#old tristan would shrink away

[cuteteacakes]

It will be so much fun watching the knights gawk at you and your princess! You go Tristan! You grew so much!

{🗡️} - "N-now now, gloating isn't polite......" He's totally going to rub it in Aaron and Fabian's faces, wait until they see how close he and Sakura are!

[inscribed-in-asteroids]

AN: Here’s chapter four! We get into some character interaction.

Title: The Ripple Effect

Canon Characters: Entrapta, Hordak, Scorpia, Perfuma, Mermista, Seahawk, mentions Catra and Adora

Original Characters/Fankids: Odessa, Hydrangea, Tristan, features Adam and Molly

Pairing (i.e. ones having actual moments): Entrapdak, Scorfuma

Rating: M

Read on AO3. It always has more info there.

                                                      Venture

Entrapta places her recorder in her pocket, done for the time being. There have been advancements in the settlement on Beast Island. It continues to grow in size and technology, and contains more portals than other places on Etheria. Most places only have one portal, with Bright Moon having a few. The Whispering Woods contains the second-highest amount after Beast Island, predominantly so that if anyone gets lost, they will eventually find a portal and land in one of the main kingdoms, with that particular portal having that kingdom’s crest.

She and her lab partner have been diligent in the upkeep of Beast Island. It had taken time for the island to become fertile. First One’s tech had buried its roots deep within the earth, far below what anyone but drones could see. Soil had melded with machine, somehow: dirt containing minerals that were not of Etheria, and when they attempted to dig out the First One’s tech—mostly from the other princesses’ insistence that it be done—they learned their mistake when slumbering beasts and inanimate plants had sprung to life and attempted to kill them. That had been terri-fun-fying!

But it did confirm what Hordak and she suspected: Beast Island and the First One’s tech had morphed into one gigantic organism. A problem to be sure, however, they also proposed a radical hypothesis: by changing the code of First One’s tech, they could alter the parasitic relationship to a symbiotic one. That had been a major doozy, since there was so much, but it worked! The island had released its many species from its catatonic state, and they had called She-Ra to aid the process run smoother with her magic.

The First One’s tech proved to be a valuable asset in not only repairing Beast Island, but creating a thriving metropolis that used the natural resources and ancient machinery available. Buildings, bridges, plumbing, aqueducts, everything made by Horde clones was molded around the landscape. They were determined to function alongside the proper residents of Beast Island.

 It really surprised everyone how well they behaved when not obeying the rules of a tyrannical madman.

Entrapta found life on Beast Island exciting and peaceful at the same time. Being the princess of Dryl, she would still go to her old home, but she pretty much gave it to Wrong Hordak and the other clones who desired to live a little closer to the other kingdoms, to mend relations and have a better comprehension of the way Etheria works. Hordak’s brothers were curious, inventive and engaging once they were free, and went through rehabilitation to cope with the loss of Prime.

They were all so cute!

Entrapta looks to her left, watching Hordak move around the room. He keeps his eyes on the clipboard, hair falling over his forehead. He taps the back of it with his fingers, humming to himself as he kneels down to inspect a piece of equipment.

Entrapta smiles, propping her cheek against her hand.

Hordak senses a gaze on him, and he looks at her, smiling, “Did you need anything?”

“No, I’m content,” she says. But none as cute as him.

                                                                -

Odessa disembarks first, greeted by several of her uncles, her parents and siblings. Imp flies toward her, landing lightly against her back. She instinctively moves to the piggyback position, kissing his cheek. Emily whirs happily, and she leans over to kiss the top of her dome.

“Find anything fascinating?” Imp plays back in Entrapta’s voice.

“Yes! There was a lot on the flagship that we had to explore,” she says.

“Ooh, what’d you get?” Entrapta herself asks, hanging upside down from a rafter.

“I’ll show you in a bit. Right now, I need these two to go,” Odessa says, annoyed.

“Your friends?” Hordak asks, confused.

“No,” she points at Adam and Molly, who are standing behind Tristan and Hydrangea.

“What are you two doing there?” Entrapta asks.

Adam, shameless, grins at her, “Oh, we snuck up on the ship! It was awesome!”

Entrapta blinks, surprised by this development. She furrows her brows, “Wait, so you two were on the ship for that long?”

“Yeah, it was great!” Adam says, jumping over to stand by Odessa. “Can’t wait to do it again!”

Odessa glares at him, the urge to grind him underfoot intense, “You could’ve jeopardized the mission!”

“Uh, but we didn’t? I don’t see the problem,” Adam replies, folding his arms.

“The problem is that we had to have two additional people on board! Our supplies were meant for three, you’re lucky we had spares!”

Entrapta moves in, looking at Adam, holding his arms out with her hair, “Ooh, so you used my suits! Tell me, did it affect your mobility? What was your heartrate? Can you grab me your suit so I can scrape your skin cells off the inside?”

“Mom, please,” Odessa begs. “I want to yell at this idiot!”

“I know, sweetie, but can’t it wait ‘til after I pluck some hairs?”

“No way, you can’t go plucking my hair!” Adam protests.

Odessa whirls on him, poking his shoulder not-too-gently, “You get involved with my mission and you think you’re in any position to object to anything!”

Hydrangea approaches her, “Des, calm down.”

“I’ll calm down when he gets out of my sight! Having to deal with you for this long was torture!”

Entrapta hovers over Adam’s head, measuring his body with her tape, lost in thought. 

“Entrapta,” Hordak says, getting her, and their, attention. “Perhaps this is the time to lay out ground rules.”

“Oooh, gotcha!” Entrapta swings over to him, sitting atop her hair in a swift motion. She nods at Hordak.

He walks forward, hands behind his back, coming up to Adam and Molly. Molly shrinks under his scrutiny, while Adam has the decency to look like he fucked up for once. “I will send the two of you home by portal immediately. I will be speaking with your mothers to inform them of your behavior, to ensure neither of you tell them anything different.”

Molly groans inwardly, knowing she’ll be the only one to care. Adam is likely forgetting everything as it’s said.

Adam’s ears flatten against his head, annoyed, “Dude, no offense, but we didn’t do anything to risk her mission.”

“It is not a matter of you managing to be competent aboard the ship,” Hordak chastises. “It is the matter that you were not privy to the information or mission itself to begin with. Your inability to think ahead has always been a problem.”

“But—”

“Do not argue with me,” Hordak whispers, deadly quiet, leaning close. At Adam’s silence, he pulls back. “The two of you will accompany me to the portal now. Come.”

Adam keeps from huffing, crossing his arms, ears pressed to his head. Molly rubs her left arm, looking over her shoulder.

Tristan meets her gaze, giving her a reassuring smile.

With that, she follows her brother and Hordak.

Odessa turns to her mother once they’re out of range, “I found some things on the ship that I know you’ll be interested in.”

Entrapta squeals, “Oooh, I can’t wait to see it!”

Hydrangea yawns, patting Entrapta’s shoulder, “I’ll have to see you all tomorrow, I need to go home and see how things have been.”

“Aaaaw, so soon?” Entrapta asks.

“Unfortunately,” Hydrangea says, hugging her tight. “I’ll be back later after I get some rest.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Gea,” Odessa says, opening her arms for a hug of her own. Hydrangea shakes her a little, the two laughing, before heading toward the portal. Odessa looks up, “What about you, Tris?”

He shrugs, “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“You’re welcome to hang out with us!” Entrapta shouts.

Emily spins in place, beeping with excitement.

“Awesome,” Tristan says, giving Imp a high-five as he flies around his head. “I can hang out with your siblings while you and your Mom talk science.”

Odessa touches her mother’s shoulder, “So, do you think Dad is going to be gone a while?”

“He does have to talk to Adora and Catra, so probably,” she replies.

“Okay, because maaaybe I should show you one of the things I found without him.”

Tristan raises a brow, while Entrapta blinks in puzzled silence.

                                                              -

“Oh my,” Entrapta breathes, peering into the case. “That’s my girl! Not a single mark or blemish on it.”

Odessa grins, “I know! It came out perfect.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to let your dad know?” Entrapta asks a second time. “I think he might find it interesting, too.”

Odessa’s lips are pursed for a moment, folding her arms across her chest. She sighs, “It’s not that I don’t want to tell Dad. I’ll ask him some questions to hint about it, I suppose, but I don’t know how he will feel about it.”

“I think it would be best to be upfront,” Entrapta says.

Odessa bites her lip, uncertain.

Entrapta continues to study the brain in the jar. These discoveries could be important, but she understands her daughter’s concern. Hordak has been making reparations for decades now, but when it enters especially sensitive territory about his time serving Horde Prime, he becomes sullen, despondent and incapable of holding a good mood. She doesn’t blame her husband either. That’s a part of his past that continues to pain him. The years have softened his heart, and he feels shame and guilt every day for things he had done. She doesn’t want to lie to him, but she doesn’t want to hurt him either.

She imagines that’s how her daughter feels. Ethical dilemmas are her least favorite kind.

“I will see how he feels by implication,” Odessa reaffirms. “I won’t do more than that, at present.”

Entrapta nods, not liking any of this, but standing by her child’s decision. She takes the jar in her hands, “We will study it later. Why don’t you go and take this to your room?”

“Alright, I’ll put it away real quick. I’ll be back to show you and Dad the other thing I found,” Odessa says, jumping toward the ceiling and heading into the vents.

Entrapta sighs, then her smile returns when she hears Hordak’s voice from behind, conversing with Tristan.

“You’re more than welcome to spend the night,” Hordak offers, clasping his hands behind his back. “We have plenty of rooms to accommodate your needs.”

Entrapta bounds over, eager, “We’re having mini pancakes in the morning!”

Tristan smiles at them, “Thank you! I’d be happy to.”

Odessa hops down at this moment, grabbing him into a headlock, “Cool! If Gea was here, it’d be like old times!”

Chuckling, Tristan pats her forearm, signaling for release, and she obliges. He gives a yawn and stretches, “I’m gonna head to bed, then.”

“Imp, Emily, can you show him to his room?” Odessa asks.

More than happy to, the three exit the room, leaving Odessa and her parents in the sanctum. She walks to her bag, “There wasn’t much on the flagship, but I did discover this.”

Hordak and Entrapta stare at shining fragments, clattering softly on the table. Entrapta holds one in a hair strand, “Pretty! Where was this?”

“It seemed to have been located in one of Prime’s trophy rooms.”

“Look, hon,” Entrapta says, holding it up to Hordak. “The craftsmanship for this must’ve been delicate and precise.”

Hordak takes it between his fingers, inspecting it slowly, quietly. It does have an air of elegance. He somewhat recalls seeing it before in that room. Lined with trinkets from planets no longer around. Hordak frowns, placing it on the table, “Did you find anything else?”

Odessa considers her words carefully. She says, “I did find an area that had past Primes.”

“Was it intact?”

“More than we expected.”

“Did anything of consequence come about?”

“I did interact with one of the bodies,” Odessa tells him. “But it’s nothing that important.”

Hordak peers closely at her, and Entrapta glances at the ground, trying not to pull down her mask.

“An entire vicinity filled with inanimate bodies, and you didn’t do anything with them?” Hordak asks.

“Not really. I turned one on by accident, though, so I got to take a close look at it.”

“That must’ve been elucidating, on some degree, I suppose,” Hordak scowls, tilting his head. He adds, “Well, there’s no need to go to the flagship anymore.”

“I know, Dad,” Odessa says, sitting on the table. “That part’s done with.”

Hordak pats her head, an unexplainable relief coming to him.

Odessa’s stomach grumbles, and she gives a sheepish grin, “Oh, guess I’m hungry.”

Entrapta beams, “Late-night snacks! We got lots of fizzy drinks! I missed my little drinking buddy.”

Laughing, Odessa hops to her feet, “Mom, the day we get actually drunk together is gonna be nuts.”

                                                              -

Tristan wakes up to the sound of scuttling on the walls. Seeing Imp climbing around, Tristan closes his eyes, getting drowsy again.

“Morning!” Odessa yells, jumping on top of him.

Tristan throws her off him, smirking as she falls, “Des, I’m sleeping…”

Landing with ease, she stands, arms akimbo, “But don’t you want to eat?”

He debates whether to leave the warm comfort of the bed or enjoy the warm comfort of mini pancakes.

Noooooo…

“Gea’s bringing the really good syrup,” Odessa teases, poking his shoulder with her hair.

He opens one eye.

Tristan doesn’t take much convincing afterward, pouring caramelized fruit syrup onto an assortment of small pancakes, his third helping. Hydrangea pours him and her a cup of green tea with lemon, setting his cup down in front of him. He says thanks with a full mouth, and she smiles at him.

Odessa, on her third plate too, licks her lips, “This is so good! You’re turning into a pro at making syrups.”

“Thank you,” Hydrangea blushes. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

Taking a healthy sip of his tea, not minding the burn, Tristan lets out a satisfied sigh, “You keep this up, there’s no way I’ll be able to move.”

Entrapta looks up from her plate, peering closely at his face, “Have you been experiencing a slack in your metabolism? Are your joints functioning, or are you showing signs of muscle atrophy?”

Tristan smiles reassuringly, “No, no, I’m okay. The food’s just delicious.”

“It is!” Entrapta says, returning to her meal. She turns to Hordak, “Do you want to try any?”

“Hmm…” Hordak looks at the sweet cakes, drizzled with thick syrup. All of it golden in color. Pleasing to the eye, but he isn’t sure.

Entrapta grins at him, expectant.

“Very well,” Hordak says, taking her fork. He tries to not be aware of the eyes on him. Giving it a delicate sniff, he sticks it into his mouth, chewing meticulously. Thinking.

He looks at Hydrangea, giving a nod, “Excellent work.”

“T-Thank you!” she stammers, beyond shocked. She is going to remember this compliment for the rest of her life.

Entrapta, delighted he had a good experience, finishes up the rest of her food. Getting up, she announces, “Well, we’ll see you later! Hordak and I have a lot of work to do, so we won’t see you until tonight.”

“Alright, Mom,” Odessa says. “You two have a good day!”

