeth. “Damn it, woman.”

“My bad,” Fynta chuckled, then Aric’s eyes rolled back in his head and his body went rigid. Fynta scrambled back to the entrance of their hideaway and flagged Verin and Torian down. When she turned back, Aric had gone completely still.

Fynta squeezed behind Aric and shoved him close enough for Verin to grab his feet. Between the three of them, they managed to get him down and strapped onto her speeder. Neither Torian or Verin commented on his species, but Fynta saw the disapproval in her brother’s posture.

“Follow us to Fett’s camp,” Torian called, kicking on his speeder. Fynta pulled on her helmet and did the same. She felt for Aric’s lifeforce, watching as it shifted in her mind’s eye from cool blues to putrid green. He was changing, and for reasons that Fynta didn’t want to examine, the thought of losing him terrified her.

Taris Clan Fett Temporary Encampment Med-tent

The drone of construction equipment pierced Aric’s muddled thoughts. For a moment, he was back on Tython, watching the Twi’leks repair a damaged portion of their village. Aric wanted to seek vengeance for the lives ruined, but his master had cautioned patience. Without knowing which Flesh Raiders had caused the damage, it would be wrong to attack. They’d need to rely on the evidence collected by the Jedi Council and abide by their findings.

Groaning, Aric blinked once and found only bleary, white light. He tried again, gradually clearing the gunk from his eyes. Before him stood a figure in armor, arms crossed and expression hidden behind the T-shaped visor that had haunted Aric’s childhood dreams.

The swell of panic in Aric’s chest registered on the equipment that he didn't remember being attached to. The figure's helm tilted, and Aric's mind reverted to the Jedi Code on instinct.  There is no emotion, there is peace. He felt the Force swell within him, reminding him that he was not a helpless child, but a Jedi Knight. Steadily, the frantic beeping of the medical equipment calmed.

Swallowing, Aric pinned the figure with a stoic glare. “Where am I?”

“Medcenter,” the modified voice answered. Aric considered tampering with the man’s mind, convincing him that he had better things to do than guard a lone captive. Logic overruled that course when Aric remembered that most Mandalorians were trained to resist such attacks.  

Unfolding his arms, the figure crossed the room to stand at the foot of Aric’s bed. He tensed in preparation for an attack, but the man didn’t exude any more aggression than what Aric would expect from his breed. At least, not until he spoke. “I understand you’re my sister’s latest fling.”

It wasn’t a question, and the accusation caught Aric so off guard that he choked out a half-muddled response. “Your sister’s—” Clamping his mouth shut, Aric extended his awareness beyond himself. The man felt familiar. A sort of chaos that Aric had encountered before, but tightly packed into feelings of honor and loyalty.

“Shit.” Aric realized why he knew that sensation a moment before the man lifted the helmet. Deep, blue eyes glared back at Aric, the same color that Fynta’s must have been before the Dark Side had corrupted her.

Aric growled and wiped a hand down his face. “You must be Verin.”

The man’s brows shot up. His hair was darker than Fynta’s, closer to brown than the sandy blonde that matched their skin tone. “She talked about me?”

Aric nodded, only realizing after his hand dropped back into his lap that he wasn’t cuffed. “Once or twice.” He reminded himself not to mention that he’d been in the room when the siblings last spoke, or that Fynta had told him how they came to be in Clan Ordo. “Where is your sister?”

Verin ignored Aric’s question in favor of his own. “You knew that she was Mando’ade, and shacked up with her anyway?” The man chuckled and hooked his thumbs into his belt. “Shab, that takes get’se.”

“I—” Aric paused before refuting Verin’s claim.  Sleeping with her? He and Fynta could barely share a mug of caf without sniping at one another. Why would the infuriating woman’s brother think that it had gone further than that? Deciding to play along, Aric moderated his tone. “I did.”

Verin opened his mouth to say more, then staggered to the side when a smaller form shoved into the room. The fitted armor didn't disguise the fact that she was a woman. He had a vague memory of the helmet, though not from where. It was the same shape as the one Verin wore, but painted red and black to match the beskar weave that Fynta had explained for Aric on the ship.

Flapping her hands at the man, Fynta pulled the helmet free. “Be gone, foul human.”

Snorting, Verin popped Fynta on the back of the head. Aric was struck by the domestic surrealness of the moment. He’s seen such behavior at a distance, even envied it in the rare moments where he allowed himself such feelings, but witnessing the sibling bond it up close started an ache that felt like it burrowed into Aric’s soul. When the ache grew stronger, he gasped and clutched at his chest. Fynta appeared by his side, massaging the back of his neck and reminding him to breathe.

When the moment passed, Verin folded his arms. “You were nearly gone by the time we got you here. The doc wasn’t sure how the treatment would work on your species since it's mostly been tested on the local human population. He said to expect some muscle spasms and random pains, along with dizziness, nausea, and a slew of other nasty side effects that they probably haven’t thought of yet.”

With Verin’s warning, Aric’s situation slammed into him. He’d been attacked by rakghouls, started the mutation process, and awoken in a Mandalorian medcenter. Were his position not precarious enough, he was also supposed to be sleeping with his mortal enemy, a woman as unhinged as any he’d met.

“I’m fine,” Aric breathed, leaning back to put some space between him and Fynta. “Just need to catch my breath.”

“Look,” Verin started, dragging the word out while he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to be a  complete  bastard, but we need to move your boyfriend. He’s starting to draw a crowd, and our clan doesn’t need that kind of heat on it.”

Fynta leaned closer to Aric, blocking him from Verin’s view. Her eyes widened as if trying to convey some secret, but Aric’s thoughts were still too foggy from the drugs to comprehend. At least, until her lips pressed against his. When Aric tried to push her away, his arms wouldn’t move. Fynta’s threads had ensnared him, trapping his body in place. A warning snarl rumbled in Aric's throat when Fynta's tongue brushed his still closed lips.

Verin cleared his throat. “Alright, break it up.” Aric heard the nervous chuckle in the man’s voice even over the thundering of his heart.

Pulling back, Fynta’s brows knit together as if she was a concerned lover in truth. Then, she brushed her hands tenderly over Aric's face and scalp. “Think you can move?”

“Yeah,” Aric croaked, then coughed out the rest of his response around a spasm in his throat muscles. “Give me a second to get dressed.”

“While we wait,” Verin opened the door and held his hand out for Fynta. “You and I need to have a chat. Oh, your armor’s on that chair, Sith.”

Aric waited for the two to step outside, then sighed when they didn’t close the door. That had been the second time that he'd been confused for a Sith. It begged the question of if his essence in the Force wasn’t as pure as he thought, or if the inhabitants of the Empire simply assumed that only a Sith could make it so far.

Lowering his bare feet to the floor, Aric willed his shaky legs to carry him to his armor. Thankfully, the medics hadn't stripped him completely. All Aric needed to do was find the energy to drag on the rest.

“Is it done?” Verin’s voice reached Aric as he fastened his pants. The man’s whispered concern made Aric take a step closer to the door.

“It is,” Fynta answered, her tone set at a conspiratory volume. “Clan Cadera’s honor is restored, and I completed my mission. Mind creating a distraction while I get Aric out? We’ve got to leave immediately.”

Silence followed, but Aric noted a marked uptick in stress scent from the hallway. He slid on the final boot and propped himself against the bed to avoid falling over. Finally, Verin spoke again. “How bad are you in it this time, Fyn’ika?”

“If I pull this off, I’m free.” The desperation that Aric heard in those last words gave him pause. Fynta’s personality could fill a planet, and he often forgot that she knew what it was like to live under someone’s boot. Killing Nox wasn’t only about revenge; it was survival.

Verin sighed. “If you need me—”

“I’ll call,” Fynta promised, and Aric looked away a moment before she walked through the door. He wasn’t sure how much Fynta knew about his species' abilities outside of the Force, but he didn’t want it to be obvious that he had been eavesdropping. Aric swallowed the instinct to question Fynta about their mission's completion and straightened to meet her.

“Ready to go?” Fynta's smile looked too wide to be genuine, but Aric let it go. He also kept his presence in the Force wrapped tightly around himself. With his diminished mental capacity, there was no telling what sort of havoc Fynta could wreak if she sensed a weakness.

Nodding, Aric took a step and stumbled. Fynta was under his arm before he could hit the floor. She tucked herself against his side, then nodded to her brother. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Sighing, Verin pushed off the wall that he’d been leaning against. He locked eyes with Aric for the space of a breath. “Take care of her.” The implied threat wasn't lost on Aric. Break his sister’s heart, and no doubt the Mandalorian would find a way to break Aric’s knees, Force or not. The urge to laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation was almost too much for Aric to resist.

Thankfully, Verin slid his helmet back into place and strode from the room. Before Aric could ask what that had been about, the lights shut off, bathing the hallways in a sickly yellow glow when the emergency generators kicked on.

Fynta grunted under Aric’s weight and pulled him forward. “Let's get back to the ship. Hey, you can see right?” Aric nodded, then verbalized his answer when he realized that she couldn’t see it. Fynta trudged forward. “Good, don’t let me run us into a wall.”

