#the idea of someone having a weapon enchanted with LOYALTY

[justanotherwaywardsoul]

just finished the pvp civ s1 finale. I HAVE EMOTIONS ABOIT THIS

anyone wanna spill their theories in the notes thanks I need something to stave off the brainworms

[mayhemproduces]

It’s hard to imagine an MPW without Abigail and Malakai standing side by side; it’s hard to imagine either one of them without the other, in truth. Most partnerships don’t last as long as theirs did. Whether it be egos, injuries, or unfortunate circumstances that pulled most pairings apart, they stayed together over different continents, different companies, before they finally settled into Mayhem. Abigail could still feel the ghost of that bond they’d shared back then, a bond forged in shadows and fury. She’d let him in, let him fold himself into her shadows because, at the time, it made sense. She’d seen him as an extension of her own darkness, a weapon that needed direction. He was her kindred spirit - or so she’d thought. And he, he’d been drawn to her from the beginning, caught in the shadowed web Abigail spun so deftly. Three years ago, in the heat of her battle with 44OH!, he’d stepped in, his own darkness blending seamlessly with hers. Together, they were something terrifying, a force no one dared to cross. Their bond had felt inevitable, like they were two pieces of a twisted prophecy that was just waiting to be fulfilled. She had power, a raw magnetism that seemed to reach out and bind him, and he’d let it. Maybe he even loved her, in his own way. Or maybe he’d been enchanted by her; maybe he mistook her pull for love when it was something else entirely. But as the years wore on, the enchantment faded, revealing a raw truth between them.

The truth was that Malakai was always searching for something she couldn’t give, even though he may not have known it then. And somewhere in her own heart, she’d known she needed something he couldn’t give, either. Abigail didn’t want a partner who would stand separate from her. She wanted someone she could claim, someone who would devote himself to her cause, share in her burdens without needing the softer comforts of love. Malakai, with his quiet, steady defiance, had always pushed against her grasp. She had told herself she could overlook it, mold him into what she needed. But trying to possess something that wasn’t meant to be owned only poisoned them both. They were never built for each other. Abigail’s shadows fed on pain, on the agony of those who surrounded her. Her idea of loyalty was bound in sacrifice, her love embedded in control. Malakai had mistaken her fervor for something meaningful, but the toxicity lay in the very fabric of what they were. She’d been his partner in darkness, but his heart had always searched for something else, something softer and sharper all at once. Then he found him. In Devitt, Malakai found something his relationship with Abigail never gave him - a fire that didn’t burn to ashes but gave him strength. A love he could taste and keep, that didn’t ask him to shackle himself to it but let him stand beside it, powerful, complete. She’d seen the way Malakai looked at him from the very beginning,, seen how effortlessly Devitt seemed to draw out parts of him that she never could. She’d felt something cold and bitter settle in her stomach, a mixture of anger and resignation. In her heart, she knew it was over long before he ever said the words. Malakai wanted something she didn’t have in her to give - a devotion that wasn’t tangled up in control, a love that didn’t devour and bind. Leaving Abigail’s web had felt like tearing himself out of a cocoon, stepping into something he’d needed but never known. He hadn’t just left her; he had found himself. And now, as he stands on the brink of one last fight with Abigail - a fight that no longer feels like destiny, but a necessary end - he knows that they’ll never truly walk the same path again. He and Devitt have a future beyond the darkness Abigail revels in, a future that doesn’t consume him, but sets him free. But Abigail, too, had found someone who could stand beside her in ways Malakai never could. Syn’s presence at her side was a reminder that their paths were always meant to diverge. In Syn, she’d found someone who embraced her darkness completely, someone who didn’t resist the threads she wove but blended into them. 

And now here they are. The thought stirred something deep and unsettling within her, an ache she refused to acknowledge as regret. She would give him this last fight; she would give him closure. After next week, she would sever that last tie, letting him fade into the distance with his newfound “light.” There was no place for him in her world anymore, just as there was no place for her in his. 

Whatever happened, whatever outcome awaited them, it was over. She would close this chapter, leaving Malakai and Devitt behind her like a memory she refused to dwell on. This was the end of their story. This is the end.

You can feel the finality, the intensity, mix into the ring as they stand across the ring from one another. Bryce Remsburg, our official for the evening, calls for the bell, and it adds to the gravity of the moment. Neither one moves for a long stretch, staring each other down, their eyes locked in a silent exchange of words. But there’s nothing left to say. They’ve said all they needed to and then some these past few weeks, and now, they meet face to face, nose to nose, in the middle of the ring. Everyone in the arena is on the edge of their seats, trembling in anticipation - when Abigail SLAPS him! The crowd jumps back from shock, and even the commentators sound surprised that Abigail would dare to do such a thing. But she wouldn’t just dare to, nay, she looks proud of herself for it. “Look at you now, Malakai, so small and weak. A pale shadow of the man you could’ve been -” And Malakai kicks her right in the face! Exploding with that brutal kick, pushing Abigail to the ropes with it, and Malakai lights her up with a series of stiff strikes, unloading on anything he can reach! Utilizing his pedigree to punish Abigail for her nasty words, before Abigail can grab him, throwing him out to the floor. She jumps down, trying to follow him, but Black knocks her down with a STIFF kick to the chest, connecting with a lightning quick kick she never saw coming! He floors the Matriarch but quickly gets her back on her feet, planting more body shots along the torso, the head, wherever he can reach to inflict some much deserved punishment, but Abigail slides out of his grasp. She rolls back into the ring, but Black is right behind her. He charges after her, heading into the corner, but Abigail moves! He went for a kick, and now gets his leg tangled up in the ropes, Abigail quickly taking advantage as she tucks the leg between her own, crunching it with a leg snap! The leg MJF targeted in their World title match, heavily bandaged under the kneepad, and it buckles under the leg snap. Abigail falls back, but Malakai explodes out of the corner, ignoring the pain in his leg to blast Abigail with a pee kick - but she dodges! Malakai keeps going after her, trying to land something, but Abigail dodges everything. Playing a game of cat and mouse until she rolls under a roundhouse kick. She turns, sitting on her behind as she smirks at Malakai. Grabbing her other leg, she tucks it under her and crosses her legs, mimicking Malakai’s signature pose, trying to get under his skin.

Going for a PK, it’s missed as Abigail ducks under it, rolling Malakai up. She jumps up, and takes him down with a sliding forearm! A precise shot to the jaw, and Abigail rolls to her knees, watching as Malakai maneuvers into the corner. She jumps up, charging, and nearly takes his head off with a HUGE running boot, colliding under the jaw! Another forearm placed on the chin keeps Malakai under her thumb as she moves them to the ropes, pushing him against it before whipping him across the ring. She leans over, but Malakai rolls off her back! She whips around, and Malakai goes for forearms, but Abigail ducks them all! She anticipates the next, ducking under it, but instead, Malakai kicks her in the face! She wasn’t expecting that one, and gets caught on the bridge of the nose! Holding her face, Abigail backs up before trying to strike, but Black catches it! He holds onto her arm before landing a round kick, following up with a back elbow. A low kick to the side of the leg knocks her down, and Malakai caps off the sequence with a precise knee to the temple! Malakai shakes out his leg as Abigail rolls to the floor, dazed after that hard knee to the head. Black turns around and charges, going to fly - but instead, he bounces off the ropes, and jumps back into a seated position! He looks to stare Abigail down, a knowing smirk on his face - but he isn’t there! Abigail slides into the ring on his right side, and SPIKES him with Starfall! Holy shit! Abigail had him scouted, and could’ve put an early end to Malakai’s night! She makes the cover!

1… 2… Kickout!

Malakai survives the first pin attempt of the evening, as these two have been rather evenly matched thus far. But now, Abigail is taking control. She snubs Malakai’s head with her boot, trying to wedge her way under his skin, into her psyche, to try and throw her off her game. The House of Black has regularly had The Fallen’s number at every twist and turn after the biggest party of the summer, but there’s something different about main event, big match Abigail that Malakai may not be able to conquer on his own. Getting him back on his feet, Abigail pushes him to the ropes, shoving him off, and catching him on the rebound with a nasty backbreaker! She holds on, swinging Malakai to his feet, where she chops him down with a bicycle kick! Malakai gets bulldozed by it, and Abigail stands over him, her head cocked back as she absorbs the boos, the disdain, from our lively audience here in Long Island. A much different reaction than her stablemate, MJF, got earlier tonight. But the minds of Long Island fans are a mystery, sometimes. Abigail pierces Malakai’s knee with a precise stomp, as she begins to circle his body, landing stomp after stomp to every vital extremity, before she grabs him by the hair, yanking him to his feet. She lightly shoves him into the corner, where she uses her long legs to stretch, putting her foot against his throat and choking him out, holding it in for as long as Remsburg allows her to before relinquishing. Grabbing Black by the wrist, Abigail whips him with such ferocity that she drops to the mat, and Malakai collides HARD with the turnbuckles! Forcing him to run on that bad leg, as Abigail is now shifting her focus to the back as well, as it hits hard in the corner. Abigail leans against the ropes, turning over to look into the camera and say, “This is the man you’ve all come to cheer? A deserter with no spine, clinging to love as if it could make him whole!“ She laughs at the mere thought as she stands, using the ropes a a lever to get herself back on her feet. As Remsburg is still checking on Malakai, trying to make sure that vicious whip didn’t re-injure his back, Abigail tears at the turnbuckle pad. Disrobing them and tossing the covers aside, Abigail reveals the shiny, unforgiving steel underneath. Remsburg only realizes once it’s too late, but has to keep his eye on the action, as Abigail clings to the top rope, using it to lift herself up, and dropping onto the back of the leg! Crushing it under her as she sits on it, cupping her ear as the crowd feverishly chants for Malakai, trying to will him into making a comeback.

Trying to whip Black into the exposed steel, but Malakai puts on the brakes at the last second, putting his foot on the turnbuckle to stop himself from colliding against it! He nails Abigail with a back elbow, following up with a few forearms to the face, knocking her back. But Abigail explodes back, knocking him back with a teep kick of her own, and sending him HARD into the turnbuckles! The back of his head collides hard into the exposed steel, and he looks to be out cold as Abigail picks him up out of the corner. She spins, picking him up, and planting him with a vicious backbreaker! Trying to shatter Malakai’s spine against her leg, as she continued to target the back, the injury that nearly caused Malakai to stay on the shelf, permanently. And if anybody knew how severe it was, it would be her, and she plans on exploiting every advantage she can. Malakai rolls to the apron, trying to put space between him and Abigail, but she doesn’t let him get very far. She steps out to the apron - but Malakai gets a leg sweep! Abigail falls face first onto the apron! She melts to the floor, and Malakai is already back inside the ring, picking up steam for a dive, but Abigail expertly moves out of the way. Going to the other side of the ring - but Black still soars over the top! Tope Con Hilo wipes out the Matriarch! Black redirected and stayed one step ahead, and quickly moves the action back inside the ring. He nails her with a few stiff kicks to the chest, four of them to be exact, before whipping her across the ring. Black trips her up once more, causing Abigail to land face first on the mat this time, as Black bounces off the ropes, and he connects with a sliding knee strike! He can’t kip out of it like he normally does, but Black does keep the ball rolling. Back on his feet, he heads to the ropes. He springboards off, and takes Abigail down with Nephilim! Black with the cover!

1… 2… Kickout!

Trying to follow her into the corner, Abigail is able to move out of the way, turning their positions, but Black hits an elbow. He goes for a kick, but Abigail catches it. Black uses it to pull her in, nailing her with a knee strike! Black jumps onto the ropes as Abigail stumbles back, but she cuts him off. Prying him off the ropes and over her shoulder, putting him in position for Seventh Heaven, but Black slips out the back door, Arms looped around her waist, Abigail blocks it with a back elbow. She spins around, and eats a nasty roundhouse kick, nailing her on the side of the ring! Abigail rolls right back out of the ring, trying to break Malakai’s chain of momentum before it can properly begin, but Black is hot on her heels. Slingshotting over the top, Malakai lands on the outside turnbuckle and flips back, trying to take her out with Nephilim, but Abigail moves out of the way! On instinct, Malakai lands on his feet, and his knee gives out from under him! He hobbles, and Abigail spikes him on the venue floor with a suicide tornado DDT! She plants him with it, once again snuffing out the flame of rebellion. Tossing him back inside the ring, Abigail drags him over to the corner, wrapping his legs around the ring post, and through her legs. Putting her foot against the ring post, Abigail uses it to lift herself before dropping down, locking Malakai into a Figure 4, but around the ring post! Abigail hangs from his legs as she viciously tears them apart! She’s only got a count of five to inflict as much damage as she can, and Abigail milks every second of it. Malakai’s knee has to be destroyed by the time she lets go, but just to make sure it is, Abigail slingshots into the ring, crushing it with a ruthless double stomp! Abigail walks it off, looking out at the crowd as they continue to cheer for him. “Look at your hero,” Abigail gestures to her opponent, a chuckle amidst her words at the mere thought of him being their hero, when, in her eyes, he was anything but, “You cheer for a traitor. You cheer for a coward who abandoned his path,” Abigail grabs Malakai by the hair, forcing him to sit up, “because he can’t handle the truth of who he is.” And she nails him with a chop! The chop propels Malakai to his feet, and Abigail tries to get him with a kick, but it’s caught! Malakai twists, nailing a spinning back elbow, knocking Abigail back! He heads to the ropes, but runs into a rolling elbow on the rebound! Abigail runs the ropes, and runs into a boot! Black off the ropes again, and Abigail catches him with a thrust kick! She turns, going for a forearm, but Malakai has the same idea, and they collide in the middle of the ring! Both dazed, both worse for wear. But as Abigail goes for another, Black catches it, using it to swing to the side, nailing her with a spinning back elbow. He twists again, going for a roundhouse kick, but Abigail ducks. She ducks the second one he throws as well, slipping behind him, and she plants Black with a Saito suplex! Planting him high on the neck and shoulders, Abigail follows it up, running off the ropes once again - but Black wipes out with a HUGE jumping bicycle knee strike! It takes down the Matriarch, but absorbs the remainder of Malakai’s strength, and they’re both down!

While the wrestlers take a much deserved rest, both licking their wounds, the fans get on their feet, applauding two of the best in MPW after what has been a merciless back and forth. But the war is only just brewing. As they begin to stir, Abigail finds herself on the apron, and Malakai reaches over the ropes, picking her up and slamming his arm into her jaw, over and over again, before he backs up. Off the ropes, Abigail tries to catch him with a slingshot spear, but Malakai catches with a WICKED bicycle knee strike, catching her mid-flight! Holy shit! For the first time tonight, Abigail looks to be out on her feet! Malakai follows up with a roundhouse kick, landing it flush on the side of the head! It spins her around, and Malakai grabs her by the waist, planting Abigail with a German suplex! He bridges up, shoulders down!

1… 2… Kickout!

With a grimace passing over his face, Malakai shoves the pain aside to charge Abigail, nailing her with a bicycle knee strike! Abigail is out on her feet, and she manages to deck him with Angel’s Fall! She just about kicks the taste out of Malakai’s mouth, but in doing so, Abigail uses her last bit of energy and drops to her hands and knees. Black’s dazed by that ferocious kick, and Abigail is worse for wear after that sudden onslaught. Abigail is the first back on her feet, albeit with a slight wobble, but she pushes past it to run the ropes. She takes off, gaining momentum as Mal attempts a leg sweep. But Abigail leaps right over it, landing gracefully, and nailing Malakai with a flush Psychosis knee strike! Malakai’s caught on the side of his noggin, and the shot helps him back to his feet, where Abigail plants him with a German suplex! Planting Malakai high on his shoulders, Malakai rolls out of the ring, trying to put some distance between himself and Abigail, but she isn’t giving him any room to breathe. Following Black out to the floor, Abigail drives him spine first into the guardrail! He drops to his knees, holding his back as it seizes up, and Abigail’s digging under the ring. She pulls out a table, but instead of setting it up, she holds it directly over Malakai, and slams it right down across his back! The sound of the wooden surface slapping against his back makes a sickening sound effect, most in the room grimacing at the impact, while Abigail maneuvers to the apron. She leans on it, sizing up her opponent, before she leaps off, crushing Malakai UNDER the table with a double foot stomp! She pierces a hole through the damn thing, and she just crushed Malakai’s spine! There’s no doubt about it, Abigail just shifted the tides in a BIG way, and Malakai’s night - and possibly even their title aspirations - have come to a sudden end. But Abigail isn’t going to let him take the easy way out. She could pin him, end it here, but she’s going to savor the moment while it lasts.

Back inside the ring, Abigail tosses Black to the ropes. He bounces off, chest first, and as he rebounds, Abigail nails him with Psychosis to the back of the head, the upper back, blasting him with it! Malakai drops, and Abigail ties him up in an inverted Figure 4 Leglock. Now that she’s successfully fucked up his back, she’s going back to the knee, trying to rip Malakai apart until there’s nothing left. This is his repentance. This is his atonement. In her eyes, he has betrayed the very darkness who shaped him, the family that took him in, and now he must beg for forgiveness if he wants to walk out of here with his limbs still attached. If not, she’s going to savor every agonizing moment. Every torn muscle, every broken blood, every drop of blood spilled - and it won’t be over until she feels he has atoned for every sin committed against her. Which, for Abigail, could be a never ending list if she so chooses. But Malakai isn’t going to go down without a fight. As we saw with MJF, he’d rather pass out than give up, especially against The Fallen, with so much riding on the line. While this wasn’t about championship gold, the winner of this match is going to give their respective team a needed boost before Hell on Earth. But at this point, with the injuries he’s sustained, Malakai can throw any idea of climbing a ladder out of the window. Every passing second in this hold makes them that much worse, but Malakai doesn’t give up on his plight. He manages to get rather close, but Abigail pulls him back away from the ropes, and transitions into a Muta Lock! Tying up the legs and putting increasing pressure on the spine as well, and Black’s in deep waters now! Still, he manages to crawl back towards the ropes, and breaks free of the submission! Abigail holds on for a few extra seconds before letting go, but there’s no rest for the wicked, as Abigail looks to follow up with a suplex. But Black breaks out of it with a back elbow! Abigail stumbles back - but takes Malakai down with a brutal chop block! As his leg buckles from the impact, Malakai winds up close to the corner, and Abigail scoops him up, putting him on the top rope. Climbing up behind him, Abigail clasps both arms, going for an Avalanche Dragon suplex… they fling from the top rope, but Malakai, whether he meant to or not, somehow sticks the landing! But it’s only for a moment, as his back and leg immediately buckle under him! He screams out from the pain, his body contorted in agony. Abigail tries to seize the moment - but Malakai NAILS her with The End! He busts it out of nowhere, and falls on top of her, trying to steal it here!

1… 2… KICKOUT!

Abigail survives! Malakai has endured such a vicious beating in this match, and because of it, he wasn’t able to get a tight cover. Else, this one would’ve been over. If nothing else, Malakai has earned himself some vital time to recover, giving his body a much needed rest before he begins to stalk his opponent. She’s already back on her feet, and Black sends her to the apron with a firm boot to the face. He reaches over the ropes, moving to the middle rope as he does. He nails Abigail with precise forearms to the chin, as she dangles from the ropes, slick with sweat, as we are at the end of a long, busy night, with nearly thirty minutes having eclipsed in this match alone. Abigail throws in some barbs, giving herself some room, but Black blasts her with a wicked chop, and Abigail drops! She holds onto the ropes with one hand, stopping herself from falling to the floor entirely. Black gets back up on the ropes and picks her up, thinking about some kind of superplex, maybe even a brainbuster - but it doesn’t matter! Abigail reverses, planting Malakai on the EXPOSED steel turnbuckle, spiking him with a VICIOUS DDT! HOLY SHIT! Malakai’s skull crashes against straight steel! It’s a nasty sight to the watch, and the tumble to the floor isn’t much better. He winds up down on the floor, face first, and Remsburg dashes out of the ring to check on him, as does some of our medical staff from ringside. Abigail leans against the ropes, a morbid smirk spreading over her face as Malakai is finally able to lift his head up - and oh my god. There’s blood everywhere. Landing on the turnbuckle opened up a nasty gash on his head that quickly cascaded down his face, and left a giant puddle of blood where his face was lying. As he tries to move, it splatters around him, and the venue floor is quickly starting to look like a crime scene. Abigail shouts at Remsburg to get back into the ring and count him out, and since Malakai isn’t giving up, Remsburg has no choice but to listen.

1…. 2…. 3…. 4…. 5…. 6…. He still isn’t moving, he’s not gonna make it! 7…. 8…. Malakai’s up! He clings to the apron, trying to get back to the ring - but he collapses. 9…. - Abigail grabs Remsburg by the shirt, shoving him to the side! She doesn’t want it to end like this, so she hops out to the apron, and takes Malakai out with a Drive By dropkick! Breaking the count, and taking him out. Abigail sits on the apron, grinning wide as she laughs - harrowing and depraved, and says, “Devitt, look at him struggling beneath me - this is what your love has brought him to.” Slithering under the bottom rope, Abigail runs, picking up steam, before she springboards out of the ring, taking out Malakai with a springboard Corkscrew Moonsault! And now, Abigail has his blood spread over her arms and back. With a harrowing laugh, Abigail leans against the barricade, looking right into the camera. And this is where the fun begins. With the amount of blood he’s lost, it’s going to be only a matter of time before his body gives out, or someone puts him out of his misery. But until then, she’s going to savor this. Savor this power, this misery, the unease that fills the air. The way it grows as she grabs the table, propping it up against the barricade. She yanks him by the back of the head, exposing the true depths of his crimson mask before he starts to slam his head into the wooden surface, just above the hole she created with that foot stomp. And she just about punches his head through the table, as it starts to cave in with the force of each blow, the light brown a blank canvas to the thick globs of red left in their wake. MPW crowds are no strangers to all types of extreme violence, but this was becoming grotesque. Thankfully, Abigail has decided to be merciful, for the first time tonight, as she drags Malakai’s carcass back into the ring, and stuffs him with a Piledriver! She rolls him over, and we can only hope that this is it!

1… 2… KICKOUT!

Malakai’s shoulder barely rolls off the mat, but somehow, he has found the will to keep going, and you have to wonder if that was a mistake. Sometimes, you have to think about your overall wellbeing and live to fight another day, even if you have to take a loss. And if Malakai is going to be too stubborn to do so on his own accord, Remsburg, or somebody, needs to be thinking about taking matters into their own hands and making the call for him. But until then, Abigail straddles him, sitting right under his arms as she rains down heavy forearms, punching him in the face, on the head, until Remsburg is physically pulling her back, trying to tend to Malakai and his rapidly growing wound. Surprisingly, she allows him to use so, looking over the blood spatter on her hands and arms, as she licks the crimson off a portion of her hand, while Remsburg is tending to Malakai. Somehow, he’s able to stand, pushing Remsburg out of his way, and Abigail stuffs him with a Dragon suplex. If that’s how he wants this to go, if he wants to continue the match, she’s no longer responsible for what happens next.

Standing before him, Abigail grabs him by the hair, Malakai’s eyes rolling to the back of his head as she slowly drags him to his feet, and stuffs him with a second Dragon suplex. Malakai hits the mat hard enough that he flops, going head over heels, and finally resting against the ropes. Gradually, Abigail rises. She stalks up to him, flicking her long, white hair as she glares down at him. Raising her hand to the sky, she lowers it, pointing the barrel at Malakai’s head and pulling the ring. She turns as if to run, but there’s a weight on her foot. A last ditch effort, the only one he can muster, as he clings to Abigail’s foot. All the hate in her black, twisted heart shone through as she glared down at him; the disdain echoing in her eyes. She shakes him off and stomps him down before she rains down forearms to the back of the head. Eventually, she drops, thrusting her knee into his ribs, the side of the head, beating him down until Malakai isn’t moving. A prone subject, laying at the feet of the Devil. She leans down, scooping up his arms, before dragging him to his feet. There’s no life at all in Malakai’s frame as Abigail lifts him up… and spikes him with Neurotoxin. Again, Malakai is dropped on his head, and Abigail turns him over, making the cover…

1… 2…

Foot on the ropes.

Malakai puts his foot on the ropes.

An incredulous look plasters over Abigail’s face as she looks over, laughing softly to herself as he continues to defy her gift. A gift of freedom, a one way ticket to the nearest hospital, but instead, Malakai wants to go to the morgue instead. Dragging him to the ropes, Abigail rests him against them, prepared to do just that. Off the ropes, Abigail picks up steam, and crashes into Malakai with another ruthless Psychosis, kneeing Malakai between the ropes. Gripping onto the top, Abigail slides under the bottom rope. Picking Malakai up and throwing him inside, she hangs out on the apron, calling him up. Once Black has, miraculously, made it to his feet, Abigail slips inside the ring, and blasts him into the exposed turnbuckle with a shotgun dropkick! A shower of blood sprays off of his torso as he painfully collides with the steel, once again. He turns around, slumped against the ropes, with a far gone look in his eyes. He doesn’t know where he is - he can’t. And Abigail is leering behind him. She sizes him up… and nails him with Psychosis to the back of the head, crushing him into the steel! Oh my GOD! That’s it. He’s out, he’s done. He’s gotta be. But Abigail isn’t. She wants the fatality. The final nail in the coffin. Putting him on the middle rope, Abgiail ducks down, prying him out of the corner in an electric chair. She moves closer to the center of the ring and drops him, catching him by the waist, and she plants him with a bridged German suplex!

1… 2… Kickout!

As Malakai kicks out, Abigail floats him back onto his knees. She scoots back, and PLOWS through him with Psychosis! Abigail drops into the cover, hooking the far leg!

1… 2… Kickout!

Sticking Malakai up again, Abigail knocks him down with a stiff knee, catching him right under the jaw. But somehow, he’s not fully down. She tells him, “Stay down,” and connects with another stiff knee. She backs up, leaning against the corner as she drags a thumb over her throat. She charges, going for another Psychosis - but IT’S CAUGHT! Somehow, Malakai catches it! He’s still on his knees, and Abigail rains down forearms, but Malakai is summoning up something from deep within. Abigail knocks him back with a forearm, and it’s gone. She picks him up, pinning him against the ropes as she batters his bloody face with more unrelenting forearms. She backs up, going for a rolling elbow, but Malakai kicks it away! Abigail swings back around, and Malakai springs for The End - BUT SHE CATCHES HIS FOOT MID SWING?! How in the HELL was she able to do that?! Despite the blood loss, Malakai Black is one of the most fast footed wrestlers in the world today, but yet, Abigail was able to catch his foot inches away from contact. She holds it next to her face, glaring back at him before she nails him with another Psychosis. As Black falls, Abigail grabs him by the wrist. Using it to keep her connection to Malakai from severing as she pulls him up - but she EATS a roundhouse! Where in the world is Malakai finding this second wind?! He should be long gone, dead and buried, but somehow, he’s able to knock Abigail down, but he’s in no shape to capitalize. The air in the UBS begins to shift, a more hopeful feeling moves through the fans as they begin to stir. Abigail still has her hand locked around Malakai’s wrist, not letting him go very far. She gets up, Malakai looking up at him through her curtain of blood. She drags him up, too, and starts to nail him with forearms using her other hand. Watching the blood spray off him, before Malakai throws some back! He’s pulling ahead, giving back the punishment he’s been taking. But Abigail ducks, slipping heind Malakai as she crosses his arms, planting him with a straight jacket German suplex, bridging into the cover!

1… 2… Kickout!

Malakai survives, yet again, but Abigail still has control over his wrist. She uses it to pull him up to his feet, quickly flipping him through a ripcord, and Abigail nails him with another Psychosis! We’ve lost count of how many he’s eaten tonight, and as Malakai slumps over, Abigail scoops him up, planting him with a Storm Cradle Driver! Stacking Malakai up on his shoulders, but Abigail doesn’t go for the cover. She crawls forward, crawling to the ropes as she shakes her head. She stands, a more dangerous, a more deadly, look in her eyes as she picks Malakai up. She turns him over… and drills him with the Baptism By Fire! Malakai is planting on his neck and shoulders, and he’s just a carcass now. Abigail turns him over, folding him up deep, to finally put an end to this nightmare.

1…

2…

- KICKOUT!

WHAT?!

Malakai kicks out of the BAPTISM BY FIRE.

Only two other people have done so, and after everything he’s endured. The roof just about pops off the building with how loud they’re cheering now. It drowns out the sound of Abigail’s laugh; high pitched and borderline manic as she sits up, hands digging into her hair, just wondering what the hell is it gonna take to finally finish this. Malakai promised to be the storm that wipes out her fading nightmare. The one to surpass the Devil Herself, in the realm of darkness she has long since claimed as her kingdom. But what if he was right? What if this wasn’t his end, but hers?

With Black face down on the mat, Abigail gets down to his level, picking him up by the back of the head and pulling it up, forcing him to look her in the eyes, “You know what you have to do to beat me,” she hisses at him, “do it.” She sits up, pulling Malakai with her, so he can eat a forearm to the jaw. She plants him with another, sending Malakai to the mat. Yanking him up, she nails him with another forearm - but he throws one back! On their feet now, Malakai hits a few in a row before Abigail pops him with one, and they’re trading forearms in the middle of the ring! Malakai begins to unload on her, having found a second wind! Abigail lands another before going for a kick, but Malakai catches it, and stuns her with a huge knee strike! Malakai turns to the ropes, going for a springboard - but Abigail shoves him over the top rope! Malakai takes a nasty tumble to the floor! Abigail quickly hits the ropes, wanting to hit another suicide tornado DDT - but Malakai catches her mid-flight with a HUGE knee strike! Holy shit! Malakai fucks up his knee in the process, but he catches Abigail in the middle of her jump, and she’s out! Somehow, Abigail is the one not moving, and Malakai is on his feet. Albeit, he can only hobble on one leg now, but it’s enough to grab Abigail and move them back into the ring. It’s a war of attrition here in Long Island, and somehow, Malakai Black is back in this fight.

