#please please please stay alive. survival is an act of rebellion. You are so loved and you are not alone ever

[dustykneed]

survival is an act of rebellion. jim loves you SO MUCH. i hope this finds all of us who need it today. please stay alive so we can make it out together. sending so much love and strength

[oldiesstationlover11607]

au where dema is a twisted kingdom and clancy is a prince and also the son of nico, the king of said kingdom. reader is a peasant who clancy just so happens to fall in love with!! nico is upset by this exchange and threatens to cause harm to the reader which causes the reader & clancy to runaway together :-3

Dark Kingdom - Prince!Clancy x Peasant!Reader

Warnings: anything related to Dema

Word Count: 1464

A/N: I LOVED THIS PROMPT OMGGGG!!! Thank you anon!!! <3

Dema was not a place where people were supposed to fall in love. We were supposed to obey, to serve, and to live in fear of the ever-watchful eye of King Nico, our ruler. His commands, his dark proclamations, spread through the city like a thick fog, seeping into every corner, every home, every mind. The kingdom was a web of restrictions and oppression, and I, like everyone else in the outer districts, learned early that survival meant obedience. But that silence—my submission—led me to someone I never imagined I’d meet–Clancy, the prince himself.

The first time I saw him, I was lighting candles near my district's edge. It was a quiet, rebellious act—a way to remind myself that some light could exist in a place as dark as Dema. The flickering candles were small comforts, a tiny defiance against the darkness that surrounded us. I sang to myself, reflecting on the last few days, feeling a momentary taste of freedom, until the shadows shifted, and a figure stepped forward.

“Why do you do this?” a voice asked from the darkness. I froze, clutching my candle, my heart pounding. The voice was calm, even curious, and as he stepped into the candlelight, I recognized the fine clothes, the regal bearing, and the restless expression. Clancy.

I felt a surge of fear, my instinct to flee fighting against my legs rooted in place. But he didn’t seem threatening. His face, though wary, lacked the harshness I’d come to expect from the nobles. Instead, his eyes held something else—something almost… vulnerable.

“Your highness.” I forced myself to curtsy, bowing my head, unwilling to meet his eyes.

“No—no, don’t do that. Please.” His voice was gentle, almost pleading. I straightened, confusion flickering across my face. He seemed to hesitate, shifting uncomfortably. “You still haven’t answered my question,” he said, nodding to the candle I held. “Why do you do this?”

“I do it to remember,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, still trying to make sense of his unexpected gentleness. “To hold onto something good… something that feels real.”

“Real.” He repeated the word quietly, almost like it was unfamiliar. He stared at the candle in my hands, his gaze far away. “You shouldn’t be out this late. Especially alone.” He leaned against the concrete pillar to my left. “It’s dangerous for a girl like you,” he smirked. “What’s your name?”

A part of me wanted to turn away, to protect myself by staying silent. Names held weight in Dema—if he knew mine, it could mean a world of trouble. But something in his eyes, in the way he waited, convinced me. I told him my name, bracing myself for the disdain or judgment that often came from nobility. But he only nodded, repeating my name softly, as if savoring it.

“I’m Clancy,” he offered, his tone a little hesitant.

“I know,” I replied, unable to hide the faint bitterness in my voice. He was royalty, after all. But his gaze didn’t waver, and I felt a strange connection in the look he gave me.

“Are you… lost?” I asked, forcing a small smile. Royals didn’t wander into the lower districts without a reason.

“Maybe,” he murmured, a hint of sadness in his smile. “Or maybe I’m just trying to find something real.”

Something in his answer struck me. Dema was a kingdom that crushed anything genuine, any piece of real humanity, out of its people. I had my candles to keep that light alive, and he… well, maybe this was how he kept his own soul from dying.

That night, we talked until dawn. I told him about life in the outer districts, about the quiet rebellions, the ways we tried to carve out small pieces of freedom. He listened with an intensity that surprised me, his face softening as I spoke. He didn’t judge, didn’t look down on me, and I found myself saying things I’d never spoken aloud before.

We met again, and then again, until those meetings became the secret highlight of my life. Clancy, the prince of Dema, a figure I had once seen as a symbol of everything wrong in my world, was now someone I could speak to honestly, without fear. He shared stories about the palace, about the emptiness that came from living under his father’s control. Each night chipped away at the walls between us, and slowly, against all my better judgment, I felt myself falling for him.

One evening, he told me about his family, his father’s iron grip on the kingdom, and the strict teachings he’d grown up with. “It’s… hard to explain,” he murmured, watching the candlelight flicker between us. “I’ve never felt like I belonged in that world.”

I nodded, understanding in a way I hadn’t expected. “You’re the prince, Clancy. You are that world.”

“Yes,” he said, looking down. “But I feel like a prisoner, too. Just… just as much as anyone out here.”

For a long time, I only listened, my heart caught between sympathy and anger. He was royalty. But then I saw the pain in his eyes, the raw yearning that mirrored my own. “Why don’t you leave?” I asked softly.

“Where would I go?” he said, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Where could I go where my father wouldn’t find me?”

“Maybe there’s a place out there… somewhere far away from here,” I whispered, and a flicker of hope sparked between us.

Days turned into weeks, and our secret meetings continued. Clancy would find me in the shadows, his face weary but hopeful, and together, we carved out our own world, safe from Dema’s darkness. It felt dangerous, but exhilarating. He wasn’t just the prince anymore. He was Clancy—a person, someone I had come to care for deeply, maybe even to love.

One night, however, everything changed. Clancy arrived, but he was different. His face was tense, his eyes darting around the dimly lit alleyway as though expecting someone to appear at any moment.

“He knows,” Clancy whispered, his voice tight with fear.

I felt a cold chill run through me. “What… what do you mean?”

“My father,” he said, swallowing hard. “He knows about us. About… you.”

My breath caught, and fear clawed up my throat. “What does he want?”

Clancy’s jaw tightened. “He’s made threats—against you. He said he’ll find you if I keep… if I keep meeting with you–” He took my hands, his fingers trembling. “We have to go. Tonight.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding. “Go… where?”

“Trench,” he replied, urgency lighting his eyes. “I’ve heard rumors, whispers of people who are fighting against him. They call themselves the Banditos, led by someone they call the Torchbearer. They say he’s building a safe haven… somewhere far from here.”

“Do you… do you really think it’s safe?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Clancy’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing over my hand. “I don’t know. But I know that I can’t stay here and watch my father destroy everything I care about.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “I’d give up everything if it meant keeping you safe.”

A warmth rose in my chest, filling me with equal parts hope and terror. “You’d really leave Dema?”

“Dema is not my home,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto mine. “Not anymore. You are.”

I stared at him, and for a moment, the noise of the city, the shadow of Nico’s power, faded away. “Then let’s go.”

We ran through the dark streets, my hand clutched tightly in his. We moved swiftly, our footsteps muffled by the silence of the sleeping city. Clancy led us through hidden paths, places only he would know, taking us through narrow alleys and abandoned corridors. The towers of Dema loomed overhead, stark and sinister, but together, it felt as though the darkness couldn’t touch us.

At the city’s edge, we paused, catching our breath, and Clancy looked back at the towering palace. “It’s strange,” he said, a flicker of sadness in his voice. “I thought I’d feel more… more regret. But all I feel is relief.”

I squeezed his hand, drawing his attention back to me. “You’re free now.”

He smiled, his eyes full of a warmth I’d never seen in him before. “With you, I am.”

And so, together, we crossed the border, leaving Dema behind, the twisted towers of the kingdom disappearing into the night. For the first time, I felt truly alive, truly hopeful. The Banditos, the Torchbearer, the possibility of a safe haven—it was all unknown, but it was a chance at freedom.

As we disappeared into the shadows of the unknown, with only each other to rely on, I knew one thing for certain: I had found something worth fighting for.

//

REQUESTS OPEN

[rock-and-compass]

Angel Season 5 - Episode 18 - Origin

(I wrote this series of essays many years ago, probably around the time that the season 8 comics were being published. They were originally published on my LiveJournal and I'm re-posting them here, mostly for personal archival purposes.)

Okay, so Angel has been told that he’s batting for the wrong team, he now knows the senior partners want him working for them just so they can keep him busy while they get on with business.  His blinkers have been taken off, he knows where he stands and that he’s been played, big time.  So, right about now you’d expect a rebellion, the sniff of an escape plan, plotting, strategising, and mustering the forces of good?  You’d think …

Contrary to expectation there is no movement on the ‘get out of Wolfram and Hart’ front.  Angel and company stay put, it’s very much just another day at the office; business as usual.  Sure, Gunn is trapped in a Wolfram and Hart holding cell and the team is finding it very slow going as they try to figure out how to get him back, but that’s not the reason they remain in subordination to the senior partners.  No, the reason is that despite everything that has happened, everything Angel has learnt, the original terms of the deal are still in place - Angel’s servitude in return for Connor’s new life and new memories.  That is the origin of the situation; this is the anchor that keeps them tied to the firm.  As long as Connor is living a normal happy life then Angel will not rock the boat, no matter how precarious the voyage has become for him and his crew.

Wesley looks terrible.  He is unshaven, his eyes are red-rimmed and he’s tired.  He watches Illyria with obsessive interest.  Illyria  is merely doing what she does; counting oxygen molecules, analysing petri dishes, kinda sleeping- but Wesley can’t take his eyes off her.  Angel doesn’t think this is a good idea and suggests that Illyria is not his sole responsibility, that she is a shared burden.  Angel wants her tested and studied but Wes indicates that this could be difficult without seriously injuring someone.  Angel volunteers Spike’s services (insinuating that, a) he doesn’t care that Spike could get hurt, b) knows that Spike can handle himself or c) a little of both).  Wesley hardly hears the snide joke, too intent on watching his quarry.

Wesley: she doesn’t understand our world.  She needs someone to guide her.  She needs-

Him?  Wesley casts himself as Illyria’s Watcher, willingly taking on the role of educator and spiritual guide to this lost warrior.  It may seem the thing to do to Wesley but it only succeeds in raising Angel’s ire:

Angel: when was the last time he slept? You’re not her saviour!  I need you here, working, not of drinking yourself into a coma, chasing ghosts.  Fred’s dead Wes, you’re still alive.  Start acting like it.

The words seem cruel. They are.  But, to give Angel the benefit of the doubt, this is ‘tough love’ in action.  Angel, always a paternal figure to Wesley, only knows one way to love his ‘sons’ - in a brisk, acerbic manner, the same way his own father loved him.  In ‘The Prodigal’ (A1.15) we see Angel’s father express anger and disappointment at the actions of his wastrel son, but the harsh words are not fueled by loathing - they are said with the desire to see Liam achieve more than drunkenness and whoring. It’s a harsh parenting style, not what is considered ideal nowadays, but it’s the only way that Angel knows.  He learnt it at his father’s knee and we have seen him use it, at one time or another, on all three ‘sons’; the metaphoric son, Wesley, the vampiric grandson, Spike and the biological son, Conner (S4).

And Wesley, who is used to a hard to please father (as demonstrated earlier in the season in ‘Lineage’) responds; the next time we see him, he’s in his office consulting with prospective clients, very much as Wesley of old. 

The clients are a couple who are concerned about their son.  He was hit by a speeding truck yet survived with barely a scratch.  One of the policemen investigating the case suggested that their son might be ‘different’ and recommended Wolfram and Hart for their expertise in matters such as these. Wesley feels the case is important enough to warrant Angel’s inclusion in the discussions. It’s exactly what they need, a good old-fashioned helping of the helpless to sink their collective teeth into.

Angel walks through the lobby when suddenly he hears a voice that stops him in his tracks. “Hey Dad” it says and causes instant recognition. Angel turns slowly to have his worst fears confirmed. Connor, his Connor, is standing right behind him, standing right there in the foyer of Wolfram and Hart, the last place on earth that Angel ever wanted to see him. Angel is confused. He even begins to ask what Connor is doing there but is forestalled when the younger man is beckoned to join his parents in Wesley’s office. Angel is clearly agitated. He meets the Reilly’s and their son with distracted interest then flatly refuses to take the case. No discussion, no arguments.  Now it’s Wesley’s turn to be confused; isn’t this what they do – what they’re supposed to do, help the helpless. The Reilly’s seem like good people, the kind of people they should help (and the lind of people that the old Angel Investigations would have helped).  

Angel: All the more reason to get them out of here. We know what this place does to good people. 

And that’s true, but it still doesn’t explain why Angel is so determined not to assist in any way. Curious, thinks Wesley.

Meanwhile Spike is ‘studying’ Illyria. Well… Spike is getting pummelled by Illyria, but it’s all in the name of research. Spike tries to explain the rules of engagement, making a particular point of the fact that he doesn’t like to be hit in the face and that her cooperation is required for them to make progress. This is all said in his very best (and totally affected) working class accent, almost as if he needs to summon his most wily street-brawler incarnation to assist him in fighting this superior opponent. Illyria, on the other hand is having a grand time. She enjoys hitting the half-breed. He makes noises.

Wesley joins them in the training room to check on progress. Illyria notes that he reeks of frustration. It curls off him like smoke. Spike suggests it’s actually Scotch, twelve year old Lagavulin, if he’s not mistaken. They are both right. Illyria seems to have heightened emotional recognition while Spike is an expert on the subtleties of using alcohol to dull said emotions. Wesley tries to explain, he’s had a disagreement with Angel, its nothing. Spike jokes about Angel’s inability to, um, relieve frustration in a pleasurable way without going ‘crazy’. Illyria accuses them of insolence, that in her day they would have been punished with death for such disrespect. To Illyria, if it is not unquestioning submissive loyalty then it is mutiny. There is no middle ground. She doesn’t understand the ways of humans (or vampires) who can question, doubt, or even joke but still remain loyal. Wesley tries to explain:

Wesley: It’s just, uh… I don’t always understand Angel.  Illyria: Yet you follow him willingly. You’re loyal to him. Wesley: He’s earned it. I…trust he knows what he’s doing.

Wesley trusts blindly. He doesn’t have all the information; he doesn’t know he’s missing huge chunks of data and that the loss of this knowledge is all Angel’s doing. Would his trust be so unshakable if he had the full story?

That Wesley’s trust is somewhat misplaced is made very clear in the next scene.  Angel paces angrily in his office until Marcus Hamilton arrives. Hamilton is calmness and reason to Angel’s agitation and irrationality. Angel wants to know how Connor ‘just happened’ to walk smack bang into the middle of Wolfram and Hart, he’s sure the senior partners are behind it. He’s sure, even knowing what Lindsey told him in the previous episode, that this is the Partners, about to reveal their hand. Hamilton assures him that the Senior Partners are not the ones behind the stunt. As far as they are concerned they couldn’t be happier with the deal; it is all still in place and they have no desire to make changes to the partnership. So, is it all a coincidence? Oh no, says Hamilton, while the Senior Partners aren’t involved, someone else is certainly trying to send a message to Angel…

Next, we get a good look at the new and improved Connor. He is driving with his parents, riding in the back seat. He pokes his head between his Mum and Dad and reveals he knows the reason they visited the law firm was because of the van incident. He has an easy, open relationship with his parents; he displays good humour, maturity and in the face of this sudden twist in his seemingly normal life, admirable bravery. Angel got exactly what he paid for – a lovely, well adjusted young man, a son any father would be proud of. 

As the family arrive at their hotel the back door of the car is ripped off its hinges and Conner is torn out and thrown across the car park by a vicious demon-type. When his mother is threatened Connor struggles to his feet and instinctively retaliates punching the demon so hard he sends him flying a considerable distance.

Connor: Whoa!

This is a new and surprising development. Understandably he’s momentarily distracted by his newly discovered super-strength allowing the demons to renew their efforts. Angel swoops in, every inch the super hero, and comes to his rescue. He puts on a brutally efficient display of fighting prowess and makes short work of the attackers. Connor is impressed. Angel is chuffed. But as soon as his parents emerge from behind the car, his father injured, Angel and his heroics are quickly forgotten. Connor runs to his parents exclaiming “Dad” with deep concern and reminding Angel that no, he’s not ‘dad’ anymore, he’s just some guy who did something momentarily impressive that was relegated to unimportant as soon as the impetus of real familial love is felt. 

Angel can live with that.  He loves that much that he would rather see Connor safe and happy and forego the recognition.  It hurts, but he can live with it.  The obvious success of the deal at Connor’s end deems it bearable.  Yet with his son in real danger Angel offers help.  He has no choice, it is his son.

So they are all bought back to Wolfram and Hart, Mr. Reilly to receive medical treatment and Connor to have a chat, about those enhanced abilities he seems to possess.  Connor is intrigued by all around him, and takes everything in his stride:

Connor: And you are a vampire.  So…  Demons, vampires, doctors with claws…  And I’m some sort of superhero.  OK. Angel: You’re taking this pretty well. Connor: What am I supposed to do, complain? I just don’t know how I’m gonna explain it to my parents. You got family?

Angel answers in the negative even though that’s not strictly true.  But that is the price he had to pay for this level headed, adaptable Connor, a complete contrast to the bitter, angry, dissatisfied Connor of old who yeah, would have complained. A lot. And of course, there is his other family member…

Spike comes crashing through the training room doors landing at their feet; calls Illyria a harlot (you can take the boy out of the 19th century; you can’t take the 19th century out of the boy) then storms back into the room.  Angel offers to introduce Connor to some of his ‘co-workers’, a description that is not quite apt for either recipient.  For Illyria it is too generous, for Spike not nearly enough recognition of the connection they share, still, it does cut two very long stories short.  Connor’s interest gets absorbed in Illyria.  Her powers, besides being able to hit like a Mack truck, selectively alter the flow of time and talk to plants, would seem to include the ability to feel the temperature radiated from the humans.

Illyria: Your body warms. This one is lusting after me.

Conner is embarrassed.  It's the outfit, that and he’s always had a thing for older women (you can take the boy out of the life but you can’t take the life out of the boy – no matter how grand the magic.)

So it turns out that Connor’s attackers are the henchmen of one Cyvus Vail, a powerful warlock who heads a vast demon empire and no, he’s not trying to remain anonymous.  Angel’s response is swift; he bristles up, goes on the defensive and will brook no interference, no discussion, no assistance.  He is at his dictatorial best and he’ll deal with this by himself, in his own way.  Wesley wants to argue about it but he’s quickly put in his place.   Angel’s attitude has the opposite effect than the one desired; far from quelling interest in the situation it only raises suspicion.  Wesley, in his own way, is the rebellious son, he loves Angel, wants his good opinion but he doesn’t fear him or heed his every word.  Instead of ‘leaving It’ as requested, he asks for everything that can be found on the mysterious Mr. Vail to be bought to his office. 

Angel goes straight to Vail, goes in blazing.  The warlock hardly seems worth it, he’s decrepit and hooked up to all manner of tubes and potions. Angel doesn’t care.  He threatens Vail, to back off or else.  But Cyvus has an ace up his sleeve; he knows things about Connor, things that couldn’t possibly be known:

Vail: When Connor was five he got lost in a department store.  He wandered off while his family was shopping.  It scared the poor child nearly half to death. Angel: That never happened! Vail: But he remembers it happening. He remembers screaming in the middle of the store.  He remembers his mother rushing towards him.  He remembers his father sweeping him up into his arms.

Vail built Connor’s memories; some of his finest work.  The new memories are quite a contrast from the real ones, a childhood stranded in Quor-Toth where it was survive or die and terror was his constant companion.  In the new memories fear was met with love and the reassurance where previously he had only known the brutality of ‘survival of the fittest’.  So what is Vale’s interest in Connor?  It seems that he wants a particular demon dead; Sahjahn, who is, of course, is well known to Angel.  They have a history.  Sahjahn has always been interested in Connor, feared him because of a prophecy which suggested that Connor would one day kill him.  Sahjahn went to a lot of trouble to ensure that it didn’t come true (see Angel, season three).  But Angel circumvented the prophecy, and sealed Sahjahn in a mystical jar.  

End of story.

Not quite.  Cyvus Vail has the jar and an existing enmity with Sahjahn.  He wants Sahjahn dealt with permanently by the one who is supposed to do at and thus, Connor must be reminded of who he is.  Vail uses threats too.  He holds a glowing magical box, an Orlon Window, which contains the world as it once was.  It has the power to restore memories, should it break in close proximity to those with altered minds.  He gave Connor his happy life; he can take it away with infinite ease.  That’s the last thing Angel wants, those memories to escape, the truth would destroy his son so he volunteers his own services to kill Sahjahn.

Vail: If it were that simple I’d do it myself. No, the prophecy is quite clear - there is only one person who can kill Sahjahn. Angel: Connor

Meanwhile, back at Wolfram and Hart, Wesley is inching ever closer to the truth.  With Lorne’s assistance he is going through a stack of paperwork related to Vail and they discover that the warlock was paid a fortune by the firm to orchestrate a massive spell; a reality shift of some kind is Wesley guess, on the day they were handed the reigns to Wolfram and Hart.  Angel and Connor join them.  Angel brings the information that Connor is to kill Sahjahn.  Connor is incredulous –why does he have to do it?

Angel: because you’re special.  There’s a prophecy that says you’re the only one who can kill him.

Wesley can’t believe they are even considering this.  Vail can’t be trusted.  But Connor is determined – his family is in danger.  He’s willing to act even though this world of fighting and prophecy is completely foreign to him.  He doesn’t have a choice and Angel doesn’t have time to find another solution anyway.  Truth is running against him.

Just in case we’ve forgotten, Gunn is still labouring away in his holding cell, enduring the daily removal of his heart.  This is a waste of a valuable resource.  The senior partners want him back at work; they want their investment working for them.  Hamilton arrives with the deal.  He’ll get Gunn out if…

But Charles has learnt his lesson.  He doesn’t make deals like that anymore; he doesn’t want to escape his punishment.  He doesn’t let Hamilton complete his sentence, he just asks for his necklace back.  Come on Sparky, this heart ain’t gonna cut itself out.

Angel tries to prep Connor for the big fight.  Says he’ll be there to back him up:

Connor: You’re gonna hold Sahjahn down while I stab him? Angel: Prophecy doesn’t say you can’t have a little help. Connor: Hardly seems fair Angel: That’s not something we worry about. Connor: Maybe you should.  I’m not a bully. If I’m gonna do this, you gotta let me do it my way.  Now I just got figure out what my way is. Angel: You have your whole life for that. Connor:  Might as well start now.

Conner is noble and righteous; he believes in fairness and next to him Angel looks positively Machiavellian.  For Angel fairness doesn’t matter in the short term, you’ve got to do with what you’ve got to do to win.  Fairness, personal integrity, they are only of concern for the dim, distant future.  But Connor contradicts him – there is no time like the present, it’s what you do in the ‘now’ that matters.  Hmmm - that sounds kind of familiar...

Angel’s approach to this case has lit a fire beneath Wesley.  He is in archives searching through files, looking for answers.  He is accompanied by his shadow.  Illyria doesn’t understand his concerns with times and dates.  But Wes is determined; reality has been changed and he wants to know why:

Illyria: Define change.  The world is as it is. Wesley: Not necessarily. Illyria: You are the summation of recollection.  Exchange is simply a point of experience. Wesley We are more than just memories.

That may be so but memories are vital to existence.  Without them we are shadows of ourselves.  Memories and experience inform our behaviour, they initiate change, they teach, they motivate.  They are a safety net in difficult times; they are cautionary in times of excess.  They are invaluable.  The robbery of them is inexcusable.  Cordelia was right when she likened it to rape.  Tara was corrected to assess it as violation.  The mind, with all its thoughts and memories, is the true domain of the individual. As Wesley continues searching Illyria reveals that Fred’s memories were changed.  He is thrown.  He hadn’t thought that this involved them personally.  Illyria can’t see what went before, that is all gone.