Taris Spaceport

Aric limped beside Fynta with his arm slung over her shoulders. His left calf still twinged with the after-effects of the vaccine, causing it to give out on him periodically. The Cathar had wanted to reclaim the Republic’s property, but Fynta had pointed out that stealing the medicine was the reason that he remained a grumpy Cathar instead of a slobbering Rakghoul. She could  feel his resentment through their tenuous link, but wasn’t sure if it was over the vaccine, waking up in a Mandalorian camp, or Verin’s accusation of sleeping with her.

“So,” Aric rumbled, and Fynta felt his voice where their sides touched. “That was your brother.”

Fynta hummed in response. She hadn’t meant for the two to meet, but Verin was a crafty old chakaar with the misplaced opinion that he could make up for abandoning her when she was a child by smothering her as an adult. It was sweet that he cared.

At last, Aric gathered the courage to say what Fynta had been dreading. “He didn’t seem to approve of your choice of lover.”

Wincing, Fynta steered Aric down the hallway that led to her ship. “The clan wouldn’t agree to treat you otherwise. You’re welcome.”

When Fynta had called Aric her partner at the cantina, Torian had assumed her concern came from a place of deeper affection than Fynta was capable of. When he'd called Aric her cyare to the Clan Fett medic, Fynta hadn't corrected him. She wasn't sure how to explain that part to Aric, or if she would.

Snorting, Aric huffed out a strained breath. “You pinned me to the table.”

The betrayal in the Cathar’s tone surprised Fynta. She’d thought her mental warning had been enough, and Verin had been asking questions that would have jeopardized Aric's treatment. That kiss seemed like the most logical course of action to accomplish all of her goals.

Bristling, Fynta tugged Aric's arm further around her shoulders to better distribute his weight. “I wouldn’t have needed to if you were a better actor.” When Aric didn't respond, she rolled her eyes. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

Still, the Cathar didn't respond, and Fynta grew annoyed. Her temper mounted when he planted his feet, jerking her back hard enough that she slammed into him. Dropping his arm, Fynta turned on Aric, but her anger died the moment she saw the dull absence in his normally clear eyes. “Fierfek.”

Fynta gauged the distance from their position to her ship. If she hurried, maybe she could get to it before— “It’s sweet, really.”

Fynta’s hand went to her chakram at the same time that Aric unhooked his weapon. He moved with slow precision, his gaze focused ahead even as he took a step towards Fynta. Both blades ignited in unison, the glow of each mixing to create pale blue shadows along the walls. Aric’s stance shifted to match Fynta's.

A tall, thin figure peeled away from the gloom and rested one, clawed glove on Aric’s shoulder. Her face was hidden by the signature mask that Nox’s assassins wore, their identities hidden, even from one another. “Lord Skira, falling for the enemy?” The woman tisked, wagging a finger from her free hand while the other tightened around Aric. “Cliche, but sweet.”

“And the villainous monologue isn’t?” Fynta eased lower into her stance, battle plans forming and being discarded based on the Sith woman's proximity to Aric. If Fynta's attack didn't kill him, she would.

“ He suggested that we extend an invitation for your return.” The woman checked her nails while propping her elbow on Aric’s shoulder. Fynta wasn’t sure of the Sith’s species, only that she had Aric by several inches and a willowy frame that made her look less formidable than she was. “Truthfully, I’m hoping you’ll prove some sport. Please resist.”

Pulling her lips back into a feral grin, Fynta stepped forward. Aric shifted to meet her, his blade arcing in an overhead slash that drove Fynta back. He didn’t pursue her, but fell back to his master’s side. Chuckling, Fynta strengthened her shields and deactivated her blades. “I’m not here for your entertainment, you want the Cathar? He's all yours.”

Fynta hooked a thumb towards her ship and started to turn. She hoped that Aric wasn't conscious enough to hear her betrayal, but it was the only card that Fynta had to play. She felt the woman’s intent a heartbeat before Aric’s blade scorched the air above where her head had been. Fynta spun, both chakram humming to life. He didn’t fall back this time, and Fynta found herself drawn into the same dance that they’d performed on the ship, only this time, the blows were deadly.

One of Aric’s strikes went wide, and Fynta ducked inside his range. Pain exploded in her knuckle joints when she struck Aric’s jaw, but it staggered him enough to see confusion flash through his eyes. Then, they went dull again as the Sith woman reclaimed control. A plan began to form in Fynta's mind until the Sith hissed. “Kill her.”

Aric lunged with a snarl, his face contorted with such hatred that Fynta took a step back. She felt the heat of his lightsaber as it flashed past her cheek. Blood trickled from Aric’s lip where her punch had struck, but he gave no indication of pain. The urge to reach for his mind nearly overwhelmed Fynta when she realized that the only end to this fight meant one of them had to die. If she could reach him…but that also opened a channel into her mind for his captor to exploit.

Fynta deflected another blow, then stumbled away from his claws. Their blades clashed and rebounded, breath falling in sync the way they had on the ship. Her muscles twitched with the warning of fatigue, though Aric appeared immune. Fynta managed a lucky kick to his bad leg that gave her time to spin away, putting distance between them.

“ This  is the fabled strength of the Jedi Order?” The Sith woman snorted. “Pathetic.”

The word had barely left the woman’s lips when Fynta’s body seized. Her chakram clattered from rigid fingers, deactivating when they struck the floor. Blue bolts disrupted her vision, sparking white dots that she tried to shake away. Another jolt dropped Fynta to one knee, helpless before Aric. She growled, pushing against the electricity coursing through her system, but nothing obeyed. Every muscle jerked, and woozy exhaustion pulled at Fynta’s mind.

Fynta reached for her wayward weapons, but Aric’s hand closed around her wrist. Pain splintered up Fynta's arm when he squeezed. The Cathar was stronger than she had known, and her bones ground together under the pressure of his grip. Fynta drove her free elbow into the crook of his arm and fell away when his fingers uncurled. She pivoted on her knee to call for her weapons again.

Blood exploded in Fynta’s mouth when Aric’s knee collided with her nose, then the Cathar knelt on her chest, driving the air from her lungs in a rush. Grey replaced white, crowding around the edges of Fynta’s vision. Strong fingers wrapped her throat, and the universe narrowed to two, brilliant blue eyes.

Taris The Shershoy

Laughter resonated in Aric’s chest. He tugged against his bonds, unaware of the agonized roar until it tore at his throat. The Sith tucked one finger under his chin, surrounding Aric with such an immense pressure of Dark Side energy that he cried out again.

“I appreciate your aid, Master Jedi.” The masked figure tilted its head. “Without you, we would have struggled to deal with that pest.”

Aric jerked his chin away from the pointed claw at the end of the glove. He only remembered snatches; Fynta’s desperate shout, the rage flowing through his veins, and the feel of bone cracking beneath his fingers. Despair settled cold in Aric’s guts when he realized what the Sith meant.

Another chuckle rippled through the air as the Sith read Aric’s expression. “She trusted you. Silly little Sith.”

Aric’s vision blurred, eyes burning the tears that he didn’t understand. The sensation of helpless obedience clung to his mind like a film. Aric did not doubt that this woman could twist him to her will again. Death was his only escape now.

The woman turned her back to Aric, tapping a single, long finger to her chin. "What should we play first, Jedi?"

Aric didn’t see the lightning that arced around his body until the moment it struck the creature in front of him. Where the lean figure of a cloaked Sith had stood, there was a crumpled heap of twitching robes. The stench of charred fabric filled Aric's nose a second later. Then, a guttural scream resolved into the writhing figure on the floor while purple electricity caged the woman.

It happened so quickly that Aric struggled to piece everything into a coherent sequence of events. He twisted in his bonds to see what fresh hell stalked him from beyond the cargo hold of Fynta's ship. Then, relief rushed out of Aric so quickly that he felt dizzy.

Fynta staggered forward, one hand extended towards the Sith threat while her shoulder braced against the wall. Her lips and left eye were swollen, already showing evidence of the bruises that she’d display later. Blood caked her hair, and her other arm hung limp at her side. A crimson smear covered the right half of Fynta's face, but Aric couldn't see the origins of it.

Without looking at Aric, Fynta bared her teeth, shoved away from the wall, and stumbled across the hold. She stopped above the still twitching figure and unholstered her Verpine. “This is  my  ship, bitch.” Fynta spit a bloody glob onto the Sith's still smoking robes. "  My Cathar."

The crack of Fynta's blaster hurt Aric’s ears, but it paled in comparison to his relief that she was alive. Finally, the infuriating woman turned towards Aric with a crooked grin that looked grotesque given her condition. “What do we say, Master Jedi?”

Aric’s breath left him in a huff that fell short of a laugh. “You were right?” He should have accepted Ucevi's offer to shield his mind. He should have accepted that he had limitations, and that no one knew better how to fight Sith than other Sith.

"Damn straight I was right." Fynta moved on unsteady legs. She kicked the Sith’s body down the boarding ramp, then slammed her hand against the button that would seal the ship. Now that they were safe, the ache in Aric's shoulders made itself known, and he rattled the cuffs against the exhaust pipe overhead.

Fynta turned at the sound, then appraised Aric with a speculative smirk. “This is a good look for you.”