Squealing at how adorable she is, Entrapta kisses her face multiple times as she says goodbye. Hordak pats her head before joining his lab partner.

“So,” Tristan begins, dabbing his mouth. “What are we up to today?”

Odessa turns to him, “I was thinking we might begin preparing for our next trip.”

Hydrangea sips her tea, “Our next trip will be when, do you think?”

“Preferably, sooner than later, and I am going to begin preparations in the coming days,” Odessa explains. “The next trip is going to be significantly longer, even with using portals.”

“How long do you expect?” Tristan asks.

“It might be more than a year,” Odessa answers.

“Oh!” Hydrangea says, setting down her cup. “More than a year… Where are we going?”

“I’d been thinking about it since we left the flagship,” Odessa says. “I think it would be provident to visit my uncles on Inicos. If no one on Etheria knows, maybe I have relatives that can give me better answers there.”

Tristan and Hydrangea glance at each other, both wondering what it would take to prepare it all.

“I understand it’s a lot,” Odessa tells them, aware that they’re unsure. “There’s no rush, since it will take a little time to prepare. I will inform you before we launch. Take your time to figure it out!”

Hydrangea smiles at her, “Alright, that’s good. It might take my parents a little convincing.”

“And you, Tris?”

“I’m sure I can figure something out with my folks,” Tristan replies.

“Excellent. I have a little bit to do around here for a couple hours, but I’ll meet up with you both later today.”

“That’s fine, I got stuff to do too,” Tristan stands, stretching out his arms.

Hydrangea claps her hands together, “I’ll see you guys later!”

                                                               -

Tristan doesn’t go home.

He swims through the ocean for several hours, thinking. Enveloped in the comfort of water, Tristan swims further down into the water, the light dissipating as he descends. Tristan looks to his side, shadows moving in the liquid black. He reaches out, skimming the surface of smooth skin. The aquatic behemoth lets out a sound of greeting, its voice thrumming through the water.

Swimming deeper, the pressure intensifying, darkness consuming his sight. He senses the scales of another animal, and it swims beside him for a while, enjoying his company. He loves to come down here. Communicate with all the oddities beneath the ocean, gliding along its floors, descending into greater trenches.

Despite what people think, the bottom of the ocean isn’t silent. There’s a cacophony of sound here, all varied in tone, pitch, and layered.

His mother never went beyond where dolphins ranged. Her demeanor, his father had told him, has remained exactly the same since they were young adults. But she has a penchant for cuter creatures, spending her time with more mammalian ocean-life.

His interest in creatures from dark depths was something she had no qualm telling him wasn’t to her taste. The first time he told her he would like to go out and swim into less shallow ends, she looked at him like he was bluffing. Like what he was telling her was a mere joke. At his insistence, she gave in, with much reluctance.

They swam toward the black, but never entered past where the dim sunlight ended. She told him it was an uninteresting place down there, and was rather disgusting. Made it obvious that she thought his choice was inferior to her own.

Tristan didn’t ask her to accompany him after that. He would only tell her he was going out, until it got to the day he knew it didn’t matter if he informed her of his whereabouts or not. She occupied her time and he was expected to do the same.

Being in this unfathomable space, he found a sense of peace. There was so much life here, unseen and unwanted by all above the surface.

He isn’t sure if anyone in his family had this desire for the darkness of the ocean, but he knows that he takes after his grandfather. Where once, Tristan shared the similar dolphin tail to swim, the more time he spent on his own, exploring, sensing, he found his own identity. His fin elongated, skin becoming sharp. No longer as agile or fast, but powerful all the same.

He pushes onward, tail propelling him downward still. Lost in thought and the feeling of not knowing where to go, but believing that if he keeps moving, he’ll eventually reach somewhere.

                                                               -

“I don’t like it,” Perfuma objects, arms crossed.

Hydrangea bites back a sigh, “Mom, it won’t be forever.”

“I think she’ll be able to handle herself,” Scorpia says.

“But for more than a year—”

Hydrangea sets down her teacup, “Mom, I know you’re worried about what will happen, but I would be among friends. And we would use a portal to help speed up the trip.”

Perfuma frowns, looking down at the table.

Scorpia turns to her daughter, “Hydrangea, hon, where is it you’re going again?”

“Inicos,” she explains again. “That planet where a majority of her uncles went to.”

Scorpia turns to her wife, “See, that’s good! That’s a planet where she’ll be more than okay.”

Perfuma rubs her temples. The idea of Hydrangea being gone for that long isn’t one that is sitting well with her. She would prefer if she remained in place. A child needs roots; what good would it do her to be away from home for that long? And there’s the fact it’s Odessa. There is no chance that this will be a one time thing. Hydrangea has been her friend for years; Odessa is too much like her mother—fixated on her goals.

“Mom, I don’t see any reason why you should be against this,” Hydrangea tells her.

Perfuma rises from her seat, “I’m going to bed. I will think about this.”

Hydrangea watches her mother go, knowing better than to continue her argument.

Scorpia sighs, “I’ll see if I can talk to her about it later.”

“Okay. There’s time left, but I would prefer to know sooner than later. You know how Odessa can be,” she replies, smiling.

Scorpia nods, sipping from her mug. There’s no reason for Perfuma to reject the notion, and with little base to go on. She knows Perfuma means well. She always does. 

Once she encourages Hydrangea to retire for the evening as well, Scorpia leans against her bedroom door; she stares at Perfuma, brushing long yellow hair. Approaching her, Scorpia leans down to kiss the top of her head.

“I’m not wrong to be worried,” Perfuma says.

“I know.”

“I just…” Perfuma trails off, gently setting down her brush. “Hydrangea is growing up so fast, and I would prefer that she spend her time here, with her family.”

“I know it can be difficult. But when I was her age, I was getting ready to go out into the world.”

“Not for good reasons,” Perfuma says.

“The reasons aren’t really the point,” Scorpia says, holding up flaxen locks in a claw. She tried brushing Perfuma’s hair, once; she clipped right through it, and, horrified, she refrained from touching her for a good while. With practice, she can do it now, but only because she forced herself to try again. Even now, though, she feels… out of place. Bizarre and incongruous. She doesn’t want Hydrangea to lose her connections. To feel alone, and not know who she is. “The point is to let her discover what she wants out of her life.”

Perfuma reaches behind her, trailing her fingers along Scorpia’s jaw, “I know…”

“Give it some thought, at the very least,” Scorpia tells her.

Glancing down, Perfuma meets her wife’s eyes in the mirror, “I will see how I feel.”

                                                                -

The brain floats in its case. Undisturbed.

Odessa furrows her brows, wondering what she should do. Should she inform her father of her true intentions, or should she wait until she finds something of value to offer him? To show that it’s worth the effort?

She has deliberated over it for a while. She doesn’t want to exclude her father from the potential discoveries that await within the stars. But Prime…

He’s beyond a sore subject for Hordak. Her father is confident, proud, and immovable. But when Prime is delved into, either on a shallow or intimate level, he becomes sullen and distant. Similar to how he used to be, according to her mother. It normally takes Entrapta to bring him out of whatever reverie decides to perturb his thoughts.

Is it really a good idea to bring it up?

Odessa is not the sort to believe her father is weak. To the contrary, she has the highest respect and adoration for Hordak. And that’s partly why she hesitates to confide in him her plans.

He will eventually find out, though. He might not be good at picking up lies, but he is suspicious by nature.

Folding her arms, Odessa sits back in her chair, allowing the front legs to hover in the air. If she kept it a secret, he wouldn’t like it, but he may understand her reasoning if she explained why.

Ethical dilemmas are the worst.

“Odessaaaaa!”

“Hey, Mom,” she says, looking up at the ceiling.

“So, I was wondering what to prepare for your journey, and your father suggested that we give you a mini portal,” Entrapta says, hanging upside down. “The portal to Inicos will save you some time getting there, but if you want to send us something of value ahead of your arrivals, a mini portal might help!”

“Oh, that’s a good point!” Odessa says, feeling uncomfortable. “I’ll thank Dad for the idea later…”

Entrapta brushes Odessa’s cheek with a lock of her hair, “What’s wrong? Do you feel bad?”

“A little,” Odessa admits. “I don’t like not telling Dad anything, and, perhaps, I’m being unfair to you too—for having you keep it under wraps right now.”

Entrapta sits on her hair, “It’s not too late to be honest with him. Your father can handle more than we give credit for.”

“I know he can, but he has reservations about anything involving Prime,” Odessa says, shifting the chair back and forth. “He didn’t object to going to the flagship, but everything that comes after might not be to his liking.”

Entrapta places her hands on her cheeks, leaning forward, “Maybe we can try again to hint at it?”

“Dad’s too smart,” she says, setting the chair legs back on the ground and mimicking Entrapta’s position.

Entrapta and Odessa sit in silence for a few moments, each wondering about the best course of action.

“I still feel we should tell him,” Entrapta says.

“I do too, but I don’t want to risk Dad getting upset.”

“Then… I won’t say anything until you do.”

“Thanks,” Odessa replies, staring at the brain in the jar.

She doesn’t know why she hesitates so much when it comes to this. But she has inkling he might not approve. That isn’t a potential circumstance she wants tainting this trip—that he might not give his full support if he knew that this whole thing was to find out their origins.

                                                                -

Tristan lays in his room, staring up at the ceiling. Music plays in his ears, low and smooth in its lull. He can hear the faint sound of seagulls beyond his window, which gives him a growing sense of calm.

A knock on the door disturbs that calm. Annoyed, he says, “Yes?”

Mermista enters the bedroom, walking in. She inspects the room for a moment before addressing her son, “Are you busy?”

“No,” he answers, continuing to look at the ceiling.

“Good,” she tells him, folding her arms. “Because you’re needed downstairs to discuss matters in Salineas.”

Tristan groans, “I don’t know why I need to be down there.”

Mermista raises a brow, “You’re the prince, that’s why.”

He waves a hand in the air, “Still don’t see why I should.”

“Because I say so, how’s that for a reason?” Mermista declares, turning on her heel. “Hurry up, we can’t keep members waiting.”

He doesn’t move, wanting to drown out everything.

“Tristan, I said now!” she snaps from outside the door.

At the command, he throws his arms in exasperation, getting to his feet in a huff, “Fine!”

Walking quickly through marbled walls, Mermista shakes her head at him, “It wouldn’t kill you to be more involved with your kingdom.”

Tristan rolls his eyes.

“Don’t give me an attitude,” Mermista chastises. Another shake of her head, and she pauses mid-step to reach for his hair. “You don’t look the least bit presentable!”

“You told me to get going right now, you can’t get upset about that!”

“You should’ve been getting ready a while ago,” Mermista says, continuing to—very poorly—comb through his locks.  

He steps backward, waving an arm, “I’m not a child, stop touching my hair!”

“If you didn’t look like crap, I wouldn’t need to,” Mermista says.

Tristan flushes in embarrassment and anger, “I never look like crap.”

“Right now you do,” Mermista insists. “Straighten your back.”

“It’d be a lot easier to do that if you got off my back,” Tristan snaps.

Mermista turns to narrow her eyes at him. She lets out a groan, “You know what, go back to your room. If you’re going to be immature, I’d prefer you not be there.”

With that, she continues walking without him.

Tristan stands there, miffed. Another waste of time! What does she even want? Whirling, he stomps back to his room.

This whole place is fucking stupid.

                                                               -

Hydrangea approaches Perfuma in the garden. Her mother seems to be in a good mood, “Hey, Mom.”

Perfuma turns, smiling, “Hello, dear! Would you hand me that water container please?”

Doing so, Hydrangea decides to mosey through the pathway. She lifts her hand over a row of violets, brushing their petals lightly with her fingertips. They respond to her touch, swaying gently beneath her palm.

“Is there something that you wanted, sweetheart?”

Hydrangea doesn’t look at her, listening to the flowers hum quietly, “I was wondering if we could discuss the trip.”

“Oh? I thought we dropped the matter,” Perfuma replies, tone nonchalant.

“No, Mom, you did,” Hydrangea says, voice equally collected.

Perfuma walks over to another section, pouring water into the soil, “There’s no reason to give an attitude, my young blossom.”

“Mom, no one is giving an attitude to you,” Hydrangea says, turning to her. “You’re the one who’s been avoidant about the issue since I mentioned it. Don’t you think you should hear me out?”

Perfuma sighs. Setting down the water pitcher, she places a hand on her cheek, “Alright… what is it?”

“All I’m asking is to go on an expedition for a while. I don’t think it’s that large of a request.”

“I believe you’re forgetting that you are a princess; you can’t go wandering the galaxy whenever you please—you have responsibilities here to your people!”

“I don’t understand your resistance. You’re always telling me that the best way to understand others is by putting yourself in their position.”

“You don’t have to travel around to do that,” Perfuma scoffs. “You can learn everything possible right here on Etheria.”

“Mom.”

“You aren’t ready to go out and be away from home for so long.”

“Traveling the galaxy is infinitely more safe than fighting a war, yet you did the latter around my age.”

Perfuma sighs, irritated, “You are being too argumentative.”

“I’m not being argumentative,” Hydrangea says, keeping her voice even, despite her own growing sense of frustration. “I’m trying to explain to you why this isn’t as bad as you make it out to be. This could be a really good experience for me!”

Perfuma shakes her head, “You are asking for too much at your age. You should be concentrating on your duties here on Plumeria, as well as your studies.”

“I haven’t slacked at all when it comes to my princess responsibilities. My studies are just fine, not to mention that if I travel around, I can learn about plants from other planets.”

Perfuma clasps her fingers together, taking a deep breath. Count to ten…

Hydrangea waits, knowing not to interrupt.

“I’m going to be frank with you, Hydrangea. I don’t like the idea of you traveling without proper support.”

“I’m not without support—Tristan should be coming too, and Odessa is capable. We’re going to be communicating with her parents, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

“They’re not going with you?!”

Crap… “No?”

“That’s even more reason to not let you!”