Illyria: Does this change your view of Fred?  Is she still person you thought she was? Wesley: No, none of us are.

He has found what he’s looking for, all the evidence he needs; a contract with Angel signature signed in blood.

Connor and Angel arrive at Vail’s. Connor is determined and brave and awkward and endearing as he promises to get the Sahjahn thing done to ensure the safety of his family.  He goes to meet Sahjahn but Angel finds it very difficult to suppress his Fatherly urges, straightens Connor’s collar and freaks him out with too much good advice.  Once Connor is in the room with Sahjahn’s urn a magical barrier is activated.  Angel and Vail can see Connor but Connor can no longer see them.  Vail explains:

Vale: I can’t risk Sahjahn getting loose.  He has a nasty habit of trying to kill me.  But don’t worry, you’re boy is very brave.  I’m sure he’ll do you proud.

Connor opens the jar.  Sahjahn emerges.  They chat.  Connor reveals they are supposed to fight and the demon realises who this boy is.  Sahjahn inquires as to Quor-Toth but Connor has no idea what the demon is talking about.  Sahjahn attacks, he’s beginning to think that these prophecies are over rated, that he went to an awful lot of trouble for nothing. Free will, that’s the ticket.  Angel wants to get in there and go to Connor’s rescued but the magic barrier prevents his entry.

Vale: sorry, not your fight

Angel is frustrated he wants to get in, help his son.  Vail produces his magic box, reminds Angel where he stands.

Vail: Relax.  Your son has to grow up sooner or later.  Sit back and watch his future unfold.  There’s no need to bring back the past if we don’t have to.

It’s not going well; Conner is a complete amateur in this reality.  He has no idea how to fight.  Sahjahn and has him on the ropes.  Angel is getting desperate he turns to Vail to demand entry but something is not right – Vail is in some sort of suspended animation and the box is no longer on the palm of his hand.  Wesley and Illyria have arrived, Illyria has done her trick with time, Wesley now has the box and wants the truth.  He feels betrayed, that they had been sold out.  Angel doesn’t want the box to break.  He wants to protect his son from the truth, from all those horrible, disappointing memories.  He wants the box kept in one piece. 

Wesley: You changed the world. Angel: He’s my son Wesley.  Connor’s my son. Wesley: Did you trade her?  Did you trade Fred for your son?

So, Wesley has jumped to a pretty wild conclusion, that their memories were traded, that Fred was sacrificed for Angel junior.  He wants to know if the box can change it back, make it how it was, how it should be.  Angel says it won’t bring Fred back but he’s lost Wesley’s trust.  Wes throws the cube to the ground shattering the fragile container and releases a glittering explosion that sends everyone reeling backwards.  Memories come rushing back, memories that affect them all - the whole sordid history of Connor from Darla’s mysterious pregnancy through to his sacrifice by Angel in order to give him this new life… 

Conner is prostrated against the table, Sahjahn throttling him.  Suddenly, Connor’s hand shoots out and he throws his assailant away, twists turns and strikes are menacing pose, axe in hand.  He makes short work of Sahjahn now, a few punches and he’s set for a simple beheading. Prophecy validated.  But only because the memories were restored; without the memories he was useless in the fight, he would have been killed. With the memories he’s skilled, he’s a survivor.  It’s ironic, if Sahjahn and had never interfered then Connor would never have gone to Quor-toth and been forced to hone those fighting skills, he wouldn’t be the warrior he is today but rather, would have been a two year old baby living with his not-so-normal daddy and would have been no imminent threat to the demon.  Or was it all meant to happen this way? 

Wesley is a shattered man.  

Illyria: You betrayed Angel.  You stole his son.  He tried to kill you. Wesley: Yes.

The sins of yesterday have come back to haunt him en mass.  He’s suffering, paying all over again, for the things that he has done, things that had been lived with, been dealt with, been forgiven… and learning the truth didn’t bring Fred back either.  He feels guilty and shamed all over again, only the second time around he’s lost the conviction that he was right to take Connor in the first place. In the midst of it all he forgets that Angel betrayed him, he lets it slip beneath the weight of his own burdens.  Illyria observes that it is confusing, two sets of memories, it’s hard to tell which is which.  Wesley advises her to push the new memories, reality, aside; focus on the other ones, they were created for a purpose.

Illyria: To hide from the truth. Wesley: To endure it.

Remember those walls that protect from the devastation of truth?Oh how Wesley needs those walls now.

Angel’s stands in front of the windows looking out as he’s done so often this season.  Connor stops in to say goodbye.  He’s kept the full truth from his family.  He’ll tell them that he’s…different; that it’s not a bad thing.  They’ll feel better knowing that Angel is taking an interest.

Angel: We still haven’t found Vail, but we will Connor: I’m not too worried.  Nothing he can show me I haven’t already seen.  Anyway…I just want to say goodbye.  I gotta go back to my life now.

We see a glimpse of the world weary, jaded Connor than returned from Quor-Toth but, like Wesley, he chooses to resume the manufactured life.  It’s understandable; who would choose horror and displacement and hate over safety, belonging and love.  The memories haven’t destroyed Connor as Angel feared they would, they’ve made him stronger. Angel doesn’t want him to go, wants to stay with him longer.  It hasn’t been nearly long enough.  But Connor’s priority is his parents, this isn’t their world.  He wants to protect them.

Connor: You gotta do what you can to protect your family.  I learnt that from my father.

He leaves Angel with a gift; acknowledgement of their connection and assurance that he understands why Angel did what he had to do.  Finally Angel was able to teach his son something other than fear, mistrust and hate.  Loyalty, commitment and unfathomable love are much better lessons.

…But that’s not all there is to this story. Sure, it’s about Angel and a prophecy he can’t fulfill, it’s about Angel and his son.  But look deeper and you’ll see that it’s also about Angel taking the first steps towards accepting his growing conviction that there is another prophecy that is not his to vindicate.  Since Spike got the soul it’s been in the back of his mind that he was no longer the only candidate. In Destiny he was practically beaten over the head with the idea that a chosen soul has got to be superior to one gained by curse, and hell, Spike won the freaking cup. It might not have meant anything much in the scheme of things but it meant something to Angel. It sent him into a spiral of self-doubt and further weakened his already fragile sense of purpose and hope. What if he’s not the guy? What if there is no great and glorious prize waiting at the end of the rainbow, for him? It’s almost too unbearable to consider…and yet, Spike says he doesn’t want it, doesn’t need it and he doesn’t labour under the weight of his past. He worries about today, not tomorrow or yesterday. Even Angel recognises he’s a champion now, and surely the fated champion vampire with a soul wouldn’t be, how shall we say – reward oriented, as Angel knows he has been on the *odd* occasion. And was it really so bad, watching your son fulfill a prophecy? He got to see his son succeed and he got to feel incredibly proud. Nah, it wasn’t so bad...

All season long there’s been a substitute son living in the kingdom and, not surprisingly, said substitute is hardly seen while the real thing is in the house.  We see Spike only briefly in this episode as he ‘studies’ Illyria.  But the short scenes serves to remind us of one thing; like Connor, Spike is amazingly strong. The pair also share similar philosophies, have both changed dramatically and become better people before they re-entered their father’s house. Connor and Spike are reflected in one another just as Sahjahn’s prophecy reflects the Shanshu.  Don’t be mistaken, this is not about making a definitive judgement call on which of the vampires might get ‘Shanshued’ one day. It is about showing us what is going on in Angel’s head, what he is thinking. He gets told throughout the episode:

‘It’s not you’re fight.’ ‘Don’t worry, you’re boy is very brave, he’ll do you proud’ ‘Sit back and watch his future unfold’

And it doesn’t matter that these things are said about Connor – he hears the words and takes them on board in regard to that particular thing that’s been on his mind. Then, at the end of the episode he’s standing in front of the windows in his office, his thinking place, his epiphany position. And right about now he’s starting to come to the conclusion that he’s not the prophecy boy, probably never was. Then, just before he leaves Connor tells him the thing he’s grateful to have learnt from his father – you gotta do what you can to protect your family.  Angel finds himself at a critical point. He’s pretty much suspecting that the Senior Partners have the wrong guy, they don’t seem to realise Spike’s full potential, yet…but its only a matter of time. And Spike’s here, a loosely affiliated member of the team, dangerous place to be for a vampire with a soul. So now the clocks ticking, you gotta do what you can to protect your family. . .  

Next up: Angel Season 5 - episode 19 - Time Bomb

[cherryblossomriot]

no cause. because. because--

vampires is about begging someone to kill you before you hurt them, it's about insisting that death by the hands of someone you love is better than dragging them down to the same awful fate as you. the whole song acts as a plea, the proposition of "what if i lose myself, will you stop me?" and the answer at the end: "i'll never let them hurt you, I promise", is the person you're begging to kill you deciding that scenario will never happen. "i won't promise to stop you, because i will never let them hurt you. i will never let it get that far."

but vampires is the desperate screams of someone in the heart of a struggle--when they are in their darkest hour, and have to face the idea, i might not make it. it's someone who doesn't know if they will survive, and that promise is an oath, to someone you love, or to yourself. When I hear it, sometimes, i think it's gerard, talking to me. sometimes, i'm saying it to the people i love "I'll never let them hurt you (through me)." if it's not the other person's response, it's the addict's reason for begging you to kill them. don't let me hurt you. I couldn't let them hurt you. because i might--i could--the sun hasn't gone down yet--they can still get me. it is someone who doesn't know if they are strong enough to defeat the vampires themselves, someone who knows, once they fall, they won't be able to stop themselves. it is the plea of someone who is trying to be strong, but has accepted they might still give up.

but "save yourself, i'll hold them back" is about hope-- it's about a strength that refuses death, refuses suicide, as an option. this is the voice of someone who is willing to give themself up for the one they love, but under the oath that they have to save themselves. "i'm giving you a head start, take the motherfucking gun and run as fast as you can." it marks such a significant shift in the band, from 2002 to 2010, from a career full of pain and depression, addiction, targeted publicity, exhaustion, burn out, night terrors, physical injuries, and fear--that transformed its members into profoundly strong people. after everything, they created danger days to scream "your life is precious. they'll try to take it away from you, but it's worth fighting for!"

living becomes rebellion. the fight against vampires is still real, but now, we are not hanging out with corpses, we are not driving in a hearse. we're stealing a car and driving as fast as we can to get away, to live to keep fighting.we must save ourselves. mcr, about to break up, gave us this song as a reminder, "i might be gone, but you are strong enough to save yourself. you were always the one doing the work. i might have helped, might have told you it was worth it to stay alive, but it was you who dropped the knife. "

they are both songs about being willing to die for someone you love to survive, but vampires is someone who hasn't realized their life is worth the fight, asking someone they love to do something they cant bear to do. and save yourself is someone who knows their life is worth fighting for, who is no longer afraid of hurting others, but instead, knows who the enemy is. the vampires were always the enemy. our mental illness, our fear of living, our despair, is a product of a system that wants us to die, wants us to give up and give in. but we have to keep fighting, even when those we love are gone. we fight in their honor, we graffiti their graves with their real name, we "salute the dead and lead the fight".

so. yeah. mcr has always been about protecting the ones you love. their voice just changed from "please save yourself from me before i hurt you" to "i'll hold them back, but you need to save yourself from the world."

thinking about the change from "can someone save my soul tonight? / i'll never let them hurt you, i promise" to "save yourself, i'll hold them back tonight" and losing my mind

[oldbay-on-apples]

Dystopian Larry Fic Rec

Inspired by some of the lovely people and fic recers on here, I’ve decided to start making my own fic recs.  If you’d like, you can request recs in my inbox and I’ll see what I can do <3!

Please read the ratings and tags to these fics (because some of them are dark or have dark themes) and enjoy!

You Try To Be Everything (I Need) by lululawrence - @lululawrence​  (NR, 36k)

Wars, and rumours of wars, were nothing new for the world in the twenty-fourth century. The fighting had evolved over the years, and rarely did it involve traditional weapons. A group most widely known as the Southern Powers gained strength amongst portions of the western European continent and spread quickly. There was a fight the Southern Powers didn’t expect coming from the north of England, though. Resistance came in the form of an organised underground; a group comprised of people with the Touch that did the best they could to enforce a line that would not be crossed. Slowly, that line was moved from the Channel to boundaries further and further north. It seemed only a matter of time before the Southern Powers took over everywhere. Until that time, people did the best they could to live their lives in some semblance of normality. For Louis Tomlinson, that sense of normality was about to change when his best friend, Harry Styles, goes missing. Louis embarks on the journey of a lifetime where he uses his newly developed abilities to search for his friend, even when it takes him to places he never thought he would see while surmounting trials he never could have imagined. -

I loved the way the magic and technology in this fic intersected in such a unique way and the way the world was built was extraordinary!

red hands by reveries_passions - @dystopianharry​ (T, 132k)

I’ve never told anyone,” Harry murmurs, voice so soft no one else would be able to hear, if it wasn’t just the two of them. “But you’ve told someone,” Louis says firmly. “And that’s not gonna fucking happen around here. You don’t speak a word of it, or someone’s going to kill you, and we can’t let that happen.” * a dystopian au in which harry, an ex-soldier who’s escaped from his government run camp, accidentally stumbles across the biggest rebel movement in the country, and louis, one of the rebellion’s mysterious leaders who appears to hate him, seems to simultaneously have an obsession with keeping him alive. or: harry is wanted for treason, niall hasn’t changed in four years, liam is always smiling, and louis is angry. like, really angry.

- The plot of this is just *chef’s kiss* in so many ways!  I love the way the characters interact with each other and I’m weak for Niall and Harry’s friendship in this.

Love After the End of the World by writing_practice - @mercurial-madhouse​ (E 158k)

“Wait. Just so I’m clear in me fucking noggin,” Niall says. “An international worldwide takeover is well under way and the only thing standing between having hot showers and a second end of the world is us five fuckers?”    -----    Society shattered when all electricity suddenly cut off across the globe, plunging the world into darkness. Now, Prometheus Industries is the sole remaining supply of power, a saving grace to those who survived Lights Out. As fugitives in no-man’s land struggling to break into Prometheus HQ, death lurks around every corner for Louis and Zayn. Things get complicated when a routine recon falls apart and Louis collides with Harry and his mates Niall and Liam, survivors with their own agenda.    When staying alive is already a constant battle, the deadliest weakness is to be in love. For Harry and Louis, finding each other sits on top of the endless list of What Else Could Go Wrong.

-

This just came out in the most recent Big Bang (that’s still on going so you should definitely check that out) and this fic is so amazing!  I think it does a great job of just really immersing you in the world the characters exist in.  Love After the End of the World is also a Soulmate AU and I love the way those parts come together.  It also has an amazing prologue called PROMETHEUS RISING (M 5k) that I enjoyed immensely set in the same world!

at last, at last by suspendrs - @suspendrs​ (NR 41k) Locked

“Come with us,” Tommo says, stopping at the other end of the gymnasium, near the doors. “Don’t let them make you suffer any longer. Come with us, and be human.”

   Before Harry has even finished thinking it through, he’s on his feet, gaining the attention of every single person in the gymnasium. What has he got to lose, anyway?

   Or, Harry is born into a cult in a post-apocalyptic world, and Louis is the leader of the rebel group tasked with the mission of shutting them down. Together, they make a rather effective team.

-

This fic does a great job of making you feel like you’re experiencing with the characters, like I could practically smell what the characters were smelling!  The world it’s set in is so cool and the entire fic feels so well thought out and everything is so consistent!

my love will never leave you by we_are_the_same @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed​ (T 10k)

In a world where memories are used as currency, Louis will do anything it takes for Harry to get better.

-

I loved the idea behind this. Like the entire world is so brilliantly done! And it was all based on ONE word (because of the wordplay challenge).  Even though it’s set in a different world everything feels so grounded and realistic and I really really like that about it.

a prayer for which no words exist by Eliane (M 34k) Locked

"Louis is a few seconds away from blowing up a rather important section of the New York subway when he sees Harry for the first time."

-

In this fic the characters motivations are so clear (to the reader) and I love how it goes from Louis accidentally sort of, kind of, kidnapping Harry to them becoming friends then more.  I also love how no matter where they are the fic has a real sense of place. This is part 1 of landscapes of war.  The entire series is really good!

Who Painted the Moon Black by throughthedark (E 95k) Locked

   “People died,” Harry whispers so quietly Louis strains to hear. “People died, and I killed some of them. How does life just go on after something like that?”

   Louis shakes his head. “I don't know. It just does.”

   Hunger Games AU where Louis Tomlinson is district six's victor from the 69th Hunger Games and Harry Styles is district seven's victor from the 72nd Hunger Games.

-

This fic is a hunger games AU that both people who have and haven't read/watched the Hunger Games can enjoy. I like how it explores the world of the Hunger Games in a way that isn’t explored in the Hunger Games canon.  It’s really intense (like the E is for the darker themes and violence) and I enjoy it a lot.  There is a happy ending (as the author assures in the tags) and I really enjoy all the struggles that the characters go through.

Nobody Marks You by graceling_in_a_suit @graceling-in-a-suit​ (T 33k)

“The plan is: we’re gonna put on a play. Now, I see some doubtful faces–” Louis looked around and found zero doubtful faces. Liam looked intrigued, Zayn looked bored, and Harry looked scarily blank. “But this is what’s happening. We’re gonna do some fucking acting, we’re gonna perform our hearts out, and we’re not going to think about anything else. The past, the future; none of it. All we’re going to think about is... “ Niall trailed off, eyeing the bookshelf to his left. He closed his eyes and reached a hand out towards it, running his fingers over the covers before pulling a book out at random. “William Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing.”

AU: Five assholes stuck in a bunker put on a play.

-

This is one of my absolute favorite fics.  I just love the way the characters interact and they way the story is told.  It’s nonlinear so you jump around in time and it shows the way the character's relationships change throughout.  I’m a sucker for Much Ado About Nothing and though you don’t need to read it to fully appreciate the fic I think the use of the play throughout is genius. 

@1dfanfictionbookcovers​ has a really cool cover for the fic as well HERE

With a whimper by kitundercover  @kitundercover​​ (M 132k)

Dystopian AU. Louis has been alone for too long to remember how not to be, and Harry has too much to worry about to deal with a scrawny, wild, stranger.

---

The man grips his arm tightly. “You’re not going to say anything.” It’s not a question.

Louis shakes his head, his body twitching.

“Fine.” Large green eyes survey him before letting go. “It’s cold. Take this. Wear it.”

Louis can’t help another flinch as the man’s long scarf is wrapped around his tender neck, it’s still warm. He touches the soft material. “Thank you.”

The man bears his teeth. “Don’t thank me. Don’t ever thank me.”

-

The thing this fic does really does is showing emotional reactions.  Louis’ inner monologue is so well done and I really like the plot of the story.

these bountiful silences by tommoandbambi (T 123k)

they live in a world where they can only say four words per day. harry meets some people that don't want to live that way.

-

I really, really, really, like this plot and the story! The world that the characters exist in is so interesting and I just love the way in which it is a dystopia.

[nomenomens]

Nomen

Chapter IV - The Music of the Night

CW: none for now, but please, check About Nomen for more informations

WC: around 1500 words

Previous Chapter: Chapter III - The Reluctant Heroes

Next Chapter: Chapter V - First Love/Late Spring

Masterlist

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February 22, Tuesday, 23:45 (present time)

“Sebastian?”

“Yes, My Lady?”

“You still haven’t decided on a name that I can accept?”

“I promise you, I’m thinking about it, but the fact that we don’t have a file that describes us makes it really difficult. And it’s not like you let me use one of your names we already know.”

“You’re right. But I’ve choose to let you be a part of my life exactly ‘cause we don’t have a file together. You are the only person I’ve met that wasn’t fated to stay with me. No one predicted it and that’s why you’re my trump card.”

“I know, My Lady.”

“I hate those files. Always telling me confused fragments of my past and future, and even if some things change, all I can do is accept them. Follow them. You are my only act of rebellion, with you by my side I can at least control my death.”

“I know, My Lady.”

“You’re not very chatty today, are you Seb?”

“I’m waiting for you to give me orders.”

“Right. I’ve read all the Reiss files in six days. I think this is a new record. Today should arrive the second part of them, am I wrong?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay. Tell Eren that in a few days we’ll talk again. Have you moved him underground?”

“Of course I did, right after we’ve learnt about his Titan, but he could still escape.”

“Good. I know. Seb?”

“Yes?”

“Will you hold my hand while I try to sleep?”

“You don’t have to ask every night.”

“And will you sing for me?”

“You know I won’t.”

“But you hummed to me something last night.”

“Only because you forgot to charge your iPod and it turned off while you were about to fall asleep.”

“…so you won’t do it again? You know I can order you to.”

“Then do it. I live but to serve you.”

“You jerk.”

After referring to Eren of the imminent second meeting, I came back to her room. Poor stupid little girl, she really thought I hummed to her last night. I hummed for her every night since My Lord died, it seems it’s the only thing that stops her nightmares. The music I put on her iPod only covers my humming, and she has never noticed what I do to keep her alive at night. Unfortunately, when she has those nightmares she could stop breathing and more than one time I had to revive her. That’s why I always have some adrenaline with me. I won’t let her soul escape too. I’ve already lost My Lord’s soul, I won’t lose hers. I can’t be fooled again and also, that was part of the last order My Lord gave to me. To help her become the woman she wants to be and to be her loyal dog. What a lousy last order. If I only had successfully devoured his soul I would’ve been free to leave her to her fate. But that wasn’t the case. She doesn’t know we don’t have a proper contract, I’m still linked to her brother’s soul, but she was so helpless when she asked me to be her demon. I’ve tried to humiliate her but this foolish girl felt I was her only chance at surviving. I tried to escape, but the order My Lord gave to me made me come back to her every time. So i forged a fake contract with her, I even gave her a mark, a small black moon below her right wrist, that she can use to evoke me in case of danger. I won’t be able to claim and devour her soul if not after I collect My Lord’s one before, but she doesn’t need to know now, even if she begged me to kill her when the time comes. What a fool. 

“Seb?”

“I’m here. Now put on your earphones. What do you want to listen to tonight?”

“I leave you the choice. You know the word I need to hear better than me.”

“As you wish, My Lady.”

I grabbed her hand while sitting at the edge of her bed, always careful not to make a sound and wake her parents next door. My whole life with her was conducted in whispers and delicate movements. I held her hand and started to draw concentric spirals on the back of her hand with my fingers and listened to her heartbeat decrease. When she started breathing heavily I started to hum the song she fell asleep to, the one I had chosen. 

“Let your mind start a journey through a strange, new world.

Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before.

Let your soul take you where you long to be!

Only then can you belong to me.”

As a demon, I didn’t need to sleep, sometimes I did it to recover the energy but it wasn’t essential. That night though, when I was humming while looking at her I felt the need to lay back, so I carefully moved her to make space for me on the bed and lied down next to her, never leaving her hand. I didn’t want her to wake and let her mind wonder if there was a reason for me to sleep next to her, beside a slight feeling of tiredness. I sensed she was falling for me but, as a demon, I can’t feel human emotions, I could care for her at best, but never love her. I was only drawn to her by the smell of her soul and the last order of My Lord: the subtle flirting was only a game to me, and I had already made sure she knew that. Even so, sometimes I worried that she could misunderstand my behaviour and so I tried to keep my personal amusement at bay. 