“Very funny,” Aric muttered. There was a moment when he wondered why he'd been upset by the thought that Fynta had been killed. Then decided that it was because it had been by his hands while not under his control. If he was going to kill the woman, he wanted to mean it.

Aric tapped the cuffs against the bar again. “Mind cutting me down?” The muscles in his torso burned, and his left calf cramped so tightly that he couldn’t feel his toes.

Sighing, Fynta limped to stand in front of Aric, then lifted higher to study his restraints. With their faces so close, Aric could see the deep spit that ran down the woman’s lower lip and the trails still leaking from both nostrils. She smelled of sweat and pain; guilt snuffed out Aric's irritation.

"Fucking bitch," Fynta muttered, then broke Aric's cuffs using the Force. "She used  my  restraints."

Aric shook his hands, then grabbed Fynta’s shoulders when she swayed. Her scalp still oozed blood, but enough had dried around the wound that it wasn’t a major concern. When Aric tried to lift the arm she favored, Fynta pulled away. “Come on, you and I have a date with the medbay.”

Shame gnawed at Aric as he watched Fynta make her way up the stairs at a slower pace than normal. The tips of her hair were burned, and her armor showed new battle scars. He knew that her condition was his doing, but he wasn’t sure how to make amends.

When Aric joined Fynta in the main room, she’d perched on the side of her kolto tub and was attempting to work the zipper on the side of her armor. Aric approached and reached one hand towards her, stopping inches away. “Want some help?”

Without speaking, Fynta lifted her good arm and allowed Aric to unfasten the armored top. They worked in silence, steadily baring more of her skin so that he could see the extent of the damage done. Fynta coughed, then spit more bloody phlegm onto the ship’s flooring. Renewed horror at his weakness almost pulled a snarl of frustration from Aric.

“Stop,” Fynta sighed. She looked as tired as Aric felt. When he didn’t speak, Fynta pushed off her seat and motioned for him to take it. “That was one of Nox’s assassins, you weren’t prepared for her. That’s my fault, I thought he’d start with peons and work his way up, not throw one of his heavy hitters at us straight away.”

Fynta snapped her fingers and pointed again for Aric to sit. He pretended not to see her wince and took the seat. “You knew that she was there?”

“Not her personally,” Fynta admitted as she started to slide the cloak off Aric’s shoulders. He let her, focusing more on the fact that she wouldn’t meet his eyes than her undressing him.

Fynta caught her lower lips between her teeth and sucked the fresh blood from it. Then, Aric understood. “I was bait.”

“I found evidence of recent habitation at Nox’s old haunt.” Fynta felt for the fastens on Aric’s chestplate, and still, he let her. The realization that he’d been used ignited his anger to the point that Aric was afraid that if he moved, he’d strike her. Fynta continued as if she couldn’t feel the fury radiating from him. “The kiss wasn’t just for Verin.”

“Well, it worked.” Aric hadn’t meant it to be a joke, but Fynta croaked out a laugh all the same. Her hiss of pain finally snapped Aric out of his anger, and he stood. “I’ve already been dealt with, just need to let it work. Where are your medical supplies?”

Fynta started to protest until Aric poked the bridge of her swollen nose. She cursed and waved in the general direction of the wall cabinet while carefully wiping tears from her eyes. After some rummaging, Aric found a well-worn and out-of-date medkit. Half of the supplies were missing, but there was enough to make due. He ignored the headache building behind his eyes and returned to Fynta. “You need to restock.”

Instead of the snarky retort, Fynta stared at Aric while he cleaned the blood away from her nose and eyes with an antiseptic wipe. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Aric tilted his head and lifted his brows, waiting for Fynta to continue. She took the cloth from him and sighed. “Next time I need bait, I’ll make sure that you’re in on it.”

Aric released a laugh that he hadn’t meant to allow past his private thoughts. “Thanks for the consideration.” He smeared kolto along the split in Fynta’s bottom lip, cringing when it opened to reveal the extent of the gash. It was clean, likely where the edge of his armored plate had caught her.

Shaking his head, Aric set the kolto aside. “This isn’t enough. You�� we,  need a proper medcenter. Know of anywhere safe?”

Fynta pressed the cloth to her lip, then leaned over to tug up the hem of Aric’s shirt. The marks left by the rakghoul's claws looked as nasty as they felt, to say nothing of the stench. His fur had been shaved, and the  skin beneath had taken on a dull, green shade instead of the grey it should be. A deep ache bloomed in the tissue around it when she touched him.

Fynta grimaced, and Aric pushed the rag to the new spot where her lip had begun to bleed. Looking up, she offered a pitying frown. “You’re not going to like it. Grab my comm off my bunk, would you?”

Aric hesitated before stepping away from Fynta. Even then, he waited to make sure that she wouldn’t fall over. He moved as quickly as his cramped calf would allow to retrieve the comm and returned it to Fynta. She typed in the frequency, wavering enough that Aric put a hand on her shoulder. Unsurprisingly, the Sith Blood Ucevi appeared in Fynta’s palm. “In need of rescue already?” The woman purred with a smirk.

Fynta barked a laugh, then lurched to the side. Aric caught her, but the comm clattered to the floor. Fynta’s head lulled against his shoulder as he bore her full weight. It took a startled heartbeat for him to realize that the woman was unconscious. Meanwhile, Ucevi called from where she’d landed, all semblance of humor gone.

Grunting, Aric lowered himself onto one knee so that he could place Fynta on the floor, then snatched the comm. Ucevi’s eyes were wide when he appeared in front of her. Aric slumped onto his ass beside Fynta and pressed his back against the cabinet to stop the room from spinning. “We need a medcenter.”

[thequeenofthenightgentlyweeps]

The Bucci Gang As Supernatural Beings

*So, I was chatting with @mrsgiovanna about this lovely art ( please, check out the artist and consider giving them a follow! They're insanely good! ), and I came up with these new HCs about the Bucci Gang as paranormal / supernatural beings ( she also helped me with Fugo and Mista ). We hope you like them! ❤❤❤👻👻👻

*WARNING: Mentions of blood, death, violence, and sexual topics

***

Giorno Giovanna

*Giorno is a Vampire!

~ He's not the creepy, kill all humans, kind of Vampire, no. And no, he's not the sparkly type, either! He's just a lonely, centuries - old Vampire ( he is four hundred years old ) who lives at an old, secluded villa in Italy and spends his eternity there blaming himself for being such a vile creature, and most probably for killing innocent people just to feed himself. Occassionally plays piano, too.

~ He's so beautiful! His skin, pale. His eyes, deep red, like the color of blood. His honeyed baritone voice, so hypnotic. His scent, so alluring,... everything about him is made to lure you in! And that's exactly why he thinks he's a monster! A predator who doesn't deserve to live.

~ The only thing he could remember about his mortal life? Someone had turned him into this! He's not always this monster who hides beneath the shell of a beautiful earthly vessel, no! He had a life. He was a Don once, and he was about to be married to his beautiful fianceé. However, he was attacked by something on the night before his wedding. Then, the next day, he wakes up as a newborn Vampire. He couldn't remember anything else. He has searched for that monster for centuries but, he had no such luck.

~ Poor thing has convinced himself over and over that he's a villain, a fiend that must be destroyed. Of course, he has tried ending his own life, he even sunbathed, but nothing seems to work! ( Contrary to some beliefs, the Vampire, like any night creature, can move about by day. Though it is not its natural time, and its powers are weak. Quote directly taken from Van Helsing's phonograph entry about Prince Vlad Of Sagite, circa 1897 ) So, he went out in search of something, anything, that could put him to eternal rest, and that's when he found this powerful group called, Passione. It is rumored to have powerful members with supernatural abilities. That's it! Maybe Passione is the solution to his problem! However, Giorno found out that Passione, indeed, is a group of powerful members with supernatural abilities! Why, it is inhabited by creatures of the night, just like him! What would happen to Giorno now? Would he fight them? Befriend them? Or would they be the key to him finding the enemy behind his curse?!

Bruno Bucciarati

*Bruno is an Incubus!

~ This taste,... is the taste of a Nosferatu, Giorno Giovanna! Oh, you could bet Vampire Giorno and Incubus Bucciarati's first meeting is not a good one. Being born a Demon, an Incubus, to be exact, Bruno Bucciarati feeds on mortals' sexual desires. It gives him sustainance, and keeps him strong. Although he can go a few months without it ( the longest he survived without a meal is three months ), he would never deny fresh meat when one so closely wanders about the vicinity. And, oh boy, he's ridiculously strong! Unlike Vampires, he doesn't need to kill his victims. Needless to say, Giorno, who hasn't fed in a while, has a hard time fighting him.

~ Just like the rest of his kin, Bucciarati's physical body appears so unearthly beautiful to his victims. Yes, everything about him is perfect, and he could bring any mortal to their feet with his bidding. However, the same couldn't be said about his true appearance. Let's just say you wouldn't want to see Bucciarati unveiling his true form right in front of you. You might just wish you were dead than see him in all his demonic ugliness.