On her hands and knees, Abigail crawls to him, grabbing him by the foot. Malakai stares down at her, watching as she looks up at him, begging him, “Make it stop…” she practically chokes on the words, “Please…” And she puts her chin on his foot. She wants it. She wants him to finish her, once and for all. To put an end to this nightmare, to put an end to this reign of terror. Malakai lifts her up, prepared to be her undoing - but Abigail rolls him up!

1… 2… KICKOUT!

Malakai kicks out, but Abigail quickly turns him over, locking in Hail the Reaper! She’s got it locked in, but with all the blood and sweat, she can’t get it as snuggly applied as she’d like, and Malakai is able to throw her off! He springs up, and clips her with a big jumping discus knee strike! Black reaches down, pulling down the knee pad, and ripping off the protective tape, exposing the bare knee beneath. He sizes Abigail up, and PLOWS through her with a MASSIVE bicycle knee strike, catching her flush with the exposed knee! That’s bone straight to the temple, and Abigail’s done. She starts to crumble, but Malakai stops her, putting his foot under her jaw. He holds her there for a moment before shoving her upwards, and NAILS her with The End! It lands flush, and Abigail’s eyes roll to the back of her head. She’s out, but she’s not done. She falls into Malakai, leaning on him for support. Some things never change, but at the same time, nothing will be the same after tonight. Grabbing her by the jaw, Malakai holds her up, before whispering something in her ear. There’s a look in Abigail’s eyes - panic? Fear? - before Malakai shoves her back.

“I absolve you of your sins.”

THE END!

Malakai hits a second one, and Abigail’s down! He drops into the cover, folding her up!

1… 2… 3!

“Here is your winner, MALAKAI BLACK!”

HOLY SHIT

Somehow, after all that punishment, the mindgames. Everything Abigail put him through, but Malakai still emerges your winner.

[ayamturd]

coward│technoblade

summary: despite choosing to abandon a meaningless war, y/n finds they can't escape their emotions and past

warnings: light angst, blood/injury, slight spoilers to dsmp

pairing: in-game technoblade

a/n: none, hope you enjoy :)

wc: (1.7k) - m.list

reconcile - pt two

With a content sigh, you lowered yourself into the steaming bath. 

Your tense back eased in the boiled water, tight limbs relaxing and becoming loose with every given second. It had been a productive day; from traveling to a village located on the far east coast of your home to trade for rare enchantments, to completing the final exterior of your farm, you felt the need to reward yourself with a heated bath. While it had taken time to hand heat each cauldron of water and transfer it to the tub, the ends were justifiable as you lowered yourself further to embrace the stinging warmth. 

Head tilted back with eyes closed, the water met your grimy hair and soothed each strand, practically massaging your tender scalp. You welcomed the feeling with a groan, embracing yourself under the water surface to gather more warmth as if it were possible. 

As you reached over the table behind you for the essential oils you recently traded, the rattle of your locked front door echoed throughout your house before strong banging replaced the sound. Opening your eyes slowly, you paused to think to yourself. No one should be here. 

It had been months since you had been forced to move out on your own, but in that time you had yet to tell anyone of your location, deeming it unsafe until you understood who stood where and for what. A warrior with no war to fight and sides that demanded blood for precariously unjust reasons, you knew when to take a stand and when to take leave from a battle that would only end in loss.

Brisk knocks impeded your thoughts, the unknown intruder seemingly becoming more impatient with each rapid knock. You quickly raised yourself out of the tub and rushed to change into anything appropriate before confronting the possible assailant. Grabbing the closest weapon, it being your crossbow, you loaded a poisoned tip arrow in case of subduing the target and crept towards the front door. The pounding knocks had lost strength by then, but you were still on edge and pushed yourself against the door, listening for any threatening movement. 

The silence continued to ring, and while you trained yourself to be patient in the face of danger, you decided to strike first. Gripping the door handle, you clenched the knob and breathed in before unlocking and swinging it open, crossbow aimed as you met the cool air. 

The forest was cold at this time. The thick massive branches upon each tree shielded any below from the moonlight, encasing the woodland in darkness and leaving all as blind prey to monsters that roamed the night. While cautious enough to light the vicinity surrounding your home to ward off creatures, you knew better than to light enough lanterns to invite wanders near your home. Given those precautions, you were surprised to be met with the sight of someone injured on your front porch, someone you knew and dreaded at that. 

Laying there before you was the legendary, pink haired Blood God himself, the man slumped on the wooden stairs, axe beside him, currently bleeding out. 

Shaking off the initial shock at the sight of him, you scanned the immediate area of the landscape before racing to aid the half-piglin. 

Despite being aware of his genetics and built strength, you didn’t anticipate how heavy he would be from simply dragging him into the living space. Huffing strangled breaths, you dropped him near the fire place and rushed to build the fire before assessing his injuries. 

At quick glance, you could discern the bloody claw marks that tore through his clothes and ran predominantly deep along his neck line; however, upon closer inspection you noticed an arrow wound below his breastplate that he must have pulled out in adrenaline during the encounter. He was ambushed and surrounded in the dark of the night. 

While you knew he could defend himself in almost any situation, you also knew that anyone with even the best skillset could struggle against an uneven matched mob of ravage, mindless beasts. You grabbed the necessary first-aid supplies and equipment, as well as your saved healing potion you brewed for such an occasion, before kneeling to address the wounds.

Soaking a clean rag with the glimmering, vibrant red brew, you took the remaining concoction within the glass and tilted it into his agape mouth, hand beneath his raised head as you positioned him enough to unconsciously swallow. Once you were certain he could internally heal from the damage, you removed his armor and worked to clean and heal the largest wounds while preparing to stitch him close. Even breaths and the occasional fire crackle filled the empty silence, though you were too focused to notice, attention solely on the gory sight until the final knot tie. After that, you finished wrapping his torso and bandaged the smaller cuts. 

Letting out a sigh of relief from completing the harrowing task, you rubbed your forehead in exhaustion before scanning him once over. You paused as you settled on his face, his expression calm and in eery peace despite his condition and the blood that still coated his cheeks. Staring at him for some time, you rose to walk into the kitchen and filled a small bowl with clean water, returning to settle back down next to him and wringing the copper stained rag in the bowl before dabbing the towel along his features. 

You couldn’t help but observe his handsome face, taking in each scar and the light stubble growing from his chin to neck. His eyelashes fluttered as you gently brushed each streak away while his lips were slanted in a thin line in spite of each small graze above them. The faint lighting complimented his every angle, giving him a soft, heavenly glow that radiated his beauty. You had obviously noted his attractiveness from afar before, it being almost impossible to ignore. Even so, none of those past moments allowed you to look close enough to recognize the delicate details that adorned his face and gave character beyond his striking personality.

Regardless of the fact that you were never romantically involved, you had held a past with Technoblade before your departure. From the very moment he had arrived to aid his brothers in combat, you both grew a mutual respect for one another, on the battlefield in addition to each other’s presence. He showed loyalty beyond political matters and relied on intelligence besides power when in combat against another. His compassion to those dear to him was distinct yet subtle, and he never failed to compliment you with every win during sparing matches with humility and constructive praise. As time continued on and the war became costly, you soon realized you had fallen for him in the midst of conflict. Even if there was no greater battle in the forefront, the idea of admitting your vulnerability scared you beyond admission. Never, in your life, had you have to come to terms for caring about or for someone that it weakened and consumed your mentality entirely. He inhabited every thought, every choice you made from then, and it only escalated your inner conflict from there.

Wilbur Soot and Tommyinnit had been your closets allies before the election; they relied on you as much as you relied on them. While you had pledged allegiance to them initially, you couldn’t help but doubt their motives as war became imminent, especially when Wilbur devolved into something unrecognizable. The past became a feeble attachment as Wilbur lost his drive and sanity while Tommy was still a child, too young to face more bloodshed, let alone his second time. 

When you originally confided your opinions to him, Technoblade had comforted you. He validated your viewpoints and basically agreed with every impression you made; however, he did nothing to support any action to prevent the warfront. While you had always admired his dedication towards his own principles in life, you saw them then as a fault for he refused to abandoned the lost cause in hopes of further proving his agenda against governmental authority that destabilize a people and ideal. It hurt to admit your fears and for him to not follow suit, especially when you expressed your desires to abandon the cause entirely. 

You had fought against him on it for weeks until he snapped one day. 

He said things to you that stung, calling you an enemy that didn’t fight for anyone but yourself. It was the first time he raised his voice at you threateningly and that you were genuinely afraid of him. Eyes a dangerous, deep red, Technoblade stood above you in a light you had never seen; you now understood why he was feared in opposition. You cowered, taking in all of his harsh words as if a child were berated for their choices and wants. His words cut deep, yet his final ones hurt the most. 

“If you want to be a coward, then leave.” 

And leave you did. 

His face held no remorse then, and with burning eyes and an aching heart you ran and never turned back. A small part of you wished you had admitted what you felt, yet in the end, his actions spoke loud enough for you to understand what he thought of you, and you proved it to yourself when conciously running away from it all: you were a coward afraid of their own emotions.

While Technoblade gave you reason to leave, you justified your departure to your own understanding. Your loyalties lied with the people instead of the endgame, yet the ones who you thought would stand by you seemed more driven for their own victory than a defining purpose. You wanted no part of it.

Glancing up when he started to shift in his sleep, you realized you were crying from the sudden recollection. It had been some time since you thought of your past, his simple presence bringing back unwanted and ashamed memories. Wiping the fallen tears harshly, you noticed your hands were caked in his blood and scowled in distain of the overwhelming smell.

Deciding it would be best to stay up and watch over him for the night, you got up to properly clean yourself and change. Before you could leave the room, however, you made the effort to lay a blanket over Techno and rest a pillow beneath his unruly hair, purposely undoing his braid and tenderly combing through the tangled locks. 

He softly hummed from your touch and leaned into your palm, your fingers freezing from the movement. It was a sight to see the ever so violent ‘Blood God’ unguarded from your affections, and the thought alone discouraged you more. Even after running all this way, I still can’t escape you, huh?

[crowsmybeloveds]

Shadow and Bone Series: Chapter Two

In Cold Blood

Pairing: Jesper Fahey x Reader

Summary: The Crows continue to visit Y/N at the Emerald Palace, and make some interesting developments.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Implied suicide (don’t take it too seriously hint hint); abuse; Pekka Rollins; again canon typical violence/slave stuff (this time it’s described more, but again nothing graphic); the Menagerie;

A/N: Thank you so much if you liked the first chapter!!! This one is a little longer and I promise the end isn’t as bad as it might seem.

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~

Jesper Fahey liked to do his own thing. Sure, as a member of the Dregs he had to listen to his boss and go on jobs, but he loved his free time in between. Hence, he often avoided going on little arends for Kaz at all costs. It would be a waste of his time.

Jesper Fahey was now talking to Kaz. Volunteering for an arend. For the fourth time this week.

Kaz, Inej, and Jesper had been visiting the girl in the basement regularly since their first meeting with her. Kaz chalked it up to business, the girl and her potions were powerful assets, but the other two would admit they had found a new friend.

There were rules to these visits. First, only go during the day. Even if it seemed counterintuitive to sneak there in the broad daylight, Y/N insisted she would be unavailable in the night, as that was when her “work” was done. Also, if you are there, you must hide well behind the crates, and remain armed. You were lucky every time you made it out of there alive.

It was a daunting task, but Jesper was always up for it.

“You’re going to go there again?” Kaz asked him, eyebrows raised, “You know it’s Inej’s turn, correct?”

“Yes, and I also don’t care,” Jesper answered, “Also, she probably has things to see, people to do, and whatnot. I, on the other hand, have my whole day cleared. And I couldn’t deprive the lovely basement girl of this face.” He smiled, pointing to himself, “I mean, come on.”

Kaz stared at him, seeing through his antics in a minute. Jesper had taken a liking to the girl. What will happen the day he visits to find she’s not there anymore? Kaz thought. His hopes are too high.

“Fine, Jesper,” He agreed, “but be careful not to draw attention.” He scrunched his nose. “Do your best not to dawdle.”

“Right, I’m off then!” Jesper exclaimed as he clapped his hands together and ran off.

“I’m going tomorrow!” Kaz shouted after him.

The sharpshooter knew his boss was suspicious of his actions, but in all honesty he didn’t care. Normally he would have thought there wasn’t much spending time with her could do, as she had told him many of the same things over and over. That must have meant she had told him all that she knew. But Jesper was not going for information, he was going to be with her. He liked to think they were friends.

Jesper was often distracted. Whether he saw a pretty person to flirt with or a table to gamble at, he always found a way to not be doing whatever he was supposed to. Everything around him was so appealing and stimulating, especially in the Barrel. Even so, he sped down the streets without a single double take or second thought as he headed to the Emerald Palace. He really wanted to see her. So bad it was addicting. At first he thought that maybe the girl was drugging him, seeing as that is her particular expertise, but soon he realized that he just liked her. She was funny, and she laughed at all his jokes. She was also so intriguing. So powerful yet rendered powerless. He was enchanted, but he knew something was missing. It seemed it wasn’t her fault. He wanted to help.

That day when he arrived at the window (after making sure no one could see him, of course) Jesper saw Y/N sitting against the wall with her legs hugged to her chest. He called her name softly, and waited for her to reply. She didn’t reply, or even move. Against his better judgement, he shouted louder, risking being discovered by one of Pekka’s crew. He didn’t care. He banged the windows. Praying she would say something. Or turn her head. Or nod. Anything. She didn’t. A single tear rolled down her face.

Y/N had been sitting there for three hours. There wasn’t much to be said about what had happened. Only that she did not remember, whether her loss of memory was intentional or not. It was an off day, that’s all.

Jesper was panicking. He had no idea how to get her to wake up. That is, if she was asleep. Truthfully, he did not know what was wrong with her or what to do. Unfortunately, his noise making had roused a different group of people. Jesper had to run down the alley as he heard shouts coming his direction. He ran the rest of the way home, still in shock. He was not haunted by his near escape with the Dime Lions, but the look on the girl’s face. What had they done to her?

“And she didn’t move at all?” Inej asked. Jesper had just explained to her what happened after he showed up to her room at the Slat. She hadn’t appreciated being woken up from one of her rare naps, but she didn’t complain when she saw the look on his face.

“Not that I could see,” he replied, shaking his head, “Inej, I swear she could hear me.”

Inej did not know what to say. This kind of behavior was not usual for Jesper. He had his normal amount of energy, but it was not often it was all directed to one place: worry. It was odd that something upset him and he did not distract from it by going to gamble or making a joke.

“I just, if it were you I’d understand, but who could ignore me?” he said, “Going unnoticed is not a Jesper talent.”

There it was.

“You’re deflecting” She called him out, “It’s not funny. We should tell Kaz.”

“That's not funny,” Jesper replied, “what is Kaz gonna do? Tell us to stop talking to her?”

Inej sighed. It’s possible that he would advise that. But he also wouldn’t just let Pekka Rollins keep his most dangerous weapon. Especially not when she didn’t seem to have much loyalty. She had told Inej so many times. The girls had a bond due to the Menagerie, and Y/N told her much about her past and present. She explained different chemicals she had made and plans she had heard to Kaz. But with Inej, she explained how she felt about them.

Y/N hated every second in that basement. She had told Inej as much. Repeatedly. But she was rather scatterbrained. She repeated herself often and forgot things that she had already been told. She would forget what day it was and what she had done the night before. Inej had experience with trauma and sleep deprivation enough to shrug this off. She didn’t want to cause her friend anguish by questioning it.

The incident Jesper was describing made her think that maybe she should. Y/N was smart. Hell, she was a self taught Grisha fabrikator. So good, she could kill people from miles away. How could she be so forgetful? Someone so scientifically gifted must have a better mind than that. Someone must have been messing with it.

After some convincing to Jesper that Kaz would not kill or give up on Y/N, the pair made their way to their boss’s office.

“I was waiting for this to happen,” was Kaz’s response.

“What, that’s it?” Jesper raised his voice, “You have nothing else to say?”

Kaz glared at him from his desk. “I don’t know that you thought through your attachment to her, Jesper. You should never have assumed she was on our side.”

Jesper stared bullets at his boss in front of them. They seriously weren’t going to help her at all? She needed to get out of there, he knew that for certain. If it wasn’t because he cared about her then it should be because she is an asset. A good investment. Saints, he hated calling her that.

He didn’t say any of this, however, and instead started to walk out of the office. Just before he was out the door, he heard Brekker speak up.

“I’ll go and see her tomorrow.”

When Kaz Brekker reached the girl’s window, he gave it exactly seven taps with his cane, with a very specific beat. It was a signal he had made with Y/N so that she knew to open the window and talk to him without him having to raise his voice.

The girl turned toward the window at the sound. She set down the bottle she was currently working on and walked over. Kaz started speaking as soon as it was opened.

“How long have they been drugging you?”

Y/N scoffed, “Hello to you, too!”

“How long?”

“Um, never?” She replied, getting confused. “They don’t drug me with anything. I’d notice. That’s kind of my job description.”

Kaz looked to the side, thinking. The only way to explain her odd behavior, forgetfulness, and calmness in her position was that she was being manipulated. And because she was constantly making poisons and “potions” for Pekka, it made sense that she was being given her own drugs without her knowledge. He had thought this since he’d met her. She had to be on some sort of relaxers when he first saw her. Why else would she have so willingly opened the window for strangers?

“Why did you ignore Jesper when he was here yesterday?” He asked, hoping to get the information from her in a more roundabout way.

“I didn’t?” Y/N asked, “Inej was here yesterday, she got those vials of knockout gas you asked for.”

Kaz squinted at her, “Y/N, that was two days ago.”

She shook her head, “No, no, because I was working on those just yesterday and I just finished them when she stopped by. I haven’t seen Jesper in a couple of days, Kaz. Are you feeling ok?”

Kaz wasn’t sure how to react to this. She had missed the whole day? He was sure things like this had been going on this whole time, but never in the month since they began speaking with her has she forgotten a whole day. She had to have taken something.

“Are you self medicating?”

“No! Why- what are you talking about? What is going on?”

“Y/N, Jesper came here yesterday and you were sitting in that corner near catatonic. You wouldn’t speak or even move.” Kaz informed her.

“He must not have shouted loud enough, I was probably asleep.”

“You normally sleep with your eyes open?” He is tone was sharp. “Jesper said you were crying.”

She didn’t respond. She was shocked out of her mind. It was possible Kaz was lying to her to get some sort of information out of her, but it didn’t seem that way. He looked uneasy, the kind of unease that comes from not knowing something. He was a very smart man, and when something did not make sense to him he got nervous. So, this must have actually happened. And if she could not remember it, something was terribly wrong.

“I’m sorry, Kaz. I just don’t remember.”

“Fine. Then I need you to stop eating the food they give you. I’ll have Inej stop by with something to eat during the day.” Kaz paused, thinking. “And I would like to get you out of here, and have you join the Dregs. I just have to figure out how.”

“No, Kaz. I can’t leave.”

“Why? You have loyalties to Pekka Rollins?” He asked, anger clear in his voice.

Do I? She thought. While she knew his treatment of her was unfair, she wondered whether or not she still cared about him. In her time at the Emerald Palace, Pekka had told her many things about how he was the only one who would ever care for her. He claimed that he had saved her from the Menagerie, and he was taking care of her because he loved her. He also said that he would help her find her sister, often claiming that the potions Y/N was making was helping him follow leads about her.

When he started bringing men down into Y/N’s room, she was only a teenager. The first man that had ever touched her in that room also told her information about upcoming trips, which Pekka used to choose the perfect time to rob his house. Y/N felt disgusting in her skin ever since, but Pekka reassured her. I’m sorry , canary. I’ll protect you. Those men are not like me. While any sane person would call giving her food and shelter supplying her basic needs, Pekka called it courtesy. A gift because he loved her. A gift that could be taken away. He let men take advantage of her just so she could get him information, and then called it love. And she believed him. Until one day.

A man had come down into her room, which was usual for her on any given night. However, this man started out rough and stayed that way for the rest of his visit. She had tried her best with past men to get as much information as she could through simple flirting and drugging, but he was not there for small talk. For a brief moment, she considered saying no. In the moment following, she remembered what happened the other times she had done so.

She didn’t get any of the information she had been asked to draw from the man. Pekka was livid. The argument following had been explosive and painful. Not just emotionally.

“This isn’t love.” She tried to say it in a firm voice, but it came out broken and weak.

“How could you possibly know?” Pekka replied.

“Because you don’t deny it.” She said, summoning the strength to look up at him. “The men who come down here sometimes mention their wives. They might not be the pinnacle of married men, but I know they would never do this. This is bad for me.”

“Oh, is it so bad for you?” He raised his voice. “And who is going to treat you better, hm? Who out there would possibly care about you like I do?”

She turned her back to him. She sniffled as she cleaned up her worktable, silently hoping he would just leave.

He grabbed her arm, whipping her around to face him. “I don’t care if you hate me. You will stay here because of Anais. You will stay because you need me.”

The memory was scarring.

Kaz watched as Y/N got lost in her own thoughts. His voice startled her out of her memories. “Y/N, do you have loyalties to him?”

“My sister, Anais.” She breathed. “He is helping me find my sister.”

“Is that all?”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand. I need to find her. Have you ever had any siblings?”

Kaz paused for a moment. The comment seemed to toy with him. “No.”

“Then you don’t get it. I want to be with people I belong with. To figure out where I’m from.” She sighed. “Pekka is helping me with that.”

“And he has proven that he is actually doing so?”

“He said that he knew she was involved with the slavers who took me away. He is getting in with them to try and figure out where they took her.”

“Y/N, I don’t think he is actually doing that.” Kaz said, shaking his head. “This is your reason for staying?”

“And I have nowhere else to go!”

Kaz took a deep breath. He had decided what he was going to do for the girl since the day he met her. She was an asset. With her power he could complete jobs and gain kruge with record speed. Not to mention, if Kaz had her on his side, Pekka didn’t. The sweet taste of revenge covered his tongue just at the thought.

“I have an offer,” he began, “You come with me. Not now, but soon. I’ll come everyday to ask questions and we’ll plan your escape. In the meantime, you gather your things discreetly and try to find as much dirt on Rollins as you can.”

“But my sister -“

“If you are a part of the Dregs, you will help when asked, but the rest of your time is yours. Look for your sister, gamble your money away, take up baking, — I don’t care. You’ll be free.”

The offer was good. Great, actually. So why was she hesitating? Was Pekka’s manipulation really enough to make her turn away an opportunity like this? I don’t know.

And what about Kaz? Could she really trust him? The man wanted her for her powers, too. How was he different from Pekka? In her limited experience, he wasn’t. I should stay.

But Jesper. In the short while she had known him, Jesper had become her favorite part of being alive. And Inej, who was the kindest soul she had ever encountered. If they were with Kaz, he couldn’t be the demon he tried to be. At least not like Pekka. I should go. I should have gone a long time ago.

“Deal.”

In the weeks following, Kaz came every day to discuss every aspect of the Emerald Palace with her, in the hopes that he could get her out. Getting her out of the building would be simple, but keeping her from being hunted by the Dime Lions for the rest of her days would be complicated. The plan would have to be completely airtight, so Kaz needed time.

A few days later, Jesper was at the window speaking with her. The other members of the dregs would often visit along with Kaz and stay to talk to her, or they might come in his place. Today, after describing her entire tailoring process to Kaz, Y/N was speaking to Jesper about music.

“It’s like this huge golden machine made by Fabrikators, right?” Y/N smiled as she excitedly spoke. “And you take this small disc, place it on the machine and put the needle on it, and then music comes out!”

Jesper grinned at her. He loved the way she looked when she was excited about something. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen one before.”

“Well, it’s wonderful,” she sighed, “Not to mention there’s thousands of the disc things, and each one is a different song. I wish more people had them than just the rich men who can afford it. I mean I wish I could have one.”

The two had been known to discuss things that had nothing to do with her escape, which Kaz had scolded them for plenty of times. But they enjoyed talking to each other, and they often got distracted. Odd topics of discussion were bound to happen whether they liked it or not. However, when Jesper realized that they had strayed from their original reason for speaking, he redirected the conversation.

“So, you get tailored nearly everyday?”

“Well, whenever anyone comes to see me. Only Pekka knows what I really look like. And you and your friends. Maybe it's a security thing.” She told him, thinking as she spoke. “Also, if anyone sees me who isn’t supposed to, I’m meant to drug them so they forget. Pekka really just does not want anyone knowing I’m here. Some bastard might try to steal me away.”

Jesper smirked at her. “I cannot imagine who would ever do something like that.”

Visits were going relatively well. Kaz had nearly enough information to finalize his plan for her escape, so he visited less and less. Y/N was becoming a solid member of the Crows even though she had so little time with them. She matched Jesper’s humor, built trust with Inej, and had a shared anger for Pekka with Kaz.

Today was Inej’s day to go visit Y/N, and she was running rather late. She knew the girl had mentioned not to visit after the sun went down, but Inej had been busy all day and could only find time to make it to the window after dark. When she got there, however, she realized why Y/N had made the warning.

When she looked through the window, she noticed that Y/N was not alone. When she looked closer, she realized Y/N was with Pekka Rollins. Luckily, Inej was the Wraith, she could watch what happened next without being seen.

“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to eat your dinner,” She heard Rollins speak first, in the most condescending tone she had ever heard. “Not after I worked so hard to get your favorite.”

Y/N sat on her cot, avoiding eye contact. “Not hungry.”

Rollins grabbed her by the jaw roughly, forcing her to look at him. Inej noticed tears shining in Y/N’s eyes. “Not hungry, hm? We both know that’s not true.” He laughed, with a terrifying lack of humor behind it. “Why are you lying to me, canary?”

The girl shook her head as the tears fell down her face.

“Your tears will do you no good.” Rollins snarled. “Do not forget what you are.” He paused, raising a brow. “What are you?”

The girl sniffled and didn’t respond.

“What are you?” He shouted and raised his voice this time, causing her to shake.

“A canary.” She whispered out.

“Good, and if I give you a song...”

He raised her chin higher, prompting her to finish his words. “I sing it.” The words fell from her lips like something rehearsed, but unbearably painful.

He gave a tight lipped smile. “Right. Don’t forget it again.” He sat down next to her and handed her the plate she had sat on the table beside her. “Now you eat and I’ll tell you about the man who is coming here tonight.”

Inej felt like she was going to throw up as she travelled the rooftops of Ketterdam back to the Crow Club. She knew Y/N was being mistreated at the Emerald Palace, but seeing it take place was something entirely apart.

As she walked in the doors of the club she felt a presence beside her. She looked over to see Jesper walking with her. He must have been guarding the door. He was waiting to ask a question.

“Yes, Jesper, I went to see her.” Inej spoke to him, her voice rough.

“And?”

“And Pekka Rollins was there.”

Jesper stopped in his tracks. “Saints, is she ok? Are you?”

“I’m fine,” Inej assured, “But I’m not sure about Y/N. He is anything but gentle with her. And he forced her to eat the dinner he gave her. I don’t think she’s gonna be able to avoid the drugs they give her anymore. If only she could remember to take an antidote before her mind goes.”

“Shit, we need to get her out of there, soon.”

The pair once again went to Kaz to discuss the girl, only to find him at his desk, writing furiously with two bottles in front of him.

“Kaz, Inej -“ Jesper was cut off.

“She told me how she’s been killing all those people.” Kaz stared at the bottle in front of him, observing it scientifically.

Inej and Jesper looked at each other before looking back at their boss. What was he on about?

“I don’t understand.” Inej had a confused look on her face as she tried her best to make eye contact with Kaz. She wanted to try and read him like she knew she could, but right now the man in front of her was like a blank page.

“Y/N. She gives them a liquid of her own design, but it isn’t poisonous,” He kept his eyes trained on his work, “At least not until she makes it poisonous. She can give someone poison hours in advance but it kills them right at the perfect moment. Right when she can get away. And, once they are dead, she can change it back to something nontoxic. It’s flawless: not a single trace is left.”

“Great, boss,” Jesper said, growing impatient. “Can we talk about why we are here?”

Kaz frowned, “What, because you want to get Y/N out sooner? She’s in a terrible situation?”

“Exactly,” Inej pleaded.

“If I tried to save everyone in the Barrel I’d be broke by dawn.” Kaz said, looking back at his work. Inej and Jesper stood there in shock. “If you don’t have anything else to say…”

Inej placed a hand up to keep Jesper from exploding. “Kaz, you told us that you would help her escape.”

“I needed information, Wraith, you wouldn’t help me if I told the truth.”

Jesper spoke up, “So you lied to us? And what did you tell her?”

“Nothing. She’s prepared to leave the Emerald Palace tonight.” Kaz tsked. “I doubt she’ll make it two feet out the building without our help. Solves all of my problems.”

Without another word, Inej slipped out of the room, leaving the boys to fight. Through the walls, she heard muffled shouting.

“How could you? You act like you have nothing you believe in but really you are so terrible that you’ve made yourself your own Saint!” Jespers voice was desperate, filled with rage. The betrayal he felt was clear even though he was muffled. He sniffed. “Put too much faith in that saint and he’ll kill your friends.”

Inej cringed, hating the harsh truths her friend was sending toward her boss. She had always known partnership with Kaz would mean conflict, but it also meant freedom. She and Jesper often commented on their cold-hearted boss. “We are both too good for him.” Jesper would laugh as he said it, but now it seemed to be a reason to leave. But where would they go? When it came to Kaz Brekker, no one was better, and no one was worse.