Her patience wears a little thin, though Hydrangea keeps her temper levelled, “Mom, this isn’t a scary trip that is going to harm me. We’re going to a planet that has lots of Odessa’s relatives, we have a portal to go back to in case we want to arrive sooner, and we’re always well-stocked on supplies.”

Perfuma inhales through her nose, exhales through her mouth. She can’t help but be nervous about the idea of her baby girl going through the universe with absolutely no parental guidance whatsoever. She might not be a young child, but she has a lot to learn. Scorpia thinks she is being too restrictive, even though she doesn’t believe so. She didn’t have her parents during formative years, and she would’ve wanted to have direction when she was around Hydrangea’s age.

But she knows that Hydrangea is determined to help Odessa in any way possible.

Perfuma walks over to her daughter, patting her shoulder. She stares directly at her face, solemn. Hydrangea stares at her, expectant. Sighing, Perfuma gives a small smile, “Very well. I feel this is against my better judgment, but you are free to go.”

Hydrangea breaks into a beaming grin, “Really?! Thanks, Mom!”

“I want you to let me know what’s going on every day, okay?”

“Mom, I can’t do that, I’ll be busy. Once a month?”

“Weekly.”

“Biweekly.”

“I guess that will do...” Perfuma gives in. She can’t help but hug her close when Hydrangea embraces her tightly in her arms.

Hydrangea couldn’t believe her luck—she was actually given permission to go! This is going to be awesome!

                                                                -

“You want to do what now?” Mermista asks.

“I want to go with Odessa and Hydrangea on a space trip.”

“No.”

“Why?” Tristan asks.

“I say so.”

Leaning his cheek against his palm, Tristan scowls, glaring at the fruit spread along the table.

Mermista doesn’t look up from her food, “If you continue to frown like that, you’re going to get wrinkles faster.”

Tristan bites back a retort, knowing there’s no point arguing.

“I don’t understand why you even want to go space travel. There’s nothing out there that’s important to us Salineans.”

Tristan rises from his chair, “Fine. I get it.”

Mermista watches him go. He’s been more insistent on being away from home the last several years; he didn’t spend much time here for about a decade or so, choosing to go frolic with his friends nearly every day, and it was more so when Odessa would return from her trips. Mermista is not quite sure if this is something that all teenagers go through, or just her son in particular.

She spent much of her time in Salineas, occasionally visiting her friends from other parts of Etheria. But Tristan is the opposite of that.

Sighing, she doesn’t bother to call him back, listening to the faint echo of his footfalls past the doors. If he wants to be a brat someplace else, that’s his issue.

Tristan strides through the hallway in a huff, discontent written across his face. Never breaking his pace, Tristan heads outside, where the once calm surface churned and frothed as a raging sea. Diving straight into the waves, his tail morphs the moment his skin makes contact with cold water. The weather was unexpected, but that’s fine—he loved storms.

Racing through the darkening ocean, Tristan swims northwest. He doesn’t think of anything—simply revels in the sensation of darting through water. Eventually, the seas revert to a quiet demeanor. Approaching nearby docks, Tristan catches the sounds of roughhousing and glass breaking. Changing from tail to legs, Tristan moves his arms in a simple motion, wrapping water around the lower half of his body, he lifts himself onto the pier.

Walking toward the tavern, Tristan enters the establishment. Without another thought, he slides to the right, avoiding a body that got flung in his direction. Not looking down at the unfortunate patron, Tristan heads to the center of the room, glancing around.

“Alright, men! What do you say we go set a couple boats on fire!”

Tristan turns in the direction of the voice, accompanied shortly after by exasperated groans and complaints.

“Well, don’t everybody jump up at once,” Seahawk complains.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll come around when they’re not hungover,” Tristan says.

Seahawk looks up, grinning from ear to ear, “Tristan, my boy!”

“Hey, Dad,” he replies.

“Pull up a seat, son! Barkeep, a drink for the young man!”

Tristan watches one of his father’s friends fall onto the floor, passed out. Taking the chair for himself, he says, “You seem to be in a good mood.”

Seahawk twirls his moustache, “Ho ho ho, my boy, you’ll be pleased to know that I have an expedition coming up! A crew and I are supposed to go south and find a coveted treasure that hasn’t been seen for hundreds of years!”

“Oh yeah? What’s it called?”

Seahawk hums to himself, then waves his hand, “I can’t remember right now. But it’s bound to be a glorious trek across the grand blue that is the sea!”

The bartender places a drink in front of Tristan, who nods his thanks before taking a generous gulp. Tristan sets the mug down, “That’s great! It’s been awhile since you’ve done anything like that.”

“Indeed, my boy. And what about you? Have you been answering the wild call?”

Tristan traces the side of his mug, “Odessa does have an expedition coming up that would be fun.”

“Ah, sweet Odessa! That girl is always ready to explore. Hydrangea is going too, I presume?”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt that.”

“From the sound of it, you’re unsure about your place in this. Why don’t you go too?”

Tristan rolls his eyes, “You know how Mom can get.”

“My dear Mermista does tend to be unyielding,” Seahawk says, then shrugs. “Your mother doesn’t have to get upset about what she doesn’t know.”

Tristan smirks, “Dad, are you giving me permission to go?”

“No, but I’m not denying you the call to adventure, either!”

Shaking his head, Tristan takes another swig of beer. He slams it down on the table, much to his father’s delight. Seahawk shouts, “Barkeep, more of your finest alcohol, please!”

Tristan smiles to himself, relaxing in the midst of chaos. He might even sing a shanty with his dad for the shits and giggles of it.

                                                               -

Hordak has noticed a change in Odessa’s demeanor, however slight.

He didn’t think much of it, at first. She has been preoccupied with her upcoming mission, but she’s been working near non-stop since she returned from Prime’s flagship. Not wanting to pry into her affairs, Hordak believed it would be best to let her do as she pleases.

And it’s not that she’s pulling away from him. On the contrary, she’s always been an affectionate child with him and Entrapta. She’s, in essence, a good kid. But that’s the thing about good kids—they’re not total experts at covering up what they don’t want you to see.

Hordak comes up to Odessa, tinkering away with one of her personal tech projects. He leans slightly forward, “If you turn that bolt to the left, you should be able to get the polarity to work.”

Odessa, mutely, does so. At the sound of it working, she smiles at him, “Thanks, Dad!”

Smiling in turn, he pulls up a chair and sits beside her. He reaches for a wrench, and tightens a loose bolt, “You’ve been deep in thought as of late, Odessa. Are you excited for the expedition?”

“Yes! It’s going to be exciting,” she replies. She takes the wrench from her father with a lock of hair. “I haven’t heard from Tristan yet on whether he can come, but Hydrangea informed me her mothers are allowing her to go.”

Hordak gives a quiet nod. They enter the state of routine: Odessa works, and he watches. She asks for tools and he hands them to her. Their roles reversed from when she was a child. In addition, he gives her suggestions about what to do next and she’ll do it, or make notes for future projects. Hordak glances at Odessa. Not wanting to disturb the silence, but she breaks it first.

“What is it?” Odessa asks.

“Traveling to Inicos will take a fair amount of time,” Hordak begins. “Even with a portal taking you a part of the way, you will be absent for a while.”

Odessa giggles, looking up at him, “Aw, are you going to miss me, Dad?”

“Of course,” Hordak says, sincere. He turns to her, eyeing her movements. “You are my daughter. I want you to be safe on this mission. You’ve been gone before, but this is different…”

“It’s not too different,” Odessa replies, eyes centralized on her work. “I’ve been on trips before.”

Hordak inhales deeply, then exhales. “I know.” But there’s an aspect to this venture that is niggling the back of his mind. “You have a… passion for this journey that is dissimilar to the ones prior.”

Odessa’s hair moves around the table, skimming over the tools, “I guess I do.”

“Odessa.”

She looks up, meeting her father’s eyes.

“You would tell me about your goals, wouldn’t you?”

Odessa’s eyes flit over Hordak’s face, his expression earnest, open. “Yeah, Dad. I would.”

At his smile, Odessa stands up, “I’m going to get a snack. Do you want anything?”

“No, thank you. I’ll wait for you to return.”

“Okay,” Odessa tells him, walking out of the room.

Hordak’s smile fades, unable to shake that niggling sensation.

                                                              -

“Launch day!” Entrapta yells. “Are you excited, my little cupcake?”

“I’m born to be excited!” Odessa shouts.

The two look at each other, shaking their hands and screaming in anticipation. Emily spins in a circle, letting out a long beep, as Imp yells in his natural voice.

Hordak stands with his arms folded, chuckling.

Entrapta kicks her legs in the air, cackling at the top of her lungs, “This is an absolute thrill, and I’m not even going! Ooooh, my baby is going away for a while! Ah, I’ll miss seeing that cute widdle face every day!” For added emphasis, she squishes Odessa’s cheeks together, kissing her nose.

Odessa doesn’t pull away, a light blush on her cheeks, “I know, Mom. I’m gonna miss you too.”

Withdrawing, Entrapta goes into scientist-mode, “Now, remember: your uncles will be there to greet you and answer any questions you may have. By the time you arrive in Inicos, they should have a portal functioning again, so they can send you back to Etheria directly. Make sure to contact them when you are nearby.”

Odessa nods, shaking in place. Her heart always beats faster when she’s about to head out into space. She hasn’t been to Inicos in a long time, that it’ll practically be new. She has so much to look forward to! She hopes this won’t be a dead end before her true exploration begins.

She looks to her left, waving, “Gea! You’re here!”

Hydrangea walks up, Scorpia at her side, “Hey!”

Entrapta scuttles over to Scorpia, the two going for a large hug. Scorpia picks up Hordak, and he shakes his head in resignation, despite the smirk on his face.

“Must you?” he asks.

“Every time, Lord Hordak!” Scorpia teases.

“Scorpia,” he threatens.

“Whoa, haven’t heard that tone for years!” Scorpia says, setting him down. “Brings back memories.”

“I know,” Entrapta says in a softer tone, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

Hordak blushes, clearing his throat.

Hydrangea glances around the hanger, “Where’s Tristan?”

Odessa shrugs, “I’m not sure. I haven’t heard from him in a while.”

“He’ll be here soon, I think,” Hydrangea replies.

Odessa isn’t sure. She’s been holding out on his reply for weeks. Well, it’s not that she isn’t sure about his intentions; it’s his parents she isn’t certain of, and even then it’s just the one.

Hydrangea touches her shoulder, “I’m going to get my things inside the ship. Relay the plan to me when I get back.”

“Alright,” Odessa says. Arms folded, she taps her fingers quickly against her skin.

The hours pass and Odessa sets the final cargo in Celeste’s compartments. Sighing, growing frustrated and upset, she continues moving about the ship.

Hydrangea stares out at the front, equally worried.

Entrapta walks up to Odessa, “Has he arrived yet?”

“No.”

“I have everything set up for you in the cockpit,” Entrapta says, sitting on her hair.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Entrapta pats her back, “You still have an hour before you head out.”

“I know.”

Hydrangea suddenly yells, “Tristan! There you are!”

Odessa looks up, screaming at him, “You son of a bitch, where’ve you been?!”

Tristan runs up to them, an apologetic grin on his face, “Packing!”

Hydrangea holds a hand to her chest, “Thank goodness, we were beginning to worry.”

“If you missed out on this trip, I was going to be pissed at you forever,” Odessa tells him.

Tristan laughs, placing his luggage in the ship, “Well, you can love me more now.”

Odessa rolls her eyes, despite the smirk on her face.

Soon enough, they’re heading inside the spaceship. Entrapta is squealing in joy, kissing Odessa’s face. Scorpia hugs Hydrangea tightly, and pulls Tristan in for good measure.

“Have fun! Keep me updated on all the cool stuff you find!” Entrapta says.

“You got it, Mom!” Odessa replies, giving a salute.

Hordak comes up to her, patting the top of her hair, “Take care, Odessa.”

She pushes the top of her head into his palm, “I will. You know me, I can handle anything.”

He smiles down at her, “I know you can. But…”

“But?” she repeats, eyes bright and alert.

“Nothing,” he replies. He draws his arms behind his back, “I wish you safe travels.”

Odessa beams at her parents, kissing both of them on the cheek. She runs into Celeste, and waves at her family as the ramp closes, “I’ll see you all soon!”

Hydrangea and Tristan are already in the cockpit, awaiting her instructions.

“You guys ready?”

“Ready!” they crow together.

“Let’s go!”

Celeste rises into the air, and once it breaks the atmosphere, it gives a jolt of energy and light.

Scorpia wipes her eyes, “Ah, I forget they’re not little anymore.”

Entrapta pats her shoulder, “We made food, do you want to join us?”

“That’d be nice,” Scorpia says.

Entrapta turns to Hordak, “You coming?”

“In a moment,” Hordak replies, staring up at the sky.

Smiling, she pushes up from the ground on her pigtails, placing a soft kiss on his lips, “She’ll be okay.”

Hordak’s gaze scans the stars. Wondering if he should’ve been more forthright with his thoughts. He supposes he can talk to her at a later point…

Observing the sky, he waits until it darkens before heading inside.

[kayann9]

Of Fairy tales (One shot)

Words: 1169

Pairing: M!Kayden (Trystan) X MC (Eva) Royal Masquerade 

Genre: Just a little bit of angst. Rated T. If you enjoy, please like, comment or reblog!Thank you so much for your time :) All characters belong to Pixelberry. 

I hold my breath after the last of the guests climbed the stairwell; the wine from our earlier party, still lingering in the corners of my mind, my thoughts hazy from the alcohol. Or perhaps hazy from something else.  For a moment of clarity, I decide to return to the study: a place that so heavily reminds me of old, much simpler life; a place I feel somewhat safer right now.

Safe from the vipers, as Trystan Vescovi had so eloquently put it right here in this room.

Sitting in the chair that had belonged to my adopted Father, I let the fine leather envelop me the way I had done as a child, when Annalisa would sneak me in here and read to me tales of heroes and villains; of sorcery and witchcraft; of love. I sigh so loudly that I even make myself jump. Simpler times indeed.

