#this au roles around my head but refuses to be properly written in anything other than slightly poetic short fic

[yellow-faerie]

Different Fates AU

Something about fate is that it is never certain.

The year is 1020 AHW and three children stand on the precipice of something more: Alek, scorched clothes catching at the edges of burn as he turns to look at the burning wreck of his home; Kimera, praying to the Old Gods as she listens to the battle above her hiding spot in the roots of the trees; Revael, crawling through the whirring mechanisms of the factory around her.

They do not know they stand there.

They do not know that what happens next will lay their lives out before them, and that even if their choices take them on paths far from each other, fate will inexorably and inevitably drag them back together.

This is how it starts.

+

Alek may stop, may fall to his knees and cry as the oncoming firestorm swallows him body and soul.

There are few universes that he does, for there is something fundamental in Alek that refuses to allow him to fall to despair even at his worst moments. It is the same here: he drags himself forward, swallows the pain of his mother’s eyes, his father’s grasping hand, the terrible cries all around him.

He keeps going. He gathers his few remaining people together and that is how they stay until they find an old, abandoned ship to get off planet on and join the crawling lines of refugees into the Republic space.

He sets his name as Alek on his new documentation and proudly adds his village’s name as his surname. They may be split up, him and those few other survivors, but there shall always be that thin thread that connects them.

A name.

The Jedi find him, and they are kind. They turn him from a scared adolescent into a man with a sure hand and a golden tongue.

His master, Arren Kae, is never entirely pleased with what he does. Atris – his only real friend his age – says that is just because she is a severe woman with no room for error, but sometimes when Master Kae looks at him, Alek thinks that she expects him to be more.

To be someone else.

Atris never lets him get too far into those sort of thoughts.

When Alek first joined the Jedi, a gangly nearly-thirteen-year-old, he spoke heavily accented Basic and even among a relatively unjudgmental people, he felt out of place.

He has studied a lot and that was how he met her: they shared a table in the Archives until that was their regular every day. Alek knows very little about Atris’ path and she knows very little about his, but they understand each other better than anyone else in that place – better, even, than their masters – and so they are best friends.

Alek knows that she, too, feels as though there is meant to be someone else beside her.

When the Mandalorian wars arise, Alek is the one to stand up against the tide of evil when the Jedi Council sits back and does nothing. It feels wrong and it feels right but Alek just knows that he cannot allow more people to feel as untethered as he did when he was younger and so he fights and he leads and-

He leaves the Jedi Temple behind. He leaves Atris behind with betrayal swimming in her eyes. He leaves Master Kae and her slight frown. He leaves it in the dust – an old attachment he must let go of.

And when he sleeps, he dreams.

+

Kimera has an option, lying in the roots of this terribly old tree.

Sometimes, she stays put – that is what her mother told her to do as she reloaded her slugthrower and ruffled her hair for the last time – and when the fighting dies down, her quiet crying flows through the empty silence. A Jedi finds her there and then she is Mandalorian no longer.

She hides with her father’s armour and the last of their rations and – most importantly – her uncle’s spare blaster.

She cannot sit here and do nothing.

Kimera is not an advantage to have on the battlefield, by any means, but her presence changes something and then her fate is set.

In the aftermath of the battle, her mother takes the fallen’s weapons and then she and her uncle and her aunts and her older cousin pile the bodies upon a pyre.

Kimera sometimes thinks she can still see the sightless eyes of the Enemy looking at her from that fire. She can never work out whether they deserved to die.

Clan Surik is small, depleted from the hundreds they once were by the Great Sith War. They had not stopped fighting since the apparent defeat of Exar Kun nearly sixteen years ago and so now it was just the six of them.

Kimera tries not to feel sad about the death around her.

She follows the Resol’nare in pride: she speaks the language, wears the armour, defends and provides for her clan, and is ready to follow the Mand’alor should he call upon them.

She is proud to be Mandalorian, to be trained to fight with such finesse as her ancestors of old and to sit around the fire with her family when the night falls, but…

Well, her father’s armour doesn’t fit her very well.

The Mand’alor does eventually call them to fight: her aunts have adopted another two orphans, who had once been slaves far beyond the reach of the Republic, and her cousin has married and had children of his own. There are eleven of them now and they rally those who had once followed them, all that time ago, to their cause – to the cause of all of Mandalore and its peoples.

They go to battle.

Her pistols feel wrong in her hands, Kimera thinks, as she lies restlessly upon her bedroll, and she can’t get the fear out of her head: the way people looked at her as she marched forward with her people.

And those eyes, of a dead Jedi long ago, looking straight at her from his funeral pyre in silent judgement.

+

Revael loses her foot to the machines a lot.

Not this universe. She doesn’t get distracted by her thoughts, or the throbbing of the machine around her, or the pain in her knees.

She gets out.

There is no scream in the Force, nothing to signify to the Jedi in their Temple that there is something wrong. Perhaps the Jedi out in the rest of the universe are better, but those that have made Corellia their home are happy to ignore the stench of rot when it pleases them.

For Corellia is a slave planet, although the Republic ignores that.

On the outside, it has the veneer of something beautiful and upstanding but that image is held up by the blood and sweat and lives of sentient beings who are cheaper than droids, easier to maintain than droids, cleverer than droids.

They maintain the great Industrial districts which make Corellia famous. They work in the warehouses, somewhere beyond the cameras. They work in plain sight for the upstanding criminals that have made Corellia their home.

Revael knows this, for as she grows up – to fourteen, fifteen, sixteen – until she is too big to fit into the machine and is moved to maintenance, the others begin to engage her in their muttered conversations.

Before, she only had her chosen-mother, the woman who kept her alive since she had been little. The others did not talk to her more than they had to, for children died more than anyone in those dark depths of the slave factories, and getting attached was foolish.

Now, Merillan is gone: dead or sold or something else equally terrible, Revael doesn’t know.

Now it is just her and this growing anger that she is here at all.

The slave tongue was familiar to her, for that was what Merillan whispered to her in the dark, but here is where she learned the stories and the myths.

Here is where she first heard of Revan, the relkin who burns their way through factories and leads the slaves forward.

“It is a particularly Corellian idea,” Revael hears one slave say to another, “on Tatooine, freedom comes with the rain, or with death. Fire is a tool of Depur.”

“Well, Revan is not a word in Amatakka, is it?” The other replies, in the same hushed undertones.

It leaves Revael, playing with the insides of a broken down droid in the pretence of doing work, thinking. She is clever and quick and perhaps…

She ducks her head as Depur passes by but she turns her eyes up, to look at his unprotected back.

Foolish, to think that he is safe in this place.

+

And so the children step, and they no longer grow up together, but fate (or maybe, if you are inclined to those sort of beliefs, it is the Force) is not inclined to rest at that.

Kimera watches her cousins sparring together and tries to push down the feeling that the war they’re fighting is wrong, and that she is watching the wrong people fighting, and that her gun doesn’t fit as neatly in her hand as a blade-

Alek sits in a Republic office, organising the last of the ships under his new command to be in the right places and filled with the right troops for when the official schism from the Order occurs and he can take the Jedi to join them, and he finds himself lonely for a touch he has never known and laughing voices he has never heard and the kiss-

Revael slips into a fresher alone and pulls down the cloth mask that keeps her face hidden, and she looks at her reflection and wonders what Merillan would think of the work she has done to free so many, to burn the name Revan into the consciousnesses of people who sit back while others suffer-

They do not know that in a mere few weeks, their paths will meet and then…

And then their fates will be entwined, as they always have been.

[egg-emperor]

Some festive modern x Boom x Casino AU Eggman OT3 propegganda for the main blog

In the cold months, they like to wear sweaters as often as possible and have a collection. In December, modern Egg likes to wear the cute Eggsmas sweater on that festive Archie cover and others, while Casino Egg's would only be pink with stuff like "ho ho hoe" written on them and other terrible shit like that fhdjfnsjghfjgj If anyone has a good idea for Boom's sweaters lmk. They love to wear them together and cuddle up while they drink hot chocolate and eat Eggsmas cookies and other fun festive treats.

They have a lot of fun decorating modern's, Casino Egg's, or Boom's place, depending on which world they're staying in together for the holidays. They have festive themed robots, lights everywhere, and multiple big trees. There's also a lot of pink stuff just for Casino AU Egg! He's always loved pretty lights like the ones he gets to see all the time at his casinos but it still feels special to him at Eggsmas and he's passionate about spending a lot on tons of decor to make it look amazing.

They're eager to put up a mistletoe but only use it properly once, the three enter at the same time and kiss and it's very cute. But then Casino Egg takes it everywhere and holds it to various parts of his body around Boom and/or modern, cheekily smirking as he says they have to kiss him. They tell him he doesn't need it to get kisses because they're always happy to give some when he asks. But he says it's even better when he does because then they definitely have to this way.

Then he ends up using it at ridiculous times, like when he bends over and tells someone they can kiss his ass, he holds the mistletoe above it to emphasize it, which just makes it funny. Eventually modern Eggman gets desperate for him to stop being so obsessed with it and using it for everything so he says "can you put that fucking thing away already?" But Casino Egg just holds it above his head to get another kiss and grins while modern gives in and frustratedly kisses him and lets him get away with it again lol

Boom only gets better at his cooking and baking hobby and bakes a lot of festive treats that modern and Casino Egg adore even more than their favorite store bought chocolates and candy. They forward to their first Eggmas dinner together because of all the great food Boom Egg is sure to make and carefully plan and practice, keeping some of it secret to surprise them later. It ends up being the best they've ever had because they can taste the love in it!

What's good about all the festive chocolates and candy they buy and gift each other with is that Casino Egg cuts down on cigars as he often keeps his mouth occupied with candy canes, lollipops, and other chocolates and candy instead. Smoking less means he can spend more time with Boom because he doesn't have to take as many smoke breaks outside since he can't smoke around him. Modern is less likely to pick it up again any time soon for the same reason and Boom is delighted.

They shop in expensive stores at a big mall as Casino Egg insists on spoiling his boys and getting anything they want, even though modern doesn't need the money and Boom Egg tries to tell him he doesn't need to throw money at him to show his love lol. But he's insisting on them getting nice things so refusing is not an option! He doesn't know that while he's splurging on them and food stalls and restaurants there, they're buying him a lot of cool gifts that they know he'll love.

When they finally leave the mall, Casino Egg says "now where are my kisses for buying you all these lovely things?" Which is very sugar daddy like of him because he's into taking that role as another use for his wealth. Boom thinks it's nice that he cares enough to want to spend so much on him but doesn't want to feel like he's just taking all his money for granted, meanwhile modern loves being spoiled rotten with gifts despite not needing the money, so at least he gets to do it to his heart's content with one of them. XD

They like to dress up in costumes. The role of Santa is for the plump one and there's two with Casino AU Egg around, so there's Santa Claus modern dressed in classic red and white outfit and Santie Claus Casino Egg in a pink and white version to avoid confusion. Boom Egg could be an elf so the three of them make Santa, Mrs. Claus but a man, and Boom Eggman as the two Santas' little helper. He does look little compared to his big boyfriends! Then they do fun and evil schemes where they steal gifts and ruin everyone's Xmas together! >:D

[carewyncromwell]

Next Cinderella AU part ahoy!

Conical hats were actually considered very fashionable during the Middle Ages and the early Renaissance. What’s fascinating, however, is how they evolved into two very distinct and oddly opposing styles of hat: the stereotypical “Pilgrim” hat and the pointed hat that witches are generally depicted wearing! Around the turn of the 17th century, the most stylish variation of black conical hat was called the capotain, which is a cone, but with a rounded top -- the hat McGonagall wears in that top sketch is one of these types of hats (her dress is based on this design, which also features a shorter version of the capotain). The hats were originally fashionable among both men and women, but over time, one group of women that was most associated with wearing them were Quakers, a branch of Christianity that broke away from the Church of England and advocated quite liberated views for the era, such as the abolition of slavery, women’s rights, and a refusal to involve themselves in war. They also passionately believed that one didn’t have to attend church in order to be close to God and that one could practice one’s faith out in the world by living and dressing modestly and being active in charity work. (To learn more about the history of how the conical hat evolved into our modern image of “the witch hat,” check out this awesome fashion history video on the subject.) As one can expect, Quakers and Quaker women in particular were not well-taken-to by a lot of European society, especially by the religious movement on the opposite site of the political scale in Britain, the uber-conservative, Bible-purist Puritans. Many of these same Puritan-types got very involved in hunting witches both in Europe and in the Americas (the Salem Witch Trials are a perfect example). But yes...if one looks up pictures of historical clothing for Puritan men and/or “the Pilgrims” (A.K.A. the group of Americans that colonized Plymouth, who were Puritans), they very often wore a variation of the capotain! Although it’s been theorized by historians that the capotains worn by Quaker women ended up being associated with sin and therefore witchcraft, similar hats were also worn by the men who persecuted them. The hats were worn by both sides -- victim and accuser -- and yet most of us today look at the capotain and immediately think “witch” exclusively. Talk about irony.