Once i felt comfortable, I closed my eyes, still humming, because I’ve mastered to do that even in my sleep. Suddenly she left my hand, but her heartbeat and breathing rhythm were still the same, so I was sure she was still sleeping. She rolled onto her stomach and nuzzled her head against my left arm, but before she could touch it I lift it and put it under my head, so her head positioned right beside my chest. In the meantime, her left arm positioned all over my waist as her left leg found its way between my legs. I was really uncomfortable in that position but when I looked at her face I suddenly realized how innocent she looked. She was a real pain, not so bright or even beautiful. Ordinary was the only word I could use to describe her. Except when she got angry last week. That image of her, so flustered and fierce had really left an impression in me, I even behaved strangely immediately after. I didn’t recognize her and I wanted to see more of that side of her, it was addicting and had left me speechless. She had the same look that made me decide to follow My Lord when he was just a lonely child, full of rage and hatred, which were the perfect mix in a such young soul to make me anticipate my meal. The memory of her brother mixed up with the memory of her rage, always suppressed to be the perfect little doll anyone needed her to be, and made me wonder if she was actually worthy. I needed to know but in order to know I would have to corrupt her, break her and let her feelings flow, but I had never obtained a good result, not like the one Eren got out of her in a few minutes. I should have been the only one to make her angry like that, the only one she shows her emotions to. That was the reason I pulled her away from him. I should be the only one to see her unravel. Her grasp on my shirt made me realize I stopped humming and that she was starting to dream, so I resumed my song. 

“Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor,

grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender.

Turn your face away from the garish light of day,

turn away your thoughts from cold, unfeeling light

And listen to the music of the night.”

Her eyebrows stopped crouching in the middle of her forehead, so, with my free right hand, I ghosted my fingers over her cheek before grabbing her hand still over my waist. She was going back to normal. I felt a tight in my chest, but I decided to ignore it and so I continued to sleep and humming for her until the first light of dawn, when I left her with the music still going on her earphones, after brushing a lock of her hair between my fingers and placing it behind her ear. 

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Author's note: I know, seems more like of a filler chapter, and in a way that's correct, but we also have learned something more about Roni's problems and her major links to music and also we hear Sebastian's side. The song I chose for this chapter belong to the musical "Phantom of the Opera", one I've always liked soooo much. Even if I don't find many resemblances between Phantom and Sebastian, I think they share some aspects, especially in the way the wishes to corrupt the soul of the female protagonist and make her turn into their darkness. Of course, Phantom is human and so things are different, but still it was kind of an inspiration for this side of Sebastian. Well, enough with the chatter. I'll link here the video taken from the movie's adaptation of the musical (even if I highly recommend to listen to the Karimloo's version, much more dramatic) and I hope you've enjoyed the chapter and will like the next one (yes, there will be a Mitski song). Thank you!

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Life After Snowpiercer: Curtis Everett Series, One Shots and Drabbles

Moodboard made by the AWESOME @imanuglywombat​. Thank you so much for this! 

A/N- This was my first series and its full of mistakes. Many mistakes. Including descriptions of the reader being white. I need to go through and edit this. And I will be doing that when I have time, its a big project and will need some dedicated time to go through with that. Thank you to those that choose to read it, I do appreciate it. 

Almost Time-  (1) 3k Curtis Everett x Y/N. Days before Revolt, Smut, NSFW.

Breakdown- (2) 5k Curtis Everett x Y/N. Final Day before Revolt, Smut NSFW

Survival- (3) 3.7k Curtis Everett x Y/N. You and Curtis disagree, He leads the mob, you must survive. Dark Subject matter, listed in warning on story.

Still Alive- (4) 3k approx. Curtis Everett (hints of You) Curtis makes his way to the end, and there's a surprise waiting for him. Violence. Note- If you want to know the story Curtis told Nam, Read Past Horrors found below.

End of the Line- (5) 5.8k approx. Curtis Everett x Y/N. Curtis finds out Matt is still alive, had to make a decision to Wilford's proposal. You are dealing with your attackers.  Warnings- Non con implied, mild.

Whos Left?- (6) 5.3k approx. Curtis Everett x Y/N. Curtis with Yona and Timmy make their way towards the tail end, finding an unexpected survivor. You are stuck in a situation not easily able to escape. Violence.

One Problem At A Time- (7) 5.3k approx. Curtis Everett x Y/N. You and Curtis reunite and work on bringing the people in the valley back up to the others. Tension between you and Curtis. Violence.  

Tell Me Please?- (8) 4.9k. Curtis Everett x Y/N. Still tension between you two, Curtis insists on finding out what happened. Finally back to the front with a confrontation coming. Trauma. Violence

Finally Free- (9) 6.2k. Curtis Everett x Y/N. Matt is finally contained and you have a moment. Curtis starts stepping into a leadership role with the help of Edgar.

First Order of Business- (10) 6.6k Curtis Everett x Y/N. Dealing with the captured Front Enders and you take up working with the Doctor, discussing your predicament. 

Adjusting to The Everyday Life- (11) 5.4k Curtis Everett x Y/N. The new way of life is becoming routine, and your starting to adjust. Curtis does his best to help you along. Warnings- swearing, hints of smut, talk of pregnancy.

To Good To Be True- (12) 6.2k Curtis Everett x Y/N. You are ready to be intimate with Curtis again after the assault. Edgar is told something from the past that shocks him, makes his world come crashing down. Warnings- Sex, mentions of assault, talks of cannibalistic survival, violence. NSFW. 

Dragging Up The Past- (13) Curtis x You. Matt’s escaped and Curtis goes with a team to search for them. You figure you could talk to Edgar, maybe make him understand the circumstances of the past. Warnings- mentions of cannibalism, Smut, violence, swearing, all that good stuff.

Just Get Back Home- (14) 5.9k Curtis x You. Cutis and the group go to retrieve Matt and his group, with a warning from Yona to be extra cautious. Warning- Violence. 

The World Is Changing- (15) 6.5k Curtis Everett x You. This is it, the end of Wilfords reign on the Survivors lives, and time to embrace the future, whatever it may hold for the group. The Final Chapter. Warnings- Violence, mentions of rape, executions, smut, swears. 

Life on the Snowpiercer- (drabbles/one-shots)

Past Horrors- 1.4k Approx. Curtis Everett x Y/N. Curtis recalling past deeds. Warning, very dark subject for survival.

Taken (Early Years)- 3.7k Approx. Curtis Everett x Y/N. Loss of will to live after tragedy strikes, Curtis insists on keeping you alive. Angst

Stay Safe (Early Years)- 3.7k approx. Curtis Everett x Y/N. Curtis is prepping for riots with McGregor, and is told what his role is. It makes him think about his feelings for you. 

Act of Rebellion (Early Years)- 7.7k approx. Curtis Everett x Y/N. McGregor Riots end with heavy casualties, and new alliances form. Warnings- Violence, Mass Death, Smut, Loss of Virginity, Female receiving Oral. Just some smut involved. Death and Smut. There ya go. 

Curtis Everett, A Damn Tease- 5.6k Approx. Curtis Everett x Y/N. Oh just smut. The whole thing. Little bit of convo plot. But thats not what we’re really here for.

The Internet is for What?- Short Read Curtis Everett x Reader, Group Setting. Discussing what the internet was for.

Surprise- short. Curtis Everett x Y/N. You wanted to give Curtis a gift, but what? Sweet, fluffy, just warm feeling.

Its A Party- 2.8k. Curtis Everett x Y/N. Everyones bored, how to entertain? Fun, NSFW

Morning Conversations- Short Read.  Curtis Everett x Y/N. You and Curtis enjoy an early morning wake up. Smut. NSFW

Tension- 4.6k. Curtis Everett x Y/N. Curtis breaks up a dispute and it affects him. NSFW. Alternate Ending available in story.

Games- Curtis Everett x Y/N. 449 words of the floofiest floof ever. Curtis and You play with the kids.

Dont Know Why- Curtis Everett x Y/N 1k Curtis just needs a moment to spend with you.

Interrupted- 6.5k Curtis Everett x Y/N, Illness has been sweeping through the train, but it seems to be gone. Finally, you and Curtis have time together, maybe. Smut

Nightmare- 2.4k Curtis Everett x Y/N. Warnings- Non Con references. Dealing with the aftermath of Y/N trauma in Survival. Curtis mentioned in flashbacks only.

In the Dark- Short drabble. You recognize Curtis anywhere when he comes for you

Curtis Request- short drabble, you have been teasing Curtis all day, and now he pays you back for it. Smut. 

Not Leaving- Short drabble. Still plagued by nightmares of the assault, Curtis is right by your side, refusing to let you face them alone. Set Between chapters 10 and 11. 

Just This Forever Moment- 3k Curtis Everett X You. Early morning moments are to be appreciated and Curtis does just that when he wakes up to find you still asleep. NSFW. Smut. Oral. Sexual. 

To The Sound Of... Ooh Laa-  3.8k Curtis Everett x You. You find a surprise in one of the cars but is having difficult getting it to unlock. Yona insists you take it to Curtis, that he will be able to unlock its secrets. 

Curtis Loves Blankets- cute short piece about Curtis accidentally stealing the blankets from you. 

Curtis Sensory Prompt- Curtis and You are having a snowball fight with the kids

Deleted Scene- 

What You Deserve- THIS IS NOT A PART OF ABOVE STORY, I CUT IT. 5.7k Curtis Evertt and Y/N. Early Years. You sit with a dying member of the train and listen to her talk about her late husband, and the idea of Soulmates crosses your mind. Do they exist? 

Curtis thoughts- just my thoughts and possible use for fics later

[thenightgazer]

A Long Way Home

While still trapped in the Underworld, Dante and Vergil have to resolve their family issue. One that can't be solved only by swords and guns.

It's been two years since Red Grave incident, one week after Christmas, and still no news about Dante and Vergil. That leaves Nero terribly upset, but little did he know that miracle will come to him very soon.

Merry Christmas @nibbbs! Surprise surprise, I’m your secret santa from @dmcsecretsanta! Hopefully you enjoy the gift I wrote for you! Happy reading and happy holiday!