~ Although he takes everything when hunger truly strikes, Bucciarati actually has a preference - he adores innocent virgins. Their scent just drives him wild. He would relentlessly stalk his victim and find out everything he can about them. When he gets to know them, he would slowly come to their life, entangling and attaching himself to them like a lover pining for their affection. And when they're finally ensnared by his charm and beauty, his trap would set off. Next thing they know, they are being fed on with no hope of ever escaping.

~ If there's one thing he hates - then those are Vampires. Giorno is a Vampire, so he initially hated him. Yes, they fought, but, eventually, he found out that Giorno doesn't have an insidious intention. He only ever wanted to be free from his own curse. He found out Giorno is very different compared to his barbaric kin who knew nothing else but to slaughter. What would Bucciarati do in this situation? A Vampire, declaring his allegiance to his mortal enemy?

Guido Mista

*Mista is a Summoner!

~ After fixing things with each other, Bucciarati introduced Giorno to his team. And that's when he first met Guido Mista, an ancient Summoner. Now, he can't summon Unicorns, or Dragons, or any mythical beings like that, no. They are way beyond his power and comprehension. What he does summon are Imps, evil little critters that could ruin anyone's life. One could even say these Imps are the cause of half of Naples' death rate.

~ His Imps, which he dotingly calls, Sex Pistols, are very small and mischievous. And they cause Mista enough problems to last a lifetime. They may be small, but they are relentless when they are pursuing their target. First, they'll follow you to your home. Then, they'll purposefully steal your belongings, like your keys, your cellphone, or your wallet, and make it look as if you only misplaced them. Then, they'll start hurting your pets, your children, your loved ones. You would think you are cursed, until you're driven into madness. And that's when they'll deal the final blow.

~ Now, Mista wasn't always the Summoner we know now. He was just a regular mortal back then, living the best life, eating cheese with red wine, flirting with girls, occassionally getting into trouble. However, an incident involving a girl who was being assaulted by a corrupt Lord truly awakened his summoning powers. He wished for power, any kind, that would let him save the girl. The Imps answered to him, and the rest is history.

~ At first, Mista finds Giorno so suspicious. A Vampire who refuses to kill humans? That's funnier than Nosferatu hitting his head on a chandelier when he rises from his coffin! However, this Nosferatu is different. He's only looking for a way to break out of his curse, or die trying. Pssh, so dramatic. He's actually really kind, though! A great chap. However, he looks so familiar, like he's seen him somewhere before,... Maybe Fugo the Witch Doctor knows something that could help this Giorno guy,...

Pannacotta Fugo

*Fugo is a Witch Doctor!

~ And so, Mista leads Giorno to another room in the building. Mista opens the door, and immediately, strong scents began assaulting their nostrils. Followed by an angry voice. "MISTA, DIDN'T I TELL YOU TO KNOCK FIRST?!" This is none other than the resident Apothecarist and Witch Doctor, Pannacotta Fugo. Now, Fugo is normally a mild - mannered man. Normally. During times like this when his privacy gets compromised, he explodes like a bomb and yells at people. Not only because he doesn't want to be disturbed. The concoctions he's brewing are simply too dangerous to anyone who would sniff them, even to himself. So, he wears a special kind of mask to protect himself. But, then, Giorno is a Vampire. He may find the scent of Fugo's potions a bit foul but, other than that, he is unaffected. Naturally, Fugo's curiosity and interest was piqued at their first meeting.

~ Being the intelligent and curious man that he is, Fugo has been making brews and concoctions for the last 100 years. Potions that could kill, potions that could bring luck, both good and bad, potions that could heal all types of sickness, potions that could make anyone fall in love. It was also his knack for mixing different things out of curiosity that led him to his creation of the ultimate concoction - The Elixir Of Immortality, which he accidentally ingested, giving him an unnaturally long life. Fugo wasn't able to replicate the Elixir ever since, no matter how hard he tried.

~ It was also said that Fugo's concoctions were well - known in Naple's Black Market. Many come to him to ask for a special brew but, his creations aren't cheap. "My creations are not for the vulnerable and the faint of heart. Should you proceed with this decision to acquire one, you must be prepared to pay a handsome fee." That being said, Fugo is one of the wealthiest Passione members, next to Bucciarati and Abbacchio.

~ And speaking of the latter devil,... "Huh? I do not know what you're saying. A Vampire who lived more than 400 centuries ago? You must ask Abbacchio. He's older than 400. Maybe he knows something about the monster you are searching for."

Leone Abbacchio

*Abbacchio is a Wish - Granting Demon!

~ Now, don't call him a Genie! He is a far cry from that! Yes, Abbacchio can make all your dreams come true! Fame, fortune, a lover, ANYTHING. However, these wishes come with a price. Your soul, that is. An eldritch ( and very grumpy ) Demon who also hides in the guise of a beautiful mortal skin just like Bucciarati, Abbacchio has lived for a millennia, and over those years he is active, he has acquired more souls than you could ever imagine. Souls of Anne Boleyn, Marie Antoinette, Nostradamus, Niccolò Paganini, and many more. All of these souls made a contract with him for a wish, and when he finally fulfilled them, he immediately orchestrates their death, so it would seem as if they were able to enjoy what they obtained from him. Only to find out a month or two later that they would be doomed to serve him for all eternity.

~ He is also the oldest member of Passione, and because of this, other lesser members fear him, except for Bucciarati, of course, who is also a Demon, like him, although a different kind. He also only obeys Bucciarati's orders and nobody else's. Seldomly, that is. Most of the time, he just keeps to himself. He is a cold - hearted monster who only cares about feeding on mortals' souls who are stupid enough to make a contract with a Demon such as him.

~ However, just like Mista, Abbacchio was once a mortal. Legend says he was a Knight who served this long lost Kingdom in Europe where Italy now stood. One night, his King was betrayed, and his partner was brutally murdered. He was captured by the neighboring rival Kingdom and was almost tortured to death. It was then that he abandoned his faith in God and turned into a Demon. He was able to kill all his enemies but, he was cursed to walk the earth for all eternity.

~ And, oh man, he hates Giorno the moment he sees him. Nonetheless, he answers his question. "A Vampire who lived more than 400 years ago,... You must be referring to Dio Brando." He says. Dio Brando?! That's the name of the person who killed Giorno's father, Jonathan Joestar! Dio,... is a Vampire?! "Do not get too cocky, you snievelling brat! Dio Brando is still at large and is currently making a huge army of Zombies to conquer the mortal world. I do not care about the destruction of the human realm, or your damned lineage,... "

Narancia Ghirga

*Narancia is a Poltergeist!

~ "Snivelling brat? Do I look like a snivelling brat to you, huh?!" Says the resident Poltergeist, Narancia Ghirga, who just went through a wall from his own room. Narancia, the ghost of a teenager who died of drowning a hundred years ago, is a very sensitive Ghost who gets easily offended at the word, brat. Maybe it was only his guilt that made him sensitive to the word. After all, his father used to call him that when he was still alive. It's what made him run away from home. A storm passed, and a day later, his lifeless body was found adrift on the Bay of Naples. It was said that the spirit of the mischievous child never left the place.

~ Indeed, he hasn't. Bucciarati adopted this lonely ghost and ever since then, he has become a member of Passione. At first, he was only given the task to scare away anyone who would dare to get close to their secret hideout but, as his powers grew over time, he was given more difficult jobs, like possessing mortals to do bad things or kill others, making furniture and ouija board planchettes move, and playing pranks on innocent people. You might say it's only Narancia's way of having fun but, he is a Poltergeist, after all. Everything he does is like a game to him. A game where only he could win.

~ Narancia is always seen around places with lots of sweets. It was said that he adores snacks and treats when he was still alive, and his favorite holiday is, of course, Halloween. It's where he could truly mingle with the living and play endless pranks without his true nature getting revealed. His ghostly appearance always wins over adults. They find him cute so they give him lots of treats. He brings home his huge stash later on to eat them but, alas, he can't. So he just displays the treats he collected in his room. He's been doing it for many years. Aha, so that's where the rotten smell is coming from. Giorno could smell it from a distance.

~ Narancia is never lonely, though. He and Mista are very close. And he takes a liking to Giorno almost immediately. "Ah, but it must be so nice to live forever with your flesh still attached to your soul. Know what I'm saying?" Narancia says when they leave Abbacchio's room. And that's when they hear a terrible noise coming from the next room. A noise that almost sounded like,... wailing?

Trish Una

*Trish is a Banshee!

~ "Hear me! Hear me! An insurmountable force is heading this way! A fiend with an army to do his bidding,... He is coming! The man you are searching for, Giorno Giovanna! DIO IS COMING,... TO END PASSIONE!" Wails the Banshee named Trish. Now, Trish may be docile at times but, she suddenly bursts out like this to foretell the immediate future, which always happens. She does this on a weekly basis, and ruins the appetite of anyone unlucky enough to listen to her during mealtimes. Trivial things like earthquakes, flooding, the death of a politician, a broken teacup, or a missing pet. Trish would wail about it in all her Banshee glory and shatter everyone's eardrums with it. Thank goodness, she lives with monsters with unbreakable eardrums. The neighbors, though,...