As the fires burn away slowly, my mind sweeps to Annalisa and her small frame lost in that large bed; un-moving and cool to the touch.

How I wished to save her! How I wished to save this house even. How I even wished to make my aunts proud, despite their scorn. How I wished for all of this and yet, and yet, how I also wished for none of it.

My eyes close. The man in the moon mask, whose beautiful face was adorned with jewels and suspicion fill my entire brain; his hands as we glided through the gilded room and his somewhat careful smile as he partially revealed his identity and his absolute certainty of mine. Just yesterday, things had been simpler. I had been but a young woman bewitched by a handsome man; one I probably would have not seen again. One that would’ve forever lived in my mind’s eye. One that I now have to see each day and grow to know with the stark realisation that he is bound to a duty beyond me and I am bound to one beyond him. Our one night would have been a mercy but now our everyday will probably become a torture.

I rest my head on my arms before pulling a book from the shelf. I can’t help but smile.

Cinderella.  

A new and novel tale. One that I had read upon my sister receiving it as a gift from a Nobleman in France but three months ago. Like her, I rarely read the same thing twice, but I could not help but flick through the pages.

“It is rather late Lady-”

I snapped the book shut at the quiet but stern voice, my heart responding with thunderous applause before my mouth could utter a word.

Torture indeed.

“Eva, we have been through this Trystan.”

From the darkening embers of firelight, he is little more than a large shadow in the doorway but as he moves into the room, his calm expression is clear. I dread to think how mine fairs in comparison. “We may have to go through it once more, for my own peace of mind.”

“Then once more we shall: Crown Shield, please call me Eva.”

“I shall try.”

I barely hear my thoughts beyond the pumping of blood in my ears. Maybe the wine. Probably the wine. “Thank you. I do not like to hear formality from you.”

His brows knit together and for a moment the cacophony in my chest stops; have I said something wrong? My hands fidget with the book still in my grasp as I shrink under his dark gaze. It feels like longer, but it must only be seconds before his head snaps to the left, to the area where my Mother kept her fiction books; the ones Annalisa and I are so inherently fond of.

“It may do me some good to remember my place when I am around you.”

“I feel that you do a fine job of keeping your thoughts very well concealed indeed. If you ever desire a change of career, your poker face is second to none.” A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth as his fingers touch the book spines.

“I lied to you earlier.” I know he’s studying my reaction; his side glance and pause are an unusual give away for him. When I don’t react, he gives a gentle shrug and a humourless smile. “I do recognise one of these stories. One that I was in fact named after; I have only heard from the mouth and I have never so much have seen it in print.”

A smaller book, one I don’t think I have even seen falls into his grasp from the highest shelf; green leather and adorned with black. My body moves before I even realise until I am standing beside him, peering over his arm at the small tome. Gently, he hands me it and I flick through the pages.

“Tristan is a Knight charged with capturing a beautiful maiden whom has been betrothed to his uncle. His ship breaks in a storm and he is rescued by a beautiful woman to whom he falls madly in love with. Of course, in true Arthurian style, the woman he falls madly in love with is the one whom is uncle is beset to marry for a political alliance.”

I gasp. “And what of his duty?”

“He is torn. Iseult returns with him and marries King Mark but she can not stay away from her love and so they embark on affair.”

I almost know where this is going; I have read my share of Arthurian tales even if this one is not on my list and they do not look kindly on betrayal. “I assume this does not end with happiness.”

“There are many versions: one they escape together and live happily ever after and the other, well, let us say that despite his love, King Mark did not take too kindly to their duplicity.”

“What a story to be named after!”

Trystan smiles guarded and humourless, before his eyes lock onto mine. “I suppose it is. History and fiction often looks far kindlier on those with power.” Something in his tone and temperament bothers my sensibility, though I cannot work out what it is. Either way, his gaze does not linger on my face for longer than it has to, and he takes a small step away from me before bowing his head. “You looked most beautiful this evening; his Regency complimented your hospitality on many occasion. You did your House proud tonight.”

“Why did you tell me that story?” I blurt out as he strides towards the door.

“I do well to remember my place around you Lady Eva; get some rest.”

Trystan takes a small pause in the door frame, glancing at me as realisation bubbles in my insides. “You should too, Crown Shield.”

Alone in the room once again, I let my body go limp into the chair once more and cradle the book in my hands.

More than torture.

[dropletsofink]

Iron and Steel

[Part 3]

Summary: The story of Lyria Whitethorn, daughter of Queen Aelin Ashryver Galathynius and King Rowan Whitethorn, and Tristan Havilliard, son of Queen Manon Blackbeak-Crochan and King Dorian Havilliard

A/N: And, after an eternity of procrastinating, I’ve finally updated!! I’ve also managed to draft out the plots of future parts but because of exams I don’t think I can update soon. -_- Sorry!! But, anyways, enjoy!!

-

Although they were close, Tristan and Lyria both had responsibilities they needed to attend to.

In separate kingdoms.

Tristan was well versed in court politics and magic, taught by his father, and trained in discipline of body and mind by Manon.

And, even though Manon and Dorian lived apart, Tristan never felt like they didn’t care for him.

Especially after the incident.

He’d alternate between Adarlan and the Wastes, but resided mainly in Adarlan. After all, he was to rule it one day.

Not that that had always been the case. What had seemed like a lifetime ago- only five years- there’d been another heir to the Adarlanian crown. His older sister.

Astrian.

But those memories were best left undisturbed. Tristan had long learned to lock the darkest parts of his life in the back of his mind; dredging them up left him paralysed.

Dorian had taught Tristan that the best way to know his people was to live alongside them. And so it wasn’t rare for him to dress himself in commoner clothes and mingle amongst them.

And as much as King Dorian II tried to vanquish the cruelties of the Adarlanian underworld, it was still rife in the streets.

Gangs, brothels, opium dens, they still fed off the innocent young who were cast out too soon. He’d learnt that from Lady Lysandra’s story.

She often frequented the brothels, with huge sums of money to buy the girls’ freedom and offer them homes in Caraverre. Tristan was awed by her tale, being cast out simply for having magic, chafing under Madame Clarisse’s ‘tutelage’, shackled to Arobynn Hamel.

Only to end up slitting his throat and fighting her way alongside Queen Aelin.

Tristan tried to follow her example- helping whoever he could and beating the life out of the lowlifes exploiting those weaker than them in dark alleyways.

He was beginning to draw attention to himself from those who he didn’t particularly want it from, which only spurred him to get stronger.

It was during one of these exploits that he found himself in a run-down tavern, seated in the corner with a tankard of cheap ale on the stained table in front of him.

The court may be a haven of whispered rumours, but the best tales came from places like these. And, although tavern brawls were common, some of the things he heard here made it worth it.

Tonight was like any other. Sailors and wretches were hunched over tables, with Tristan keeping a sharp ear out for anything that would interest him. The bartender- Adrian-  flashed him a quick smile before returning to his work. He was an old friend of Lord Ren’s, and welcomed Tristan whenever he frequented.

Picking at his nails with his dagger, Tristan soon grew bored. There was nothing worth hearing today, apart from which noble was engaged to whom, so he drained his ale and got up to leave.

Just then, a hooded figure brushed past Tristan, his fingers glancing against his for a moment.

Leaving a small sheaf of paper in his palm.

The figure raised his head slightly and put a finger to his lips, before taking the seat that Tristan had occupied moments ago, crossing one leg over the other. He saw a flash of grey eyes before the figure flicked his wrist, motioning for Tristan to leave.

What was that?

Tristan sauntered out of the tavern and hid in a gap between it and the adjointed building. His power sparked at his fingers, tendrils of ice forming around his hands. If this person meant trouble, he’d give it to them willingly.

The sheaf of paper was still in his hand, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the street. This could be an ambush, and he’d had enough of those to last a lifetime.

“If I wanted to hurt you, young prince, I would have done it already.”

As Tristan whipped his head up, the hooded figure jumped from the shaky scaffolding that barely held the tavern together and landed neatly beside him.

He took no chances. In a heartbeat, the razor-tipped icicles formed out of thin air and hung, suspended mere millimetres away from the figure’s throat. “What do you want?”

“Relax, Tristan. I’m a friend.” He slowly put his arms up in front of him and drew back his hood, revealing a tanned face flecked with thin scars, unruly black hair, and a lazy smile. He looked to be about 30, and the ease which he carried himself with told him to be a thief of sorts. Or at the very least, trained enough to climb buildings.

Tristan, unimpressed, raised an eyebrow but didn’t move the shards away from the man’s throat. And said nothing.

The man simply sighed and rolled his eyes, and fast as an asp, hooked his leg around the back of Tristan’s knees and threw him to the ground. He dodged the ice shards as they were flung towards where he’d been standing moments ago, as he braced a knee on the floor and pinned Tristan’s hands behind his back.

With a sudden shink, Tristan’s iron nails sliced upwards into the man’s skin. He jumped back and swore, giving Tristan enough time to scramble to his feet. He stood with his back to the crack in the wall, and although he could run, he refused to. If this man was intent on harming him, who knows what he could do to others.

“Nice to see that the prince has some bite.” Although there were several deep slices in his palms and wrist, all leaking blood, and despite the fact that he was backed into the alley wall, he seemed completely at ease.

“Well, for someone who calls me his friend, you seem to have a strange way of introducing yourself.”

“Maybe so.” The man took a handful of gauze out of his pocket and leisurely wrapped his wounds. Tristan stalked closer to him, iron nails now fully unsheathed. “But have you read my note yet?”

The note? That sheaf of paper- he must have dropped it, because the man finished wrapping his hands and produced the note from another pocket, and held it out for Tristan to take.

Tristan, without shrinking his iron nails, took the paper from the him. He smirked, grey eyes twinkling with mischief or ill intent. Tristan decided not to analyse.  

“I’m confident that you’ll find the information interesting, for personal reasons. Royals often frequent places like that,” He cocked his head to the side, in the direction of the tavern, “For gossip. And you don’t strike me as the type to care about who marries who.”

“How-”

“I’ve been watching you.”

Tristan edged closer to the man, who didn’t retreat. “I don’t care who you are, but if you’re planning something-”

Smirking, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fear not, Your Highness. I am but a messenger.”

“A messenger who can climb buildings and fight as well as an assassin?”

“I have a complicated past.” He folded his arms. “And a lot of enemies. At least that’s something we have in common.”

Tristan opened his mouth to retort, but the man suddenly leapt and caught the dipping edge of the rusted pipe, swinging himself upwards and somersaulting onto the scaffolding.

With a roguish wink and a salute, he called out. “The name’s Nox, by the way. If you need me again, you’ll know where to find me.”

And with that, he vanished.

Leaving Tristan in the alleyway, nails drawn. And feeling incredibly stupid.

With a huff, he straightened and checked himself. There was a bruise blooming already on his shoulder, so he froze the skin around it.

His iron nails shrank back into his skin, and he unrolled the sheaf of paper. The writing was small and sloped, and the ink had bled as if water had soaked into the paper, despite it being dry.

“Tell the Queen of Terrasen to protect her youngest. Power and sway are much coveted, and those who seek it attack the weakest link in the chains of royalty.”

Wait….

Marion?

She was being targeted? For sway over Terrasen?

For a moment, he wasn’t in the dingy alley next to the tavern. He was back where he was five years ago, watching Astrian’s back from his hiding spot and she snarled at the dark shapes in front of her.

Memories of the incident flashed back to him, unbidden, as Tristan braced his hand on the wall. He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut, willing his breathing to stay even and the thoughts to vanish. He couldn’t break down here, not when he might be seen.

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and he pressed his palms into his face, gasps shuddering out of him.

Marion was being targeted. He needed to tell Queen Aelin.

He didn’t stop to think that it might have been a false alarm, or a ruse to weaken Terrasen. Even if that were the case, it wouldn’t do any harm to guard her, just in case.

And if the chances were that Nox had been telling the truth, then there was no way he’d let Marion be hurt like that.

So, he put the note into his pocket and shifted into an owl, swooping across the Adarlanian rooftops and back to the palace.

[tristan-forester]

Where I Cannot Follow

[The following is a short story providing a little more groundwork to a future storyline for Olivia Lovecraft.]

Olivia picked up her wine to stall. There were things she could tell Tristan and there were things she could not, so she sorted them one last time before nodding. With a steeling breath she looked up and all was very nearly lost as he looked back at her with those pale blue eyes. Where she saw warmth in Teren’s blues, Tristan’s were cold and piercing. Suddenly, Olivia’s anxiety pitched. She felt vulnerable and exposed.

And Tristan felt it.

He watched Dun’Yazad and Ravi relocate to the nearby bar to wait for him before turning his pale blue gaze upon his companion. Her fear was palpable even as she wore a false smile, and it broke his heart twice over. Not only was she afraid, but she was putting up a defensive wall to protect herself.

“Someone has expressed interest in helping me become whole again,” she stated softly. “They need to know more about where you are from. So, this is something we need to discuss privately. Can you still contact me as you once did?”

Without hesitation, Tristan established the link, but withheld his own anxiety as best he could.

‘Can you trust them? If you give them this information, they could hurt you. Who is it?’

Of course, his restraint wasn’t perfect.

Olivia’s outward focus shifted to finishing her meal as she effortlessly slipped into the old habit of conversing with her former companion without making a sound.

‘I trust them, yes. Alongside Quin, Lorcan, and Alice, they are the only mortal I trust completely, but I cannot tell you who they are. I can’t. You will just have to trust me. I need you to help me, though, Tristan. Please. I need to know what plane Arcasius is on.’

Tristan’s anger and jealousy spilled into the link. How could he keep her safe if she was still out trusting mortals with her life? However, when he felt the link shiver, Olivia shrinking away from him, he quickly swallowed it all. He looked at her and saw his entire purpose for being. He couldn’t tell her that yet, but he knew he had to preserve it.

‘Sorry. I trust you. I just…I want to help you. I want to really help you. I want to stand with you when you face the consequences of my hubris and ambition. I am the reason you are in this position. I--’

‘You are the reason I am alive at all, Tristan.’