You can also read it on my AO3!

~~~

The Underworld has never been this quiet before.

That forsaken place is the real no man’s land; always boisterous with fights between demons to take over the throne of the Underworld. Be it a slaughter between lower demons or higher demons, they couldn’t care less. Their primal instinct is just craving more power and of course, human flesh. But since the portal to cross into the human world isn’t always unfolded, cannibalism is ineluctable. It’s either eat or be eaten. It’s bound to happen and demons don’t have any choices but to yield to the Underworld’s natural law. Surviving and escaping the Underworld seems like an absurd fantasy for humans, even for demons as well.

Which is why voluntarily jumping into the depth of the Underworld to save the world is considered to be a valiant and honorable act, yet also frivolously lunatic.

Well, for Dante, lunatic sounds like his middle name, if he ever had one.

He chuckles by the thought of that.

“What are you laughing at?” Dante’s problematic twin brother Vergil snarls.

“Nothing,” Dante closes his eyes. “Just having a weird thought.”

Vergil replies nothing. He shows no interest in Dante's daydream, but that’s just probably because he’s too tired to even think of a reply. The twins couldn’t count how many days have passed since they cut the Qliphoth tree down. They spared and killed any demons nearby, exploring other regions of the Underworld simply because they are bored and need some time to rebound their lost time as brothers. Now, exhaustion forces them to take some rest. They lean side by side on the scorched desert, staring at the perpetual black sky while restoring their energy.

Dante can sense a demon’s presence not too far from where he is right now, but that presence fades eventually. “You feel that too, Verge?”

“I do,” Vergil murmurs. “The words have been spoken, I presume. That they better not to disturb us if they still want to live.”

“Well, once we recover, they’re going to die anyway.”

Vergil’s short hum speaks of his concurrence.

Dante shifts his hands under his head as he glances to his brother. Vergil stiffly lies on the ground with Yamato on his chest while his hands gripping on it. He might close his eyes but Dante knows his brother can still attack his opponent while closing his eyes. As hard as a steel, this old bastard, Dante amuses at his idea. “Rest means relaxing, bro. You don’t have to be on guard all the time.”

“I’m preparing for any attack.”

“It’s not like there is a demon near us at this moment.”

“Have some self-consciousness, Dante. You could attack me at any time, given a chance.”

Dante wakes up straight away. “Why would I wanna attack you?!”

“There’s always a possibility.”

“Says the guy who always has the intention to kill me, huh,” Dante lies back again. “Seriously, Verge. Just for five minutes, stop thinking and go to sleep. Bet it’s been a while since you have a proper sleep, right?”

Neither show any agreement or disagreement, Vergil turns his head to Dante. “Why are you still awake then?”

“Huh? To keep an eye on you, of course. Who knows you’d do some weird shit outta there again.”

Vergil curves a smirk, then turns his eyes to the dark sky again. “I see. You are also scared of me attacking you while you’re asleep, aren’t you? We’re twins, after all.”

“I don’t-” Dante almost bite his mouth.. “Man, you’re as sharp and annoying as you always have been.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“Yeah right.”

And there’s silence again. It’s been days, or weeks, since the last time Dante hears any demonic voices around him. To be honest, he kind of expects their appearance. He likes talking to Vergil, but the older brother has an issue in healthy communication. Hell, Vergil is a difficult person and Dante wonders if the eldest children around the world are always like this. But Dante realizes he is also no expert in social interaction, and fighting is also the only thing they both are good at. Vergil would talk a little bit much when fighting, even if it’s mostly taunting and mocking Dante, yet it’s better than having Vergil succumb to the dark side again.

“By the way,” Dante breaks the ice. “Are you ready now to tell me who’s the lucky girl a.k.a Nero’s mom?”

Vergil draws the Yamato above Dante’s throat. “One more word, and I’ll cut you into pieces.”

“C’moooon! I’m curious!”

The Yamato is now touching Dante’s skin. “Final warning, Dante.”

Dante flicks the Yamato’s blade. “Fine. Whenever you’re ready, bro. You might not want to tell me, but you owe that to Nero. He’s your son. He deserves to know.”

Vergil sheathes Yamato, scoffing at Dante’s warning. “It’s not like I’m going back to the human world.”

“Well, we HAVE to!”

“Pray tell why I should agree with you.”

“I have a shop to run and there’s a new menu at my favorite pizza parlor. You should try it, by the way. And you got a lot to explain to Nero. You don’t wanna be a deadbeat like Father, right? Though you kinda already are all this time.”

“You know it better than anyone else that I didn’t know Nero’s existence until you told me so.”

“Which is more reason why you have to come back to the human world soon. You can say you don’t need to catch up with Nero but I know you want it. You left him your frigging book; the same one you didn’t allow me to borrow. Dear ol’ Vergil got some soft spots for his son, huh?”

Vergil turns his back from Dante like a sulking child, ignoring his younger twin’s laughter. As expected from a cold man like him, he won’t ever admit that every single of Dante’s words is true. Again, a long and neglected fear consumes him. What’s fatherhood for a man who ran out of place and time like him anyway? Is there any chance for him to fix his family? Getting back in terms with Dante is one thing, but with Nero, the son he had never met before his escapement from the Underworld? Does he even have a right to call him his son after all he had done to him?

After quite long of silence and battle with himself, Vergil murmurs a question to Dante. “How old is he?”

Dante almost squealed if only he didn’t remember not to ruin Vergil’s mood or else they won’t have any friendly conversation anymore. “Nero? Twenty-something, I guess. Haven’t asked him myself.”

“How did you meet each other?”

“Long short story, some weird-ass cult that worshipped our father as a god turned out evil and wanted to use our father’s power to rule the world-”

“The Order of the Sword?”

“Right! You did your research! Nero was one of them but rebelled after they kidnapped his girlfriend and killed her brother. I came to Fortuna to retrieve the Sparda sword and apparently your kid was able to summon the Yamato and I got the picture already. He got white hair, he summoned Yamato, tried to kill me repeatedly, stab me with Rebellion and Yamato, craving for more power to save his beloved. I wondered where he got that from, by the way~”

A hint of smirk curves in Vergil’s mouth.

“Then we worked together to save Fortuna from a pope who was obsessed with our Father and destroyed the island. We succeeded and brought peace. Nero got his girlfriend back, and we established the branch of Devil May Cry in Fortuna. The end.”

“A heartwarming, and very unoriginal story.”

“You think I made up that story?”

“Didn’t say that. I am merely implying that I heard stories similar to your experience.”

“Hell knows you are the coldest person alive, but you are a terrible liar. You are a man of pride, after all. Lying doesn’t suit you.”

“I can tell thousands of lies as I please, if only that’s necessary,” Vergil takes a brief look at Dante’s mischievous face. “But I won’t, if it’s concerning my son.”

Is this really the Vergil I used to know? Dante can’t hold his grin while elbowing his brother. “Starting to feel like a real dad, huh?”

“Silence.”

“Admitting that you love your son won’t do any harm, Verge.”

“I-” Vergil stumbles upon his own words. He growls impatiently, hurrying himself to get up and sit down as he wipes his face frustratedly. “We’re not having this conversation anymore.”

“Why? Just because you can’t admit that you grew care for your son?”

“Because I’m a terrible person!”

That was the most honest words that came from Vergil, if anything, ever. When was the last time he showed his vulnerable side like this? Even as V, crumbling and dying slowly, he didn’t even spare Dante any sign of defeat and regret. Dante gets up, clapping Vergil’s shoulder. “Only if you still want to destroy the world and kill your own family, then maybe I’d call you the worst shit in the world too.”

Vergil shakes his head. “If only…”

“Huh?”

“Had I known I have a son back then…” Vergil says bitterly. “I would never leave him. I would never go pursuing power or raising that foolish tower and this ridiculous tree…” he points to the remains of Qliphoth tree with his sword. “I would have a better chance to be… a good father for him…”

Regret always comes late, isn’t it? The ‘if onlys’ never come at the front of the mind, merely whispering behind the head but never appearing into the surface before regret comes. Vergil knows that, but never really understands it until Dante tells him that Nero- the very man whose arm was ripped by him and still willing to help him in every way- is his own flesh and blood. His priority was to seal the gate of the Underworld and cut the Qliphoth tree, so that Nero and the rest of the human world are safe and sound. He will stay in the Underworld to redeem himself, for he thinks he has no place in the human world for all he has done. He planned to create a portal to the human world after he fixed things up with Dante to kick him out from the Hell with force, because he knows Dante won’t leave him alone again and will do anything to drag Vergil out from the Underworld. The plan is simple. It should have been easy to execute.

Yet ever since Vergil landed at this hellhole, his steps are getting heavier as time goes on. A haunting voice inside his head kept telling him to come back to Nero as soon as he finished his job cutting Qliphoth roots. Another sound tells him he should stay longer here with Dante to catch up with their sibling bound. The third sound, more demanding and urging, tells him to stay in the Underworld forever as a redemption.

“Y’know, bro,” Dante folds his legs as he seizes the Yamato from Vergil’s hand and puts it on the ground, which dismays Vergil. “Gotta admit that I wanted to kill you because I wanted to free you from evil, and get rid of Nero’s burden of having you as his father. Though he proved to us that we are just a bunch of nonsensical idiots who got unsolved sibling problems between us-”

“I am not an idiot!”

“You might have scored higher on the Math test than me but you’re still an idiot!” Dante barks. “Anyway that’s not my point! What I mean to say is, as much as I hate your dumb-as-rock head, you’re still my brother. And it’s never too late to fix things up.”

Vergil scoffs and takes his sword back to his embrace again. “How can you be so sure?”

“I blamed you, y’know, for that day” Dante admits, his eyes getting darker and the carefree vibe in his voice is gradually gone. “For not rescuing me and Mother.”

Vergil streaked at that confession. “What do you mean?”

“You thought Mother only saved me and left you behind while she died searching for you,” Dante woefully chuckles. “But for me, on that day, I thought you would come to rescue us.”

“I was planning to-”

“She could have hid with me in the closet until you come to save us. That’s what I thought back then when she died, and you never came back. I thought you left us, before I heard one of them say they had you killed. There I was; frightened and thinking that I was alone. My mother and brother died. No one could save me but myself. I was blaming you for running away that day. If you didn’t, we could have defeated them all and protected our home.”

“Or, we could have died. All of us.”

“Exactly. Instead of blaming you, I blamed myself for picking a fight with you. Should’ve left you and your book alone,” Dante stands up, spinning the Ivory before shooting a flying demon that approaches them. “I lived by loathing myself, until I met you again in that cursed church, remember? I was genuinely happy to see you.”

“I remember,” Vergil nods slowly, recalling a blurry picture of their younger selves. “You said you are a devil hunter and will be filthy rich someday.”

“Still waiting for that day, actually. Yet you fucker started being a dick, saying shits about power and stuff,” Dante’s harsh voice trembles slightly. “I thought we could start over as a family, but you decided to fucking stay in the Underworld. I couldn’t save you at the gate of the Underworld. I couldn’t save you at Mallet Island. I could save everyone else, but not my own family.”

Vergil raises up. His arm is reaching Dante’s shoulder, but it never touches him. His hesitation is rational, for he knows words can’t describe how Dante must have felt towards Vergil. Hatred might be the wrong word; it sounds too soft. Too lenient, too merciful.

One could tell it’s disappointment, Vergil gets his answer as Dante turns over to face him. The mischievous little brother side of Dante has gone as he aims his gun at Vergil. It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend. Let alone a family.

Dante wails horridly. “Always the quiet one, ain’t cha? Remember how our parents always told me to be quiet like you? ‘Why can’t you just behave like Vergil?’ Guess what? At least I’m not the one who fucked the world up and ripped off my son’s arm-”

“Dante-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Dante’s grip on Ivory is slightly trembling as he snaps. “I’ve been through shits too, Vergil. I missed Father and Mother. I missed you, for fuck sake! After all this time I believed I killed you in Mallet Island, then you came out of nowhere to destroy the world. I came out with the conclusion that you didn’t even change a bit, just an egomaniacal who thinks the world only revolves around him. I needed to kill you again because I don’t want my nephew to kill his own father. Don’t you fucking realize how maddening was that?!”

A bullet passes through Vergil’s head. The older hybrid stands still without any intention to return the attack, only wiping the blood from his forehead. I don’t have the right to be irritated, he reminds himself while his mouth forms a bitter grimace as Dante puts the gun on Vergil’s forehead, ready to pull the trigger anytime soon. For a second Vergil can sense Dante is going to lose his temper as he catches a glimpse of red flash in Dante’s eyes. Ever since they were kids, Vergil was always aware that Dante in his total wrath is dangerous. A ticking bomb , Vergil recalls what their father said about Dante’s anger as he watches the raging fire in Dante’s eyes ignite until it’s slowly fading.

“But I changed my mind again,” Dante continues. “Instead of blaming you and carrying on the bad blood, I choose to start over. And that’s how I can be sure,” he pokes Vergil’s head with the gun before putting it back into his coat. “That everyone deserves a second chance and it’s never too late to fix what you have done.”

The red devil yawns as he slams himself on the ground again, stretching his hands before he closes his eyes. “Sorry for raising my voice. It’s just impossible to use soft words whenever I’m talking to a stubborn jackass like you.”

He opens one of his eyes to see what Vergil would react. His older brother sighs heavily, sitting beside Dante’s lying body and puts his katana on the ground. For a man with a soul of a true warrior like Vergil, putting weapons down on the ground is a sign of defeat. Which is the reason why he was slightly aggravated when Dante seized the Yamato and put it on the ground as if he told Vergil to surrender. It should be a humiliating act, but for once Vergil throws his pride away.

Because you are right, Dante.

“Dante,” he calls his brother. This time there’s no hostility in his voice, only sincerity and repentance. “I am ever so sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Dante smirks playfully. “Why do you think I’m here if I still hold a grudge against you?”

“I mean it,” Vergil emphasizes. “Truthfully. For everything I have done… and my sincere gratitude for taking good care of my son while I wasn’t there for him.”

“Honestly, Verge. Forget it. I only do what I have to do.”

Watching his little brother finally howls in laughter, a surge of warmth fills Vergil’s veins as he joins the laughter. It’s comforting, since they can’t remember the last time they laugh together without any fight and bad blood. I barely remember how it feels like to have a family, Vergil chuckles while Dante kicks Vergil’s knee mischievously. Was it always this… warm?

“Dante.”

“Yup?”

“I think we should go back to the human world now.”

Dante whistles in joy. “Ready to meet your grandkids?”

“Do tell me the truth,” Vergil growls, impetuously tugs Dante’s collar. “Are you serious about grandchildren or you just make it up?”

“For fuck sake, Verge! Didn’t you know that already when you ripped your son’s arm?”

“I didn’t pay much attention... I can only recall a voice of woman called Nero for dinner- not the voice of that mouthful friend of Nero-”

“Yeah that was Kyrie. Your soon-to-be daughter in law. Anyway they adopted kids called Carlo, Kyle, and Julio,” Dante pats Vergil’s shoulder with pride and teasing manner. “Congratulations, you’re officially a grandpa! What a fine day for revelation!”

As if my life could get any worse, Vergil grinds his teeth in frustration as he releases Dante from his grip. “How unfortunate.”

“C’mon, swing that flimsy sword of yours and make a portal to the human world. We got plenty of things to do! I gotta pay those bills, refurbish my shop, return Kalina Ann to Lady, and buy a birthday present for Patty.”

“Rather a cumbersome list you got there, Dante.”

“What can I say? I’m a busy man! Now get your ass up, old man! Nero’s waiting!”

---

It’s already two fucking years.

Nero was never a believer. There’s no such thing as a miracle, he told himself. Protecting Kyrie and the kids is an endless responsibility that bestowed upon him. There’s nothing he won’t do for their happiness and safety, even if it means to cost his own well-being. He relies on nobody but himself. He doesn’t pray. He never tries to exceed any expectation, because hope is a dangerous and fragile thing. Hope bothers him, and he hates to be bothered.

Yet, lately, he almost surrendered by the temptation to hold some hope.

What hope? Nero rejects his own thought. For those douchebags to return safely? Gimme a break.

Sitting in his garage and polishing the Red Queen, Nero takes a brief look at the snowy ground outside of the house where the children are building a snowman. He grins at Kyle who waves at him; the youngest from the three children he adopted, who’s now taller and braver than he used to be when he found the little boy searching for some scraps at Fortuna’s slum. Nero chuckles when a glimpse of a picture of Vergil meeting Kyrie and the boys pops out from his head. Would they be pleased to meet him? Would Vergil be pleased to meet them? Would he himself be pleased to meet Vergil again? There’s no fucking way for them to coming back, Nero slaps himself. They either die or shit themselves in the Underworld. Probably fucking fighting again like toddlers.

Still, the thought of his father and uncle somehow return and meeting his little family is overwhelming. Nero can’t even hide his smile anymore. He throws away the rug he uses to wipe the blade and hangs the Red Queen on the wall.

Come to think of it, that fucker ripped off my arm in this garage too.

He lays a hard punch on the wall.

“Keep punchin’ the wall, and ya would destroy the house.”

Nero glances at his friend and partner in crime, Nico, who rests her back on the van and lights her cigarette. He still finds it strange to witness Nico in her winter outfit, a contrast to her usual tanktop and shorts she used to wear before winter comes. "How many times have I told you to smoke outside the house?”

“Ya blind or what? It’s cold outside!”

“Darn it, Nico! Then don’t smoke!”

“Too late~” Nico barks a laugh while blowing a smoke. “Anyway, why did you punch the wall like a madman?”

Nero shrugs nonchalantly. “Nothing. Just feeling like punching something.”

“Cut the bullshit. Ya missed yer old man, ain’t cha?”

“Buzz off, Nico.”

“Aaaaw, don’t be so meanie~”

“Seriously, Nico. Go bugger off someone else. I’m not in the mood for having a chit-chat.”

“Everyone’s worried, ya know,” Nico exhales exaggeratedly, pointing at the children outside. “Those lil’ brats asked me if somethin’ pissed ya off because ya look like ya wanted to punch someone in the face since the Christmas party last week.”

“I indeed want to punch a certain person,” Nero lets out a cackle. “But he’s not available at the moment.”

“Y’know, I’m not an expert of daddy and son shits, and yer dad is obviously not an ideal father, but it’s totally okay for ya to miss him. The jackass did save the world, at least.”

“Thanks, Nico. That’s so motivational. I’m deeply touched- ouch !” Nero swears when a sturdy plug lands on his head. “What the fuck Nico?!”

“Talk to Kyrie,” Nico lowers her voice. Her brash mouth always sounds kinder and empathetic when she talks about Kyrie. “Ya locked yerself in this garage the whole day! You’re making her worried, ya know?”

“I think you should double your eyeglasses. I didn’t lock myself. See that door? It’s unhinged, because I need to make sure the kids are alright.”

“Yeaaah whatever. Go talk to her, pretty boy. I’ll watch over the brats.”

“Fine…” Nero scratches his nape as he walks away from the garage. “Don’t let the kids go anywhere near my weapons!”

“Gotcha~!”

Nero never meant to worry anyone, of course. He lives a happy life; he married the love of his life, adopted a bunch of orphans whom he loved and took care of equally, and ran a business with his best friend whom he considered a big sister. The world is currently safe from danger. So what's to worry about?

His confusion disappears when he sees Kyrie’s figure covered in a thick blanket at the terrace. She smiles happily as the snow continues to fall and catches a drop on her palm. Nero feels like he could melt anytime he sees Kyrie’s soothing smile. He takes his time to watch her catching snow as he leans against the door, ignoring the cold breeze that sneaks inside his body. It doesn’t take a long time for Kyrie to be aware of Nero’s presence as she asks him to join her at the terrace.

“You should put your coat on, Nero. It’s cold here.” Kyrie speaks her concern while she wraps him with her blanket.

“Chill out. I’m fine,” Nero gives her a light peck on the forehead. His right hand envelopes Kyrie’s waist to give her a sense of comfort. “The kids are building snowmans back there. Been hours and who knows when they will stop.”

Kyrie giggles. “The more they grow up the more energetic they become! At least we don’t need to worry about how to get them to sleep on time. I believe they’ll get exhausted after play and filling their stomachs with delicious dinner would quicken their way to sleep!”

“You’re right.”

Kyrie looks up at her lover’s tensed face. She brushes the tip of Nero’s nose slightly to make him smile. That little maneuver always succeeded to cheer him up. Kyrie rests her head on Nero’s chest. “Are you not happy with the Christmas party last week? I know you hated surprises but-”

“No- I liked it! Really! You know we rarely celebrate things lately and last week was one of the best days in my life! How could I hate that?” Nero tightens his grip on Kyrie’s waist, gazing at Kyrie’s eyes deeply. “I’m happy, Kyrie. I’m happy here with our little family.”

“Then it must have something to do with your father and uncle, is it?”

“That obvious, huh?” Nero smirks bitterly. “I just… I don’t know. You know how Dante is. To think that he’s actually my uncle is… weird. Then I found out the man who screwed up Red Grave was his brother. My father. Vergil, he left me when I was a child… as V, he manipulated me to do his agenda. He reemerged and left me again. And Dante didn't even bother to tell me the fact before Vergil was back. That made me feel… kinda betrayed. It still doesn’t make any sense to me. I got a pair of dysfunctional family members and I don’t know what I should do if they come back. I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

The only parental figure Nero ever had was just Kyrie and Credo’s parents, and they didn’t even live that long to give little Nero more love and parental advice. Kyrie truly understands Nero’s struggle to accept his heritage and keep holding on his humanity. “Nero… do you forgive your father?”

“What?”

“I don’t mean to bring it up again, but after all the ill he caused to you, do you forgive him?”

The memory of him and Vergil on the top of the Qliphoth tree rises again. He succeeded in bringing some sense back to his father and the old man entrusted him his precious book- the one which Nero kept safely on the shelf- before jumping to Hell and finishing what he started. Vergil didn’t say much, but his promise… his damn promise!

“I won’t lose next time. Hold onto that until then.”

“I forgive him,” Nero admits. “I think… I just miss him. And Dante. I really want us to be a proper family. That's all.”

“Just as I thought,” Kyrie cups Nero’s jaw with her hands. “I’m glad that you’re honest with yourself. There’s nothing wrong with missing them. They might be flawed, but they are your family."

Nero carefully caresses his beloved hands as if he's afraid of hurting her. "I'm sorry I keep putting you to my demon lineage problem…"

"Hey, we talked about this. Demon or human, it's you I want to be with…" she kisses him on the lips. "I love you, Nero."

"I love you too." He returns the kiss deeper.

Nero wraps her around his arms, seeking comfort and warmth from her presence. Kyrie's words succeed in getting his head together. He can feel a degree of burden has left his shoulders as he finds himself finally letting go his worries. Kyrie is right. There's nothing wrong with missing those douchebags. They're my family-

"NERO!"

Nico appears out of nowhere at the terrace, panting and panicking like she ran for her life. Every single nerve inside Nero's body tells him that something wrong is happening, but the sassy smirk on Nico's face while she tries to breathe normally tells another thing. "You're not gonna believe me if I told you this-"

"Are the kids safe?" Kyrie asks anxiously.

"Yeah they're fine. They have company."

What the fuck? "Company? What are you talking about?!"

Nico rolls her eyes as she grabs both of Nero and Kyrie's hands. "Just follow me quickly!"

Nico seems excited… if it wasn't a danger, then what?

The children are giggling and shouting happily at something Nero can't see yet. But as soon as Nico delivers them in the backyard, he spots two familiar figures among the kids. The red-coated man joins them to decorate the snowman as he helps them crafting the pile of snow with stones and branches. He summons a cowboy hat and a shiny red scarf from thin air- which excites the kids- before he puts the hat on the snowman's head and wraps its neck with the scarf as the last touch. The children are applauding and hugging him, saying their gratitude and bombing him with questions on how he could summon stuff only from thin air. The cocky red man barks in laughter and tells them that he learns some magic tricks.

In a contrast to the red man, the blue-coated man stands a bit far from the crowd, facepalming and reluctant to do anything despite the children's curiosity as they glance at him and whisper their surprise on how similar his face is with the red man. Carlo states that the blue man is scary, and quickly hides behind the red man when the blue man hears his mutter and glares at the poor kid.

"C'mon, Verge, stop glaring at the kids! You're scaring them!" The red man chuckles.

Dante?

Vergil?

How-? Since when…?

"You…" Nero breathes heavily, barely trusts his vision. "You guys are alive…"

Dante grins and waves a salute at Nero. "Heya, kid! Miss me? I know we're late, but Merry Christmas!"

Kyrie holds her giggle when she catches Nero's dumbstruck face. She grips his hand and whispers him a word of advice. "Time to let your doubts go, Nero. They are here, at last."

Nero gives a nod, but his mouth isn't capable of forming any words. He reluctantly approaches Vergil, who seems nonchalant about his surroundings, if only Nero failed to catch his father's warm gaze as he stands before Vergil. A minute has passed and none of them say anything. Words cannot describe how they feel towards each other.

But Nero decides to solve the problem in Sparda's family old-fashioned style: punching his father hard right in the face.

There echoes Dante and Nico's laughter as Vergil's body lands violently on the ground, covered with snow.

The older son of Sparda can taste a metallic scent liquid dripping from his lips.

"That hurts," he murmurs and proceeds to get up as he wipes the blood from his mouth. "Two years and still have no manners, I see."

"Fuck you, old man!" Nero spats angrily.

Dante, still laughing at the picture of his brother getting sucker-punched by Nero, sloppily walks to approach them. He pats Nero's shoulder in pride. "You're doing the right thing, Nero. You gave him the right Christmas present-"

The legendary devil hunter gets a very lethal slap from his nephew before he finishes his sentence.

"And that's a present for you, deadweight!" The young devil hunter shouts.

The view of Dante and Vergil getting slammed by Nero only increases Nico's laughter.

"Why did Nero punch Mr. Dante and Mr. Vergil?" Carlo asks Kyrie. "Nero always punches bad people. Are they bad people?"

"Well… no, they are good people! Mr. Vergil is Nero's father and Mr. Dante is Nero's uncle," Kyrie chuckles to hide her worry and struggles to find the correct way to explain the situation. "They haven't met for a very long time. Nero misses them so much that he… doesn't know what to do anymore. But punching people doesn't solve problems, so don't ever do that, okay?"

The kids nod obediently despite not completely understanding the circumstances.

"Can we stop Nero from punching them, Kyrie?" asks Julio, the oldest one from the three. "Family doesn't hurt each other, right?"

"Nah, don't worry. They will stop soon," Nico says as he points at the three hybrids. "Let 'em get the reunion they deserve."

They become calm and smiling at the sight of Nero bringing his father and uncle in a tight embrace together as the young man lets out a cry.