One thing was for certain, Inej was not going to let her friend die. She had just pulled Y/N up from the grave, and she’d be damned if she let Kaz Brekker push her back in. If he was so certain the girl would be dead by tomorrow, she’d get to her before then. She didn’t have time for Kaz’s lectures and Jesper’s shouting. There was a life at stake. She begged the Saints to help her, but deep down she knew that this was up to her and her knives. If Inej couldn’t save Y/N, the Wraith would.

When she reached the Emerald Palace, a nauseous feeling spread throughout her stomach. She willed her hands to stop shaking, but the tremor remained. She reached the window after carefully checking her surroundings and gasped at what she saw. Nothing remained in Y/N’s room but a white letter and dark ash, both standing out against the gray stone floor. Inej frowned in confusion. So, she is gone. Where could she be?

Y/N was a smart girl, she could be out of Ketterdam by now. However, she had barely had any human contact and had been drugged and manipulated for years. If she was not already found by Pekka Rollins, she could have already been killed on the street. But no one knew who she was, and only Pekka and the Crows knew what she truly looked like. She had become one huge question.

Suddenly, Inej remembered something.. Specifically, a conversation she had with Y/N not long ago.

Inej, this might be the worst thing I’ve ever made. She had said, a fire in her eyes.

Then why are you smiling? Inej replied.

Look! Y/N had pulled a thin glass bottle of a swirling liquid and a small flower out from behind her back. She then poured a drop of the bottle on the flower, which disintegrated into a pile of ash within seconds.

Saints. Inej was amazed.

Wild, huh? Footsteps came from the stairwell in the corner of the room. Shit. Inej, go. Inej hesitated. Go! He’ll see you!

Now, looking at the large pile of ash on the floor of the room, Inej realized what had happened.

“Saints,” She whispered, tears forming in her eyes. “She’s drunk it.”

She heard footsteps approaching in the alley, and immediately grabbed two of her knives, ready to protect herself.

“Easy,” Jesper appeared, holding his hands out toward her. “It’s just me.”

Inej lowered her knives as she stared back at him. “We’re too late, Jes. She’s gone.”

He laughed, nervous. “No, she wouldn’t.” He lowered himself down to the window. “No.”

Inej stood up and looked up at the stars, praying to any Saint that she could think of that she wasn’t dead. That her friend was out there somewhere. Alive. “Jesper, we need to get out of here.”

“But,” Jesper paused, his voice weak. “She was just here.”

“She’s not anymore.” Inej looked at him with pity. She could tell how much the girl had meant to him. “I’m sorry.”

“She was just here.” He repeated, voice cracks littering his words.

Inej grabbed his hand, forcing him out of this frozen state. “I know, Jes. I’m sorry.”

[aithuzah]

Re: Kilgharrah Conspiracy Theory. Yeah, exactly. I've also read a meta on AO3 called 'The Triumph of Uther Pendragon' where the author explains how the entire show came to embody Uther as it progressed. It's a really great analysis of what went wrong, and I thoroughly recommend it.

{ previous | The Triumph of Uther Pendragon by Araeph }

Thank you so much for this rec! It's the essay I've always wanted to write but never felt like actually organizing in such a clear, focused format, and I'm LOVING IT. (Also, the author actually knows things about the original Arthurian legends, which helps a lot.)

Some choice quotes, for anybody else wondering if it's worth the read:

"If Kilgharrah’s lessons to Merlin are don’t try to save people and don’t try to see goodness in them, Gaius’ lesson to Merlin is: if you try to press for progress in Camelot, you and everyone you love will get hurt."

"In Series 5, Arthur is King, Gwen is Queen, Morgana leads an army, and Merlin is…Arthur’s manservant. Arthur wears his crown, Gwen wears velvet and brocade, Morgana wears black clothes and enchanted jewelry, and Merlin…wears the exact same clothes he’s always worn. Arthur has the Round Table, Gwen rules at his side, Morgana has her own castle, and Merlin…leads nothing, despite all the Druids and Catha waiting for him to build the world he promised."

"As Series 3 progresses, we see this more and more—that Morgana has not merely changed, but been removed to make way for the version of the character that is safely in the evil camp." (my Morgana Conspiracy Theory is that Morgause used the same spell on Morgana that was used on Gwen in season 5, because that's the only in-universe explanation I can come up with that accounts for the total destruction of Morgana's values, ethics, loyalties, and personality in such a short time span.)

"Arthur’s story arc in Merlin is the equivalent of watching five years of Charlie Brown trying to kick the football and having it yanked away at the last minute. That is not a journey; it is a repetitive loop of eternal punishment à la Dante’s Inferno. Worse, the “football” that the creators snatch away is not just Arthur’s job, or his dream; it is his identity."

"The obvious follow-through to this would be to have Gwen take over her father’s forge after he dies, earning her bread by her blacksmithing. What if she were then approached by someone who heard her father was willing to help a sorcerer? What if Gwen came to see that she could use magic, not having been born with it, but able to see it as a tool to help people? What if, out of love for her work, she was drawn into a world she didn’t fully understand and thus had to develop on-screen in order to survive in it? The Arthurian Legend is rife with magical trinkets Gwen could have created. If the creators had had a few series’ patience with Gwen, she could even have forged Excalibur. What better way to modernize Gwen than to have this “woman of the people” create Arthur’s sword, having the land itself symbolically give the King the weapon needed to rule Camelot?" (holy shit I LOVE this idea)

"While there is so much concern about making Arthur King at just the right time, no one ever asks if Gwen is truly ready to be Queen—for what genuine answer to that question could the creators possibly have? And this lack of questioning of Gwen’s readiness is despite the fact that, according to the show’s timeline, Arthur only reigned for three years and Gwen will reign for the rest of her life!" (the author is probably harsher on Gwen's character than I would be, but I understand why--and I recognize that I'm kind of defensive over her at this point. I just wanted more for her to DO, dammit)

"It didn’t matter to the creators that their characters achieved nothing, because their sole intent was to sell an idea without ever having to deliver on it." (DAMNNNNN)

"Despite the in-show condemnation of everything Uther is, it is Uther whom the show really wants in charge."

If anybody tries to tell me that "no the ending was good actually because it's BEAUTIFULLY TRAGIC and it's what the creators intended" or "no you don't get it their destiny WAS fulfilled by GWEN, you know, OFF SCREEN" again I think I'll just link them to the relevant chapters instead of dredging up the energy to argue the point myself lmao

[dr-stiches-that-40k-bitch]

Darkness encompassed the marines, 10 of them. Brothers born in battle, aware of each other for years, known for too long within this small squad. Their ceramite armour were refined, shined after days and days of care, blessings given upon them for the years. The glorious armour was adorned with medallions, eagles, and seals with prayers on them. Holier than most, but well renowned for their fury and loyalty. The 2nd squad, 'Beliarus', of the 2nd company of the Scythes of the Emperor. Sotha may have fallen, but the marines have not.

They all sat around the same tent, saying a prayer with the Chaplain assigned to their company. A tall man, Artennais, darkest of skins with obvious service adorned on his beard and armour. Not only that, adorned with the Crux Terminatus of all things. Their prayer continued, all chanting in unison with Artennais to lead them all. Tonight was the last night before their counter-attack on the T'au would begin. The last battle in this campaign. Finally, to be able to return home after being gone for months, maybe years.

As the prayer finished, all brothers went to sleep in order to rest for the very battle. Dawn came upon them all, the brightness of the suns in this system were immense. Ares, Lieutenant of the squad was first to awaken getting all of the marines up with them. They had one lone navigator whom came along, a girl of the age of not even in her teens, stout and small compared to these men. She had belief that she could use her psyker powers to good, even if it meant that she would be on the cusp of the warp.

These men adorned their seals, reloaded any weapons and prepared for the battle. All talking amongst themselves for tactics, ideas, and even the battlefield itself. The girl came up to one of the men, a taller marine missing his leg, with thick sideburns on either side of his face and messy hair. He had the fairest of green eyes, being of exceptionalism among them.

.

She tugged upon his adorned cloaks, looking up to him with a face of worry and concern, deep emotions brewing in her. Finally contorting her mouth to finally speak, she let out the whimpers, "U-uncle Furos.. I-it's my first battle to see you in c-combat.. W-w-will I do well?"

"Of course, Beth. It's not the hardest, and even then, I'll be there to protect you."

. - .

Dust. Dust is all she could see. Only the faintest outlines of the squad, seeing those men rack up kills in their helmets. T'au fell in front of her, their lifeless bodies being imploded due to the bolts. She saw the fury of her own uncles, cowering in some fear. As she cowered, Furos came up behind her and patted her back, as he did this she jumped back up in reaction, nodding that she undestood on what to do.

Rushing to the front, extending out her right hand, she would begin to do enchantments of smite, conjuring up plasma inside of her hands as brightness increase-

Blood. Blood flowed, for once. She didn't know what to say, reaching up to the right side of her body, trying to touch her eye as it was blown apart. She sobbed uncontrollably, begging to be helped by someone, begging to just be mercy killed and more. Two marines came up, disengaging the maglocks for their helmets. Furos gripped her body, panting as he would see her sob. Panicked cries and words came out of his mouth, "I-I-it's okay baby! F-furos has you! D-don't go!"

She could meekly reply with, "F-fu.. I-I.. Did..... well?" Her hand extending out to touch the side of his face, smearing blood all over it.

The other marine, a bald man with a stern expression looked down upon the two, his beard magnificent and well groomed, covering the two as Furos held her in his arms. It was nothing more than covering fire and suppression.

Her eye closed softly, as Furos cried with her in his arms. Slowly losing control of himself, yelling panicked screams at that other marine, "You did this! By the Emperor's name, you did this to her!"

The marine gave a simple response, quaint and simple, "She was in the line of fire, she should've expected to die."

"It doesn't matter in that, you shot a innocent navigator you scum!"

"Blame her.", the marine responded, pointing to the now dead body in his brother's arms.

Furos replied with an aggravated grunt, picking up the body as he went onto his way. Furos had made his decision, no longer shall he be a brother of that marine. He shall no longer endure the pain, so he went off to the T'au horde, that dead corpse in his arms.

No very marine, priest, or man has seen him since.

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, JADE! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF JUDAS.

Admin Jen: There aren’t enough words to capture the sheer magnitude of your portrayal, but I would say your writing definitely gets the job and speaks for itself, Jade. You have such keen insight into Judas and the various intricacies that play into his character, and you explored it all so beautifully in your app. My favorite part was certainly the plots and the limitless possibilities they posed for Judas, but every other portion of the app only added onto it and propelled your vision further. It was so compelling to read through, and it left me so unbelievably excited to see Judas prowling and scheming on the dash! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Jade

Age | 27

Preferred Pronouns | She/her

Activity Level | My schedule is nothing if not predictable these days! Covid has me almost exclusively sitting at home on the couch, so barring the time that I spend with my husband, I’m usually around. I don’t always have it in me to write every day, but I think it would be reasonable to expect me on the dash multiple days per week.

Timezone | PST

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the rp?  |  Through Rosey’s grapevine!

IN CHARACTER

Character | The infamous, the great betrayer himself — Judas (ju-da-ah-ahhhhh!!)

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? | Where do you see this character developing, and what kind of actions would you have them take to get there? 3 future plot ideas would be preferable.

I | KING OF EVERYTHING

Judas’s ultimate goal, once the last wars have been waged, is to claim the Holy Land for himself. Sorry, for demonkind — but, ruled by and submitting to, himself. He formed Infernum’s government with intention, hiding the monopoly of his power amongst a consortium of others who allegedly hold sway as well, allowing Damien to be the face of the revolution while his hand guided from the shadows. For some time, it has served him well, but contentedness is a poison he cannot swallow. He looks towards the Holy Land and greed takes his reins yet again, his hollowed stomach in knots thinking about a world in which the people bow to a power he does not hold firmly between his teeth. There are a multitude of ways he might go about it, and I’d be eager to plot out the possible angles with other writers, but I do believe that Judas will, at some point, make a play to claim the Holy Land. That might be through political division — sewing lies amongst the people, breeding distrust in the Tridium and their current way of being. It might be through betrayal, tried and ever true — to sell the Tridium out to a rogue set of Heretics, an insurgent with a grudge.. whoever might be interested, really. Or, if all else fails, perhaps by declaration of war.

II | COLLECTING FROM CONQUEST

He’s no fool. He knows the value of a blank check with Dmitri’s name on it, and he’s been waiting patiently for the right time to cash it. While Judas doesn’t yet have his exact ask envisioned, he knows one thing for certain — when he calls upon the favor he’d earned by saving old Conquest, it won’t be for something as small as a discounted price on a hit. No, it’ll be saved for the moment he makes his play towards the Holy Land — war times, when he’s sure to benefit most from the protection of the healing horseman. Until then, he finds such a wicked joy in taunting Dmitri with his silence on the matter.

III | GRASPING THE STARS

I imagine Judas carries a heavy interest in just who is going to be selected as the Stars, and will be doing what he can to sway mortal perception in favor of whoever he feels will best represent the demons’ interests. Azazel plays her part, but a loyal mortal amongst the Tridium would serve Infernum well, particularly in keeping Gabriel at bay. He’ll do what he can to put the right person in the position — and if that fails, he’ll be sure to slither up alongside who is elected and make their close acquaintance.

IV | CONSPIRING WITH THE HERETICS

Should Judas decide that sewing distrust in the Tridium’s ability to maintain peace and safety is the best move, I imagine he may try to use the world’s hatred of the Heretics to his benefit. I could see him providing rogue groups of Heretics or Heretic sympathizers with information about or access to gatherings, parties, political events, what have you. Surely, a resurgence of the Heretics would cause a panic — one that may make the populus question whether their leaders are the best leaders. Who might he set them on, though? Maybe he’d give them an opportunity to assassinate an angel, or even one of his own. Maybe he’d sick them on innocents. The precise move would depend on what’s happening in-game, but this type of betrayal is surely possible!

V | PUPPETEERING THE TRIDIUM

There was a reason he’d reached his hand up to Azazel from the pits of hell, pulled her down into his kingdom and taught her all he could. He’d seen what could be forged from a thing like her — the way she could enchant, the way she inspired adoration. She made for a Moon both palatable and unthreatening — a beauty that begged to be worshipped by the masses, and a mind that cared not for the politics of it all. While she wears the crown, Judas sees the strings as his to pull. I imagine him very much attempting to use Azazel as a means of enacting his particular will amongst the Tridium. He trusts that she’ll continue to represent the interests he instructs her to, so long as the praise keeps coming — and oh, he’s aware of just how key praise is in getting anywhere with Azazel. I see Judas showering Azazel in attention and blessings, all the time, even when there isn’t something he’d like her to get done in the Holy Land. It makes it far more likely she’ll be agreeable when there is.

VI | BETRAYAL OF AZAZEL

Should all mentioned above work without a hitch, I don’t see Judas finding a reason to betray Azazel aside from sheer boredom — though, don’t discount that as a very, very real possibility. I think Judas keeps a particular watch on Azazel, most notably on where her interests lie. If he begins to notice her prioritizing the Tridium before Infernum, things change. If she’s no longer a use to him, she’s a target, and there are plenty of ways I can see Judas trying to target her. As a prominent political figure in the Holy Land, something bad happening to Azazel would cause some sort of political uprising that Judas could surely take advantage of — maybe he arranges her kidnapping, maybe her death. Maybe he just sets her up to look incompetent and make a fool of herself. It would all depend!

VII | WAR ALONGSIDE DAMIEN

From the moment he saw Damien, he’d had a plan for him — to guide the child towards his destiny and his father’s demise. He’d needed Damien as the face of his revolution against Lucifer, but more importantly, he’d needed Damien’s powers for war on earth. Through whisper and trial, Judas had crafted the Antichrist into the weapon that would destroy the Morning Star. Though peace has persisted for years, Judas sees another war ahead of them — one in which the demons stake their claim on the Holy Land, and in that war, he needs Damien’s power of devastation more than ever before. I see Judas subtly preparing Damien for another war, planting seeds of anger and fight in him, winding him up and preparing to unleash him on the world yet again. But, this time, when a new order is established, I don’t imagine Judas sees Damien as any sort of king. No, when the Holy Land is conquered, it will be with Damien as a war general, and Judas on the throne.

VIII | BETRAYAL OF DAMIEN

As time ticks on, Judas grows more and more resentful about the invisible crown Damien seems to be growing a bit too comfortable underneath. While he views Damien as an instrumental piece in his eventual takeover of the Holy Land, and one of his most cherished weapons, Judas’s patience could easily be tested if Damien begins to grow a bit too power-hungry. I could see a legitimate rift building in Infernum, in which some sort of civil war erupts between Judas and his protege for the true crown.

IX | MINDING THE CELLS

In Abaddon, he sees something almost resembling an equal. He trusts her with the keeping of the Cells, he trusts she’ll allow him the kind of access and influence over the prisoners that he needs, while never aspiring to threaten his rule and supporting all his endeavours. Ever an opportunist, I think Judas uses Abaddon to keep a close eye on who’s currently in lock-up, and how they might prove useful. I imagine him either prowling the cells alongside Abaddon, looking for abilities or gifts that he could weaponize, or unfortunate souls he can use as scapegoats in various plots, or heretic sympathizers to manipulate, conspire with, and unleash. While he’d never say it explicitly, I imagine Judas is silently keeping an eye out for some sort of being with a power he could one day weaponize against the Antichrist himself, should the need ever arise to deliver Damien his ruination.

X | BETRAYAL OF ABADDON

As Abaddon struggles with the duality of her nature, wrestling with her angelic remains, I’m curious to see how Judas responds. I imagine he might view any further exploration into her angelic nature as a threat to her loyalty, and if he fears she’s disloyal, he’s not above throwing her to the wolves — perhaps locking her in her own cells if he suspects her of holding interests elsewhere, or unlocking a few doors and setting on her a legion of prisoners hungry for vengeance. You know, just an idea.

XI | BETRAYAL OF JUDAS

The one we’ve all been waiting for — the plot in which the tables finally turn, and it’s Judas who’s blindly turned on by someone he’d made the mistake of trusting. While the details of this would be entirely up to other players and what they might have in mind, I would gladly offer him up to learn what it feels like on the pointy end of betrayal.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Should the circumstance be right, and I could still find a way to be a part of the group post-mortem as another character, I could be convinced!

Driving Character Motivation | What motivates your character’s actions? How does it define them? Where does this motivation stem from?

IN DEPTH

In a word, himself — more specifically, the advancement of the self, full utilization of every opportunity he’s given to climb ever higher. Within Judas lives an insatiable thirst for power, a desire to devour and rebuild in his name and image. No matter how many lives he holds firmly in his palm, there are always more to seize. A master strategist, with moves planned to be executed as early as tonight’s dusk and as far-away as the new era he’ll one day reign over uncontested, he sees the path of greatness he’s laid out for himself, and it propels him ever forward. His selfish, greedy, hungry soul has never rested, never waved a flag of white. He cast the Son of God out from the earth, and Lucifer himself from the pits of hell — and yet still, he craves more.. More power, more leverage, more shadowed spiderweb strings with which to puppeteer his ever-growing consortium of underlings. It’s not enough. Nothing will ever be enough. 

Both his most rudimentary nature, down to his rotting marrow, and God’s wicked predestiny may share accountability in equal parts.

We’ll first address what comes from within. Something dark and nebulous has always festered in the pits of him — an emptiness that knew only how to want. That blackness, rumbling hollow and empty, is sin itself, as entwined with his being as the ligaments and cartilage that held his human bones together. Amongst the reasons his eventual rise led him to the Conclave rather than an anointment as one of Damien’s vices, his most favored is that he simply cannot be reduced to a single manifestation of sin. A gluttonous appetite that the body and blood of Christ himself could not sate. A deep-rooted greed able to mistake the glint of silver for salvation. A silent pride so resounding he bathes himself in absolution, while wicked wrath condemns the rest. Even as he followed the Son of God and recited his teachings, the devil perched himself comfortably on his shoulder, whispering of selfishness, of indulgence, of power, and Judas drank each word until their voices became one.

The thing about sin is, it is inherently unsatisfied. It is the lacking of something, of glory itself — a hunger that wants to be fed, an envy that wants to seize. Sin is desire, and thus, he, sin incarnate, is desire perpetual. It’s a curse of his unholy nature that he’ll never truly be content. What is contentment, what is happiness, but a surrender? An abandonment of progress? The enemy of greatness? The end? He cannot simply allow dust to settle, nor allow the light peeking from behind the horizon to cast itself against his back and force upon him a life no longer concealed by shadows. He won’t have it. With each iteration of the universe, he’ll pick utopia apart bone by bone until he finds a reason to loathe it, foraging for discontentment, because it is his only way forward. What a cruel trick on God’s part, that He sculpted a creature who cannot stomach the taste of sweetness. He spits it back into the dirt, dissatisfied, and instead chews on the bitter, the propulsion of his own vileness, the most indulgent, comforting flavor he’s come to know.

Now, allow us to return to Him for a moment. All predispositions for blasphemy, Judas can blame on Him. Judas Iscariot had been born a man — human, fallible, like every waking creature of the Lord. And, as it did to all other humans, sin had crept its way into his veins and claimed him. He’d done what the man he’d betrayed had taught him to do — in his momentary guilt, he’d sought absolution, repentance, for having allowed the devil to take hold. Still, he remained damned on arrival, a pawn in God’s game with a fate predestined for ruin. Had God not sculpted Judas Himself? And He dared punish Judas for personifying His own design? All of it, pre-orchestrated back when the cosmos were but babes — and thus, all of it, exhaustive and fruitless to fight. If he was to be damned, then let him be damned. That damnation wouldn’t rule him. He’d rule it. Even now that God has been vanquished, and Lucifer alongside him, Judas is ever driven by his resentment and anger towards the paradox his maker cursed him with. That anger manifests in Judas’s unquenchable thirst to build himself an empire greater than any God ever could, to build himself into an entity more powerful, more feared. It’s the only way to prove himself bigger than God’s alleged all-encompassing predestiny, greater than a handful of verses written by men who would be but footnotes underneath his gospel.

Character Traits | OPTIONAL. Please list 3 positive traits and 3 negative traits that you identify in the character you’re applying for. 

+ | PATIENT  (see also: steadfast)

To blaspheme one of His virtues by wielding it as a weapon is simply in Judas’s gospel. Finding an innate way to corrupt even the most holy of traits, his patience has put time itself to the test. With an eternity to burn, and God to thank for that, he’s learned to control human impulses and embrace the power of ensuring things unfold at the right time. Ever with an end vividly envisioned for the selection of foes currently at odds against him, he strikes at the time of heaviest impact. Never too early. Never too late. 

+ | DIPLOMATIC (see also: persuasive)

He can convince anyone of anything. Including himself. His tongue can twist the vile and thorny, disguise it as something candied, dripping in nectar. It makes him an excellent representative, able to keep his head about him for the sake of maintaining relationships. He understands the importance of people, of connections — in the hands of one who knows how to properly wield them, they’re a far more powerful weapon than any sword or spell.

+ | STRATEGIC (see also: cunning, clever, perceptive)

He always has a plan — for everyone, for everything, at all times. One of two questions can be asked of everyone in his life — what value do you provide me, or alternatively, how might I destroy you? It’s only ever one of those two, and he’s often got a fully fleshed out strategy plotted either way. He thinks in terms of the war, not just the battle, planning moves that might not come to fruition for millennia. Once one goal has been reached, he finds another, and begins again.

+ | STRONG (see also: formidable)

Not one to be easily intimidated, he does not back down when challenged or threatened. In fact, he’s more likely to actively seek out a fight or rivalry, simply to demonstrate his fortitude.

+ | COMPOSED (see also: controlled, intentional)

If you can read the emotion on his face, it’s simply because he wants you to. He has a commanding sort of control over his composure, one that demonstrates discipline and demands respect. Not to say he can’t hurl insults and roar — but that when he does, it’s because he chooses to; because that’s what his analysis has decided will serve him best in the moment.

- | SELFISH (see also: disloyal, corrupt)

He’d drive a knife into anyone’s back if it would get him a single step further — he wouldn’t even hesitate. Ultimately, looking down another soul’s path does him no good, he’s decided. There is only him — his own glory, his own road to revolution. There are guests along the way, some he favors more than others, but he is the only thing that will persist and endure. The center of his world, that will always be his core — but he’s mastered the art of pretending otherwise. Despite the way he’ll swear his allegiance to a millennia-old friend, there isn’t a soul he wouldn’t sell. For those he has yet to, it’s simply because it’s not yet the right time, the right place, or the right price.

- | VENGEFUL (see also: ruthless, resentful, begrudging)

His anger is a quiet one, one that’s hidden in dark places, growing thorns, festering and rotting until a grudge grows so old its stench simply demands attention. He does not forget a single transgression, a curse for an immortal. His rage is cycled into revenge, and he enacts it gleefully. Perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow, but if you’ve wronged him, whether you know it or not, you can be assured he’ll strike — but not until it benefits him the most, and cuts you the deepest.

- | INSATIABLE (see also: power-hungry, greedy, indulgent)

He’s always been a bit of a magpie, shiny silver things calling to him — and everything celestial simply glows. He is a being made of wanting, hungry to devour lands and stomp his boot on the wreckage. No matter what he achieves, which luxuries he tastes, how much power he is truly able to seize, his curse is that none of it will ever satisfy.

- | MANIPULATIVE (see also: conniving, duplicitous)

While he may have a handful if favored pawns, everyone in his life is a pawn nonetheless. He’s prepared to scheme against and sacrifice any and everyone that stands between he and his ends, keeping his cards close to his chest, most often with true intentions known to himself and him alone. Oh, and he’s an excellent liar.

- | DESTRUCTIVE (see also: implosive)

Judas is not the kind that will ever find happiness in peace. In fact, he is not the kind that will ever accept true happiness at all. In his quest for ever more, he’s always striving for something, always needing to rip something content apart so he can sculpt something of his own in its place. I believe this translates to people, as well. He’s never known how to accept love; he actively rejects it. How could he not? Had God Himself not told him he was never destined for love? In time, his response to comfort and acceptance is always the same — to turn his back on it, to crush the heart offered to him. He did it to Christ, who welcomed him as his disciple. He did it to Lucifer, who loved him like a son. Should another make the mistake of loving him, he’ll do it again.

In-Character Para Sample | There is no minimum or maximum word count to this para sample, but we do encourage that you highlight your character’s VOICE and MANNERISMS within it.

THE GOSPEL OF JUDAS: A STUDY IN SILVER

ACT I | PIECES

It begins with a glint, a wash of light caught against the body of silver that’s piled neatly in three stacks of ten, blindingly beautiful. Then, a proposition — to surrender the one he calls teacher, Rabbi, friend.

Should they have negotiated in whispers in the dark, offering only empty promises of treasures to come, perhaps Judas Iscariot may have remained faithful to his so-called Lord’s teachings of honor and conviction. Alas, they don’t. No, he offers to betray his God under warm, bright lights, before a pile of riches that shine so bright he can’t see the blood that taints them. 

“The one I kiss,” he commands the lawmen. “He’s the one.” His head nods in slow, stern affirmation. His eyes remain locked with that bewitching stack of silver. What a transfixing, all-consuming thing greed can be, making itself at home in him once again like an old friend. Bewitched fingers snake around a single piece, the silver’s ice a delightful chill as he slides it into a pocket; one now, as a deposit. The rest later, once the deed is done.

As he throws heavy garden doors open, police following in hordes and numbers, he bears a smile that shines as bright as the piece that sits with comfortable, reassuring weight in his pocket. “Greetings, Rabbi!” he bellows, and as he steps boldly forwards, he places the Son of God’s face in his hands, pulls his lips into his, and is irrevocably damned. Mouth pressed firm against that of Christ, he does not taste divinity; it turns to ash on his tongue as he seals the fate God himself had promised.

He watches, proud, as the Lord is dragged away, as Christ’s disciples turn their swords towards the soldiers in retaliation and heartbreak, all the while, his hand in his pocket, twirling that single piece of silver between his fingertips.

Some present will come to say in their recountings that this is the day Satan entered Judas Iscariot, pierced him with sharp talons and claimed him for the hellions. These men lie. To give the Morning Star credit would be blasphemous to his gospel, for the greatest devil the world will know is not perched upon a throne in the fires of hell. He is born of the organic rot found only in the pits of fallible man.

ACT II | TONGUE

In the forges of hell, riches take a new shape. The wealth he’d condemned himself for? Worthless in death, reduced to a river of shapeless molten sterling. He has no choice but to adapt. He allows that silver to coat his tongue instead, and in their union they both evolve and yet remain entirely unchanged. 

Infernal wings sprout from his shoulders and the devil himself casts his favor upon him, and Judas is acutely aware of just how unique he is amongst his new brethren — dare he say, simply, better? What feat is it to have manifested from nothing, to wield powers that were gifted rather than earned? Is the true mark of a demon not in his will? His ability to rely not on divinity to bring ruination, but on merely the curve of his lips and the void in his chest? 

The thought tastes poisonous each time it simmers to the surface — his dissatisfaction with Lucifer’s status quo, though it remains to be seen whether it’s hell’s regime in particular that he loathes, or the existence of any regime whose reins he does not hold. It’s not important, not as he gathers demons eternal and fledgling alike in crooked, cavernous shadows, whispering curated falsehoods to them in the dark until they claim his anger and hunger as their own.

“A kiss — that’s the signal,” he repeats to each of them, his words carbon. “Only then, is it time.” 

It will not be time for quite some time, though Judas lives every day as if it might be — sowing ever deeper his seeds of doubt in their liege, parsing Lucifer’s each breath, examining his hallmark overconfidence, watching the hellish love with which he showers his kin as he demonstrates he knows nothing of the revolution that his most wicked ward brews in the dark.