Greensleeves is often ascribed as being commissioned by King Henry VIII for his second wife, Anne Boleyn (even Six the Musical references this)...but it actually was written in the later half of the 16th century, when Anne’s daughter Elizabeth I was Queen. So yeah, that’s sadly just an old wives tale. But it is a lovely song! The melody for Greensleeves has been remarkably long-lasting, even being rewritten as multiple Christmas songs over the centuries, including the still popular What Child is This?, which was written in 1865.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you all enjoy!

x~x~x~x

Carewyn very quickly threw on her mother’s green-sleeved yellow dress and as many warm wool petticoats as she could before fetching her white horse from the palace stable. She rode up through the gate in exactly twenty-five minutes, to find Orion on his black mare waiting for her. Carewyn was ready to ask Orion if everything was all right, but almost as soon as they’d left the perimeter of the gate, Orion urged his horse into a fast gallop.

“Come, my lady,” he cried over his shoulder, “let us chase that horizon!”

Carewyn had to send her horse charging forward in its own gallop to catch up with him. They rode right through the market and then out of the capitol altogether -- they avoided the road that led toward the Cromwell estate, dashing eastward. They weaved in and out of the rolling snow-capped hills, riding beside and around each other. The freedom of riding alone was enough to bring some life back into Orion’s cheeks, and Carewyn despite herself soon found herself smiling.

When they came to a stop at the top of a hill close to the northern border, Orion looked out over the edge with a handsome, endless gleam in his eye, like that of a sailor looking out to sea. Carewyn once again prepared to ask Orion if he was all right...but once again, Orion dodged the question.

“Do you see that eagle, overhead?” asked Orion.

Carewyn looked up. She did -- it was a truly handsome golden eagle, gliding in a circle through the air over their heads.

“I’ve seen eagles just like that nearly every day, up and down the border,” said Orion. “Shall we see if we can ride fast enough to overtake it in flight? Could we take flight as birds do, without ever spreading wings?”

“Orion...”

Carewyn brought a hand gently down on his arm.

“I know there’s something wrong,” she whispered.

Orion looked at her, his expression losing most of its levity and becoming much blanker and more inscrutable again.

“I understand if you can’t tell me,” she insisted softly. Her blue eyes rested on her own hand on his arm rather than his face -- with the intense concern she felt, she didn’t dare expose them further by looking straight into his eyes. “And I truly don’t want you to feel like you have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Your secrets are your own, and I know you have a reason for them.”

Just as I have mine.

“I only...I can tell you’re running from something...maybe even the thing you’ve being running from, every time you’ve come to see me, all these weeks...and I don’t know what to do, to protect you from what you’re so afraid of. Please...tell me what I can do.”

Orion’s black eyes trailed over Carewyn’s face, rippling with many tiny flickers of emotion that were hard to properly identify -- pain? Affection? Anxiety? Evasiveness? Shame? Longing? Who knew?

At last the Prince of Florence brought a hand out to gingerly rest on top of Carewyn’s on his arm.

“Chase that eagle with me,” he said softly.

Carewyn looked up at Orion and then at the eagle overhead as it soared off toward the nearby woods. Then she gave him a small, sad smile and nodded.

“...All right.”

Dislodging herself from Orion, Carewyn steadied her grip on her horse’s reins and flicked them to make it gallop toward the woods.

“Well, come on, then!” she called over her shoulder with the strongest smile she could. “T’would be a shame if I out-rode you in a challenge you set yourself!”

Orion’s face broke out into a brighter, fond smile and he pursued her.

The two rode their horses down the hill and into the trees. Racing side by side, overtaking each other in their strides and then catching up again -- all while Orion smiled so fully and handsomely, and looked at her with such blazing midnight-black eyes -- was a joy that Carewyn had trouble putting into proper words. His expression was full of such silent, and yet unbridled joy -- free, in every sense of the word.

“You should be allowed to feel like that more often,” Orion’s words returned to her. “Free.”

You should be allowed to feel like that too, Orion, thought Carewyn. You deserve to feel this free all the time.

The two rode with speed until they’d finally lost sight of the beautiful golden eagle. Slowing their horses into a calmer trot, they then journeyed through the trees, enjoying the peaceful serenity of the chirping birds and the pools of sunlight scattered across the muddy, snow-dusted ground.

“I’ve never been out this far before,” Carewyn confessed, her almond-shaped blue eyes trailing over the interlaced branches overhead.

Orion looked at her out the side of his eye. “...This close to the border, you mean?”

“Yes.”

Carewyn caught a strange scent in the distance -- something vaguely like the fires she’d tend to back at the castle and the Cromwell estate.

“...Something’s burning...”

Orion nodded solemnly. “Bonfires. The Royaumanian and Florentine camps aren’t far from here.”

Carewyn looked at Orion, slightly startled. His gaze had wandered northward, but it was clear his mind was far from the trees his eyes were idly resting on.

“We’re near the war front?” asked Carewyn softly.

“Yes...” Orion glanced her out the side of his eye. “...Are you frightened?”

“No,” said Carewyn.

She looked through the trees in the direction Orion had been facing.

Jacob could be over there right now, she thought to herself. The idea of seeing her brother for the first time in nine years -- of hugging him again and seeing his relieved smile -- it made her feel like her heart was being squeezed.

Orion’s black eyes scanned her longing, but fearless face, before shifting back in the direction of the trees that obscured the path toward the war front.

“The scales are going to shift again, soon,” he whispered. He could feel Carewyn’s eyes on him again. “The two sides have constantly fought for dominance...lashing out ruthlessly and then retaliating, back and forth, until they’re forced to come to a stalemate, just to catch their breath. Then one lashes out again, and the precarious balance is thrown to the winds once more...”

Carewyn’s blue eyes rippled with concern. “Orion...is something bad about to happen, out there?”

Orion closed his eyes. His father claimed he needed him, in order to lead the Florentine army in the two-pronged attack on Royaume...but it wasn’t unlikely that the King might make do and find someone else to fill that role...

“Hopefully not,” he said softly.

Carewyn reached out a hand and took hold of Orion’s wrist. Orion looked down at her hand and then up at her face -- she had trouble looking at him, but he could tell her eyes were rippling with concern. His heart felt like it was suddenly being harshly compressed, just to fit inside of his chest.

You wish to protect me from what I fear...but what I fear, I should wish to protect you from.

The King’s words returned to his mind.

“When you make mistakes, the people you cherish, that you want most desperately to protect, pay the price!”

But how could he hope to protect Carewyn from the War and the cost it would demand? How could he hope to stop it, when his own father unknowingly would be sabotaging his efforts for peace? How could he live with himself, if he had to chain himself to the War the way the King had -- to fight against the Royaumanians he’d met and broken bread with as equals?

Orion took several deep breaths before speaking again.

“...My father wishes me to join him, at the front,” he admitted lowly.

Carewyn looked up, startled. “...Your father’s in the army?”

“Yes,” said Orion. “He’s...a high-ranking officer. He expects that I will follow his example and lead our ranks into battle.”

Carewyn considered Orion for a moment. “...You don’t want to.”

Orion’s eyes darkened significantly. “...I don’t want to.”

When Carewyn didn’t respond, he pressed on.

“My father believes that the War can only be ended through force -- that justice can be only brought about by utterly destroying our enemy. But...I cannot believe that. I grew up on the border between Florence and Royaume. The town I’m from is so close that one could hop easily from one to the other. It caused some tensions, yes...but it also made it so that at first meeting, or even third or fourth, you never knew what side of the divide a person was on. And so I found myself constantly thinking...what is it that truly separates us? Is it morality? Is it values? Humanity? And yet I don’t think either side can boast having any of those things exclusively. It instead all comes back to a mistake made fifty years ago -- a land dispute that ended more violently than it should have. So many people have died, all because of that...and because neither King has decided to be the better man and choose forgiveness over vengeance.”

Orion bowed his head, his eyes closing solemnly.

“...My father asked me to help him lead the army, in an upcoming attack on the enemy forces -- one that he believes could end the War once and for all. But...”

He exhaled quietly through his nose.

“...I couldn’t accept that burden...so I left.”

Carewyn didn’t respond. Orion scanned her face, trying to read her reaction, but it was proving difficult when she wouldn’t look at him.

Does she...disapprove? he couldn’t help but think. She did think he was Royaumanian -- she didn’t understand that he wanted to protect her brother, not prevent him from returning home...but how could he explain that to her, without...?

“I know that the War could end, if my father’s strategy succeeds,” Orion explained, trying to keep his voice level despite the anxiety he felt, “but this is only one strategy of hundreds, all of which have failed. And even if our side was victorious...however many lives I could potentially save by fighting, I would be snuffing out far more. I realize that this is my responsibility alone, and sometimes one must be willing to do what others will not, to reach their goal...but flowers bloom under sunlight and water, not blood. If we could avoid burning a forest to the ground, wouldn’t it then be easier to bring it back to life?”

“Yes...but if someone wants to set a forest ablaze, you have to act if you want to stop them.”

Carewyn’s response was very soft and solemn, but there was no anger or disapproval -- instead, to Orion’s immense relief, it sounded almost encouraging.

“If you believe that Royaume could make peace with Florence, then you need to speak out for it,” she said firmly. “If you see it and believe in it, that’s great...but you need to make others see and believe in it too, if it’s going to really come about. Talk to your father, make him see things as you do -- and if he isn’t able to, then...well, I’ll talk to Andre, and you and he can discuss it together.”

Her lips spread into a gentle smile and she gave his wrist a light squeeze.

“My own family may have profited because of the War, but the people of Royaume, the common man, would celebrate, if peace could come about without further loss. If Florence would also, then that’s a step in the right direction. There’s more than one way to fight for something...all it requires is enough courage to place one’s goal over whatever risks stand in their way.”

Orion stared at Carewyn for a long moment. As he did, the black of his eyes seemed to melt, gaining a warmer, softer light that resembled candlelight rippling in endless, dark water.

“...Carewyn...”

Before he could say anything more, however, there was a loud explosion in the distance. Carewyn’s horse reared back in terror, which in turn spooked Orion’s, and both Carewyn and Orion had to quickly calm their steeds.

“Whoa, whoa,” Carewyn whispered in her horse’s ear, “easy, boy...it’s all right...”

Orion stroked his horse’s mane with a slightly trembling hand, breathing in and out as he tried to steady his heart rate. He then looked at Carewyn with a more serious eye.

“...Perhaps we should make our way back to the valley. It’s not safe here.”

Carewyn looked northward through the trees again. “Do you think your father’s started the attack?”

“No. Coordinated attacks require both strategy and assignments, as well as the element of surprise. I’d say this is a skirmish between younger, less experienced soldiers -- and if so, it’s likely to run farther afield and cause damage outside the designated battlefield.”

Orion could see Carewyn still hesitating. Although there was no fear in her face, she seemed reluctant to leave -- likely thinking of her brother, more than the risk to her own safety...

After a brief flicker of uncertainty, Orion reached out a hand and took hold of Carewyn’s arm not unlike how she’d taken his earlier.

“From everything I’ve heard from you about your brother, I truly cannot see him not doing everything he possibly can, to look out for your well-being...including looking after himself.”

A second smaller explosion in the distance made Orion stiffen slightly, his fingers tightening that bit around Carewyn’s arm.

“...We should move out of harm’s way,” he said as levelly as he could.

Seeing the paleness of Orion’s face, Carewyn relented at once.

“Yes.”

Bringing a hand up onto Orion’s horse’s reins, she directed both of them around so they could start riding back out the way they came.

As they came around a cluster of trees, however, their attention was caught by the sound of the cry of an eagle and many snapping branches. Carewyn’s horse reared back again, just barely dodging a large clump of golden-brown feathers that collided sharply with the ground.

Carewyn once again rushed to soothe her horse. Orion quickly climbed off his horse and bent down to get a better look at what had fallen.

It was a golden eagle, just as brilliant as the one they’d chased into the wood -- perhaps even the same one. It was conscious, but clearly in pain when it tried to return to the air -- its left wing crumpled up against its side and covered in blood and what looked like grayish ash.

Orion’s black eyes narrowed.

“Gunpowder,” he said. “The poor creature’s wing must have been struck by a stray bullet.”

Once she’d successfully soothed her white horse, Carewyn likewise jumped off its back. She dashed over to Orion, hitching up the skirt of her mother’s gown as she went.

“Can you hold him?” she asked.

The eagle gave an angry-sounding cry, baring its sharp talons at both of them, and it tried to hobble away back into the air with its one good wing.

“I don’t think he wants our help,” said Orion.

Undaunted, Carewyn ripped off some fabric from her outer-most petticoat. “Well, he needs it, whether he wants it or not. Can you hold him, please?”

Orion looked at the eagle. Rather than try to grab it, he met the eagle’s eyes and tried not to blink. The eagle looked back at him with a piercing gaze. When Orion extended a hand, the eagle lashed out its talons again -- Orion withdrew, but didn’t flinch.