"You both are full of shits and stinky… like a scavenger…" Nero sobs, his teeth grinding hard. "At least take a shower before you show up, dumbass…!"

Dante sneers as he taps Nero’s back. “Yeah, I miss you too.”

The red devil glares at his twin. Say something to your son!

Vergil, unmoved and stiff, doesn’t know how to react from this awkward embrace. He feels uncomfortable, yet finds himself melting between this fuzzy feeling. “Nero…”

“Shut up,” Nero interrupts while breaking his embrace and burying his teary eyes on his palm. “Just fucking shut up.”

“Forgive me,” the blue devil insists to continue. “For leaving you again.”

“Yeah yeah, just shut up...”

Nero jolts by the unexpected weight on his head; Vergil’s hand ruffles his hair as he curves a very subtle smile.

“I’m proud of you, son.”

Oh how Nero wanted to punch him again, if only he could bring himself to.

“Uhm…” Kyrie comes to Nero’s rescue as she smiles politely to the twins. “I’m sorry to interrupt this reunion. It’s dinner time and… we would be very happy if the two of you join us for supper.”

“We’d be glad!” Dante accepts cheerfully. “Nero once told me you cook the best meal in Fortuna!”

“Shut up, Dante!” Nero grunts. He remembers he hasn’t told the twins that Kyrie and him are married. He pulls Kyrie closer and holds her hand firmly. “Anyway, Father. This is my wife, Kyrie. Kyrie, this is Vergil. My father.”

Kyrie smiles warmly at Vergil. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Vergil.”

Vergil appreciates Kyrie’s bravery and gives his sincerest nod of approval. There is not a single hint of fright from Kyrie as he recalls how people tend to tremble and stutter in fear whenever they talk to him. He can see why Nero loves her and is very protective towards her. “Thank you for taking good care for my son all this time.”

“Sorry for missing your wedding party, babe. We’ve been busy cleaning up Hell,” Dante grins at Kyrie. “Congratulations. My nephew is lucky to have you as his wife.”

“Can you shut up already?” spats Nero, feeling terribly embarrassed.

“I’m hungry~!” Nico shouts mischievously. “Let’s continue inside! It’s damn freezin’ out here!”

Kyrie gives the twins a final nod as she invites them to come inside the house. She runs to the kitchen with Nico while Nero gathers the kids to enter the house. Dante chuckles like a cocky cool uncle when Julio asks him to do another magic trick, and the little chuckle turns into a bigger laughter when he sees Vergil’s hand tucked in Kyle’s hand as the youngest child calls him Grandpa Vergil.

“Grandpa’s hand is cold!” Kyle says, unaware of Vergil’s death glare. “Once you eat Kyrie’s food, you’ll be warm in no time!”

“Let go of my hand, little rascal.” Vergil scoffs, uncomfortable by the strange kindness from the little child.

Kyle laughs and keeps guiding him to the kitchen. The food is prepared and everyone is about to get their seats. Carlo drags a chair beside Dante’s seat and shyly asks Vergil to sit there, which Vergil accepts.

“Starting to feel like coming back home?” Dante asks his brother.

“This is not bad.”

“I’ve contacted Lady and Trish. They will be here soon,” Nico says as she puts the cigarette on the ashtray. “Lady said something about returning her Kalina Ann. Trish gave her regards, and said that ya need to pay the rent as soon as possible.”

“Damn… those devilish ladies…” Dante buries his face on the table.

“Your office looks like shit without you.” Nero sneers at Dante.

Further family resolvement can wait. Now let them enjoy their first family dinner for the first time. Christmas might have passed a week ago, but Nero thinks his most valuable present had just arrived today. He still wants to beat the shit out of his father and uncle for some unknown reasons, but it can wait for later. His eyes meet Vergil’s, and his father forms a warm smile to him. He never says much, Nero knows that, but he can give him time to adjust in the human world.

Amidst the chants and chatter in the house, unbeknownst to each other, the three descendants of Sparda secretly hope that this rare moment can last forever.

[mandochlorian]

CHAPTER THREE

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…

For over a decade, Y/N Y/L/N has been in a relentless battle with the sinister FIRST ORDER, never getting close enough to destroy one another. After a messy history with the boy who was once known as Ben Solo, he and Y/N had parted ways. Neither sides will rest until Skywalker, the last Jedi, has been destroyed.

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Poe brings you back to reality. “After all you’ve done? Intercepting Resistance cargo, initiating battles with us…”

“I do what I have to to survive. I never forget to repay a favour that I owe.” Looking into his eyes, you stretch your hand out, “Right now, we’re all on the same side.”

“Favour, huh?” He hesitates. “Can you complete my mission for me?”

You narrow your eyes at him as you pace, walking to the cell door and looking around, “I’ve never met a rebel who couldn’t get a job done.”

“Knowing what I know about you and Ben Solo…” Poe takes a breath, “I don’t think I’m the right one for the job.”

Your eyes are wide, eyebrows furrowed, you’ve never heard someone else use that name in so long. You’ve always kept it hidden, always settling to call Kylo Ben to make him angry… but Ben Solo, that has legacy tied to it. Swallowing harshly, you clench your fists, “What’s your mission?”

“Stop Kylo Ren, destroy the order, bring him back… dead or alive.” He grits his teeth. Leia wants her child back now. Good to know. Dead or alive? You feel uneasy. Clenching your jaw, you think it over. You really need that map. You nod at his proposal and he reaches for the door. You’re free. “Truce, for now.” The rebel holds his hand out to you and in an instant, you take it. Giving a single nod to him, Poe takes a breath before opening the cell door.

“You’re… you’re not supposed to be out here yet…” Holding your hand up, you’re about to push the unmasked Stormtrooper back with the force but he raises his hands, a blubbering mess.

“Yet?”

“I was… Well, I was bout to let you out.” The trooper admits, catching eyes with Poe.

You and Poe share a look but you never lower your hand. “Go on.” You order him, eyeing the trooper suspiciously.

“I’m… I’m trying to escape too,” he admits in a hushed whisper, “I just needed a pilot, I was going to find you. You’re Poe Dameron, right? Best Pilot out there.” He looks at Poe. Someone trying to escape the clutches of Kylo Ren, you’d definitely like to take part in helping a trooper defect. You gaze at him, analysing his features. He looks tired and extremely worried. Hm. You thought they’d trained the rebellion out of them. “It was meant to be a rescue, I was going to help you escape, Poe.” The two are so involved in one another that they don’t even see you appear from your hiding place in the cells.

“And me?” You wonder, lowering your hand and grinning at the man.

His mouth hangs open slightly, “Well… you, I was…”

Poe places a hand on the mans shoulder, “Don’t worry, I had my doubts too.”

Aiming his blaster closer to you, the rogue stormtrooper looks at you with wide eyes as you step out. “Are you secretly with the First Order?” He inquires, the gun relentlessly pointed at you, analysing your every move.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you frown. “What do you think? Why would I spend all this time being a nuisance only to be on your side? Do I look like I’m a part of this stupid order?”

“Well,” the pilot speaks up, looking you up and down, “you are wearing a lot of black.”

Rolling your eyes, you walk up to the pair. “That’s just a preference. Can you lead us to the hangar bay?”

“Yes!” The man nods, “I can lead you there now, you- you can be my prisoners!”

“We can’t leave yet.” You tell the two.

“What? Why?”

“Kylo Ren stole something from me and we can’t leave until I get it back.” Looking around, you keep your head low and keep your shoulders high. Your mentality is that if you act like you’re supposed to be there, then everyone will assume that you are. You just hope it works, you don’t want Ren to figure out that you’re about to move a chess piece forward. About to walk out and become exposed, you pull Finn back before he can bump into Hux.

But you’re too late. The fiery redhead sees you and his eyes widen momentarily. “Going somewhere?” He replies, taking a deep breath in as if he’s savouring the moment in which he isn’t helpless in your presence. He has a lightning rod in his hands.

“Yes, actually.” You sneer, giving him a fake smile. “And you’re interrupting my plans.” He glares in annoyance, holding his hands behind his back.

Finn behind you is dead silent, too afraid to utter a single word. “She-She’s my prisoner!” He exclaims, louder than necessary. Turning to him, you furrow your eyebrows at the lack of cool he’s emitting. “Is that so?” Hux replies, pulling his blaster out and aiming it towards him, “Then you’ll be pleased to know the interrogation chamber is the other way.”

“Oh… thanks!” Knocking Hux on the back of the head roughly, Poe grips the blaster from his hilt and steps away from the General as he collapses. “Is he… dead?” Finn wonders, ripping his helmet off and looking down at the body in disbelief.

Poe shares a look with you, “No…” He answers Finn hesitantly, “Let’s go.” He gestures towards the hangar bay where the TIE Fighters are kept. The hallway is long and sterile, there isn’t even one speck of dust where you walk. From the distance, you hear your name being called and you stop in the middle of the hallway.

“Y/N?” Finn whispers urgently, his eyed incredibly wide, “You’re gonna get us killed!”

“I need to find it.” Waving your hand at him, you push him away as you walk down the hall to a room that you feel drawn to. Finn lets out an exasperated sigh, pulling on Poe’s arm. The pair watch you incredulously and curiously.

“Yes, Y/N.”

“She — different.”

“What’s she doing?” Finn asks, his hand gripping his blaster.

“I don’t know.” Poe states, shaking his head, “But I’m not waiting around for it.” Walking down the hall, Poe leaves Finn to be torn between staying and almost dying or dying trying to leave this hell. He follows Poe, feeling something tug at his chest as he leaves you alone.

The double doors are wide open and you can see red light pouring from them. What is this? A training facility? Or something worse? Snickering to yourself, you wonder if this is Ren’s room. He seems like he’d be dramatic enough to have a dark, emo room. Speaking of the devil, you see a figure dressed in black at the end of the long room. He’s not alone. There’s a gigantic figure sitting in a seat, looking down at him with ferocity.

“You must try!” The figure booms, lecturing Kylo. You watch on, horror in your eyes at the sight. Kylo kneels before this figure, his head hung low and his shoulders slouched, looking absolutely defeated.

“Supreme leader, there is no reason for this.” He hesitates, weak, and the supreme leader senses it, “She could be useful to me. Alive.”

“I only give orders once!” The figure shouts, leaning down to Kylo’s level. “You’re weak, look at you.”

“I’m not.” Kylo fights back, yet not daring to look up at his master, “I’ve done all that you’ve asked, I just-”

“You’re still the weak little boy defeated by a girl at the Jedi Academy!”

Kylo stands but as quick as he rises, he falls to the ground once more. How can his master do that through a hologram? You cower back slightly. He must be beyond powerful with the force. Watching on, you try to ignore the sound Kylo made when his back hit the marble ground. If it were any common human, their back would have been broken at the force he was pushed down by.

But luckily, you watch him stand back up; albeit with a slight struggle. It scares you that you feel relief that he stands once more, and you continue to scan the area with a shaken feeling. You thought Kylo Ren took orders from no one, yet here he is being pushed around by a stranger… Snoke, it must be Snoke. The whole scenario makes you question him. You had once thought him to be the one calling the shots, making choices for himself; though some choices were wrong… You can’t help but just wonder who this man is…

“It will be done. I will kill her.”

“Yes, you will. You better.” The hologram vanishes.

The sensation of utmost dread fills you… but it’s not your own emotion. It must be Ren’s?Narrowing your eyes, you begin to barely recognise the man who slumps to the seat and holds his head in his hands.

“Leia and Han must be the only ones he has left.” You think to yourself, watching him from afar. Suddenly, he snaps his head towards you and you quickly lean back. Fuck. Fuck. He definitely heard you. Or sensed you. Without giving yourself time to wonder if he’s seen you, you rush down the hall rapidly. You try to calm your breathing, thinking about your lightsaber. Surely you’d be able to sense it. Just calm down, Y/N, breath. You can’t help but think about Kylo being hurt by this powerful man. And you’re taken back to  when you were kids.

The last time you saw Ben Solo… You looked at him as you both listened but he never made contact with your eyes again. He felt like his worst nightmares were coming true like he was listening to a conversation about how much he wasn’t wanted or needed. He felt like he was 11 again, hiding from adults with you by your side.

“There’s too much Vader in him.” Luke continued, “I know you sense it too, his actions, his behaviour; they suggest a pull to the dark side.”

The dark side. Your eyes widened. “They can’t be talking about you, there’s... there’s no way.” You told Ben, wishing he’d say something, anything, or even turn to look at you. You knew how much Ben wanted his uncle's approval and the love that he felt he didn’t receive from his family. You could only imagine that his heart must have been breaking, and you placed your hand on his.

“And Y/N?” Leia added, crossing her arms. That’s when Ben looked to you. “You don’t think she has the same behaviour?”

You felt your chest tighten, you were young and naive and didn’t want to be on the evil side. Luke didn’t respond, you began to feel cold. “I can’t help but feel that this is bigger than us.” Luke warned her, “This will escalate badly. And if Ben is going to the dark side… Y/N will be the one to defeat him.”

That’s when Ben looked at you, feeling betrayal enter his heart. How could his uncle have said that about his own nephew? Did he not believe in Bens abilities as a Jedi in training? He pulled his hand away from you and you furrowed your eyebrows.

“They don’t know what they’re talking about.” You whispered to him, reaching for your friend again but he took a step back. Ben felt hot tears fill his eyes as he breathed erratically and he didn’t want you to see it. You just stood there, eyes wide, watching a young boy hate you and hate the world.

“Y/N reminds me of myself.” Luke finished, giving his sister a sad shrug. This problem had been troubling Luke for quite some time, he was never able to resolve the issue of Ben being pulled to the dark side and though he had no confirmation; he could sense it. Stars, he could feel it in his very bones. It was like history repeating itself all over again, going in a full circle.

“Luke, even you were tempted by the Dark Side. You’re wrong about her,” Leia’s voice echoed in the empty hall, “She’s different. Though I can sense a pull to the darkness growing in her too. I don’t know exactly but… I feel that’s why her parents had left her on Corellia.”

You tightened your jaw, feeling helpless as they debate about your futures. How can she say that about you so casually? All you’ve done since you were forced here was succeed and excel at everything you’ve done. And this his how they congratulate you on your achievements? Ben stormed out of the hallway, letting the door slam on his way and leaving you to run out after him.

“Who’s there?” Luke shouted, approaching you.

Quickly, you ran from the hall and followed Ben, the entire time wondering why family can never be pleased with anything. You wished he would slow down, so you can talk about what you just witnessed. All the things you had just heard, you couldn’t make sense of any of it.

“Wait!” You shouted, hoping that Luke wouldn’t walk outside the hall and follow you.

“What do you want?!” He shouted in your face, making you step back as he walked up to you. “What? You want to rub it in my face about how you’re better than me?”

You watched his red eyes as tears streamed down his face, cracking under the pressure. “No…” You muttered, shaking your head. You hadn’t felt this much anger from Ben in a long time, especially towards you.

“Then what?” He criticised, gritting his teeth together.

You looked down, “I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

Ben rubbed his eyes, wiping the tears away. He knew if his father were here, he would tell Ben to stop crying over stupid things. But Han isn’t here, he and Leia sent his son away to train to become a Jedi. Their visits were limited and Ben missed them with all his conflicted heart. All Ben ever wanted was so be a pilot.

He replied, sniffing, “I thought I was doing good. I wanted to make them proud.”

“You are doing good, we both are. We get the highest grades in the whole academy.” You reminded him, reaching out to hold his hand. “We’re both unstoppable when it comes to that. We’re always the last ones standing in training.”

Ben gazed at you as you spoke, trying to cheer him up. “I don’t know. I did my best and it wasn’t good enough.”

“Ben, I-”

“I’m going… before they find me and hate me even more,” Ben added, letting out a sigh as he cut you off.

“Ben,” getting a bad feeling from him, you shake your head, “Don’t go.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

It didn’t sound like a goodbye, it sounded like a promise, like a machine in his mind had already planned what was yet to occur. You had always heard that the force becomes dark around those about to kill. And the sky that night had become pitch black.

“Hey! You!” A stormtrooper shouts, aiming his gun at you, “Stop!”

Using the force, you push him back, making him crash into another trooper. Feeling a pull, you run to the left hallway, hiding by a sealed door. The Stormtroopers run by, shouting to one another that the prisoners had escaped. It doesn’t take long for an announcement to sound and alarms to blare.

You face the door, opening it with the force and quickly rushing in. The room is dark, but you know it’s where you’re meant to be. It’s here, you can feel it. You turn the lights on, eyeing your surroundings as the sound of heavy footsteps pass by the door. Looking around, you spot a blaster on the desk, along with a bunch of useless junk but not what you’re looking for. Holding your hand out, you close your eyes. A still ocean. A controlled fire. Green light reflecting off of Ben’s eyes. But the force does not bend to your will.

“You’re never where you’re supposed to be, are you?” Quickly turning, you lunge one foot forward as you turn to the door. Remembering the blaster, you rush towards it but he’s faster than you. One of Kylo’s hands grips yours, stopping you in your tracks. The door to his bedroom closes, all the time his eyes were locked onto yours.

Then, just as quickly as he had taken a hold of your hand, he lets go. Following his movements, Kylo rips his black gloves off, tossing them onto the desk filled with different holopads of information. “Relax yourself, I won’t try anything.” He tells you, eyeing your tense shoulders and confused glare.

“I saw you in there,” you admit, staring as Ren becomes still for a moment, “I heard everything you said.” You watch Kylo’s tall figure stand at his desk, running his hands through his hair before removing his cape too.

He doesn’t answer you. Kylo sits down on the bed, silent, slow, almost calm. He doesn’t face you. You wonder what the hell is wrong with him, and if it weren’t for what you just saw in the throne room, you’d call him weak and frail. But you know how much pain he must be in, internally and externally. He barely moves. And you can’t comprehend who you’re watching right now. Something is telling you to stay and you frown, parting your lips to say something… anything… whatever to the man before you.

“What are you doing?” First your voice is quiet, light, unsure. And then you get angry. “What are you doing just sitting there?” You ask roughly, confusion entering your mind, “Stand up,” you shout, taking a step towards him and noticing that he doesn’t even move, “Fight me… hurt me! Do something!” The instability in his own mind feels as though it’s filling yours. It feels as if, all of a sudden, you’re unsure of your place here, “Ben…”

“Y/N,” He begins, his voice soft before he takes a long pause. He angles his head back, letting you glimpse a quarter of the side of his face. Taking a step towards him, it’s only then that he turns his head to look up at you. His eyes are big, tired, with bags underneath them, and they’re red. He doesn’t look angry anymore, not like the type of anger that you’ve witnessed before. He looks like he did when you were both listening to his uncles mad ravings. You haven’t seen his face in years. “Have you ever wondered how things would be if that night went differently?” He asks. You pry your eyes away from the movement of his lips when he speaks; there’s something about that that reminds you of Ben in a remarkable way.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you frown at him. “No.” You lie, looking down at him, “You tried to kill me.”

“And then you spent years trying to kill me.” He stands up and when he begins to walk to you, you become nervous. You can see his face better now, you can see every distinct freckle and mole on his pale skin. “We don’t have to do this alone.”

“What are you talking about?” You glare at this man, incredulous at the way he’s speaking to you. The sight of the familiar face of Ben Solo sets off inner turmoil, but on the outside, you act unfazed. He’s grown. Yet he looks so similar. It takes everything for you not to cast your eyes to the ground. His eyes are big, lashes dark, and his hair is long and wavy. You wonder which he looks more like, his father or his mother. You and Ben are both looking at one another… really looking at one another, as if for the first time in centuries.

“Join me in finding Luke,” he tells you, “It’s the only way you get out of this alive.” You’ve heard Kylo threaten you many times, so many that you had become immune to his weak, empty words. But this time… it feels real. Holding his hand out, Kylo’s brown eyes dart between yours as he tries to read your expression, “You have to join me."

Letting out a laugh, you shake your head, “What? Just to save my skin?” you admit, “No, I’m sorry but I’m not the one who needs saving. You’re the most powerful person I know. You’re skilled in many things and unmatched in most. Snoke knows this. You don’t need me to tell you that he’s using you for your power. You surely know that already, somewhere deep down. He’s manipulating you, it’s clear to see.”

Kylo doesn’t lower his hand. He stays there, his eyes silently pleading with you. He knows he can’t kill you and he knows he can’t go home. It feels like an impossible situation. “I don’t have the power to kill you.” He holds his hand out to his side, the noise of glass shattering rings through the room as a lightsaber flies to his hand. It’s yours, broken free from whatever glass cabinet he had placed it into. He then stands, his movements still as slow as before. You watch the man walk up to you with his hand out, placing your lightsaber in your trembling hold.

For once, you don’t feel under attack. For all you know he could kill you right now, but you feel he won’t. You can feel that he means you no harm. Kylo presses a hand against yours, closing your hand around the weapon. He gives you a stoic look but it somehow feels sincere as his eyes dart to the bedroom door and back to you. And then, just like that, the great Kylo Ren takes his hand from yours and sits back onto his bed, head in hands and his back in a slouch.

You know it’s too late to stay. You couldn’t even if you both wanted. Ren waits for you to leave. Looking at him for a final time, you head for the door. There’s nothing but silence between the two of you. The white room feels claustrophobic. Arming yourself with your lightsaber, you rush down the hall, un-arming anyone who passes you on the way. You kill a few generals and troopers before you see Poe and Finn looking extremely suspicious as they enter a large five person ship.

Running towards them, you use the force to keep the door to a ship open. “Nice try, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.” You shout to them, shutting the door behind you. Quickly turning the communications on, you strap yourself in and prepare to ditch this place.

Poe puts the headset on, sitting in the pilot seat; the only place he feels at home. He turns the ship on, smiling widely at you, “You made it!”

“Lead the way, Poe!” You tell him, sending a forced smile his way. The ship roars to life, lifts off rapidly and you take flight with troopers hot on your tail but before you can leave, your ship gets dragged back forcefully. All the air is expelled from your lungs and you look to Poe and Finn.

“We’re tethered!” Finn shouts, his eyes wide.

“Oh come on!” You shout, unbuckling yourself. Looking down at the ground, you see the long cord attached from the ship to the ground. Troopers have formed around it, using their blasters to shoot at the glass. “Poe!” You shout back, “Open the emergency hatch!”

“What? But you’ll-”

“Do it!”

It whirs loudly before opening, causing the sound of blasters to become louder and closer. Poking your head out, you ignite your lightsaber, blocking the blaster shots and aiming them back onto the troopers. Kylo stands still as the troopers around him shooting at the rogue ship. Swinging at the cord with your saber, you miss on account of a trooper shooting you in the shoulder. You cry out, clenching your teeth shut before trying again.

But before your saber can hit the tether, it breaks free on its own volition. Nearly falling from your position, you hang onto the ship with one hand before Finn reaches his hands to help you back through the emergency hatch. From inside the ship, you look down at the platform of the hangar bay. Your TIE fighters shoot off into the air with the loud roar of its engines and cheers from the rebels inside. Before you leave, you catch a glimpse of Kylo Ren lowering his hand as you fade from view. 

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[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 27

Summary: Five hundred years before Feyre Archeron is born, the world is much different from the one she lives in. Humans are slaves, seen as little more than animals by the Fae who rule. But things are beginning to change. Talks of rebellion is spreading and on the Continent, some Fae territories begin to consider the potential gain of War. All it takes is one spark and everything will explode.

Masterlist

Warning: Another pretty dark chapter. Again, mentions of torture, but I think it's still not worse than some of the stuff in canon.

----

Jurian grips the wine goblet and the glass to tightly that his knuckles turn white. His heart is racing. He keeps waiting for Ravenia or one of her officials to look at him and recognize him from the meeting. One look, that`s all it would take to get him killed.

He follows the Fae down a long flight of stairs. Down and down they walk, until Jurian is sure that they must be far beneath the earth. The air feels thick, like the tons of stone over them press any oxygen out of the tunnels. There are few guards, but they will be more than enough to kill Jurian should he be discovered. Especially because he doesn`t have a weapon. And he has no idea where Miryam has vanished off to.

Don`t get separated. It was one of the main rules for this mission, but he has failed already. Shit, shit, shit. One of the slaves, a young boy carrying a chair that is bigger than him, gives him a small smile. It`s likely meant to be reassuring and Jurian forces himself to smile back at him.

Finally, they reach the lowest level of the dungeons. There are only two guards posted in front of the door, and both seem to snap to attention only when they notice their queen approaching. Jurian supposes it`s just another proof of how secure Ravenia feels in her power. He can`t wait to wipe that smugness off her face.

Jurian is last to enter the cell and he has to stand up on his toes a bit to see. It is all he can do not to gasp.

Drakon is shackled to the ceiling in the middle of the room by the wrists. He appears to be barely conscious; his wings hang limply to the ground behind him. The white feathers are splattered in blood and there are burns and cuts all over his body.

Jurian can barely breathe past the anger that surges through him at the sight. He only distantly notices the young boy setting down the chair for Ravenia to sit down into. The boy quickly takes the goblet of wine out of Jurian`s hand and goes to stand next to the queen, but he can still only stare at his friend.

“So, my love”, Ravenia says, snapping Jurian back into reality, “Does my offer already begin to sound more appealing?”

Drakon lifts his head. He looks like he barely has the strength to do so. “No”, he says, “And I doubt…” He coughs. “I doubt torturing me some more is going to change my mind.”

“We`ll see.”

Ravenia motions for the human girl, who quickly holds out a plate with a variation of snacks out to her. Ravenia picks up a date, she rolls it between her fingers once, then takes a bite.

“You know”, she says and takes another bite, “this doesn`t need to happen. It`s your choice.”

Jurian is going to be sick.

Ravenia lets the human boy pour her some wine and takes a sip. Slowly, deliberately, she picks another bit of food from her plate.

“You must be hungry. Would you like something as well?”, she asks.

Drakon doesn`t reply. Ravenia sighs and turns to a masked male in the corner who Jurian only notices now. “I told you to keep him conscious.”

The male steps forward and gives Drakon a hard shove. “Answer her.”

Jurian decides that no matter what happens, no matter how this mission goes, this male won`t survive the night. That, he`ll make sure of.

“You`re already torturing me”, Drakon says.

He lifts his head to face Ravenia, but as he does, his gaze meets Jurian`s. His eyes widen in surprise. Jurian doesn`t dare to breath. Look away, he begs silently, hoping that Drakon is aware enough to understand the situation, Don`t say anything. Please.