~ Normally, Trish has a very pleasant voice. She actually sings for this recording studio and is considered somewhat of a Pop Star in Italy. However, her nature has prevented her from going into her concerts and doing interviews, live or otherwise. That is why her true identity remains a secret, and only her voice and stage name are known by her fans. She is very fashionable, though, and pretty ( the team thinks it's her own way of making it up for her Bansheeness ).

~ She has been a member of Passione since she was a baby. One day, Bucciarati was about to buy groceries when he opened the door and almost stepped on her. She was abandoned by her parents and he found out the reason why when he brought her in. Why, she started wailing like nobody's business and almost gave Narancia a second death! Nevertheless, he took care of her like a real parent, and Trish grew up believing that Passione is her only family. That is, until she found out the identity of her true parents. One of them, a mysterious man by the name of Diavolo,... But, that is a story for another day. "Huh? Did I just say something?" And yes, Trish immediately forgets what she's just predicted as a Banshee and turns back into her docile self.

***

"Dio, personally coming to end Passione?!" Bucciarati questions upon hearing Trish's prediction. "But, why? We have been in the dark for too long. We never mingle with the affairs of the Vampires!"

"Yeah! Why do we suddenly have to fight that sadistic Vampire?!" Mista, who puts his hand on his head, complains.

"Passione controls all of Italy." Fugo muses. "If Dio destroys us, there would be nothing left to stand between him and the mortals. Italy, no, the entire European continent would be his for the taking!"

"This is your fault, Giorno Giovanna!" Abbacchio growls and grabs Giorno's collar. "If you didn't come here, then this would not have happenned!"

"Maybe it's destiny that led Giorno here." Trish says. "After all this time, he would finally be facing the monster who gave him the curse of Vampirism."

"Then, let him come." Declares Giorno through gritted teeth as he effortlessly swats Abbacchio's hands off him. "I'll be prepared for him. I'll put an end to his tyranny, and destroy the curse that's coursing through my immortal flesh!"

"But, if you destroy your curse, you'll be destroyed, too." Narancia lethargically points out, and he's right.

But, Giorno doesn't care. All he cares about is finally putting an end to his cursed bloodline.

Bucciarati sees Giorno's resolve and puts a reasurring hand on his shoulder. "With you here, things have began to move. Maybe it truly is Passione's destiny to end Dio's reign. I'll help you in your cause to destroy him!"

"Count me in!" Mista says, summoning his Imps. "It'll be problematic if we run out of mortals to bully."

"I can't die again, so I'm in!" Narancia raises his hand. "And he can't have all the candy here!"

"I can predict his movements. I'll help you." Trish offers.

"W - whatever! This is too reckless!" Cries Fugo, retreats back to his room, and shuts the door.

"I don't take orders from you, Bucciarati." Abbacchio points out. "A Demon doesn't. I only take orders from one thing, and that is my own demonic flesh. However, it is only through my own kin that I would truly find rest, and that is with you, Bucciarati. So, I'll help. Do not get cocky, Giorno! I'm not following you!"

And so, Passione has began preparing for Dio's attack, with Giorno and Bucciarati as the leaders,...

Here! Have the Monster Mash theme to set the monster mood 👻👻👻❤❤❤

[thechangeling]

Look

I made an entire story for Bárbara Lightwood and the argentinian instructor Thomas barely mentioned in choi

tis 100% understandable I love it

YES I WANNA HEAR MORE ABOUT HER!

WHILE I WAS READING I WAS THINKING HER SPECIAL INTEREST COULD BE PAINTING!

I love giving minor characters stories SO PLS ID LOVE TO HEAR MORE ABOUT HER IM INVESTED

Ok so Eleanor. I'm guessing she wasn't born and raised in LA, maybe Idris. In an incredibly rigid and strict environment. She was seen as weird from a very young age and people used to give her strange looks or whisper behind her back. Her parents tried to discipline her, to train her out of all of her behaviors that they deemed strange or unwitting for a shadowhunter. She was taught to mask from a very young age.

But despite how much she tried to fit in she was still mocked and ridiculed. She grew up with basically no friends and was cut off from modern society due to Idris being so traditional. Even if she some how was in touch with modern mundane society, autism wasn't even diagnosed in women until the 90s.

She became a chronic people pleasure with simmering resentment and repressed rage which occassionally bubbled over. She had never been a traditional shadowhunter and always preferred painting over fighting. She could spend hours and hours in her studio with supplies she had snuck in from outside.

She moved to La when she turned 18. That's when she met Andrew. She had heard rumors about the man who had been captured by faeries along with his brother and then strangely released. The Blackthorns had a reputation for being untrustworthy. People said they were cursed. Naturally Eleanor was intrigued. She had no sense of self preservation.

And Andrew was nice to her. He complimented her and asked her about her paintings. That was all it took. Just for someone to show the slightest bit of interest. Someone to be kind and talk to her like a person. She found herself addicted to that feeling. So much so that she latched onto him and never let go. And he wasn't always nice or considerate. But it was the best she knew she was going to get. She would be crazy to leave.

They were married quite quickly and she became Eleanor Blackthorn. She lived in the LA institute and had an entire art room all to herself. When she was pregnant with Julian there was a knock on the door and she opened it to find two scraggly, dirty, scared looking children with blond hair and pointed ears.

She found out that the children were Andrew's. Born from a relationship that he had with a Seelie, one of the ladies of the queen's court. She supposed she should be a little upset or even angry. But the relationship had occured before they had even met and Abdrew had no way of knowing their mother was intending on abandoning them.

Besides, what was she going to do? Leave? Who else would want her?

And those poor frightened kids needed her. Helen and Mark were skittish and quiet for awhile, but they began warming up to her after awhile. Her more then Andrew. They stuck together like glue though. Refusing to leave each others side. Mark and Helen even slept in the same bed, for several tears after they arrived.

Eleanor could recognize trauma. She saw it everytime she looked in the mirror. Andrew however was less forgiving. He thought it was ridiculous that they refused to sleep separately. When the baby was born they became obsessed with taking care of it. Helen was always taking Juluan out of his crib to rock and sing to him.

Mark couldn't say Julian very well since he was only 4, so he started calling him Jules and it stuck. Helen and Mark were still very close, especially on account of them being half fae, but they had accepted Jules into their circle quite nicely.

Eleanor wished she could protect them from the harsh words of other shadowhunters, but she had never been able to protect herself and she knew better then anyone how cruel people were. It was good that they could lean on each other.

When the twins were born, at first Ty seemed just like his sister, except for the fact that he cried a lot and fed pretty irregularly. But as he got older Eleanor could see a lot of familiar things in his behavior. And she felt ashamed. She was furious with herself at first for doing this to him, for passing it whatever it was on to him.

But then she thought about how badly things had worked out for her, despite the fact that she tried to follow the rules and people still didnt care. She thought about how exhausted she was of pretending and suppressing, and she thought of how angry and bitter she was. She didnt want that for her child.

Ty was doomed no matter what. Either she forced him to suppress his true nature like her parents did to her and he ended up traumatized and hating himself. Or she could teach him to embrace it, knowing full well that other people wouldn't. Knowing full well that she might be putting him in danger. Shadowhunters didn't take kindly to those who were different.

But it was a option that her parents had never given her and if they had, she knew she would have chosen to be herself. Because this pain? This hallow emptiness?

It was a fate worse then death.

The only thing she could do now was try to make things better for him.

[lady-snow-flower]

Well, what was normal?

In a haunted house, normal was supernatural. Normal meant new ghosts seeking out Snow, hearing rumors of a place where they could rest, before truly moving on. Normal meant that she would take occassional trips out into remote graveyards, to dig up the seeds of her craft. Normal meant that she needed to spin moonlight into thread so she could sew Bones's appendages on.

If that was normal, then yes-- things would be normal. But just as Snow was changed, she imagined the Hauntley was too. She just wasn't sure in what ways yet...entirely.

And so Snow answered as truthfully as she could. "I think as normal as the Hauntley Inn is capable," she said, as she gathered her hair onto one of her shoulders. "Though... I'm sure you're aware, that looks quite a bit different from most bed-and-breakfasts." She breathed in and then out, smiling. "But thank you for all your help. And as for your friends-- all i ask is you don't...mention my name right away. I still have to be very careful, due to my specialty's...reputation."

@labellerose-acheron

Life Is Sweeter || Snowbell

[hamadynes]

Some things to consider...

Ryuji being the only one who can STARTLE full bodied laughter out of Akira, who doubles over with hands over his mouth as he giggles like a helpless gradeschooler. Ryuji has no idea what he said (probably a completely unintentional innuendo) but just enjoys the sound cause it’s so RARE and INFECTIOUS. Not to mention it isn’t at him, it’s BECAUSE of him, which is so different than literally anyone else and Ryuji revels in it.

Akira buys one of the newly mass produced “Leader of the Phantom Thieves” costumes for Halloween but as they’re all traveling around for the day, it keeps getting caught on and in things and Ryuji LOSES IT every single time, has his phone on the ready constantly and will occassionally send one of the pics to the group chat when Akira is being particularly smug about something.

Akira being unknowingly touch starved cause it’s something he never had enough of to know if he liked it or not and learning to slowly accept and return Ryuji’s easy physical affection.