He wakes that day not yet aware that the day has come — not until he hears Lucifer beckon for him from his altar. “My Lord?”Judas asks, the word silken as it slides over his lips, wrapping all disdain in luxe and warmth. 

“I can sense it, Judas,” the devil smiles. “A soul on earth has proven themselves. Go to them, and drag them home with you.”

Judas pauses, and when he listens, he registers not the words Lucifer says. What he hears is: the day is now. It’s a straw as small as any that breaks Judas’s back — the most rudimentary form of disrespect, to task hell’s crown jewel with a hound’s fetch-and-retrieve mission. He cares not to see the love in Satan’s request; what is spoken in between the words of Lucifer’s decree is Judas’s value, his Lord’s pride in his work, his trust in him over all the rest. It is in loving him, that the devil gives Judas the power to destroy him.

“Yes, my Lord. I’ll set out at once.” He nods along with his empty assurance, and with a look upwards, he meets his maker’s eyes with finality, casting him a last glistening smile before laying palms on either of the devil’s cheeks. “Goodbye, my Morning Star,” he wishes, and he means it, pressing his lips to Lucifer’s and savoring the taste of sin.

He pulls away, and the devil’s eyes open to the same sight that had brought the ruin of the Christ child — Judas Iscariot’s beaming, prideful smile, an army at his back, swords drawn, but this time, led not by the Sanhedrin. It is the antichrist that carries the charge, his own menacing grin drawing nearer, as hell’s usurpers claim their new order.

The devil is dead. Long live the devil.

ACT III | CROWN

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” he hums, allowing the thick iron door of the Conclave’s court to close loudly behind him. “We reconvene soon. I don’t have long.”

Lie. It is he who called the recess, and it is he who will decide when it ends. He shares none of this with Damien, who stands impatiently in the adorned hallway. “Then divulge,” the Antichrist itches. 

The echoes of both their tones resonate loudly, as deep and heavy as the invisible crowns each of their heads hold high — though, one brow seems to far better suit regality. He does not wonder which of them will topple beneath the weight of theirs first; he already knows. Everything when the time is right, and until then, he walks a delicate, intentional line as he addresses his pseudo-son, simultaneously wanting to stroke the boy’s drive and shatter his independence. He must feel powerful — to a limit.

“The Conclave has requested you assemble the Vices.” Judas, even-toned and composed, presents it as an ask; it is not. It’s a directive. They both know it. “Sources suggest a siege of insurgent Heretic sympathizers are gaining on the Palace walls, possibly with intention to break their own out of the Black Cells.” He can hear the way Damien begins to laugh midway through, but he does not stop speaking. 

“A handful of Heretics?” Damien sputters. “And you believe that calls for the Vices? Abaddon has kept larger threats at bay single handedly.”

Judas scoffs. “So you suggest we do nothing?” he deigns. “Wait until they claw at our gates? Leave Abaddon to face them alone?” In pause, his brows knit together, though he contemplates nothing. “Gather them, boy,” he states loudly, and this time, it is an order explicit. The moment of sharpness passes quickly, and a familiar grin toys against his jaw. Once again, suddenly, they are friends. “What use is the devastation you hold in your fingertips if not to defend what majesty you and I have built here?”

He feels resentment, bitter and cold, steaming in wafts off of the young halfling — but then, an acceptance just as cold. “I suppose it’s been some time since we’ve been out to play,” he concedes.

“I knew you’d make the right decision,” Judas smiles, placing a large, strong hand on Damien’s shoulder. “I’ll need you out the gates as quickly as possible. Do have some fun with it, won’t you?” And just as quickly as his smile had appeared, he rescinds it and turns on his heels back towards the court’s wrought iron doors. 

With a slow turn of his head, he locks eyes with his pupil, and arrogance claims him. “The Conclave wishes you the best of luck,” he bolsters, proud and booming — one last signifier that, in their clash of crowns, it will always be his that blinds brightest.

Extras | OPTIONAL. If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here!

I’ve compiled some inspiration posts on this blog! Additionally, here’s a small selection of headcanons:

HEADCANON: WINGS

Judas’s wings are of feather and bone — raven-black feathers, some that are tipped in brilliant silver. In some places, feathers have been charred or cut during battle, and the bone beneath is visible. He prefers it this way. Bone, sprouting from his shoulders, is human, as he once was before he ascended past those demons who manifested from nothing. 

HEADCANON: SWORDPLAY

Judas’s greatest strengths lie in diplomacy, delegation, and manipulation. While he can wield a sword well in battle, it’s only because an eternity has given him time to practice. Truthfully, his skills as a swordsman are far below most of his fellows. Where he makes up for it is in waiting in the shadows for the right time to strike, rather than aimlessly wailing at a target out in the open.

HEADCANON: RESENTMENT

He made it to Hell before Salome did, and yet her wings sprouted before his? He’s never forgotten it, and never will. His anger towards not having been the first of humankind to join the hellions is projected in its entirety onto Salome, and though he has yet to enact his wrath, he remains plotting.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, KYLIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of RICHARD III. Admin Cas: You put it best, Kylie—Ronan is a Machiavel through and through, but he’s also far more than that. He’s known suffering, more intimately than most, yet rather than allow it to shape him, wear him down, he sharpened it into a weapon. Yet again, you captured everything critical to Ronan’s character, from his scorn and ambition to his insatiability, his pride, his precision. Your writing itself is just enchanting to read, and we’re so thrilled that you’ve returned to us. We cannot wait to have you grace our dashes with your deliciously scheming and delightfully avid Ronan once more! Please review the CHECKLIST and send your account in within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Kylie

Age | 26

Preferred Pronouns | She / Her

Activity Level | 5-6. I like to be on at least once every day, and manage some type of content.

Timezone | MST

How did you find the rp?  | i missed it :)

Current/Past RP Accounts | ronanivarsson.tumblr.com

IN CHARACTER

Character | Richard III, Ronan Ivarsson

What drew you to this character? |

ableism tw

there is something that will always be intriguing about the machinations of a machiavel, that will always be attractive, always be intriguing, which is what first drew me to ronan. however, i think it’s difficult, and dangerous, to label him as simply a manipulator, a prince in search of power and a throne–to me, he’s far deeper, far more layered than that. from the moment he was born, life put ronan ivarsson in a position to know nothing apart from weakness–he was born a pawn for his parents to play against one another, only for his father to stroll past the room where the board sat, to overturn the table and cast the pieces to the floor. he would remain forever trapped in the ivarsson villa, unwanted and loathed, never strong enough to fight for himself, to run from the horrible cesspool that made him, that twisted the hearts of the people that lived there–he should have been no better than the monster that frankenstein abandoned, the wife that wailed and gnashed, locked in the attic of the victorian manor house, a creature doomed to shadows for the whole of his life.

but ronan refused that life–and that’s the endlessly fascinating thing about him. he is a machiavel that should have never come into being, that tore the pages from the book and cut out only the passages that were useful to him. god reached down to him and showed him the path, the divine right of kings, and ronan, with his halting steps, with the black and poisonous blood that runs through his veins, walks it with precision, with the intent to wrestle the crown from the hand of the divine himself.

ronan took his emptiness and weaponized it, refused the shadows and instead forged them by his own hands into a kind of armor–look upon that which you would scorn, he says as he strides through verona a kind of caesar, a kind of richard, a lurching colossus, and kneel. i love that about him, but the thing that really got me in the end, is that he cannot successfully hide the weaknesses which still plague him–he ignored machiavelli’s greatest advice, that to be feared would better serve the prince than to be loved. he fell in love, with a beautiful mystery of a man. he still feels his pulse race when the cameras all come to train on his face, when he has every citizen of verona eating like lambs out of the palm of his hand. he looks at the only surviving gallo twin, and he feels something gentle curl around the corners of his mouth like perfumed smoke. he is cold, but he is not yet corpse.

it remains to be seen if that will be his downfall, in a place that so easily tears the heart from the chest cavity, if it takes a man or a monster to wear the crown, when the battles are finished.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

KINGS IT MAKES GODS, AND MEANER CREATURES KINGS

So far the path to the Montagues has been messy and bloody for Ronan, has left a trail of bodies behind him. Since he is now nothing more than a soldier, where such behavior, such wanton ambition won’t be tolerated, I want to see how he adapts his methods. Will he continue to kill whoever stands in his way, because such is the divine right every king should possess? Or will he learn to temper himself, to hide such business in the shadows? In the same vein, I would love to explore how much he’s capable of tolerating such a thing being asked of him–how long will it be before he bites the hand that feeds him? Until his patience for following orders starts to wear thin, and the divinity that guides him becomes impatient, insatiable?

A WORD THAT COWARDS USE

Love is an indulgence that Ronan knows he should cast aside, and yet he finds himself locked in a kind of constant craving. It’s the one thing in his life he’s never been able to buy for himself, never been able to take from the hands of someone else–so how does a man who so easily casts aside life’s gentler aspects, learn such an art? Is it part of his need for validation, for recognition from the public that would so easily cast him aside and speak vitriol towards him if he were anyone else? Or is it something deeper, something that would actually salve some of the wounds he’s carried his entire life? So far, he’s only known it as mistake, a wound that despite being stitched closed continues to hemorrhage blood–but then he looks at a man like Santino Gallo, and sees the potential for something that almost feels gentle. If such a thing were to make itself available to him, would he open himself up to it? Or would he make the decision once and for all to remove the cursed organ that beats in his chest?

EVERY TALE CONDEMNS ME FOR VILLAIN

Ronan holds no particular loyalty to the Montagues–he could have easily bent the knee to Cosimo Capulet, had the man approached him first. The Montagues are simply a means to an end, and I could see him being willing to sell them out if the right prize were offered to him. I want to see him be treacherous, silver tongued, the consummate politician, and flirt with the temptation of easy success. Would his pride keep him from taking such a way to a promotion, to an accolade? Would he really be willing to betray those few who he deems worthy enough for his time or glance? I could also see it working in the reverse–that perhaps he could use his talents to win recruits or information for the Montagues.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Of course! It’s probably what he deserves!

IN DEPTH

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

ONE.

It begins with a question, posed by a handsome mouth, sealed with fingertips that come to gently lift the hem of ronan’s shirt, to curl themselves around the curve of ronan’s hipbone.

“Tell me your favorite place, in all of Verona, and take me there right now.”

He grins, like a knife slowly being pulled from its soft leather sheath–all glint and sharp edge. He wraps his fingers around the young man’s neck, digs his nails into the short hairs there, until he gets a hiss that could either indicate pleasure, or pain, for his efforts. He coos, clicks his tongue and placates his plaything with the tender caress of lips against well muscled shoulder, neck. The young man makes another noise, something guttural and unprompted from the back of his throat, and ronan laughs.

It’s almost too easy–like digging his fingers into the scruff of a wild cat, expecting teeth and claws, only to have it purr in response. He contemplates disposing of him then and there with a clean cut across the throat that bares for him–but to leave empty handed, simply because there was no challenge in it, no cunning required, would surely be wasteful, return him to a state of excruciating boredom and restlessness.

So he hums in mock thoughtfulness, sinks his teeth into skin and licks over his mark, before he speaks. “As beautiful as you would look, pressed up against the brick of the arena, all of the blood and bravado of a gladiator roaring through you, I hardly see the need to travel so far away. Perhaps the library, would be a better location for such things as you desire?”

There it is, he thinks to himself, as the muscle pressed up against him comes to fall still for no more than a fraction of a second. All of the confirmation he needs, so unwittingly given. He hopes the rest of the Montague stock aren’t so impossibly dimwitted, or easily swayed by the promise of a more carnal method of persuasion. Where would the fun in that be?

He takes squared off chin in hand and kisses the soldato one last time, before the blood spills onto Ronan’s chest and subsequently the ground underneath his feet. He becomes the first of them to kneel.

TWO.

Lucien rolls off of the top of him, and Ronan immediately feels the muscles in his hands twitch, send the command to his shoulders to reach out, keep the seemingly endless expanse of pale skin from ever travelling where he cannot touch. Unfortunately for the memory of meat and tendon that has never properly obeyed his command anyway, ronan shuts the notion down in favor of watching–it’s all he feels he can do, when it comes to the man who now leans against the railing of the yacht. Watch, in the hopes that an answer of some sort may reveal itself–or perhaps even the question, that Ronan knows he should ask and yet cannot find the language to form. Strange, to be so willingly robbed of his best weapon.

He suspects Lucien is aware of where Ronan’s eyes come to rest, most of the time, and chooses not to comment. Perhaps he even enjoys it–being caught but not captured in the jaws of the predator, having the power to command him to wait, to stay until he is willing to give. If Ronan were to be honest with himself, in a way that has never been his policy, he would have to admit that he enjoys it as well–being compelled, by force of nothing more than want, wrapped in the candy coating of desire and attraction.

The man turns, and the breeze rustles his dark hair across his forehead. his eyes are hidden behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses, but Ronan can imagine the familiar spark of heat, of mischief, that flickers there like a matchstick flame. “You live like this every day, Councilman?” He drawls, one corner of his mouth drawn up into a smirk.

Ronan grins and leans his head back with a pleased sigh, crooks a finger to indicate that Lucien should come close again, should let Ronan show him just how decadent things can truly get, and shrugs one shoulder casually. “Occasionally there is work involved, but given the right incentive i’d be willing to throw the whole thing away. Perhaps you have an offer you’d like to make towards that end, Doctor?”

He doesn’t open his eyes when the deck chair bends with the weight of another, when lips are pressed against his own. He just slides his hands down each delicate rib bone, digs his fingers into flesh already marked with purple and blue blossoms that Ronan had planted there the night before, and tries to communicate without ever speaking, that this is only the beginning for the two of them. That when he’s finished with the work, he’ll ravish this man on a throne made of gold, decorated with jewels and the head of any who would dare oppose them.

THREE.

His sponsor is a weak-willed man, that reminds Ronan far too much of his own father–or at the very least, the passing glimpses and vitriol laced stories of his father that had fallen carelessly from his mother’s lips, after one too many glasses of wine. He comes upon ronan walking through the hallways of the library, wraps an arm around his shoulders as if to prove he is unafraid of touching a thing so malformed, so clearly repulsive to the eyes of others, and he smiles. “You have done well so far, Ronan.” he says, personably, as such men who would describe themselves as such always are. “Tell me, no big mistakes to report of? I won’t hold them against you too harshly–there is always room to grow, to learn, in a business such as this.”

He resists the urge to speak through gritted teeth that he is in the middle of running for office, and not some schoolboy in need of guidance and direction–instead his eyes catch on the silver band that sits, gleaming as the day it was put there, on his left hand. “I don’t believe in mistakes, signore.” He says, more quietly than he had intended. He bites down hard on his bottom lip, before schooling his expression into something more neutral, that feels less to him like exposing an open wound to the particles of a dust storm. “I make choices, and I live with their consequences–for better, or for worse.”

FOUR.

He stabs the man a month later, sinks his blade into the heart up to the hilt.

Someone Ronan thinks might be the capobastone comes to stand next to him, after the news of the dead Montague being found on the steps of the cathedral begins to circulate, and rests a hand on his shoulder. He resolutely does not think about breaking the bones in each of his fingers, one by one, for such a presumption. “You’ve handled yourself admirably, in the wake of such a personal blow.” He says, with an exhale of breath that causes the skin on Ronan’s neck to crawl. “It is the most difficult thing asked of us, to continue to live after another is gone.”

Ronan bites down hard on his bottom lip, by all appearances to staunch the overwhelming feelings of grief that must clearly threaten to spill forth from him, but in reality to stifle the laugh that threatens to give him away at such a ridiculous statement. He forces a slight tremble in his hands, as he brings them to scrub at the back of his eyes. “He taught me so much in such a short time–made me a better soldato.” A sharp inhale, shake of his head. “It is hard to believe, that I will never get the chance to thank him for such a kindness.”

The man nods his head in understanding, and squeezes, despite the pain that radiates all the way to the tips of Ronan’s fingers. He clenches his teeth. “We have watched you, the work you have done. And while it has at times been sloppy, and reckless, Don Montague believes that in the wake of Richard’s unfortunate demise, you should step up to take his place.”

He can taste it, in the back of his throat then. Blood, mixed with saliva, something distinctly more honeyed. Divinity, in all of its raw form–he half expects to open his mouth and see it spool out before him like ribbon, blinding everyone else in the room, rendering them nothing more than ash for him to step over as he walks towards the crown, the throne, the destiny that has been planned for him since he was nothing more than a young boy. He touches the hand on his shoulder and half expects it to be pulled away and burned. “I would be honored, signore, to serve the Don in such a way.”

FIVE.

“Tell me councilman,” the reporter shouts from the crowd, phone recorder thrust into the air like some sort of trophy or other holy object. “What are your thoughts concerning the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?”

He shakes his head, schools his face into an expression that is solemn, serious–the grim line of an Alexander or a Caesar, his heart bleeding into the streets of the city he has built, for the people who populate it and offer him devotions for their continued success and survival. “I think there will be no winners, in this conflict. And that whoever remains standing, will prove himself to be the more cruel, the more bloodthirsty, the more willing to do unspeakable acts in order to secure his own power–an honor i do not wish on even my worst enemy.”

And why would he? It is an honor he wishes for himself alone.

Extras: N/A

[star-captain]

Chapter 4- Flying Fish

The plot thickens this chapter. What are they smelling? Who’s footprints has Ecto found? When are these stories going to collide? 

Enjoy Chapter 4, and please share! I feed off love. 

Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland​

Ecto belongs to @ectochoir​

Red knows that not everyone is as fast as him underwater. Not everyone can be blessed with the fins and strength that a Kipling has. But every time he turns back, he sees Avon struggling with her wings and cloak through the water. He keeps having to stop, waiting for her to catch up. At least he doesn’t have to worry about her drowning- she seems to have the ability to perform magic spells, and cast one on the beach. Nothing as crazy as what he’s seen Selene do, but it makes both their lives easier. 

The two near the ocean monument that Red calls home. The deep ocean absorbs the rays, shafts of sunlight filtering through the water as the sun sets low in the sky. Prismarine glows against the water, the walls slowly shifting color- from blue to a light purple to teal, so benign that most wouldn’t notice. Guardians are beginning to return to the safety of the monument, where they can rest for the night after a long day of foraging. Fish are already beginning to light up, turning the water into a flowing dance of light. Red’s even starting to get his night colors. 

There’s a rush of water, tossling Red’s hair and tugging on his clothes. He turns, and sees that Avon has stopped, wings outstretched to produce drag and slow her. “Red, there’s guardians ahead.” 

Red looks at the guardians, then to the tense Avon. She can’t help but laugh. “Those are the least of your worries.” She states. “So long as you have no intention of hurting them, you’ll be fine. I’d be a little more concerned that you’re going to spook a pufferfish with your wings.” 

Avon curls her appendages closer to her body, and tries her best to swim after Red. Without disturbing any pufferfish or guardians. She can feel them watching her. Large red eyes, with spikes that protrude when they pause to stare. One suddenly gets a burst of energy, wiggling it’s disproportionate tail to swim between Red and Avon. The spikes retract, making the guardian more streamline. Avon grabs for her trident, but she only grabs empty water. 

The guardian places itself between Avon and Red, staring down the trespasser. “No, no. She’s not a foe.” Red announces. “Please, let her pass.” 

Avon feels as if the entire ocean is staring at her. She doesn’t belong down here. She’s not a fish. She belongs in the End. The rotund guardian eventually moves on, and Avon swims as fast as she can to catch up with Red. Stay close to her. 

The two reach the monument, entering through the grand hall. Sea lanterns hang from the pillars and arches, kelp and seagrass dancing in the light. The monument is about as confusing as a stronghold, and Red doesn’t bother to slow down so that Avon can figure out where she’s going. Red doesn’t stop until the two have arrived in her room. 

It’s a simple home, with chests and a bed, a table to sit at, and food tucked all over. The walls are decorated with bright colored coral, fans waving in the soft current. Red offers a cooked salmon to the visitor. “You lost a lot of blood crashing into the wreck. Salmon will help. Y’know, cause they’re the same color?” 

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Avon mutters. Red sighs. This girl really can’t take a joke. She fills her own stomach with a fish meal, and pulls out a bag to pack. She can’t put everything in, not if she’s going to carry it on her own. But Red also doesn’t know how long it could be before she’s ever to sleep in her own bed again. In the end, most of her bag is packed with food, a bedroll, and some pickles to light up wherever they camp. As Red starts to close up the bag, Avon is suddenly hovering over her. “What about  a weapon?” 

Red jumps, spooked by the menacing woman. Her wings remind him of a bat’s, but darker and much scarier. She’s so quiet, even underwater Red hardly heard her move closer. “I don’t need a weapon. There’s nothing we’ll be fighting.” 

“How can you be so sure?” Avon questions, backing away to avoid being hit by the backpack as Red swings it onto his back. 

“Because mobs don’t attack unless provoked. So as long as we don’t provoke them, we should be fine.” Red smiles. He’s proud to be able to live in such harmony with the world. 

“But what if they think we’ve provoked them? You should be able to defend yourself, in case there’s a miscommunication.” Avon swims to the table, looking at the two chairs. “And we aren’t the only people out there. Someone could want to do you harm.” 

For a second, Red almost believes that Avon seems to care about his well being, that he’s safe. Even though her sharp purple eyes don’t show it, she seems to want to protect Red as much as she wants to protect whoever this Jeane is. 

“I’m not much of a fighter.” Red admits. She grabs a piece of paper and a quill, sitting down at the table to write her letter. “Let me just let Selene know where I’m off to.” 

“Selene?” Avon echos, but Red doesn’t bother to answer. She pens the note, explaining that Red was going to be traveling. That she didn’t know how long she’d be gone, or where exactly her journey would take her. Just that she was looking for the End. She knows that if Selene wanted to find them, she easily could. All she needs to know is what they’re doing, which this note will take care of. Red folds it, marking it for her girlfriend, and leaving it on the table held down by a nautilus shell. 

Red straightens, taking a deep breath of the cool water. “Alright. Let me just say goodbye to my family and then we can get on our way.” 

Avon frowns. She’s not sure she likes the idea of traveling at night, but she wants to start moving as soon as possible. The sooner they leave, the sooner she can get back to the End. She follows Red out of her room, glancing back at the cozy abode. How long will they be gone? How long will it be until Red, or even herself, will get to sleep in their own bed again? She feels bad, tearing Red away from such a secure life. Avon will never admit this aloud, but she needs Red’s help. 

Avon reels when they enter a giant room in the center of the monument, and find it’s filled with guardians. All staring at them. But Red doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest. She swims into the crowd of one-eyed fish, petting them on the head. A few guppies swim up to Red, playing with her hair and tugging on her fins. From a hole in the ceiling, a massive elder guardian sinks down. Pale, the color of gravel and water in the End, the Elder Guardian observes the gathering. Red swims up to her, and gives the mother guardian a hug.

 “I’m going to be gone, Mama Gummi. Maybe for a long time. But don’t worry, I’m sure the time will pass by in the blink of an eye!” Red laughs at her joke, before looking down at her hands. Twiddling her fingers together. She takes an unsteady breath, and whispers to them all. “Please...stay safe.” 

She turns back to Avon, who is silent at the mouth of the chamber. Red gives her a nod, and starts to swim away from her family. It’s time to go. 

The two exit the grand, blue halls of the monument into the dark sea. As they swim away, Red’s body begins to glow. Avon can’t help but stare in awe. Luminescent blue stripes along her body, and large blue disks rest on her shoulder and forearm like epaulettes and armguards. She’s glowing with the moonlight, alight with life. It grows a bit brighter when Avon hears a sniffle from Red. 

He’s crying. It’s impossible to see in the saltwater, but with the tears are still there. In the glow of Red’s body, Avon can see his face start to turn red as he holds down his emotions. Avon looks down at her hands, then begins to reach out. Her hand nearly settles on Red’s shoulder, to comfort the kipling, but at the last second she retracts the sentiments. Red may not want to be touched by Avon. It’s best that Avon keeps everyone at arm’s length away, as always. This mess should change nothing. 

Red collects himself by the time the two reach the surface, breathing in the air to calm down. He doesn’t want to be seen crying in front of Avon. Avon practically throws herself onto land, flicking her wings to free them of water and wringing out her cloak. Red is hardly even done getting water out of his boots before Avon stretches out her arm. In the moonlight, he sees the irregular cut of purple and grey at the end of her sleeve. With a scrape and a clang, the trident escapes its resting place in the sand and leaps into Avon’s hand. The trident is enchanted with loyalty. All this long, Avon could have called her weapon to her hand and struck down any one of Red’s family at any time. 

But she didn’t. She stayed true to her word. Red wrinkles her nose, a rotten scent filling it. “Ugh, what smells like rotten eggs?” 

Avon pauses, holding her trident as she sniffs the air. She narrows her eyes. It’s similar to the scent of gunpowder, like a creeper having just exploded. But the sulfur is stronger, more like it’s been burning than blown up. Avon has only smelled this once before. “Brimstone.” 

-----------

The sun is turning red over the desert. Sand is blown into the sky by heavy winds, gathering into storm clouds on the horizon. Friction between particles of sand strike into lightning, running down to the ground and turning sand into massive glass sculptures. Ecto is caught in the darkening sky, the wind pelting her face with sand. She pulls her hood low and mask high, till all is exposed is her eyes. She shouldn’t be out here, but she left a whole pile of cacti by the mystery structure, and she’s not letting so many precious succulents go to waste. 

The only problem is she’s forgotten where the swirly frame is. If it were a normal day, Ecto would just stack as high as she could to spot it. The material is so easy to see, she’d find her way in a second. But Ecto can hardly see past her own nose, much less far enough away to see it. If she stacked higher, the wind would knock her from the tower. She just has to walk, and try to figure out where it is by her troubled memory. 

The wind picks up speed as the sandstorm swallows Ecto, and she stumbles against the blustering wind. A gust of wind sends sand flying into Ecto’s face, and a horrible scent makes her nose furrow. She takes a knee, unable to fight the wind as it strengthens. And in the sand, she sees footsteps. Strange footsteps, the sand melted into tracks. 

Crawling on the ground, Ecto follows. The scent rises from the trail, and sometimes Ecto swears she can hear a voice in the distance. But when the trail goes cold, so do the noises. So does that rotten scent. Ecto keeps crawling, feeling more lost than ever.

Until she strikes her head against the smooth frame of the swirling monument. Ecto stands, relieved to see her pile of cacti has mostly been protected from the wind by the edifice. She looks back, trying to catch a glimpse of the trail she followed. The trail that led her back to her cacti. Ecto wraps her arms around herself. She feels like someone’s watching her. Someone who shouldn’t be in Ecto’s desert is lurking nearby. 

Ecto gathers the cacti up, and takes off into the sandstorm. From here, she can remember her way back home. Right now, she just wants out of the sandstorm, and away from the sensation of being watched.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 118:  Staying Ahead of the Future

The Dark One Vault wasn't far, Guinevere and Lancelot would be there soon enough, even if they didn't know where they were going. So, with the pair on their way, he used his magic and beat them to the vault. Merlin's Tower he'd returned to time and time again since learning about it, and the conversation he'd had with Nimue at the forge was not the first he'd had, but this vault…it was the first time he'd been back since he'd become the Dark One. It had been well over one hundred years. Like the stone, the forest looked hardly any different. It had been pitch black when he'd first arrived here then, and other than some overgrowth, it appeared just as it always had. There was the spot he'd first seen Zoso. There was the place he'd first discovered he'd no longer needed his cane. Over to his left was the place the Dark One who had shown him water to view Baelfire had waited for him. And where he was standing now was the first place he'd caught a glimpse of Nimue. He wasn't at the forge now, but as he looked down upon the platform he'd once arisen out of, he channeled her knowledge to see it as he hadn't that night. It wasn't a platform. It was a door. There were symbols around the metal platform, symbols he'd seen in his work and in the work of the Dark Ones that came before him. But here, they were more than that. They were the key. Nimue whispered away in his ear and he reached his hand out over them, using magic to touch them: the Eye of Providence, the Pentagram, the Sun.

He stood back as the vault opened to him. How the Guinevere and Lancelot were going to get into the vault was a mystery to him, but the Seer hadn't been wrong yet. Somehow, they were going to manage. And he would be ready for them when they did.

The inside of the vault was not unlike a mining passage. In fact, it reminded him a lot of the tunnel he'd encountered at Bald Mountain, only instead of draining his magic, as Bald Mountain had, the magic he felt around him now had a signature that matched his own. There was no fairy magic here. Only very, very Dark Magic. He could feel traps that were set, he recognized them, even felt as though Nimue was warning him they were there. But they were traps meant to keep intruders out, not Dark Ones. In the end, all he needed to do was allow his own magic to flare so that their magic recognized his own and they stayed hidden from sight, and, with a little extra push, for the foreseeable future. Lancelot and Guinevere were on their way, his vision showed them getting to the dagger and he wanted the Gauntlet on her arm. He saw no reason to try and keep them out. He stopped the traps that he could and left the ones he couldn't for them to figure out. They'd never know, they'd never be grateful.

Finally, up ahead, at the end of the tunnel, he saw a door. It was the same door he'd seen in his vision. He used his magic to open it and observed as something like the surface of the water appeared behind it. It moved and flowed to an invisible current, another trick of magic put there by Nimue herself to scare people away and keep them out. He, however, was the Dark One. He knew what was on the other side. So he walked through the door with confidence, and on the other side…

Yes, this was certainly where he was supposed to be.

The vision had passed by him fast before, and the focus had been on the dagger and the pedestal, but the second he saw the world around him, a tropical paradise, he knew that it was right. It reeked of Dark Magic. And there, in the center of the room, on a gray pedestal held up by black, snake-like legs, was the dagger. Or rather…a dagger.