Slowly, Drakon turns away from Jurian to Ravenia. “The least you could do”, he continues, “would be to leave me alone while you do.”

“Oh, I will. But until then, I thought I`d give you a while to consider your options.”

So for the next couple of minutes, they simply wait. Ravenia finishes her dinner like the stench of blood in the air doesn`t bother her one bit. Jurian stands around, stares at Drakon and grows more furious with each passing second. By the time Ravenia finally stands up, he is about one heartbeat away from taking one of the bloody knives from the table in the corner and attacking the queen, consequences be damned.

“As you wish”, she says. Jurian could have sworn there is a hint of annoyance in her cool voice. “Then we continue.” She jerks her head towards the slave boy. “You”, she orders, “Stay here. Report if His Highness changes his mind.” She turns around and makes for the door. In the doorway, she pauses and jerks her chin at Jurian. “And you. Clean the blood up. This is disgusting.”

Jurian has to bite back a smile. It couldn`t have gone better. This is the perfect excuse to remain here.

The masked male waits until the steps of the queen and her entourage have faded in the distance. Then, he slowly turns around to his worktable. He runs his fingers over the knife, but then picks a bit of iron. The tip is glowing orange.

Jurian moves before he has time consider that he probably should not act before Miryam gets here. He dashes for the worktable and grabs one of the knives. The masked male turns around, but before he can do anything, Jurian runs the blade through his chest, pressing his free hand to the male`s mouth to stop his scream.

“This”, he hisses as the light leaves the Fae`s eyes, “is far too quick an end for someone like you.”

Jurian shoves the body off him and rushes over to Drakon. His friend is hanging limply in his shackles. There are so many injuries covering his body that Jurian doesn`t dare touch him for fear of making it worse.

“Hey”, he whispers. “Are you alive?”

“Yeah”, Drakon replies. His voice sounds hoarse. “Pretty sure I`m hallucinating, though. No way you`re here.”

“Of course I`m here. You didn`t really think we`d leave you to die, did you? We just have to wait around for Miryam, and then we`ll all leave this horrible place and get you to a healer.” Jurian glances towards the door, but there`s no sign of Miryam. Fortunately no sign of the guards, either.

“Miryam is… here too?”

“Sure.” Jurian tries hard not to stare at Drakon`s injuries. His chest feels impossible tight. “Just… let me get these shackles off, then everything will be better.”

Drakon doesn`t reply. Jurian isn`t even sure if he understood the question. He seems barely conscious.

But from behind him, a small voice says, “The shackles are sealed with magic. You can`t open them.”

Jurian spins around to come face to face with the little slave boy from earlier. He curses, then presses a hand to his mouth. He`d completely forgotten about the boy, but there he is, standing with his back pressed tightly against the wall like he hopes he`ll vanish into the stone. Jurian swallows and tries to look as unthreatening as possible.

“You aren`t a slave, are you?”, the boy asks, eyes fixed on Jurian. “You`re just here to free him.” Jurian nods, and he asks, “Why?”

“Because he`s my friend.”

The boy narrows his eyes at him, like he can`t imagine that what Jurian is telling him is the truth. But before he can say anything, the door to the dungeons opens a bit. Jurian has his knife lifted again in a heartbeat, but it`s just Miryam who slips into the cell. She presses a finger to her lips and quietly closes the door behind her. Then, she takes a quick step towards Jurian. She looks like she might hug him but stops herself.

“Thank the Cauldron”, she says hoarsely, “When Ravenia left without you, I thought…” She shakes her head softly, then turns to Drakon. Her eyes widen slightly, but then, she schools her features back into neutrality. “Hey”, she says softly.

“Nice to see you”, Drakon replies.

Miryam looks like she wants to say something – comforting words, something like that – but she seems to come up empty. “Can you winnow?”, she finally asks.

“And before you say anything”, Jurian says with forced lightness, “I should probably tell you that the only acceptable answer is yes. Because if it`s not, then we`re done for.”

“Not sure”, Drakon says and grits his teeth, “I`ll try.”

Jurian supposes that`s the best they could have hoped for.

----

Miryam is just about to begin to unlock Drakon`s shackles when she notices the boy. He stands pressed against the wall and stares down at the ground like he`s very used to becoming invisible. It takes her only a moment to recover from her surprise. Then, she smiles at him and crouches down before him.

“Hello”, she says, careful to keep her tone friendly, “I`m Miryam. And you?”

“Ti.” He looks between them with wide eyes. His face is far too thin and there`s a long scar running over the side of his head. “You’re from the human-faerie Alliance, aren`t you?” When Miryam nods, a smile begins to spread over his face. “So, you`re going to save us?”

The words seem to split her heart in two. She was supposed to help them.

“I…” Her voice breaks. How is she supposed to explain that she is here, but she won`t be able to save her people? She lowers her head in shame.

“That`s what we`re fighting for”, Jurian answers for her.

“I knew it!”, Ti yelps, “The others think it`s just a rumour, and the Fae try to keep the truth from us, but I always knew that people out there were fighting for us.”

Jurian nods. “Listen, we are in a bit of a hurry. We need to get out of here before we can But we can take you with us.”

“No”, Ti says, “I have to stay here. If I`m gone, who will tell the others?”

Miryam shakes her head wildly. She may not be able to do anything for the other humans in this palace, but this boy, she can save. “If you stay here, you will die. Believe me, I know first-hand what Ravenia does to her slaves, and –“

“You`re her!”, the boy cuts her off.

Miryam blinks at him. “What?”

Behind her, Jurian clears his throat and inclines his head towards the door. Miryam nods. They need to hurry; someone could walk in here any moment. But she needs to solve this first.

“You`re the one who escaped”, Ti says, “I heard about you – that you were a slave like me, and that you managed to run.”

Miryam doesn`t allow herself to contemplate how it is that she became a legend even children hear about. Instead, she says, “And you could run, too. You could be free.”

Again, Ti shakes his head. He looks so painfully young, yet there is determination in his eyes. “I have to tell the others. They have to know that someone is coming for them.” He smiles softly. “Besides, I have family here – I couldn`t just leave them behind.”

Miryam`s throat is so tight that she can`t speak. Jurian steps up next to her and puts a hand on her shoulder.

“You realize”, he says, “that it will most likely take us years to win this war. You may well be dead by the time we do.”

Ti lifts his chin. “I know. But even if they kill me, I`ll be able to give the others something that`s not so easy to kill.” He looks at Miryam then. “Hope.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. She wants to scream. She wants to cry. She wants to take the boy and save him even against his wishes. Instead, she opens her eyes again and says, “Then go back to Ravenia and tell her that Drakon changed his mind. If you leave now, she might not suspect that you helped us. She might let you live.”

Ti nods. Without giving her the chance to change her mind, he`s on his feet and out the door. Jurian squeezes her shoulder.

“He might make it”, he says.

Miryam wishes she could believe him. But she knows better. “No”, she says softly, “He won`t.” She turns around to Drakon. “Let`s get out of here.”

----

Drakon tries hard to focus on what`s going on around him, but his damned mind just won`t cooperate. He can`t seem to keep his attention on anything for more than a few heartbeats before his mind starts drifting again.

“I`m going to unshackle you now”, Miryam tells him.

Drakon nods. His head hurts. Everything hurts.

He must have zoned out again, because the next thing he notices is that the shackles on his wrists are suddenly gone. He tries to stand, but his legs won`t hold his weight and he nearly drops to the ground. Someone catches him by the shoulders before he can fall, but that just makes the pain worse. He groans, black dots dance before his eyes.

“Sorry”, Miryam says and carefully lowers him to the ground. “We`re almost out of here. I just need to disable the wards and when we`re back in our camp, I can look at your injuries. Give you something for the pain.”

“It`s not so bad”, Drakon says, which would probably have been more convincing if he had managed to keep from groaning in pain. He has no idea how he`s supposed to winnow like this, but he`ll have to find away. Even in his current state, he knows that there`s no way he`s letting his friends die in an attempt to save his life.

He manages to move to slide backwards a bit, until he is leaning with his back to the wall. Miryam and Jurian are talking about something – Drakon manages to focus long enough to understand that Jurian is complaining about how Miryam still hasn`t taught him how to use simple spells. They fall silent soon enough, though. Drakon closes his eyes and tries to ignore the pain. He is so tired.

“We have a problem”, Miryam finally says, startling Drakon awake. Her voice sounds tense.

“What is it?”, Jurian asks.

A pause. Then: “I can`t get through the wards.”

“What?”

Miryam shakes her head. Her face is blank in a way that usually means trouble. “I can`t figure it out. I tried, but I just can`t get behind the principle of how they work and I`m not strong enough to force my way through.” She runs a hand through her hair. “I`m sorry.”

Drakon curses softly. Jurian does too, but louder and far more creative.

“So we`re done for”, he says.

Drakon misses the first half of Miryam`s reply, but he manages to tune in again in time to hear her say, “- should be able to break the wards there.”

“We`d have to get out of the dungeons first”, Jurian says, “And since I doubt we`ll be able to pass Drakon off as a slave, we`ll likely have to fight.”

“It`s either that or die here”, Miryam says.

“Why are our options always so shitty?”, Jurian asks, sounding exhausted. “Fine. I`ll take care of the guards.”

Miryam follows him to the door. From where he is sitting on the ground, Drakon can`t see what Jurian does outside, but he hears the thud of a body hitting the ground. When Jurian slips back into the cell, there is fresh blood on his hands.

Drakon winces.  “I`m not very helpful. Sorry.”

“Well, you just got tortured”, Jurian says, “so you`re officially excused from having to be helpful for the moment.”

Then suddenly, Miryam is kneeling in front of Drakon. “I`ll help you up now. Fair warning, it might hurt.”

“It already hurts”, he points out.

Miryam carefully loops her arms through under his shoulders and pulls him to his feet. She obviously tries to be careful, but he still has to grit his teeth to keep from screaming. She takes him by one arm, Jurian by the other, and they slowly make for the door.

The walk is a daze of pain. He keeps stumbling over his own feet, his legs won`t support his weight and without Miryam and Jurian, he would have fallen. With each step, he tells himself that this one is the last – unfortunately, it never is.

Step. After. Step. Drakon didn`t remember that the stairs were this long.

Miryam stops walking so abruptly that Drakon stumbles into her. To his other side, Jurian reaches for his knife.

A male is standing in front of them, blocking the path out of the dungeons. There are no weapons visible on him, but the smug smile on his face seems to say that he won`t need them. Drakon doesn`t know him, but he recognizes his light grey robes, and the symbol – a script roll and a feather – stitched on it in dark wool. The symbol of the Guild. Which makes the male –

“Artax”, Miryam whispers.

----

At the sight of Artax, Miryam`s body completely locks up. She wants to shrink back, wants to disappear. Looking at him, she is thirteen years old again, watching helplessly as he cast the spell that killed her mother. Helpless to stop what happened afterwards, too.

“I thought I noticed a little mouse gnawing at my wards.”

Smile on his face, Artax steps forward. Miryam flinches back, knocking into Drakon who hisses in pain.

“What an interesting little group”, the witcher says, “And what a cute escape attempt. But I`m afraid that`s the end of your game.”

“Miryam”, Jurian whispers. She whirls around to him. “What do we do?”

Artax laughs. “Your faith is admirable, commander, but your witch-friend won`t be able to help you now.”

This is probably where Miryam should come up with some defiant answer, but there is nothing she can say. She has faced members of the Guild before and walked away, but Artax is the High Witcher of the Guild, and this is his castle. The odds are impossible. There`s only one choice left to make. Miryam reaches for the little pill hidden in her clothes.

“I`d suggest you surrender now”, Artax says.

Her fingers close around the poison. A quick death is the best she can hope for now.

“Miryam”, Jurian hisses again.

She hesitates. She brought them here. It was her plan, her failure with the wards. The poison would be the easy way. The coward`s way out. But there may be another path yet. She lets go of the pill and lifts her hands.

“Don`t be stupid”, Artax warns, “You cannot win this.”

She wonders if he even remembers her. Probably not. To him, she must have been just another slave girl back then. One of thousands.

“No”, she says, “I cannot survive this. There`s a difference.”

Because the thing about witches is that their limits aren`t as much about power as they are about survivability. And Miryam is pretty sure that if she goes over her limits, she`ll be able to channel enough power to force her way out through the wards. She`ll die in the process, but the Jurian and Drakon will survive. It`s a fair trade.

“You don`t want to do this”, Artax warns, but there is something new in his tone. Something that almost sounds like worry.

Miryam takes a deep breath. Above her, the wards glow. Half a thought has her power rising to the surface.

“As soon as the wards are down”, she says to Drakon, “you winnow.”

Both Jurian and Drakon start to reply, but Miryam doesn`t listen. Her power is still rising. Until now, she never let it take control, carefully avoided so much as coming close to her limits. She mentally pulls at the strings that bar people from winnowing out of the dungeons with all the force she can muster. It`s a graceless attempt, but grace is for people who still have reason to be careful.

Her power surges. The familiar feeling of being caught in a strong current returns. But for the first time in her life, Miryam doesn`t fight against it.

The magic sweeps her straight off her feet. She gasps, but no air gets into her lungs. She`s only half in her body anymore. It is a struggle to remain focused on what`s about to happen.

Artax curses. The strings around him start to tremble. Power radiates off him in a soft glow, the strings move apart like they want to make space for what`s about to come.

Miryam braces herself. She whispers a few words under her breath and the strings move to follow her command. Distantly, she notices a headache forming behind her temples, but it doesn`t matter.

Artax strikes. The wave of power he sends shooting for her is strong enough to make the ground tremble. Miryam doesn`t even try to block it. Instead, she lets it hit – and as it does, she channels Artax`s power, lets it join her own. And sends it shooting for the wards.

She can`t think in the wake of the power that`s rushing through her body. Her blood is on fire, she`s burning up from within. Above, the strings that form the wards glow brighter and brighter, then burst apart. Miryam is only distantly aware that she`s being thrown through the air.

Then, the world explodes into white light.

----

The first thing Jurian notices is that his head is pounding. It feels like someone split it apart with an axe. Slowly, painfully, he manages to open his eyes and blinks up at the night sky above him.

Cauldron, his head. He carefully touches it and his hand comes away wet with blood.

Slowly, he tries to sit up, but his arms won`t support his weight. He lets himself sink back into the sand. Sand. Desert. Open sky. He blinks and tries hard to sort through the haze in his mind.

The way out of the dungeons. Magic sizzling through the air like lightning. The feeling of being thrown through the air and –

“Miryam?”, he asks.

For a few frantic heartbeats, there is only silence. Then, someone groans softly next to him.

“Miryam?” His voice is high with barely concealed panic.

There is a dark shape lying next to him in the ground. Jurian crawls over to her and carefully puts a hand on her shoulder. Her skin is far too hot under his fingers. Gently, he shakes her.

She groans again and rolls on her back. Without opening her eyes, she mutters, “I`m still alive?”

“Yes”, Jurian whispers. There are tears running down his face, but he doesn`t bother to wipe them away.

“I thought I`d be dead”, she mutters, “Why am I not dead?”

Jurian is about to reply, but Miryam`s body suddenly jerks in his grip. She twists aside and retches into the sand.

“Are you injured?”, Jurian asks, scanning her from head to toe as well as it is possible in the darkness.

“My body”, she grits out, “is on fire.” She lets herself sink back into the ground. “Drakon?”, she asks.

“Here”, comes a muffled reply from their left.

Jurian looks around. In the darkness, he can`t see further than a few feet – he can make out Drakon`s shape, but that`s about as far as he can see. Still, he is almost sure that they are stuck in the middle of a desert, well away from any civilization. Not good. Both Miryam and Drakon desperately need a healer. If he`s honest, he does, too, but he seems to have gotten off lightly compared to the others.

“Where are we?”, he asks.

“Desert”, Drakon replies. He manages to sit up and face Jurian.

“Oh, really? Could you be more precise?”

“No. It`s a minor miracle I managed to winnow us at all, but where we ended up… no idea.”

“Okay.” Jurian stares up at the sky, but he isn`t good enough at reading the stars to be able to tell where they are. Next to him, Miryam throws up again and Jurian hastily holds back her hair for her. He tries hard to ignore the worry gnawing at his stomach. “No problem. We`ll just winnow again.”

“I can`t.” Drakon`s voice is tight with pain. “I barely managed the first time.”

“Try.” Jurian feels horribly unkind saying it, but what choice does he have? They need to get to a healer. “What`s the worst that could happen?”

“We could die”, Drakon says, “Multiple ways. Horribly.”

Jurian sighs. Just once, couldn`t the worst possible option be something like a sprained ankle? Miryam leans against him and he gently rubs her back.

“But if we don`t try, we`re stuck here”, he concludes.

“Fine”, Drakon says, “I`ll try. Let me just rest for a bit.”

With that, he lets himself sink back into the sand. Jurian is content to let him get his break, but Miryam shakes her head.

“No.” She tries to push herself up off the ground and Jurian hastily reaches out to steady her. “We need to try now.”

“But I can`t”, Drakon says. “It hurts and I`m tired and I need a break.” He sounds like he`s about to cry.

“I know”, Miryam says softly, “I know and I`m sorry. But rest won`t help. It won`t hurt any less, but in a bit, we`ll all be hungry and thirsty and cold. And things will only get worse once the sun goes up.” She manages to get into a kneeling position. “We need to get out of here now, or we`ll all die.”

Drakon is silent for so long that Jurian is half-convinces that he isn`t going to reply anymore when he says, “I`ll try.”

Jurian has to help Miryam crawl the few steps over to Drakon. They both take him by the arm. And then, they wait.

Nothing happens.

After minutes of sitting around like this, Drakon shakes his head. “I`m sorry”, he whispers, “I just can`t… I need to focus on where I want to go, but I can`t concentrate enough. It hurts too much.” His shoulders shake like he`s trying to keep his sobs in.

“It`s okay”, Miryam says, “Just… try to think about something else. Something good.”

Jurian jumps onto her thought. “You were telling us about that big holiday you have coming up in Erithia. What was it again?”

“The Feast of the Mother”, Drakon says, “celebrates her creating the world.”

Jurian nods. “Tell us about it.”

So for the next few minutes, they listen to Drakon as he tells them about the Erithian traditions for their holiday. As he talks, he seems to calm down a bit.

Finally, Jurian deems it save to return to their original subject. “Remember that camp in Kerié?”, he asks. “We were there for another one of your Fae holidays a year ago.” And it happens to be rather close to the Black Land.

“They had that huge birch in the middle of the camp”, Miryam adds, “Everyone was dancing around it.”

“Yes”, Drakon says, “Yes, that might work.” He pauses. “I`ll try.”

Jurian takes him by the arm again. Nothing happens.

“Come on”, Drakon whispers, “Please.”

They fall into darkness. It is rockier than usual. Darkness presses against Jurian from all sides. Soon, his lungs are burning, but he keeps holding on to Drakon`s arm.

They tumble back into the world gracelessly. None of them can stand, so they all end up in a tangle of limbs on the ground. Jurian is the first to recover.

“We made it”, he says, still a little dazed.

“Yes.” Drakon sounds like he doesn`t quite believe it. He doesn`t even try to get up – maybe he can`t. Jurian wants to tell him that it will all be fine, that they`ll get him a healer in a moment, but his mouth won`t form the words.

“We`re still alive.” Miryam shakes her head.

And suddenly, she is laughing. Laughing and laughing like she can`t stop. Jurian wraps his arms around her and holds her close.

“It`s okay”, he whispers as her laughter turns to sobbing, “We made it, we`re safe.”

She keeps crying. In the distance, shouts ring out. People are moving between the trees, demanding who they are, what they are doing here.

“We`re from the Alliance”, Jurian shouts back at them, “And I think we need a healer over here.”

----

A/N: The next chapter will hopefully be up by Saturday!

@sjm-things @clolikescloquetas

[maxbradley]

Don’t Even

I can't stay here. I can't take any more of this imprisonment. I need to get out. Blindly I splash a glob of red ink onto the stretched canvas. Hot air escapes my quivering lips. I can barely breathe. I find myself searching for that box again… There's got to be something better tasting than this crap. I open a gilded window to let the thin trails slither out from my lit torch. Only when I can think clearly again I look back into the depths of my private studio. Well, actually, it's my bedroom. My dad's refused to set aside one of the countless rooms in the house for my only source of pleasure in this strange world. I take a deep token before coughing again; I keep on smoking to ease the mental tension, "I want to get out." This is only wishful thinking. I've always thought about running away, but then… I look at the stretched canvas again, running fingers across my mother's hair, deep red. I prop my hand's tips to the background and prod continuously and haphazardly to create blossoms on the leave's green. Wiping the ink away, cigarette still in my mouth, I take up a brush and dip it into oil paint, watching it create wild blue streaks around her, above her for the sky… A dove in her palm takes on a definitive look. I fight myself from changing her into an angel, wings and halo and everything. She needs to be alive.

With the color still drying I place the half finished work next to a raven, the yellow of its eyes staring me down. I try not to trip over a small stack of blank paper and pens on the floor, backing away to observe the rest. A myriad of senseless patterns and shapes and many hues overwhelms me. Yet, here in the isolation of my own little world, I'm home, away from Home. I can't just leave my art here! … I need more paint. "Master Bradley?" "Don't call me that, Yoli!" putting out the light against the window sill and striding across the hardwood floor to reach the door. I open it and poke my shagged hair out, "Something wrong?" It's a shame that my father would take this wonderful, exotic woman and reduce her to nothing more than a servant out of many in this estate. The afternoon sun glistened on dark mahogany braids and shone on her deep tan complexion. I barely paid attention to the direction of the corners of her bright red lips, "Bradley! You been smoking again??" She smelled the tobacco on me and within my room. No use trying to hide anything from her. Yolanda knows about life far more than I ever will. "Yes m'am." I about scoffed at my sad attempt at formality, "He doesn't care what I do." Her face nearly fell, "Don't say that, mi'jito." She places her sweaty palms to my face. I just realized I'm about her height now. "I'm sure he loves you very much. He just can't show it well." … You've got to be kidding me... I feign a smile. "Can you bring your dirty clothes to the laundry room for me?" She never buys it. Sometimes I wish she could. I need to work on my acting skills. ----- I force a part of my head through the iron gate and play "jail time" with my hands gripping the bars. You think I'm playing? Getting out is not as easy as asking, "Hey Dad—can you let me out? I wanna go somewhere." It's harder when you've developed the inability to make close friends that can bail you out. Whatever they spin about my dad, whatever wealth he might have—how famous he is among those big company names—I don't care. Not about what he has. Not what he is, either. I let go of the bars and whisk my way back to the mansion. My personal Alcatraz. What I wouldn't give to visit that place; we're all the way on the East Coast. New England. The place itself, where I live (unfortunately), is rather secluded. Walled in, whitewashed concrete slabs covered with ivy like an infestation. Nothing but trees with fallen leaves—a meadow practically—for a good 5 miles all around. It would be easy to follow the paved road to civilization… My dad would freak. He always wants me home, besides time away at school. His excuse? "I won't lose you like I lost your mother." I'm smiling now, peering up at the cotton clouds, shot with the brightest pink imaginable. It was almost nauseating, had it not been for the warm orange ribbons leaving their marks as well. Yeah; good plan, Dad. I don't want anything to do with you. A small breeze brushes my hair; it's in my eyes, "pfft!" … It's gotten chilly. I can't be back in there. Not now. I finally spot a foreign car parked next to our own on the opposite side of the gate… Not back there. ----- "Why are you here again?" That wasn't actually said; it was just thought out loud. A buxom woman settled in a seat a far ways next to me, I shuffling farther away. She let out a tiny pout before trying to get on my good side again, "Please, Bradley—let me get to know you this time;" I pull my hand away from hers, burning holes into her being with a leer— "You know me very well. I don't want you here!" This faceless lady flushed like the rest of them before distancing away, just in time for the host's entrance. "Is my son giving you any trouble??" I turn away from his stern face. "Not at all" she giggled. Makes me want to— Calloused, rough hands run through my hair. I can't tell whether he wants to harm me or comfort me, "Bradley. Pay your respects— One of the servants rolled in with the dinner cart and gave me a knowing look. I can't look my father in those soiled, mossy eyes. I bite my lip. "She's our guest." ". . . Yes, Sir." My appetite was long gone. My energies were spent on this lady. It was obvious she wanted to gain his intimate trust. "Business meeting" or not, she was a flirt. "Elaine" needs to get out of this house now, before she gets any ideas. Any attempts to reach me were answered by my cold shoulder. I'd only talk to her openly if he happened to be there at the table with us. I could see Elaine getting annoyed with me now. Finally; she should be going home … It was now a quarter past ten—long after our mundane meal. I've been spying on them ever since they left the dining room, after helping out wash some of the dishes (there was little else to do). What could my dad see in her? What chance could she have to be a replacement for— True to his word, they were talking about the adult world of business and nothing else, sharing their third glass of wine together. While wondering how he could ever control his drinking in front of his guests, it was time for this Elaine to leave. But not without a goodbye kiss. He returned it on the cheek before leading her out the door and into the yard; I stayed behind. To see what they might be doing now would be devastating. "Bradley?" Yoli startled me, "Why aren't you in bed?" "I don't have curfew." My baggy eyes weren't helping my cause. "Tomorrow's a school day, young man." ----- The light's still on in my room; I can't sleep. I felt a need to continue the painting of my mother. My angel. The reason why I exist! … There was no right to take her away so soon. If she had been there longer, "things could have gone differently." I had forgotten to check the time on my red digit analog clock. "Kid." My skin crawled when he opened the door. It was far too late to hide away my work, which my dad caught sight of. Clearing his throat, "She told me how rude you were being, Son." This was typical of most women. With their sweet deceitful wiles. It made me sick.