Her response was strong and sharp, taking the demon by surprise. He was in control of his emotions enough not to betray his reaction on his features, but he was stunned for a moment.

‘You can help me,’ Olivia went on. ‘I need this information that you have so we can prepare. I don’t know what my friend has in mind, but they are strong and brilliant. If I can give them what you know, I have no doubts that we will succeed, and I will be whole. That is what -we- used to dream about, remember? I would be whole and work towards meeting my potential. I am ready now, Tristan, so, please. Please help me do this. I…need you.’

A moan soft, rumbling moan escaped the Sayaad and he dropped his head into his hand to prevent her from seeing his expression. During their time together, he had always wanted her desire. He wanted her to need him as she believed she would need others. It was a toxic existence then, and now, it was like a shot of the drug he craved with every breath. It was the promise of a relapse he struggled to deny. He was weakened so he shot a glance to Ravi and Dun’Yazad, both of whom were looking at him with smiles. They were still encouraging him. Although they would be on him before he could react poorly, they didn’t look like it.

There was only love on their expressions.

‘Please don’t…not yet,’ he replied vaguely, hoping Olivia would understand. ‘But I want to help you. Arcasius is of the Void-Shadow. Just as I was. I’ve called him a Dream-Eater, but he is truly a Void revenant. A very strong Void revenant. Stronger for the aide I gave him in the past. We helped each other survive.’

Olivia paused from eating to look up at him, a new worry brewing.

"If your former companion must choose between your soul's liberation, and this Arcasius's - whom do you believe they would most wish to see free?"

Teren’s words had been etched into her heart and had been a source of the anxiety prior to this meeting. She wanted to believe Tristan would be loyal to her even as he was bound to another.

But he was still a demon.

‘If you had to choose a side, would you still choose mine?’

It was as if he had been slapped in the face, the uncertainty attached to her question. He stared in silent shock before finally giving into an urge he had been denying since she walked into the room. He stood up and moved to take the chair Ravi had been in, moving it close enough so that he could place his hands open on the table, inviting her to hold them. To his surprise she slipped her left hand into his, revealing the new ring she wore without thought. He felt some of his resolve slip, jealousy threatening to consume him again as he looked at the exquisite token she wore. However, this was more important than his possessive nature.

‘Of course. I will always stand by you when you need me. I would sooner march to my own destruction than betray you. No command issued by even the Old Gods could change that. There is nothing in this universe or any other that could buy the dedication I have only to you. I would risk the anger and wrath of my present mistress, the one to whom I owe my soul, to keep you safe.’

His fingers closed lightly over her hand, encasing it gently, as she replied.

‘I believe you.’

She sighed and smiled as she stared at their hands. She was trying to choke down her panic and Tristan could sense it, so he let her go. More clearly than a year ago, he could feel her struggle. He could sense how she fought to be strong and ‘normal’, and it gripped the heart he once believed he lacked.  

‘What else do you need? I don’t have its true name, but anything else, I can give it to you. Even if you must go where I cannot follow, even if you place your trust in a person I will never know, I will give you everything.’

‘Thank you. Right now, this is all I need. I don’t know what can be done and until I fully understand, I want to limit the amount of information I carry. I will speak with my friend again and see what else may be required before we proceed. You should know, Alice still has the stone and she will not give it to me until she is convinced, I am not going to act rashly. I want to become whole again, but with my friend’s guidance, I will do it the right way. I swear.’

With that, Olivia decided she could tarry no longer. She started to stand, and Tristan rose as well. Taking a chance, he reached up to place a hand gently on her cheek. His pale gaze searched her features and he spoke quickly before he thought too much about it.

“Believe in yourself, Olivia,” he whispered aloud. “Because I believe in you. Call on me if you need me, but believe in yourself.”

He stepped back to give her space to process his words and touch, reaching across the table to collect the compass she had gifted him. Opening it, he showed her the words she chose and smiled crookedly.

“And remember, ‘without struggles, there is no progress.”

Olivia laughed, chasing her anxiety away once more. She smiled at him fondly and considered staying a bit longer. It felt so good to be with him again. It was familiar and new all at once. However, she knew if she stayed, he would potentially see too much in the gesture. She was still not ready to face what he considered love.

“Thank you, Tristan. I will speak to you again soon.”

She took up her jacket and slipped into it before departing. She paused at the bar to quietly thank Dun’Yazad and Ravi for being there and said additional goodbyes before vanishing out the tavern door. Tristan watched her even beyond, reaching out along the link to feel her for just a moment longer before he severed it.

[Mentions: @olivia-lovecraft | @marquis-teren-kiden | @sayaadoftheforest ]

[spaceasianmillennial]

One-shot: Bridger on Krownest

A/N: I like playing with the Trizra ship for comedic purposes, but this is the first fanfic that plays with it seriously. Again, much like my other work “Historian of Clan Wren”, which focused on Alrich Wren, a running gag gets converted into a serious idea.

--

Bridger did not meet his eyes. Instead, the homeward bound Jedi just kept his eyes on the smoke from the tea. And out of pure curiosity pat the tip of his gloved finger on the snowball sitting on the tea and crumbling into the heat of the tea.

“It’s a Krownest tea. Brewed in Krownest pines. We drink the essence of Krownest in the leaves and snow.” And as if reciting an old pledge, Tristan continued, “So we can remember we come from its soils.”

Twinkles of ice lingered on Bridger’s gloved finger. “Sooooooo...” Bridger’s mouth curled into a conversational smile, searching for the words. “Like,  you drink a part of your legacy?” He rubbed his fingers to wipe off the ice, and they brushed off in shines.

“Yeah, you have to keep maintaining it. A diet of your heritage.”

Bridger took a sip, lips brushing the snowball in his cup. Judging by the way he flinched, Tristan suspected Bridger’s tongue did not agree with that tea at all.

“Ezra Bridger, I told Sabine this, but I haven’t told you this, I am sorry with what happened with Kanan Jarrus. I regret I didn’t get to know him more.”

Bridger smacked his lips, as if swallowing the remaining drops of tea. “He was the finest teacher. He did what he had to do. Though still, if I had known, I would have tried to find a way to bring him home, to me, to Hera, to the little boy Jacen I have yet to meet, a way where he didn’t have to do such a sacrifice, but sometimes you can’t fight the Force.” A sadness passed in Ezra’s eyes.

“He deserved to still be there, and still be your teacher.”

“He does.”

Tristan rubbed his beard. “My mother was, well, is my teacher. So is my father, though I often took his lessons for granted though. But there were other teachers, other relatives, that I lost through the years.” Tristan sipped the bitterness of the tea. He also remembered, with conflict, there was a time where Gar Saxon was an affectionate teacher. “They made their sacrifices but if only there were there today, growing old.”

Outside, gunfire rung. Ezra flinched, his hand trailing at his belt as if reaching for a saber, though he did not have a saber.

“Don’t worry, it’s Mother and Sabine doing target practice like the good ole’ days. It was something they did together.” He paused, his nostril taking in the tea. “I used to be so jealous of her, because Sabine was to be Chieftain.” 

“And look at where you are now, Count.” Ezra teased. “So, you’re Count Chief Tristan Wren or something?” 

Wise Jedi, Tristan thought, and still that annoying wisemouth. Bridger himself now had a beard which gave him a pleasing appearance, though the mature appearance did not hide a hint of that smart-aleckness.

“Chieftain Count Tristan Wren,” Tristan explained, sipping his tea. “Born a count, always a count, but now a chief.”

“Chief.” Ezra echoed with amusement. “We’ve been allies, but I don’t imagine a Mandalorian chief like you inviting Jedi for tea.”

Tristan didn’t imagine this either. He only figured he was killing time by letting his mother, father, and Sabine to have their time together and keep Bridger occupied. He had also offered tea to the Master Tano, though she preferred to stay in the ship. He expected this meeting to be obligatory.

“That’s not how we put it. I’m not a Mandalore chief. I’m a Mandalorian count. I’m a count by Mandalore bloodline, but chieftain by Krownestian roots. That’s how it works on Krownest. And you’re not the first Jedi here.”

“Really?”

“There are records of the legendary Jedi Mandalorian ruler Tarre Vizsla making stops here on Krownest. Unsubstantiated on official Mando records, but our archives makes claims he set foot on Krownest and interacted with Clan Wren. It wouldn’t be surprising. He was nomadic like any Mandalorian ruler, perhaps the most nomadic out of any Mandalore ruler.”

“That’s a nice piece of trivia.”

“But some records say he never set foot in the stronghold out of respect of their caution toward Jedi. Some say he knelt down before one of the throned Wren, which would’ve been indoors. Some records say he slept outside in the snow, or in his ship, rather than accepting indoor hospitality. All confusing. Funny how history works. But now you know, there was a time a Jedi was welcomed on our ancestral grounds. But that’s a history is not too relevant to mother. After all, she did live through the history where Jedi were the enemy.”

Ezra tapped his finger on the table. “Regardless what I think of your mother and her past, I think it’s a good thing your mother retired so soon.”

“Semi-retired. Of course she remains in tactical support and the merchant business, but well, she wants to grow old... grow older with father.”

Ezra nodded. “To me, it’s a miracle a couple gets to grow old together.” Ezra stared out. “Even more, a miracle that the children get to watch their parents grow old together.” 

Then Ezra added, “Between you and me, I don’t believe I might grow old. I used to think as a kid I might grow up and get married and have a kid. But I’m past that. Anyhow, I don’t think I’ll grow old.”

“Why?”

“I am a Jedi like my master before me. I believe one day, I’ll make a sacrifice I cannot run from.”

“Did a Jedi vision tell you that?” Tristan enunciated “Jedi” acerbically. 

“Visions won’t be that far off, but no, just a feeling. Not a Jedi feeling. Not anything of the Force, just me, really, I hope, I mean I don't hope I’ll have to die for a sacrifice, I mean, I hope it’s only me and not the Force.”

Tristan hesitated. He did not know Ezra Bridger long enough, in fact, perhaps he had only spent time with Ezra for a total of only a few weeks. He remember playful bickers and teasing and the old tensions on the field with Bridger, but he had always considered Ezra ally rather than friend. He had sought to be polite simply because Ezra was Sabine’s brother-in-arms. But he for whatever reason, he felt like placing his hand on Bridges’s jaw to accentuate a point. But he held back. The gesture would’ve been far too intimate for an acquaintance.

“Bridger, I won’t have that fatalistic talk. Keep it in your head.”

“It’s what I feel.”

“Keep it in your head. But I’ll tell you this, we Mandos or Krownestians don’t go for such fatalism. This is partially why we never liked the old Jedi Order, traditionalist, rigid, unopened, so fixed...”

“You know not all Jedi are like that. And I hear of a new order. Thing will change.”

“I’m aware of that Ezra. And I don’t doubt you’ll have that part in the new order.”

“I’m not sure if I’m for that cloistered temple life this Skywalker is setting up. But I want to offer my assistance to him.”

“So this is what’s next for you.”

“Yes. What’s next for you?”

“Running Krownest. Finding an heir.” He left out the part where he’ll have to consider marrying then adopting before deciding to appoint a relative. He honestly would hate taking all day explaining the rules of lineage. “That is my future.”

“We’re all bound to the future.”

“Ezra, I believe one day you will come back to Krownest. I believe that’s in your future.”

“I suspect you might need to capitalize on a Jedi favor one day.” Then Bridger sighed, as if something else sunk in. “The Force will decide if that happens.”

Tristan bit his lips. “You know, if the Mando gods can make bad decisions, I think your Force can make bad decisions. Bridger...” It was protocol for any Chieftain to dispense encouragement, to give. “I ask you this, keep an... open heart. Listen to your Force, I suppose, but see beyond it, or what it’s telling you.”

It was shaky advice, he could tell by the way Bridger lifted his brows, perplexed. Tristan wished there was more to give. There was something his mother used to do. Whenever his mother wanted to hold his father’s hand, she would take off her glove. He remember crawling underneath the dinner table as a child, and observing with interest when he saw his Mother slip her glove off and stroke her husband’s hand. 

He didn’t know why he did what he did next. Tristan pulled off his glove and held out his hand for a handshake.

Bridger surveyed Count Wren’s open palm, almost inquisitively, sensing a significance to the gesture, thought doubtful of what it meant, tentative of accepting what it could mean, though he could not say. 

Bridger stared long enough at the open hand that Tristan felt the heat on his face and deliberating on withdrawing his hand. 

But Bridger made his decision and swiftly yanked off his glove and accepted Tristan’s palm and they gave a firm shake.

“I’ll keep an open heart, Tristan- Count Tristan. I think I’ll have a much more open heart if, when, I return to Krownest.” 

Once they let go, Bridger re-sheathed his hand in its glove.

Sabine, Master Tano, and Ezra could not stay for long. Ezra had to go home soon. Count Tristan watched as a ship took the Jedi and sailed away. And Tristan did not take his eyes off the twinkling shrinking dot of the ship, until he was staring at the clouds, his bare hand shivering not in the natural cold but in the phantom warmth of Bridger’s touch.