He let out a sigh of relief as he came closer to it and found confirmation that it wasn't his dagger. He could feel his own in his boot. Someone would have been an idiot to put it here for anyone to find, even with the traps outside set. It was a fake. And as he looked it over he was assaulted with a memory of another time, from another Dark One. His name was Lucifer, he'd set it there as a trap, a warning. The second he removed the fraudulent dagger from the pedestal, he heard a ringing in the back of his head that told him the dagger was in danger. Lucifer wasn't a fool. He'd done it this way on purpose. This way someone could take a false dagger, but the Dark One could be alerted that someone was after them and destroy them before they ever figured out the fraud and carried out the actual deed of collecting the real dagger. In his heyday, when Lucifer had set the spell, it was a very clever decoy. Now it was ancient and nearly forgotten, but still helpful. The false dagger still bore the name of Lucifer, a reminder of just how little magic it carried. For a moment, he considered leaving it alone, not risking the pair learning his name, but if he had it his way, and if Lucifer had done his job right, they would never get their hands on it. With a wave of his hand, he inscribed his own name on the blade, then placed it back in its trap and just in time it seemed. In his head, he could feel another warning, one that Nimue herself had put there telling him that someone was at one of the vaults. This vault. They were coming, coming for the dagger that they didn't realize wasn't real with Merlin's Gauntlet and a broken kingdom on their minds. Knowing his dagger was safe was reassuring, but that didn't make this trip useless. For the first time in a long time, something had been removed from Merlin's Tower, and he would take it for himself. This could work out for everyone, just so long as he was clever about it. He wanted that Gauntlet and they wanted the dagger, or at least they thought they did. They didn't know what he knew. Magic could solve anything.

He cast a quick spell to turn himself invisible just as the door opened. And then there they were. The two he'd seen in his vision. Queen Guinevere and noble knight Lancelot at her side!

"There it is!" the woman exclaimed, coming closer at a quick pace. "Excalibur will finally be complete."

She was excited, and he stood by the little table and the fake dagger watching to see what would happen as she extended her hand to take it and-

Magic pulsed through the air and through him, magic that was tied to him but not set by him blasted the couple back so that they landed a dozen feet away on their backs. The magic was not unlike what Merlin had used at his tower, only, if he had to guess, and he didn't because he knew, it worked in reverse. He was free to take the dagger because he was the Dark One. No one else was. Well now, that was a handy little trick.

"Not exactly a sword in the stone, but it still does the trick!" he announced, allowing his spell to disintegrate and show him to them. He laughed as the pair noticed him but didn't miss a beat. They rose to their feet and pointed their swords in unison, showing off that cord he'd seen in his vision that they were either ignorant to or purposefully ignoring. Given their comfort around one another, and their loyalty to Arthur, he'd guess they were blissfully unaware of one another's feelings. But there were ways around that, just as there were ways around those swords. With a wave of his hand, the blades were gone, and the pair looked at each other with worry and shock. It surprised even him. Those couldn't have been the only weapons on them, or else the King greatly underestimated his knights! Not that he'd worry about another weapon, he was more concerned with what the girl was wearing now that the sword was gone: the glove that had led them here. He could feel the magic coming off of it from here. It was powerful, and he wanted it for himself. The question was how to get it. "So, that's how you found this place, Merlin's gauntlet. That's quite a powerful object, at least for a wizard stuck in a tree."

"That dagger is Arthur's birthright, and you will surrender it to us," Guinevere declared bravely.

He smiled. Was that what she thought? Birthright? Had he inherited it? Or was it something else? The Gauntlet suggested the latter.

"So, that's King Arthur's weakness, is it?"

The girl didn't respond, just held her head up high and eyed him with suspicion at his knowledge. A sweet thing to be sure when he could do so much better than know about magical objects.

"So that must make you Guinevere. Sadly, I can't give you what you want, though I might be willing to part with the next best thing, assuming, of course, you're willing to make a deal for that gauntlet."

"What's the next best thing to completing a magical sword?" Lancelot questioned sarcastically, unbelieving. The dear Queen was just silent, she didn't respond one way or another, but her gaze told him that worked in his favor. Now why would that be? Was it because perhaps the Good Queen didn't truly want the sword to be whole again?

"Making it appear like it's been completed," he answered the Knight. "With this…"

From his workshop back home, he summoned into his hand a small vial of fuchsia grains that Jefferson had once retrieved from him. "Enchanted sand from the mystical Isle of Avalon." It was powerful magic, and it had taken a lot for Jefferson to retrieve it. He hated the idea of giving it away, but he was willing to part with it for a price. And much to his delight…the Queen appeared willing to bargain. "One pinch of this can 'fix' anything."

"Even Excalibur?" she questioned.

He smiled. Perhaps Arthur's Queen was not as loyal as he thought. "Your husband need never know. After all, what's one little secret if it means getting your husband back? Assuming, of course, that's, uh, still what you want," he stated, looking between the pair of them before he began to circle. He was examining something. That cord of love they shared was stronger now than it was in the vision. Something had happened on this trip that had strengthened their bond. Did they sense it? Would Arthur?

"And why should I trust you?" Guinevere called out, turning to meet him.

Well now, that was a question that he hadn't considered. Nor had he planned on it being asked. He didn't have a great answer for her, only a shot in the dark based on the tether he could see flashing between her and Lancelot. And a vision.

A vision of sitting at a table with the pair of them when they were older. There were children there. They belonged to both Guinevere and Lancelot. All but one pale little boy with sandy hair who couldn't stop talking with the children and rambling about being in a castle. He felt a great affection in his chest for that little boy. Arthur was nowhere to be found as they ate and yet, he felt a hand wrap warmly around his elbow as they had dinner together. But as he turned to respond to the gesture...

The vision faded before he could see who it was...

How…interesting.

"Because I know what happens when a woman's heart is torn between duty and desire," he dared to guess as he moved around them and concentrated on the little bottle. "And believe me, it never ends well."

He was trying to get the vision back, trying to see the person who had touched him, who was eating with the three of them like they were old friends. But nothing sparked. It was as if the Seer was keeping a secret from him.

"Please, Guinevere," he heard Lancelot whisper affectionately behind him. "Don't listen to this demon."

Demon! That was a new name. Harsh. Interesting that one day they might be friends.

"I will accept your deal," the Queen declared.

He forgot the vision and instead laughed as he spun back to look at her removing the Gauntlet from her hand and Lancelot looking him over with distrusting eyes.

"Good girl!" He didn't know how they'd ever get to be friends, but handing him the Gauntlet certainly would go a long way for that. Perhaps…so would a little warning. "But be careful. Love is a weapon, dearie. The most dangerous weapon of all, which means the pain you should worry about isn't the kind inflicted by a broken sword, but the kind that comes, from a broken heart…" he stared up at Lancelot as they spoke, suddenly aware of how much time there was between now and the vision he'd had.

Guinevere took off the Gauntlet, and he took it as Lancelot snatched the bottle from his fingers and said, "Let's go!" to his Queen. The Knight's eyes were on him the entire way as they backed out of the room, and he was graced with one more small flash of a vision.

Watching Lancelot and Guinevere ride through the streets of Camelot with their children as he watched in the crowd. They both wore crowns.

His Queen indeed. He couldn't wait to see how their future would play out.

[whispered-into-the-void]

Okay, so apparently Brie Larson said at some point in the past that Captain Marvel could lift Thor's hammer and some people got pissy, but like, according to the MCU version I don't see any reason she shouldn't? like, going off of what we've seen of MCU Mjolnir Captain Marvel should absolutely be able to wield it, and here's why

Firstly, the inscription. Obviously, put on just to ensure that, when Thor was "worthy" again, he'd be able to lift it, and not until then. This also put it in a position that Thor was the only person on Midgard who should be able to lift it, preventing any mortal from using that power. Now obviously, we know from Captain America that this isn't necessarily true, but I hold that more to Odin's arrogance than Steve truly being the only Midgardian worthy, but we'll get back to that in a second, because first we have to analyse what worthy means here.

Based on Thor's progression, we can see exactly the lesson Odin was trying to teach him, because it's one that not only Thor learns over the movie, but Odin learnt himself in the past; that someone worthy to be King of Asgard, or wield Thor's power, has to not be the aggressor. again, we see this both in the movie and in Odin's history; Thor is cast out due to his attack on Jotunheim, and Odin enslaved his own daughter in an attempt to put his history as a warmonger behind him. However, both based on the comics and the MCU, we know that it's not simply not acting as an aggressor; it seems to me that worthiness in this case is not only knowing the value of a life, but knowing when taking one is absolutely necessary. Thor shows no qualms with killing when he has to, and granted that none of the other Avengers particularly seem to either, but with Thor and Captain America you see the truth of the matter; while someone like Tony or Nat is willing to kill to accomplish their objective, come Endgame they see it as a last resort that they are absolutely willing to take.

I find it difficult to believe anyone would argue that the MCU Captain Marvel wouldn't fit this. with the Kree brainwashing, she was turned into a soldier, like Steve or Bucky; As a result, it's pretty apparent that she wouldn't be above killing if it absolutely had to be done. At the end of her own movie, we also have seen both what she fights for and her approach to killing; firstly, she fights not out of loyalty or revenge, but out of a sense of what's right, hence her decision to change sides and help the Skrull escape the Kree. Secondly, while it would be completely understandably for a brainwashed soldier to kill the person responsible, she instead chooses to spare Yon Rogg's life. Again, we see a character willing to take life, but only when forced to in order to save innocents.

It's this distinction that, I feel, puts Thor, Captain Marvel and Endgame!Captain America in the right moral area to wield Mjolnir, because I think ultimately it's the lesson we can see from Odin's enchantment on the hammer. If Odin just wanted to teach Thor a lesson on his past behaviour, he could have made the enchantment temporary, until Thor lifted it again, or removed it once he'd proved himself worthy. Instead, the enchantment on the future king of Asgard's weapon was permanent, to ensure that no matter what, the kingdom would no longer be based in violence. The enchantment would ensure that, if ever Thor lead a knowingly unjust war, or attempted to take a life when it wasn't justified, the hammer would remind him of the greatest lesson his father ever tried to teach him.

There are a few issues with this idea but most of them are explainable or lend credit to the idea that the enchantment is pretty flexible as these movies go on. The first point I want to talk about is in the Garden, when Thor kills Thanos. At this point, he isn't putting up a fight; the job is done, so what does he care? and yet, Thor kills him where he stands. hardly worthy based on the definition above, right? how come he's still worthy, as we see later?

This I chalk up to a case of timing. Obviously, he wasn't using Mjolnir at the time, so we wouldn't find out for a while whether this knocked him out of the boundaries for worthiness or not. But more importantly, it's the distinction; yes, killing an unarmed foe in vengeance when the threat has passed and lives have already been lost might not be worthy, but by the time Thor gets Mjolnir back, the circumstances have changed. Lives once lost can be saved, so if he were to kill Thanos at this point, I feel as though he'd be worthy.

The final point I can think of to justify this is, again, to point out the inconsistencies regarding MCU Mjolnir. The most obvious example that springs to mind is how, in AoU when Quicksilver grabs onto Mjolnir, it starts acting more like an actual projectile than we normally see from the weapon, whereas in Endgame Spider-Man can swing from it and it continues flying in the vaguely fantastical way were used to. Again, this shows either an inconsistency in Mjolnir in the MCU, or simply that the requirement of "worthy" is actually less strict than we've outlined here. Yes, Spider-Man is a great hero, but we already know that earth-616 spidey can't lift Mjolnir because of his unwillingness to take a life. I can see this not being an issue for MCU Parker, simply because we see him in that same scene activating "Instant Kill Mode," but even then, Captain Marvel definitely lies closer to Thor on the worthiness scale than Parker.

tl;dr: Captain Marvel absolutely can wield Mjolnir and if you doubt it you're just Afraid

[crownees]

[ cis female, she/her ].  did odette fumero just walk by?  the 32 / 519 year old level d vampire is known for their meticulous, fearless and finicky, conceited behavior.  that explains why they resemble ana de armas.  doesn’t faux fur coats, giant hoop earrings and malicious grins remind you of them?

rel, back at it again with another intro!  this is the second of my three babes, ODETTE, and she’s my queer queen!  again, it’s best to reach me on discord  @lesbee1619.  thank you in advance for reading and like this post if one of the wanted connections interests you, or if you have an idea of your own for a connect / plot!  

⋆  ◦  * CHARACTER  ——  background.

⋆  As a human, Odette lived in Cuba on the cusp of colonization.  As a vampire, she lived at the bottom of a strict hierarchy that very closely resembled the blood purity ideology of the human world she suffered in.  When the war came in the 1600s, she quickly struck her allegiances, made her pledges to the ones she saw would lift her from the gutter and has rode the wave sense.  What was left her humanity died when she did; Odette had no qualms for slaughter, not after seeing what colonizers had done to her people, to people like her.  She reveled in the revenge, the cruelty for cruelty’s sake.  Now, she stands at the top of the pack even as a low-based vampire.  A level d.  Neither pure nor whole in any sense of the word.  A goddess of the new age. 

⋆  Ever since, Odette’s made sure to choose her loyalties carefully.  Risk is exciting, especially for her, but her safety is never something she’ll question.  She’ll do anything for those that do for her.  Over the years, she’s cultivated a close-knit group of fellows who she knows will have her back when it counts.  In a world where everything’s changing, from technology to style to music to people, she keeps the ones who matter close.  They’re her buffer for when things fall apart ------and, seeing how the empires have crumbled in the past, she’s certain it’ll happen at some point in the distant future.

⋆  ◦  * ZODIAC SIGN  ——  gemini.

❝ Expressive and quick-witted, Gemini represents two different personalities in one and you will never be sure which one you will face. They are sociable, communicative and ready for fun, with a tendency to suddenly get serious, thoughtful and restless. They are fascinated with the world itself, extremely curious, with a constant feeling that there is not enough time to experience everything they want to see. ❞ ( x )

personality quirks: gentle, curious, affectionate, versatile, inconsistent, nervous, indecisive, sociable, fickle

⋆  ◦  * PERSONALITY TYPE  ——  estp.

❝ In the workplace, school, home, or any other social gathering, it’s pretty easy to spot ESTPs. Spirited and spontaneous, fun-loving and even slightly crass, people with the ESTP personality type are go-getter types who take on life head-on and love being active and engaged. ESTPs work hard and play hard, and they expect everyone else to adopt this same mentality while around them. Networking and making new friends comes naturally to ESTPs because of their outgoing nature and drive to be successful. These qualities make it easy for ESTPs to get along with just about anyone, as long as they are not deemed to be lazy, flaky, liars, or complainers. ❞  ( x )

personality quirks: sociable, enthusiastic, excitable, blunt, defiant, rational, perceptive, insensitive, impatient

⋆  ◦  * CHARACTER ALIGNMENT  —— chaotic neutral.

❝ A chaotic neutral character follows his whims. He is an individualist first and last. He values his own liberty but doesn't strive to protect others' freedom. He avoids authority, resents restrictions, and challenges traditions. A chaotic neutral character does not intentionally disrupt organizations as part of a campaign of anarchy. To do so, he would have to be motivated either by good (and a desire to liberate others) or evil (and a desire to make those different from himself suffer). A chaotic neutral character may be unpredictable, but his behavior is not totally random. He is not as likely to jump off a bridge as to cross it. ❞  ( x )

personality quirks: chaotic, indulgent, greedy, anarchic, disorderly, unreliable, selfish, free

⋆  ◦  * CHARACTER  ——  miscellaneous.

Occupation: Shop owner of the Wicked Wench, a high-brand vintage shop

Hobbies: trying new makeup looks, wasting time at music stores, singing at bars, hustling bar games, flipping through fashion magazines, netflix binges, smoking on the beach, judging people, watching candles burn, learning b-boy dance routines, riding shotgun with the windows down, dancing till dawn, dying her hair

Vices: vanity, lust, a damn good pair of shoes, JNCO jeans, Britney Spears

Personal style: Bralettes. Leather pants. Pleather skirts. Crop tops. Platform shoes. Pattern tops. Chunky sweaters. Sweater paws. Big earrings. Chokers. Stacks of string necklaces. Bangles. Neon lipstick. Hair clip-ins. Reeboks.  Faux fur coats.  Slip dresses.

Other: 5′6  ;   slim, athletic  ;   pink hair  ;   ears pierced and several miniature tattoos  ;   pansexual  ;   homoromantic

⋆  ◦  * WANTED  ——  connections.

⋆ feelings towards other creatures:  odette is jealous of higher ranking vampires, so she takes any opportunity to lord over her closeness with nathaniel at any occasion.  she doesn’t like to be reminded of her weaker status, and can become downright violent when provoked about it.  she appreciates witches --- partially because they saved her ass in the war hundreds of years ago --- and thinks angels are pretty, but sad.  she’s terrified of sirens, and has a healthy respect for werewolves  ( not that she’d ever admit it, but she thinks the shapeshifting is totally cool ).  she despises demons and special humans, and doesn’t respect any human that  a) doesn’t fawn over her beauty and awesomeness  or  b) immediately offer their necks for her when she walks through.  she hates hunters worst of all, and spent the better half of the past few centuries hunting them to extinction.  odette has no opinion of immortals and is amused by familiars of witches she likes. 

⋆ connections:  a sire ; an intense, old flame ; a ride or die fem friendship ; someone she’s incredibly annoyed by, so she’s snapped their neck more than a few times ; a preferred bloodbag she dotes on ; a witch she purchases enchanted weapons and jewelry from ; a rival within the vampire ranks ; a nemesis who senses her sensitivity towards her ranking ; a shopping / brunch / party friend group ; a friend with benefits that’s kept lowkey af ; past friendships that’ve soured ; a former best friend who grew tired of her antics ; humans related to people she’s drained ; a doppelganger - style kind of thing of someone important from when she was a human  ( could’ve been a human best friend, lover, neighbor, enemy or w/ever ) ; someone she has a crush on that she can never have

** i’m equally interested in these suggestions being in-game or established plots & connections.  development bb!!  & don’t forget to check out my wanted tag  <3

[torestoreamends]

Mine to Make: Chapter 11

Draco gives a warning, Albus tries to figure out the future, Scorpius does some ill-advised detective work, and Delphi reveals her true colours. 

Beta’d by @abradystrix.

N.B. This fic is complete on AO3, so binge read away there if you want! Here on tumblr I’ll be posting a chapter every day until it’s all done.

Read it on AO3

*

XI  Scythe

Delphi is bored of scrambling over rocks. Her hands are cut up, her feet hurt, it’s burning hot in the sun. Nothing is worth this. Yes it’s probably reckless, but she must be far enough from the nearest town by now to just use a tiny bit of magic, surely?

She looks around at the deserted mountainside and throws caution to the winds. She doesn’t even need to draw her wand, she just bends her knees and lets the air carry her upwards.

There’s a strong updraft today, and as she spreads her arms she rises fast, soaring into the blue sky. It would be easy to fly as high as any of these mountains, but that might not endear her to any of the people she’s going to visit. Some of them are wary of magic, and such a display would be more than reckless – it would be idiotic. Instead she stays close to the ground, skimming over the rocky ground, toes brushing the occasional bit of scrubby brush that grows up here.

It’s much faster going by air. What would have taken her another hour to hike only takes ten minutes or so, and soon she’s at the deserted mountaintop she’s been heading towards since sunrise this morning. She sets down at the top of the hill and looks around, taking in the view, and searching for any sign that she’s in the right place. She turns slowly in a circle, and as she does a voice sounds behind her.

“You asked to talk to us. Talk.”

She spins round to face the person who’s spoken. He’s a tall man, wearing a soft, loose blue linen shirt and a pair of threadbare blue denim shorts. His skin is tanned and lined, weatherbeaten, with a smudge of dirt on one cheek. If Delphi didn’t know better she’d think he were a farmer or a vintner or something. Someone who spends a lot of time working out in the sun. There’s something unthreatening about him. But she does know better, and she also knows that this is someone to be threatened by.

She holds her hands up to show that they’re nowhere near her wand. “I did ask to talk to you,” she says. “I think you worked with my father, or knew people who did. I want to know if you‘d be interested in putting yourselves in an advantageous position within society.”

The man stalks around the edge of the mountaintop, eyeing her. “You are very audacious. So young, untested, inexperienced, coming here and telling us that you can give us a position in a world that will be impossible to create.”

Delphi steps towards him. “Not impossible. When my father was in power he envisioned the world I’m now looking to put in place. If he saw it then it’s possible.”

The man snorts. “Lord Voldemort was powerful, skilful, a visionary leader. Even he couldn’t make it happen. How does a little girl expect to do it?”

Delphi folds her arms, trying not to let the sting of his words show. She’s far more than a little girl. She’s a young woman, every bit as bright and talented as her father was, and she’s learned from his mistakes. “There’s a plan in place,” she says. “I don’t need you and your pack to be part of it. There are other people I could have chosen instead. But I thought it would make sense to reward your loyalty, and I know you have contacts, friends. I need to see the giants, the trolls, vampires, goblins, anyone, everyone. For this to work I need an uprising.”

The man walks across and perches on the edge of a large rock towards the side of the mountaintop. “The world is improving for people like me. It’s far from perfect of course, but the werewolves in your country, across vast swaths of Europe, are not as poorly treated as we once were. Why should we rise up with people who still think we’re filthy half breeds when we’re making progress with people who are willing to listen?”

“People are good at pretending to be tolerant,” Delphi says. “We can give you far more than they will ever be willing to. Believe me. Allies will be rewarded, and I want you as an ally.”

The man gets to his feet and comes over to her. He circles her once, and she follows him with her gaze, twisting her head to watch him.

“I have Harry Potter’s son,” she says. “He’s on my side, which means he will be on our side soon enough. That’s the most powerful weapon we could wish for. We won’t lose this time.”

The man stops in front of her and considers her for a long moment. “I’ll think about it,” he says. “We will think about it.”

“How long for?” Delphi asks, not moving an inch, solid as the rocks that make up this mountain. “I have other places to go, other people to see. This sort of offer doesn’t remain open for long.”

“I’ll be back here tomorrow. Noon. Then I’ll have a decision.”

Delphi doesn’t nod, she just looks him straight in the eye. “Noon. I’ll be here.”

The man looks back at her, then he gives a curt incline of the head before walking away. He gets several strides across the rocky ground before he pauses and glances back.

“When you say you have Harry Potter’s son...”

Delphi gives him a bright, sparkling smile, already knowing that tomorrow at noon the answer will be yes. “He thinks I’m his best friend. I haven’t even had to enchant him. He’s waiting for me at the bottom of this mountain right now.”

The man scrutinises her for a long moment, and she just smiles at him. Finally he turns his back on her and walks away, leaving her alone, windswept, triumphant, to start flying back down the mountain. She’s certain that the answer she gets at noon tomorrow will be a yes.

 Scorpius loves going to the library. It’s the one place in the world where everyone else is so wrapped up in their own business that they pay him no attention. He’s safe here, and surrounded by books, which have been his only friends for such a huge part of his life.

He weaves his way through the space, breathing in the scent of crisp paper and binding glue, and watching dust motes dance in the air. The languages section is at the back of the third floor, and he goes there a lot, mostly for fun, rarely on business. The fact that he’s on business today gives him a jittery, excitable sense of purpose. He loves the moments when he gets to feel official.

There’s no one else in the section when he gets there. A serene stillness hums in the air. Scorpius has always thought that libraries hold an incredible magic of their own. There’s so much power in all this knowledge waiting to be unleashed. The potential energy hangs in the air, potent and heady, setting all his senses on edge.

It takes him a while to find the book he’s looking for among the thousands on the shelves, but that doesn’t matter. He’s not on a deadline here. The longer he can spend in this space the better.

Part of the problem is that the book is so small and unmarked. It’s the only book on Parseltongue, stuck next to a large section that looks like Mermish. The most distinguishing feature that marks it out from the rest of the books is the fragile snakeskin jacket wrapped around it. Even if he didn’t know the exact contents, Scorpius would recognise that this is unmistakably a book about serpents.

When he finds the book he gently slides it off the shelf, careful not to damage the jacket, and carries it across to one of the tables. Opening it up, he discovers that the pages are as thin and delicate as tissue paper, and they’re yellowing and crinkled with age. He turns each page individually, with the utmost care and reverence. This book is old, probably unique, and the fading symbols inscribed on every page are beautiful, fascinating, even a little bit sinister. To damage this would be unforgivable.

Once he’s taken his time examining the book he pulls the note from his pocket and sets it down on the table. Instantly he realises that his assumption about it being Parseltongue was completely correct. The symbols on his copy of the note are identical to the twisting, writhing ones that slither across the pages of the book.

He has no idea where to start, he realises as he stares at the two. He doesn’t know this alphabet or anything. This might take hours. Maybe Searching Spells work on Parseltongue, but he’s not sure. He draws his wand and gets to work.

The spell does work but it has limited effect. Whoever wrote the note used a lot of colloquialisms and unfamiliar words. They also had rather poor spelling and grammar. It takes a while for him to piece together enough to make the note intelligible, but eventually he has most of it, with a few words missing here and there.

Dear D,

Thank you for meet two nights ahead. Will come Scythe as told.

Wish great things ahead. ASP will work out – against HP can’t wait. If only solve SM problem...

For SH and brave,

E

Scorpius frowns down at his scribbled translation and tries to make sense of it.

For starters the individual letters have to be names. D is Delphi, ASP can be no one other than Albus, HP must be Harry, and Scorpius is SM. The E and SH are more difficult, but Scorpius isn’t sure how relevant they are.

As for the rest... There’s some sort of meeting at a place called Scythe – he’s heard vaguely of a bar called that in Knockturn Alley, which would make sense. The writer is wishing Delphi luck, telling her that everything with Albus will work out, and something about him being against Harry that Scorpius doesn’t quite understand. Then there it is again, the reference to Scorpius as a problem, even though he hadn’t even met Delphi when this note was written. He must be interfering and interfering hard in whatever plans Delphi has for Albus...

The final bit, without knowing who SH is, makes no sense, and even when he goes and finds a book about former Death Eaters and runs through the list of names there he doesn’t find many people it could be. That part at least will have to remain a nonsensical mystery.

But the rest of it gives him something. Maybe if he can work out what Scythe is, whether it is that bar or not, he’ll have somewhere to search or surveil. Up until now he’s only had a house that’s now burned to the ground, so it would be good to have a concrete location. If only Albus knew where Delphi lived...

He scans the scribbled translation again, looking for anything he might have missed, but he can’t spot anything. It’s so short that it’s difficult to imagine it might contain any hidden meanings, and now he’s understood the gist of what it’s saying he doesn’t know what else to make of it.

It’s another lead. That’s what it is. Another lead, and concrete, written proof of what he overheard at the race: that he’s a problem in whatever plan Delphi has, a problem that needs solving.

He sits and gazes down at the paper for a moment more before deciding that he’s definitely not going to get anything more out of it right now, then he replicates his translation just in case he loses it, tucks the Parseltongue dictionary back on its shelf, and heads home with his mind buzzing.

 “You’re very quiet,” Draco says that night, when he and Scorpius are sitting together in the Manor library.

Scorpius has been staring into space for the last five minutes. He’s not reading or working or doing anything. His mind is a whirl of Dementors and flames and chasing footsteps, and his dad’s voice only barely breaks through, enough to make him shake himself.

“What?”

“You’re very quiet this evening,” his dad repeats. “Are you alright? You look like you’re doing an awful lot of thinking.”

“Oh,” Scorpius says. He looks down at his knees. “Sometimes it’s difficult to get my brain to turn off. It’s like someone’s cast a Sonorus Charm on my thoughts, and now they’re so loud I can’t stop hearing them.” He bows his head and rubs his temples. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” Draco asks, turning the page of his book.

Scorpius shakes his head and drops his head from his hands, letting his chin flop onto his chest. “No. Not really.”

Draco hesitates for a moment, then he sets his book aside. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Scorpius lifts his head to look at his dad and blurts it all out in a rush. “Delphi, Albus’s best friend, is up to something, and I don’t think he knows, and I know she knows that I know, and I don’t think she wants me to know. I think she needs Albus for something, and I think she thinks I’m getting in the way, and I think she wants to kill me.”

Draco blinks several times, taken aback by the rush of information. He leans back in his seat and absorbs it for a moment before nodding. “That does sound like something that would stick on your mind. What makes you think she wants to-“ His voice catches in his throat and makes a jerky little movement with his hand instead of finishing the sentence.

Scorpius wraps his arms round his body and fiddles with the sleeve of his pyjama top. “There were the Dementors, there was the house she set on fire, and yesterday at Albus’s race someone was following me. I think it was her, and I think that if she’d caught me she would have done something...”

“Have you told Potter about this?” Draco asks sharply.

“He knows I’m in danger,” Scorpius says softly. “I had to persuade him not to take me off the case. He gave me a spell so I can call for backup if I need it, but I didn’t have the chance to use it yesterday...”

“You persuaded him to...” Draco passes a hand over his face. “Scorpius, for once in his life he was trying to do something sensible and you stopped him?”

“I had to!” Scorpius shifts forward in his seat, looking desperately across at his dad. “This is the most interesting case I’ll ever get. If I do well here someone might notice me, they might promote me. I need this, Dad. You know that.”

“You need to stay safe,” Draco says. “You can’t get promoted if you’re dead.”

Scorpius swallows and looks down at his knees. “I don’t think I care. If there’s something bad going on, something sinister, I can stop it. I can clear my name properly. If everything ends up well then I’ll get my life back, and if it doesn’t, then...” He gives a tiny shrug. “At least some people might feel guilty.”

There’s a second of stunned silence.

“You don’t mean that,” Draco says in a soft, hoarse voice.

Scorpius looks up at him, and when he looks at his dad’s face some of his defiance melts away. His dad looks like he’s been cursed, shock and pain written across every inch of his face.