Alphonse Uppercrust is only a foot away from my perch on the stool. He strode past by me and felt around my open window, "What's this??" I continue dabbing the color back into Lillian's face. The gilded pane is shut just in time, "What are you doing?" "Painting." He grabs my collar to force eye contact—"No, kid." holding the discarded torch in front of my face, "Where'd the hell did you get this? At school?? On the street." My face is stone; I dare not say a word just yet... "Was it from one of them?" "You got a lot of nerve, Dad—bunching up your servants with criminals." He nearly threw me off the seat; I made it much easier on him and landed on my feet. He was right; a servant did sneak it to me, but only with a hefty bribe attached. We are filthy rich, after all. "You," he breathed, "have a lot of nerve to be talking back to me, Bradley Uppercrust. Don't forget where you came from, and don't forget who you're destined to become—I had to laugh at this new scrap of a monologue— "I came from Hell, and I'm destined to become another You? Not a chance—What now?? You're going to hit me again after 3 accident-free years?!" Dad was livid, hand raised and my back against the wall. The sight of my art to my left assured me that everything was going to be all right. I'm just glad he was still relatively sober for those moments. "… Son, I'm trying." No pity from me this time. "I really am." The hand goes down on my shoulder where he keeps a strong grip, "I'm not doing that anymore, the affairs. Don't worry. I've learned to control my fleeting emotions— Except when you're drunk—"Are you ever going to forgive me?" My neck still craned to see past his façade; I'm trying to see past the reddened eyes and the watering of his sockets—"No, Dad. Never." I wrench myself away from the wall and, out of personal rebellion, I fish out that box of independence, imagined freedom… 3 years of not hitting me when he's sober. That's a good record. I'm sure he felt bad after… I could see the dejectedness in his whole frame as I continued breathing in toxins, "What? You drink. I smoke. It's only fair." Immediately he resumed composure; weakness is not an option in this household if you want to survive for 16 years. "Know what, kid? I understand what you want now. You want to follow what the outside world has to offer. The common folk? I'll tell them to unlock the gate. You can get out of this house whenever you'd like. No restrictions. No curfew—I'll let you live your own life!" I've kicked off my shoes and sat in my bed, close to the backboard. My eyes and ears are open wide to this titillating information— "You've proven that you're so mature now. Let's all hope you make the best of it!!" The slamming of the door shocks the hallway. I'm puffing out rings and singing a little tune to celebrate a premature victory.

[alcxandros]

@hartofbalamb​

These walls never felt more closed in. Pink and rich and decorative, every corner and wall filled with pointless rare collections that acted as a pathetic band-aid. A cage was a cage, and these things only served as distractions as if they could hide the world on the other side she desperately craved.

She has to resist the urge to start breaking them as she paces in circles around her room and refocus her energy and anger. Squall is coming, and their texts back and fourth and his discovery of her escapes and where she was located already set tensions on high. Flopping herself on the floor, she grabs a notebook and a pink-glittered pen and begins doing one thing she knows she can do - plan. You don’t sneak in and out of Garden for years the way she has, getting away with the most serious of consequences, because you’re an idiot. Anyone can think what they want of her - that she’s stupid, childish, naïve, reckless. She’s also ambitious, resourceful, clever and unrelenting. When one door closes, there is always another one open. She needs to map out how to approach this by the time he comes home so it doesn’t end even worse than it’s going to begin.

But approaching Laguna was only one problem, the other left currently unspoken could easily be argued that it was worse. Her finally, after nearly a decade since her confinement, being caught and reported to him was bad enough. Where she was found was going to raise more than questions and just because Squall hadn’t said anything yet absolutely did not mean he wasn’t thinking about it. Rinoa knew him too well to believe that. She doesn’t know if he will jump to the conclusion that she is cheating on him.

It shouldn’t have happened. To this day, Rinoa still doesn’t know why it happened, or why it keeps happening. Almost as if the second she starts thinking too hard about it, her brain shuts down, comes up with a distraction, forces her to look the other way as though looking too closely at something she isn’t ready to see would have an irreversible consequence. Her illusions of Seifer were long gone, but clearly there was something she got from him her soul was screaming for and wasn’t getting anywhere else. Being understood? Being seen behind her façade she’d spend years crafting to secure her sanity? Feeling a little less alone and a little more empowered with every strike of rebellion of so much as being in the same room as him?

Was it worth the cost of what it was going to do to Squall, who has fought tooth and nail to keep her alive and out of Esthar’s claws, who loved and adored her and kept her safe against every damn odd that was coming for her when his life would be so much easier if he just gave up? Her being in his life was a curse, and she repays it by sleeping with another man when he’s gone - another man they both had a history with to add salt to that wound. He deserved more than that - so much more than her sneaking behind his back.

What is wrong with her?

To confess it would be an admission of Seifer’s violation of his parole. That could destroy his life - she would be destroying his life because she has no impulse control and couldn’t stay away. She forced herself back in his life and stayed there against common sense. There was a terrifying pit in her stomach when she’d told Seifer she’d been discovered. Being so adapted to being shot down long before today, she wasn’t prepared that it seemed like he was trusting her to hold up what she said - that she’d handle it, compared to feeling discouraged she couldn’t handle a conversation about her life to Laguna.

Rinoa doesn’t know how long she spent on the floor, trying to navigate every possible turn she could think of from the storm that was to come, only that the door finally opened with her boyfriend, her Knight, came in with the door closing behind him.

She hates the impulse to fight, all the hurt that’d been forgotten as she wrote rising back to the surface as though it didn’t go anywhere. It’s swallowed down into the pit her stomach where guilt and shame also resided, avoiding eye contact with those piercing blues as her notebook is closed. 

“You’re back.” A stated fact, not sure of where to begin that was going to make a smooth transition. “Why don’t you think I can do this?”

This moment should be a happy one. He’s gone too long, too busy, and moments with him alone are too rare anymore as his responsibility only increases. Added onto the fact she is only allowed outside when escorted, himself being included in that, eventually took the romance out of being together over the years. Once she would be eagerly waiting around Garden for his return, leaping into his arms without a care of who saw with rare exceptions. Squall was her person.. her best friend, her safe-space, the person she felt safest with in the world.

Had she been faking being happy and content so long that their relationship was becoming something hard to recognize? Time spent together gradually became strained, her mask of contentment different than the usual one she wore with others. His was designed so he was stressed about one less problem he couldn’t help on top of the daily things he was already stressed about. She should be his safe-place too. The mask she wore for others was an attempt to win them over, so they’d fear her less and maybe see her as a person... but it was a mask all the same. Too often he didn’t seem to know how to help than hold her when she broke down, when she had her nightmares.. and she hated him looking so helpless. It felt like a better solution, to enjoy what they could have together instead of mourning what they couldn’t.

When did that turn strained? When did she stop trusting him? When did he start to sound more and more like every man in her life that wanted to keep her submissive and behaved and not make waves? 

How well did they even know each other anymore, when everything she’s created for her mental survival, to keep from shaking her cage - was a lie? What was he in love with because Rinoa can’t even be sure it’s her anymore - because she has forgotten who she even is, a fact that now was seen and could no longer be ignored. That realization terrifies her to her core, and there is nothing she wants more than to be in his arms and have his support and reassurance that there is some semblance of hope for their lives and future. This can’t be it.. this can’t be it. 

Please tell her this isn’t it because this is no longer a survivable option. She wants him.. and across the room from her, he’s never felt so far away.

[alexanderlightweight]

what doesn’t kill me makes me want you more

for @signoraviolettavalery 

technically it started out as a part of whumptober no.4 (human shield) but it gained life because of a discussion a while back

warning: violence, injury, minor character death

ao3 link

Antar reigned supreme and Earth had finally relented, not a complete surrender but close enough to one that Antar had been appropriately gracious.  Still, some rebellion remained and as leader of Antar’s armies, Michael was the primary target for discontent and revenge. What had begun as a routine security check had turned to politics and now, he was being forced to consider a human bodyguard.  For some it would be an insult, others an annoyance and for Michael, he’d been prepared to find as much amusement as possible in it, until he’d seen who Isobel wanted as his bodyguard.

The son of one of Earth’s greatest rebels, the child of a terrorist who had supported genocide and the love of Michael’s life.  

“You want him , to protect me?”  Michael asked, derision dripping from his tone and he ignored the flash of hurt in Alex’s eyes.  A decade of cat and mouse, of always being in the wrong place at the wrong time, of having the wrong parents and now this?  He would hurt Alex as much as he needed to if it meant sending him away from this mess.

“Micheal, Alex Manes is one of Earth’s most prominent warriors?”  Isobel asked in confusion, “his military accomplishments speak for himself even if his skill on the battlefield didn’t.  I thought you were willing to have a human bodyguard as a show of trust?”

“Yes, well not him.  Wasn’t it his father who nearly killed my mother?  And you expect me to trust him to protect me? This is probably what they want.”  Michael said and he crossed his arms over his chest, raising his chin just a little and making the room rattle, as if he were losing control at the very prospect of Alex Manes protecting him.  The reality was vastly different and yet so dangerously close to the truth.

“That is why it’s important you let him protect you,” Isobel hissed quietly, looking around as if to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard.  “If you’re that worried about it, I’ll look into his mind.”

“No!”  Michael swallowed down the second protest, licking his lips nervously.  “No, if you do that and they find out, it’ll make this whole thing pointless.  Better for me to handle it.”  

“So you’ll accept him?”  Isobel was still worried about his outburst but he could tell she was relieved.

“I won’t accept him,” he said, louder than before and if the room shook, no one needed to know that it was because he definitely saw Alex’s flinch.  “But he’ll do until I can replace him.”

“Good,” Isobel said and her eyes flashed with victory.  “Manes, you’ll report to Michael’s head of security, understood?”

Michael bit back a curse as he watched Alex agree, this was one of his worst nightmares and he couldn’t even wake up from it.  

Michael knew that if the assassins didn’t kill him, then being this close to Alex and having to ignore him would.

It was a torture that he bore with far less dignity than he should have but it was a torment designed to drive him mad.

How was he supposed to stay sane when protocol dictated that Alex enter any room first?  Michael had to watch Alex stalk with a predators gait before him without being able to outwardly admire it.  Had to imagine how it would feel, if Alex were shot. Would he stagger first? Or rally and go for the weapon that Michael had personally built and insisted that he use? 

Michael had given it to him, claiming that he was worried about Earth’s inferior technology rather than admit he just wanted Alex to have something that Michael had created.  They were almost never alone, surveillance or Michael’s own guards or Isobel’s spies and every time he thought they would get a chance to speak, to clear the air- they were interrupted.  

At night, Michael would wake up thrashing and in the throes of nightmares.  He’d lie there panting, the dream of Alex’s face paling from bloodless haunting his sleep and as much as he hated it, he would demand Alex’s presence.  Force him to check the windows that were sealed with Michael’s powers, just to see him safe and alive and breathing.

If the worry of Alex being hurt was painful, then the dreams of him dying were the cruelest torment. 

Michael faltered only once, half asleep by the time Alex had finally turned to go and Michael had reached out.  Grabbed desperately at him with his powers, pulling him to the bed and wanting nothing more than to tuck Alex in next to him, to hold him in his arms and shelter him from the world.

He hadn’t been able to do any of that.

Alex had gone limp in his hold, head lolling back as he surrendered to what he thought was an act of self-defense on Michael's part and for one terrifying moment, Michael had thought he’d killed him.  He’d been furious with himself and with Alex for that image.  

In the nights that followed the incident, sleep did not come easily and when it did oh, how the nightmares followed.

Now, when Michael dreamt of Alex’s death, he dreamt of snapped bones and a brittle body.  Of vacant, glassy eyes and the cracked and bleeding smile forming the words  “as you wish. ”  He dreamt that the grave he wailed over was one of his own making. 

If Alex died, there would be no grave.  Michael would bring him back to life if he had to use an entire city to do so and if Alex protested that, well, what was one more hurt between them at this point?

-

It was days after and Michael had refrained from calling Alex to his room, no matter how bad the nightmares got and how reassuring it would be to see him.  Instead he soaked up Alex’s presence during the day, watched him without caring who noticed and of course, someone did.

“I thought you were trying to protect me, not kill me.”  Michael muttered, rubbing furiously at his shoulder from where he’d walked into the doorway.

“Who said I can’t do both?”  Isobel asked teasingly, “besides, I’ve seen the way you look at him.  Consider this a gift from me, you get to enjoy some eye-candy before karma catches up with him.”

Michael swallowed and reluctantly turned to look at Alex.  Alex who was wearing a new uniform that consisted of a black leather jacket and tight leather pants that had been specially modified to adjust for his prosthetic while still doing the utmost at framing his ass.

Michael wasn’t going to survive this and every time he turned around, he was reminded that no one expected Alex to either, they just happened to be for very different reasons.

-

The dart hit Alex first, he went down with it and Michael froze, watching his body hit the ground felt like a thousand fears coming true at once.  It was only the beginning. 

He and his men were targeted next, sharp needles piercing through armor and skin and Michael could feel the instant disconnect from his power, the nearly overwhelming wrongness of his skin.

He ached and Alex was too far away for him to hold.

“Sir!”  One of his men called and Michael grit his teeth, gathering his balance as he remained standing even as others fell around him.  He was stronger than them, stronger than his enemies and he would prove that.

There was a drop, a mere taste of his power still at his disposal and he readied it.  He knew the darts were only the first part of the attack, a rare but effective way of subduing Antarans.  Bullets were easier to apprehend but darts, those led the way for further destruction and brought death in their wake.

Just a few feet away, Alex got back to his feet and Michael heaved a sigh of relief even as Alex turned towards him.

Michael tasted it first, warm droplets of salty iron on his lips, even before he saw Alex stagger.  His name fell like a desperate warning, a plea from Alex’s lips as he staggered. Michael caught him before he could fall, cradling him closer than he’d been allowed to for what felt like years.  Alex’s body, so warm and so close and bleeding out in his arm. More shots rang out but he could only focus on Alex who was once again leaving him behind.

“We have the sniper,” one of his soldiers said, “but the area is still unsecured.  Sir, we need to get you to the ship. Now!”

Michael ignored him, sinking to his knees as he gently lowered Alex’s body to the violet ground.  “Alex,” he whispered softly and pressed his hands down on his chest, feeling the delicate creak of human bones protest beneath his palms.  “Alex please, not like this. Not ever.”

“Michael, you need to go.  I’ll be okay, but you need to go.”  Alex said and Michael shook his head in protest.  He felt numb, empty of everything but desperate fear and his breath hitched when a warm, wet palm pressed against his cheek.  

It was a sick, twisted mimicry of a lovers embrace.  How Alex used to cradle his jaw before gently tangling his hand through Michael’s curls to pull him down for ardent, adoring kisses.

“Michael, please.  Go .”  

He could feel Alex’s bloody handprint on his cheek like a brand to his soul, memorized the brush of his fingers through a few stray curls and could imagine how he must look.  Hair stained crimson and face claimed by a dying lover, a cruel imitation of a promise he’d always craved.

“Get him to safety,” Alex said.  A final command and they listened, Michael’s own warriors disobeying their leader, their ruler as they pulled him away.  

“Alex,” Michael called and he fought the arms on him, “ Alex !”  

Michael let out a litany of curses, his voice heralding threats of violence on both them and their families and vowing to destroy all that they represented but still they wouldn’t listen.  

Betrayal.

“Someone will retrieve the body,” a soldier informed him, “as soon as you’re safely secured, Sir.”

Michael went limp, let himself be dragged just long enough for them to think that he’d listened as he reached deep within himself.  It was a place he rarely dared go. That hallowed, hollow place inside where Rath resided.

They could contain Michael but Rath would never allow himself to be subdued.  It was why Michael buried that part of him so far down that it was forgotten, even by himself at times.  One should always have a contingency plan and Rath was Michael’s. Michael couldn’t be sure how this would end but if Alex lived then it would all be worth it.

Rath awoke from Michael as a swimmer surfaced from the deep, born anew and greedy for air. 

Rath was not Michael or his men, to be so limited by something as fickle as a pollen filled dart.  No, Rath was power and it could not be stripped from him.  

The soldiers were pushed aside, batted away as easily as a child discards a useless toy.  Across the divide his powers found Jesse Manes and they broke him, an afterthought that Rath barely took note of.  There were things of far more importance than the death of an enemy.  

Normally, Rath demanded his lovers to come to him but for Alex, always and only for Alex he would set aside his pride.  Rath’s feet barely brushed the ground, power practically begging to be put to use as he finally reached the man he loved and oh, how beautiful but broken could one man be.

Where Michael would have asked and pleaded for Alex to stay, cajoled and sweetly begged him, Rath demanded.  It took but one move for him to kneel and around him his soldiers followed, by no will of their own but by Rath’s command.  For Alex, he might kneel but the world would crumble before he bent the knee for anyone else. Max sat on a throne not by his merit alone but by the grace Rath showed in allowing him to rule.

“You will not leave me,” he told Alex, “or the blood of a thousand worlds will water your grave.”

Alex laughed, blood bubbling against his lips and dyeing them the sacred red of life.  Michael would have wiped it gently away but Rath claimed it for his own with a demanding kiss.  Alex’s breath was too precious to be lost to the atmosphere. If they were to be his last than Rath would hoard them away, a treasure far too valuable to be wasted.

“You’re safe,” Alex told him, promised him.  “Safe from my family, from my father and safe from me.”

“You tore my heart apart once,” Rath reminded him, “and it never healed the same.  How could I ever be safe from you when everything I do is because of you?”

“Michael.” 

“If you’re are lost to me, what reason is there to spare the living?  If death takes you from me, why should the universe be allowed to thrive?”  Rath and Michael asked both in agreement and both tragic in love.

“You always were overdramatic,” Alex said and he coughed, weaker still than before.  

“You always did think too little of yourself.”  Rath told him, “one of the many things I am going to change.  No more pretending, no more hiding away from the truth.”  

“What truth?”  Alex asked and his eyes widened in alarm when Rath began to unbutton his shirt, pulling aside his armor.  “You can’t heal,” he said desperately. But a dying man’s desperation was no match for a living god’s determination, “that’s not one of your powers.  Michael, it could kill you. Stop, please.”

“One of my powers?”  Rath asked almost thoughtlessly as he pressed his hand to Alex’s marred skin, “you don’t know the extent of my power, Alex.  No one does. They will though, if it means keeping you then I’ll tear this galaxy apart and move on to the next. Once, the records named me a star killer.  For you, I’ll let them remember why.”  

Alex mouth, lovely and stained, opened to no doubt utter a protest and when Rath pressed down, he screamed instead.

It was a beautiful sound, full of pain and life and strength and it belonged to Rath.  Every precious moment of it was a promise, a vow that Alex would not be taken from him, that he could not be taken from him.  Rath was born to defy fate, he had conquered life and he had martyred death and he would not let the mortal downfall of compassion change that now.  

It was Rath’s powers that brought Alex back to life but it was their arms that carried Alex to the ship, to safety and to their bed.  Where he was placed with gentle reverence where he belonged and where he could be kept safe.  Even healed Alex’s body was too still for his liking but he knew, from the handprint that connected them that he was still alive.  He could feel every beat of Alex’s heart like an echo of his own.

From the moment Rath had connected them, he had felt everything that Alex had tried to hide.  All this time Alex had pretended that his heart had hardened and that the love he felt for Michael had calcified and decayed but Rath knew now that the bitter, beautiful truth was that he loved Michael.  That Alex’s heart beat for him alone, that he adored Michael with such a devout fervor that it had Rath’s own heart aflutter in aching, twinned sympathy. He’d never doubted Alex’s emotions but to feel them, what a balm to the soul it was.

-

“Michael!”  Isobel called and she ran to him, a sister relieved to find her kin alive and well.  It pinged something in him, a softening of his outward stoicism and he allowed her to embrace him.  Wrapped his arms around her in return and held her close, knowing that things would change between them very soon.

“You’re alright?”  She asked worriedly and stepped back, hand on his shoulder, “did Manes threaten you?  They said you wouldn’t leave his body, someone even said you tried to heal him? Are you okay?”

“The enemy was dealt with.  Jesse Manes is dead and retrieving Alex Manes body was simply a show of goodwill,” he said and tried to match his voice to hers.  It was a little stiff, but he knew that it would be attributed to shock, “Earth can’t claim us callous with their warriors.”

“So he is dead?”

“It’s simply incredible what a skilled hand can do.”  Rath said with a smirk and then smoothly added, “the armor he wore was well made.”   

“That’s a relief,” Isobel said, “apparently he’s friends with Liz.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I didn’t want to alarm you but gods, can you imagine how annoying Max would be if Liz lost a friend.”  Isobel gave a deliberate shudder, “the amount of consoling I’d have to pretend to be capable of.”  

“You are capable of it,” he reminded her.

“Yes, but I’d have to pretend to be sad about her friend.”

Rath clenched his hand, the one that had given life back to Alex and pasted a roguish grin on his face, “you wouldn’t be?”

“For Alex Manes?  Half the reason I let him be picked as your bodyguard is because I knew he’d do anything to prove he wasn’t like his father.”  Isobel’s smirk was tinged with cruelty, “fair is fair after all. Mara and I both agreed that if he died to save your life, it would be

“My mother was part of this scheme?”

“I wasn’t about to let her find out from the rumor mill that the son of the man who tried to kill her was protecting her only child.  She agreed that his death would be a fitting punishment for his families crimes.”

“And now?”

Isobel shrugged, “he’s proven himself but he’s still a Manes.  Once the rebellion is crushed for good he’ll be discreetly sent away.  I doubt Mara will have him killed, not after he successfully protected you.  However there won’t be a place for him, not on Antar.” 

“How tragic,” Rath mused, “that’s practically ruthless, Vilandra .”

Isobel turned, eyes sparking and defiant, “we’re not them, Michael .  I have no need of that name.  This was to protect you, to have justice that otherwise would never have happened.”

“Of course. As you say, it was merely justice.”  He kept his tone light and even gave a gentle, playful tug on her hair.  

Isobel relaxed and looked relieved, he knew that her abilities, the history that she could claim, it scared her.  She ran from her legacy as did Max. Michael however had never truly ran from the truth, only hidden it until it was of need and now, if he was going to have Alex by his side and keep him safe, Rath would always be needed.  

They both would.

For Alex, Rath would destroy the world and for Alex, Michael would rebuild it.

Michael had never been able to leave a mark anywhere on Alex but Rath’s, his would never fade.

-

“I should be dead.”

Rath scoffed as he shook his head, ignoring Alex’s absurd statement, “I don’t appreciate blasphemy being spoken in my own bed.”  

Alex ignored him, narrowing his eyes in reprimand, “Michael.”  

Rath ignored him, reaching to press his hand to match the print on Alex’s chest.  

“Fine, Rath .”  

Rath’s lips curled into a smirk, the victorious pleasure of his name being said blossoming between them, a fruitful garden of triumph.  

“ Alexander ,” his fingers danced against their glowing match, “my ardent defender.  Protector of my heart.” Alex gasped, low and soft and for his ears alone, just as this admittance was for Alex only.

“After all this time, why now?”

“If there were ever a reason for me to destroy the world, it would be you.”  Rath promised and leaned forward, pressed a kiss to Alex’s brow and then resting his cheek against Alex’s jaw.  “Will you deny the same?”

“How can I,” Alex asked as his hand joined Rath’s over their connection, “how can I lie to your face knowing you feel the truth.”  

Rath kissed him then, a reward and a consolation.

“What about your family?  Your duties? The politics of you being with a human are complicated enough but me, how will it even work?”  

“We’ll worry about that later,” Rath promised, “first though, first we’re going away.  Just the two of us. Everything else can wait, this time is ours.”  

-

The ship was small and the stars before them seemingly endless as Alex stood on the observation deck.  

“How are you feeling?”  Rath asked, pressing a kiss to Alex’s bare shoulder.  The wound he’d borne in defense of Michael had left no scar, but the handprint would remain.  A stark reminder that he had almost died, almost been taken away and that by Rath’s power he’d lived.

“Good, healthy.”  Alex said and turned, tilting his head and allowing himself to be wrapped in a tight embrace.  “How are you?”  

“Ready to show you the stars.”

“How do you know I haven’t seen them?”  Alex asked, “we spent years apart. I could have seen all of this without you.”

Rath scoffed even as Michael’s petulant irritation welled, “then I’ll discover new ones.”

“You’re going to compete with the universe then?” 

“I’m going to win against the universe,” Michael said and Rath settled, going nowhere but pleased and just as excited as he was.  “I already have, after all I have you.” 

[vampiresuns]

4 for the kisses meme! In the ASOIAF AU! As much as I love Anatole, I don't really ship him with anyone, so he can smooch whoever you choose!

Welcome to Angst Central, May I Have Your Order? “4. A kiss where it hurts.” CW for implied homophobia, and death.

Five.

He needn’t be told he’s not supposed to refuse girls, but he doesn’t like them. Not like he’s supposed to like them. He never notices the daughters of lords, or the pretty girls from the commonfolk around High-Garden: he’s always noticed their sons, their boys: how their muscles flex when they lift something, or how close they stand to him during a jest or a sword fight, and how his heart flutters when he wins and he feels their warmth under him.

His androgyny is uncomfortable. Men like him always have a hard time in Westeros — he feels powerless against it, it’s stupid, it makes no sense. So when the boy kisses him and then never addresses him again, he cries his heart out to his Cousin Valerius.

He’s only 17, and he’s supposed to like the girls, chase after them, dance with them, but he only ever wants to dance for the boys, and kiss them, and make them blush. Sometimes he can, but it always ends up hurting in the end

Four.

Ten years later, when his position as Master of Whisperers has solidified, and his hard work is beginning to show it’s first blossoms, he’s not as powerless as he was when he was only a teenager, but sometimes he still feels like that boy. Running around the gardens, flirting, pretending he’s greater than he feels like, proud of his refusals and mysteries.