++

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[jdmainman123]

And we seem to understand what happened here yachtfish #report been up kind of late and thinking about how to word this one. Indians and Latin Spanish heads up on this one you might want to put on earmuffs and turn away from the monitor

Because they believe your airport your g********* airport bathroom gas station City size the size of a super Walmart really BECAUSE I BELIEVE YOU GUYS HAVE A LINE YOUR SATELLITE CITIES FOR ONE REASON ONLY THE SAME P*** TAPE OF THE SAME SATELLITE MAKER AT 15 YEARS OLD HAVING SEX WITH A LOT OF GIRLS

We can't help but notice your city the Antioch hasn't been to sunlight shrink in the houses or the buildings.? It's more along the lines of you built the train to go from downtown all the way up to the airport in the bus and the other City from downtown all the way to the airport to send these boys back and be insulted by the jerk off to some old white hair white skin lady

And and today for us to be witnessing the genocide take place again. It raises more questions than answers. AND AND REMEMBER THIS KEEP THEM TALKING KEEP THEM JERKING OFF I DON'T HAVE TO GO BACK HOME LISTEN BOYS YOU'RE F***** ALL RIGHT BOTTOM LINE I WARNED YOU

You should have never showed me where you lived in war

AND BECAUSE THIS THIS HAS TURNED INTO A WHITE SKIN BOY JERK OFF DALLAS AND FLORIDA 3/4 AND YOUR ENTIRE BLACK SKIN FAMILY YOU'RE THE ONLY ONES TWO CITIES 2 this is full of black skin man who think it's amusing to use white skin boys to jerk off for their daughters and AND AND BUILD THE CITY TO MAKE SURE THAT THEY NEVER FIND DOWNTOWN WE CAN'T HELP LAX 3/4 IN DALLAS I REALLY PRAY FOR YOUR BOYS I FEEL BAD FOR YOUR BOYS BECAUSE YOU GUYS USED DIRT PILES TO HIDE THE BUILDINGS OF DOWNTOWN FROM THE BOYS WALKING AROUND THE HOUSE IS JUST A PILE OF DIRT LIKE A TOP OF A HILL NOT A MOUNTAIN NOT A WALL JUST A PILE OF DIRT PILE OF DIRT NEXT TO PILE OF DIRT

Tristan confused a little boy and we can't help but notice your anyac statement satellite operators once again stealing from yacht fish

If you're here for integration and anti-seeding and having us go to to Las Vegas it's on our kids because they they're all were murdered one of them are playing full of them for seeing their first super walmart. Exampled hashtag

Or am I here to talk about women girls advice HONESTLY I'VE SEEN THIS GIRL FEED and never in my life have I seen her more hurt she actually told me I quit every time I see that white hair girl she says I quit and she walks away

IT'S OVER THIS TO BE ONLY A SUNLIGHT CITY THAT IS AGAINST SNOW AND THAT HATES WHITESKIN BOYS WHITE HAIR AND HAS AN ARSENAL FULL OF WHITE SKIN BOYS TO JERK OFF FOR THEIR DAUGHTERS BUILD CITY AT THE CITY TO KIDNAP THE BOY A TRAIN GOES FROM DOWNTOWN ALL THE WAY TO THE AIRPORT NOWHERE TO SIT ON THE SIDEWALKS YOUR CITY IS DESIGNED I don't know speaker after speaker all abandoned buildings none of it for the union just speak after speaker the trick someone and when we look up and see the people's mouth moving the men and women all speaking the same dollar or death to America language English

And it never happened in Spain and never happened in Germany and never happened in Asia and never happened in Europe

BUT FOR ME TO CALL 911 AND SAY LOOK I DON'T NEED THE SATELLITE I CAN SEE THEM AND HEAR THEM ALL WHISPERING THE SAME THING AT THE SAME TIME IT'S KIND OF LOUD ALL TOGETHER IT WOULD GET EXTREMELY LOUD AND I WOULD BE ABLE TO HEAR IT CLEARLY

Why do you keep on telling me the satellites talking to me?

FOR MORE IMPORTANTLY WE COULD SEE HOW THIS COULD EASILY HAVE GOTTEN OUT OF CONTROL JUST SENDING WHITE SKIN BOYS TO THE AIRPORT MY GIRLS AND YOUR GIRLS DO IT ALL THE TIME GET A TICKET AND COME SEE ME BOY? NUMEROUS TIMES I GO UP TO THE AIRPORT THEY'RE GREYHOUND STATION. AND THERE HE IS. I CAME HERE TO MEET A GIRL

I flew in I spent money on an airplane ticket and I'm here at the airport to see a girl to meet a girl

NO NO YOU GO BACK HOME JERK OFF WE WANT YOU PREGNANT AND CASTRATED

#Report so we believe these cities are aligned for the p*** tapes only you guys wanted to rig the p*** and because your daughter's and son still think TV is real WE CAN'T HAVE ANOTHER FALSE EPISODE OR A FAILED TAPE GO AROUND THAT TRICKS ALL THE PEOPLE IN THE WORLD TO THINK IT'S LIVE AND CURRENT. WHEN IT'S JUST A GOOD STOCKPILE OF P***

And yes you did YES YOU DID BUILD THESE CITIES CLOSE ENOUGH SO YOU GUYS CAN SHARE THE SAME P*** TAPE yes you did

[valewright67]

Meliodas comes trudging into Liones, absolutely filthy and exhausted, a baby cradled in either arm. One looks to be a few months old, while the other is quite clearly a newborn, bits of afterbirth still stuck to her skin.

When Bartra adopts Elizabeth, he implies he'd like to take Tristan as well. After all, he's never had a SON before, and he loved his own brother! But Meliodas shrinks away, holding him closer to him.

"No... Elizabeth, I... I didnt really know her mother, she was a woman in Danafor. She held on until her child was safe, and then died. Tristan is mine. He's my son. His mother, she died in my arms. You can't have him."

Bartra was stunned silent for a moment. "I-Im very sorry, I hadn't meant- I assumed you were too young, but-"

"I'm older than I look."

"I see. I apologize, I'd not meant to try and take your child from you."

"It's fine." He mumbled, readjusting Tristans swaddle as the baby slept.

Eventually, the sins were formed, and by now, Tristan was about a year and a half. He was walking, though clumsily, and regularly escaped the nurse maids to find his father. Bartra may not have been permitted to adopt him, but him and Elizabeth were still raised side by side, and palace staff would look after him.

The sins, minus Merlin, had yet to meet the tyke. Today, however, they were outside the kingdom as Meliodas assessed their skills. They'd been working for a few hours when he sensed a familiar presence creeping up behind him, and felt a swell of amusement.

Merlin was the first to spot the toddler, a tiny huff leaving her at her baby brother's antics. He was TRYING to stalk through the grass, but he wasn't very good at it.

Gowther was the second to notice, tilting his head. The Captain however, seemed fully aware of the child, so he dropped.

King and Ban noticed practically in time, and stopped moving as they stared, baffled. That gor Escanors attention, whose gaze all drifted over, and then Diane, wondering why everyone had stopped.

The toddler crept forward, unaware he had the entire team's attention, and then got ready to pounce, wiggling his little butt, and then lunging at his father with a tiny snarl.

Meliosas made a whole show of it, falling as he was "tackled" and exclaiming. "Ah, I've been attacked! Oh, I'm down, it hurts!" Tristan giggled and erupted in laughter when his father twisted and caught him, fingers dancing along his sides. He flailed, pushing at his face when he blew a rasberry against his cheek, before Meliodas finally relented and he went limp, panting and still twitching a little.

"What are you doing so far from the nursery, kid?" He babbled nonsensically in return, arms waving clumsily. Meliodas nodded along, like he understood perfectly. "That's quite am adventure Tristan. You tired?"

"No!"

"No? Ok... hungry?"

"N.... Yea!"

"Oh, you are, huh? Is it because you slipped away when the nurses were busy making lunch."

"Yea!"

Meliodas snorted. "I did the same thing at your age. You wanna go get lunch with me?"

He nodded enthusiastically, back to babbling and clapping his hands. Meliodas nodded and rolled up to his feet, still holding Tristan.

"Uh, Captain- uh-"

He stopped and turned, eyebrow raised, as he looked at the Fairy. "Yes, King?" Tristan looked at his father's face, and mimicked the expression, staring at the poor man.

"I- who- huh??"

"Oh. This is Tristan. Say Hello, Tristan." The toddler waved enthusiastically, a big old smile on his face. "Hiiiii!"

His hair was about the same length as Meliodas’s, though silver in color, and he had those two strands that would simply not lie flat.

"Captain... how do you... know him...?" Ban asked slowly, eyes narrowed as he connected the dots. Meliodas flashed a smile. "Well, he's my son, of course. Sorry, I'd planned on introducing him soon, but he had other plans, apparently, and forgot to tell me."

They erupted with questions and Tristan bristled a little. Being half demon, his hearing was much more sensitive than any of theirs, and he whined, burrowing his head into his father's shoulder.

Meliodas put a hand on his head gently. "Alright, that's enough, you're scaring him!" They silenced quickly and Tristan peaked back out with now teary eyes, the two colors flashing in the light. "I'll go get lunch for us. Any questions can wait for later. If you're brave enough, ask Merlin."

He walked away, and Ban immediately turned to Merlin. "So, the captain has a kid??"

"Obviously."

"How old is he?"

"He'll be two in May."

"Where's his mother??" Diane interjected, jealous.

"Dead."

They paused at that, and Merlin took the opportunity to teleport away.

They found Meliodas later, still holding the toddler, who had long since passed out. He was still rocking him gently, and humming to keep him settled.

"...How'd she die?" Ban asks, straightforward as usual, but more gentle than his typical brash attitude. He hesitated, going still for a moment, before continuing the rocking when Tristan stirred.

"...She..." He choked a little. "There was... a demon. Dark wizards had been experimenting, reviving demons, and setting them loose. This one was stronger than they anticipated, and killed them. He was curious about our baby. Wanted to kill him. She was impaled protecting him. I didn't make it in time to save her, she was already dying by the time I got there. I could still save our little one though." He delicately rubbed his finger over Tristans cheek, looking at him with a near worshipful expression. "I couldn't protect my sunshine. But at least I kept our star."

Ban squeezed his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I-... I can't say I know what it's like to loose the mother of my child. But I do know what it is to loose my lover to a demon. Small world, huh?"

"Ye- hah, yeah, I guess it is."

Several years passed, and he watched with adoration as Tristan and Elizabeth grew up. The sins learned, though only in vague detail, that his sin had been the result of himself and the two children being the sole survivors of Danafor. So his attachment to the two of them was understandable.

Tristan was seven and Elizabeth six, at this point. They were only a few months apart in age, but they'd just celebrated his birthday. The two kids were practically attached at the hip, Tristan going so far as to insist his hair be grown out so the two could match. Elizabeth, despite being the younger, was FIERCELY protective of him, and Meliodas choked up a little every time he thought about it, knowing the hidden truth.

His son didn't know the truth. He planned on telling him when he was a little older, and had better control of his tongue. He deserved to know, after all. The truth of the family he'd been born into.

Then they were framed for Zaratras' murder and he tried to figure out a plan, something to get them off the hook. But then the kids came and Elizabeth was injured, and all his logic flew out the window when he saw the blood trickle down her face. Every rational thought left him when he saw Tristan, his baby, with a gash on his cheek. He bundled them up in his arms, using his body to shield them from the falling rubble.

"Meliodas, we have to go! Now!"

"Why... do they keep making us suffer??" He hissed, barely aware of his eldest speaking. She grabbed his shoulder. "Mama, they'll be fine, I promise, they're going to be fine!"

He whimpered, cradling them closer. His sun, his star, and his moon. They were in danger, they were all in danger!

"Daddy?" He heard Tristan whisper, and pulled back to look at him, fighting to keep his Wrath in check. "Daddy, I'll heal her, see?" He manifested light in his palm and hovered it over her wound, which stitched shut seamlessly. Meliodas’s eyes widened a little. "Now when did you learn to do that?"

"I was working with Sir Hendrickson. I wanted to surprise you."

Meliodas nodded slowly. He'd known his powers had been awakening, and since his demonic abilities were manifesting first, he had been teaching him how to keep them under control. He hadn't known he knew divine magic yet.

"Can you heal yourself, baby?" He nodded and touched his own cheek, letting it heal. Meliodas let out a shuddering breath and scooped the both of them up, Merlin on his tail as he went somewhere safer. Tristan yelped as a boom sounded, the wall next to them being demolished by another attack. Meliodas just kept running. He got them into his chambers, which had been warded to hold up to this kind of barrage, just in case. Booms and crashed continued to echo outside as Merlin closed the door behind them.

He placed them on his bed, in the massive puddle of blankets and pillows he regularly shared with them. Elizabeth was still unconscious, but Tristans healing had done well, and he believed she'd be ok. Had to. He couldn't afford not to.

"Hey, Tristan, Daddy- Daddy has to leave for awhile, ok?"

"But-"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, Star, I really am. I don't want to. But it's not- it's not SAFE for you two to stay with me."

Tears welled up in his eyes. "I don't want you to go!!" Meliodas felt his heart shatter and he hugged him tightly as another Shockwave swept through them. "I'm so sorry." He whispered, pressing a hard kiss to his forehead. "Hey, hey, look at me, Tristan, look. At. Me." He cupped his cheeks and brought his face up to his as Merlin anxiously kept watch. "You remember how to call for me, if it's an emergency, right?"

"Cast a... cast a flare?"

"Very good, little one, you're so smart. If you ever need me to come find you, shoot your magic into the sky, and I'll be there."

"Ok..."

"Good boy. I love you so so much, don't you EVER forget that, do you understand?"

He sniffed and nodded, rubbing his eyes while Meliodas pressed another kiss to his forehead and stepped back. "Merlin." He murmured sorrowfully. She nodded and snapped her fingers, the two vanishing.

That was the last time Tristan saw his father for nearly a decade.

Here's a thought I doubt anyone's ever considered before.

What if Tristan was born before the Commandments were released?

He'd be the child of a different Ellie of course, probably Liz, and Liz died shortly after giving birth to their son. As a result Meliodas showed up in Liones with two babies!

The Sins still form and all that but with the addition of Tristan being coddled by everyone because he's Meliodas' son... up until Zaratrus is killed. Meliodas doesn't have time to grab Tristan before he's teleported away so Tristan gets left behind and taken jn by Baltra. He grows up alongside his own mother as practically siblings and when Baltra is locked up and the Coup happens Trustan goes with Elizabeth to find the Sins, and also because he wants to find his father.

[daddygraves]

Inktober Day 12. Instrument

I’m a butt whose writing gets shittier by the day

Here goes my latest pathetic attempt- featuring drunk Kingsmen, which I may or may not write spinoff fics for when this is over. And Harry Hart is a sap in love. 