Akira stuffing Ryuji’s locker with chocolate on Valentine’s Day cause honestly eff the haters in his class. He LIGHTS UP like New Years and is insufferable the rest of the week, but it makes his steps lighter and back straighter and, well, worth it.

Akira low key judges the entire track team from afar, but never really says anything about it cause Ryuji doesn’t want him to feel angry about something he’s legitimately let go of... but if they sometimes find used coffee grounds scattered in their lockers, well, Akira never denied being petty okay.

The two of them sprawled across Akita’s couch, texting each other memes and cat videos and manga caps.

Akira is the only one that can break through the angry haze that Ryuji falls into sometimes. He just kinda, reaches out and grabs his arm or shoulder in a vice grip and breaths slow and easy until Ryuji is matching his pattern. Ryuji BEATS HIMSELF UP over it in secret cause he knows what impulsive anger can cause firsthand, feels it burn in his tainted blood, but Akira is so nonchalant about it afterward that forgiving himself gets easier.

Likewise, Akira gets in depressive ruts a lot and Ryuji refuses to let him waste away alone so he goes over to play video games, eat snacks, watch movies, drag him fishing, just be present without walking on eggshells or needing to have a serious discussion. The rest of the PT jump on this too, but Ryuji tends to be the most ON it since they hang out so much already.

Ryuji’s mom freaking loves Akira, like holy crap. They gossip about Ryuji all the time, right in front of him, and Ryuji HATES it... but is also so relieved they get along.

There’s absolutely that ONE TIME Akira lets out a soft “wow, for real?” and Ryuji NEVER lets him live it down.

The Shujin students’ rumors just get worse and worse over time... in part due to Akira and Ryuji both purposefully doing and saying the sketchiest things they can think of in the most public ways possible. Ryuji tries really hard to keep a very serious face to sell it, but just can’t hold it together when Akira shows up one day with a full on body bag slung over his shoulder (Bonus Ann joining in later and Makoto being both exasperated and secretly amused)

They talk about the Boat Incident eventually. It comes up as a joke but soon becomes apparent it bothers Ryuji a lot more than he lets on and Akira is legitimately surprised and quick to apologize and ensure Ryuji knows he never meant to hurt him.

They talk about the Morgana issue too, once Ryuji figures out it does bother Akira that the two most important, integral people in his life happen to have such clashing personalities. They eventually come to a civil agreement that, at the very least, they both love Akira enough to lose an argument every so often.

Although a ton of people text or video chat Akira once he’s back home, Ryuji is one of the only ones that CALLS him one-on-one, just every so often and usually in the evening. Ryuji rants about school, raves about food, and keeps him updated about stuff that doesn’t get sent to the group chat. Akira usually ends up falling asleep partway through, but it’s with such a relaxed smile that Morgana can’t find it in himself to cut off the conversation earlier.

Just... regardless of the way you perceive their relationship, Akira and Ryuji being comfy af around each other and appreciating the other’s presence in their lives cause they’re CANONICALLY BEST FRIENDS.

[alannah-corvaine]

anyway, since a high school AU is apparently go, here's where my OCs fit in:

alannah 》 the nerd. lives in the library, occassionally visits the art and music rooms. can often be found reading in the hallway because she forgets to keep walking. has actually read the textbooks cover to cover. constantly trips and breaks her glasses. always has a full box of tissues on her. usually doesn't speak unless spoken to, but if you direct the conversation to one of her hidden interests she will never stop talking again. has perfect grades, except for PE. never goes on field trips because of her allergies. has had a crush on the same boy since first grade.

khiarna 》 plays every sport the school offers, but somehow isn't a jock. knows everybody, but doesn't talk to anybody except that one tall dude she's dating. if you comment on her height, there is a 97.6% chance you will end up stuffed into a locker. if you mention her twin, who's in a juvenile detention facility, you will also end up in a locker. is secretly in counseling to manage her anger. has never lost a pizza eating contest. volunteers at an animal shelter on the weekends.

brina 》 the girl in the back of the class sharpening her pencils with razor blades. nobody can ever remember hearing her talk, even though she must have at some point. has a reputation as a bad girl even though she's never been anything but a model student. is dating some college dude that nobody's ever seen but everybody's heard of, they're childhood friends. has the unfortunate distinction of having a murdered family, so everybody keeps their distance and nobody talks to her. is a prodigy at the piano.

ean 》 has the worst reputation in school. is constantly starting fights, and always wins. leather jacket, white undershirt, and grungy jeans, regardless of uniform dress code? check. has rock bottom grades, bullies his tutors into doing his homework for him. can't name a single element on the periodic table but knows the cup size of the entire class of freshman girls. encourages rumors that he's banged all the hot teachers. is it true? maybe. is the one always setting off the smoke alarms by lighting up in the bathroom. uses alannah's locker instead of his own because he forgot the combination.

[somuchanemoia]

I wish you would write a fanfic where... Victor finds out exactly how much a fanboy Yuuri is when Hiroko sends Yuuri's 37 posters, 42 prints, 4 folders of limited addition magazines, 3 scrapbooks, 5 Victor Nikiforov (TM) figurines, and old VHS tapes of Victor's performances that Yuuri taped. Yuuri is, obviously, embarrassed, but Victor consoles him. Also, in reply, Victor sends Hiroko a picture of the veritable shrine he has been building of Yuuri, complete with a personalized Yuuri dakimakura.

Aww! Anon! I have been wanting to write this so badly so without further ado…here is a short drabble on this. I will most likely make this into a fuller fic in the near future once Christmas is over since I’ve been busy busy busy.

Once again, sorry for the late response! : ( I kept getting pulled away from my desk while writing this so my sincerest apologies.  - Sam

It had all started when the UPS guy delivered a huge brown cardboard box late one evening to Yuuri and Viktor’s apartment. They had been enjoying a quiet evening in together, snuggling on the couch as the TV played in the background and picking at their boxes of Chinese takeout they had grabbed on the way home from the rink. Makkachin had been curled up at their feet, ready to protect them from anything that could harm her owners and also ready to accept any food that was “accidentally” dropped by Yuuri. Viktor may have been a stickler for dog food, but Yuuri knew that one piece of orange chicken wasn’t going to harm the poodle so he would occasionally indulge her with his “clumsiness”.

Not that Viktor was really all that intimidating as he scolded Yuuri for it in between kisses.

The knock at the door had stirred Makkachin from her sleepy panting and had roused Yuuri and Viktor from their lazy sleepy cuddles.

“I got it.” Viktor hummed as he pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s hair and stood from their tangle of limbs, Makkachin following him to the door to investigate and greet their new visitor, her tongue lolling from her mouth in happiness. Yuuri hummed softly and leaned back on the couch, taking another bite of a Rangoon that Viktor had wanted to try. They weren’t all that bad, but after being to China for competitions and from being from Japan, he missed traditional Asian cuisine and not the rip off type that was often served in other parts of the world.

He could hear his boyfriend taking in rapid Russian just down the hallway, catching a few words here and there, but not really understanding what was being said since he was still learning Russian from Viktor. From what he understood though, it didn’t sound like anything too serious so he continued to stay curled up on Viktor’s comfortable sofa and stare at the TV that had been flipped to some sort of news broadcast that had Japanese subtitles playing at the bottom for Yuuri.

“Mama sent us something.” Was the first thing Viktor said as he came into the room with a large brown box cradled in his arms, Makkachin following behind him happily before she was able to squeeze through the wall and Viktor’s legs and bolt for her new favorite cuddle buddy (at least that is what Viktor had accused her of).

“Oh? It must be that last box of my stuff from home that I asked her to send…” He hummed, “You can just set it down and I’ll unpack it tonight before–”

“It’s for me,” Viktor cooed as he plopped down next to Yuuri and set the box down in front of both of them. He pointed at the label and Yuuri had to nod in agreement, it was for Viktor. But what could his Mama have sent his fiance? What could she have sent and not mentioned to Yuuri at some point? Maybe Viktor had left something in Hatsetsu?

“Any idea what it is?” Yuuri asked as he pulled a pair of scissors from the drawer of the coffee table and handing them to Viktor.

“Your guess is as good as mine, honestly. Can’t be too bad since it’s from Mama.” Yuuri nodded. It probably was something they found in Hatsetsu that Viktor accidentally left behind or something that they saw that reminded them of him.

Viktor opened the box and Yuuri’s face immediately reddened in embarrassment and shame.

“I can’t believe she actually sent them…” Yuuri squeaked to himself as he covered his face with his hands. Viktor was laughing heartily in enjoyment as he was suddenly assaulted with pictures of his face. Pictures upon pictures of him with short and long hair, younger and older, on the ice and off greeted him with small smirks and endearing tight-lipped smiles. He began pulling out multiple pictures of himself that had been sent, looking through all of them and reminiscing about his time in juniors and his beginning years in seniors, much to Yuuri’s horror. Occassionally, he’d remark about the angle being wrong and not getting his good side, easily something Yuuri would dispute, but currently didn’t have the energy for.

“I can’t believe…”

“I wonder where she got all these pictures.” Viktor hummed almost teasingly as he pulled more items from the box, posters of Viktor in varying ages were everywhere, some of them signed and others obviously pulled out of magazines, though they had been loved in the same fashion as the higher end ones.

“This was a good picture of me. I loved being in Colorado.” Viktor hummed as he pointed at a poster of himself standing in the snowy mountain air, gold medal around his neck and National team jacket keeping him warm. His long hair had been frozen in time as it flowed through the breeze, making him look a hero returning from war in a bad action movie. Yuuri blushed even deeper when he remembered some of the things he had done while looking at that particular poster.

“Really great shot…” Yuuri said faintly as he curled up in a ball on the couch in utter shame. Viktor would definitely find him to be a weirdo now. Viktor had known that Yuuri was a fan, of course, but now that ‘Katsuki Yuuri: The Fanboy’ had been taken out of the closet…

“Ooh. Look at these Yuurtshka! Viktor squealed as he pulled out four huge file folders that had been stuffed full with magazines; all the magazines Yuuri had ever collected through his time as a hardcore Viktor Nikiforov stan.

“Oh no,” Yuuri mumbled to himself, “Naze mamadesu ka?“ (Why mama?)

“OH MY GOSH, YUURI! Look!” Viktor suddenly held up a very limited edition magazine that Yuuri had fought to the death for over eBay, “I never even got to read this one! I tried to get it when it came out but someone outbid me on eBay. I was so angry with “viktors-bluest-eyes” for the longest time as a teenager.”

Yuuri felt his eyes widen and his blush deepen. He had apparently been in a bidding war over the internet with Viktor at one point in time for this very magazine. He made a weak sounding squeak as Viktor hummed and continued to riffle through the box off Viktor Nikiforov memorabilia that his Mama had sent.

Time had revealed a collection of Viktor Nikiforov fan merch, a whole set of Victor Nikiforov ™ figurines (all of which Viktor had no idea existed and had proudly set them on the mantle place in their “place of honor”), multiple scrapbooks that he had determinedly flipped through happily, cooing to Yuuri about how well he did formatting pictures by stickers and colorful paper. VHS tape upon VHS tape surfaced as well and by the time Viktor had insisted on taking the tapes to be digitalized Yuuri finally cracked.

Tears flowed down Yuuri’s cheek as he curled up tighter into a ball on the couch.

“Yuurtshka?” Viktor’s voice was soft and tender, unlike the happy squeals he was letting out not even five minutes ago, “What’s wrong sweetheart?”

Yuuri hid his face in his hands as he shook, “This is so embarrassing. You think I’m a freak now, don’t you?”

“No! No, of course not moy sladkiy,” Viktor cooed as he pulled his ball of Yuuri close, “You’re so precious Yuuri.”

“I’m the biggest fanboy ever. I practically stalked your skating career…”

“And that’s so adorable, Yuuri.” Viktor purred as he rocked them back and forth, “You’re so passionate about something and that makes me happy. It makes me even happier that it’s me because I love you so much.”

Yuuri hiccuped, “Why?”

“Well, lots of reasons. You’re so sweet, Yuuri, and so honest. And you’re talented and the way you dance on the ice makes me so inspired. You’re an amazing cook and you have this adorable little laugh. Plus you love animals and–”

“Why do you not find this weird, Viktor?” Yuuri asked as he looked up at him with teary eyes, “You don’t find it weird that the president of your fan club is–”

“You’re “viktors-bluest-eyes”?” Viktor asked with far more enthusiasm than Yuuri expected.

He nodded and let Viktor continue you to squeeze him tight, “Aww! I love “viktors-bluest-eyes”! Even before I met you Yuuri, I followed your blog because you were so sweet and cool and you didn’t like spreading rumors about me. You just let me be who I am and supported me no matter what. And now I get to marry you and–”

“Y-You read my blog?” Yuuri asked softly and gave a watery chuckle at Viktor’s rapid nod. Viktor hummed and chuckled along.

“Well, if you feel like this is your dirty little secret, I might as well come clean too.” Viktor pulled them to their feet and led Yuuri to one of the spare bedrooms that Viktor had dubbed his office. In all his time here in St. Petersburg, Yuuri had never even seen the elder skater in the room. Viktor paused by the door and Yuuri saw his pale cheek light in a gentle blush before he pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s lips and then forehead.

“Welcome to the head quarters of Katsuki Yuuri’s ultimate fanboy.” Viktor hummed as he opened the door and let Yuuri peer in the room. The Japanese skater gasped as he walked in the room, Viktor’s arms wrapped around his waist.

The entire room was a shrine to Yuuri; the walls covered in posters of Yuuri from juniors and seniors. Framed photos of Yuuri sat along the bookshelves of magazines that had been dedicated to him. Figurines of Yuuri sat in glass cases for protection around the room and even an exact replica of one of his skating costumes from his time in Juniors sat in a life save glass case to be preserved.

“Oh my god.” He mumbled as he let his eyes drift around the room, his cheeks burning in shyness, “When…?”

“After I saw you dance that night at the banquet, I knew I was in love with you. I started researching you and, well, I feel down a dark hole.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re so precious Yuuri. You are the most precious bean and you deserve to be preserved.” Viktor hummed as he trailed kisses across Yuuri’s cheek and down his jaw, “moy dragotsennyy bob.”

“Viktor, why in the hell do you have these?” Yuuri asked Viktor who pressed two large personalized Yuuri dakimakura into his fiance’s hands. One was of Yuuri laying spread on his back in his eros costume, his hair slicked back and his brown eyes looking up at him with dripping lust. The other was more PG-rated with Yuuri laying on his side dressed in a pair of his training leggings and a loose t-shirt hanging off his shoulders. His glasses were askew and his hair was mused up from what looked to be sleep; by his head “I love you, my Vicchan” had been written in Cyrillic.

“I miss you when I have to leave you here to go to competitions so I need a Yuuri to cuddle,” Viktor asked as if it was the simplest thing in the world. Yuuri just nodded and held the pillow as Viktor took out his phone and eyed the scene in front of him, “A little to the left Yuuri. I want to make sure she can see the limited edition Yuri on Ice alarm clock.”

Yuuri just snorted but scooted over so Viktor could snap a few pictures of the room for Mama Katsuki. He managed to get a few because then he came to stand by his fiance to take a few selfies. They both smiled at the camera and then on the last shot, Yuuri pressed his lips to Viktor’s cheek lovingly.

It wasn’t that much longer when Hiroko received a whole onslaught of pictures from her future son-in-law of a whole shrine to her baby boy and one picture of the two of them kissing with the caption, “Thank you for allowing me to add to my collection…” at the bottom.

[burmecianblackmage]

Freyr Tyr Skadrson (Goes by “Sceada” only for multiple reasons)

Appearance -

Gender: Male

Race: Burmecian

Height: 6′5′’

Eye Color: Sapphire Blue

Hair Color: Dark Brown

The Facts -

Name Day: February 4th

Occupation: Scholar of Ancient Scripts and Civilizations, Black Mage, occassionally Performer

Sexual identification: Heterosexual

Romantic identification: Shows Polyamorous tendencies, but isn’t sure yet.

Alignment: Neutral Good

Criminal History: Exiled from Burmecia for supposed “High Treason”, several minor thefts of food

Relationship Status: Somewhat complicated, in a relationship with Maria @artemisxbow​ but questioning his own motivations following a visit to a Goddess of Love @thislovelylady​

Sweet on: @artemisxbow​, @dancing-dagger​, @containyourmainposure​, @nymphaxea​ to an extent and also @atieflingwarlock​

Favorites –

Favorite food: Isn’t picky about food, but seems to like cheese a lot, plus some lightly sweet breads

Favorite drink: Various flavors and blends of Tea.

Favorite artist: Most of his favorite songs and art pieces are from people long since lost to legend, he does however consider the clothes a certain Miqo’te makes art too, so among the living it’d be Vhaso’a @thevermiliongaelicatte​

Favorite scent: Rain, Lemon Grass, WIld Roses

Favorite person people: Pretty much all his friends, including the ones he is sweet on. Since they weren’t mentioned above, Lady Freya Crescent @burmecias-protector​ and Vani Lightpetal @not-a-rogue​

Randoms –

Ten facts about your muse:

⚫ If you ask him, he will tell you that he is in his twenties, and leave it at that. Not that this would be incorrect, seeing how he is 23 years old, but he dislikes being too specific on his age for some reason.

⚫ At the age of 8, he was exiled from his home nation of Burmecia under the false accusation of High Treason, and branded with blood red ink on his left lower arm. While no one truly could prove such a thing, rumors were persistent that this was the result of the machinations from his mother, Skadi Skadrson, who deemed him unworthy to be her son any longer once it became apparent he lacked what it took to become a reputable Dragon Knight like her.

⚫ This banishment is also the reason why he does not use his birthname anymore. Not only does Burmecian law strip him of his name, he also discarded it out of spite. After all, his mother had chosen this name in expectation of him becoming a worthy heir to her name and restore glory to her house that had fallen from nobility due to her father’s doings. When in need of a surname, Sceada however still uses the family name Skadrson, mostly because he could not think of another when prompted once.

⚫ Following being tossed away like this as a child, he lived on the streets without a name and had to steal in order to survive. During that time, a fellow street urchin abused his trust and used him to get more food without the risk of being beaten up, letting the young Burmecian take the blows. This only ended when the plan backfired once and the human boy tried to get rid of him, resolving to killing “Mousey” off - the attempt failed, and the little Burmecian ended up killing the other in self-defense.

⚫ Not only due to this incident, Sceada is to this day still haunted by nightmares, though they have become less frequent in recent years. It helps immensely if someone he trusts holds him during his sleep and gives him the feeling of being safe.

⚫ After being found by a professor from the Academy in Daguerreo, the boy adopted the name of Sceada and started studying magic, staying at the Academy from age 9 to 17. He lacks the talent to cast curative spells, finding them inaccessible to him much to his dismay, but has become renowned for his fine control of Black Magic. His signature element is ice, and his control with it goes so far that he can form an intricate crystalline rose with it - a popular gift for women he likes.

⚫ Due to a terrible accident during his childhood, his legs are full of scars and rather weak, leaving him a slow runner and unable to jump well - a trait very uncharacteristic for Burmecians.

⚫ Due to the constant abuse in his early childhood and being an outsider all his life, he has come to subconsciously see himself as worth less than others. This especially shows in situations of great danger where he will not really hesitate to put his life on the line - especially if it is to protect a loved one. This has caused him a number of near-death experiences, including one where he was swallowed by a Marlboro and blew it up from the inside.

⚫ While he knows who his mother is, Sceada never knew his father, and neither does anyone in Burmecia. His mother used the mystery of his birth to the fullest, blackmailing several nobles of Burmecia by claiming he was theirs, and that she had proof. Using the fear of being exposed as insurrance that they would not seek help, she used this tactic multiple times and gained many favors, securing her ascent up the ranks. Rumors claim that she even targetted the King himself...

⚫ Sceada has abandonment issues and is quick to value kindness from others, leaving him to get attached to people a bit too quickly. This has caused him to believe that he fell in love with multiple people, a fact that’s recently been put into question by a Goddess of Love, doubting his motivations for loving others. He is currently unsure where he stands and desperate to prevent those he cares for from being hurt, but finds his actions anything but helpful. He intends to go on a journey sometime soon during which he hopes to learn more about himself and find an answer to whether he truly loves those he does or if he only believes so because they make him feel worth something.

Bonus: Unbeknownst to him, Sceada is actually not a full or pure Burmecian. His father is, much to his mother’s dismay and shame, a Nu Mou by the name of Ma’Chymes, who is an accomplished but rather ruthless Alchemist. Ma’Chymes used an experimental potion in an attempt to get Skadi pregnant, who herself was believed to be infertile. Due to her leaving soon after, he does not know that his attempt at Interspecies Breeding did, in fact, succeed and is thus unaware of having a son. This parental ancestry is by the way also the reason why Sceada can use magic, a feat no other Burmecian has ever accomplished.

Five Things -

5 Things they like:

Rain

Tea

Reading, especially books about magic or old civilizations

The people he values in his life

Traveling

5 Things they dislike:

Hunger, due to memories of being near starvation as a child

Airships, curtesy of a fear of heights.

Marlboros. So so much.

Having to wear socks of shoes

Dry heat

5 Good habits:

Very eloquent and studious, has a way with words

Polite and kindhearted

Whenever he can, buys food for homeless children

Very kind to children and never one to disappoint them, often ending up performing his magic for their amusement

Always one to stand up for fellow non-humans when they are being bullied or looked down upon

5 Bad Habits:

Very easy to fluster and sometimes easily swayed by feminine charms

Suppresses his anger constantly, creating an unhealthy habit that may one day come back to haunt him

Orders drinks sometimes despite being fully aware that he does not take well to alcohol at all.

Does not actively steal food himself anymore now that he can afford it, but will nonetheless always turn a blind eye to anyone who does so

Very quick to look down on himself as well as putting his life on the line

5 Personality types they gravitate toward:

Confident and Determined

Kind and Caring

Talented and Studious

Witty and Humorous

Self.doubting and Insecure

5 Personality types they avoid:

Abusive and Manipulating

Cruel and Sadistic

Mean towards children and the weak

Ignorant and Prejudiced

Faint-hearted and Cowardly

5 Fears:

Being abandoned

Losing a loved one

Injuring someone he cares about

Killing another out of instinct and without rational intent (i.e. self-defense, protecting another, etc.)

Failing other’s expectations.

Tagged by: Saw it here [x] by @foxlike-ffxiv​ and took the liberty~

Tagging: Anyone who fancies doing so~

[fivegreatestblog-blog]

Five Greatest “TV Cartoon Series”

October 4, 2018

Honorable Mentions - 

Rugrats - A great children’s show chronicling the adventures of Tommy Pickles and friends. If you’re a fan of Rugrats, check out this conspiracy theory https://www.bustle.com/articles/169393-this-rugrats-fan-theory-is-dark-af-so-please-read-with-cautio

Recess - worth watching just for the occassional showcasings of Mikey Blumbergs vocal skills, or sometimes the insane Yo-Yo skills of Gretchen Grundler. 

Magic School Bus - An odd show, but it’s uniqueness is what made it stand out. A magic bus can perform a variety of maneuvers such as shrinking, expanding, or transforming. The bus’s abilities allow a science teacher, Ms. Frizzle, to take her students on educational adventures. Who remembers the episode where the class went inside Ralphie’s body? #Terrifying. 

*Looney Tunes and Mickey Mouse are not included on this list because they are classified as short films rather than episodic cartoon series. 

# 5 - The Flintstones - Without the Flintstones, many other adult-oriented cartoons would not exist. The Flintstones takes place during the Stone Age and depicts the life of Fred Flintstone, his family, and his friends. It was the first animated show that aired in a primetime slot and became one of the most profitable animated series of all time. 

# 4 - Pokemon - Although I, like many of its cult-followers, believe Digimon Season 1 is a better show, Pokemon, has a longevity that Digimon can’t match. Although the show about digital monsters came out around the same time and has always been viewed as a sort of rival for Pokemon, Pokemon set itself apart and reached unparalleled levels of success through a larger fanbase. Boosted by merchandise from the card game and gameboy games, the Pokemon anime built a strong following as children loved tuning in to watch Ash Ketchum’s quest to become a Pokemon Master. The first season of Pokemon featured an iconic theme song, cute Pokemon characters, and the daily game of “Who’s That Pokemon!?” Ash’s time in Kanto and his interactions with the original 151 Pokemon will never be topped. Congratulations to Pokemon for surpassing 1000 episodes. 

# 3 - Spongebob Squarepants - With one of the catchiest theme songs around, Spongebob Squarepants is a show that despite recent rumors of its ending, continues to put out new episodes. The first three seasons of the show are arguably the best because they were helmed by creator Stephen Hillenburg, a marine biologist and animator. After the first Spongebob Squarepants movie was released, Hillenburg, who intended the film to be the series finale, left after disagreements with Nickelodeon who wanted to continue the show with more episodes. Hillenburg returned in 2015 after over a decade away from the show. Spongebob Squarepants features the titular character (voiced by Tom Kenny) interacting with the various inhabitants of Bikini Bottom on his daily adventures. Most episodes revolve around Spongebob’s experiences with a dim-witted starfish, a greedy crab, or a clarinet-playing octopus, but there is a whole host of characters equally as exciting as Patrick Star, Mr. Krabs, and Squidward. The charm of the show lies in the vast world that exists surrounding Spongebob’s home in the pineapple under the sea where Bikini Bottom’s many side characters are just as memorable as the three main ones. Whether Mrs. Puff, Larry, Sandy Cheeks, Gary, Plankton, or many of the other supporting cast, each character has their own unique personality and makes for a fun watch. Best episodes: Band Geeks, Sailor Mouth, Krusty Krab Training Video, Just One Bite

# 2 - Arthur - Arthur is still airing new episodes, having started 20 years ago with its premiere on October 7, 1996. It is the second-longest running animated series behind The Simpsons. Primarily targeted toward children, young viewers get to see life through the eyes of this anthropomorphic aardvark and his friends. Arthur teaches various concepts from bullying, asthma, autism, and diabetes. This show is especially nostalgic for me because I remember watching it before and after school even though they were the same episodes on repeat. I still find myself referencing Arthur with my brothers today, whether it’s when I stuff a whole piece of cake into my mouth as Arthur does, or listening to songs like The Binky Song or Crazy Bus. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6KdHv493m34  And how could any of us forget some of the most gruesome moments in television history, like when Arthur cut his knee on a lima bean can in the junkyard or when and he cold-cocked D.W. and nearly killed her? I mean...look at the face of this monster...

# 1 - The Simpsons - Since this show is a satirical description of the average working-man in Homer Simpson, it allows its writers to tackle almost any topic they want. Many times, episodes will focus on in-world stories between characters, but other times it will use current events or celebrity cameos (in Simpson-like form) to provide a running gag. Although the show has declined in quality in recent years, it still airs new episodes and shows no sign of slowing down. It is the longest running-animated show on television. Oddly enough, the show has a knack for foreshadowing real-life events. https://www.businessinsider.com/the-simpsons-is-good-at-predicting-the-future-2016-11