“Steady,” he said gently.

He waited a moment, keeping eye contact with the bird, and then tried again. This time he was able to move close enough to touch before the eagle lashed out with its claws again.

“Peace,” said Orion patiently. “We mean you no harm, feathered friend.”

Another loud explosion in the distance made both the eagle and Orion flinch.

“That one sounded closer,” said Carewyn, her voice faintly tense but as gentle as she could. “We need to be quick.”

The flames of his childhood home were returning to Orion’s mind despite his best efforts, and he shut them out as best he could, closing his eyes and breathing in and out several times. Once he’d reestablished his focus, Orion opened his eyes again.

The eagle looked from Orion to Carewyn almost critically. Finally, after Orion reached in for a third time, it let the Prince run a gentle hand over its back. Once the bird was calm, Orion then carefully extended its wing so that Carewyn could reach it.

“This will likely hurt him a little,” Carewyn told Orion. “Please hold him still, so he won’t fly away.”

Orion brought a hand around the eagle, which fidgeted and cried out indignantly, but did not claw or snap at them. With Orion holding out its wing, Carewyn was able to reach into its blood-soaked feathers and dislodge the bullet. The eagle gave an angry, pained cry, and Carewyn very quickly set about wrapping up the wound with the white fabric she’d ripped out of her petticoat.

“There,” breathed Carewyn, her red lips spreading into a smile. “That should help...”

The bird looked down at its wing, gingerly folding up against its side as it surveyed her with a very beady eye. With a soft click of her tongue against her teeth, she slowly extended an arm out, holding it very still like a branch.

“Climb on,” she cooed. “That’s it...”

The eagle peered Carewyn over, but after a long moment, it gradually scooted over and leapt up onto her arm. Its talons dug into the sleeve of her dress with strength, and it was heavier than Carewyn expected, but she with some difficulty just barely managed to hoist it up.

“Your talent with animals shines through again,” said Orion with a wry smile, clasping his hands lightly in front of him.

“You weren’t half bad yourself,” Carewyn said amusedly. She brought a hand gently along the eagle’s comb. “You’re a very handsome bird, aren’t you? You poor thing...”

“You there!”

Both Orion and Carewyn looked up in great surprise.

Striding through the woods toward them was a very tall middle-aged woman. She wore a black capotain hat and an old-fashioned black dress with a white ruff around the collar, and her graying brown hair was tied up in an austere looking bun under her hat. Despite her apparent age, her step was strong and her posture as straight as a general’s. 

“What are you doing here?” said the woman very sternly.

Carewyn stood a bit uneasily, thanks to the weight of the eagle on her arm, but she nonetheless straightened up, resting a hand on the eagle’s back almost protectively.

“We’re merely out riding, madam,” she said, not impolitely, but still confidently.

The woman peered down at both Orion and Carewyn with an eye almost as critical as the eagle’s had been as she crossed her arms. Her height made it so she towered over both of them with relative ease.

“Well, through your riding, you have trespassed on my land,” she said stiffly. “And it seems you’ve claimed something of mine.”

Her eyes flickered over to the eagle on Carewyn’s arm, taking in the makeshift bandage on its wing. The golden eagle gave a loud shriek -- the woman extended her arm, and it leapt the distance, landing on her arm instead. The older woman did not struggle to hold it up the way Carewyn had.

Carewyn blinked in surprise. “Then...he’s yours?”

“Do you have others, like him?” Orion asked curiously.

The woman peered down at the bird on her arm with a look that was rather like a scolding, but still affectionate mother’s. “No -- he’s one of a kind. All the more reason why I’m pleased to see him safe, after coming so close to the enemy camp.”

The eagle bowed its head, its gaze flickering back over toward Carewyn and Orion. When another cluster of explosions rang out through the air, however, both the bird and Orion straightened up abruptly.

The woman looked northward, and then beckoned Carewyn and Orion after her with her hand.

“Come with me -- with the armies positioned just north of us and a band of Florentine bandits just south, the safest place at present to wait out this skirmish is my home.”

The woman introduced herself as the Baroness Minerva McGonagall. Carewyn felt like the surname was familiar somehow, but she couldn’t quite place it in her memory. Regardless, McGonagall led Carewyn and Orion out through the trees. Only once they crossed the perimeter of the trees and McGonagall gestured toward the valley below did Carewyn and Orion see her country estate. It was odd that they didn’t spot it sooner, for although the valley seemed to cradle the small chateau, it was a rather beautiful and open estate framed by a wrought iron gate. The property itself was made of aged brick and stone with stained glass windows and overgrown with ice-trimmed ivy.

After holding out her arm so that the eagle perched there could jump down on the railing beside the stone stairs that led up to the front door, the Baroness invited Orion and Carewyn inside. As stern as she’d first appeared, she actually was a very kind host -- after Orion and Carewyn’s horses were settled in her stable, she escorted the two into the dining hall, where she served them some rose water and ginger biscuits. Once inside the house, none of them could hear the explosions from the battlefield -- it was as though the walls cancelled out all sounds from outside even though they must’ve been so close.

Seeing that the Baroness had no servants to help her, Carewyn insisted on taking the dishes to the kitchen and washing them, so as to thank the older woman for her hospitality. Despite being reluctant to accept the help at first, McGonagall eventually accepted it, her lips upturned in a rather dewy smile as Carewyn left the dining hall.

“Your riding companion has a very kind heart, Your Highness,” she said, once Carewyn was out of earshot.

Orion’s black eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly.

“...You know me.”

"Naturally,” said McGonagall. “You do very much resemble your grandfather -- and your father as well, I expect.”

“You knew my grandfather?”

“We met once, a very long time ago,” said McGonagall rather curtly. “Your name would also be Cosimo, correct?”

“I am called Orion,” said the Prince, his level voice dusted with the slightest edge. “By both my lady, and otherwise.”

McGonagall’s eyes grew a little smaller. “She comes from the Cromwell family, doesn’t she?”

Orion’s eyes narrowed that little bit more, but he did not reply.

“I suspected it due to her eyes,” said McGonagall, “but with how gentle they were, I wasn’t sure.”

Her eyebrows rose over her narrowed eyes as she leaned forward slightly and rested her elbows on the table.

“You have quite a predicament before you, Orion,” she said dryly, interlacing her fingers beside her chin.

Orion clasped his hands on the table in front of him, considering the Baroness carefully.

“Yet you decided not to approach me about it until Carewyn left the room,” he said levelly. “Is it because you suspected I knew your true identity, and why your house has been so miraculously shielded from the War raging on your doorstep?”

McGonagall peered at Orion over her hands with something like wry amusement. “Florentines are generally more favorable toward magic than Royaumanians. And considering your grandfather shielded my family after my mother accidentally killed the King and we fled across the border...well, it would be in-character for you, especially.”

“And yet you returned to the land that the King of Royaume had died trying to claim?” asked Orion. “Why?”

McGonagall gave a dismissive shrug. “It was our home. Even if we had to cast and recast illusions every day to prevent anyone else from finding it again, that was a cost we were willing to pay. And one I’m still willing to pay today, to protect those who live here.”

McGonagall’s eyes were drawn to the hallway -- a young man with tanned skin and a sharp nose had just paused in the door frame of the dining hall. His arm was in a makeshift sling and wrapped with what looked like bandages made out of petticoat fabric. When Orion turned around, the young man stared him down with just as beady of a look as the golden eagle from before had.

“The skirmish has ended, Baroness,” the man said brusquely.

“I hope you haven’t determined that by casting any more transfiguration spells, my young apprentice,” said McGonagall with a slightly reproachful look.

The apprentice’s nose wrinkled sourly. “No. The explosions have just stopped -- they probably decided it wasn’t worth trying to fire their cannons blindly in the dark.”

“Very well,” said McGonagall. “Orion, you and Carewyn may leave when you wish. Though I would recommend you steer clear of the border. The bandits in these woods are Florentines, so I doubt they will harm you...but I cannot be sure how they would respond to a Royaumanian, especially one related to one of their wealthiest noblemen.”

Orion nodded. “I understand.”

“Make sure you bring her back to the palace safely,” said the apprentice, his eagle-like eyes still rather critical upon Orion. “It’s the least you can do, considering she doesn’t know the extent of the risk she’s taking, interacting with you.”

He swept down the hallway and out of sight, still holding his arm. Orion was a bit surprised that the Baroness’s apprentice knew where Carewyn worked -- but then, he recalled, he’d seen an eagle flying over his and Carewyn’s heads once, while they were walking through the market together, hadn’t he? Might it have been this man then, as well -- as it likely had, every time he’d seen an eagle while crossing the border?

McGonagall looked back at Orion, her expression a bit more solemn. “I understand your rationale behind not telling her of your identity, Orion...but remember -- deception is just like any magical spell. Even the most powerful ones in the world don’t last long.”

Orion bowed his head. “...I know.”

He knew none of this could last. He knew that once Carewyn knew who he was, everything between them would change, whether he wanted it to or not. He did think that Carewyn would understand -- he desperately hoped so -- but even so, it was sad to him, knowing that his happy times with Carewyn were doomed to be so fleeting...

“I just...want to enjoy my time with her as long as I can,” said Orion softly. “However fleeting it might be...even when it is over...at least then I can cherish the memory of those moments forever.”

McGonagall’s face grew a bit gentler, almost sympathetic. "I see...”

Carewyn returned at that moment, wiping her bangs out of her eyes with her arm.

“Orion,” she said, “it looks like the stars have come out.”

Orion looked out the window. The sky was dark with night and shining with stars.

“So they have,” he said with a soft smile. He turned to McGonagall. “Forgive me, Baroness...but might we sit in the valley outside your home for a short while, before we leave?”

McGonagall smiled. “Of course.”

Orion and Carewyn found a grassy spot in the crest of the valley where they could sit and look up at the stars. Upon learning that Carewyn hadn’t ever gone stargazing before, Orion lay back against the grass and pointed out each constellation above them to Carewyn in turn -- the hero Perseus, his enemy the Cetus, and his future wife Andromeda -- -- the divine twins, Castor and Pollux, otherwise known as a pair as Gemini -- and the queen Cassiopeia, which made Carewyn laugh, thinking of her friend, KC. Carewyn loved listening to Orion’s stories: the way he would vividly embellish every detail and go off on philosophical tangents in the middle was oddly endearing. After he told his first tale about Perseus, Carewyn was reminded of the Song of Roland, an epic about a similarly grand hero, and soon Orion would ask her to sing something in response to every story he told, however weak the connection was. When they reached Cassiopeia’s tale, Carewyn sang one of her favorite songs, Greensleeves.

“I have been ready at your hand To grant whatever thou would’st crave; I have waged both life and land, Your love and goodwill for to have.

Greensleeves was all my joy; Greensleeves was my delight; Greensleeves was my heart of gold, And who but my lady Greensleeves...”

As before, Orion found himself closing his eyes and relishing the feeling of Carewyn’s voice washing over him. At the end of this song in particular, however, when he opened his eyes, he found himself chuckling softly.

Carewyn raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Orion’s black eyes were sparkling like two miniature night skies as they ran over Carewyn sitting just below him. “It’s a lovely song, as always...but I have not ever seen my ‘star twin,’ so to speak, wearing green -- only ever black and blue. You, however...”

He took her hand so that he could extend her arm out like they were dancing, showing off the olive green sleeves of her dress.

“So it seems you are ‘my lady Greensleeves,’” said Orion with a wry smile.

“Oh, stop it,” Carewyn huffed, her cheeks burning as she withdrew her hand.

Orion laughed fully. It was the first time Carewyn had ever heard him laugh so openly before -- it was a soft sound in the back of his throat, like a chuckle, and yet so much brighter and warmer. Despite herself, Carewyn couldn’t fight back a full smile of her own. Her shoulder brushed up against Orion’s as she reclined back onto the grass, her body tilting slightly toward him as she looked up at the sky.

“...There’s a constellation called Orion, isn’t there?”

Orion smiled and traced the stars of the constellation with his finger. “Just there. Do you see his chest? And there’s his bow.”

“I see it!” said Carewyn excitedly. “His arm is arched back, right?”

“Yes -- he’s holding a club in his other hand. He was a great hunter, you see -- the greatest hunter, they say, aside from Artemis, Goddess of the Moon and the Hunt. Some say that he hunted alongside her. Others say she was his one and only love...and that she, likewise, never loved any other man, in all her days.”

When Carewyn didn’t respond, Orion looked down at her. She was considering the constellation very carefully, looking oddly deep in thought.

Orion tilted his head to look better at her face. “Your eyes resemble a dark pool.”

Carewyn looked up, startled.

“They’re so deep and mysterious, I hardly know what is within them,” said Orion. “Yet I would dearly like to know, if you were willing to share their contents.”

Carewyn’s eyes drifted back up to the sky uncomfortably.

“It’s just...I’m realizing that I don’t even know if Orion is your real name,” she murmured. “You said I could call you it...you did not say it was your name.”

Orion’s face became grimmer. His hands clasped over his chest and he too looked back up at the sky.

“...It’s not the name I was born with,” he admitted. “I chose the name myself, when I was young.”

The memory of the older boys at the workhouse shoving him, piling extra work on him, and mockingly bowing whenever he walked by rippled over his mind.

“Clear the floor for the Prince!”

“Why thank you, Prince Cosimo -- you’re too kind!”

“Does the mud add flavor, your Royal Highness?”

“When I was at the workhouse, my name...antagonized the other boys. So, to try to preempt the reactions, I started avoiding telling anyone my name. I would dread anyone ever asking.”

“Like when I asked you?” whispered Carewyn. Even though her eyes were averted, she was clearly very ashamed and upset.

Orion leaned against her slightly, offering her a gentle, reassuring expression. “No, Carewyn. I dreaded it when I had no answer I could give at all. It made me anxious...made me feel like I didn’t know who I was supposed to be...made it difficult for me to interact with much of anyone at all.”

He closed his eyes.

“But...after hearing the tale of the great hunter whose skill put him on the same level as a goddess...I decided that was who I’d be. I’d chase my dreams with just as much single-minded focus -- be just as free and strong of a man, by fighting the monster inside of myself.”

Carewyn looked up at Orion, her eyes rippling with sadness. “The monster inside of yourself?”

“Mm,” said Orion. “Mine is a frenetic beast. It makes it hard for me to think, act, or even breathe, when it’s particularly intense. It makes me question absolutely everything, including myself. It shouts so many things in my ears so loudly that I can’t move or react properly, and I have to break away from everything and everyone, just to silence it. Sometimes it even brings back bad memories that make the experience even worse.”

Carewyn was once again avoiding his eye, but it was largely because she was having trouble keeping her face stoic.

“...It’s terrible, when you feel like you can’t do anything,” she said lowly.

Orion didn’t speak. He wanted her to feel comfortable enough to continue -- after a silence, she finally pressed on.

“When Jacob first went off to War...I felt so helpless. So...alone. And worse...I felt like that’s how I should be. Like I should be alone, and empty, and cold, and in pain, when Jacob was off at War suffering, while I’m stuck here.”

Her eyes darkened.

“There are times when...I think I still should be. Sometimes...well, it’s all the time.”

She closed her eyes, exhaled heavily through her nose, and then looked up at Orion with a firmer expression.

“...But I know I can’t afford to sit around and feel sorry for myself -- not when I need to be strong, for Jacob’s sake. So I don’t.”

Orion’s black eyes softened visibly, rippling with empathy. “No...you certainly don’t.”

He paused. His eyes ran over Carewyn’s face, trailing through her hair hesitantly.

“Carewyn...” he said at last, very softly, “may I...?”

He swallowed.

“...May I rest my head, on top of yours?”

Carewyn’s face broke into a very sweet, tender smile.

“Of course,” she murmured.

Orion shifted over and, very tentatively, leaned back against the grass so that Carewyn’s head rested in the crook of his neck and his cheek rested against the top of her head. He closed his eyes -- she felt so warm...

“I...realize that the beasts inside of us are ours alone to face,” said Orion softly, “but...should you need a hunter to help you beat yours back...I will be here.”

Carewyn’s blue eyes rippled with emotion as she stared up at Orion’s face. Her red lips slowly turned up in a smile that was full of pain, and yet also fuller still of love.

“And I will always help you fight yours,” she whispered. “If you need me...I will fight for you.”

Orion’s expression cleared, losing all tension as a smile pricked at the corners of his lips. He breathed deeply, his heart slowing to a wonderful peaceful beat as he took in the smell of her hair. Carewyn watched his serene, handsome face, and she found herself moving into him that bit more, just to get a better view. For that moment, it felt like the whole world outside wasn’t there -- that the War and the palace and the Cromwell clan and everything she was and wasn’t didn’t even exist...and in that moment, Carewyn realized...

If she was ever truly free, she would want to love the man called Orion with all of her heart.

[retroateez]

Prophecy - Chapter Five

i still don’t properly understand how this website works but slowly,,, i am learning.

also if ur enjoying this au please like/reblog bc it rlly helps me out ty x

wc; 2649

A month had passed since Yeosang took you under his wing, and he (thankfully) hadn't decided to kill you.

Although the trip to harvest the sand mandrakes often made you think otherwise.

Despite that, Yeosang had been patient with you as you grew accustomed to his lifestyle. Oddly, he trusted in you immediately, sharing with you secrets he wouldn't dare tell other strangers.

"I'm a mage," he had told you suddenly over porridge one morning. He clenched his large palms into equally large fists and laid his forearm upon the table, facing upwards towards the canopy of jade leaves above your heads. "You see those blue lines? They're called veins, and our blood runs through these."

You nodded silently, unsure of what his point was.

"In mine, flows blood as well as chaos," he explained. "Almost anybody can do basic magic, provided you're taught by the right people."

Using his other hand, he ran a gentle finger down the stripe of his prominent veins, and the cerulean bumps bubbled and boiled into a startling shade of sunlight. You squinted in awe; you swore you could see a lightning storm rattling around inside of his arm.

"But only those born into chaos possess the abilities to truly wield it." Yeosang snapped his fingers, and the bolts of lightning in his veins returned to the cool, sea blue they were before.

He had grinned at you then, proud that his magic had impressed you. He didn't get to show off his magic often; most people would trade his life and talent for money in a heartbeat.

Except now, Yeosang wore a frown as you pleaded with him.

"Why can't you teach me any magic?" you beg. "You said yourself that anybody can be taught! By the looks of it you're well up to the task!"

You follow him like an excited puppy, bouncing along behind him and pawing at the back of his shirt to get his attention. Yeosang had his back turned to you, intent on finding the wolfsbane he had been asked to find before you arrived in his life and threw it slightly (majorly) off balance.

"I said no, Iris" he murmurs, keeping his eyes on the mossy ground.

You weren't sure where Yeosang had gotten the name 'Iris' from, or why he started calling you that in the first place. It certainly wasn't your name. Not that you had ever told him your name. He had never asked, so you assumed he didn't want to know. Either way, you didn't care, nor did you find it particularly important, so you let him call you whatever he pleased.

"Why?" you whine, grabbing the bottom of his cotton shirt and pulling it. "What harm can it do to just teach me a little magic?"

He sighs harshly, and turns to face you. Scowl evident, he shoves a handful of wolfsbane into a basket and grabs you firmly by the shoulders.

"I said no. Do not make me repeat myself. Do I make myself clear?" His eyes burn into yours and guilt washes over you; you hadn't meant to make him angry.

"But-"

"I said," he growls. "Do I make myself clear?"

You stare up meekly into his eyes, seeing the same flashes of firebolts from his veins, now crashing around his pupils. You nod, not uttering a word. Yeosang lets you go with a soft huff, and heads back up towards the house. If you'd have known he would get so angry with you, you wouldn't have pestered him so badly.

A few more days pass, and neither you or Yeosang bring up the incident in the woods. You, in fear of angering him again, and you assume Yeosang just didn't want to mention the subject at all. Maybe it was a sensitive topic for him? He acts like it never happened, resuming teaching you how to cook various stews and soups, testing you on the properties of sage and echinacea.

"Echinacea... helps burns?" you hazard a guess, Yeosang's face contorting to an expression of pain informing you that once again, you were wrong.

"Echinacea helps colds and flu." he corrects you with a sigh.

Frustrated, you hurl your notebook down onto the desk in Yeosang's study, crossing your arms and exhaling harshly, much like a horse. His study was as breathtaking as the rest of his house. It was smaller compared to the main, circular room and had no windows. With no natural light, Yeosang had strewn luminescent mushrooms across the ceiling and draped them all over the walls. They were long and thin, but the heads and stems shone bright in tones of seafoam green and azure blue. They made the room glow a strange, ocean mash of colour, often making Yeosang look as if the ocean floor had sprouted atop his head, dyeing his neutral blonde locks with a very startling sea themed concoction.

The room had an earthy smell, as did the entire house. You theorised Yeosang either had an addiction to growing plants in his house, or plainly a plant addiction. Still, the air throughout his home was always immaculately clean, so you couldn't complain about the slight dirt smell, or the soil that was always clinging to your arms and legs.

"I'm no good at this, Yeosang!" you cry. "I don't know why I bother!"

You glare angrily at the wooden planks of the floor, blinking back frustrated tears. You desperately wanted to prove to Yeosang that you were capable of learning something worthwhile. After all, your survival depended on it; why would he keep you around, feed you, house you, protect you, if you couldn't offer anything back to him? More than that, it actually gave you a purpose, something more than just stealing your way through the game of life. Here you were, handed an opportunity to learn and, provided you were any good at it, use the skills to help people in the future instead of stealing the products of other people's hard work and determination.

You're dragged from your thoughts by Yeosang crouching down at your figure sitting on his desk chair. He softly places his rough hands on your knees and offers a rare, but soft and caring smile.

"You'll get the hang of it ,Iris, don't fret. I failed my alchemy exam five times before I finally passed it." His eyes crinkle at the corners when he hears your quiet laugh at his comment.

"Only an idiot would fail five times," you quip. "What happened to three time's the charm?"

"Charm is a load of bullshit," he remarks. "Everything is decided by fate, you know that don't you?"

You nod in response. Everybody knows your destiny is your destiny. It can't be changed, altered or avoided. You wonder if magic has any effect on destiny. After all, before meeting Yeosang you had no idea magic was real in the first place, so really the possibilites could be endless.

"Does magic work on destiny?" You ask the golden haired mage.

Yeosang leans back on his heels, glancing up at the glowing fungi as he ponders his answer.

"Yes and no," he admits. "No magic can directly change, or redirect your fate. But magic can delay it, sometimes quite significantly"

"How so?"

Yeosang lets go of your knees and with a grunt, falls back so he's sitting on the floor in front of you.

"Are you familiar with Virgil's Aenied?"

He takes your silence as a 'no'.

"The Aeneid is an epic poem, centered around a single man named Aeneas, whose destiny is to discover the land that would become Rome. There's a lot that goes on inbetween," Yeosang explains. "but Juno, the goddess of love and marriage, despised Aeneas, and did everything in her power to make sure Aeneas would never be the catalyst of Rome's foundations."

"But Juno couldn't stop him from doing that, could she?" You connect the dots fairly quickly, and Yeosang nods.

"Correct. Even the gods have to abide by the laws of destiny. Jupiter himself unravels the scrolls of time and fate, and nobody can change them. But what Juno did succeed with, was delaying Aeneas as much as possible. Setting him back years and years from the destiny bestowed upon him from the very beginning, at the sack of Troy."

"Do the gods powers count as magic though? You're not a god" You think aloud. You think you catch a wave of offense wash over Yeosang's face, but it passes so quickly you can't be sure.

"In a way, I suppose you can view it as a divine type of magic, magic so powerful that people on our realm couldn't possibly wield it without certain death, or other circumstance..." The mage stands up, bones in his knees cracking as he moves.

"Anyway," he continues. "My point was that your destiny is exactly that. It's been written in the stars since the very dawn of time, and you physically cannot escape it. You may delay it, but the time will come where you will have to fulfill your role in destiny's prophecy. The first step to that though, my young student, is passing your alchemy exam!"

You and Yeosang spent the next couple of days pouring over his hand-written notebooks, reading and re-reading his scrawled handwriting and weirdly endearing drawings. Him presenting you with various herbs and smoking liquids, making you guess what they were used for and forcing you to eat and drink the gross ones when you got the answers wrong. You hated it, but his method of teaching was rather effective.

"We're going to have to make a trip into the city," he tells you one gorgeously warm afternoon. "I've run out of primrose and the only source I can get it is the kingdom."

Yeosang hadn't taken you to the kingdom of Ateez yet, nor had he visited there since your arrival, but the way he spoke about it terrified you to your core. He refused to go unless he needed to, no pleasant day trips or lesiurely strolls. For him, it was dangerous.

"The King has a special band of witch-hunters," Yeosang explained to you as he grabbed his brown satchel and coin purse. "Of course, they're just referred to as 'guards', he wouldn't want rival kingdoms knowing he was explicitly prejudiced towards anybody." he spat.

"Have you met the king?" you ask quietly, handing him a notebook with a list of items you needed to purchase.

Yeosang notably hesitated.

"Yes... he helped me a lot. He gave me this land, and in return I occasionally do him favours."

"I thought he didn't like mages?"

"Hatred for magic kinds is rooted in fear," he turns to you. "Whether or not you like a mage, it is always better to have one on your side, as opposed to having one against you."

"So if the king likes you, why are you so worried about going to the kingdom?"

Yeosang wedges a soil brown hat onto your head, pulling it down over your eyes.

"He doesn't like me," he corrects you. "He merely tolerates me because I posses something that may prove very useful to him one day. Anyway, enough questions, small one. We have plants to buy!"

---

You wished Yeosang had told you just how long the walk to Ateez was before you agreed to go with him. Technically you didn't have a choice, but still. You'd been wearing 'tailored' versions of Yeosang's clothes (tailored being he had ripped the excess material off), as your own were ruined beyond repair during the storm. They were too big for you even still, the sleeves of his white cotton shirt coming past your fingertips and copper breeches almost hanging off you if not for the makeshift belt, (wine red ribbon Yeosang used to bunch flowers together) tied around your waist. As grateful as you were, his clothes were weighing you down and making the journey painfully longer.

"We're almost there, Iris!" Yeosang calls back to you. He was wearing an outfit similar to yours, except his actually fit and suited him. He was extremely good looking, you'd admit. What with his piercing cobalt eyes and effortlessly wavy hair. You wondered why he had been alone before he met you, and for what reason.

You turn your attention to where Yeosang was pointing and felt your stomach drop immediately. It felt as if a pit had opened at the base of your torso and every one of your organs was being sucked into the abyss. Despite the uncomfortable feeling seeping throughout your body, you felt compelled towards the miles of kingdom below you. You could see almost the entire kingdom from your position on top of the hill. You realised too, that the western side was situated on the edge of a cliff, with your best friend, the ocean, waiting readily thousands of feet below. You felt uneasy thinking about the drop.

Between the bottom of the hill and the gates of Ateez, was a vast stretch of forest. Towering oaks bundled together like a poor family on a cold night, protecting one another with what little comfort they could provide. You didn't want to imagine what creatures lurked in the woods either, having a hunch that they wouldn't welcome strangers into their habitats with welcome arms.

"We don't have to walk down this hill, do we?" you gulped.

"No," Yeosang said. "We can just jump."

You stared at him.

"Of course we have to walk down it, Iris."

You both began the everlasting descent down the hill. Luckily, a dirt path had been stamped into the grass by plenty of other people making the same journey as you.

No matter how much you tried to push down the growing feeling in your stomach, it wouldn't go away.

You could hardly explain the feeling either. Like your intenstines were lined with the prettiest hydrangeas, and somebody was tugging at the flowers with the strength of a thousand horses, but regardless of how hard they pulled, the roots stayed firmly put.

You surveyed the kingdom, the endless rows of tiny houses and roads, the pathway up to the gates of the castle and the grand towers standing in the castle grounds. On the highest part of the city, towards the east, was the most important building of all; the castle itself. Overlooking the entire of Ateez which stretched out for miles.

"Once we reach the bottom of this hill," you ask. "Won't we have to walk all the way to the gates?"

Yeosang glances back over his shoulder at you, pushing his wavy blonde hair out of his face.

"No, they have horses and carriages that take people to the city, thank the gods."

After approximately 3 decades, you and Yeosang reach the bottom of the hill (more like a mountain, you think). Yeosang guides you over to a line of carriages, attached to the biggest, bulkiest horses you've ever seen. The ones you'd seen back at home were simple, baggage carrying horses. Nothing compared to these absolute monsters. Your companion hands the coachman of a carriage a handful of coins, and you both clamber into the back.

Throughout the journey, the hole in your stomach continues to expand, growing deeper and wider that you're surprised it hasn't totally consumed you. The closer you get to the kingdom gates, the more and more nauseous you feel, the beating of your heart and pounding in your head keeping perfect time with the canter of the Shire horse pulling you along.

The second cog, hand-crafted but not yet complete, waits patiently. He cannot continue welding it until the next steps are taken; until destiny is fulfilled. Until then, he sets the half-finished cog on his workshop table, then he too, sits patiently. Fate is a waiting game, and everyone is a pawn to fate.

Chapter Six

[ryewi]

When I’m with you I’m in Utopia [Chapter 2]

Summary:  9 years ago, the world split in two halves, Utopia and Dystopia. One of the laws allows citizens of both worlds to visit the other once in their lifetime, for a whole week, after which, they’re forced to return home. If by any chance, they don’t return, a death punishment is sentenced. Jeon Jungkook, a citizen of Dystopia seemed to be desperate enough to challenge that exact law.

Genre: Utopia!au, Dystopia!au, fluff, angst, drama, to be added~

Words: 2,2k (this is longer than I expected it to be damn)

Warnings: None yet!

< Previous | Part Two | Next >

“So how did you know that I was from, you know, that sort” Faith laughed at his choice of words, remembering the times when her mother used to call Dystopian citizens that. Jungkook on the other hand, had an unreadable face expression, which sent chills down her spine, quick.

“You’re too stiff, don’t you notice how relaxed people here are? You avert your gaze and try to hide whenever someone pays attention to you, just, way too obvious”  

Jungkook only nodded along to that; but when the other finished talking, he suddenly tried to play off a more comfortable role and started staring at people who passed by. Jungkook’s eyes widening at every passerby made Faith cackle, the contagious sound making the boy laugh too.

Once the laughs died out, they looked at each other, happy tears forming at the edges of their eyes. Jungkook couldn’t recall the last time he cried from laughing too hard, whenever he cried, he felt huge masses of worry and desperation splashing him likes waves in the ocean. In Dystopia, it often happened.

“Do you want to go grab some ice cream? Hang out?” Faith initiated, finding this young man interesting enough to want to spend more time with. First talk with a person from “the other world”, ended well and the reason why her mother said to be careful around such people still remained a mystery.  

Jungkook smiled at that, nodding his head and getting ready to stand up. From behind the bench, he grabbed a big black backpack, with a lot of side pockets and seemingly debated whether to place the camera inside or continue holding it in his hands. Deciding that maybe, well most definitely, there are more beautiful sights to take pictures of, Jungkook zipped back his bag and offered a hand to Faith who was still sitting on the wooden seat.

“They’re giving out free ice cream today, and I have had two already, but it doesn’t matter!” Faith lifted up her point finger, trying to sound as if she’s making a point, to which Jungkook once again laughed. Faith analyzed the way he laughs for a second, watching as Jungkook’s eyes turned into crescent moons, pupils nearly disappearing under the coverage of his eyelids. His nose was scrunched and mouth created a perfect D shape.

“What is your favorite ice cream flavor?” She chirped as they both walked alongside each other. Jungkook seemed to think for a few moments, trying to remember the last time he ate an ice cream and what flavors he told his mother were the best.

“I don’t really remember which ones I like, it was a long time ago I ate an ice cream” Jungkook confessed, biting the inner side of his cheek, while the most basic flavors flew through his mind. Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, mint...

“Well that sucks, looks like you’ll have to rely on me to pick the best for you,” Faith replied. Slowly leaning towards Jungkook on her right, she put a hand to the left side of her mouth, whispering, “Trust me, I know how to pick good flavors”.

The male was amazed by how careless and free she was around him. She grabbed his bicep a couple of times, dragging him to a nearby pond or garden, which Jungkook, being a lover of beautiful sights, of course snapped a picture of. He didn’t expect that something like this would strike him. Jungkook imagined it being a rather quiet week, where he’d find a cheap apartment and spend most of his time outside, taking shots of nature he’ll never want to forget. Then again, will Faith stick for the next couple of days or will she forever parish the moment they part ways?

It still felt like a dream, although he could feel the ground underneath his feet, the wind that kept messing his hair up and hear the laugh of a friendly female that still seemed to clung on to his arm. He was there, Jungkook was really experiencing a life with no worries, no pollution and darkness. A world that was completely different than home and he wished that this was actually the place behind that exact word.

But wasn’t that what every Dystopian wished for? Why would anyone want to live in a world where the first thing in the morning you’d hear was a gunshot followed by shrieking screams; where your work wasn’t valued and you were constantly degraded.

They walked past a grill, many families with their kids waiting for kebabs or hamburgers that were neatly placed on grill before them. Looking at the person working, he caught a glimpse of a young man, happily turning a set of kebabs to the other side.  

The sight and smell, while Faith dragged him past the shop, awakened unpleasant memories in his mind and he slowly zoned out, playing an old film in his mind.

“Come the fuck on you scum of a teenager! Work faster!” A bald and fat man yelled at Jungkook, slamming his fist furiously on a wooden table in front of him. Leopard they liked to call him, “great and strong”, but if Jungkook had to give a nickname to this customer, it would’ve probably be something more like a hippo. 

“Sir, I can’t prepare the hamburgers faster than I already am, I told you!” The young man yelled back at the mass of fat situated on two chairs, as he tried turning the heat up for a hundredth time today. They were running out of onions, Jungkook thought, while he looked back at the ingredients laid out on a tray.

“You know what, you’re taking too long, I’m leaving, keep that crusty hamburger for yourself!” Leopard kicked one of the chairs and threw his money on the grill, laughing at the way his money burned on the grill. He was one of the rich locals, many women often kissed his ass for money to end up between their chest and frankly to say, it disgusted the teenager.  

Other customers looked at Jungkook with pitiful eyes to which he gave an apologetic look back. It wasn’t the first time this happened anyway.

Jungkook’s parents were never rich, to be honest, his whole family struggles quite a lot recently, hence why he was currently behind a grill. This work was a rather low-paying one, the wage was under average, but it helped family Jeon as much as it could. His parents were understanding, they knew that Jungkook was trying to balance out his school and they were proud and thankful.  

“Oh my god it’s you again, it’s always you!” A high-pitched voice rang through the small open room and Jungkook visibly flinched at that. It was his boss and candidly speaking, whenever she entered the room, especially with this attitude, it wasn’t good.

She walked over to the worker in her twelves, heels clicking in sync on the tile floor. The boy looked down at his feet, refusing to turn around, chanting “it’s going to be okay” in his head, although, this time, he couldn’t be so sure about it.  

“Young man, I’ve had enough of you and your inability to work properly. I’d please you to hand over your apron and walk out.” The blonde was smiling, but her words were laced with venom and cruelty, want to hurt and crush someone. People who were still waiting for their orders and watching the scene unfold before them, gasped in unison.

Jungkook turned quickly, disbelief in his eyes. He couldn’t be fired, he had no reason to! Was the impatience of one damn customer enough for that woman to have enough of him? What were the other mistakes he made for her to be sick of him?  

“No Miss, please, I beg you, I haven’t done anything-”

“Jungkook, what do you not understand? You’re fired, here’s your last pay, now get out!” She handed him a couple of banknotes and watched as the boy untied his apron, then proceeded to hand it over. His eyes were glassy, and everyone was left in shock, wanting to protest against the decision that evil woman made, yet remaining silent. It was like that in Dystopia, people felt the need to help, intervene, but why would they? It’s not their life, and living in a place like this, the last thing you want to do is take care of someone else’s business.

Faith suddenly pulled him to the left, the little flashback once again disappearing into the mist. Jungkook’s eyes still stood trained on the grill until it disappeared behind a corner and another smell filled his nostrils.

Approaching the source of the breathtaking smell, the duo came to a stop in a line under a canopy. A big piece of carboard had “FREE SHAVED ICE CREAM” written on it with a black pen. Jungkook raised on to his toes and watched as kids and adults received their portions of chocolate and mint rolls. The ice cream looked delicious and it was free.

“Mom can we please get that?” Jungkook asked, voice cracking as he pulled on to the sleeve of his mother’s shirt. She didn’t hear him at first, too focused on the important phone call. Trying once again, Jungkook pulled on to the sleeve for the second time. A faint sound of cloth ripping filled the small circle around them, making both look at the place where it came from.

“Why did you do that?” The tone of his mother sounded stern but somewhat soft too.  

“I’m sorry I really didn’t mean to rip your shirt off...” Jungkook looked at his feet, already regretting his decisions. His voice broke numerous of times, which his mother was used to, her son was going through puberty and it was normal. Yet she didn’t question, or maybe she just hasn’t noticed, the small sniffles after the breaks between words.

“Jungkook honey, it’s okay, but why did you pull on my shirt?”  

“I just wanted to ask you can we get some ice cream, that’s all?” He replied, sounding hopeful while looking up at the woman. She averted her gaze to the side, scanning for any ice cream shops, but the moment the prices caught her eye, she immediately looked back, sighing. “Honey, we have something better at home, we will catch ice cream the other day okay?”

Nothing better was served on the table that day or the ones yet to come.

“Faith, isn’t this like your third time coming today? Oh, hello Sir” A young man bowed at them as a sign of respect to him, which Jungkook was taken back by. No one bowed at him in Utopia, so he thought it wasn’t necessary. Bowing back, Jungkook looked at Faith, waiting for her to make their orders.

“Jared, I’ll come ten more times to piss you off if I want to!” Faith laughed, forcing Jared to laugh too on the signal of her unique contagious laugh. “I’d like to borrow two cups of snickers and cookie dough”.

“Borrow? Are you going to give back the paper cups?” Jared snorted, setting the flavors on the metal before him.

“I just might, don’t dare me Jared!”  The female glared at him for a quick second before she got on to her toes and watched the process of shaving. This new technique of serving ice cream has arrived at the city just a few years ago, and ever since then, Faith abandoned normal ice cream. The whole concept of four, five or six ice cream rolls neatly placed in a circle was interesting to her.

Jungkook watched the special way of preparing, ice cream? Who would’ve thought that you could shave ice cream, bend ice cream, have it presented in thin rolls. He then proceeded to laugh at the silly thoughts currently flying around his mind. Of course, Jungkook, you just seemed to live under a rock.

Jared was quick with his work, it only took two minutes for the sweet to be delivered into the hands of the two. They greeted Jared, who earned himself a glare from Faith right after he said something along the lines of “we wish you come back soon”.

Continuing their walk around the park, Faith described a few other places Jungkook should visit while in Utopia, which made the other tense slightly. A huge pond with swans on the other side of the town, one special hill with clear view of the stars… But will he be alone? Was she really going to disappear after today? You’re being silly once again, she’s not obliged to be by your side at all times, Jungkook.

Without even thinking, more unconsciously than anything else, Jungkook blurted out, “So you are going to leave me after today?”. It sounded selfish, but the tone he used to say those nine words made it seem more desperate than anything else. Then again, Jungkook was already prepared to experience this alone, why was it a problem now? Could it be that the idea of exploring everything with a companion intrigued him that much?

“Oh, you’d like me to stick around?” Faith questioned, eyebrow rising at the remark.

“That would be nice” Jungkook said, looking down at the ground and scratching the back of his neck in anxiety.

“It’s not a problem for me,” She chirped, throwing another one of her sweet smiles in his direction. “Does that mean we can call each other exploring buddies from now on?”

AN: Chapter two! I hope you like it! To be honest the next chapter is just pure gold I can’t wait to publish it, it has so much meaning and is! really! important! So do look forward to that one! Thank you for reading, and I’ll see you real soon!

[mollymauk-teafleak]

my heart is hitting the ground (Chapter Two)

Second part of my Urban Fantasy/College AU for widomauk! A huge and sincere thanks to @minky-for-short for talking me through writer’s block and reminding me what colour Mollymauk’s eyes are when I forgot :’) Also thanks to my ever patient girlfriend @soft-bram for letting me go on and on about Critical Role all the time. 

And the biggest thanks ever to @rabdoidal who inspired this whole fic with his incredible fan art which I really just can’t get enough of, he’s an insanely talented artist

Please reblog and let me know what you thought, feedback really means a lot to writers

First Chapter | Ao3 | Ko-fi

Mollymauk had apparently learned nothing from last week when the pen he was chewing thoughtfully on cracked in his mouth and spilled ink over his tongue, staining it a colour not far from the colour of his skin for nearly a day. He just couldn’t help it, especially not when the random scraps of lyrics he had floating around in his brain were stubbornly refusing to properly arrange themselves into a song. He sighed in frustration at the journal page, still blank after half an hour, and rearranged himself on the sofa he was currently splayed across, throwing one leg over the back of it and flicking his tail idly from side to side, as if that would rattle something loose.

“You can do that in your room you know,” Yasha commented flatly from the kitchen table, not looking up from her breakfast or her newspaper.

“I like the light better in here!” Molly insisted, arching back off the arm of the sofa so he could eye her from upside down, “And besides, what’s the point of sighing if no one hears me?”

“What indeed…” his roommate muttered, rolling her eyes. Not that she’d expected anything else from him, “I just wouldn’t spend too much time on that couch, is all. It’s probably got fleas or something, I found it on the end of the block. Didn’t get a chance to clean it yet.”

Molly wrinkled his nose, jumping up so quickly he nearly ran into the coffee table, “Yasha! You promised me no more street furniture!”

“Hey,” Yasha jerked her spoon at him, “I carried that single handed all the way up to this apartment so some appreciation would be nice.”

Molly stuck his tongue out at her as he folded his lanky body into the chair across from her, slapping his notebook down between them, as if that was going to jostle the odd words and phrases into a proper song.

Yasha pulled a face, “Look, I’ll stop getting couches off the street if you start wearing some damn clothes around here.”

Molly huffed and twitched the silk robe he was wearing (sort of wearing) until it covered a little more of his chest and thighs, knotting it loosely. As far as he was concerned, a pair of underwear and a robe was perfectly acceptable attire for noon on a Sunday but he knew better than to push Yasha too far. She could pick him up all the way off the floor if she wanted to.

He ran his fingers through his bedraggled hair, lying tangled around his horns in the way it always did without nearly an hour of dedicated grooming in front of the bathroom mirror. “I’m having a brain block,” he announced grandly, trying to get his roommate’s attention back on him.

“Are you now?” Yasha didn’t sound particularly interested as she flicked a page over idly, wondering how her attempts to get him to go to his room had been interpreted as an invitation to disrupt her morning even further.

“I am,” Molly frowned, splaying across the table to see if he could get in her eyeline, “I’m having feelings, Yash, big feelings. But they won’t turn into songs. If I can’t properly channel my emotions into my art, I’m never going to be a successful musician.”

Yasha flashed him a look, making no effort to hide her exasperation, “You know, I bet most successful musicians don’t spend their time lounging all over their apartments in their underwear. Maybe actually doing something would help. Like sorting the laundry you said you’d do three days ago or actually getting some fresh air and natural sunlight. You could come to the gym with me? Endorphins, man.”

Molly clicked his tongue against his teeth, “Not a great idea. Hooked up with the guy at the front desk and haven’t called him back.”

Yasha pinched the bridge of her nose, scowling, “I told you…I fucking told you that was a bad idea,  if I have to avoid another place because of you, I can’t keep up…”

The tiefling drowned out her grumbling with another world-weary sigh, not in the mood to hear her opinions on his love life yet again, “I just feel so…out of sorts…” he slapped his hand on the table decisively, as if struck by an ingenious realisation, nearly upending the vase of flowers, “I should smoke some more weed! That always gets the lyrics flowing!”

Defeated, the newspaper was flipped closed and a pair of heavy lidded, mismatched eyes fixed sternly on Molly. In signing up to be his roommate, after a few months of working together at the community theatre, she hadn’t realised she’d also become his guitarist, his life coach, his impulse control and his guardian angel as well. It wasn’t exactly what she’d wanted but Molly cooked like a dream and didn’t keep her up all night so she’d learned to stomach it.

“Kay,” she told him sternly, “We’re gonna swap out the drugs for a more socially acceptable one and get you out of the apartment. Go fetch some coffee.”

The tiefling’s face fall, “Aw, come on, it’s not my turn! ! And besides, I hate ordering for you, the barista looks at me like I’m crazy when I ask for six espresso shots in one cup…”

“Bullshit, I went the day before yesterday.”

The two stared at each other, Molly’s restless red eyes fixed on Yasha’s heavily eyeliner ringed ones. After a few moments, they both shrugged holding out their fists and tapping them three times against the table. Yasha threw scissors, Molly threw paper.

He wailed at his defeat, “You always go scissors!”

She arched her eyebrow at him, “Then why don’t you always go rock, smart guy?”

He had no answer to that but to reach over and knock her paper off the table, like a particularly ornery cat, before getting up and flouncing off in a whirl of embroidered black silk and a flash of a middle finger, slamming the door to his bedroom for good measure.

Yasha huffed out a low rumbling chuckle as the noise of the moodiest shower ever taken echoed through their tiny, cramped apartment. She wondered briefly if her idiot of a best friend was actually going to realise what was bothering him so much, what was written so clearly on his face and in the way he’d been fidgeting all over the place for hours now.

If he didn’t catch on soon, she was going to have to tell him. No way in hell she was dealing with a moony eyed, love struck Mollymauk for much longer.

Knowing how much he hated the cold and seeing the fractal dusting of frost clinging to the outside of his tiny window, Molly dressed accordingly in billowy harem pants and a tight turtleneck sweater which was a bitch to get over his horns but he looked so good in it, it was decidedly worth it. As he tamed his hair, his sharp face illuminated by the fairy lights he wound around his mirror, he found his thoughts drifting away from the soft song emanating from his aged little radio, even though it was a favourite, and back to last night.

It had been a pretty good gig, all things considered. The crowd was a little thin but that was always true of their shows no matter how many flyers Molly hopefully pasted in the windows of the borough book shops and music shops and all over the academy’s campus. The underground bar didn’t have a dry ice machine, which was a little disappointing but he’d remembered all the words and Yasha hadn’t missed a single note, as dependable as she ever was. It was the kind of gig he usually firmly told himself afterwards, usually after patronising the bar itself and blowing most of their fee, would just be a stepping stone to bigger and better things.

So why couldn’t he get the night out of his head?

Well, there was that guy.

The guy with the long hair and the cute, if a little indistinguishable, accent and the look of someone who’d ran through a thrift shop with a blindfold on to choose his clothes. Molly had never actually had someone approach him after any of his shows, much less someone who’d actually praised his songs rather than asking him to keep it down. Sure, the guy had been plastered and swayed where he was standing but Molly was taking all the positive feedback he could get right now.

And he’d asked for his number. And honestly, past the slurring that meant he wasn’t sure if his name was Caleb or Callum and the spilling some of his loosely held drink on Molly’s boots, it was a face he’d be more than happy to see in daylight.

Molly turned the brush wrong, distracted, and accidentally yanked on his hair, making him hiss in pain. Sighing he tossed it over his shoulder and shrugged into his coat.

He was being stupid. As much as Yasha had teased him about the guy, asking if that was the future Mr Tealeaf he was talking to, finally found after all this searching, Molly had only flicked her with his tail and rolled his eyes, insisting that the prospect of that name would send him running for sure, if nothing else did. And it wasn’t like much searching had ever gone on, there was no sense in searching for something that didn’t exist. As nice as it would be.

The tiefling winced at the cold as he left their apartment building and began to stride as fast as he could through the nearly empty streets, everyone else clearly having something far better to be doing with their Sunday. The frost and the wind froze the last of his hope from the night before. Most likely the cute guy had woken up, probably with a gross taste in his mouth and a pounding headache, regretting their conversation with a passion. Most likely Mollymauk had been given up as a bad decision, and not for the first time in his life, lined up along with those last few whiskeys he’d noticed the guy knocking back.

Molly remembered noting it with appreciation, whiskey was such a pleasant thing to taste in a kiss…

He sighed, heading for the café they always frequented, just a few blocks away. Maybe next time.

[teavious]

dissolving like the setting sun

fandom: les miserables

pairing: enjolras/grantaire ; bahorel/feuilly ; courfeyrac/combeferre ; marius/cosette ; joly/bossuet/musichetta ; jehan/eponine

summary: They’ve been trying to decorate their apartment for what feels like too long for him, trying to find the perfect balance between Marius’ need for perfection and Cosette’s need for kitsch. The only thing that Courfeyrac requested, between mouthfuls of Jehan’s first batch of biscuits was fairy lights. It’s only fair to throw a fit over it now, right? OR: Les Amis have a Christmas party. Like all their parties, it's a bit diastruous, they make it too obvious they're just idiots in love, but at least they have food. Modern AU. commission written for @rthemis ! thank you so much for giving me the reason to write my fav nerds being nerds! merry christmas & happy holidays everyone! (also on AO3) (donate to my ko-fi page, request a fic and i will write it for you!)

Enjolras tests the quality of the sweater between his fingers, frowning at the two Christmas colours on display next to each other. He supposes if Courfeyrac would be here, a commentary about the universe somehow wanting to bring him and his boyfriend closer together sooner would be made, but as thing are right now, he has to bear Bahorel’s knowing glances, and his pointing at various hideous things.

“You should get it,” Feuilly smiles from his right, leaning to look closer at the piece of clothing that Enjolras started calling Grantaire’s present in his head. His friend needs no clarification, and Enjolras himself doesn’t feel enthusiastic enough to defend the way he makes puppy eyes at everything remotely green, remotely indecent.

Once the decision is made, it’s easier to enjoy the faces Feuilly makes every time Bahorel holds up another eye-hurting colourful shirt: lovesick, but equally terrified. The two end up settling for a rainbow striped shirt, Feuilly’s size so that he can stop wearing Bahorel’s identical one, and instead be together a matching pair of loving idiots. Enjolras applauds the easiness with which Feuilly makes his boyfriend bend to his suggestions, the immense trust Bahorel puts in the one he cares about the most.

Something in his chest tightens, and he goes on ahead, turns his head away from the image of Bahorel pressing his lips to Feuilly’s cheek, however sweet he would have found it at other times. He wishes he would have Grantaire’s awed and hooting laugh ringing in his ears, his hand between his fingers: then it would feel natural, the sight of other two in love wouldn’t feel so offending.

He sighs into his scarf, accepts Bahorel’s weight over him when he comes full force into a half-hug, and laughs at Feuilly impulse buying a new pair of socks, simply because the dogs printed on them reminds him of his own; bitterness be damned.

***

Bahorel tries to ignore the warm mouth set on licking his fingers, to stifle the laughter about to erupt – and he turns on his other side in bed, shifts closer to Feuilly’s sleeping body in hope that he can trick the dog into joining them in bed, rather than demanding a walk in the park at 5am on Christmas Eve. Frodo refuses to give up, and Bahorel swears as he starts tugging at the blankets. He scoops closer to Feuilly, arm over his waist, freezing legs against his much warmer ones. Feuilly murmurs at the contact, but that’s the only reaction, as he settles into the new position, having to share the one blanket left on the bed with a too big of a guy.

The dog paces around the room for a bit, whimpers at the head of the bed in hope of waking his owners – and seeing no reaction, he barks for good, his pacing exchanged for actual running. Bahorel sighs, rolls around in the bed, and speaks towards the ceiling:

“He’s your dog.”

Feuilly, eyes still closed, voice half muffled in the pillow, is making attempts at taking the blanket back:

“And you’re my fiancé. He’s your dog now, too.”

Bahorel rises, spends good seconds stretching, and although he already feels the cold biting at his toes, the hope that Feuilly might be staring at his ass is stronger. He whistles, Frodo coming running at his command, and before turning towards the wardrobe to get changed, he makes sure Feuilly is warm under at least two blankets.

Next time Feuilly is aware of his surrounding, Bahorel sits on the edge of the bed, dressed already, with his ridiculous winter hat on. He can faintly sense his fingers playing through his hair, and it makes concentrating on what he’s saying even harder:

“Would you like anything, my love?” He nods no into his pillows, tries to blow a kiss to Bahorel’s retreating frame, though he isn’t quite sure if he managed to.

By the time his boyfriend is back, the coffee machine is running in the background, as he hums along to Christmas carols in various foreign languages. He goes to greet the return of his two roommates, and the sight he’s welcomed with is a surprise: Bahorel, snowed in, holding a bouquet of half-freezing flowers for Feuilly’s taking, blush rising to his cheeks.

***

“You can’t have Christmas without Christmas lights. That’s why they’re called Christmas lights”, Courfeyrac repeat, slower this time, like he has to dig his idea into Marius’ head through the tone of his voice as well, besides the desperate arm gestures and invincible argument.

“The cat won’t like it,” Marius says, pointing towards the two glowing eyes from under the couch, the creature’s favourite (and only, from what Courfeyrac has seen while home) spot since Marius brought it home, scratched all over.

“The cat won’t care,” Courfeyrac shots back, this time turning towards Combeferre and Cosette for help in the matter, the two who up till this point decided to play the role of Switzerland in the debate. Courfeyrac really hates Switzerland.

They’ve been trying to decorate their apartment for what feels like too long for him, trying to find the perfect balance between Marius’ need for perfection and Cosette’s need for kitsch. The only thing that Courfeyrac requested, between mouthfuls of Jehan’s first batch of biscuits was fairy lights. It’s only fair to throw a fit over it now, right?

“We can ask everyone when they get here?” Ferre suggests, barely raising his head from his laptop, where he tries to put together a playlist to properly illustrate this mess of a year in their group. He tries to keep the love songs to a minimum, though it’s getting harder the more they go through the night and Courf loses an article of clothing with each passing hour.

“Fine,” he pouts, before dramatically falling into an armchair, trying to hide his growing smile that comes with Marius’ sigh of relief from the other end of the room, the husky meowing of that damn cat. Combeferre decides he can leave aside the more detailed parts of this party – after all, Eponine is sure to destroy every attempt at keeping it normal sounding – and he leaves his spot for shoving his body next to his boyfriend on a too small armchair for both of them. Courfeyrac’s grin is now humongous, and Ferre drags him into a kiss, if only not to let him think he won this time around.

****

Jehan knocks at the door, and shoves his face further into his scarf, trying to ignore the way in which the damn hallway of this building seems colder than the weather outside. There are a few seconds, during which he thinks he won’t receive any answer, then there’s a crash from the other side of the door, a shout – and out comes his girlfriend, frowning through her bangs, as she tries to put on a jacket that’s too huge on her frame, but that has all his favourite patches on.

He doesn’t say anything at first; he knows she’s better left alone for a while, so he simply follows her, humming a tune he can’t quite place. Then:

“I made cookies for the party.”

“Cosette wants to braid your hair.”

“Grantaire is certainly going to wear more decorations than the tree.”

“Enjolras will wear something… red.”

“You’ll probably going to drunkenly arm-wrestle Bahorel and win.”

The last two statements do it. Eponine erupts into laughter: loud and ugly, but Jehan’s face lights up like he just received the best present, and he catches up with her so he can hold her hand. Neither of them wears gloves, and the warmth is welcomed and comforting. Eponine sighs and stops to rest her head on Jehan’s shoulder, half hug, half awkwardly hiding her face.

“Hey,” he tries, squeezing her hand, sloppily kissing the top of her head. “You know you can stay the night? Well, nights, really. And even half of your friends will take you in without complaining, while the other half complains only because that’s who they are as a person.”

Eponine snorts, raises her head, leans to kiss Jehan. When they part, she’s smiling, though it lasts only for a moment, immediately exchanged for her usual frowning face. Jehan hums even louder, pleased now.

“I’m going to eat all your cookies,” Eponine says, before playfully shoving him and starting to run in the direction of Courfeyrac and Marius’ apartment. He counts to two before going after her.

***

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the way you do this,” Joly whispers, leaning his head onto Musichetta’s shoulder, reading the instructions in Bossuet’s neatly-kept recipes notebook.

“Well, I don’t know the correct way to do this!” Musichetta complains, passing a flour-covered hand through her hair. Joly tries to pat it away, pulling curls and blowing so close to her ear that he ends up making her giggle. Their meat pie is still in the very incipient state of creation, with the party ready to start in short of a couple of hours, but Musichetta isn’t sure she cares, taking in consideration she spent more time in Joly’s kitchen this day than she did the past few months since university started again. Plus, her boyfriend is especially cute when pouting, and even cuter is his after kissing face.

So it can be said that Bossuet’s attempt at teaching her basic cooking skills ended up with her trying to steal as many kisses from Joly as possible. It doesn’t help that her other boyfriend isn’t present to balance out things, or make them end faster.

“Musi?” She’s cut out by Joly’s voice, and she has to remind herself that she’s still very much dressed. “Don’t you want to get ready? We should be leaving soon.”

Yep. Right. “Yep. Right.” She adds out loud, lamely. She can feel Joly’s amused smirk, and if she ends up swatting at his chest with her dirty hand, just to leave a stain, at least he gets to know it too. She tries to tidy up, leave no proof of her failed experiment, and Joly is quick to help her out. There’s the faintest of music heard from the neighbours downstairs, and they finish cleaning in time with the dying words of Santa Baby.

And yet, Musichetta still hovers, eyes moving from the watch to Joly and back. He sighs under her stare, bids her closer with a hand movement. She’s already beaming by the time he snakes his arms around her waist, to give her one small, soft kiss.

“Happy?” he asks. She shakes her head no, tries to put on her most innocent face, slightly pucker her lips. He almost gives in to kissing her again, when the entrance door slams to the wall, making them jump apart. Joly’s the first to regain his composure, goes to welcome Bossuet, helps him in shaking off all the snow piled on top of his head.

“Bossuet!” Musi pouts, half because he interrupted her wooing attempts, half because it took him so long to come back in the first place. She joins the two in the hallway, dragging them into a group hug.

“Someone’s excited,” Bossuet laughs, but refusing to let go of his two lovers, squeezing them closer to his chest. It makes for quite a funny image, considering that both of them are so short, by comparison, and he’s glad that when not studying, Joly doesn’t wear his glasses, because knowing his luck, he would have accidentally smashed them through loving too much.

“And dirty,” he adds, sighing, once he takes a good look at his two lovers. He throws his coat and scarf on the hanger, shoos Musi and Joly towards the bathroom, for a thorough wash. Musichetta pauses for a second, turns to wink at him.

“Care to join us?”

He blows a kiss in her direction, but remains in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, to prepare the food casseroles for the party.

“Be good, babe.” He warns, smiling in a way that promises her better things if she does as told.

She nods slowly, catches up with Joly to ask for his help in combing away foreign stuff out of her hair. She manages to keep her hands mainly to herself, shampoos Joly’s hair while he helps wash her back. In the kitchen, Bossuet drops things only once or twice, and by the time they’re all in crisp shirts and nice dress, things have fallen into place. Bossuet and Musichetta make sure Joly is properly wrapped in several layers of clothes, wearing the one very ugly and very large sweater they bought him, and they leave, holding hands with him in the middle.

***

Enjolras doesn’t want to be here. Well, it’s not that he has any complaints about the place, the food, the music and least of all the company, but the feeling still persists, and it makes the whole place incredibly… incomplete. With the cat sleeping in his lap and a glass of red wine in his hand, he tries to comfort himself. He doesn’t think much of Courfeyrac’s shameless grins, or Cosette’s sudden leaves to answer and give phone calls. Combeferre’s place at his side is natural, and Bahorel hovering close became usual enough. He thinks Marius’ attempts to stuff his face with Jehan’s cookies are just host’s friendliness, and not even Eponine playing his favourite band doesn’t seem that much out of place. It is Christmas after all.

It starts getting suspicious the moment there’s no background chatter, no music. Courfeyrac runs towards the door before the doorbell sound even materializes, and Enjolras is a bit surprised to see Valjean on the other side – because, after all, the party is one of their parties, and it’s bound to end in disaster. Musichetta has already taken over the mistletoe, sharing kisses with everyone who makes eye contact with her (he’s been desperately avoiding that, all while Bossuet seemed but happy to comply to never watch anything else but her) and Eponine is probably on her 4th drink and still keeping perfect straight posture.

Then, Valjean moves a bit to the left, and Enjolras spots the dark curls, the sight of too green of a jacket. He’s up on his feet the next moment, Grantaire shoving his way through his welcoming committee so that he can welcome his boyfriend’s hug. No one else but Enjolras can feel the wet tears on his shoulder, and he stays there, patting his back, tightening his hold, for as long as Grantaire needs him to. They’re weary to disentangle from the embrace, but their eyes meet, and a new fascination is born, as they rediscover all the interior changes they’ve spent nights on skype talking about. Then, finally, Grantaire goes on his tiptoes, Enjolras leans his head down a bit: and they kiss. From somewhere, he can hear Bahorel hoot and Courfeyrac whistle.

“I’m home,” Grantaire says, his voice still raw, still chocked, his nose violently red from both the cold and the silent crying.

“Welcome home,” Enjolras whispers, helping him get out of his winter get-up, making unnecessary but very much needed contact along the way. The others keep their distance, friendly greetings and shoulder touches, but Grantaire still remains, basically, all his. It’s wildly fascinating to see all the familiar motions happen again in front of his eyes, after his boyfriend has been away for months at university. Any small trace of awkwardness is broken the moment Grantaire takes him by the hand, occupying the couch, half sitting in Enjolras’ lap, their legs tangled.

The others give them an hour: then, one by one, they form a circle around them, demanding stories told as just Grantaire knows how to tell them. Eponine is first, offering him a bottle of beer and pulling at his hair a bit too hard, maybe to make him taste how much she missed him. Bahorel screams his name from across the room, closes in so they can do a very complex but dorky hand shake. Courfeyrac joins in just to laugh at that. Joly’s warm eyes and kind offering of food make him break out in actual tears of gratitude: and then everyone takes their turn, hugging their small, finally home disaster of a man.

***

Marius almost falls asleep at the table, trying to pick the empty glasses to leave them in the sink for the morning. Cosette silently makes her way through the rooms, carrying so many blankets that the pink top of her head is barely visible, trying to make sure everyone is comfortable and warm, and will remain so throughout the night. Courfeyrac waves at them from the doorframe of his bedroom, and they nod in acknowledgement, keeping it down for the sake of the people asleep on the floor and on the couch in the kitchen.

Cosette, careful not to step on Bossuet’s hand, makes her way towards Marius. She gently shoves his shoulder with her hip, and when he almost falls over, she hurries to catch him. He snorts a bit, his sight lost in her hair, his senses in her perfume. He lets a hand touch her cheek, his voice softening beyond recognition when calling her by the nickname he picked for her ever since they started dating:

“Brilliance.”

Cosette huffs, nudges him to get up. “Worm, let’s get you to bed.”

“Will you sleep with me?”

She laughs, allows him a few moments to figure out why that phrasing was so wrong, given the context, and allows herself the enjoyment that comes with having made him blush, obvious even in the dark. She has learnt not to take his missteps too seriously, has learnt to figure out when he actually desires the physical contact. It helps that, when extremely tired, he seems to mind it less than usual.

The room is empty, their friends opting for the closer options as a sleeping place, and they both collapse on the bed with a grateful, tired sigh. She curls closer to his chest, his hand caressing her cheek.

“So? How was the first party you organized?” she asks, feeling herself growing sleepier by the second.

“This is the best part,” he answers, already half-asleep, and Cosette laughs; gets closer only to plant a kiss on his nose.

[arcelian]

Tales of the Abyss Hogwarts Houses

Here's something I've been working on for... almost two years apparently??  Some friends and I started an Abyss Harry Potter AU a while back, and sortinghatchats was brought up, and I ended up trying to sort all the main characters using their system.  So here it finally is!

Obvious disclaimer: while I've had feedback from said friends while making this it's still ultimately subjective; I've written explanations for all the main chars (protags and villains) but if you disagree with any of these that's okay! (and you should tell me because I will be interested!!)  There's also some bonus major npcs at the end that I didn't write explanations for bc they're.... bonus....

Also disclaimer: this uses sortinghatchats' two-house sorting system, so if you've never heard of it before you might want to look at this post first so you don't get confused by my references to primaries and secondaries and other stuff!

Full thing under the cut bc Long.

Heroes

Luke: Hufflepuff/Gryffindor

Luke is definitely Hufflepuff primary, even before his character development; he was so isolated that he didn’t really have much understanding of or attachment to anyone outside of the manor, but even then he was quick to empathize with others.  Even pre-development he shows concern for others’ wellbeing, shown most explicitly with Ion and with his reluctance to kill.  Most of his role models as a child are very discriminatory, so he tends towards that at first, but by the endgame he’s trying to save everyone, up to and including his enemies who are actively trying to kill him.

For secondary, he’s the most ridiculously stubborn Gryffindor I’ve ever seen, to the point that the rest of the party yelling at him about how he’s making incredibly stupid, impulsive decisions is a fairly regular occurrence, even post-development.  He almost has to be physically dragged out of Sheridan during the disaster, he chases Spinoza halfway across the world to prove a point to Asch, etc.

Tear: Gryffindor/Gryffindor

Tear is the sort of person who prioritizes justice and morality above anything else.  She is kind and apologetic to Luke when they first meet, then treats him coldly when she starts seeing him as rude and selfish, then is the first person to support his efforts to become a better person.  She’s also willing to turn against anyone, even her own family or the Order of Lorelei itself, if she feels their actions are unjust, and will do whatever it takes to correct that injustice.  She is capable of performing Slytherin when necessary, but she feels most at home in Gryffindor.

Guy: Slytherin/Hufflepuff (models/adopts Hufflepuff primary & Slytherin secondary)

Guy’s a bit hard to get a handle on at first, but if you look close he’s actually Slytherin primary; he’s just very warm and friendly in his regular interactions.  However, there’s really only a few people he’s very attached to; before and during the beginning of the game, that includes his family, but that expands to include Luke, and the rest of the core party to a lesser extent.  He also adopts Luke’s Hufflepuff mindset as a moral code for the part of the world he’s not emotionally invested in, which is what causes the confusion.

He is Hufflepuff secondary though, perfectly happy to spend years on his revenge plan, or sit in Aramis Spring for hours, or devote himself to helping Luke grow.  He can model Slytherin as a secondary as well, but in the end his more favoured tactic is calm, stubborn persistence.

Natalia: Gryffindor/Gryffindor (models Hufflepuff primary)

Natalia has Hufflepuff leanings as well, but ultimately she’s actually Gryffindor.  She values her people, yes, but that’s because she believes that it’s her duty as a princess, so she models Hufflepuff.  However, in the end, she puts that duty above all else, as she does when she chooses to fight Largo for the sake of her people, for example.  She does slip towards burning for a short time during the heritage plot, but manages to pull herself back up.  By the time of the peace conference, she’s returned to doing what Gryff/Gryffs do best: seeing injustice and marching straight in to right it.

Jade: Slytherin/Ravenclaw (models Ravenclaw primary)

Jade is almost always the smartest person in the room, and he takes pleasure in knowing that (and lording it over everyone else).  He’s also incredibly logical and methodical, trying to study a situation from every angle before deciding on a course of action - he just happens to have enough experience to do this incredibly quickly.  Overall Jade is a good example of a hypercompetent Ravenclaw secondary - his ability to draw on an extensive knowledge base is what makes him such an effective threat.

Despite that, when push comes to shove he really wants to protect his people over all else, and when he’s sufficiently stressed he begins to fall back on this instinct, which is why he’s a Slytherin primary with a Ravenclaw model, and not a Ravenclaw ignoring his gut feelings to do what’s logical to him.  For example, his pre-Rem conversation: “I would ask you to die, yes. If I were an Emperor, with a country to consider.  But as your friend, I feel compelled to stop you.”  Jade’s desire to follow his Ravenclaw-model idea of what is correct is ultimately secondary to his Slytherin instinct to protect his own.

This is also shown during his backstory: Nebilim was part of his inner circle, and her death and Jade’s failure at properly replicating her causes him to begin to Petrify.  His Ravenclaw model was built primarily as a way of coping with this loss and preventing it from happening again.

Interestingly enough, by the end of the game Jade’s added Luke to his inner circle, to the point of adopting some of Luke’s Hufflepuff primary tendencies, shown with his plans to resume his fomicry studies for the sake of the remaining replicas.

Anise: Slytherin/Slytherin

Anise is incredibly Slytherin!  Her major motivation is protecting Ion and her parents, and she will do anything to further that goal, including lying, spying, and sucking up to every rich person she meets.  Most of Anise’s struggles during the game are a result of her guilt over being forced to act against her inner circle (her parents, Ion, and eventually the rest of the party).  This comes to a head during her traitor subplot, when she’s forced to choose between her parents and Ion, shows off her Slytherin secondary with her plan to save both, and is heartbroken when her attempts ultimately fail.

Asch: Burned Slytherin/Gryffindor

Asch started off as a Slytherin primary, with his family, Natalia, and Van among his inner circle, but was Burned after the kidnapping incident and stopped trusting anyone.  During the events of the game, the group, especially Natalia, started to pull him out of the burned state, but he wasn’t able to do so entirely before the endgame.

On the other hand, Asch is, like Luke, a Gryffindor secondary.  He’s stubborn and hardheaded, refusing to follow any path but his own, especially when Luke is involved.  He’s also surprisingly blunt and honest, choosing to explain things to Luke at the beginning of the second act despite his personal feelings towards him.  Unfortunately, the combination of this secondary and his burnt Primary lead him to ignore the party’s suggestions and offers to help, which ultimately lead to his downfall.

Villains

Van: Burned Gryffindor/Hufflepuff

Van is a good example of a villainous Gryffindor.  When he was young he was likely an idealist, believing in the Score, or at least his family’s duty as descendants of Yulia - but when Hod was destroyed, he lost his faith in those duties and Burned his primary.  He chose to destroy the Score that betrayed him, and by extension the world that allowed it to exist, and refuses to be swayed by any outside arguments because he is no longer capable of seeing any other solution.  And he chooses to sacrifice anything that could get in the way of his goal, even his sister or the lord he was sworn to protect.

To reach that goal, Van spends years working his way up to the position of Commandant in the Order, charming and manipulating everyone around him, and just generally being a very effective Hufflepuff secondary.  Van’s most dangerous attribute is his relentlessness, with his ability to gain people’s trust as a close second.  Using it, he manages to draw the God-Generals and Mohs to his side, and several others including Luke only oppose him once they’re far enough from him to break free from his influence.

Interestingly enough, Van’s sorting is an inversion of Luke’s, with his Gryff/Puff opposing Luke’s Puff/Gryff.

Legretta: Burned Slytherin/Ravenclaw

Legretta is another Burned Slytherin primary, with her brother’s death and her confrontation with Van as the catalyst for her primary burning.  By the time the game happens she’s stopped being able to trust her heart, because she’s no longer sure whether her feelings are actually hers or if they’re being caused by the Score.  In the meantime, she’s adopted a rather Ravenclaw-like mindset in order to cope with her loss of trust: her reason for destroying the Score is to find out whether or not it’s manipulating her feelings.  The Score is the greatest threat to both her and her loved ones, and until she can confirm that she’s safe from it she refuses to let herself care about anyone.

She is, however, a true Ravenclaw in her secondary, with her gambit to follow Van to restore her primary showing that off best.  She is careful and methodical, following the plan to the best of her abilities, thorough in everything she does.  This even shows in the flashback to her assassination attempt, as she apparently did enough research beforehand into the Closed Score and Van’s actions to know that her brother’s death was foretold there.

Dist: Slytherin/Gryffindor

As a Slytherin primary, Dist is an extreme example of the ‘selfish ambition’ Slytherin stereotype.  His ultimate goal is to win back Jade’s approval, to make Jade happy; it’s the driving force behind all his actions.  Unfortunately for him, he fundamentally misunderstands who Jade is and what he wants, which is why he’s so unsuccessful in reaching that goal, but that is his goal regardless.

Dist also tries to emulate Jade’s Ravenclaw secondary, playing the part of the scheming mad scientist, but unfortunately for him he’s actually a Gryffindor secondary.  During most of his interactions with the party, he ends up resorting to stubborn tenaciousness to try and get what he wants.  He brags and taunts, throws robots around liberally, and absolutely refuses to consider any other options, no matter how many times Jade brushes him off.

Largo: Burned Gryffindor/Gryffindor

Like Natalia, Largo is both Gryffindor primary and secondary, but unlike her, his primary is Burned, caused by the loss of his wife and child.  He could no longer believe the Score was just, and he couldn’t trust his king to do what he believes is right.  Largo doesn’t follow Van because he believes Van’s plan is any better than the Score, though; it’s because he can no longer see a path that’s truly ‘right,’ so he latched onto Van’s convictions in an attempt to find stability.  He became the muscle of Van’s faction, preferring to use brute force and implacability over his allies’ less straightforward methods.

However, Largo still holds onto the shreds of his Gryffindor ideals.  He may not know for himself what is right, but he still places value on the idea of justice, and respects anyone who can wholeheartedly believe in something, even if he can’t agree with it.  It’s what convinced him to side with Van, but it also shows in his conversations around his final battle, as he praises Luke, Natalia, and the rest of the party for standing up for their own beliefs.

Sync: Burned Slytherin/Slytherin

Sync is a Burned Slytherin at its most extreme, caring for nothing and nobody, including himself.  Van comes the closest to being part of Sync’s circle, but in the end Sync follows him more because of their shared goal than out of any significant emotional attachment.  Sync’s Slytherin primary is also what makes it easy for him to follow Van’s plans - he has no loyalty or attachment to the world in general, and thus feels no guilt over destroying it.

Sync’s secondary is also Slytherin, as his preferred method is manipulating and toying with others instead of meeting them straight on.  He uses the curse slot he put on Guy to attack the party several times, sneaks onto the Tartarus during the planet core mission to wreak havoc, and after Ion’s death he uses their similar appearance to mess with Anise.

Arietta: Hufflepuff/Gryffindor

Arrietta as a Hufflepuff primary sounds odd at first, but that’s because her Puff loyalty is very different from the stereotype.  Like most Puffs, she cares about people - but Arietta’s definition of ‘people’ is almost exclusively her monster family and friends.  With a few exceptions, she doesn’t seem to see humans as worthy of her time or respect; it’s arguable that she doesn’t even perceive herself as ‘human,’ identifying with her monsters more.  Ion, of course, is the rare human exception, with the other God-Generals counting only through Van’s connection with Ion.  However, the rest of humanity is beneath her notice, and she treats the party with active malice.  They killed her family, after all - to Arietta it’s the humans that are the real monsters.

She also shows a Gryffindor-secondary tendency to run into things headfirst, trusting her gut to do what seems right in the moment instead of doing any complicated planning.  Arrietta fights the party mainly because of her grudge over her liger mother’s death, with Van’s plans being secondary.  She also gives the party information on a whim when Ion is threatened, and just as impulsively challenges Anise to a duel after Ion’s death.

Mohs: Hufflepuff/Slytherin

Mohs is the type of Hufflepuff that prioritizes loyalty to a community or group over loyalty to the people in it.  For him, his priority is the Order of Lorelei, and all its religious ideals and traditions - he is the only major faction leader who is unable to let go of the Score when everyone else chooses to abandon it, and he resorts to increasingly desperate measures to cling to his duty.  The Score is an intrinsic part of his identity, and he just can’t cope with the knowledge that it might not be the perfect promise he believed it was.  He spends the second half of the game trying desperately not to Burn, because if the Score is destroyed, his entire identity will go with it.

Meanwhile, his tendency to use whatever means possible - even if it’s underhanded or deceitful - to ensure the Score is carried out proves his Slytherin secondary.  Even beyond his following the Order’s rules of controlling information access for the Score’s sake, he manipulates King Ingobert to try and get rid of Luke, and even goes as far as allying with the God-Generals when he thinks it’ll help him succeed.

Other

Ion - Hufflepuff/Slytherin

Mieu - Slytherin/Hufflepuff

Peony - Hufflepuff/Slytherin

Ingobert - Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw

Duke Fabre - Gryffindor/Hufflepuff

Ginji & Noelle - Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw

Nephry - Gryffindor/Hufflepuff

Cecille - Slytherin/Hufflepuff

Frings - Gryffindor/Gryffindor

(also shoutout to jeredu lyra slip rei for Making Hogwarts AU and thus This Post Happen)