@iffy-kanoknit @melisjevisje

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Kingsman pub crawl was going as swimmingly as some knights' vision, by this stage. But by all accounts, everything was well. No fights with patrons had ended with gobsmacked drunkards hitting the floor, and no villains had sprung out of nowhere to take advantage of the fact Britain's best spies were all in one place, and utterly sozzled.

Some utterly foolish genius (probably Lancelot) had elected to send an email to all individuals in Kingsman's employ, and invite them all to 'spontaneous workplace drinks'. Because saving the world was rather sobering, and alcohol was a long-favoured coping mechanism of the Kingsman organisation. And because after Kentucky, the destruction of the original HQ, Cambodia and the shock return of a Scottish tech whiz and aforementioned knight, Harry really had a quite a lot to be drinking about.

That, and one other reason. It's half past midnight, Bors is out cold next to Harry, nose nodding dangerously close to his abandoned pint, and the bar is utterly empty apart from the rest of the Kingsman employ who had saved the date. Who it seems, if the shouts and hoots around Harry are anything to go by, are halfway between comatose and catastrophe. Percival is determinedly belting out a 90's pop ballad with Lancelot to the jukebox, despite her crutches -'WE MATCH', Roxy had pointed out to Merlin earlier in the night, gesturing to their common characteristic; leg injuries, albeit a landmine had ensured Merlin's were a little worse off. The Scot is engaged in raucous conversation with Kay and Gawain about the latest rugby match at the sleek table next to Harry's, whacking his fist on the table as he delcares that Scotland will surely triumph in the next match. Gareth is grabbing the next round at the bar, Geraint is determinedly skulling the last of his pint, cheered on by Lamorak, and Bedivere is taking a nap nearby. If anything, this little gathering looks to be nothing more than a bunch of rowdy businessmen, out for a night on town after a tough week in whatever boring desk job they endured.

Harry shouldn't be so sombre, with the comical events unfolding right before his eyes, like Tristan's impression of Merlin and his clipboard, or Percival's dire attempt at dancing. The past year had been a real uphill battle, even moreso for Harry himself, as the head of an organisation struggling to pick itself up off the floor and start again. Normal work as a Kingsman had been draining- what he had endured for the past year, if Harry was honest with himself, was nothing short of psychological and emotional torture.

But it was all done now. The empty seats at the Round Table had ben filled, the mansion rebuilt. Yet Harry doesn't feel the contentment that usually accompanies copious amounts of alcohol, as he reclines in the slightly grubby seats of some oscure pub he didn't notice the name of, staring into the depths of his half-downed pint.

"Whassup, Haz?"

A familiar broad frame slumps down in the booth seat with Harry, giving him a gentle elbow to budge up. This rouses the sleeping Bors, who jerks upright mid-snore, blinking wearily, a bubble of beer foam stuck to the tip of his nose.

"Hello, Eggsy," Harry manages, meeting eyes with the resident Galahad, who gives a lazy, relaxed smile in return. He takes a decidely more liberal sip of his forgotten pint.

"Why're ya so glum for, eh? S'ya night off, ya prick. Loosen up for us," Eggsy jibes, the effect of who knew how many drinks loosening his hackney speech further. Viridian eyes, with no trace of the shadows that had lurked within for months, and just the right amount of colour blushing those sculpted cheeks. Eggsy's top buttons of his standard white dress shirt are popped, bespoke jacket long since discarded. Toned, forearms emerge from messily rolled-up sleeves, with the lightest dusting of hair.

"Just tired, I'm afraid," Harry returns modestly, tearing his eyes away from his former protege with some difficulty. Because Harry might be tired, and more than a little inebriated, but he sure as hell is not blind. And Gary 'Eggsy' Unwin, who's firm, capable hand claps harry's shoulder reassuringly, has never been more inexplicably beautiful than he is right now.

And that unavoidable truth, as Eggsy wiggles his way out of the booth and goes to cheerily accost Roxy, is the root of Harry's melancholy spirit.

Eggsy has never been more available. The boy had no sooner become a married man, to newly coronated Swedish Queen Tilde, darling of Scandanavia, than a scandalous divorce had been announced. The princess, as it turned out, had been seeking to allow her seriously ill father to abdicate with dignity. And Eggsy had been a cog in her well-oiled plan to allow such a thing to happen.

"T' be honest, I wasn't even that upset," Eggsy had confessed to Harry one night in Kingsman's rented office complex, as the news of the premature split broke on worldwide media. The boy had swilled his martini pensively, considering the olive spiked on a toothpick. "Wasn't too keen on getting married anyway. Sorta did it cos' I felt bad after the whole rash thing."

And Harry had tried so very hard to not let his helium hopes grow any higher that night, as the stars sank, and Eggsy confessed tearfully he loved Tilde, but never in that way.

Oh the heart was a fickle, fickle instrument. It had taken a gunshot wound to the head for Harry to truly understand what the feelings he harboured for his Lancelot proposal truly meant.  But it was so very hard, when the one thing you love more than anything, more than butterflies, good whisky (without the e) and good manners, is sitting right across from you, utterly oblivious to the fact that he was the last thought in Harry's brain when Valentine pulled that trigger. Because who in their right mind would confess their love for a young man, no matter how lovely, when said young man had just admitted he had a girlfriend?

Not that it mattered now. Eggsy is a 25 year-old divorcee, happy as larry, and their relationship was going from strength to strength. Harry could honestly say that despite only being acquainted for just over two years, he feels he knows Eggsy, and vice versa, similarly to the level of understanding he and Merlin had garnered in close to thirty-five years of companionship.

Yet despite this all-time high, Eggsy still feel so...unobtainable. Nevermind the enormous age gap -Harry was  almost old enough to be the boy's grandfather-, nor the perils of romancing a colleague, should things go awry. Harry was certain he was more likely to be shot in the head by Richmond Valentine again than have Eggsy develop romantic inclinations towards him.

The chant of 'Eggsy, Eggsy, Eggsy!' pulls Harry from his solemn stupor, and he directs his attention to the small linoleum dancefloor space just in time to see Eggsy being shoved towards the proferred microphone, depsite many protests, by his traitorous colleagues. Laughing, despite his embarrassment, the boy takes it.

"Alrigh', alrigh', ya wankers. But none o' this shit. Ya got a guitar at all back there?" he directs to the barkeep, who disappears momentarily into the back room. But reappears nonetheless, clutching a battered Yamaha, much to the excitement of the knights, who whoop and whistle.

A stool seems to materialise out of nowhere, along with a microphone stand, which Eggsy accepts gratefully, plonking himself down on the seat. Harry watches with focused interest as practiced hands fiddle with the tuning keys for several moments.

Eggsy could play the guitar? The boy truly was full of surprises, as Harry had proclaimed on the very first day of their meeting. But Galahad's talents were seemingly not just limited to musical performance, as the small gathering of sophisticated yet drunken spies in a deserted bar in Kentish Town were about to find out.

"Anyway, here's Wonderwall." Eggsy giggles, and starts to play.

The first few strums of the familar chords send more cheers and cackles around the gathered Kingsmen, who cease all tipsy chatter to listen ardently to the Oasis hit.

"Today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you-"

Holy mother of Christ. Not only was Eggsy one of Kingsman's finest recruits, with a spotless portfolio and a dedication that only came along once in a century. The boy could play like a professional, and he could sing. It truly was unfair. But when several knights begin to sing along, off key and out of tune, it takes everything Harry has in him to not scream at them to shut the actual fuck up. Because Eggsy's voice was that of which Harry imagined would accompany the sweet, white embrace of death. The clear melody of raw talent that spilled from capable lips as Eggsy continues on the verse.

Until entrancing malachite eyes fit themselves with Harry's.

"I don't believe that anybody, feels the way I do, about you now."

Harry can't help but break the gaze, eyes immediately finding his glass and draining it. It was a coincidence, you fool, his conscience shrieks internally, even as his heart begs him to consider otherwise. It wasn't possible. No.

"There are many things that I, would like to say to you, but I don't know how."

Harry dares to sneak a glance upwards, and almost shrinks down in his seat when Eggsy's green eyes bore into his again. Was it the Guiness, or was there a sheen of regret, or even sadness in Eggsy's eyes? For God's sake, he was fifty four, and the sounds of a young man's voice had Harry grasping at song lyrics like straws.

"Cos maybe-"

He can't bring himself to look away, he's caught, like in deer in those bright green, mesmerising headlights-

"You're gonna be the one that saves me-"

Couldn't Eggsy look at someone else, for Pete's sake? All this intense staring was giving his inhibited heart far too uch fodder to make stupid decisions.

"And after all-"

Sing for me, Eggsy. Sing for me forever, sing to me only. Was it just Harry or it was awfully hot in the room?

"You're my wonderwall."

Outside, now. Harry's brain finally turns the cogs to make a rational decision, and in a heartbeat, he's striding towards the back door of the pub. Fresh night air in a dark alleyway, and cool, slightly grimy bricks to calm his hot skin, and the heart that was beating far too rapidly for a man of his age.

Oh the heart was a fickle instrument, alright. Because it played in perfect harmony with a guitar, to the tune of 'Wonderwall'.

[narcisbolgor-blog]

Anthony Bourdain’s Ex-Girlfriend Mourns His Passing With Short, Touching Message

It's been very obviously difficult for friends and loved ones of Anthony Bourdain to wrap their heads around his death today, as we've seen, but it's perhaps hardest for those who knew him best — like ex-girlfriend Paula Froelich.

Froelich, a columnist, mourned the 61-year-old's passing from an apparent suicide by sharing an old picture of the pair to her Instagram account just a few hours ago, along with a short, sweet message about Bourdain.

Related: Kate Spade's Brother Warns People Against 'Maligning Her Character'

Here's what she had to share for the public as she mourned the CNN travel host's death (below):

To a good man, a great friend, a loyal love. That’s all I’m going to say.A post shared by Paula Froelich (@pfro) on Jun 8, 2018 at 5:27am PDT

So sad…

But it wasn't all for Froelich, who later took to Twitter to comment about suicide and depression, as well.

You can read her tweet thread about the issues, and mental health awareness in general, below:

Here’s the thing about depression: it’s a sneaky little, sticky Bitch. You can be rich as hell, totally successful but still lonely AF and the "you’re nothing but a fraud" voice only goes away when the ambien takes effect. — Paula Froelich 🤔 (@Pfro) June 8, 2018

The problem with that is ambien makes the harsh voice louder in the morning. And there’s only a few you can talk to about it - but even then sparingly because it just gets OLD, doesn’t it? And you become the sad sack … even though you’re normally so FUN — Paula Froelich 🤔 (@Pfro) June 8, 2018

And it can take a village of pills, shrinks, empathetic friends, neighbors, to pull you out of a slump - and guess what?! You’re not manic, or some other couch shrink diagnosis you just have. Regular old depression. — Paula Froelich 🤔 (@Pfro) June 8, 2018

You know because you’ve wondered and went to go get checked out hoping that there was some magic pill somewhere that would make it all better. But no. There’s not. — Paula Froelich 🤔 (@Pfro) June 8, 2018

It’s lonely, it magnifies everything into something awful, and you don’t know when or if this cycle will end… so it’s also terrifying. And embarrassing. And humiliating - because there’s something wrong with you. — Paula Froelich 🤔 (@Pfro) June 8, 2018

But take heart in knowing: only the best, funniest, loveliest, most empathetic, wonderful, talented people have depression. You’re in a good crowd. Now. Let’s go fight that black dog. Together. — Paula Froelich 🤔 (@Pfro) June 8, 2018

Wow. Well said.

That's serious, serious stuff that deserves a second look, and much thought from all of us.

[Image via WENN.]

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[buddyrabrahams]

Ranking the NBA’s 10 best big men right now

Big men are a dying breed … except when they aren’t. Hail to this era of seven-footers who dribble like guards, jump like pogo sticks, and shoot their shots from deep like drunk texts at 3 AM. And here are the ten bigs leading that charge right now, not counting those who missed the cut due to injury (Rudy Gobert, Blake Griffin, Paul Millsap, Hassan Whiteside, and Nikola Jokic).

*Stats courtesy of Basketball Reference and NBA.com*

10. Kevin Love, PF/C, Cleveland Cavaliers

Love being the Joe Biden to LeBron James’ Obama sure has a nice ring to it. A lot of dominoes did have to fall for our favorite Banana Republic model to even be in this position: Kyrie Irving moving to Boston to flatten dreams, Tristan Thompson getting injured, and Isaiah Thomas and Derrick Rose both being unavailable for one reason or another. But Love has barreled in headfirst through his new window of opportunity, slaughtering defenses with his smoldering three-point shooting from the 5 spot and proving just as effective at smoking smaller players who switch onto him down low. As Cleveland’s undisputed No. 2 option offensively, he is once again a nightly 20-10 threat just like those halcyon Minnesota days. Whether you need a 38-point half or a 94-foot touchdown pass, it’s obvious that my man is a Love supreme.

9. Karl-Anthony Towns, C, Minnesota Timberwolves

Speaking of nightly 20-10 threats, here’s one who is seven years younger. Towns does look his age sometimes — his numbers have all tumbled fairly sizably from last season, and his contributions on defense are such an absolute zero that they may just break the Kelvin scale. But give Towns some more time to adjust to Jimmy Butler, Jeff Teague, and Max Contract Andrew Wiggins. He scores in the post like an old-timer but dribbles and shoots with the sauce of an AAU baller. That’s a winning combo for a modern big man, so save me the warm takes — if and when Towns’ D catches up to the rest of his game, the National Basketball Association will just be a fancy name for KAT’s Kingdom.

8. DeAndre Jordan, C, Los Angeles Clippers

As the last Clippers’ opening night starter still standing, Jordan has officially won the Hunger Games. He has done much more than just survive though, collecting a cool 10-14 line every night despite having virtually no boots left on the ground to support him. Beyond just being a top-shelf rebounder and an alley-oop toy, Jordan still remains an underrated pick-and-roll defender who plays with exceptional IQ on that end of the floor in addition to sending a shot attempt or two into the netherworld from time to time. The All-Star center is a popular inclusion in trade rumors these days, and he should fetch a luxury yacht or a 20,000 square foot mansion should the Clips decide to flip him.