“I don’t know,” Scorpius whispers. “I don’t know, Dad. Maybe I do.” He twists his hands together as he tries to work out how to explain it. “You can’t tell me that you don’t understand,” he says. “Of all people you know what it’s like to have the whole world hate you. If you could make all that stop, wouldn’t you?”

“It’s not worth getting yourself killed for,” Draco says, voice rising to a scalding volume that makes Scorpius reel back in his seat, cheeks burning with frustration.

He gets to his feet. “I’m going to bed. I have things to do tomorrow.”

“Scorpius,” his dad says sharply, giving him a hard look.

“What?” Scorpius asks, folding his arms. He knows he looks and sounds like a petulant child, but he doesn’t much care.

“I can’t lose you.” His dad’s voice breaks and Scorpius’s resolve crumbles, body sagging.

“I just want to be someone other than the Son of Voldemort,” he says, going across to his dad and curling up against his side on the sofa. “I want to be someone.”

His dad gathers him into a tight hug, brushing his fingers through his hair. “The best way to do that is by living,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Scorpius’s head.

Scorpius buries his face in his dad’s shoulder and closes his eyes. “I don’t want her to kill me,” he says in a broken little voice. “I want to live. I want to clear my name. I want a job I like and the boy I love, and I want people to stop hating me. That’s all I want. Isn’t the best way to get all that to solve this?”

“I can’t deny that,” Draco admits, rubbing a hand down Scorpius’s back. “What’s the next step?”

Scorpius sits up and shifts far enough from his dad that he can look at him properly. He crosses his legs and messes with a hole in the toe of one of his socks. “I found this note and translated it from Parseltongue.”

Draco raises his eyebrows, and Scorpius can tell he’s impressed. “From Parseltongue? Go on...”

“It mentions this place, at least I think it’s a place, Scythe? I’d like to go and have a look there, maybe ask some questions, try to find out how Delphi’s connected to it. I need to know more about what she’s planning with all these people, what she wants Albus for.”

Draco frowns. “Scythe... There’s a bar in Knockturn Alley called The Scythe.”

Scorpius nods enthusiastically. “That’s what I thought! I was going to ask you if there was anywhere else it could be instead.”

Draco shakes his head. “I can’t think of anything...” He looks at Scorpius. “Are you really going to go to Knockturn Alley alone? The Scythe isn’t a nice place to be. It looks welcoming enough, but things happen there. There’s magic in the air that’ll numb your mind. You won’t be as sharp. People know that, and they take advantage. If Delphi has been arranging meetings there then she must know it well, and she must know what it can do for her. I can’t stress enough that you need to be exceptionally careful.”

Scorpius nods. “I will be. I might not even go in. There’s stuff I can do from outside. I promise I’ll be sensible.”

“Don’t get caught sneaking around either,” Draco says. “People know you, Scorpius. You’re a familiar face. You’re my son too. I know you have enemies among the law abiding population, but you have more among the sort of people who frequent The Scythe. Don’t give anyone the chance to do anything to you.”

Scorpius sighs. “I know, Dad. I know how to take care of myself.”

“I know you do, but it always bears repeating.” Draco reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I want you back in one piece.”

Scorpius smiles and collapses against his dad’s side, hugging him round the middle. “Don’t worry about me. I’m a well-trained Ministry official now. I’m not your little boy anymore.”

Draco gathers him in, squeezing him tight. “I am painfully aware of that. Gone are the days when I could cast Cushioning Charms on every corner and hard surface in the house to catch you when you fell. You have to cast your own Cushioning Charms now.”

Scorpius’s smile widens and he looks up at his dad. “I’m actually really good at Cushioning Charms, you know. They’re one of my favourites.”

Draco kisses him on the forehead and strokes his hair. “Will you go tomorrow?”

Scorpius nods. “In the afternoon. I have to be back by six. I have a date with Albus.” He grins and gives a happy little wriggle in his seat.

Draco tuts. “Another one? You see more of him than anyone else these days.”

Scorpius pokes his dad in the side. “I thought you wanted me to get out more?”

“I’m very happy for you,” Draco says. “But he’s still a Potter, and you’re definitely obsessed.”

Scorpius gives a happy sigh and rests his head on his dad’s shoulder. “I might be a little bit. I’m in love with him.”

“I’d noticed,” Draco says drily, looking down at Scorpius, who grins up at him. “Have you thought about what you’ll do if Albus is a key part of Delphi’s plans? If he’s a willing participant, even?”

The smile fades from Scorpius’s face and he looks down at his hands and shrugs. “I don’t think he knows what she’s up to... I’m expecting- I don’t know what I’m expecting. Nothing good. But the thing I’m most worried about is trying to persuade him that she’s up to something. She’s still his best friend. She gave him everything he has. It must be hard to hear that your best friend is...” He shakes his head.

“I suppose you can worry about that later,” Draco says gently. “But if it helps, you’re trustworthy, and I have no doubt that Albus knows that. I’m sure he’ll listen to you.”

Scorpius bows his head. “I hope so.”

Draco ruffles his hair and gives his shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Where are you going for your date?” He asks, and Scorpius is grateful to his for changing the subject.

“I’m taking him to that restaurant we used to go to with mum,” Scorpius says. “You know the really nice one? Down near Godric’s Hollow?”

“I know the one,” Draco says. “I took your mother there for one of our first dates. I think that was the night I realised I wanted to marry her.”

Scorpius reaches across and takes his dad’s left hand, so he can inspect the ring on his fourth finger. “I don’t want to lose Albus again,” he murmurs. “I think I want him in my life forever now. He’s special.”

Draco snorts. “Special is certainly one word for it.”

Scorpius drops his hand and bats him on the arm. “Dad! What do you have against Albus?”

Draco gives him a look. “Is that a serious question? Let’s think. He was a self-centred idiot for years, he abandoned you, he broke your-“

“Okay okay okay.” Scorpius waves a hand for his dad to stop. “I know all that. I know...” He looks at his dad for a moment, thinking. “What does he have to do to get you to change your mind? He’s earned my trust. How does he earn yours?”

“That’s a good question,” Draco says softly, thoughtfully. “I suppose I’d need to see proof that he’s different now. That he truly cares for you, and that he’s trying to make amends.” He points at Scorpius. “And you can’t tell him that. I want it from him. Just from him; because he’s realised there’s something that needs fixing.”

Scorpius nods. “I suppose that sounds fair... I won’t tell him. But I hope you get what you want from him, Dad. I really do. I want him to be welcome in this family one day.”

“I hope so too,” Draco says.

 Albus knocks on the doorframe of the open backdoor and steps over the threshold. “Mum?” He calls.

The house is quiet, and he feels slightly strange just letting himself in, but he must have been told ten times in the last week that this is his home, so maybe he can just go in...

He puts the biscuit tin and bunch of flowers he’s holding down on the table and puts the kettle on to boil, then he perches on the edge of the table and swings his feet as he gazes out at the sunny garden. The air is warm and scented with freshly mown grass. A gentle breeze ruffles his hair. Everything is peaceful, and he relaxes his shoulders, truly feeling like he’s home.

“Oh, hello sweetheart.”

He jumps so hard he nearly falls off the table as his mum comes up and puts a hand on his back, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“I didn’t hear you,” he gasps. “You snuck up on me.”

She gives him a sparkling smile. “I didn’t hear you either. How long have you been here?”

“Just a few seconds,” he says. “I brought you these.” He hands her the flowers and picks up the biscuit tin. “The flowers are for you. I, um, I made the biscuits myself, so you might not want to eat them, but I think they’re quite good. I used dad’s recipe.”

His mum sighs and breathes in the scent of the flowers. “Well this is a wonderful surprise. I’m not sure James even knows what flowers are, and he’s certainly never baked us anything. You can definitely come and visit again.”

Albus smiles and hops down from the table. “I thought I should start making up for not being here, and biscuits and flowers is the best I can do. I put the kettle on as well.”

Ginny hugs him. “You have nothing to make up for.”

“I do,” Albus says. “Do you want milk? Sugar?”

He makes tea for both of them, insisting on it, and refusing to let his mum help with anything. In the end she seems to get his point and starts putting her flowers in water and investigating the biscuit tin. While he finishes the drinks she leans against the kitchen counter and makes appreciative noises as she munches on one of the bits of shortbread, licking her fingers when she’s done.

“Was it okay?” Albus asks bring her tea over.

“Absolutely delicious,” she says, taking the mug from him. “Thank you. I’ll have to lock them away so no one else can find them.”

Albus laughs and hops back onto the kitchen table, setting his own mug down next to him to let it cool.

“What did you want to talk about?” His mum asks, taking a sip of her own tea and looking at him. The sunlight dances through her hair, dust motes glittering around her, and she looks as warm and approachable as always. Kind, caring, and if there was anyone in the world Albus was going to talk to it would be her, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says carefully, trying to choose the right words. “About what happens next, you know, for me. After everything’s over.”

His mum takes another sip of tea and sets her mug down on the side next to her. “This is about the league,” she says. “Isn’t it?”

Albus nods. “Right. It’ll stop, and then... I don’t know what then. That’s the problem.” He leans his weight on his hands and looks at his mum. “How did you decide what to do when you stopped playing Quidditch?”

His mum sighs and leans back, folding her arms. “When I decided to stop playing it was my choice. I could have kept going, but I wanted to spend time with you and James and Lily. The writing was an extension of that. I was done playing but I didn’t have to let go of what I loved, and it was always nice to have something to do, somewhere to go. I imagine for you it will be quite different – you’re not choosing to leave, are you? If the league kept going, would you keep racing?”

Albus shrugs. “I’m not sure... Stopping seems so scary, I don’t know what else my life has in it; I don’t know what else I can do. I’ve always been so rubbish at everything, Mum. I don’t think I can do anything else that’s not this.”

“Now that’s not true and you know it,” she says, shooting a hard look at him. “You didn’t struggle in school because you weren’t talented. You struggled because you were unhappy and anxious. And even struggling like you did you still got your Es in potions and charms, and you passed plenty of the other subjects. You’re a lot of things, Albus, but rubbish is absolutely not one of them.”

Albus looks down at his knees. “Even if I’m not rubbish I’m still lost. I spent seven years thinking I’d found how I wanted my future to be and now I realise I was completely wrong. It was such a waste of time.”

“You needed those seven years,” his mum says gently, getting to her feet and coming over to sit beside him. “That was your time.”

“It was stupid to run away,” Albus mutters. “Another rubbish mistake.”

His mum puts an arm round him and gives him a tight squeeze. “Mistakes are important. Mistakes are how you learn. If life was perfect it would be boring and we wouldn’t grow.” She pulls away and looks at him. “Albus? I can see how much you’ve grown since you’ve been away. I can see how much you’ve changed. And now a lot is happening all at once. Give yourself time to get used to it. You don’t need all the answers straight away. You don’t need to know the exact shape of your life before you’ve lived it. I don’t think anyone ever does, and that’s part of the fun of it.”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing,” Albus mutters, messing with his fingers.

“Can I tell you a secret?” His mum asks, giving him a gentle nudge on the arm.

He looks at her. “Yes?”

She smiles. “Neither do I.”

“But you’re you,” he says. “You’re my mum. You’re Ginny Potter.”

She laughs and hugs him. “I know.” She kisses his temple and rubs his back as she holds onto him. “You’ll work it out,” she says. “You have time, plenty of time, to work out what you want to do next. Trust me. And it’s okay to be scared too. But if there’s anything I can do to help you, if there’s anything your dad can do, we’ll do it.”

He leans against her, feeling very small and miserable and confused. “What if I never figure it out?” He asks.

“Some people don’t,” she says, looking down at him. “The only thing that matters is that you’re happy.”

“Lost and happy,” he murmurs. “Sounds impossible.”

“Think about it,” she advises. “Don’t panic just yet. And one day you might just find that things have fallen into place.”

He looks up at her for a moment, then he nods. “Okay...”

She gives him another squeeze, then gets up and goes to get her cup of tea from across the kitchen. “Didn’t you take Scorpius to a race last night? How did it go?”

Albus starts telling her all about it, and as he does a contented happiness blossoms inside him. Even if the rest of his chaotic life makes him feel lost, Scorpius helps him feel found, and he tells his mum so. He tells her about the date, about winning the races, about the date tomorrow night too. He could talk about Scorpius forever, and she seems quite happy to listen.

When he’s finally exhausted everything he can think of to tell her about his boyfriend, she tells him about the family, filling him in on what Lily and James have been up to in the last week or so. It makes him miss his little sister more than ever, and it must show on his face because his mum pauses and scrutinises him.

“Why don’t you come for dinner,” she says. “While Lily is here. We can have a family dinner. I’ll get James to come too, and I’ll make Hermione kick your dad out of the office for a day. How about on Sunday?”

Albus thinks about the idea of being in the same room with all his family. It’s overwhelming, but he likes the thought of it. He likes the idea of being part of the family again. That alone sounds wonderful.

“Okay,” he says, then nods and smiles as the concept sinks in. “Yes. I’d like that. Thank you.”

She beams at him. “It’ll be wonderful to have everyone back together again, even if it is just for one evening.”

“Can Dad make his Yorkshires?” Albus asks, mouth watering just at the thought.

“I’ll ask him.” His mum comes over and rubs his arm, then she hugs him. “I’m so glad you want to come. I’m happy you’re back.”

Albus squeezes her tight and buries his face in her shoulder. “Me too,” he murmurs. “Me too.”

 Scorpius sets off from the Manor at noon. His dad is already out so he doesn’t say goodbye. He sets off alone down the driveway, already dressed for his date with Albus. This way he won’t have to come home and change if investigating takes a little longer than planned, and he won’t be nearly so recognisable without his sky blue Ministry robes. He also takes a potion to temporarily change the colour of his hair, making it not quite bright red but close to it; he just hopes it will wear off before his date like it’s meant to. Besides the clothes and the hair, all he has with him are his wand and Delphi’s note, folded up in the inside pocket of his jacket.

At the end of the drive, he taps the gates with his wand so they lock behind him, then he inhales and turns on the spot. Next thing he knows he’s falling sideways and tumbling over the bins at the back of the Leaky Cauldron. Not his finest Apparition moment, he thinks as he picks himself up and dusts itself off, glancing around to make sure no one has seen. Thankfully there’s no one around, so he stands the bins upright and heads off into Diagon Alley.

It’s a Thursday afternoon so it’s not particularly busy, which is nice. The few people who are there don’t pay him much attention, and he wonders if perhaps it’s because for once his face isn’t emblazoned across all the newspaper stands in the street. Today he’s been temporarily replaced by Hermione giving a speech about vampire legislation.

He slips down the street, enjoying his anonymity. This is one of the first times ever that he’s been able to have a proper look around. The circumstances aren’t ideal, but he’ll take the opportunity as it comes.

Curious, he skirts close to the Apothecary, peering into the barrels of frog spawn, beetle eyes, and something that looks like threads of pure starlight, which can only be unicorn hair. Next he passes the Owl Emporium, pausing briefly to talk to a tiny Burrowing Owl, that glares at him and clicks her beak irritably when he stops to say hello. The Tawny Owl next door is far more friendly, and obligingly turns her head so he can stroke the soft feathers on her back.

A little way further up the street is Quality Quidditch Supplies. There’s a new racing broom in the window that Scorpius has been meaning to look at for a while, but he’s never dared to stop long enough. Today, though, he stands and stares in through the window at it, admiring the clean, sharp lines and perfect aerodynamics. The holly wood handle gleams, and the arrow-straight sweep of the tail is breath-taking. Scorpius can only imagine how good Albus would look on that thing; how fast he’d be. He wonders if Albus has seen it. For all these years has Albus been coming here to gawk at brooms? He must surely take a professional interest, musn’t he?

Scorpius rests his hands on the window ledge and gazes at the broom, lost in his own little world. In his mind he can see Albus on this broom outstripping everyone as he dives. He can see Albus dancing round a corner, brushing past flames with ease. He can see Albus lying flat against the handle, urging the broom on to ever faster speeds. And he can see Albus just sitting astride the broom, hair ruffled, a big grin on his face, all clad in dragon hide, which hugs every inch of his body and does wonders for his magnificent-

Scorpius shakes himself and pushes off the window ledge, cheeks heating up. He glances around to see if anyone has noticed him standing there, whether anyone might somehow know what he was just thinking about, but no one is paying any attention to him. He’s definitely safe.

He makes himself walk away from the beautiful broom, but he glances back at it as he does, making a mental note to mention it to Albus over dinner later.

After that he stays on task as he walks the length of the rest of the street. He’s already spent too long being distracted. At this rate, he won’t even make it to The Scythe before he has to leave for his date.

It doesn’t take him long after that to reach the entrance to Knockturn Alley. He checks that he’s still not being watched, then he turns into the shadows of the alley and sets off towards The Scythe.

There was plenty to be curious about walking down Diagon Alley, and there’s no less to be curious about down here, with its abundance of potion suppliers, antiques shops, and apothecaries, but this isn’t the sort of place to linger and browse. He keeps his head down and walks with purpose past the shops, not wanting to attract any attention. His dad has always taught him that in Knockturn Alley, whether you’re on business or not, you make it look like you have an urgent appointment. Avoid eye contact, walk like you own the place, stop for no one and nothing.

Scorpius knows he doesn’t have his dad’s presence or confidence here. He doesn’t really have it anywhere. But he does his best, even though goosebumps are rising on his arms now he’s in the shade, and he feels like someone is watching him.

Don’t look back, he tells himself, rubbing his arms. It’s just your imagination.

He winds his way down the street. His ankles turn as he picks his way across the cobbles, and he has to pause a couple of times to make sure he hasn’t sprained anything.

Even though it’s midday and sunny, the buildings are so high and so warped that they lean in over the street, blocking out the sunlight. If they were any more twisted or crumbling the facades would probably meet, and the buildings would become one. Knockturn Alley would become a tunnel, full of even more shadows than it already is. It’s not a great thought, and Scorpius shivers and glances up, searching for any glimpse of the sky. There’s only the tiniest slither of it up there, just visible between the rooftops.

The Scythe is a bit further into the alley, on a wider section of road that’s not quite so shadowy. The buildings here are a bit neater and tidier, better kept. The window displays are less dusty, and the owners clearly take pride in making a good impression. Scorpius knows only too well that there are plenty of people that frequent places like this who have money to spare, and this part of the alley is clearly aimed at them.

Despite its surroundings, The Scythe itself still has a peeling sign outside, and a dingy, grim-looking entrance that’s bathed in shadow. When Scorpius steps inside he finds himself in a cool entrance area. A man is standing behind a podium, staring down at whatever paperwork he’s doing and pointedly ignoring Scorpius.

This is the point where Draco would assert his dominance and right to exist in this space, and Scorpius attempts to do the same. He folds his arms and draws himself up to his full, impressive height. He knows he looks good in his date clothes too. Perhaps he’s not as attention-grabbing as Albus would be, but he looks well put together, the sort of young patron with money to splash around that this sort of place survives on. He clears his throat and fixes the man with a steady, patient look that clearly says he’s waiting.

The effect is immediate. The man looks up at him, and leans on the podium.

“How can I help you?” He asks.

“I’m here for a meeting with a friend,” Scorpius lies. “Delphini Black. I believe she’s got a room here, and she asked to meet me.”

The man scrutinises him for a moment. “We don’t have a Delphini Black staying here,” he says.

Scorpius tries to hide his surprise and disappointment. Perhaps it really was just a meeting Delphi was arranging. Perhaps she has no other connections here. Perhaps there’s nothing to find.

“That was the name she gave me,” he says. All isn’t lost yet, he’s not giving up that easily. “I know she sometimes goes by pseudonyms. Maybe she’s given you a different name.”

There’s another pause and a long hard look that Scorpius meets, cool and calm, giving nothing away. Finally the man looks down and shuffles some papers on his podium.

“We’ve got a Delphini Lestrange,” he says. “She’s just gone out, but she’ll be back soon. You can wait for her in the bar.”

Lestrange. Delphini Lestrange. Scorpius knows he looks like he’s just been hit by the Hogwarts Express, but he tries to rearrange his face back into a more neutral expression as he nods. “Yes,” he says. “Lestrange. That sounds about right.”

Lestrange. What does that mean? Who is this woman? How has Albus become best friends with a Lestrange?

“The bar’s through there,” the man says, pointing to a blacked out door to one side of the podium.

“She told me to wait by her room,” Scorpius tries, throwing caution to the winds.

The man smiles and points to the door again. “Don’t push your luck. She’ll be back in a bit. When she arrives I’ll tell her you’re here.”

Shit.

Scorpius considers lying and telling the man he wants to surprise her, but he knows he’s already given away too much. He doesn’t want to get thrown out. Instead he takes the more sensible option and gives the man a smile and nod.

“That’d be great, thanks. Tell her Rookwood’s waiting. Hyperion Rookwood.” Then he rushes away through the door before he can be questioned anymore.

The bar itself is deserted. The room is dark, bathed in a deep purple enchanted light, and it takes Scorpius’s eyes a moment to adjust. A sort of thick, sweet smelling smoke hangs in the air, and Scorpius wonders if this is the enchantment his dad was talking about. If it is, it’s impossible not to breathe it in, but at least he knows it’s going to dull his senses. He’s prepared and he knows he needs to be careful.

He approaches the bar because he’s not sure what else to do. Somehow he’ll have to blag his way upstairs. Maybe he can pretend to have asthma and ask if he can wait somewhere else away from the smoke, or-

“Afternoon,” the barman says, leaning forward across the bar so he becomes visible past the smoke. “I wasn’t expecting to see someone like you in here today.”

Scorpius goes over to him, hesitant, wondering if something’s given him away. “Someone like me?” he asks uncertainly.

The man smiles and nods. “Exactly. You know,” he gestures to Scorpius, gaze sweeping the length of his body. “Someone young, gorgeous, clearly not an alcoholic.” He takes another look at Scorpius. “You’re not an alcoholic, are you?”

Scorpius shakes his head and smiles back, uncertain and a little disarmed by how nice this man is being. “Not that I know of. I, um... I’m here for a meeting.”

The man nods. “Business?”

“Meeting a friend,” Scorpius says. He sits down at the bar and gestures to the drinks, trying to look like he knows what he’s doing. “What do you recommend?”

The barman picks up a bottle and shoots him a smile that’s undoubtedly flirtatious. “A Love Potion.”

Scorpius blinks at him, taken aback. “Not an actual love potion? Because I don’t really want to fall in love with my friend when she gets here...”

The man laughs. “Why, not your type?”

“Not... exactly,” Scorpius says. “I mean, she’s lovely, but I prefer...” He thinks of Albus clad in dragon hide, and leans his chin on his hand, smiling. “I prefer something a little different.”

“This isn’t an actual love potion,” the barman says. “You might fall in love with my cocktails though. I hope you’re prepared for that.”

“Go on,” Scorpius says, the heady scent of the room permeating his brain as he watches the barman opening bottles and pouring drinks. “Seduce me.” The second he says it he realises how stupid it sounded, and he buries his face in his hands with a groan. Thankfully the barman just laughs.

“For that,” the barman says, “beautiful, ridiculous man whose name I don’t know, it’s on the house.”

“Hyperion,” Scorpius says instantly. “Hyperion Rookwood. That’s my name.”

“Hyperion,” the man repeats. “Nice name. I’m Leo.” He finishes shaking up the cocktail and pours it out, then places it on top of the bar, adding a sprinkle of something that shimmers in the light as a final touch. “Who‘s your friend, Hyperion? I’m curious to know who has the honour of spending time with you.”

“Delphini Lestrange,” Scorpius says, deciding that as much as he knows he should tell this man to stop openly flirting with him – that he’s very not single thank you very much, and that he’s only going along with it because the weird smoke is dulling his senses – this might actually be useful. He still needs to get to Delphi’s room, and maybe this is how he does it.

“Have you met her?” He asks. “She stays here.”

Leo nods. “I have met her. She doesn’t like a Love Potion, she drinks Augurey Tears.”

Scorpius frowns, wrong-footed again. “Not... actual Augurey Tears? That’s a cocktail too?”

“Not just a pretty face then,” Leo says, shooting Scorpius a smile, and Scorpius doesn’t know if he’s being made fun of now or not.

“I’m not,” Scorpius confirms. “Why, did you think I was?”

Leo shrugs. “You’re here on a Thursday afternoon, dressed very nicely for a meeting with a girl who’s not your type. That to me says you’re someone who likes to be looked at.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I definitely don’t like to be looked at.”

“Why’s that then?”

“Most people look at me the wrong way,” Scorpius says. “No, I just have a date. Later. After my business meeting.”

Leo sighs. “You’re a taken man. That’s a shame to hear, Hyperion Rookwood.”

“Do I have to give the Love Potion back now?” Scorpius asks.

Leo laughs. “No. It’s yours.” He leans in close and lowers his voice. “I recommend drinking it, Hyperion. It makes you immune to the smoke. You’ll need it if you’re going to talk to her. Someone who’s more than a pretty face would know that.”

Scorpius frowns at him. His face is still partially obscured by the smoke and harsh lighting, even though they’re not far apart. “How do I know you’re not trying to poison me, or make it worse?”

Leo’s smile widens, and he shrugs and picks up a cloth and starts cleaning glasses. “Definitely not just a pretty face. You decide for yourself, Hyperion.”

Scorpius looks down at the drink on the bar in front of him. There’s a pink powder glittering on top, and the drink underneath is a soft peach colour. It looks delicious, but he doesn’t trust it. He doesn’t trust anything here, not this man, not Delphi. This is dangerous, and he should probably leave, but now he knows Delphi comes here often he can’t just walk away. He’ll never be able to come back if he does. He’s in too deep with his lie now.

“What’s this on top?” He asks, brushing his finger through the dust.

Leo glances at it. “Pearl Dust,” he says. “The key ingredient in any Love Potion.”

“Isn’t Pearl Dust rare?” Scorpius asks, licking his finger. He gets a soft, fruity flavour, and the slight tingle of the dust.

“Rare and expensive,” Leo says. “But delicious. And important. It allows your mind to be shaped however you wish.”

I want my mind to be clear, Scorpius thinks, and immediately it feels as though a haze has lifted from him. He blinks twice and looks at Leo. “You weren’t lying.”

Leo nods. “You’re welcome. Be careful with that Lestrange, she’s vicious.”

“She stays here, you said,” Scorpius says, taking a sip of the Love Potion.

Leo nods. “Upstairs. Room Three. She’s been here for... forever really. I mean she comes and goes, she disappeared for a whole year recently, but she always returns and it’s always Room Three. No one else goes in there.”

Room Three. Scorpius’s insides leap with triumphant excitement, but he keeps sipping his cocktail and tries to look casual. “When you say she’s been here forever...?”

“Longer than I’ve been here,” Leo says. “And I’ve been here for years. She’s a permanent fixture. Like a particularly savage family cat.”

Scorpius smiles and nods. “I can imagine. Does she at least keep the mice away?”

“She likes to play with her food,” Leo says, putting a glass away on a shelf behind the bar. “If she got hold of you you’d probably wish you were dead.”

“You’re almost making me regret meeting her,” Scorpius says, finishing his cocktail and sliding the glass back to Leo. “Thank you for this. It was delicious.”

“Just make sure you’re on her side and you’ll be fine,” Leo says, taking the glass.

Scorpius nods. “Is there a loo around here?”

Leo points to a door across the bar. Now Scorpius has finished the drink, the fog seems considerably less dense, and he can see further through the room. Before he wouldn’t have been able to see the door, but he can now.

“Down the stairs, turn to the left.”

Scorpius gets to his feet. “Thanks. I’ll be back in a minute.” He hurries across the bar, lets himself through the door, and finds himself facing a set of stairs going down, and another set of stairs going up. He goes up, in search of Room Three.

The first landing he comes to has just one unmarked door on it, right at the top of the stairs. He leaves it, not wanting to waste time, and heads down the corridor to where a spiral staircase curves away upwards.

He tiptoes up the creaky stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible, and when he gets to the top he peers up and down the landing before he steps out onto it. There’s no one around. It’s the middle of the day, so anyone staying here must be out by now. Everything is still and quiet. Even the cleaners must have finished their work.

Scorpius follows the corridor, looking at the doors. He finds rooms One and Two easily, but it takes him a moment to realise that Room Three is tucked away out of sight and around a corner, well away from the stairs. When Scorpius tries the handle he’s not surprised to find that the door is locked.

After glancing around again to confirm that there’s definitely no one in the corridor with him, he slips his wand from the pocket of his trousers and points it at the door lock.

He’s about to do a simple unlocking charm, but something stops him. He doesn’t know Delphi that well, but there’s every chance that she’s paranoid enough to have put security charms on her door. Any simple spell will give him away in a heartbeat. Something more complicated will probably work a lot better for his purposes here.

He pauses for a moment, considering his options, before deciding to go for a fiddly little spell that reads the shape of the lock and creates a phantom key to fit it. It’s the spell that fools all the most basic and some of the more complex security charms. He’s heard Harry enthusing about it to the Aurors too many times to ignore it.

He crouches down and lays the tip of his wand just on the edge of the lock, and starts muttering the incantation. It takes a good minute or so to complete, but when he does, a white, smoke-like substance floats from the end of his wand and into the lock. After a moment it coalesces into a solid shape, and when Scorpius slides it fully into the keyhole and turns it, there’s a soft click and the door swings inwards. Perfect.

Scorpius nudges the door open with his shoulder and stands on the threshold, looking into the room. It’s very bare, so bare that it almost looks uninhabited. The only thing indicating that anyone lives here is the open window, a bag strap poking out from under the bed, and a pair of shoes tucked neatly into the corner. Aside from that there’s nothing. Even the desk looks unused, with not so much as a single quill on top.

Scorpius sweeps his wand across the whole room. “Specialis Revelio.”

A beat of silence. Nothing happens.

Scorpius tries another couple of spells to check for traps or any other dark magic but there’s nothing here that he knows how to detect. Either the room is perfectly safe or there’s some darker, better hidden enchantment here. But if he wants to go exploring then he doesn’t have much choice but to assume that his detection spells are up to scratch. He cautiously steps into the room and turns around on the spot, trying to decide what to have a look at first.

In the end he goes for the bag under the bed. He carefully eases it out and starts going through it, making sure to replace everything exactly where he found it. There’s nothing much in there of interest. It must be her kit bag, because it’s got a dragon hide jacket in there, a water bottle, and a couple of tiny bottles of potions and salves that must be for healing.

He nudges the bag back under the bed and goes through the bedside drawers next. These too contain nothing of much interest. There are a couple of ordinary books that don’t reveal any hidden messages when Scorpius casts spells on them. Aside from that there’s very little in there at all, and he quickly gives up on those and goes to the desk.

When he touches the handle of the top drawer, he instantly recoils as an electric shock crackles through his hand and up his arm. He wriggles his fingers and looks at the handle. Sparks of magic flicker up and down it, and he points his wand at it and casts Finite Incantatem. Instantly the sparks crackle brighter, flaring up and arching out towards him. He dives back and tries a couple of other more powerful spells, eventually succeeding in killing the enchantment so the sparks fade and die.

He gives it a second before he inches across to the desk again, and this time when he tries to open the drawer nothing stops him. It slides open easily, with just a little rattle, and inside he finds a single notebook and a quill.

He takes the notebook out and quickly checks the second drawer, but there’s nothing inside. A quick check of the rest of the table doesn’t reveal any hidden drawers or cupboards, and there’s nothing much on the table top besides a couple of pieces of blank parchment. The notebook is the best he has to go on.

He flips it open to a random inside page. It’s blank, so he flicks through the pages, running his thumb over the corners of each page so they rifle past. The whole book seems to be blank. But if it was really blank why would Delphi have protected it with a complicated bit of magic? Why would she bother?

He leans in close and presses his nose to the page, trying to see any trace of writing. There’s nothing to indicate that anything has ever been written here. No sign of anything erased of vanished. But there has to be something.

“Specialis Revelio,” he mutters, giving it a sharp tap with his wand. Nothing happens.

He picks the book up and inspects the front and back covers. There’s nothing written on either, no instruction for revealing the text or anything. But there must be a key. Perhaps he has to use Parseltongue to ask it to open or something, not that he knows any Parseltongue. Or perhaps this is like Riddle’s diary, and he has to write in the book.

He picks up a quill and lets it drop on the first page, but after several seconds it becomes clear that the ink isn’t going to sink into the paper. It blots the surface, leaving a big black mark. Still the book does nothing.

Sighing, he steps back and stares at the book. If he does have to use Parseltongue then this is going to be hopeless. He doesn’t know any, and even if he did it’s supposed to be impossible to learn. If only he’d kept the dictionary, then he might have had a chance.

He pulls the folded up note from his pocket and looks at it, trying to work out if there’s any way of using it, any hints at the translations of the words. He’s made a few scrawlings in the margins while he’s been working on his translation, and for one of the words he’s jotted down a rough pronunciation guide.

He tests out the sounds, and he knows he sounds absolutely ridiculous. If Albus were here and the situation less dangerous, they’d probably both have a good laugh about it. But right now he’s alone and Delphi should be back any minute, so he has to get on with it.

The sounds – they’re not really words to him – feel strange in his mouth, and he has to practice them a couple of times before he can even begin to work out what he’s doing. There’s a lot of hissing and spitting, and it sounds more like he’s mimicking an angry cat than trying to talk snake language. Finally he runs his fingers through his hair and decides that, unless the diary is designed to self-destruct when someone speaks terrible Parseltongue at it, he loses nothing by having a go.

He braces his hands on the desk and leans in close, looking down at the cover of the diary. There’s a little crest embossed in gold in one corner, and at the centre of the crest is a snake. He looks at the snake and tries to imagine that he’s talking to it.

His first attempt comes out all wrong. He gives a sharp hiss makes it sound like he’s being strangled, and spit flies everywhere, all over his face and the desk.

“Whoops,” he mutters wiping away the little flecks with his fingers.

He sighs and stares down at the book again. For some reason he gets the distinct feeling that Albus would probably be a lot better at this than he is, but sadly Albus isn’t here and he has no real option besides having another go.

His second attempt is a little bit better. It doesn’t get the diary to respond, but at least he doesn’t spit all over himself, and he thinks he might be starting to get his mouth round the words.

Attempt three is his best yet, and the diary starts to glow with a faint purple light. He flips open the cover and sees that the faintest outlines of words are starting to appear, shining luminescent in the strange glow. They’re not quite readable yet but they’re getting there, so he tries the Parseltongue again and this time, finally, the book is fully convinced. Purple light bursts out of it, and the room seems to dim around him, throwing the letters and words within into sharp relief.

He claps a hand over his mouth to stop himself cheering out loud and pulls the book closer to him. Thankfully the writing in here isn’t Parseltongue. It’s English, written in a messy scrawl that’s just about legible enough for Scorpius to read it.

The diary, and it is definitely a diary now that the text has been fully revealed, takes up almost the whole book. There are a few pages still blank at the end, but other than that everything is full of Delphi’s scribblings.

The book seems to date all the way back to 2018, and when Scorpius starts reading he realises with a jolt that Albus is mentioned on the first page.

Watched youngest Potter boy on Platform 9 3/4. Later discovered he was sorted into Slytherin. Something to keep an eye on?

When he flips further through he finds that many of the entries mention Albus. In fact the diary charts almost every one of the events Albus has told Scorpius about over the past week and a half. It’s like seeing the past seven years of Albus’s life charted in front of him. Even stranger is seeing it from Delphi’s point of view, with notes of Albus’s behaviour and attitude, tiny hints of triumph when she’s getting what she wants from him, and frustration when she’s not.

And then he starts to find the other little bits and pieces, things from Delphi’s own life, things that he can’t imagine Albus even knows. He finds notes from the last year spent in Europe. She had meetings with werewolves, giants, trolls, and those are just the ones mentioned that he spots as he skims. Her writing grows increasingly excited as her plan comes together, but he still can’t find what the plan is. Perhaps she wasn’t stupid enough to put it down in writing.

He flicks feverishly through the pages, wanting to find whatever it is he’s looking for and copy it before he needs to leave, because time must be running short by now.

“Come on come on,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair and searching faster and faster. When he gets really frustrated he taps his wand on the page and searches the book for ‘plan’ but he’s not surprised when nothing comes back.

In the end he stumbles across the truth by chance. He turns a page too fast and hard and tears the corner. As he swears and casts Reparo to fix it, he spots Delphi’s words, a frustrated little musing to herself.

I hate him. If I could kill him I would, but I need him. It will be far more fun with him involved. Use the boy to lure Potter in, son kills father, and in the chaos that follows I take the place that should have been my father’s almost 30 years ago. Fate, just as the Augurey prophesied. I am Voldemort’s daughter and this world is my birthright.

Scorpius reels back in pure horror. He blinks several times to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him, but every time he does he sees the words as if they’re burned into the insides of his eyelids.

I am Voldemort’s daughter.

Even though his hands are shaking, even though he wants to run a hundred miles from this place and drag Albus to safety with him, there’s one last thing he has to do before he leaves. He draws his wand to make a copy of the page, but just as he does he hears a floorboard creak behind him and he freezes.

“Did you find something interesting to read?” Delphi asks.

Scorpius’s grip tightens around his wand and he puts a hand on the edge of the desk to stop his knees buckling. Caught in the act. And this time there’s no Albus to come and save him.

He turns slowly to face her. “Delphi,” he says brightly. “I just thought I’d-“

“Petrificus Totalus.”

His body goes stiff and he falls straight backwards, slamming the middle of his back against the edge of the table. He gives a groan of pain and closes his eyes. His wand is still in his hand but he can’t move to wave it, so it’s worse than useless. He can’t even use it to call for help. He’s trapped here, stuck, and whatever she does next isn’t going to be pleasant.

“It’s not nice to read other people’s diaries, Scorpius,” she says, in a sweet voice, waltzing over and treading on his foot as she leans across to shut the diary. “Didn’t your parents teach you that? Although I suppose that’s the sort of thing mothers teach you, and yours wasn’t around for very long, was she?”

Scorpius boils with rage. He may be trapped but he’s not going down without a fight. “Don’t you dare talk about my-“

“Silencio,” she says, with a casual flick of her wand.

Scorpius’s words die in his throat and even when he moves his mouth nothing comes out. Trapped and silent. No one can hear him scream.

He looks at her, just about able to move his eyes to see where she is, but she doesn’t make it hard for him. She leans in close, right in his face, and grins at him.

“It’s been such a touching reunion between you and Albus, and now you’re going to tell me why.”

He wants to ask what she means, but he can’t speak. Instead he just stares at her and hopes that she’ll at least have the mercy to end whatever’s about to come quickly.

“I’ve been with him for seven years,” she says. “Every single day. But he’s still obsessed with you. I don’t understand, but you’re going to help me. Now, let’s have some fun.”

She touches her wand to his temple and he screws his eyes tight shut, waiting for a flash of green light and a rush of wind. But it never comes, instead she breathes into his ear, soft and intimate, “Crucio.”

The pain that follows is only made more excruciating by the sudden shock of it. There’s nothing Scorpius can do to temper it. He can’t scream, he can’t clench his fists or contort his body. He just leans there as he’s wracked with it, too much to bear, shooting from his brain down his spine and through every single limb. He’s locked in place, screaming inside, and he doesn’t know how much more agony like this he can take.

When it ends he can’t even show his relief. All he can do is open his eyes and try to draw in breaths.

Delphi pulls her wand back and walks away a few steps, turning on her heel in the centre of the room, a big grin on her face like she’s enjoying everything about this.

“It’s almost no fun with all those spells on you,” she says. “I can’t even see or hear the pain. What’s the point of that?” She points her wand at him, and he realises that she’s about to release him. His wand is still in his hand. Maybe he can cast the spell to call for help, or-

“Expelliarmus,” she says, and his last hope of salvation flies from his hand and spins away into a corner. Before he can mourn its loss the Full Body Bind Curse releases and he collapses in a heap on the floor, curling into a ball and rubbing his aching limbs. As he falls, the diary on the table is knocked down too, landing on the floorboards right beside him.

“Fulgari,” Delphi says, hitting him with another spell before he can think to do anything else. His wrists snap together, a searing band of fire burning around them. Next thing he knows she flicks her wand again and he hears himself gasp and cough. His voice is back.

“I know,” he says. “I know everything. You have to kill me. You don’t have another choice. Torture me as much as you like but I’m going to tell Albus and Harry everything the second they rescue me.”

Delphi gives a high, cruel laugh. “Rescue you? No one is coming to rescue you, Scorpius. You’re alone here, with just me. And in a second you’re going to remember nothing.” She directs her wand right at his head again.

“You’re going to torture me into insanity?” Scorpius asks. “Is that your grand plan? You know Albus might notice that and be a little bit-“

“Obliviate.”

A soft, warm numbness spreads through Scorpius’s mind. For a moment he doesn’t know anything at all, but then his thoughts coalesce and he discovers that he’s kneeling on the floor with Delphi, Albus’s friend, pointing a wand at him. There’s a book on the floor next to him and he knows it’s important, that he needs to take it to Albus, but he doesn’t remember why.

“What am I doing here?” He asks. “Why are you pointing your wand at me? I’m Albus’s boyfriend. You’re his friend. We’re on the same side.”

Delphi comes over and crouches down opposite him. “That’s better. Although you should know, little Malfoy, that we’re not on the same side. Not unless you tell me exactly what I need to know.”

Scorpius frowns at her, confused. He looks down and realises that his wrists are stinging because they’re bound. The spell around them is making beads of blood stand out on his skin as it scorches him. “What do you need to know? Can you take this off me too? It hurts.”

Delphi puts her wand under his chin, lifting it so he’s looking at him, he stares up at her. “Why is Albus obsessed with you?” She asks. “What have you done to him? Is it a spell? An enchantment? A love potion? You’ve warped his mind. How?”

Scorpius swallows and pulls back, getting the wand away from him. “What? I haven’t done anything. Albus just... he loves me. I’m his boyfriend. He’s in love with me.”

Delphi pulls her wand back and twirls it between her fingers, scrutinising him. “Love,” she says softly. “I know that. I’ve had to listen to him talk about it enough. But how did you get him to love you? What did you do?”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I-I don’t think I understand the question. I didn’t do anything. I just... I was. I am. He... He loves me. Because I’m me, or... I don’t even know why, but he does.”

“That’s rubbish,” Delphi says, getting to her feet. “You’re lying to me. You’re not telling me everything.”

“I’m not,” Scorpius says, struggling onto his knees. “I promise, I-“

“Crucio.”

He screams. Waves of pain wash through his body like a tsunami, leaving only wreckage and devastation behind. His limbs cramp and he can’t stop himself from contorting. His throat is raw with the intensity of his screams. He hits his head on the floor as he falls sideways, and when the pain stops he lies there in a daze, gasping for breath, terror coursing through him because he doesn’t understand. What is Delphi doing? Why is this happening? He doesn’t know how to stop this.

“Now,” Delphi says, sitting cross-legged on the floor opposite him and laying her wand there. “Tell me how you made Albus fall in love with you, or I’ll make the pain even worse.”

Scorpius manages to get his elbow on the floor and push himself half upright without hurting his wrists too much. The spell binding them still burns and aches but he doesn’t let it brush his skin any more than it was already.

Once he’s propped on one elbow he looks at Delphi. “I didn’t make Albus do anything. He loves me because he wants to. I can’t tell you why because that’s not how it works. Why does anyone love anyone? Because... because they find something in the other person that brings them joy and life and... and makes them want to get to know that person as intimately as they can.”

Delphi nods and slides forward towards him, an eager look on her face. “I want to know Albus. I want to know his secrets, how he can be used. I understand that. Keep going.”

Scorpius recoils from her, falling onto his backside but managing to stay upright. “But that’s not love. You don’t use someone you love. You’re his best friend, why don’t understand that? If you love someone you want to know them just because... because. Because they’re fascinating. Because they’re beautiful. Because they’re another human that you respect, and- I can’t tell you how to make Albus love you. I don’t know how I made him love me. I didn’t make him love me. He just did it because he wanted to.”

“You must have done something,” Delphi says. “Love is magic. I know that. Lily Potter’s Charm, and- How do you do that magic? What’s the spell?”

Scorpius shakes his head. “There isn’t a spell. That’s not how it works. It happens.”

Delphi scrutinises him for a long moment, then she gets to her feet and flicks her wand dismissively in his direction. “Useless. Crucio.”

Sharp agony, inside him, around him, overwhelming him, utterly unbearable. He falls backwards, and when his body jars on the floor the pain pales into insignificance beside the pain of the torture. His toes curl, he claws at his torso trying to tear the pain out of him somehow. There’s no relief. It goes on and on, never ending, until it stops and he lies there, trying to feel nothing.

“Last chance,” Delphi says, cold and sharp, undeterred by his failed attempts to answer so far. “Tell me the secret.”

“I’ve...” Scorpius grunts and twists round to look at her, “told you. There isn’t a secret. I haven’t done anything to him. I offered him sweets on the train when we first met, I stuck by him when he was miserable, I helped him feel connected to his life again last week, that’s it.” He sits with his bound, aching hands between his knees and looks Delphi in the eye. “Delphi, you’re his best friend. He already loves you. I don’t know why you can’t see it but there’s nothing you need to do. There is no secret. You’ve already won. You don’t need to do this, I promise.”

“No,” she says, levelling her wand at him and shaking her head. “No that’s not true. He’s more loyal to you than to me. You’ve been here a week and a half and he’s fallen in love with you. You’re stealing him from me, and you can’t deny it.”

Scorpius sighs. “Just a thought but have you tried being nice to him?” He lifts his hands. “If this is what you do to make people tell you things then maybe he’s not inclined to be helpful. He’s not as tolerant as I am.”

A smile curls across Delphi’s lips. “I didn’t know you could be a smartass. Maybe this is what Albus sees in you. You have spirit.”

“I’m very flattered,” Scorpius says. “Will you let me go now?” He holds his hands out to her. His brain is foggy, his whole body aches, especially his back, and his wrists are really bleeding now.

“No,” Delphi says bluntly. “You haven’t helped, even a little bit. I think you’re being difficult. I think you need more persuasion.”

“But I-“

Delphi’s wand slashes through the air. “Sectumsempra,” she barks.

Instantly Scorpius’s neat new shirt, the one he’d put on specially for his date, blossoms scarlet. It takes him a second to realise that he’s in terrible pain, and another second more to comprehend that he’s bleeding from a long gash across his torso. He curls in on himself, pressing his hands to it and staring up at Delphi.

“You’re going to make me... bleed to death?” He asks, already feeling faint. There really is a lot of blood. His hands are already soaked with it.

She slashes her wand through the air again and another bit of his shirt goes bright red, the two spots merging into one. Scorpius slumps sideways against the table leg, head spinning.

“I can’t tell you anything, if you-“

“You’d better talk quickly then,” she says. “Hadn’t you.”

“I don’t... have anything to tell you,” Scorpius says, trying to put pressure on both wounds at once, even as he slides further onto the ground. “I’ve already... said that. And even if I did I... I think I’d rather die.”

Another slash, and Scorpius’s body convulses with the pain of it. He collapses sideways, the world going dark around the edges. So this is it. A death of confusion and excruciating pain, at the hands of someone who’s supposed to be his boyfriend’s best friend.

As his eyes flutter closed he spots the book lying on the floor, now splattered and stained with his blood. No one will know it’s here. If he dies no one will know what’s inside it. If by some miracle he survives this, someone needs to find out about the book. But he’s not going to survive this, so...

Everything goes black. He floats in nothingness. The pain slowly subsides. And then he realises there are hands on him, supporting his back, sitting him up slightly.

“Albus?” He whispers.

“Unfortunately for you, not Albus.”

He opens his eyes to see Delphi again. She has an arm round his back, and there’s something hard pressing into the back of his neck. It takes him a moment to realise that it’s her wand.

“I’m not dead,” he says softly. “I thought I was bleeding.”

“Not anymore,” Delphi says. She strokes her fingers through his hair, making him shudder. “Poor Scorpius. Useless Scorpius. Unable, or perhaps unwilling, to tell me anything. But Albus will never know how loyal you’re being. You’re all alone again, Scorpius. Always alone. Well, I suppose you’re technically not alone now. You’ve got me.” She gives a high-pitched, cold laugh that sends chills down Scorpius’s spine. He tries to wriggle away but she grips the back of his shirt and holds him steady.

“You’re going to help me,” she murmurs. “You’re going to break eventually. It’s only a matter of time, I know it is. There are some things that no one can resist. Crucio.”

This time the agony shoots straight down Scorpius’s spine and he loses himself. His limbs are trembling. He doesn’t know if he’s shouting or screaming or if he’s in too much pain to make a sound. He can’t see or hear and think. He almost can’t even feel because the pain is burning white hot through every inch of him, overriding every other part of his existence. There’s nothing beyond the pain, and it stretches on from seconds into minutes into hours and days, weeks, months. The pain goes on forever. There’s sharp bile in his throat and warm wet against his legs, but those are distant human sensations, and Scorpius isn’t human anymore, because you can’t go through this and remain human.

When Delphi finally removes her wand, Scorpius realises that he’s managed to roll onto his front and there are hot tears stinging his face. He must have thrown up from the agony of it because there’s sick among the blood on the floor, and he realises that his trousers are damp too. He lies there, still in too much pain to move, limbs still shaking, humiliated and exhausted.

“Why haven’t you killed me?” He whispers, voice hoarse and raw. “I don’t understand. I can’t give you what you want. Just let me go.”

Delphi pats him on the back and he twitches and groans. “No. You’re too useful to be killed. I’ll just have to keep going with this instead. Don’t tell me you’re not having fun.”

Scorpius fixes his eyes on the book that he’s now managed to kick under the desk by accident, which Delphi seems to have forgotten about. He needs her to not remember it. “So much fun,” he murmurs. “This is wonderful.”

“Good,” Delphi says. “Then we can-“

There’s a whooshing in the distance, and suddenly Delphi’s hands are gone and he hears footsteps creaking across the floorboards and a wash of green light fill the room.

“What do you want?” Delphi asks. “I’m busy, I’ve got a guest.”

“Augurey,” a man says. “I’m sorry to bother you, but the meeting at the Sign of the Black Dog... You asked us to wait for you there. We wanted to know if you were still coming, because if not, then we can-“

“Shit. Is Von Strasser there?”

“Yes, everyone is.”

“Fine. I’m coming. Give me five minutes and I’ll be there. Send my apologies.”

“Yes, Augurey.”

Another whoosh and the green light fades. More footsteps, and then Scorpius is yanked off the floor by the collar of his shirt, and pulled onto his back.

“You’re going to wait here,” Delphi says, face looming right in front of his. Her eyes are so cold and black. There’s barely any spark of life in them. “You’re going to lie here until I come back, and when I do we’ll continue this discussion.”

“Okay,” Scorpius breathes.

“Glad to hear it.” She grabs hold of his hair and twists his head to the side, pulling his hair hard enough that he lets out a cry of pain, but she doesn’t seem to care. “Silencio. Petrificus Totalus.”

Scorpius goes silent and his body goes rigid. Delphi drops him to the ground and he lies there, immobile and unable to talk. With his head tilted to the side he can see the space under the desk. He can see the notebook. He can see hope. He’s not dead, and he can see the thing that contains all the answers.

“Be good,” Delphi says, tapping her wand on his head, so the trickling sensation of a Disillusionment Charm passes down his whole body. “Oh, and I suppose I should...” She presses the tip of her wand to his temple, and Scorpius expects more torture, but instead she says “Obliviate” and his mind goes blissfully numb again.

When his thoughts coalesce he can hear footsteps walking away across the room he’s in. He knows that he’s covered in blood and vomit and urine but he doesn’t know how or why. His body is in unbearable pain but he can’t speak or move to get any release. He’s trapped, immobile, and whoever did this to him has just walked away.

Does anyone know he’s here besides them? Is he going to be rescued? Panic rises inside him and his chest gets tight. He tries to steady his breathing and keep calm. He tries to think about Albus. They were supposed to have a date. Maybe Albus will notice he’s missing. If Albus can find that he’s here – wherever here is – then maybe he’ll see all the blood and realise that Scorpius is invisible and abandoned on the ground. That thought calms Scorpius down a little, and he exhales a shaky breath, just about keeping his fear and pain at bay.

He gazes into the darkness under the desk and sees the pale pages of a notebook, hidden in shadow under there. That notebook is important. If anyone does come to save him they need to take that. That has the answers to everything. Nothing has ever been more important.

So as a rushing sound and a wash of emerald green floods the room then ebbs away and he settles in to wait either for oblivion or for salvation, he focuses all his thoughts on the book. His brain may be foggy and confused, he may have never felt more scared in his life, he may want to just lie here and cry, every inch of his body may be in the most excruciating pain, but the book gives him something to hold on to. The book is his reason to keep remembering; to stay alive, to stay conscious, to stay sane. The book is his reason to keep hoping for rescue.

Time passes. The sun wheels round in the sky beyond the window. Shadows shift and lengthen. And Scorpius lies utterly immobile, drifting in and out of consciousness, but always holding that one mantra in his head: the book is the answer, we need the book. The book is the answer, we need the book. The book is the answer, we need the book...

[mochidoodle]

Houseki - 宝石

Since there’s been some curiosity about it lately, I’ve decided to officially introduce Houseki! Houseki is my original series made with the help of my faithful editor-in-chief @ukitakejuushiro​​​.

It all began with my first D&D character, a half-elf druid named Eizan Shen whose backstory I fleshed out over the past year. The story takes place in the elf nation of Liang (Chinese: 亮), meaning “light/brightness.” I incorporated my Asian heritage into a fantasy, magic-filled world brimming with all the classic (and favorite) fantasy story tropes. Sky-high towers and mages and dragons...a mix modern fashion with ancient Chinese wardrobes...and a set of unique customs built on Asian foundations. (ok now I sound like a chef on Chopped😅)

This explanation ended up hella long, so the rest is under the cut! I’m so happy people are curious about Houseki. It’s the culmination of my love for drawing, world-building, and storytelling (and anime ofc lol). Hope y’all enjoy my first original story!

The Kingdom of Liang

The prosperous Kingdom of Liang is a country landlocked on three sides, facing the sea on its west coast. It’s ruled by an oligarchy-monarchy mishmash I’ve yet to totally work out and three big political factions I won’t delve into too much now. The important thing to know is Eizan’s wife, Saya, connects him to the nobility because she’s the niece of the king. Her entire backstory is a wild ride involving a dispute for the throne, “dishonoring” her clan, and finding a family for herself. 

For the most part, the main plot revolves Eizan and his job. If you’ve read MTNN by Matsui Yuusei, you’ll figure out exactly who inspired Eizan...in fact he’s kinda like a (slight) Pokemon evolution of my favorite MTNN character (lol oops...)

Anyway, for that reason, I gave Eizan a similar-ish job. (I’ll keep Eizan spoilers to a minimum here because the campaign I’m playing right now has yet to reveal his deets... but if asked, I’d be happy to give’em!) We follow his adventures and meet his best friend, Taizi (a human) and his brother-in-law, Chai (an aspiring mage). 

Due to a horrific 100-year-long war (appropriately named the 100 Year War), Liang experiences the aftereffects of rampant xenophobia. Nowadays, border relations are peaceful and the xenophobia is minimal, but the bitter aftertaste of intermittent racism and elf elitism remains. 

We get a dose of this in Taizi’s backstory — Taizi and his human family were immigrant beggars rejected by the locals until Eizan’s father offered them a home and helped them get back on their feet. Ever since then, Eizan and Taizi have been the best of friends, like brothers. 

Meanwhile, Chai, the snooty son of one of the biggest royals around, learns what it means to be the “non-elite.” He meets Taizi, his sister marries Eizan (a commoner and a half-blood), and he becomes a working apprentice at the local woodshop. His is a tale of self discovery, treating people with fairness, finding his own goals, and opening his worldview when he crosses paths with characters from all walks of life.

Jade

One of the most important customs in Liang is the symbolism of jade. Jade is the most sacred stone, symbolizing a lifelong promise between two (or more) people. It is a vow of friendship, family, love, and loyalty. Jade is not to be gifted lightly. Royals tend to have a family and/or individual ring made of jade.

Most, if not all couples, will exchange unique jade pieces when they marry. I call it “Trade a Jade” (˚▽˚) For example, Eizan gave Saya her hair clip and she gave him a set of earrings. Sky gave Yuri a beautiful hair ornament, and she gave him jade chevron ear cuffs. (Couples do trade other items, but these happened to be similar gifts.)

Magic

The theory of magic in Liang is based off the number eight, representing harmony and balance. Mages use “anchors” to connect themselves to the natural energy of the world. While magic theory/technique may vary geographically, Liangese magic always utilizes eight anchors. A gate between the first seven anchors and the universe is established using your soul anchor (the eighth pillar, one’s own mana). The first seven are elemental anchors (fire, earth, water, etc) which draw power from the natural world. The stronger the mage, the purer the magic, meaning one can draw a greater quantity of power with a better connection.

Gemstones — houseki (宝石) — are used to enhance the channels established by anchors. Certain jewels even have elemental affinities. Stones with high purity resonate strongly and channel the best magic. 

Fun fact: If you take away the hat-shaped radical in the first character of Houseki, you get the word for “jade”...! 

Connecting to different anchors produces different spells. For example, combining several elements provides complex magics like telepathy and foresight. Using only one type of anchor creates create pure magic, such as straight up fire or water spells. However, magic is not produced out of thin air — it requires a trade of the user’s mana for the world’s energy. A spell’s strength still depends on the caliber of mage, not just what anchors they use.

Magic tools are very common. They use magic batteries made of gems/metal ores or simply rely on the user’s mana. Inscriptions and magic circles establish anchors if none are enchanted into the gems. High quality magic tools are made of metals with high magic compatibility. The more common items made from regular steel, stone, and glass include thoughtography radios, magic-infused cameras, and quartz crystal TVs.

Additionally, healing is possible by accessing life element anchors (found in your soul anchor or in organic objects) to summon sheer life force energy. Liangese healing magic is very advanced to the point where one can conduct brain and open-heart surgeries. However, the usage of certain magics is forbidden without qualification. Medicinal magic is limited to certified clerics, and alchemy is strictly prohibited unless you’ve graduated from the capital’s School of Alchemy. 

Note: Much sketchy underworld business revolves around black magic, illegal alchemy, and magic weapons trade.

Basic spells are taught in grade schools, but not everyone has strong magic affinity, so mastery isn’t a requirement. Most children continue on to a regular university, vocational school, or magic academy if they don’t enter a direct apprenticeship following primary education. Easy spells are frequently used in daily life to simplify tasks. For example, one can check the quality of materials or speed up certain processes using analysis/trace magic. Cooking magic is an entire art on its own, and very difficult to master.

There are laws banning time-altering magic and revival of the dead, but very few ever violate them. This is because these spells never end well. You can land in an eternal time loop or accidentally create a soulless, man-eating zombie. And then you die.  While spells that save someone on the brink of death in exchange for one’s own life force do exist, you cannot bring back the dead. 

There is only one exception to this, and even that singular instance required hundreds of years of research and preparation, not to mention the cost.

Finally, certain noble clans specialize in different magics, often attaining mastery of multiple disciplines. I’ll save that for a different post, but for now, just know that the Cheng Lis are primarily fire, alchemy, and space/time mages. Eizan is good with earth or plant-based spells (aka he has a great green thumb!)

commissioned art by Ling

Plot (???)

The plot of Houseki is still a work in progress. I have a general outline that I keep adding to as more ideas come. I’m writing out the fine details/arcs, which will include the dark underbelly of the royal world, black magic, a threat to the nation, the secret to life (?), and the truth behind the throne. Love me my cliches hehe~

Here are some character facts you might find interesting! ...okay, yes, my cast is like 90% one royal family and I have terrible naming sense (I legit named Taizi after my fave badminton player) but here ya go!

MAIN CAST 

Eizan Shen: A half-elf druid created for my first ever D&D campaign hosted by a friend! He’s a huge family man and an avid tea enthusiast. Very calm, levelheaded, and specializes in handling a knife...or many knives. (I don’t know where he keeps them...😨) Eizan gives off ultimate dad vibes and his most treasured thing in the world is his family.

Saya Shen: Eizan’s wife, a full elf born to one of the most powerful royal clans. She was supposed to be the first princess of Liang, but was disowned by her family when she rebelled from their ideals and married a commoner (and a half-blood, to boot). She’s an incredibly strong woman both mentally and physically, but also one of the warmest, most loving characters in the series. Oh, also her biceps are made of steel.

Chai Cheng Li: Saya’s little brother, a young mage prodigy who specializes in fire magic. He’s a tad snooty and arrogant, but at heart just a nerdy bookworm who loves magic. He grows up admiring his sister, feeling heartbroken when she “abandons” him and leaves the family, but later rediscovers himself and in his journey to become king. 

Taizi Ying: Eizan’s childhood friend. He and his family were immigrant beggars shunned by the locals until Eizan’s parents offered them a place to stay. After his parents died of illness, Taizi made it his life goal to repay the kindness that Eizan’s family showed him years ago. He becomes the greatest swordsman in the nation and earns great respect despite the human blood in his veins. 

Dae Ongaku: She is spunk in the form of a small elf girl, the one and only Dae. Head apprentice of the Shen Woodworking Company, her skills are nearly unrivaled. She’s known for her contagious smile, eccentric love of cheese, and her liveliness. It really isn’t a day without Dae Ongaku. (Character inspired and written by @ukitakejuushiro)

Sky Silvers: A cool and aloof elven ranger who befriends Eizan during our D&D campaign, later residing in the Shen household temporarily before he becomes a disciple of the greatest archer in Liangese history, Hanzhen Cheng Li. In the future timeline, Sky also ends up falling in love with Han’s daughter and marrying her. (Sky belongs to @ukitakejuushiro, and is her player in the campaign.)

Hanzhen Cheng Li: Youngest brother of the king and Saya’s uncle. Known far and wide as the One-Eyed Archer, Han is the strongest archer in all of Liangese history. He lost function of his left eye in the 100 Year War, hence his nickname. His wife passed away due to cancer, but thanks to my incredible plot armor (backed up by a decent magic theory), she will come back to life. They’re the cutest shit you’ll ever see, so I have absolutely no regrets. Best decision ever.

Yumiko Cheng Li: Han’s beloved wife, a cute little lady with a head of fluffy chestnut hair. She died approximately 75-85 years ago due to an incurable cancer, but I brought her back to life because Han was too lonely and I love her to bits. She is pure sunshine, the actual greatest good in this world.

Just look at this...how can you say no....

Yuri Cheng Li: Daughter of Han and Yumiko. Like her parents before her, she is a skilled archer, and her personality is a perfect mix of the two. She has a passion for fashion, art, and teaching, but her emotionally tragic past hinders her confidence and her relationships. Fortunately, she meet someone who helps her becomes brave again, and fate aligns just right :’)

Hokuzhen Cheng Li: We should finally introduce the King of Liang himself, shouldn’t we? Cheerful and easygoing, Hoku is a kind and intelligent king. He’s very perceptive of the state of the nation, while also keeping up with “hip and cool” trends much to his daughter’s dismay. He can be somewhat clumsy, often tripping over his massive robes. A good man with one too many dad jokes...

Alishan Cheng Li: The Crown Princess of Liang, named after the literal Alishan mountain range of Taiwan. She’s Hoku’s daughter and Saya’s cousin. Ali is polite and well-mannered but not particularly adventurous or motivated. She knows for sure that she doesn’t want to inherit the throne. Oh, and she loves food (especially mantou) ♫

Bonus:

Wakamori Yakaze: A spirit mage from the western island country of Kouhaku. Yakaze is Sky’s first teacher and Han’s best friend. Though he doesn’t appear in Houseki’s main plot, he’s a main character in Han’s spinoff story, which will rejoin the final timeline of the main series. Yakaze’s tale is one of angst and hopelessness and his journey to someday becoming whole again. Personally, I believe his friendship with Han is unrivaled, far surpassing both love and life. Keep an eye out for him in YUMI TO YA —弓と矢  (Yakaze belongs to @ukitakejuushiro)

ANTAGONISTS

Yan Wu Seigi: A cunning mage who runs an underworld spy network. He is the head of the Seigi clan (and political faction), but his heinous actions in the 100 Year War dishonored his clan, and they were stripped of their status. His sly methods and ulterior motives drive the underlying plot behind Houseki.

Akagi Kanshikan: Yan Wu’s adopted son. Akagi lost his family to a house fire when he was young. He grows up a wild, obsessive, and unstable youth who craves social intimacy but doesn’t know how to achieve it. His love for violence and lifelong training as an assassin don’t help much either. He meets Eizan during their school years and plays a large role in one of the more devastating arcs. 

Jimo Kanshikan: Akagi’s younger sister, a small, emotionless, and cold assassin. Trained to be a killer since her formative years, she is fast and deadly...but somewhere deep inside, she wishes Yan Wu would show her fatherly approval and she seeks warmth from her sibling(s). 

Shanmu Seigi: Yan Wu’s only biological daughter, a wicked poison enchantress who adores mind games. She supports her father’s regime but also has an evil plan of her own. The shame of their clan drove her to mother to madness, and Shanmu’s hand in her mother’s demise explains why she has become so twisted. Shanmu is a recurring antagonist who cleverly slips beyond reach of the law.

Hayazhen Cheng Li: The eldest Cheng Li brother, Saya’s father, and formerly the Crown Prince of Liang. He was once a benevolent man to his loved ones, but after an unfortunate plot twist, he begins seeking vengeance in the form of cruelly grooming his heir. Hayazhen is a key national figure and maintains strong influence behind political tides. 

Asuka Cheng Li: Hayazhen’s wife, mother of Saya and Chai. She supports her husband’s endeavors regrets her inability to help Hayazhen make wiser choices. Instead, she blindly takes his side, thinking it was the only way to support him. 

Junzhen Cheng Li: A stingy, arrogant second Cheng Li brother. He’s just straight up mean and rude, no holds barred. But no one gives a damn about him either lol.

SUPPORTERS & FRIENDS

Setsuna Reifan: A renowned healer who spearheads the movement for workers’ rights and class equality. She becomes an important ally to the main cast. 

Ichirou Reifan: Setsuna’s son, a member of Eizan’s team. A really average joe. Pleasant to be around, but not very interesting.

Hyouka Tsaomei: A quiet, sweet girl who specializes in illusionary magic. She loves strawberries. Her name means strawberry. Will kill for strawberry shortcake. 

Qiuzhen Rin Koori: Magic forensic specialist who only likes three things in this world — coffee, candy, and sleep. It pains him to get out of his chair, and it’s near impossible to extract him from his magic lab. 

Old Nao: Headmaster of one of the military academies in the capital. A kind man, but also incredibly ancient.

Torisu Bia: One of the Ongaku Daily Sun’s best political journalists. Doesn’t sleep much, loves to write, and gets her nose into sticky situations every now and then. Uncovers a great conspiracy.

Osamu Raisan: A bard of the royal court who plays the shamisen. Something about him is particularly ethereal and all-knowing...

Maikku Shantian: Another bard of the royal court. He sings. Loudly. A very popular bard amongst the populace. 

Layla Zanabaq: A local florist in the capital’s most immigrant-populated town, where Eizan and Saya live. Has a huge crush on Maikku. (Inspired and created by @harunnn)

Shu’un & Ranshao: Two of Chai’s university friends. The first is a salty little mage who uses familiars, and the second is the token idiot who only knows how to use explosion magic.

Paiya Yoon: Dae’s childhood friend and rival. She moves into the capital when she finds a new job there, rekindling their competitive friendship. She’s named after a papaya. Yes, you heard me, a papaya. (Inspired by @kyahgamis​)

Rem: Sky’s eternally sleepy childhood friend. Even while holding a conversation, there is a 99% chance he is asleep. May or may not be a ninja, but you didn’t hear that from m—

Collie: An archery kouhai from Sky’s youth. She looks up to him a lot and she flaps her ears when she’s excited, as if she might try and fly away. Collie is often mistaken for a boy.

Ra: A very Extra™ healer who has 100% faith in his skills (as should you). He calls people by their full name all the time (a power move), doesn’t skimp on eyeliner, and has known Sky since his village days as well. (Rem, Collie, Ra by @ukitakejuushiro)

FAMILY 

Ezi Shen: The plucky, curious daughter of Eizan and Saya! She adores the color pink and loves bows of all kinds: bow ties, ribbon bows, bow tie pasta, you name it! Ezi is quite the fearless little adventurer and one should consider it an honor to be invited to her weekly tea parties.

Daizan Shen: Eizan’s father, a master woodworker who owns the shop where Dae works. He’s a strict but fair man who earned great respect amongst fellow craftsmen with his hard work and skills. He and his wife serve as the liaisons between local mixed-race business and the corporate elf society. 

Meihua Shen: Eizan’s mother and Daizan’s wife. Though she was born to elite elven family, Meihua pursued her dream of being a seamstress. She now owns a beautiful dress and tailor shop. Despite being a pacifist, Meihua’s incredible intelligence was needed at the end of the 100 Year War, and she temporarily served as the head military strategist.

Tian Cheng Li: The only daughter of the previous king and sister to all of the Cheng Li brothers. Tian is an absolute riot who turns proper princess stereotypes on their heads. She is the root source of Saya’s spunky nature, the rebellious and boisterous Cheng Li aunt. 

Hayano and Irino Cheng Li: The notorious family twins, Tian’s youngest sons. They are the most chaotic duo of memes elves you’ll ever meet. They always have their hair dyed one wacky color or another. Lately it’s been orange (Hayano) and lavender (Irino). 

Hokkaia Hibari: Saya’s maternal grandmother, a very loving and tender woman who taught her grandchildren how to read and write. When the family dynamic turned sour, the children sought comfort in Hokkaia. She taught them to hope and dream :’) 

The Ongaku Family: Dae’s family of two fishermen, a navy boy, and the editor-in-chief of the Ongaku Daily Sun. They’re frequently so busy with work (coastal fishing, deployment, running the newspaper, etc) that they’re often absent from the household. As a result, Dae practically lives with the Shens nowadays.

Rei, Jun, & Maeno Cheng Li: The rest of Saya’s cousins. Rei is the oldest, an elegant but stiff woman. Underneath her guise of propriety, she seems lonely, like she just wants to have fun and be friends. Meanwhile, Jin is her stuck-up asshole of a little brother, a true snob. Don’t give Jin time of day, ever — it’ll get to his head. Finally, Maeno is the benevelent older bro of Tian’s twins. He has a soft, round stature and a warm smile.

Sei Ling Zhou: The former queen, mother of all the Cheng Li siblings, and the most renowned healer in history. She’s known for her quirky attitude and snarky clapbacks, having once turned down the proposal of the last king himself. Sei Ling will discover a never-before-seen spell that could very well be considered the “secret” of life...

Akira and Kawano Cheng Li: Akira is Junzhen’s wife and mother to Rei and Jin. She married into the family forcefully, desiring access to their magic libraries. Akira is not a stranger to getting what she wants. Kawano is Tian’s husband, a calm and steady man to balance out her spontaneity. He comes from a family that owns a fruit import company.

CUSTOMS

Jade: As mentioned before, the jade stone is the most precious and worshiped gem. Recklessly gifting jade would tarnish one’s reputation and belittle Liangese culture. Of course, they are understanding of mistakes, especially when foreigners are just learning about their customs.

Festivals: Liang has four big seasonal festivals — the Lantern Festival on the summer solstice, the Lunar Dance Festival in mid-autumn, the White Tiger Festival on the week of the new year, and the Jade Horse Festival on the spring equinox. People gather to pray to shrines, dance and sing, eat good food, and visit their families. 

Tournaments: Similarly, Liang also has four seasonal tournaments called “Medals.” Winners of the Medals, appropriately called Medalists, are recognized as the greatest master in their respective fields. (Minor competitions also occur, but these are the big ones):

There is the Swordsmanship Medal, which lasts five days and ends on the summer equinox (the day the Lantern Festival begins).

The Ceremonial Dance Medal in mid-autumn, which perfectly coincides with the Lunar Dance Festival. 

The Archery Medal on the winter solstice.

And finally the Horsemanship Medal during the spring equinox.

(all statistics are approximate and not quite final yet!)

Mastery of Arts: In Liang, mastery in any field (magic, arts, athletics, medicine, etc) is a very respected achievement. Oftentimes, masters are the older folks, hence why elders are held in high regard. An important plot point involves Taizi achieving mastery of the sword and winning the Swordsmanship Medal, defying classism and racism, and becoming one of the youngest and most respected masters of his generation. 

Market Day: A day-long event akin to an Asian night market or western farmers’ market. Shop owners, farmers, and restaurateurs gather in the central marketplaces of large and small cities alike to sell their specialty items. It’s a day to celebrate food and advertise your best goods! 

PLACES

Hisui: The capital. It has a circular layout and lies in the western central region of Liang. The Royal Palace sits at its center, hugged by a river that comes from the north. The Inner and Outer Capital are areas separated by the imaginary circle drawn by the river. This line divides the government and business sectors from the smaller residential districts.

Hayashi: Saya’s main hometown growing up. An industrial city slightly northeast of the capital.

Bing Harbor: Han’s city of residence in the northwestern province. It is Liang’s biggest port town, and thus the “gate” to the western world. Bing Harbor is known for its beautiful winter landscapes and seamless escape into vast forests.

Huamao: Eizan’s hometown, where he met Taizi. Known for its peaceful gorges, clear pools, and beautiful small cascades. 

Mountains: The mountain ranges surrounding Liang are classified into three different regions, each with their own specialty resources (i.e. mountain ore, lumber, etc). They are home to a few aboriginal clans. 

Huen: The southernmost Hisui district. It has the highest immigrant and non-elf population in the capital. This where Eizan currently lives. 

Haretsuki Lake: A large lake shaped like a crescent moon crashed into the sun. It lies in a valley to the southeast and has much historical relevance.

Here is a vague, incomplete map of Liang (still a really rough draft so far, and not quite the shape I want it to be...):

As you can see, I have great naming sense (´∀｀；) I either name on a whim or I throw in references to my family in some way or another... Anyway, I plan to change the shape and layout a bit. I’m not quite satisfied yet...

In conclusion... 

That...was a lot. If you made it this far, holy shit? Thank you?? Feel free to check out my Houseki tag and ask questions and just...please talk to me about my OCs omg I’m so excited ( ๑>ᴗ<๑ )

This is kinda my first big original “project.” I’ve always wanted to do something like this and I’m super excited to share it. Most of it’s on my personal docs or in chats with Danie, but I will share it all eventually! And I’ll update the (very unfinished) Houseki blog with all the formatting and plot, so stay tuned!

[hcavenlybodies]

⟨ ellise chappell. cis woman. she/her. twenty-six. ⟩ we welcome sesa stark to winterfell , the princess of winterfell. keep an eye out for their naive nature, they tend to cover it up by acting creative. rumor has it they are neutral towards the peace treaty, and their loyalties lie with house stark / targaryen. you’ll know it’s them when you get flashes of a plainly cladded woman standing amongst deers in wolfswood who all get alerted of a new presence, paintings and songs of a world long lost, red-shaded cheeks of embarrassment far too easily attained.

many say the two stark wives had always been in competition, always wanting to be the first at something. yet, it seemed when it came to daughters, they both were equally matched. with the birth of sesa came the idea and expectations that she could one day raise herself to greater heights than her stark cousins. yet, she was sorely mistaken. though, was it truly that bad? as it seemed she would birth a child who’s entire energy was ethereal in itself, angelic. she barely even cried as a child, a true dream for any mother.

she sat through every lesson, listened to everything her mother had told her to do. yet, many could almost hear the way the words seemed to float in the air for her. she had no true care for the concept of being royalty, or nobility for that matter. she was simply a lady who would find herself far too enchanted by her surroundings. everything in her visions seemed to be tinted rose as she would walk around the forests barefoot and trace every tree’s crevices as if they told a story. she would find herself among congregations of animals on a regular basis, as if they were summoned by her mere presence. her smile and soft melodic voice could be heard singing of tales and promises of old, poetry that only made sense when one listened from the beginning. 

many would alike her to a creature of the forest. not so much a goddess, but a nymph. if you were ever so lucky to gaze upon the innocence that would be among the ashtrees of wolfswood, one would surely feel as though they have entered an entirely new realm. it was this reputation that remained and persisted through her years. it was this embodiment of many visitors’ first impressions of the north that made her a jewel to be possessed. yet none were able to grasp her. she was simply far too gone in her own world for one to attempt to capture said attention. 

her visitations to white harbor were frequent as she loved and adored reila. often times she would remind her just how beautifully unnecessary they were to the ploys of politics and she adored it. the sea had become a friend just as the forests had, and soon she was saddened by the idea of reila leaving for the south. it was in this that she begged and proposed an idea to her uncle stark and to reila to allow her to travel with her. if only to be a reminder of home, to be a protector against the south, to ensure a constant reminder that their northern gem was never alone. after much persistence, her request was granted and she became a travelling companion to reila. 

her presence is something quite uncommon in the south, and many tend to stray away from her as they believe her to be slightly too ethereal for their liking. while she was never taught to fight as she hated the idea of wielding a sword, she is not one to sit back if provoked. one could say that her best weapon is her surroundings, as she can get rather creative in desperate times. 

other than that, many can find her among any sort of nature, among the bards and musicians, her nose in a blank book that possesses her sketching and writings of her mind. in another life, she would have been an artist, commissioned by many for the way she can someone capture the spirit of the environment around her. she might still be it, if only she weren’t too entranced by the world to care for money in such a way. 

[supremeuppityone]

The Old Megalomaniac and the Sea

This was written for KC Week Day 8. Klaus isn’t entirely sure how he ended up on a dolphin-watching tour, but the mysterious blonde captain is rather enchanting and the gentle waves are quite relaxing...almost like magic. 

“Luck is a thing that comes in many forms and who can recognize her?”

― Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

             An army of dolphins. The idea had merit, Klaus thought to himself as he recalled the utter stupidity of the hybrids he’d sired in preparation for the battle against Mikael. He leaned against the padded bench seat of the pontoon boat, an unusual calmness settling over him as he watched the gentle rise and fall of the waves as several dolphins frolicked in the distance.

           Klaus basked in the blinding lights as he stood on the stage, addressing the crowd as he mockingly taunted the Mystic Falls group who no doubt would attempt to foil his plans. “Thank you for being here with me to celebrate! It’s been a long time coming!” As he basked in the sunlight, he recalled the anticipation he felt that night, knowing that his father would die at his hand, despite whatever lies the Mystic Falls group tried to feed him about Mikael already being dead.

           He blinked, realizing that he couldn’t quite recall how he came to be sitting alone in a boat on what appeared to be the Gulf. A soft laugh behind him gave him pause. As he turned around, he was greeted by a pair of blue eyes that regarded him in amusement. Tipping the brim of her faded baseball cap emblazoned with, “Good vibes happen on the tides,” she said, “You’ve been deep in thought for awhile. Is everything ok?”

           While Klaus couldn’t exactly recall how he came to be there, he did recognize the stunning blonde at the wheel. After he’d broken his curse and he’d set out in search of werewolves, he’d made his way to Florida and a charming coastal town had proven to be home to a few werewolves he could add to his army. As he’d wandered among the docks to seek out his recruits who were fishermen by trade, his attention had been diverted by a lovely blonde rinsing off a boat that gave dolphin-watching tours.

           His attempts to chat her up had been frustrating as she’d narrowed those fierce blue eyes of hers and gave him the brush off each time. Finally, he’d grumbled that he was even willing to go on her bloody tourist trap cruise if it meant he could get to know her, but the feisty boat captain had smiled an oddly sad smile and replied enigmatically, “It’s not time.”

           He’d been both confused and charmed by the mysterious woman, but then Stefan had lured him back to Mystic Falls by claiming Mikael was dead, and he had no choice but to take his freshly made hybrids and leave. He’d been intending to seek her out again once he’d eliminated the threat of Mikael for good, and he was pleased to see he’d clearly followed through on the promise he’d made to himself.

           Realizing he’d been staring at the beautiful woman for a shade longer than was deemed polite, Klaus shyly ducked his curly head, answering with, “I can honestly say sweetheart I feel more peaceful than I have in years.” He added flirtatiously, “It must be your superior seafaring abilities, sweetheart.”

           She laughed in delight, her twin blonde braids flirting with the thin straps of her black tank top. “Usually the people I transport aren’t nearly as charming as you seem to be. You can call me Caroline.” She jerked her thumb behind her, pointing to two enormous black dogs that seemed to be the result of a Staffordshire shagging a bulldozer. “And that’s Acheron and Styx.”

           He blinked in surprise. How the bloody hell had he not sensed those beasts? “Interesting names for your companions. A fan of the classics, Caroline?”

           “You could say that,” she replied with a saucy wink that made him twitch pleasurably.

           Smoothly sliding over to the bench seat across from where she was driving the boat, he told her with a sexy smirk, “You can call me Klaus. And you could say I am a classic, love.” The Gulf breeze brought an unexpected chill with it, sending a shiver down his spine as he recalled Mikael’s taunts: “The big bad wolf. You haven't changed. Still hiding behind your playthings like a coward.”

           “Something on your mind, cheeky classic guy,” Caroline asked curiously, bringing him out of his dark thoughts.

           Klaus sighed, letting his gaze drift to the horizon, where the endless blue water seemed to beckon him. “Family troubles,” he offered, hating the hurt that tinged his voice as Mikael’s voice echoed in his mind: “Nobody cares about you any more, boy! What do you have other than those whose loyalty you forced? No one.”

           She nodded knowingly. “Yeah, I know what you mean. My parents are the personification of primordial darkness.”

           Taking in the way the sun gleamed in her hair and the brightness of her smile, he snorted derisively. “Rubbish. You’re a creature of light, anyone could see that.”

           The blush that stained her cheeks was immensely gratifying. Clearly embarrassed by his flirtation, she hastily asked, “What about you then? Which relative is giving you trouble?”

           Frowning at the reminder, Klaus answered, “My father. Well, the bastard I’d thought was my father. We recently had a...battle and despite knowing that the vendetta has been settled, I somehow still feel as though things are unfinished.” He was surprised at how easily the words tumbled from his lips, no regrets at having revealed his innermost concerns. As the waves gently rocked the boat, the peaceful calm returned, and he found himself returning Caroline’s soft smile.

           “I’ve seen my share of people with unfinished business,” she mused, sliding a finger along the opening of a dusty jar full of coins, “It’s easy for people to get lost down here.” Scrunching her nose adorably at him, she added, “You don’t seem the type though — there’s an inner strength you have that’s unusual in someone so young.”

           He chuckled at her ridiculous comment, closing his eyes momentarily at the curious noise the edge of the glass made as she continued to trace it with her finger. It was almost like a melody, one he couldn’t quite place but it felt like home. When he looked at her again, he was pleased to catch her returning his gaze with something akin to curiosity and perhaps even a hint of lust. “You flatter me, love. Although I must confess I’m a bit older than I look.”

           A metallic glint from a sunbeam caught his attention, and he noticed that the jar contained a variety of coins from all over the world. He was taken by surprise when he realized he didn’t recognize some of them, which appeared quite old. Arching a brow, he gestured toward the jar, “That’s quite the coin collection you have, sweetheart.”

           “People pay what they can afford,” Caroline answered with a shrug, “you could say I’m a collector.”

           Klaus was surprised by his wistful tone when he admitted, “In my time, I was a collector as well. Rare and beautiful artwork, some of which I flatter myself into thinking I’d inspired.”

           “And some of which you created yourself,” she said shrewdly, casually steering the boat as it gliding smoothly along the current. Noting his surprise, she explained, “You’re obviously a creator; I could sense it.”

           Such an intuitive creature, he thought. He wondered what else she could sense about him. He was surprised when Acheron and Styx suddenly approached him, one placing its massive head on his knee and the other nudging his hand until he started petting him. Sighing contentedly, he scratched behind their ears, not even minding the puddles of drool seeping into his clothes. Once he broke his curse and became a hybrid, he’d found that most animals were wary of him, sensing his ‘otherness’ and marking him as an even larger threat than when he was an Original vampire. However, these two beasts showed no signs of nervousness; in fact, whenever he tried to stop petting them, they seemed to take turns nudging him with a cold, wet nose or insistent paw.

           Noticing her pets’ antics, Caroline grumbled, “Acheron, Styx, down.” They immediately stopped pestering Klaus and lay on the floor between them, taking up all but a tiny sliver of space between their feet with their immense yet strangely calming presence.

           He was silent as he considered Caroline’s companions along with her enigmatic words during the cruise. Normally, his hybrid senses delivered nearly everything he needed to know about a person, but for some reason, he felt off. While his millennia of experience told him he wasn’t in any danger from Caroline or her odd companions, he still understood that he was missing something. There was something ‘other’ about Caroline that he didn’t understand how he could’ve overlooked. Searching for clues, he hastily put together the dogs’ unusual names and the ancient coins he saw peeking through her tip jar, and finally guessed, “You’re a Nereid, aren’t you, love?”

           “Because I have an affinity for the Gulf,” she asked with a knowing smile, “Trust me, anyone down here can make that claim; they wouldn’t put up with the ridiculous humidity otherwise.”

           Shifting a bit underneath her flirtatious gaze, he responded gruffly, “Also your beauty, sweetheart. I’d consider it an honor if you’d permit me to paint you.”

           “I think I’d like that,” she answered a bit breathlessly as she steered the boat toward a vibrant sunset. However, she grew unusually serious as she told him, “But I’m not a child of Nereus.”        

           Before Klaus could ask what troubled her, he was struck again by the echo in his mind, thinking back to some of his final words to Mikael as he threatened to end the doppelganger’s life: “My whole life you've underestimated me. If you kill her you lose your leverage. So, go ahead. Go on. Kill her. Come on, old man. Kill her. Kill her!” And then the Mystic Falls gang created a distraction as they double-crossed Mikael, while Klaus grappled for the white oak stake. Ending Mikael’s life had been his life’s quest for hundreds of years, and when he finally plunged that weapon into his cold, dead heart, he felt...odd. Why couldn’t he remember that moment? The details of his battle with Mikael were suspiciously blurry and he couldn’t understand why.

           Suddenly realizing that they couldn’t possibly have been on the boat long enough for it to be sunset, not to mention that he’d never seen a sunset with ribbons of blackest night like the one they were heading toward, he carefully asked, “Then what are you, sweetheart?”

           Caroline’s beautiful blue eyes darkened into twin glowing coals, reflecting the same darkness that threaded into the unusual sunset. As though sensing his disquiet, she placed a comforting hand on his arm, telling him, “Before time began, I was called Charon.” At his confused expression, she hastily explained, “The gods aren’t as the stories would have you believe. We appear as we choose. Tell me, Klaus, would you prefer to ferry lost souls to the underworld as a haggard, bitter old man, or a sassy little blonde with a fondness for dimpled bad boys?”  

           Her flirtations charmed him despite what he now knew deep in his soul to be the truth of his battle with Mikael. It was Mikael who had plunged the white oak stake into his heart. Mikael had killed him. Not ready to contemplate what that dark knowledge meant, he cleared his throat and flicked his gaze to the two enormous dogs at their feet, asking, “I don’t recall Charon having pets, love, wherever did you find them?”

           Caroline chuckled, her twinkling eyes resuming their innocent blue as she told him, “Hades freaks out if Cerberus isn’t guarding the underworld at all times, so he stubbornly only lets me take two out of the three heads with me when I’m out on the boat.”

           Blinking as the fog from his mind lifted, Klaus saw how the beasts merged into a two-headed dog. They whimpered, nudging his hands until he petted them once more, while a massive tail whipped against his legs with a force that would’ve knocked him down had he not already been sitting. With a sigh of resignation, Klaus asked her softly, “Mikael killed me. Now what is to become of me?”

           Caroline’s powerful gaze studied him in a way that was far from unsettling. If anything, it drew him near and warmed him from top to bottom, igniting a flush across his cheeks that he was helpless to stop. Seeming to reach a decision, she nodded to herself and switched off the boat, the curious sunset before them fading away into glorious day once more. “You’re far too intriguing to be trapped in the underworld, Klaus. So, I’ve decided to revoke your boarding pass.”

           She helped him to his feet, slinging her pale arms around his neck as she toyed with his dirty blonde curls. At his gobsmacked expression, she whispered, “So, go get your revenge. I can’t wait to watch you kick Mikael’s ass.”

           As much as Klaus wanted to celebrate the fact that he would be given a second chance, an almost suffocating sadness gripped his heart. Barely believing the words that hastily tumbled from his lips, he protested, “But I want to stay here with you, sweetheart.”

           Caroline pulled him in for a passionate kiss, both of them pouring everything left unsaid between them in that powerful moment of blissful connection. Pulling back slightly, she mumbled against his lips with a wicked smile, “Who said you’d be going alone? I’m long overdue for a vacation. And you better pack your paintbrush.”