He has the power to refuse to get married, he has the power to not let anyone touch him, he has an amount of political power in his hands he never expected to have; that the boy he was never had, but it’s all the same anyway because he’s still all by himself. His work and Valerius as his sole companions.

There’s one Ambassador from House Martell he’s particularly fond of. Things are different in Dorne, because no one cares about these things not really. Not that they did in High Garden, you can kiss whomever you like there too, and same gender “close friendships” aren’t particularly frowned upon, but in the end, you’re expected to get on with it. You get a wife, or a husband, do your thing, and go on. If you want to keep your paramour, keep it, but you do your duty.

Not for this Lord of Sunspear. Anatole has always known his duty, to his job, to the crown, to his own expectations, but in this particular matter he refuses to bend, and there’s something about unbowed, unbent, unbroken as a promise to lovers which makes his blood boil, and the butterflies in his gut simmer.

It’s not an affair meant to last, clearly, but he can pretend it doesn’t bother him and tell his lover things like: “Oh dear, pretty words and flattery will grant you no favours” and pretend he means them.

(Does the Master of Whisperers, the Snake of Westeros, mean anything he says? Some days, the Snake himself does not know)

When he kisses him his yearning is so ingrained in his bones it has turned into an insatiable hunger, and it makes his lungs hurt.

Three.

This one he loved. He was a townsfolk from King’s Landing, a painter who worked in his little network of spies, and he adored him. He loved him so genuinely he often joked it should be quite convenient to him, if something happened, for if it came to the worst possible scenario — him betraying Anatole — at least he can make a living out of him.

It’s not really a funny joke, but he has a rather morbid sense of humour.

The only problem is he kept calling him Milord, and he cannot be with someone who can’t call him by his name.

“How many times I have asked you to call you by my name?” He repeats, undeterred.

“Many, but I simply can’t.”

“Which is why it’s irrelevant how much we might care about the other— do you have the papers I asked for?”

They never did anything, not physical at least. He drew him a lot, but they never kissed, almost never touched. Except for this time when, upon being handed the information he had gathered for him, Anatole deliberately took his wrist, pulling him closer and kissing his cheek.

“Perhaps in another lifetime.”

It all grew cold from there.

Two.

His hair is not like fire, but like the deep red of sunsets that reflect on water, and his eyes are the crispest grey he’s ever seen. Julian’s eyes remind him of snow, his hair of dying suns, and his voice makes his heart sing in his chest, but there’s a war going on, and he’s technically on opposing sides with him.

He’s never believed in any gods, not the Lord of Light, not the Seven, not any of them, but he might pick one and pray he survives not the war, but his star-crossed crush on the One Eyed Raven.

He doesn’t think he will, his actions betrayed him the moment Astaeria told him Julian had been taken prisoner and she was going to rescue him. She had the upper hand: she knew his caring for Julian would move him to act, she knew his caring for her would forbade him to leave her alone.

(She doesn’t know he also promised Valerius)

Ever since they did they’ve been orbiting each other; it’s bothersome and inconvenient, because he has the nerve to appear whenever he doesn’t need more emotions demanding to be felt inside of him.

Like right now, when he’s sitting in the loneliest corner of Winterfell he could find, and this bastard still managed to find him. He looks at him with wild eyes and trembling hands, feeling weak and pathetic and images of the last battle they were dragged into flashing in front of his eyes, forcing him to face that for someone who despises violence, he has ended many lives. Not just during this war and rebellion, but also in his job. Specially in his job.

He wants to push Julian away but he doesn’t do it. He can’t stand being alone when he’s afraid. He’s well aware he’s just as wanted for Treason as Valerius and Astaeria are, at leats in Lucery’s eyes. He knows his head had a price the moment he stepped down to become Astaeria’s Master of Whisperers and collaborator. If this is the price of glory, then he doesn’t want glory any more, and Julian is warm and dramatic and intelligent and a little dumb at the same time, and he’s so very alive, so very pessimistic, so very infuriating.

“It’s pathetic: a swordsman trembling because he ended a life, a life that wasn’t worth much in the end but a life. A Snake who feels guilt for his bite, a rose who apologises for having thorns,” he says, scoffing at himself.

“If I may be so bold, you’re the opposite of pathetic,” Julian says. “You’re brilliant, Anatole. Astaeria told me you were like this, and she was right: you’re a little hard to know but you’re caring, dedicated, you genuinely care for the common-folk of Westeros, you’re a loyal friend, you’re a very talented swordsman, and you’re beautiful. Sweet even, too sweet, perhaps.”

He could say some smart-arsed comeback, pat his shoulder and leave. Thank him at most. His games aren’t worth it any more. Everything has changed too much for his smoke and mirrors to be any worth. Not to forget he’s never been one to lie to himself — realism in the core of his luck, of his intelligence and insight, and there’s no use betraying himself with false notions.

Instead he says: “I no longer know where I begin and my job ends, or if who I had to be for it ate away all the remnants of who I was.”

“Do you believe in forgiveness?” Julian asks.

“Forgiveness? Why?”

“Do you believe even the truly heinous can be forgiven?”

He has no idea why Julian is asking this, yet he gives him his honest answer anyway. “No. Some things cannot be forgiven, but I do believe you can always come back.”

“Then there’s your answer. You’re not the only one who has done terrible things.”

He’s not entirely sure how it happens but his lips find Julian’s, and his heart feels less heavy.

One.

An arrow, a crossbow arrow, a fall, and shriek from Nightfyre. He’s running, running, running towards her because she is one of his few comforts in this cold world, one of the few people who knows him fully, who knows everything he’s done, and still choose him.

“No, Astaeria, please stay with me, focus on me, let me get you out of here, please—”

She dies, and he hates himself for it. 

He kisses her forehead only for a second, before a gauntlet is pulling him away from her.

[jasperlion]

Peace and War — very much based on dialogue/meta

Alm has an interesting view upon war, peace and all of their portents, although most is likely based on how Mycen raised him, more of soldier and leader (empathically/charismatically/but specifically a military one, being a general himself before his discharge) than anything else.

Of the following conversation I’ll highlight the important points on this, since I don’t want to lose the context of said conversation for the sake of what I want to talk about (since it’s important to the topic, too).

Alm: Look, I’ve heard from the others. I know the drought’s made Zofia a scary place. People are starving, and many have turned to thievery and plunder. Brigands loot villages for a mere sack of grain, and soon they’ll be at OUR door! And don’t think I haven’t heard what the Rigelian army has been up to. They’ve been crossing the border for years in violation of the Divine Accord. And with that sacred bond broken, now the Terrors have resurfaced as well… Mycen: …All true. Alm: Zofia is full of innocent people who are looking for help. Please, Grandfather. I want to make a difference in a world bigger than a handful of houses. I want to see all the amazing places you’ve told me about— that Celica told me about! Mycen: Suppose you do set forth with your sword and your wits. So what? Alm: …… Mycen: Will the grand story of your life be how you met the end of a brigand’s axe? Before you dream of changing the world, learn your damned place in it. And no more talk of leaving. -Mycen leaves- Alm: …What’s his problem?! Why teach me to use a sword if you’re not going to let me fight? Every day in this place is exactly the same as the next. I know I’m meant for more than this! But you have to let me find it!

--

Alm: Lukas! Were you able to speak with my grandfather? What did he say? Lukas: He said no. Sir Mycen made it clear he has no intention of joining the Deliverance. Alm: What? But he’s ridiculously strong! He could defeat some stuffy chancellor with his eyes closed! Why would he refuse when so many people are suffering? Lukas: I cannot speak to Sir Mycen’s thinking, but it seems we misplaced our hopes. I’ll have to return to our hideout and bring Sir Clive the ill news. Perhaps Mycen has simply grown too old for the battlefield.

--

Alm: I’m just saying we could do it together. …Fighting, I mean. Not the lance. Grandfather trained all of us, right? Not just me. You already know how to use a sword and a bow. So what’s the problem?

--

Alm: What? They’ve taken a prisoner?! Lukas: Alm? Let’s just be calm and… Alm?! Alm, wait, don’t — Alm: Hold it, you lecherous pigs! Brigand: Huh? Who the hell are you? Alm: Release the woman you’re holding at once, or else

Battle has always been a solution for Alm, but not in the way of savagery or wanting to subjugate, as much as it is to defend. All of his focus on the problems are what he can stop with his physical strength to protect innocents who are suffering. He is not beyond killing those who attack others to meet his goals, but he’s also not beyond parley and seeking from his opponents a more peaceful solution (provided they aren’t already doing something dastardly, like looting, attacking people, kidnapping them, etc). All in all, those are the views of someone growing up under a general, views necessary for someone whom his father and surrogate grandfather both intended to go to war in the first place and fight.

Even so, despite his willingness to draw the blade, he’s not willing to kill on sight (usually) unless weapons are already drawn. He’s rather compassionate to a fault, which stops him from attacking others without question even when he jumps to the wrong conclusion, not unless he has seen them do shit with his own two eyes (that’s pretty much how you strike the match to his temper and killing intent fhkJDKHD).

Alm: Don’t blame yourself, Lukas. Sir Clive sent you to Ram Village. right? You didn’t have a choice. If blame lies with anyone, it’s him. Lukas: …… Alm: Regardless, standing here accomplishes nothing. We need a plan. I assume this Clair person is still alive, right? In that case, we just have to take back the Southern Outpost and save her!

Really, his solutions always involve getting in a scuffle to save someone when he knows they were both wronged and are in trouble. And he jumps to conclusions and is quick to pin blame.

Of note is that instead of ordering a chase of Desaix and the Rigelian detachment with him, he instead decides to stay within the castle. He does this again after Berkut’s mirror smash, ordering his men rest instead of give chase to the fleeing Rigelians. Alm may be focused on battle as a means to an end, but he’s not at all for eliminating all who stood in his path or destroying them. (Gaiden Alm would say different here, lfmao)

It can be a little confusing when Alm has always been about compromise when there’s a misunderstanding — surely the whole thing makes him butt heads with himself... and it does! His argument with Celica is one of the biggest demonstrations of this, but there’s another thing I want to touch first.

Silque: Sir Alm, what did you see? Alm: It was… It was so clear! Silque, it was horrible! Silque: Be calm. What you saw in the vision is not the present. The Mother is either telling you what could be…or what once was. Her power is sight. Alm: So the vision is something that’s going to happen? Silque: Something that COULD happen. If the vision was ill-boding, perhaps it was a sign— a sign that the Mother wishes for you to take action in order to prevent it. Alm: ……

Alm’s reasons to continue pressing forward with the war despite Celica’s pleas is both his will to make a difference and the fact that he was called to do it. Mila sent him a vision that if things continue and he does nothing, all of Zofia will die. Her vision sets him directly at odds with Celica, who recieves one that should Alm continue on his path, he will die (and everyone he loves will die on his way to get there). 

They are directly contrasting visions, albeit Celica’s was likely a warning to get her off the island before the Cantor arrived and likely killed everyone at the priory (you know the one, the one on the lonely boat who implies he was on his way for her). Anyway, this isn’t about that, so fast forward to the argument itself with this in mind: His feeling of duty to see the war through was to save lives, but his focus was not to invade Rigel, merely push them all the way back.

Alm: …Wow. That’s quite the story. I’m trying to picture you swashbuckling pirates, and… Yeah. Just…wow. Celica: I didn’t mean to swashbuckle anyone. It just sort of…happened. But forget all that for the moment. Alm, you aren’t REALLY planning to fight the Rigelian Empire, are you? Alm: Listen, it’s not… It’s not something I chose. They were the ones who attacked us. Celica: But there must be a way to resolve things other than bloodshed, no? Alm: That’s a pretty thought, Celica, but I’m not sure it’s true. If it were, no one would be risking life and limb on the battlefield. Celica: Is it really so naive? Zofians and Rigelians are both people of Valentia, are we not? I know we can reach some kind of accord if we just try! Besides that, I… I just can’t imagine Emperor Rudolf is the monster some claim him to be. Alm: It doesn’t matter what sort of man he is. The Rigelian Empire chose to cross Zofia’s border—that’s a fact. We aim to drive back the invaders. Nothing more. Celica: But why do YOU have to lead this rebellion? Mycen’s grandson or no, you’re neither knight nor noble. So why make yourself a target like this?! Alm: Nrgh… If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I was speaking to a blue blood. My station doesn’t matter, Celica. I’m here because I was called. I have a duty to perform, and I’ll perform it. No more, and no less. Celica: Oh, Alm… Alm: Do you think I WANTED this fight? This all started because Lima IV went and angered the empire. If you wish to point fingers, point them at the ruler who failed his people. It’s his fault we’re in this mess. Celica: That’s not… Well, so what if it is? Maybe you should go become king if it’s such a damnably easy job! Alm: What? Celica, that’s not— Celica: You’re awfully free with accusations for a boy with no idea what royalty entails! And now that you’re a “hero,” I imagine the throne is next on the list, is that it? Alm: No, it’s not like that at all, Celica! I just want to keep Zofia SAFE! Besides, there’s an heir. A princess of the royal family may have survived. If she turned up and fixed all this, I’d happily return to Ram. You could…come with me, you know? It’d be like old times.

Hoooo, other than Alm and Celica here fanning flames (flames Alm didn’t even know existed, and flames Celica did not realize were alight at all due to Alm’s previous confrontations with nobles (notably Fernand)) this shows a lot of Alm’s thinking. 

While he’s very gung ho and willing to fight for a cause, and even kill for it, he’s not alright with it having to be the solution (even if he’s okay with using it as a solution). Basically, it’s the only way he knows he can help with the problem, and he is fine with doing it, but he’s not fine with having to do it. If there are other options, he’d take them. That’s the biggest takeaway, really, since he doesn’t just speak those thoughts, but acts upon them. Jumping right to the start of Act 4 now...

Alm: …… Clive: A word, Alm? Alm: Clive! Did we receive a reply to our petition? Clive: Unfortunately, no. The empire’s silence is likely its answer. I believe it wise to resign ourselves. Emperor Rudolf has no intention of treating for peace. He means to continue his march on Zofian soil. Alm: Damn… Clive: Our men are approaching their limit. And Rigel’s climate is far colder than what they knew in Zofia. Further delaying here will only sap their strength and morale. Alm: All right, Clive. I trust your judgment. Let’s get ready to march. Clive: Understood. I’ll pass word to the others and prepare them to cross into the empire. Alm: …… What’s all of this leading to?

Alm has legitimately sent a petition to Rudolf to stop his march into Zofian soil. As per his word, his aim was merely to drive back the invasion, then request that the Rigelian’s cease trying again. His attempts for peace, or at least a meeting for parley, are met with silence, and yet he waits until Wyrmstym/Winter before finally heeding Clive’s advice and engaging in a march. Who knows how long he had between Pegastym//Autumn and Wyrmstym to wait, but it’s implied it’s been long enough for a courrier to make it to the Empire’s capital, wait for political deliberation and receive a response, and then some.

And most importantly...

Alm: Listen, Celica. I know you sacrificed your own life to protect me and the others. But I never wanted that. I couldn’t ever be happy in a world you died to create! Celica: Oh, Alm… I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Alm: Don’t apologize. Just know that I need you, all right? Without your wisdom, all I know how to do is fight whatever’s in front of me. So please… Will you fight with me? Believe in me. Believe in US. Believe in our combined strength!

Alm is very much aware that his skills lie in battle to resolve a conflict or problem, and as much as he has stated to dislike meaningless fights or struggles that can be avoided (as noted by his attempt to speak to some enemies (like witches) to try and dissuade them from attacking, or willingness to listen to Tatiana and thus speak to Zeke at the start of the fight with Jerome), and has even been noted to be a compassionate/kind leader (your choices as the player aside if you decide to kill everyone on ‘defeat boss’ missions lfmao), enough that Rigelians know this already and Rudolf can positively affirm it.

It makes him a mixed bag of emotions for this reason, because he feels terrible about what he’s good at doing, but he feels its the only way he can help.

Anyway, this was too long a post to just say that, but it’s what it is at its core. Alm is down to fight, especially if it’s someone he sees doing something vile, but as a means to an end he feels if it’s unnecessary it should be avoided (even if he feels its the only skill he has, even if it’s not particularly true). This compassionate side of him does not show at all when he feels it’s someone who deserves it, however (like Slayde and Desaix), which is probably something considered a flaw by some, maybe a dangerous one in a leader. It’s kind of fortunate that he has a well-maintained moral compass, I suppose, because this kind of thinking could lead straight to hell otherwise.

[dunkshotdreaming]

Spica: Alpha Virginis (pt.3)

Genre: action/adventure, fantasy, angst, romance Warnings: post-apocalyptic Characters: Leo (VIXX), Beth (oc), Lucy (oc) Word count: 2,009 Story type: series (completed)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 (final)

(A/N): Reposting my series from AFF onto here!

///

   Leo wondered if perhaps he’d been too harsh with Beth, but he couldn’t control his reaction, it was reflexive. His eyebrows furrowed as he burrowed his face in his hands, opting to swallow his pride and apologize to her before the guilt ate him alive. Slowly shutting the door behind him, Leo shuffled over to the couch, only to see Lucy under the towel instead. She’d left her dress folded on the coffee table, his eyes widening as he wondered if he drove her off. Had he scared away is only friend? Perhaps it was for the best, he thought, but he couldn’t will the agonizing pain of loss away.

   A slight breeze caught his attention, making him realize the sliding door was left open. On his way over, he noticed her perched once more on the shabby railing, only this time she was facing outward. Leo rubbed his neck awkwardly, clearing his throat to quietly announce his presence, She looked back at him, hopping over the railing back onto the balcony.

“I’m sorry,” they said in unison.

“Wait, why are you sorry? I was the one who acted like an ass,” Leo muttered in slight shock.

“Because I made you uncomfortable, and that was not my intention, Leo. Not in the slightest. I haven’t had someone to talk to since I got myself kicked out, and I was so scared you’d hate me and—” Leo stepped closer, embracing her waist with one arm and wiping the tears she had yet to notice falling with his other hand.

“Taekwoon,” he exhales softly, making Beth second-guess if she was hearing things. “If it makes you feel any better, you can go ahead and call me Taekwoon,” he whispered, staring at the floor. “Because I’d be damned if I lost my only friend too.” Beth almost couldn’t believe it; she knew that with the past he had to be carrying the weight of on his shoulders, this small gesture meant the world. Out of sheer excitement, she hugged Leo by the neck, almost dragging him to the floor with her. “Whoa there, angel,” Leo chuckled, leading her back inside as he shut the rickety door. “You can take the room, I’ll sleep on the couch with Lucy.”

“Oh no, Leo, I couldn’t… You keep the room, it’s fine. Wait, you named her Lucy?”

“I insist.” He felt odd hearing her still refer to him as Leo. Perhaps a small part of him hoped she could accept him and his part, as he had yet been able to do. Or perhaps he was unable to admit to himself that he wanted to hear her angelic voice whisper his birth name. After all, it has been so long since he’d even heard it aloud, maybe he was tired of being “Leo”. He wanted to feel again, to live again, he didn’t just want to survive day in and day out, poker faced. “And yes,” he couched, “I named her Lucy… like Lucifer,” Leo whispered the last bit as Beth snorted loudly.

“You named her after the devil?! Poor baby~” she cooed.

“No, I named her after a fallen angel. Because before I met you today, she was the only friend I had since the last one who died.” Beth stayed quiet for a moment before walking over to Leo, who was leaning on one of the couch’s arms.

“I am so sorry for your loss,” she held his hands in her much smaller ones, feeling genuine sorrow. And for the first time since he’d picked up the alcohol during mourning, Taekwoon let himself cry, burying his face into his elbow. Beth shushed his sobs softly, pulling him to the floor with her this time, bringing him close so his head rested on her shoulder. “It’s ok, I’ve got you Leo, it’ll be ok,” Beth whispered, to which he shook his head. “Taekwoon then, luv?” To which he nodded.

“I-It’s been far too long since I’ve heard that name… since I allowed myself to feel anything other than emptiness,” Taekwoon admitted after he’d calmed down enough to speak. “I missed it, honestly. I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier, I just… I panicked. All these feelings came rushing back and I’d kept them away for so long, it hurt and I didn’t want to feel. But my name, it reminds me of friends, of family,” and his voice cracked. Beth pressed a soft kiss onto his forehead, over his bangs.

“It’s perfectly fine to feel, you know that? And with all you’ve been through, god you’re strong if you’ve survived this long. How many years has it been?” she asked.

“Three, going on four, I believe,” Taekwoon sniffled.

“I’ve been on earth five months and I’d already thought of giving up! How do you do it?" Taekwoon chuckled softly, feeling humbled at her praise, thankful she was trying to cheer him up. Blowing his nose on a dirty towel, unconsciously he huddled closer to Beth as he went on about his family, about Nathaniel and the rebellion, and retelling his life story until he’d fallen asleep in her arms. She smiled, grateful that for the first time in a long time, she was actually able to help someone other than herself out.

   Beth regretted neglecting her angel duties, but she was young, dumb and rebellious then. She’d grown a lot in the past five months, but meeting Taekwoon made her realize perhaps they were destined to cross, and perhaps they had a lot to teach one another after all. And with that thought, she fell asleep at his side, exhausted.

   Taekwoon awoke with a stiff neck and sore back, but pleasantly warm. He slowly blinked himself awake, realizing the warmth came from the angel beside him. Taekwoon slowly watched her awaken, taking in every detail of her body’s movements with a secretive smile.

“Good morning,” Beth sounded almost as if whining, speaking through her yawn.

“Mornin’ Angel,” Taekwoon replied as he rose and stretched. She said nothing as she took in how all his muscles flexed, quietly enjoying the view. She did, however, raise her brow at his word choice, almost laughing but too tired to actually do so. “I’m going out to catch us breakfast—”

“I’ll go with you! Anyway um, angels don’t really eat. We sleep, to rest and replenish our energy, but that’s about the extent of it. So just worry about yourself and Lucy,” Beth grinned at Lucy’s wagging tail as she crawled over.

“Alright, I guess. But you’re going to need shoes, and some clothes. We can look through the other apartments before we head out.” Taekwoon threw on a jacket, heading out with the girls in search of belongings for Beth. After some trial and error, one apartment’s closet seemed to have clothes that would fit a young woman, to which Beth was more than pleased.

“Ooh what’s this shirt? Guns N’ Roses? Edgy yet cute design, I like whatever this is. You humans are fascinating with your attire and whatnot. Oh, and SHOES! ..are these what you call, ‘boots’?” Beth asked in fascination, taking everything in with childlike wonder. Taekwoon watched with mirth, knowing well they were practically grave robbing while to her this was like a suburban tourist’s first trip to a big-city mall.

   Together, she and Taekwoon carried a pile apiece back to his apartment, he’d thrown in some clothes he’d found for himself along the way as well. It deemed much easier to find shoes for Beth than for himself, though most were unusable in their scavenging state, such as heels. He briefly recalled she could fly and felt rather daft, but surely sandals had to be much comfier for her to wear around at home, right?

   Home? What was he thinking, that place wasn’t a home, and she didn’t even belong to this world, why should he assume they’re be staying together. With Lucy and Beth, Taekwoon has had begun to feel at home in that dreary apartment, but how long could that last? Shaking his head, he set down their haul, getting ready to hunt, because he was famished.

“Wait a second, um Taekwoon…”

“Yeah, Beth?”

“I’d like to offer you something as a token of my thanks.”

“You really don’t have to do that, you know,” Taekwoon responded, feeling giddy at receiving something from her nonetheless.

“Oh, trust me, you’ll like this.” Beth pulled out a pair of men’s sneakers, perhaps a bit big, but he was immensely grateful, regardless. But before he could even open his mouth, she spread one of her wings, wincing as she plucked one of her feathers.

“Beth, what are you doing?!” Taekwoon took a step towards her, concerned.

“I’m fine, it just feels like a scratch would to you. Besides, it’ll grow back.” She handed him the feather, asking him to close his eyes and trust her. She watched his long lashes flutter shut, licking his lips anxiously. “It is said that a feather from an angel’s wings can grant a wish. However, this is only true if done voluntarily by the angel.”

“Can I use this to see my family?” Taekwoon blurted, almost immediately, his narrow, catlike eyes looking at her with intense passion.

“I can’t teleport you or anything, I don’t have that kind of power,” she said reluctantly.

“But can I use it as a sort of magic mirror? Just to know how they’re doing, please?” The pleading tone of his voice was sincere and loving; Beth felt her heartstrings tug in the truest of ways. Most mortals would have wishes for food, or shelter even, but all he wanted was to see his family one more time.

“Just hold it tight within both of your hands, and close your eyes while you think of your wish. Th feather will turn into something that fulfills your wish.” Beth watched as he closed his eyes once more, the feather transforming into a makeshift mirror of sorts between his hands. She walked over to him to ensure the mirror was working, also wishing to sneak a peek. She’d feared the worst when he begun to shed a few tears, glancing into the projected view. His parents sat at a table, with one of his older sisters in the living room. He’d assumed the other two must have passed away, until one walked in holding a baby boy, the man he presumed to be her husband following suit.

   Taekwoon watched until the mirror turned back into a feather, slowly dulling to gray until it was nearly black, no longer any magic running through it. He clutched it to his chest as he let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was even holding while watching his family. “I’m assuming one of my sisters either didn’t make it out, unless she moved out…” he tries to convince himself. “But everyone else is alive and well and… I have a nephew,” Taekwoon exclaims in disbelief, “I’m an uncle! Oh my god I still can’t believe this, I’m so happy right now. Thank you so, so much Beth.” Without realizing it, he’d lifted and spun her around with ease, forgetting about the hells of his own situation, drunk with the knowledge of his family’s well-being.

   Beth was marveled at the sight, never having seen him so elated. She knew once she saw him this way that she would do anything to make him feel this way again, though she knew not why? Was it because she liked helping people… or were feelings for this human beginning to blossom? She shook the thoughts away, knowing a human and an angel could only be star-crossed lovers.

   Taekwoon, finally setting her down, caught himself just before he was about to lean in and kiss her, awkwardly coughing as he pulled away rapidly. He nearly tripped over himself in his rush to escape, which she watched in confused amusement.

   There was a new pep in his step that day as they headed off in search of what could possibly pass for breakfast.