7. Al Horford, PF/C, Boston Celtics

Horford might just be the pinnacle of positionless basketball as we know it. He is a point-stretch-center who defends every action and can score from almost anywhere in the halfcourt. Sure, Horford’s surface stats (13.9 points, 8.0 rebounds, and 5.1 assists a game) don’t quite pop off the page to the extent that others on this list do. But he seamlessly takes the shape of whatever role Boston needs him to fill, and it is that adaptability which is putting him in the running for some major hardware. Kyrie Irving may be the best player on the Celtics, but Horford is probably their most valuable one, thank you very much.

6. Marc Gasol, C, Memphis Grizzlies

Gasol recently won the bloody power struggle in Memphis over now-deposed head coach David Fizdale, and his production at least helps make the case that management chose the right guy. His 19-9-4 line so far this season is probably the best all-around mark of his career, as it seems the Spaniard is somehow putting up better numbers now in his 30s than he did in his 20s. What little foot speed he once had may have vanished, but he’s still defending at a fairly high level, ranking in the top seven among big men this year in defensive win shares. And with Gasol letting loose to the tune of 4.5 three-point attempts per game, he is doing just enough to salvage the watchability of a Grizzlies team that has otherwise been a complete and utter garbage pail inferno this season.

5. Andre Drummond, C, Detroit Pistons

It makes my heart happy to see just how far Drummond has expanded his game this season. He used to be known exclusively as a close-range fiend and an industrial strength magnet on the boards with little else of value to offer otherwise. Now Drummond is strutting his stuff as a high-post passer (logging a career-high 4.0 assists per game) and showing massive improvement on the defensive end, not to mention that his Bob Beamon-esque leap in free throw percentage (from 38.6 last year to 64.8 this year) is the Christmas miracle that we have all been hoping for. At 14-8, the Pistons are the surprise team of the NBA, and Drummond eating the competition is what has made it all possible.

4. Kristaps Porzingis, PF/C, New York Knicks

Here’s to the guy who has made unicorn emojis fashionable again. Porzingis is the pride of The Big Apple, and you would be too if you went 27 and 7 on the hallowed hardwood of Madison Square Garden all night, every night. The 22-year-old stretches the floor on one end with his three-point range and shrinks it for the opposition on the other end with his shot-blocking skills, putting him in some truly elite territory. Don’t let his towering 7-foot-3 frame fool you — Porzingis is the everyman hero that Gotham deserves. Indeed, Phil Jackson is gone, Carmelo Anthony has packed his bags, and the coronation of a new king of New York (not LeBron James, mind you) has begun, so don’t be late.

3. Joel Embiid, C, Philadelphia 76ers

Amazing Process, how sweet the sound. Embiid has rocketed past last season’s minutes restriction (going from 25.4 to 29.7 this year, including nine outings of 30 or more) while also producing the same Super Saiyan numbers that cherry-bombed the league in 2016-17. The Cameroonian is averaging 23 points and 11 rebounds a night on this go-around and is peppering it with enough threes, blocks, and assists to power a small village. Embiid’s play has been so obscene that you probably can’t even say his name on television any more. Best of all, the MVP performances continue when he is off the court as well. Loving Father, we thank you for this beloved fruit of Sam Hinkie’s sacrifice.

2. Anthony Davis, PF/C, New Orleans Pelicans

The man whose arms were the inspiration for The Neverending Story, Davis continues to outdo himself. He is turning in by far his most efficient season (57.3 percent from the field and 35.9 percent from deep), and he is still going 25-11 despite no longer having free rein on the interior (more to come on this). Furthermore, The Brow’s close-range finishing ability and his automatic off-the-dribble pull-up game is the epitome of “get you a man who can do both.” Yes, the trips to the locker room every other quarter are major vibe-killers, especially for a dynamic 24-year-old. But Davis’ two-way jet-airliner game is box office as heck, and when he’s on the court, none of us can look away.

1. DeMarcus Cousins, C, New Orleans Pelicans

I would much rather take the sweet kiss of death over having to stand between the basket and this guy coming in with a head steam. Boogie straight destroys lives. He is the only player in the top six in both scoring and rebounding this season, and his 3.0 combined steals and blocks per game are helping him generate some serious All-Defensive team buzz. Cousins can make basketballs explode with his mind, and when he’s not shoving his will down your throat through brute force, he’s can bust out some creativity to get his teammates involved too (averaging a career-high 5.1 assists a night this year). And if that’s not enough, he’ll net two treys per game and snarl at you while doing it. Cousins is the runaway train gone off the tracks … if the train was loaded with explosives and other assorted pyrotechnics. Yeah, you best stay out of the way.

from Larry Brown Sports http://ift.tt/2icyi2x

[flauntpage]

The Warriors May Have the Death Lineup, But the Cavs Have LeBron at Center

Up 22 points, and 12 minutes away from taking a 1-0 lead in the Eastern Conference Finals, Cleveland Cavaliers head coach Ty Lue opened the fourth quarter with LeBron James, Deron Williams, Richard Jefferson, Kyle Korver, and Iman Shumpert on the floor. Lue hadn't used this lineup at all during the playoffs, and the group had only played together 29 minutes in five games during the regular season.

After about 30 seconds, Boston Celtics head coach Brad Stevens subbed in Jae Crowder and Isaiah Thomas in for Al Horford and Marcus Smart. But Stevens eventually realized that no team really has an answer for when James moonlights at the five.

The Cavs outscored the Celtics by three points in just under five minutes before Lue inserted Tristan Thompson and Kevin Love back into the game. Stevens exhaled, looked at the scoreboard, and realized it probably doesn't matter which position James plays. Stopping him at this stage of his career is one of the hardest tasks in professional sports—and it's impossible when he's also the biggest guy on the floor.

"It was very clear that he was trying to get to the rim on us, no matter who was on him," Stevens said after Game 1. "He's a physical guy who's got some physical advantages on people, but we need to do a better job in a lot of ways. I don't always think it's the guy that's guarding him, necessarily, it's what guys are doing around him—being active, being long, being deceptive in help, all those other things. This is easier said than done because those guys are all guarding shooters, so who do you help off of, who do you come off of?"

Check out some more video from VICE Sports:

The 32-year-old James is arguably playing the best basketball of his life right now. He's averaging 35 points, nine rebounds, and seven assists per game, with a PER, True Shooting percentage, and Win Shares per 48 minutes that all rank as the second highest of his playoff career. He's never been less interested with long twos, or more productive at the basket, and he is shooting 43.4 percent from beyond the arc on 5.9 attempts per game. His team has never been more dominant with him on the floor (+14.7 points per 100 possessions) and his on-off point differential has never been higher. And he's never been more versatile.When James transforms into a center, there are two important side effects: 1) for better or worse, Thompson, Love, and Channing Frye are on the sideline; and 2) the opposing team is forced to downsize, which is never ideal considering how lethal James can be when there's zero rim protection.

With no shot blockers near the basket on Wednesday, James relentlessly attacked the rim on almost every touch. First, he nearly crippled Thomas at the rim. Then a couple minutes later, after Cleveland used Korver, Thomas's man, to set a ball screen and force a switch, James calmly turned the two-time All-Star into a 5'9" speed bump, tore through Jaylen Brown's late rotation from the strong-side corner (which also left Jefferson wide open), and banked home a left-handed layup.

When the Celtics put two or three bodies in his path, James whipped passes out to open shooters and then sprinted into the paint to battle for rebounding position. It all looked flawless, but there's also some downside, of course, to leaning on this type of lineup for too long. For starters, it's incredibly taxing on James, who has to crash the glass, set screens, roll to the hoop, initiate offense, attack the hoop, and protect the rim.

Photo by Bob DeChiara - USA TODAY Sports

James is only one man, and in general Cleveland doesn't usually perform that well in critical defensive areas when he has to do everything. (This is likely why Stevens subbed Thomas in for Smart as quickly as he did.) According to NBAWowy, the Cavaliers scored 1.26 points per possession—an absurd number—in the 113 minutes James played center this season; 82.7 percent of their shots were dunks, layups, or threes.

These units also coughed up 1.09 points per possession, a really bad number that could've been a lot worse if opponents didn't shoot so poorly from beyond the arc. But James was masterful in these sequences, even by his own legendary standards. He recorded an ungodly 69.8 True Shooting percentage despite only making a third of his threes.

Whenever he's the largest and strongest player on the floor, it looks as strange and dangerous as a great white in a swimming pool. The only real defense is to pray he misses or makes the wrong decision, which is sort of like hoping the sun won't rise tomorrow morning.

None if this is new. James has always had the size, intelligence, technical skill, brawn, and endurance to move up or down at whatever position his team needed him. His career is a never-ending experiment that continues to yield humiliating results for his opposition.

The Miami Heat were forced down this path during their first championship run five years ago, when Chris Bosh was sidelined with an abdominal strain. James had to slide up a position, and wound up playing meaningful minutes at center, in small units that featured Shane Battier, Mario Chalmers, Mike Miller, and Dwyane Wade.

Here's what NBA Hall of Fame center Bill Walton said at the time:

"Picture how the center plays. He's not only in the low post; he's also at the pinch post [the elbow area around the foul line] and the high post. This plays right into LeBron's hands. He's an outstanding passer and has outstanding footwork, which are two things you look for in a center. One thing all the great centers had in common was mobility—Bill Russell, Wilt Chamberlain, Cowens, David Robinson, Hakeem Olajuwon, even Shaq. And obviously LeBron is one of the most mobile players in the league."

Heat head coach Erik Spoelstra used to call James "One Through Five," a nickname that was as accurate as it was clunky. It's also the primary characteristic that should one day separate him from every other Hall of Fame icon in arguments about who the best player of all time actually is.

Nothing a coach does this late in the season is random, and Lue didn't dust off this five-man unit—which hadn't played together since Cleveland's deflating overtime loss against the Atlanta Hawks back in early April—just because he was bored. This lineup is unguardable, but it also needs reps.

Photo by Bob DeChiara - USA TODAY Sports

Here's what Lue had to say about unleashing James at center right before the playoffs began:

"My thing is just touch on it and see how it looks so we can have a feel for how to play that way. In the playoffs it's a game of adjustments, and what you can do best and you throw the other team off. So we just tried a lot of things this season, just see what works best, a lot of different lineups. And it could play a role, it could play a factor in the playoffs. Just a game of chicken and you gotta see what happens."

The Cavaliers know that the Eastern Conference Finals won't be their last series of the season. It's more likely than not the Golden State Warriors will be next. Thanks to Draymond Green's transcendent help defense and Andre Iguodala's timeless two-way value, the Warriors have redefined small ball's limitations over the past few seasons, and are more than ready to utilize it in games that matter most.

Cleveland knows they have to shrink in order to match up. The Cavs' fourth-most common lineup in last year's finals was James, Kyrie Irving, Jefferson, Shumpert, and J.R. Smith. They were outscored by 16 points in 14 minutes, but it's hard to extrapolate too much from such a small sample size. The Cavs turned it over nine times and missed eight of their nine three-point attempts during that stretch, while the Warriors canned six on the same number of tries, and had five fewer turnovers.

Cleveland did not play James at the five for a single second against Golden State during the regular season, but if their offense stalls and they want to alter the game's tempo or draw a couple cheap fouls by torpedoing LeBron toward rotating defenders at the hoop, they now possess an improved crew of shooters to pull it off. Helping off Korver or Smith won't work, Williams has made over 40 percent of his threes since the Dallas Mavericks waived him, and Jefferson is a legit threat from the corner.

A spread floor also plays into James' hands as a devastating cutter. When all his teammates are capable passers with a well-respected outside shot, he can use his quickness to barrel into open space, trigger widespread panic in every defender on the other team, and create an opportunity for himself or someone else.

One NBA Western Conference coach told VICE Sports that he doesn't think playing James at the five is a worthwhile strategy for lengthy stretches, partly due to how the roster is constructed, defensive concerns, and how physically exhausting it can be—but that when deployed in a timely fashion, it can wind up being the difference in a competitive game.

Photo by John E. Sokolowski - USA TODAY Sports

James is older, wiser, and armed with more complementary pieces on his team than ever before; Irving has only run point for 50 minutes all season with James at the five. When he played center during the regular season, James would stand at the high post with his back to the basket while four teammates spread out in each corner, the opposite wing, and dunker's spot.

If no help came—it rarely does, since he's the hardest player to double team who's ever lived—James would patiently back his man down to the block and kiss a turnaround off the glass. Or draw a foul. Or muscle in for a point-blank bunny.

Magic Johnson comes to mind as the only comparison, but James' physical profile is far more imposing in an era that guarantees enough time and space for him to crack open the other team's chest, dunk the ball, then sew it back together.

He was one of 28 players in the league to use at least 200 post-up possessions this season, and only seven guys were more efficient, according to Synergy Sports. Kawhi Leonard is the one person alive who can singlehandedly keep LeBron at bay with reasonable success from various spots on the floor.

Trying to stop James has already been so difficult. Doing so when he's a nominal center, operating in space, is unfathomable. His passing chops are otherworldly, but he's also one of only a handful of players who consistently makes good things happen without a screen. He'll isolate from the mid-post or pick up a head of steam and plow downhill. When he wants to attack a mismatch, the Cavs can just send whomever they want to set a pick, and he'll either force a switch or take off for the basket. It's all a nightmare, and makes slowing James down feel much more like an individual effort than something team-oriented.

Over a seven-game series, Green may be too slow, Kevin Durant may be too delicate, and Iguodala may be too hobbled. Putting either of those first two on James draws them away from the basket, and may leave the rim too vulnerable for his drives. That said, if anyone can deter these lineups and punish them on the other end, it's Golden State.

Even though we're still a couple weeks away from a possible three-match, it's clear the Cavaliers and the Warriors already have each other on their minds. One side added an All-NBA wing, while the other is steadily rediscovering how to accentuate the best player alive even more than it already is.

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The Warriors May Have the Death Lineup, But the Cavs Have LeBron at Center published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv